#to how you’ll keep your information safe. Those stacks of papers and files can

[sujathaks]

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[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Eight

Chapter 8: The Things We Leave Behind

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader [now with a dash of Erwin x Reader]

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst

Word Count: 4.7k

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Erwin,

           I don’t have much time, but it’s me—I’m alive. I’m safe. I don’t know why, but I am. They want something from me here, tried to pry into me for information about The Scouts, but not much else. I’ve given over as little as I can, but enough to keep me alive for now. But it’s strange here, even some of the warriors know something is going on below the surface of what we know. You can probably tell by the email that I’m using that I’ve found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. He’s the one who has given me the multitude of files I’ve attached this email. He claims most of this intel he gathered he never gave over to Marleyan officials. He also says he can be of help to Paradis, that Pieck and the others can too. I don’t know how much of that is true. To be fair, I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

           There are files here on Zeke Yeager, apparently put together by warrior members who have become wary of him. Dig into them, figure out what you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find a way home. And, for the love of god, please sleep. I know how you get.

           Don’t respond to this email. No one knows I have sent it.

           Always.

           Erwin read the words for what felt like the thousandth time, the black lettering practically bleeding into the screen by this point. His heart had dropped when he sat down in his office this morning to find something sitting in his personal email folder, something branded with the last name of a traitor. His mind had raced into the darkest depths, assuming it was pictures of torture, a letter filled with malacious laughter, an autopsy report. But it was you, you were alive, you’d found a way to reach him.

           He had to keep his hand over his mouth as he grinned. You were so capable, so resourceful and rather ingenious. He’d had his doubts, but on the forefront of his mind, and his tongue, he’d said and knew you were alive.

           He’d stayed in his office with the door locked for hours in the morning as he poured over the information, brows twisting in both delight and disgust as he began to make sense of the documents crafted by the wary warriors. They were impressive, to say the least, and quite frightening.

           Every single urge inside of him was screaming to respond, even as he printed out the rather massive amount of documents you’d attached. He made copy after copy, blue eyes dancing like they were overcome with madness as familiar and unknown faces and information landed into the tray of the printer.

           He carefully separated the files by paperclips, prepping for them to be dispersed.

           You were so good. So brilliant. He’d have you home soon enough.

           The cumbersome stack of papers was too much for him to carry just under one arm. The one he’d lost was burning, itching like it should be able to wrap around the bundle.

           Erwin marched out of his office and into the bustling workspace, clearing his throat to the room.

           “Scouts! Emergency meeting in the conference hall immediately. Drop everything and meet me there.”

           Every head in the room snapped toward him, all chatter silencing. They all stared at him like he had three heads; the last time they’d had every scout in the same room was when he’d pronounced you missing nearly two weeks ago. He knew they were worried that this next announcement was of a death, of war.

           “Now!”

           The bustle picked up again immediately, every soldier, assistant, and intelligence officer scurrying to make it down the hall.

           “Springer,” Erwin caught the young man by the shoulder as he tried to brisk by him, “there’s a stack of papers in my office. Grab it and bring it with you.”

           Erwin continued in his stride toward the small auditorium, taking his known place down in front at the white boards. He could hear indiscriminate whispers behind his back as he took his time setting up a display. There was a small cork board off to the side of the room, littered with headshots of the Marleyan warriors. He cursed the face of the girl who took his arm as he pulled it to the front.

           “Miche,” he called over his shoulder, knowing the towering blonde would be nearby, “Come help me.”

           “Sure thing boss.”

           It didn’t take much time to direct, and before long he had all the warriors lined up on the large board in front of the room. He took his own time to place the picture of your face in the center, fingers brushing over the heavy red letters of Missing that were etched over your features.

           Levi saddled up next to him, never one to fall into the crowds.

           “Erwin, what is all this?”

           “I got an email from her this morning.”

           Levi didn’t have to ask. If there was ever a “her” in Erwin’s vocabulary, he meant you. You were all over his mind, more so than ever before.

           “Care to share? Or was it a love letter?”

           It was an unspoken truth that he’d become involved with you within the last year, and given his rather...emotional response to your disappearance, he was sure everyone was now well aware of your entanglement.

           “A love letter full of promising information.”

           “Tch, sounds about right. Did she give you all that?” Levi tilted his head toward Connie, who was struggling to keep the giant bundle of printed documents from sliding off the podium.

           “She did. It’s time to get to work.”

           Erwin didn’t even wait for the room to settle. There was no time to waste. He turned toward the confused, anxious crowd, took note of how they were all staring at him like lost children. There weren’t that many left after the attack on Shinganshina all those years ago, his scouts had either been killed off or left the ranks entirely. Recruitment had become more of an issue than it ever had been before as well. There was only a gathering of about thirty before him—the size of a small classroom, all piled into the front seats and awaiting instruction.

           “I received word from our missing captain this morning.”

           A shocked gasp filled the space, one of the younger girls—last name Blouse or Braus, he never could remember—literally jumping from her seat.

           “She’s alive?!”

           He held up his hand to calm her, to direct her to sit back down.

           “As far as I know, yes. She found a way to email me this morning to let me know of her safety, and also supply us with a vast amount of Marleyan intel. Now, we need to unpack what we know.”

           Erwin motioned to Springer again, wrist flicking toward the still unsteady mountain of papers.

           “Hand those out, they should be sectioned by paper clips so everyone can have a copy.”

           “But, Sir, I—” I just spent all that time wrestling with those papers, is what he knew he wanted to say. Springer did what he was told anyways, scratching at his short hair as he hurriedly began to divvy out the printed intel.

           “We’ll start with what we do know.” Erwin took a few long strides back toward the large board, feeling his empty shirt sleeve rustle by his side as he used his remaining arm to point toward the faces that had been lined up for him.

          “Of course, we’re all aware that former Scout members Braun, Leonhart, and Hoover were infiltrators sent by Marley to uncover our anti-Marleyan operations. They are members of the Warrior Unit run by this man,” he placed his index finger over the person of interest, “Zeke Yeager. And there are other members of the unit as well, Galliard, Finger, and Grice. There are also candidates for this elite military squad, Udo, Zofia, and the younger Grice and Braun. It is important to note that one of their former members, Marcel Galliard, was killed by none other than our missing captain in question.”

          “Yeah, yeah, we know all this!” Kirstein chimed in, “We don’t need the history lesson.”

          Erwin couldn’t help but grin.

          “It seems a history lesson is exactly what you need. In those files that were sent to me, you’ll learn that all these warrior members and candidates are, historically, from Eldian bloodlines.”

          “Eldians? You mean...like us?” Historia tilted her head, thumbing through the pages in her lap.

          “Yes. Now if you did pay attention in history class,” he narrowed his eyes at Jean, “you would remember that about four hundred years ago, there was a mass immigration of Eldians into Marley in the face of a mass famine here. However, due to Marley’s very strict borders and even stricter control on their governmental processes, it was never truly known to us what became of the Eldians that marched across their border. We knew they had been separated into internment camps, but it also seems that they have been weaponized and trained into being nearly the entirety of their military ranks. And this unit, The Warriors, are the premiere and elite squadron of the Marleyan military. And their motives toward Paradis have been largely unknown. Until now.”

          Erwin took a pause, letting all this information sink in before starting again.

          “Now, we know that Zeke Yeager has been working with our elite right below our noses with the hopes of changing the status quo for Eldians in Marley.”

          “Isn’t that a good thing?”

          Eren sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared at all the faces on the board. It was no secret that Zeke Yeager was his long lost step-brother, sired by his father before he escaped the Marleyan border to find a better future in Paradis. As far as Erwin knew, the young man had no connections to his step-sibling, only saw him as an enemy force to be reckoned with.

          “Yes, and no. Because, according to the files you’ll find penned by one Pieck Finger, it seems his plan is quite unseemly.”

          “I don’t understand all this data and graph shit,” Miche admitted, eyebrows scrunched together as he licked his thumb to continue perusing the pages.

          Captain Hange stood then, making her way to the front without Erwin having to beckon her to.

          “These are...these are blood samples, DNA testing,” she mused, pencils stuck in her ponytail as she paced the floor before Erwin, “genome analysis, to be specific. Like they were looking for something specific in all these samples.”

          “And they were. Did you get my request this morning?”

          “Oh yes, of course, sir!” Hange scrambled back up to her seat, pulling out a manila envelope and then returning to hand it to him.

          Erwin motioned for Miche to tape these new documents on the board as well, one next to your photo, the other now next to a photo of Historia Reiss. Then Erwin picked up some pictures that would be unfamiliar to his scouts, placing them above your head.

          “These are the parents of our missing scout,” he called over his shoulder as he took an unfortunately slow time to place the photos, the lack of two hands starting to become quite bothersome. “They were Military Police members, killed in action about ten years ago. However, the information within the files on Yeager reveal that before Braun and the others infiltrated our ranks, there were other imposters sent on a reconnaissance mission within the MPs. It is cited that those infiltrators killed two people they were targeting, and I believe it to be them.”

          He could tell he was losing their focus, quite a few eyes glazed over as they tried to make sense of all the new pieces being added to the growing wall of puzzles. He felt like a madman stringing up red threads, but he was almost certain of his conclusions.

          “Why...why do they matter?” It was Armin who spoke this time, normally the quiet one during meetings who soaked up information like a little yellow sponge.

          “Historia,” Erwin called, “does the name Fritz mean anything to you?”

          The small girl sat to attention, blue eyes shining.

          “Of course, they’re another noble family, like mine. Err, or the were, before…”

          “Before they were killed about one hundred years ago. However, I’m inclined to believe that our missing scout’s mother was the last remaining of the Fritz line, having donned a new name for safety and falling into government positions to hopefully remain unnoticed.”

          He took in a deep breath, once again letting a pregnant pause settle into the heaviness of the room.

          “Which is why…” he waved his hand over the graphs next to your face and the photo of Historia on the board, “thismatters. It’s been a long standing belief that elites, that royalty and those that have been elected president in our country, are somehow different. Almost appointed by the gods themselves because of their special blood. You know, it’s the whole issue that many take up on the fact that they see our governmental system as more of a monarchy than a democracy. But the truth of the matter is, you nobles do have different blood and genes than the rest of us. These graphs show that here.”

          “Well that’s very elitist of you.” Levi cut in, standing with his arms crossed near the door.

          “Perhaps. But I had Hange do a genome map between Historia and…” he sucked on his tongue, still finding a bit of pain to say your name out loud, “...and her. My suspicions are correct. Based on the startlingly similar genetic patterns, our missing captain is of noble heritage, and I’m inclined to believe that Zeke Yeager knows this.”

          “And that’s important because it makes her more valuable,” Armin had his face in his hands, “does she...does she know this?”

          “As far as I know, no. No she does not.”

          “And you of all people would know.”

          Erwin wanted to snap back at the snide comment that came from Eren. If he wasn’t such a good soldier, Erwin would have him on fucking patrol duty after this.

          “Commander,” Armin looked sweaty, pale, “It says here that Yeager’s plan is to reinstate Eldian supremacy through uh… a means of genetic mutation. Do you know what that means?”

          “No, Arlert, I don’t. And I don’t know exactly what his plans are for our scout that’s being held hostage. Which is why you’re all here. From this point forward, every ounce of your time will be spent reviewing these documents and dissecting what it could all mean. As far as I can tell, Pieck Finger hasn’t quite connected all the dots yet either. So now it’s our job to do so.”

          All the heads in the room were nodding, everyone undoubtedly becoming antsy from all this news.

          Erwin knew there was more to say. He had debated printing out your email as well, but he wanted to keep the knowledge that Braun and some of the warriors were possibly willing to help stop whatever was happening to himself. He knew that if he even breathed the words that traitors were offering aid, too many would be against it, too many wouldn’t believe it. That would have to be something he pondered on his own.

          “Where do we begin, sir?”

          Mikasa sat up straight and on the edge of her seat, like she was ready to spring into action.

          “First, I think we need to dig deeper into just who was planning to meet with the Warrior Unit the day the captain was captured. We still don’t know who they were, or what was happening that warriors actually had to be present for it. Also…” he looked pointedly toward Levi, “we need to do more investigating on the day she was shot. We still don’t know who shot her, or why. It could have been an assassin looking to annihilate that Fritz bloodline.”

          Levi nodded, “On it.”

          “Everyone else, get to work. Get out the red tape and string if you need to, and all meeting rooms are now open to place questions and findings onto the boards. Nothing is useless; all knowledge about this situation is powerful and paramount. This could be the beginning of a nightmare, but perhaps we can stop it before it happens.”

          He watched everyone leave, all with hurried steps and papers shuffling within their hands. Hange stuck around behind him, rather bewitched by the DNA findings taped to the white board.

          A little voice cleared their throat next to him, making him look down. Historia stood before him, eyes downcast and her toes pointed together like she was nervous.

          “Commander… I…do you have a moment?”

          “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

          He watched her glance toward Hange, then toward the door, and back to him.

          “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and speak alone?”

          “Yes,” she quickly breathed, happy that he picked up on the fact that whatever she had to say, it must need to stay quiet.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          It seemed that Historia’s nerves were still getting the better of her as she sat in front of his desk. Erwin had always been told he was rather imposing, so he hoped she wasn’t apprehensive to just be speaking with him alone. Her hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, knee bouncing in her seat.

          He’d poured himself a cup as well in the break room, having already drank it before even reaching his office. Your worries had been correct: he wasn’t sleeping much, and after what you’d sent him today, he didn’t know how you ever expected him to sleep again without knowing the truth of what was happening.

          “Commander…” she took the deepest breath, eyes closing for a moment, “do you...you don’t believe in myths, do you?”

          It was an odd question, one that had him pressing his lips together as he looked for an answer.

          “I suppose not. Though, it would also depend on the myth; some of them hold truth to them, as they were stories attempting to cope with the unknown.”

          “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she scoffed, looking everywhere in the room but at him.

          “Why? Are you here to give me a mythology lesson?”

          “Have you heard the one about Ymir? And the nine titans?”

          “That old tale?” He chuckled, remembering pictures in books he’d read as a child of towering beasts, “The one about how there used to be giant people, titans that roamed the lands before humanity came along?”

          Historia twisted her lips, looking down at the floor.

          “Yeah. That one. Did you ever know her full name?”

          “Her? As in Ymir? No, she was just the goddess Ymir in all the books, gods don’t normally have last names.”

          “Well, she did. Because she was human. Her last name was Fritz.”

          Fritz. Like your possible ancestors. Historia had earned his attention now. He sat up behind his desk, fist unknowingly clenched in his lap.

          “Commander, I don’t know if this is true, but when I was a little girl, my older sister, Freida, she used to tell me all these stories about titans and how we, nobility, are descendants of gods and of...of titans.”

          Erwin was trying to read her face, but the young woman just seemed full of fear, trepidation.

          “Historia, I’ve heard all the propaganda about the noble families being descendants from gods. And if I offended you with my remarks in the meeting then I apolo—”

          “No, no,” she cut him off, “no, that’s not what I meant. I know that my family...that the other nobles and elites have twisted all these myths to give themselves power, but what I’m saying is that it’s true. At least, I think it is. We have all these books back home in my estate that explain this true history about how people used to live in a world of titans thousands of years ago, that there were mindless titans, but also titans controlled by humans… humans that were titans. And I’m just saying, if this was true…”

          He was starting to put the pieces together now. The genetic mutation. The bloodlines. No wonder her thoughts had led her to this conclusion.

          “You’re worried Zeke Yeager believes in these old stories, that his plan is to bring back titans?” He posed it as a question, wanting her to finish her thoughts instead of him imposing on her.

          “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but if there was some way to do it, our missing captain, if she’s actually of royal blood, like me, he might want to…” she set down her cup of coffee, finally looking up at him with eyes that shone with wisdom he’d never acknowledged before, “Zeke might want to experiment on her. Or maybe reveal her heritage and try to bargain her back to the elites. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to say this in front of everyone because they might think I’m…”

          “Crazy?”

          “Yeah,” she huffed, “thanks.”

          “Thank you, Historia. You’ve given me something to think about.”

          “But you think I’m crazy.”

          He dared not to insult her outloud, but it was the side he was erring on.

          “I appreciate you being willing to tell me this. It seems I have some mythology to study up on. Actually, if you ever get the chance to get your hands on one of those books you spoke about, I would like to see it.”

          She stood then, leaving her coffee abandoned on his desk.

          “Of course, Commander.”

          He could tell her spirits were defeated as she left his office. But, nonetheless, he took the coffee she left behind as his own, settling back in to continue reading into the files you’d sent to him.

          But his mind couldn’t even register the words anymore. He was so tired, and now, knowing that you were indeed alive, he was filled with nothing but thoughts on how to get you home. It would be a suicide mission to try to send a squad into Marley to rescue you. He also knew that asking the elites, even the President, to act on his behalf would probably be met with a negative outcome since they were in connection to Zeke Yeager himself. It all seemed hopeless, but he knew you were working to get back as well. Between the two of you attempting to reach the same goal, he knew, eventually, he’d have you back again.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          His home was quite lonely without you.

          He felt the emptiness of not having you at the Scout Headquarters, but more so he felt it when he finally drug his tired body to the apartment he lived in across the city.

          It felt like a small cataclysm erupted whenever he opened his front door, all the emotions he kept at bay suddenly budding to the surface of his composure. Your shoes were still by the door, so small next to the ones he took off.

          Signs of you, of your absence, were everywhere. Your coat on the back of a chair. Your favorite books still spread open and marked to forgotten pages in the cozy chair in the living room. Wine only you liked still remained chilled in the fridge, your body wash and shampoo still lined the edges of his shower. He hadn’t even washed his sheets since you left, hadn’t dared to touch the side of the bed you slept on, like the mattress was still full of your ghost when he reached out for you at night.

          Even though you had your own apartment, he couldn’t remember a night he’d spent without you in the last few months. You’d become inseparable, seeking refuge in each other’s bodies against the cruelty this world had dealt you. You accepted him for who he was, even when he felt like half a man.

          There were still words he wanted to say to you; there were still echoes of your voice all around the apartment, your laughter ringing in the support beams, the sounds of your moans still staining his headboard.

           There were so many things you left behind, him included.

           Erwin poured himself a drink before settling into the couch, not even bothering to undress from his work clothes. He needed medicine for his mind, needed to try to drink and find clarity in the too many thoughts thumping in his head.

           You were noble. Of all fucking things.

           He took a very long sip at that realization, almost reveling in the burn the whiskey left behind in his mouth. He could still taste you on his tongue sometimes, still feel the pressure of your lips against his if he closed his eyes. All those times he thought he was kissing something divine, perhaps he was, if Historia Reiss had any merit to her little bedtime stories.

           The thought made him laugh. Titans. Mythological creatures. If there was one thing he knew, his enemies weren’t trying to bring things that never existed back to life. Historia was right about one thing though: you could be a powerful bargaining chip for Zeke. If the elites were holding out on something, all he had to do was dangle a pretty, royal plaything in front of their noses as bait.

           He pulled your email back up on his phone, eyes scanning over all the words you sent.

You’d found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. Of all people. Erwin could still remember how much the two of you would fight when you were both soldiers, how you were adamant to take on the hulking man yourself when it came to battle.

           But he also remembered how startlingly well the two of you worked together. It had been the two of you who had stopped Marcel Galliard, it had been Reiner who was the first to appear at the hospital steps when news of your potentially fatal injury had been called over the radio. The man had been panting, Bertholdt too, both of them having run as fast possible from their patrol circuit to check in on your status.

           Erwin always assumed it was because Reiner was sweet on you. Boys had always been taught to tease the girls they liked when they were younger, perhaps he’d just carried that on into adulthood, practically throwing stones at you to get your attention.

           Not that he could blame him. Erwin had always wanted your attention, but had kept himself restrained for professional reasons. But after Shinganshina, after Zeke showed the true force of the Warrior Unit as a warning, Erwin had quickly pulled you from the front lines. He claimed it was because your cleverness would be better served in intelligence work. Truth of the matter was that he wanted you safe. He wanted you working with him, in his sight, every day.

           And now you had completely slipped through his fingers.

           He’d cursed out loud when the scouts returned and revealed that you’d been captured. He even unfairly chewed out Jean for being reckless enough to get his vertical movement gear tangled with yours, but he knew the fault rested in his hands. You’d offered to go, and he’d let you.

           He let you go, and now he was reeling in the ash and smoke of the damage left behind.

           With a finished drink, he let his mind wander to that place he tried to keep it from. He was wondering where you were, wondering exactly what you were doing. Until tonight, he imagined you were left under lock and key, but now he knew you’d gotten yourself into some situation in order to access Reiner’s email. Perhaps he truly was helping you.

           Some of your words ran through his brain again: I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

           Erwin honestly didn’t know what was true anymore either. In a matter of hours, he’d pieced together information the intelligence unit had been trying to uncover for years. He was steps closer to figuring out whatever truth there was Zeke Yeager’s madness. He was steps closer to keeping the whole country safe from a disaster its own elites had their fingers in.

           But he still felt so far away, so far away from you, from himself. He felt like he’d never actually fit the puzzle together, felt like he’d let you down.

          All he still knew was that he loved you, even if he never actually spoke the words to you. He loved you, and he had some kind of dying hope that you felt the same.

Next Chapter

[joonkorre]

@drarrymicrofic prompt: remake

not gonna say much on this. yall should find out what's going on yourselves :D. ao3

“What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t need to think; he’s done enough of that in the past two months, since the day he opened his front door to see the strange woman’s sharp smile. But he thinks anyway, one last time before he answers.

He’d have to leave the wizarding world behind. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that drastic. However, if he doesn’t want his frequent disappearances to catch the Ministry’s attention, then it’s best to withdraw into the Muggle world altogether, as far from its control as possible. Mother has Aunt Andy, Teddy, and friends from her book club now, she’ll be fine with him visiting only a few days each year.

Other than that, there are no downsides. He has nothing to lose except maybe his life somewhere down the line, but everybody dies at some point, don’t they?

He lifts his gaze to the buzzing light on the ceiling, its shine cold and apathetic. To the mahogany bookcase, filled with tomes upon tomes full of ancient rites and rituals, of creatures considered ‘cryptid’ even to wizardkind. To the bookend that is shaped like a crow, which flaps its wings when its beak is tapped five times, unlocking the hidden safe behind the bookcase. The safe that stores all the actual research and data he’s collected, jealously and fearfully hoarded.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows enough to be aware that the lore Pansy snorted at when he first mentioned them, the creatures Mother dismissed as another of her bored rich son’s new obsessions, are the same ones Unspeakable Granger narrowed her eyes at when she walked past his table in the canteen and caught a glimpse of his notes. He had a feeling then that he shouldn’t even make any indication that he was interested in these things, which was proven to be correct when Ministry personnel started loitering outside his office more after that day.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows his findings are not safe in anyone’s hands but his. The Ministry still repeats its tendency to care more about itself than the common people. The Department of Mystery, practically its own entity due to how even the Minister is forbidden from accessing most of its files, has motivations he can’t comprehend, which means motivations he can’t predict. There is no way to know if his colleagues are truly interested in “that old wife’s tale, that Bigfoot, Cthulhu shite Malfoy’s into” or will report him to those who know how to deal with him, to Unspeakable Granger, to the Department of Mysteries. His findings are not safe in anyone’s hand but his.

But if he says ‘yes,’ they are.

Draco dips his quill in the ink bottle the woman—“Dr. Stewart,” she’s introduced, calm and sure—provided him and signs his name on the contract and its related documents. No hint of anything other than indifference is shown on her face, and he wonders how many others before him has she recruited.

Once his thumbprint has been collected, the last step of the process, he Vanishes the ink on his finger. Dr. Stewart raises a brow but says nothing more. She stands up, holding out a hand.

“Welcome, Dr. Malfoy. The SCP Foundation is glad to have you with us.”

Shaking her hand, Draco feels something slide into place at his new title. He smiles politely, heart thundering in his chest.

“Have you worked with wizards before, Dr. Stewart?” Draco asks as he starts packing the valuables at his work desk into his briefcase. Dr. Steward has come to the Ministry by Floo, and though she seemed a bit disconcerted after stepping out of the Ministry Public Floo #13, she didn’t hesitate to follow him to his office. Thus, seeing her reaction to a simple Vanishing spell has certainly been a bit strange.

Dr. Steward gathers the documents to secure in a folder.

“My colleagues have—some of them have Muggleborn and Halfblood relatives—but not me personally,” she answers. “My apologies, I still need to get used to seeing magic in… this way. Ironically, we have more luck with magic users from other dimensions than from our own, especially with what happened in recent history.”

The Second Wizarding War ended barely a decade ago. Its victims, both people and nature, still bleed. “I can see why you aren’t very keen on interacting with us up-close these days,” Draco nods, careful.

“Precisely,” Dr. Stewart says. “So, believe it when I say you’re the exception.”

Draco stiffens. “Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s still a bit hard to, ah, believe that.”

“You are the exception,” she says. “We need professionals in the occult, especially those who dabbled in the Dark Arts along with other types of magic. Not many wizards of your kind in Great Britain remember the Original Gods and Old Magic, but you have that link, whether it be through honest religious belief or just intensive research.”

She crosses her legs. “We’ve had our eyes on you for a while, Dr. Malfoy. We need someone who’s willing to look for the oddity in the mundane, and when our people heard rumours of the infamous Malfoy heir having a—highly accurate, by the way—fixation on conspiracy theories and cryptozoology, visiting various parts of the world in pursuit of those ‘tall tales,’ we knew we need your intellect.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say. He was sure everybody thought him unhinged; even Luna seemed off around him these days instead of enthusiastically rallying after his theories like she usually would, gradually gravitating toward Granger whenever they’re in the same room.

“Our goals are different; the SCP Foundation wants to keep humanity safe and alive, you want knowledge and just knowledge. But I hope you find yourself in your element while working with us, finally having access to all the information you’ve been working so hard to find out.”

She tilts her head just so, and Draco can tell she knows he likes what he’s hearing. His thirst consumes him, makes him risk, makes him sin. He has to go insane to stay sane. Despite the small price of most likely dying from working with dangerous anomalies at the Foundation no matter how pretty Dr. Stewart advertises it, every cell in his body sings at the chance to know what is lurking beyond the folds of reality.

He thinks of Mother, of Aunt Andy, of little Teddy, of Pansy, of Blaise. The vision of them killed, maimed, snapped from existence because he didn’t do anything to help makes his gut twist, his throat parched. He’d kill himself from the guilt, a well-casted Sectumsempra. He decides.

His goal is no different than the Foundation’s from now on, and he has no qualms about that. With this opportunity, he is free at last, free to do the work he knows is important, to help and change without outside interference.

He is reborn.

Draco’s back straightens, and he moves his wand this way and that, orchestrating a cacophony of tomes and devices to levitate from the heavy bookshelves to the duffle bag he brought along.

“Dr. Malfoy, did I not tell you where you’ll be stationed?”

Draco halts the objects’ action mid-air, staring at Dr. Stewart.

“I was under the impression that I am to be working at Site-91,” he says, “in Yorkshire?”

“As I thought, I forgot something,” Dr. Stewart sighs, the first sign of human imperfection leaking through. She searches through her briefcase, long nails clicking through the files. “Sit down, please, and there’s no need to pack up your belongings.”

Sending the objects back to their original places, Draco takes his seat, brows furrowed. He toys with his wand, a tick he hasn’t been able to be rid of ever since Potter’s returned his wand after years of what seemed to be perpetual emptiness without it.

“There we go,” Dr. Stewart says and flips open a thick, stapled stack of paper. “You are to stay here for the duration of your first assignment. Count yourself lucky, starting work right away.”

“Stay here? But—”

“There is an anomalous individual working here,” she says, hard lines etched on her face. “You will act like you’ve not changed your career and continue to ‘work’ in the Ministry. Because of your proximity, we expect you to gather as much information as possible about him. You can use any method, as long as you stay alive and well to report back to us and receive your salary. Not to worry, we will assist you as this individual is, like most of what we deal with, deadly when pushed.”

She slides the file toward him and settles back against her chair. Draco is admittedly no less surprised than before.

“Wake up and get ready by 6 AM this Saturday, for we’ll come to get you at your house and go to Site-91. There are other information and protocols you need to know, and you’ll also get the equipment suited for this assignment,” Dr. Stewart adds.

Draco has a few questions, but from the way she ends with a close-mouthed smile, he reckons any at all would be regarded as idiotic. Well, at least she told him something.

With a slight sigh, he opens the file. The peculiar layouts and code words fly past him—he’d have to ask for a manual of some kind, Muggle science-y terminology has never been his best suit. However.

“What,” he breathes, leaning close to the file, eyes wide, “what is he—what is—”

However, there are two words he can’t mistake, no matter how sleep-deprived he is or how blind. A name, in fact.

“What is Harry Potter doing in this file?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dr. Stewart asks, lacing her fingers on her lap. “Think. His lifelong exposure with the Dark Arts and artifacts, how volatile and explosive his power is, and most importantly, how dangerous he is even to the brightest magic users. There’s a reason why we don’t meddle with your kind. You already have the means available to contain certain anomalies, but Potter is different, and we have to step in this time.”

Draco stares at her, then at the name in the file, at the picture attached, slack-jawed.

“The oddity in the mundane, Dr. Malfoy,” Dr. Stewart leans forward, a knowing look on her face. Draco's legs feel like wooden trunks, sunken into the ground. "Get used to it, and get focused. Because if left unchecked, Harry Potter might very well get powerful enough to become a reality bender."

[damnprussia]

Love Is Not A Victory March

Synopsis: Gilbert makes a difficult decision which questions his identity as a nation, and the strength of his emerging humanity. 

Part 1 of 3

Berlin, Germany. July 1939

Gilbert signed his name, the last of several signatures from a large stack of papers in front of him on his desk. His office was still grand, with luxurious furniture, a fireplace off to the side, currently unused, and all of his finest comforts surrounding him, including a portrait of his dear Frederick the Great - the original - hanging nearby. The only sounds were the scratching of his pen and the sounds of Berlin street life drifting in from the cracked-open windows behind him. 

He gazed at one of the papers he had just signed his name - it was for the termination of one of his best employees. He recalled nine years ago, facing financial ruin following the global Depression, a young man answered his “help wanted” advertisement. He had wanted a financial analyst to rebuild his carefully-curated wealth portfolio, and Karl Hopf had answered.

Gilbert smiled remembering his first impression of the young man. He had strode into Gilbert’s office, wearing a too-big suit and a suitcase that was clearly older than he was. He had slammed his credentials down on Gilbert’s desk before him and told him those magic words: “I can make you rich.”

It wasn’t the young man’s proposed skill, nor his prestigious education that had impressed Gilbert. No - it was his confidence. That was Prussian confidence. He had liked this kid right off the bat.

Nine years later, Gilbert was indeed rich. Karl Hopf had a way with the stock market and wealth management that seemed magical; an understanding of some kind of mystical language that was beyond Gilbert’s comprehension. He would grow to trust the man almost completely with his money and where it would go.

It was for this very reason - this implicit trust - that Karl had to go. 

There was a light knock on the door and Gilbert commanded to enter. In came Karl, much quieter and more sullen than he was from years past. Gilbert could understand. There was exhaustion in persecution.

“Good morning, Karl.”

“Good morning, Mr. Beilschmidt.”

Karl sat down in the seat facing Gilbert, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, he knew at least a little bit of what this meeting would entail.

Gilbert glanced down at the termination letter on his desk before he sighed and anxiously folded it in half. This would be harder than he thought, it seemed. He didn’t know quite how to proceed, so he just blurted out what was on his mind.

“New York is a wonderful town.” He leaned back in his chair, carefully watching the man sitting across from him. 

“I wouldn’t know - never been,” the young man mumbled, squirming uncomfortably and glancing almost anywhere other than Gilbert. He was probably wondering where this conversation was going.

Gilbert reached into a leather file on his desk and pulled out several pieces of paper. Very important, very official documents. “You will be. This is for you - Train tickets. Boat ticket. Work visa. You’ll be living there.” Blunt, but Gilbert didn’t have the emotional energy to put it nicer.

Karl did not react for several moments. Only his eyes, darting back and forth between Gilbert’s very serious face and those very serious documents in front of him. “W...What?”

The Prussian took a deep breath and leaned forward, placing two deliberate fingers on the documents before sliding them closer. “You are going to leave Germany. Forever, preferably.”

“No I’m not...Why?” His voice was only a whisper.

“Because, Karl, you’re too good for this country right now. I can’t stand to watch you suffer for everyone else’s cowardice. I know you’ve lost every other client you’ve served and that’s a disgrace. I know you have been forced out of your home and shoved somewhere else.  You’re my responsibility, and I need to make sure that you stay safe.”

“You’re not responsible for me - you’re just my boss - m-my client. I’ve only helped you with your financial - “

“Trust me, Karl, when I say that you are my responsibility,” Gilbert interrupted him. He remembered that hallmark Prussian confidence from years ago. He could not let it die. “Just...you must accept this. You must. I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this to anybody, but I have to.”

Karl could hear the pain in his client’s voice. He reached forward and quietly took the papers, leafing through them.

“You have family, right? A wife?” Gilbert asked after moments of silence.

The young man nodded slowly, not making eye contact. “We’ve been married a few years. She...she just told me she was pregnant. A few weeks ago.”

“Then all the more reason for you to leave. So many others have left. You must give your family a future. They want you gone, and I wish I could have you here working with me as you have been, but that just cannot be possible anymore. You know people have been leaving in droves. I want you among them.”

Karl was silent for several minutes. “I am afraid,” he admitted quietly, eyes drifting over to the portrait of Frederick the Great, hanging on the adjacent wall, seeming to observe them. “My family - we’ve never left Germany. We can trace our lineage all the way back to Frederick the Great. We’ve just always wanted to be -”

“-- Good citizens, I know.” Gilbert finished his sentence with a heavy sigh. He looked down at the piece of paper on his desk. “Karl, your nation is so proud of you,” he said quietly. “Regardless of whatever you hear out there, please believe me.”

Karl nodded slowly, taking a deep, long breath. “So. New York...?”

“You’ll love it, Karl. You will flourish. The country will accept you and keep you safe.”

A pause. “And if I stay here?”

Gilbert’s face fell. “If you stay, Karl, you’ll lose everything. You might even lose your life.” 

While Karl digested his last words, Gilbert pulled out a briefcase, a single piece of paper clipped to the top, sliding it over to him. “You will take this with you. I need you to sign the form on top. It will help you get started over there.”

Karl frowned and grabbed the slip of paper. “What is this?” he opened the briefcase and peered inside. “Mr. Beilschmidt, this is your stock portfolio...this is all your money - “

“ - It’s yours now,” Gilbert said. “I don’t trust my finances with these fools in charge. I trust you more. Sign that paper, it will all be yours.”

Karl went to push it away from him but Gilbert’s hand on the briefcase stopped him. “You will do it,” he said sharply. “Or you will watch it go into the fireplace. As well as those tickets.”

Karl’s face fell and for several long moments, he only looked between Gilbert’s uncompromising expression and the briefcase. Finally, he slowly slid it closer to him again. Gilbert wordlessly handed him a pen, which he accepted and signed.

Gilbert watched as Karl stuffed all the papers given to him in the single briefcase. Together, they rose from their seats. The young man clutched the briefcase close to his chest, taking a deep breath before looking up at the older man.

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered at last.

“I know,” Gilbert responded. “But you must.”

Karl nodded wordlessly, slowly turning on his heel to leave. “Mr. Beilschmidt...I do hope I will see you again,” he added on his way out.

It was only then that Gilbert smiled - a small, sad smile. “Don’t you dare worry about me, Karl. I will see you again. Maybe on the other side of all this.”

When Karl left, Gilbert exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He hanged his head, closing his eyes and trying to justify what was happening. 

A nation sending his own people away? Unheard of.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to the portrait on the adjacent wall of Frederick the Great. The old king’s eyes stared him down, and it made Gilbert sneer. “Don’t you judge me,” he snapped, collapsing into his chair again and leaning back. “This whole administration would be a lot more fun and exciting if I hadn't developed a conscience somewhere in those trenches.” Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair. “You’d do the same...I think.” There was doubt in his voice. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter anymore what you’d do.”

For several moments there was silence between Gilbert and his King, eye contact unwavering.

“--Mr. Beilschmidt.” His head snapped over to see Inge, his secretary. She was a young woman who had just graduated university. She was smart, quick on the typewriter, and her most important trait - she could keep his darkest secrets. She had in her hands a cup of coffee for him. She knew that Karl was coming - she had booked the meeting, after all.

“Inge. I could use a coffee. Thank you.” He beckoned her to enter the room.

She stepped in wordlessly, placing the cup down and leaning one hip against his desk, watching him. “You sure talk to that painting a lot. Does it ever talk back?”

He smiled at her cheekiness. “Hasn’t for a while, I’m afraid.”

She nodded. “Did the meeting go well?”

Gilbert sipped his coffee. “As well as can be. I've told a man he must leave the only home he’s ever known or face a firing squad, betrayed my own country and the core of what I am - and I’ve also handed over my entire fortune, so now I am destitute.” He sighed behind the coffee cup. “I spent centuries believing that the human life was cheap and replaceable, taking my people’s unwavering love and support for granted. And now I’m desperate to save every last one I can. I only wish it would mean something in the long run. It feels like far too little, far too late.”

“If human lives aren’t cheap and replaceable after all, then perhaps, for at least one of them, it was just enough at just the right time. Is that good for your conscience?”

Gilbert paused, considering her words. “For now it is.”

Inge straightened herself and smoothed out her skirt. “Good. Now, I have called your superiors and informed them that you will not be attending tonight’s banquet. I figured you would not want to attend.”

“I’d rather eat my own shit, good call.”

She walked towards the door, before pausing. “And, Mr. Beilschmidt...if I may ask - you gave Mr. Hopf your entire fortune, you said. Is there...any way you put some aside for my salary?”

Gilbert did not speak for a long while, thinking carefully. He then sighed, and moved to remove the watch on his wrist. He tossed it at her. She caught it wordlessly.

“It is Swiss. It should suffice you for the rest of the year.”

Inge just smiled brightly before leaving, shutting the door behind her. Gilbert sighed and turned to look out the nearby window, gazing at the city below him. It was bustling with life - but he felt none of it.

“I suppose I have a lot more work to do.”

[fuckingthefictional]

Cross my heart- Part 14

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OFC, John Shelby (platonic) x OFC

Warnings: sexual assault, mention of sexual assault, swearing, weapons, probably not proofread properly

A/N: Quite a heavy chapter folks, here are some helplines if you are in need of help and support if you have suffered from experiences like this one, which you can find here.

Please don’t feel like you have to read this if you are affected by these topics- your mental health is more important.

Previous//Next

Eliza didn’t leave her room for the next two days, fearing of the world outside of her bedroom. It was lucky that those two days had been over the weekend- as she knew she’d have to go back to work when the sun rose again.

She looked a mess, her eyes rimmed red and her hair a matted clump.

Eliza knew she was probably overreacting, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was being targeted again and again by some higher being.

And it wasn’t even that Eliza was feeling particularly betrayed after finding out that Tommy had read through her files and records.

She just felt as if he had pushed the boundaries (that much was clear)- although she was thankful for taking the man taking a file full of personal information away from a person like Grace.

But it still felt like someone had prised into something that was personal and that she had her control ripped away from her.

Eliza was angry, what and who at- she wasn’t too sure. Everything was becoming too much to handle, and this just happened to be the needle that broke the horses’ back.

It was a confusing time in her life.

She had feelings for Tommy, she’d been fighting with Tommy, She’d had too many mental breakdowns to count, Her leg was becoming weaker with each day and of course there was the whole Grace fiasco.

Eliza knew that Grace and this Irish copper held a bigger part of the picture, she had a burning feeling that the worst was yet to come.

She just needed to clear her mind, empty her head and let everything go for a few minutes.

Getting up and dressing in warm clothes was easy, as was sneaking out considering Harry was a deep sleeper.

Eliza just needed to get some air, stretch her legs and get out of her damn room.

It was only after she had wandered aimlessly for 20 minutes that Eliza realised that she had no plan on where she was going.

Reality kicked in minutes later, she was walking around Small Heath in the dark looking vulnerable and wearing nothing but a dress, heals and a thick coat.

She wasn’t carrying any weapons and was almost completely defenceless.

Shit.

She put her head on straight and started her journey to John’s, it was maybe 10 minutes away at least. And she knew she would be safe there.

“Oi sweet’eart!”

A gruff voice slurred across the street, him and his friends called and whistled at her.

Eliza just put her head down and began to walk faster.

“Where yer goin’ pretty gal?”

Her heart hammered out of her chest, she prayed for it to stop.

But they persisted on, the sound of shoes on cobbles came up from behind her as a harsh grip caught her wrist.

There were 3 men, each had a devilish look in their eyes.

Eliza attempted to pull away, she ripped her arm away from the man and spat at his feet- this only made them angrier as the pulled at her hair harshly dragging her into one of the many dirty alleyways.

The other two jeered and smacked at her hind as the young woman attempted to escape.

Eliza felt her body squirm in repulsion as she felt the alcoholic breath touch her ear lobe.

“We’re gonna ‘ave fun with you love.” He grunted, as he fiddled with his belt.

“Stop!” Eliza pushed against him, trying to get passed and carry on to John’s. To safety.

But instead she felt cold metal press up against her head.

“You ain’t in the position to make commands girl.”

Eliza was panicking more and more, her fear spiked as the rough hands groped at her torso and ripped her stockings.

Sloppy kisses were placed on her chest and collarbones as she cried out for help and struggled away from her attacker - only to be backed into a grimy brick wall and silenced with a large hand over her mouth.

The young woman cried, her whole body shook and she couldn’t do anything but wait until it was over.

But she didn’t have to, the sleazy man’s heavy body was ripped off of her body. Eliza felt her body drop onto the filthy floor as she curled into ball and sobbed.

She felt scared- she felt out of control, she felt in over her head.

She heard the 3 men struggle and cry out in pain as they begged for their lives to be spared.

Eliza wanted nothing more than to fade away from this moment.

“Liza?” The familiar brummie accent called out into the darkness.

It was Tommy.

He stretched a hand out, trying to comfort her. But Eliza just flinched away and cried in fear.

“Eliza I’m here to help,” Tommy softly explained, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Eliza’s eyes met his, they were blue and showed he was telling the truth.

Her body was trembling and could barely stand.

She sobbed, “they- they tried to-“ her voice broke and she couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too fresh in her mind.

“I know Eliza,” Tommy took a cautious step forward, trying to keep the woman comfortable with his presence, “I’m going to take care of you- you just need to trust me.” He spoke with apprehensiveness.

She fell forward into his embrace, her body quivering and her chest heaving with uneven breaths.

Eliza held on for dear life, afraid that this one familiar person would suddenly disappear and leave her alone in the dark.

All previous anger towards him had been erased, she was just so thankful for his presence and that he arrived just in time to step in.

Tommy lifted the girl up bridal style and began to walk her back to Watery lane, he needed to get her patched up and to some place she felt comfortable and safe.

In all honesty Tommy had never really looked after someone like this. Sure he had helped raised his younger siblings and occasionally patched up Arthur or John after a brawl, but nothing like this.

But still, he felt the need to care and heal for Eliza. To see her get better and recover- and he wanted to be apart of that. Support her and watch her return to her normal self.

He just wanted to be there for her.

//

“Thomas why the fuck is there a girl sleeping on my bloody sofa?”

Tommy looked up from the small stack of papers that were on the kitchen table in front of him, Polly was towering over him, her hands on her hips and her usual disapproving expression glowered at him.

“Don’t wake her up Pol,” he mumbled, his cigarette in between his lips as he continued to scan the pages in front of him.”

“I’m sorry did you tire the whore out last night?” She huffed, “what have I told you about bringing prostitutes into the house with Finn around?”

Tommy just looked up and blinked lazily, “I think you’ll find that the girl is not a prostitute but in fact John’s best mate and Harry’s younger sister.”

“So this is Eliza Fenton ‘ey?” Polly walked to the kettle on the kitchen counter, “Still doesn’t explain why she’s slept on the sofa.”

“She was nearly raped Pol,” he rubbed his face, almost not wanting to think about the events of last night, “I found ‘er held at fuckin gunpoint and cornered by three cunts, while she struggled to get away.”

Polly looked horrified to say the least, “Please tell me you pounded them into the bloody ground Tommy.”

“One of ‘em has no hands to touch a woman like that ever again.”

Usually Polly would have scolded her nephew for doing something like this, but in this case she felt that the men responsible for the young woman’s pain deserved it.

Especially since the young woman was this Eliza who was spoken highly of by John and Arthur.

“Does John know what happened last night?” She questioned, knowing either way that the outcome was not going to be good.

“No.” Tommy sighed again, “I haven’t, it’s not my place to tell.”

“Is that a heart beating inside your chest that I hear Tommy?” Polly spoke softly, she was all too familiar with what Tommy was starting to feel, “You’re falling for her aren’t you.”

Tommy glanced behind Polly to where Eliza’s sleeping figure lay on the sofa, despite the dry tear stains and knotted hair- he still felt his breath be taken away at the sheer beauty, “How could I not Pol?”

TAGLIST:

@annabethgranger123 @marvelschriss @peachy-aisha @eternallyvenus @captivatedbycillianmurphy

[solynaceawrites]

Promise Me Forever [4]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 3/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic​ Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

It turns out to be another sleepless night for Dante. At first, he simply cannot get comfortable; blaming it on the humidity caused by a storm rolling in, he opens the windows and strips himself nude, and kicks the covers to the foot of the bed. Then comes the restlessness he knows all too well, the kind that can usually be solved with a nice little round of masturbation. Yet the second his hand touches his cock, the image of Lir comes to mind, and he releases it with a curse. He might be an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole.

All of that serves to leave him irritable and more than a little wound up the next morning, and he spends a long time in the shower, trying to get himself under control. If he doesn't, he'll snap at her sooner or later, or worse, and she doesn't deserve that. Dante is careful not to drip too much water on the floors as he dries off, and then he dresses and heads down into the shop.

“—will be alright," he hears Lir say. Pausing, he leans over the railing, his brows going up at the sight of her sitting on the couch with a woman sobbing into a tissue. "Dante will be able to take care of it."

Her position lets him drink in her figure, the braid of her hair exposing the elegant sweep of her neck. He swallows thickly, listening to the conversation unfold. "Are you sure?" the woman sniffles.

"Yes. He's very good at this. I've seen it," Lir reassures her. "I know you must be feeling hopeless, but he can help you."

"Help with what?" he calls as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Lir stands and gestures him over. "You have a new client," she says, beaming with pride. 

Dante remembers the fuss she made over him killing the demons last night, and he clears his throat uncomfortably as he sits at his desk. "What's the situation?" he asks.

The woman sniffles as she describes what sounds like a very basic haunting: Demons have taken over her garage, nasty little devils that are eating the stray cats. "My poor babies," she sobs, blowing her nose. "I leave food out for all the neighborhood cats. I tried to keep them safe, but they've been devoured, one by one!"

"That must have been very upsetting," Lir says sympathetically.

She nods as Lir pats her shoulder. "Misty had a litter two days ago, and I know they'll be next. Please, you have to help me!"

Lir looks at him expectantly. It's obvious she wants him to say something comforting, but he frowns. "Why are you feeding all the vermin anyway?" he asks. "Stray cats are a nuisance."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows his mistake. Lir's eyes go wide as the woman leans forward and hisses viciously, "Listen, you, those are God's creatures you're talking about, and those evil, disgusting demons need to go straight back to hell where they belong!"

Dante holds up his hands to defend himself, but Lir quickly interrupts, "What Dante meant is that you should feed them elsewhere until he can take care of the demons for you. Didn't you, Dante?" she finishes, giving him a pointed look.

". . . Yeah." The woman deflates, her tears returning, and he feels a brief stab of irritation he tries to ignore. "It sounds easy enough. You and your . . ." Lir shakes her head subtly. "You and your friends should find a place to stay for a few days, until the job is done."

Watery eyes fix on his own. "You'll be careful, won't you? Those . . . those things have caused enough damage."

He does his best to hold in a sharp retort, though his voice is clipped when he replies, "I'll do what I can."

"Come on," Lir says gently, helping the woman to her feet. "Let me make you a cup of tea, and then we can work on getting your contact information, okay?"

She leads her away, Dante tracking the sway of her hips. It's only been two days since she arrived, bringing another mess for him to sort through, yet he's finding himself more and more adjusted to her presence, more at ease with having her around. And it helps that she's pretty to look at, even if that train of thought is likely to lead him to other, less polite ones. 

After Lir serves tea she produces a contract for her to sign, which the woman does as she rambles on about her cats. Dante tunes out Lir's polite questions after the felines to wonder how she had found them—hell, after Morrison had given him a stack of boilerplates years ago, he stuffed them in a drawer and forgot about them. Did she clean his desk too?

The woman leaves and Lir makes sure the door is firmly shut before bursting into giggles. "That was a strange one!" she remarks, walking over to his desk and handing him the contract. "Are all your cases so interesting?"

"Yeah. Hey, how did you do that?" he asks.

Lir blinks at him, her arm still extended, holding out the paper for him to take. "Do what?"

"That. With that client. She left . . ." Dante grasps for the word. "Happy?"

Her brows furrow, and he's filled with the sudden, ridiculous urge to kiss the indent between them to smooth it away. "Do your clients tend to leave unhappy?"

"Maybe. I dunno." He takes the contract from her and leans back in his chair to get a little more space before he does something she'll regret. "They certainly aren't saying thank you, or smiling."

"I . . . I was just nice to her. That's all." Lir tugs at the hem of her shirt, her fingers worrying the fabric. "I was taught how to be a good hostess, in case I ever needed to be, so I just . . . talked to her?"

"Talk to her," he muses, opening a drawer in the desk. "I'll have to try that some time.”

He looks down and frowns again, spying hanging file folders neatly labeled and lined in order. When did she have time to do all this?

"Are you hungry?" Lir asks. "I didn't get much done with the client here so early, but I did manage to bake some muffins and brew some fresh coffee."

"Come here," he says, pushing the drawer closed with his foot. She does as he's asked, stepping around the desk until she's next to him, and there's the same nervous energy from the other night, when he'd cornered her in the laundry room. Slowly, he stands, leaning down to study her face. "You sleep at all?"

"What? Yes, of course." She looks up at him, a faint rosy hue to her cheeks. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wonderin'. You got a lot done over the past few days."

Lir chuckles. "I've never been one to need a lot of sleep. Besides, I've been training my whole life to take care of a son of Sparda. And I . . . like it." The last part is almost a whisper, and she blushes and looks away. "You've been very kind to me, letting me stay here. It's the least I could do."

"Show me these muffins," he says, and Lir gives him another smile that leaves him a bit hot under the collar.

He is on his third when the phone rings back in the office. "I'll get it," Lir says, breezing out of the kitchen.

Her voice filters in with, "Devil May Cry, how can I help you?" as he looks over the remaining muffins, when Lir calls, "Dante! It's Lady!"

"Alright!" he calls back. Snagging a blueberry muffin and popping as much of it as he can into his mouth, he saunters back to his desk, swallowing as he grabs the receiver. "'Bout time you called."

"Yeah, yeah." Her voice is a bit crackly. "Almost thought I had the wrong shop for a minute. When'd you let her start answering calls?"

Dante glances over to Lir, who is carefully sweeping the rug by the door. "I don't let her do anything. She chooses to. I just don't stop her."

"Well, aren't you getting soft?" Lady laughs. Ignoring his sputtered protests, she continues, "I found her home. It's a town called Llyrlen, about three hours away from Fortuna by car. Pretty self-contained, too."

"Llyrlen, huh?"

"Yeah. Seems they take this god thing pretty seriously." She sighs. "But, from what I could gather, it's all true. Sparda and this Ler met and made a promise, and Lir, as the god's direct descendant and the only of her sisters eligible to marry, was sent to fulfill it."

He rubs his lips. "What happens if she doesn't?"

"From what I heard, exactly what she said. She'll be an outcast, stripped of everything and sent to work in the archives for the rest of her life. Kind of like a nun, only less pleasant."

"Okay." He glances at Lir, who watches him expectantly. Can he really let that happen? "Thanks for doing this. I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah. Don't let Lir leave, okay? I'm going to make a quick stop but I'll be there in a few days. Then I'll help her figure out what to do."

Dante feels a bit of a burn in his throat at the implication that he wouldn't bother doing the same. "Yeah. I won't. And, hey, listen, they didn't know you were there, right? Lir's family?"

"What do you take me for? I'm a professional."

With that the line goes dead, and he sighs as he hangs up the receiver. "What did she say?" Lir asks tightly.

Dante shrugs. "You were right. We're supposed to get married."

He waits for the accusatory response, but instead she looks at him, her eyes more hesitant than he'd like. "What do you want to do?" The question startles him; shouldn't he be asking her that? "Should I pack my things?"

"No! No, you're not goin' anywhere." He runs a hand through his hair, leaning heavily against his desk. "I don't think marriage is in the cards and, after you seein' what I'm really like, I'd be surprised if you still wanted to. But you can . . . Having you around is nice. If you want to stay, you can." 

Dante expects her to respond with her usual enthusiasm, but instead, she seems to deflate. "I can't impose on you like that."

"Sure you can," he says. "I don't mind."

Lir shakes her head. "It's not . . . you're the son of Sparda, and—"

"Would you lay off that son of Sparda stuff?" Dante snaps. 

"Well! It's the truth!" she fires back, taking him by surprise. "And I can't stay here if we're not married. It's not proper."

Her expression is furious, but Dante bursts into laughter. "Proper? Like marrying a stranger is proper?"

She folds her arms in a huff. "That's different."

"How?"

"Because it was . . . It was . . . It just is!"

"I'll pay you," he chuckles, trying not to focus on how cute she is when she's mad, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, trying not to wonder if she'd look like that after he kissed her. It's not the time, it's not the place, and he's got no right to think those things about her. "You stay here, work the phones, greet clients, and I'll pay you in room and board."

"Forty percent," she says.

"What!" he exclaims. "No way. That's robbery."

Lir shrugs. "Fine. Thirty."

"Ten."

"Twenty-five."

Dante growls. "Twenty and I'll take you to the aquarium and the zoo."

"Deal!" She sticks her hand out with a grin. "See how good I am at negotiating?"

"Damn near ruthless," he agrees, clasping her fingers between his own. Yet he finds it harder than he'd like to let go; blaming it on whatever it is that's making him so horny, he forces himself to drop her hand. "Well, looks like we've got the rest of the day to ourselves. Anything you want to do?"

Lir taps her chin. "I need to see what I can cook for dinner tonight, but, before that, I'd like to finish cleaning upstairs. If that's okay?"

"Be my guest."

She smiles at him. "Okay. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee. Oh! And you need to start getting ready for that job, right?"

"Right. Cat lady." Lir gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. Sooner I get that done the better." He walks around his desk and grabs the guitar case, slinging it over his back. "You'll be okay for a few hours?"

"Yup!" she says. Then Lir smiles shyly. "You'll be safe, won't you?

That makes him pause. When was the last time anyone had been worried for his safety? Usually everyone assumed he would be fine, and he always was, but something about having her ask makes him feel warm in a way he doesn't quite understand. "Don't worry that pretty head too much. I doubt I'll need more than the girls to handle this." Seeing her confusion, he amends, "The guns."

"Oh! I see. Well, then. Hm." Dante waits to hear whatever it is she's trying to say, but what he's not expecting is for her to brace her hands on his shoulders and lean up to press the briefest of kisses to his cheek. "For luck."

His skin burns with her kiss, and Dante quickly spins, giving a weak salute as he heads out the door. Suddenly filled with way, way too much energy, he decides to head to the job on foot, whistling to himself as he moves through the city.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante practically crawls back to the Devil May Cry, sighing with relief when he turns the knob of the front door. 

He winces, his fingers and hands covered in scratches that leave tracks all the way up his arms and over his chest. They don't hurt terribly bad, but the sheer amount of scrapes all combined cause him to ache every time he moves. The rest of him hadn't fared much better, his clothes splattered with now-dried blood, sweat and dirt making his cuts sting.

All he wants is a beer and a nap, maybe in that order. But the second he steps inside the shop and smells the cleaning products and fails to trip over some stuff on the floor, he remembers he's not alone anymore.

"Dante! You're back!" Lir calls excitedly over from the couch. He turns around and gingerly takes off his coat, hanging it on the door as her voice gets closer. "I was starting to worry. I didn't make anything but I can heat up—oh my goodness! You're hurt!"

Her hands are on his arms, pushing up his sleeves as she chews on her lip. "Nah, I'm fine," he says.

Lir gives him a sharp look, making him feel scolded. "What happened?" she demands.

"Those damn cats," Dante growls. "The demons were no problem, but the cats didn't like me much."

"Oh," she breathes. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think to . . . Of course they'd be aggressive towards you. Cats can sense demons, and one was attacking them. Sit here." She tugs him to the couch, and he allows her to guide him, sinking onto the cushions with a sigh. "I'll be right back. I think I saw a first aid kit in the bathroom."

Dante waits until she's gone to lean his head back, and it isn't long until he's dozing. The sensation of cool hands against his skin rouses him a bit. He cracks open his eyes to find Lir kneeling between his legs, her hair tucked behind her ears as she carefully dabs antiseptic over his scrapes, a bottle of beer sitting next to her on the floor. He lifts a hand to graze his fingers over her cheek, and her eyes flick to his face, a soft smile curling her lips.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he chuckles. "But I'm good."

Lir gives him a shy smile. Then she shifts to lean over him, brushing his hair back so she can swab his forehead. "These don't look too bad, you know. They'll be healed in a few days."

"Sooner than that," he murmurs.

Dante can feel his healing working already, but some part of him wishes it wouldn't, so she can still keep working on him. Lir searches his face before going back to checking his arms, and he uses the opportunity to just gaze at her.

It's not the first time he's studied her, but it is the first that he's been this close while doing it. Her brows and lashes are darker than her hair, an ashy gray, and they almost seem to glow with the pale amber of her eyes. There are no freckles or other markings on her creamy skin, though a faint scar tracks along her temple, and, with her straight nose and full lips, she's gorgeous. Dante brushes a few strands of hair from her face, his heart thudding uncomfortably when she leans into the touch after a second's hesitation.

When she looks up again, they are close, close enough that he can feel her breath fan on his lips. His own part and her eyes dart down, and Dante feels his heart thudding as her mouth curves up into a smile. "I think you're going to live," she murmurs.

"Lucky me," he replies.

Lir licks her lips. The gesture makes something inside him tighten, but then she eases away, leaning over to clean up her supplies. "I was thinking of doing a delivery order," she says, her back to him. "Now that I'm staying I can get more groceries in. There are also some items that I can use to make different oils and potions you can use."

"Potions?" murmurs Dante, his eyes sliding along her spine.

She peeks at him over her shoulder with a grin. "Yeah. Like for when you come back from fighting some stray cats covered in cuts and bruises?"

"As long as you're the one putting it on me." She stiffens for a moment before laughing quietly, and he decides that he likes the sound of it almost as much as he does the sound of her talking to him. "You know, I gotta ask. Pretty girl, good head on her shoulders, and her family sends her off to marry someone she's never met? How'd you wind up with this gig?"

Lir hums, latching the kit. "I have three older sisters. One of them is married, and the other two are betrothed. I was next in line. That's all."

"Three sisters?"

"Older sisters," she corrects. "There's a younger one, as well."

"That's a . . . lot." He chuckles, the sound cutting off when she stands.

Lir shrugs. "I guess they figured they needed enough daughters in case one of you showed up."

"And what if I didn't?" Dante puts his arms up on the back of the couch, the soreness already faded. "How did you even find me?"

"Fortuna," she answers. "Kind of hard not to notice you."

Dante huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. "Yeah, that was a fuck-up in every way. But suppose I hadn't been there. We wouldn't have ever met."

It isn't a question so much as a realization, and he ends up frowning as she nods in agreement. "I probably would have been married off. If my sisters and I did not marry the son of Sparda, then we would be tasked with creating the next generation of brides."

She offers him a smile before carrying the first aid kit away, her steps soft on the steps. Dante scratches his head, thinking on what she told him. Honestly, it was creepy as hell.

"The next generation of brides," he mumbles. "What the hell did you do, you old bastard?"

Not wanting to get anywhere close to that conversation topic again—at least, not now—he grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the television, flicking through until he finds Netflix. Patty had set it up for him and given him one of the slots on her account, but he's never really used it; but maybe there will be something Lir will like. Though why that matters, he doesn't know.

She comes back as he's scrolling through different horror movies, and he hears her gasp and looks up to find her covering her mouth with her hand. "What . . . What is that?"

"This? It's . . . Oh. Shit, I'm sorry." Cursing, he flicks back up to something far less gory. "It's called Netflix. All sorts of movies and shows to watch. Thought you might want to pick something for tonight, if you're up to it?"

Lir plops down on the couch next to him, one leg tucked under her, but he notes how she still sits very straight, as if it is practiced. "I don't know," she says very matter-of-factly, turning to look at him. "What kind of entertainment do you like?"

"Uh . . . I guess action? Or maybe a scary movie?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing scary, please. But action would be okay."

Dante nods and scrolls to the right screen. He chooses a movie about aliens invading, the world sending its best fighters to fight, the hero's girl trapped and needing rescuing. Lir had brought him back a plate with some reheated lasagna, which he tucks into as she relaxes just a bit, her eyes on the screen.

But his eyes drift to her again and again, gauging her reactions. At first he tells himself because he wants to see if it's too intense, or if she understood a joke, but eventually he realizes because he just likes watching her. It's almost like reliving it through her, and when she shouts at a lame jumpscare he chuckles. Lir leans in towards him a bit, her eyes glued to the screen, and Dante decides to experiment, pretending to yawn as he reaches his arm up and around her back.

She looks at him, a mixture of concern and confusion playing across her features. "Am I crowding you?" she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'll move."

"No, no, I thought . . ." He yanks his arm back and places it next to him. "Nevermind."

Lir gives him a curious look before turning back to the television. Dante clears his throat, shifting a bit, but now way too distracted by his crash and burn.

It occurs to him briefly that Lir might not know he is trying to flirt a bit, so he decides to take a more direct approach. "Hey, Lir," he murmurs, tilting his head towards her. "Did you know—"

"Sh," she hisses, her eyes glued to the screen.

He sinks back into his seat, steadfastly keeping his own gaze focused on the movie. This no longer seems like a good idea; between her semi-ignorance of the things outside of her home and his inner turmoil growing the longer she's around, being on this couch with her is probably the worst way to be, and it's all made worse by the dull, insistent ache in his groin. Not that it's her fault. Well, maybe it is. Lir readjusts next to him, and her thigh feels like a brand when it brushes his own. 

What he needs is a magazine, a bit of lotion, and a bit of time to himself.

"This is really fun!" Lir exclaims, flashing him a grin.

"Yeah," Dante sighs, stretching his legs out and propping them up on the table. "It's swell."

[frangipanidownunder]

Skin Trade: Chapter 3

A/N This is a casefile written for an anon who requested a fic about how Mulder and Scully would deal with being paired with other people for an undercover case. 

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xfficchallenges for the Fic is Medicine prompt 1.

Rating: mature, a teensy little NSFW, some violence, medical gore.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Room 29 St Marks Plaza Motel Thursday 5 April 2000 2am

He wakes in the early hours, startled, sweating. Scully’s voice, terrified, coming at him. His immediate instinct is to call her, check she’s okay. Instead, he takes a shower, washing away his anxiety with the motel lemon-scented soap. Under the hot jets he lets himself imagine Scully there with him. Hard instantly at the thought of her body pressed to his, at the very presence of her, he braces one hand on the wet tiles, rubs his shaft with precise, urgent movements and lets the dopamine relief take him away for a few minutes.

Drop By Youth Centre, St Marks: Thursday 5 April 2000 4pm

There are two girls, sisters, who sit quietly in the corner of the lounge. Their bags are full of well-thumbed books, texts and novels, and they seem to find peace away from the noisier rooms, away from the other kids. Quist pulls a book out of his backpack, gives it to the older girl. Mulder catches the ring on his thumb, a garish chunky gold thing bearing a square-set turquoise stone. He also sees the shiny skin on his hands, puckered from some kind of skin disease or burns maybe. The girl doesn’t quite smile but she nods a thank you and Quist continues to vacuum.

              Mulders sits on a low seat opposite and checks the title of the book. It’s a novel called ‘Second Sight’. On its cover is a woman’s face, beautiful gold-brushed skin and amber glowing eyes without pupils, hair coiling in bronze waves.

              “What’s it about?” he asks.

              The younger girl looks down, playing with a friendship bracelet on her wrist. She looks to her sister who also wears several of the decorative straps. “A teenage girl who has powers she doesn’t yet understand. She’s blind but she lets the sounds of the world guide her.”

              There’s a moment when she’s about to speak, to let the narrative flow, but she pauses, narrows her eyes, regarding him with curiosity. He can see the battle in her mind. Should she ignore this freak or is he worthy enough for her to give him her time? She lets a small smile play on her lips.

              “She’s shunned for being different, outcast. But she’s strong. She stronger than all the able-bodied people in her world.” She plays with a slip of paper inside. It’s too thin for a bookmark and there’s brightly coloured swirly writing on the front, but his eye is caught by the square set turquoise stone logo at the top.  

               “What’s that?” He asks. She shows him the flyer. Make your own candles and soaps. There’s no address, just a cryptic ‘Follow the river’ in elaborate cursive at the bottom. “Who’s Medea?”

              “A witch,” the younger one says.

The older one shushes her. “She’s like a white witch. Nobody knows what she looks like because she wears a mask and a cape but she makes spells and healing lotions as well as the soap and stuff.” There’s something in her eyes that tells him she’s intrigued by this woman. “We heard she’s got all the old women round here going to her for her treatments to make them look young again.”

              He nods. “Maybe she’s just a woman who’s discovered that old age is a con.”

              That elicits a small laugh from the older girl. “Is it?”

              “Some days,” he says, “and some days it’s good to have the life experience.” He feels like he’s talking to a young Scully, the way the girl’s eyebrow quirks up and her chin juts out. She’s smart, he thinks. He hopes she has a future. A scientist, a writer, a strong woman. “Are you going to go?”

              The girl reads the flyer again. “Maybe. We don’t need healing, but we could sell the candles and the soap. Buy more books.” There’s a flicker of hope in her expression. Like she’s seen an out, an escape from whatever it is that’s keeping her and her sister in this place.

              “The cleaner gave you that book. Do you know him well?” He sees the way her expressions switches from open to closed off, a classic Scully if ever there was one. Say one word out of place and you’ll get no further. He leaves it. He’s already reported Quist to Dash. “Selling the candles sounds like a good business idea. Very entrepreneurial.”

              She waits a beat before answering. “Will you be our first customer?” She smirks, pleased with her own boldness and he sees more of Scully. Her hidden sense of humour that comes out when you least expect it and hits you right in the heart. Fuck, he misses her. He wants so desperately to call her, to watch her sip from a coffee cup, to see her tuck her hair behind her ears. He wants to feel her warm body against his.

              “Do I look like a candle kind of guy?” he asks, smiling broadly.

              “Maybe you can buy one for your wife,” the older one says.

“I’m…I’m not…”

She blushes, then gets up to leave, taking her sister by the hand.

              Faith walks in. “Joe, can I have a word?”

              He holds up his hand and nods. “You girls go straight home, now.”

              “In case The Peeler gets us?” There’s a kind of fascination in the older girl’s tone.

              “Do you know about him?” Mulder asks.

              “He takes body parts to make monsters,” the younger one says. “Like Frankenstein.”

              “Frankenstein’s monster,” the older one says and it makes him smile. She’s going to be all right, he thinks. She’s got something in her, something strong.

              “Joe,” Faith cuts in. “I need that word now.”

The girls leave and he turns to the Faith. With her arms crossed, she’s wearing an expression that tells him she’s merely tolerating his presence. He follows her to the office. “There’s a message for you to call someone.” As they walk, she looks up at him, mouth smiling but eyes not. “Talking to the youth like that isn’t really how we expected you to operate. This office has been put aside for your use. I’d like to be present when you meet with our young people. I thought I’d made that clear.” She fingers a pendant, a shiny blue-green oval hanging off a chunky silver chain. It dazzles in the certain lights and reminds him of the colours of Scully’s eyes.

              He nods and picks up the clunky white handset. It’s Dash. It’s the first time he’s heard his voice and it’s thin and vapid. He rattles off information just like his name, as though he’s got somewhere else to be, and he’s already late.

“What kind of equipment?” Mulder asks.

              “Scalpels, antiseptics. It must be this Quist character. You said he has a backpack when he cleans at the centre. His employer also has the contract for the medical clinic. He’s probably been taking the supplies for months.”

              “Nobody enjoys a stocktake,” Mulder says drily but Dash remains silent. Faith folds her arms around her, fake smile still plastered to her face. Dash hangs up and Mulder collects his jacket from the back of the chair. “Those girls I was just talking to, do you know where they live?”

He knows the centre is not a government agency so there’s no requirement for records to be held. It’s the first time he’s seen Faith without a smile. Her shoulders stiffen, her chin tilts up a little. It’s an improvement, he thinks. Maybe there’s a bit of fire inside her belly after all. Something that makes her tick.

“Why do you need that information, Agent Mulder?”

              “They may be in danger. The FBI has provided you with some of the details of this case. Somebody is sourcing the victims…”

              “Not from here,” she says. Her bracelets slip down her wrists as she clenches her fingers. “Our children are safe here. We promise them confidentiality and security. Our staff is vetted.”

              “The cleaner gave them a book. Does he make a habit of buying gifts for children?”

              Her eyes narrow slightly. A sprig of hair spins out from her scarf. She stuffs it back with irritated fingers. “Eli sees the potential in our young people. I see no reason to take issue with his generosity of spirit.”

              “There will be no potential if those girls are going to wind up in a morgue,” he says.

She sighs. “Sofia and Camila live downtown. There are no parents. They’re in foster care. If you…”

“We won’t interfere in their living arrangements. We’re here to investigate a serious case. I need to know where they live.”

She’s as slow as Dash is quick, taking an eternity to locate a file. Her office is bright and busy. Papers, books, magazines, old coffee cups on the surfaces. Cacti and succulents along the window sill. There are small glass jars filled with seeds and pods, dried herbs. Inspirational quotes on the walls. The bookshelf is stacked, with paperbacks piled this way and that, plus hard back reference books.

“Do you know much about this Medea woman? There was a flyer in the book. The girls were going to a candle-making workshop. They told me she’s a white witch.”

As she’s leafing through the filing cabinet, he pulls out a title, a giant tome of Greek mythology. There’s a silver ribbon through the pages and he opens it at the story of Jason and the Argonauts. Faith is back to smiling. “You look sceptical, Agent Mulder.”

              He puts the book back. “I want to believe.”

To be continued...

[cheshiresense]

What if: the Gotei 13 offers Ichigo the creation and captaincy of the Fourteenth Division?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Pinglist: @queen-sands

It takes Kisuke a full seventy-two hours to finish plastering all of District 78 with seals powerful enough to knock a herd of evil rampaging elephants off their feet but that’s just the first layer. He doesn’t have that much reiatsu to expend continuously though, which means he needs a break.

Ichigo of course is still working. The gods forbid he retains the stamina of even just your average Shinigami captain.

He ends up collapsing into one of the camping chairs Ichigo must’ve brought while Kisuke was busy elsewhere. They’re set up at the edge of what will one day be their headquarters, and there’s water and some snacks waiting for him as well, which he dives into gratefully. The spot also gives Kisuke a nice view of Ichigo carting charred debris and rubble to a few separate dumpsters stationed in front of an open Garganta. A few well-aimed Getsuga Tenshous from earlier reduced the remaining buildings to heaps of splintered wood and stone, which helps fit them into each metal container more easily.

Kisuke spares a moment to admire the amount of control Ichigo’s gained in only a few short years once he put his mind to it. The Garganta holds steady even when Ichigo Shunpos from one side of the area to the other, and even three days in, he easily lifts a piece of cement wall like it weighs nothing. He’s shrugged out of the top half of his Shihakushou, letting it pool around his waist, and while he’s sweating and his muscles flex every time he gathers up a new load, there’s not a speck of strain anywhere in the fluidity of his movements.

He’s staring, Kisuke realizes ruefully, and gives himself a mental slap while reciting a mantra he put together a good few years ago - young, former student, screwed over his soul, used him as a weapon, young.

Rinse and repeat until it sticks.

He sighs and tosses his hat onto the foldable table beside him before leaning back and putting up his feet. There’s a stack of files on the table so he picks those up to distract himself. The paperwork is familiar, giving him flashbacks to those captain days he certainly doesn’t miss, and it makes him smirk-- he wonders if Kyouraku would take his bet for how long it will take Ichigo to set his paperwork on fire.

There’s a pen and a slip of paper with Ichigo’s rushed scrawl tucked in the first folder, on which he’s already marked down the end figures for everything he’s had to pay for so far. Thankfully not much yet, but it’s good that he’s keeping track. Kisuke remembers the first time Yoruichi dumped the Second Division’s entire monthly budget on him and he made the mistake of putting it off for later - that was a mess and a half to untangle, and it got him in trouble with Yoruichi, the Ninth, and the Soutaichou-- never mind that it wasn’t even supposed to be his job to begin with. But it taught him the importance of keeping accounts and being mindful of any outgoing expenses, especially when it became clear Yoruichi wasn’t going to stop foisting the management of their finances off on him, so he’s glad to see Ichigo hasn’t neglected it so far even if it might not seem particularly essential just yet.

...Then again, Ichigo did more or less raise his sisters since their mother passed. Quite possibly, he learned the importance of savings and proper budgeting a long time ago.

Kisuke shuffles that file to the bottom. He lingers briefly on the outline of the partially drawn Fourteenth Division insignia before moving past that too. He spends just enough time on the folder of blank profiles to fill one out for himself and another for Ichigo, mostly basic information that the Gotei already has and a bit more that they don’t but never more than the bare minimum. He makes a note to advise Ichigo to ensure the same for the rest of their squad.

There’s a couple more blank pages, and after a moment, Kisuke takes one and begins sketching out a rough idea of some building plans for their headquarters. Administrative building, captain’s office at the top, lieutenant’s right across, senior seated complement’s scattered a floor below. Private quarters for each. A few communal areas, more offices on the ground floor, front desk off to the side, never directly in view of everyone and their dog coming in through the front doors but with a perfect line of sight for anyone manning the desk to carry out a surprise attack should someone uninvited attempt to sneak in.

Barracks, big enough to accommodate a full-sized squad even though Kisuke is fairly certain they won’t have anywhere near that many people anytime soon. Training grounds, more than one. After a moment of deliberation, Kisuke leaves the farthest right area - past where the future barracks would be - blank. He thinks Ichigo might’ve already had the same idea so he should leave some space for it.

There’s forest area all along the back. Kisuke marks that down for where he wants his promised labs to be. A Senkaimon connecting them to his office will have to be anchored in place, perhaps in a separate (hidden) room on the top floor of the admin building. It’s technically illegal but it isn’t as if Ichigo will care.

That’s more or less all the basic requirements for a Division’s headquarters. Even the labs aren’t strictly necessary but Ichigo was right-- Kisuke might actually go into withdrawal or at least blow something up if he’s no longer allowed his own projects to play with.

But other more personal touches can be added at a later time. Maybe separate apartments-- Ichigo will probably want his own place outside of the barracks or the office’s adjoining bedroom, and Kisuke will too. And tunnels of course. Underground safe rooms. Underground workspace and training grounds. Underground everything, in case of a siege and the enemy actually manages to breach the walls. Speaking from experience, Kisuke does not think he is overreacting. It isn’t paranoia when your very existence is about to make some very powerful people very angry and very scared. Besides, Second Division headquarters is similarly outfitted and they’ve never been accused of treason or threatened with execution.

He sets the blueprints aside for now. They’re only a first draft, and Ichigo will want to add his own input.

He glances up again at the sound of approaching footsteps, then reaches down to retrieve one of the bottles of water and tosses it to Ichigo. “Are you finally taking a break?”

“Not all of us have ancient bones to rest,” Ichigo retorts around a grin before guzzling down half the bottle and then dumping the rest over his head. Kisuke very firmly keeps his eyes on Ichigo’s face and no lower, which isn’t exactly a hardship but… well, there’s a lot of bare skin on display.

“You’re finished with the seals?” Ichigo asks, looking around, eyes going half-mast and distant in a way that means he’s feeling for the wards.

“Only the first layer,” Kisuke sighs, levering his legs off the footrest and back onto flat ground. “I’ll need more time to build up all the defenses to an acceptable level, and that isn’t even getting into the seals that can’t be tied in until at least the walls of our compound have been built.”

“...They’re really strong already,” Ichigo murmurs after a moment, blinking back into the present. The look he aims at Kisuke next is full of a genuine sort of admiration that makes Kisuke want to preen and blush and bask in it all at the same time. “You’re kind of amazing, Kisuke.”

Kisuke clears his throat and busies himself with stacking the files onto the table again. “My Kidou skills should hardly come as a surprise to you anymore, Ichigo, or did you forget how I won our last… oh, twenty spars?”

“Shut up,” Ichigo huffs, moving to flop into the other chair. “Hadou and Bakudou are different than this stuff. I don’t see it as much. I don’t think most people even know how to do it.”

Kisuke allows himself a moment of smug pride. “Well, you’ll be seeing plenty of it from now on. But I do need some rest before I get started on the next layer.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ichigo agrees more seriously this time and waves a dismissive hand. “We’re not in that much of a rush. If anybody does come to try and stop us this early on, it’s not like they’ll be able to get the drop on either of us.”

True enough. It’s when Ichigo begins bringing in other people - possibly civilians - that they’ll have to worry. But for now…

“Then,” Kisuke continues, catching Ichigo’s eye even as he reaches for his discarded hat. “If you don’t need me for anything else right this moment, I have some business to wrap up elsewhere. I should be back by the end of the day at the latest.”

Ichigo looks curious but he doesn’t ask, shrugging instead and digging into the bag of snacks he brought. “Sure. I did drag you out here pretty suddenly.” His expression slants into something more concerned. “Just make sure you actually catch a nap or something too, okay? If you collapse on me, I’m gonna hold it over your head forever.”

Kisuke smirks even as he puts his hat back on and stands. “With the number of times you’ve fainted into my arms after a fight-”

“I did not faint!”

“-I don’t believe I’ll have anything to worry about.”

He catches the empty bottle Ichigo hurls at him and throws it back, still smirking. “A Garganta to my shop, if you please, Ichigo.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes but snaps a portal open for him all the same. “Get outta here. Don’t start the end of the world or something while you’re gone.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Kisuke says dryly before stepping through, the mouth of it closing behind him. He has more than enough reiatsu still to forge a simple path under his feet, and the single tunnel of invisible turbulence guides him through the darkness. It only takes a few minutes of travel before the tunnel ends and the Garganta opens again to reveal the foyer of his shop.

Ichigo really has gotten very proficient with this kind of transportation.

The place is empty, not that Kisuke expected anything else. Tessai should still be visiting with some old friends, and Yoruichi hasn’t come by in months. The kids… Actually, Kisuke should probably stop calling them that. They finally grew enough to demand to go to college a few years back when Karin and Yuzu graduated high school, despite the fact that Kisuke could’ve easily downloaded information on pretty much any subject they would’ve wanted to know about into their internal databases. But they insisted, and last Kisuke heard, they were doing well in Todai.

He makes his way to the kitchen, picking up the portable phone on the way before putting the kettle on. He sets the phone on the counter, turns on the speakerphone, and starts rummaging for the tea as he waits for the call to connect.

“Kisuke?”

“Yoruichi-san,” Kisuke greets airily. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

He automatically tunes out the next three and a half minutes of Yoruichi recounting her latest exploits with Sui-Feng. It’s probably terribly petty of him but Kisuke’s never been particularly interested in the zealous mess that was Sui-Feng catering to Yoruichi’s whims, no matter how funny Yoruichi thinks it is.

“It’s good to hear the Second Division is doing so well,” Kisuke interjects after he tunes back in in time to listen to Yoruichi tell him about the new group of Academy graduates they just took in. “Will you be taking over their training or will Sui-Feng-san be making them regret ever stepping foot in the compound?”

Yoruichi cackles over the line. “You say that like I won’t make them regret that. But yes, Sui-Feng asked if I could train them, get’em up to snuff. I’ll even go easy on them the first week.”

“How fortunate for them,” Kisuke says drolly because he knows better than most how difficult a taskmaster Yoruichi is when she’s serious.

Yoruichi chortles again, and Kisuke’s hands hover briefly over the tea set he just took down.

It’s been a long time since he last heard his best friend laugh so freely.

“Well then?” Yoruichi prompts, her mirth fading a little. “That’s all the news on my side. Did you call just for an update or did you need something?”

Has something happened goes unspoken but not unheard.

Once, he could’ve called just to call.

“Nothing urgent,” He replies. “But I was wondering if you could make some time to come visit little old me today. Tessai-san too, if you know where he is. Otherwise, I’ll call him after this.”

There’s a beat of silence on Yoruichi’s end before her voice comes back on, casual in a way that only Kisuke and Tessai would be able to tell it isn’t entirely genuine. “Of course. I know where he is. I’ll swing by and pick him up. Twenty minutes?”

“See you then,” Kisuke agrees. “My regards to Sui-Feng-san.”

For once, Yoruichi only scoffs, amusement twined with an exasperated sort of skepticism because she’s never been any kind of oblivious in her life. But all she says is, “Right. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you.”

Kisuke hums noncommittally in the face of that bald-faced lie, says goodbye, and hangs up. He carries the tea tray over to the dining table and keeps each cup and the pot piping hot with a touch of his finger.

Then he waits.

“So what’s this about?” Yoruichi asks briskly, cutting to the chase after only a perfunctory sip of Kisuke’s tea. Tessai says nothing but he too looks at Kisuke expectantly, with only a slightly worried frown creasing his brow.

“Nothing overly important,” He repeats. He absently swirls the tea in his cup, catching a faint glimpse of his reflection in the pale green liquid. “I assume you’ve heard of Ichigo’s promotion?”

“I dunno if you’d call it a promotion,” Yoruichi snorts, looking amused. “But Kyouraku slapping the kid with a captaincy and his own division? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing half the Gotei has been talking about recently. Or at least they’ve heard the rumours.”

Tessai nods in agreement. “The Kidou Corps even received instructions to begin setting up the standard privacy and protection seals around the empty compound that has been assigned to the Fourteenth, but Kyouraku-soutaichou rescinded that order a few days ago. The Kidou Corps has been told to wait.”

Kisuke has to hide a smile behind his cup at that, but also a surge of possessive annoyance at the thought of anyone messing with the seals he’s already started constructing. Ichigo will have some explaining to do, but the Kidou Corps won’t be necessary this time. He wouldn’t mind if Tessai offered to help but there’s no way Kisuke is letting a bunch of nameless Shinigami lay a finger on his future headquarters’ defenses.

“There’s no set date for the induction ceremony yet,” Yoruichi adds. “But the haori’s all but got Ichigo’s name stamped on it.”

“Yes, and that’s what I wanted to discuss.” He pauses, then looks up, first at Yoruichi, then at Tessai, feeling strangely calm and centered in this one moment, with a thread of pride drumming steadily underneath. “Or not discuss. I’ve already made my decision.

“I’m planning on closing the shop,” He announces without fanfare as he reaches for the teapot, heedless of the way Yoruichi’s eyes widen and Tessai stiffens. “Ichigo has asked me to be his lieutenant, and I’ve accepted. I won’t have time to do that and spend my days in this shop waiting for the next Shinigami in need of my particular brand of expertise to show up on my doorstep, and if I won’t be living here anymore, it isn’t wise to let this place sit and gather dust. I’ll inform Kyouraku-soutaichou of course, but I thought I would tell you two first. I know some of your belongings are still in your rooms here, and Jinta and Ururu’s things will have to be boxed up and either placed in storage somewhere or shipped out to their apartment, but you’ll have the next week or so to move it all out before I begin dismantling the place.”

In the ensuing silence, the kitchen clock seems to tick especially loud. Kisuke savours his third cup of tea slowly.

Hmm. Does Inuzuri have a tea shop? Probably not. Well, there will be if Kisuke has anything to say about it.

“You’re… going to be the Fourteenth Division’s new vice-captain,” Yoruichi finally says.

“Yes,” Kisuke smiles winningly in her direction. “Ichigo came straight to me after meeting with the Soutaichou. Apparently, I was his first choice. How could I refuse?”

If there’s supposed to be a sting in his words, he thinks he hides it well.

Yoruichi’s eyes still narrow, cat-like and calculating. “You used to be a captain, Kisuke. Isn’t lieutenant a step down?”

“Well, I was also a fugitive,” Kisuke reminds her sardonically. “And that was probably at least ten steps down, but I managed, so I’m sure I’ll settle perfectly well into a lieutenant position.”

“That’s still not-”

“I never wanted it,” Kisuke cuts her off, and he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s done that over the course of their lives and still have fingers left over. But he meets her gaze steadily, and he doesn’t blink, and the truth of those words ring between them for the very first time since Yoruichi signed him up for the captaincy trials, harsh and heavy and loud even though Kisuke never even raised his voice.

Tessai sits stone-still off to the side, his hands motionless around his own empty teacup. Yoruichi hisses out an irritated breath, sounding more cat than woman, but for once, there’s a frozen indecision in her expression that suggests she doesn’t know what to say.

“I prefer being a lieutenant,” Kisuke says eventually when the silence stretches too long. He lets his voice lighten to chase away the tension from before. He didn’t actually mean for the conversation to dig into issues best left in the past. “I’m more suited for it. And someone has to keep Ichigo out of trouble, right?”

A pause, and then Yoruichi makes a disbelieving noise at the back of her throat. “You’re as bad as he is, and he’s as bad as you. If anything, you two will be neck-deep in trouble together within the month!”

Well she’s not wrong. It’s probably not even going to take a month for Central 46 to catch wind of what they’re doing.

Kisuke shrugs. “Most likely, but at least it’s been historically proven that we’ll be able to get each other out of trouble as well, so we’ll be fine.”

Yoruichi rolls her eyes, and Tessai’s shoulders finally lose their rigidity again.

“We’ll have to get rid of everything in the back if we’re closing the shop,” Tessai says instead of adding his own opinion to Kisuke’s decision. “Should I donate it or…?”

“Have a sale,” Kisuke suggests. “I can keep the shop open for up to two weeks.  Spread the word that everything will be fifty percent off. Donate the rest if there’s anything left at the end.”

Tessai nods, clearly already making plans for that in his head.

“Do you have a place to move into though?” Yoruichi asks, pouring herself some more tea. “Since Kisuke’s kicking us out.”

She gives Kisuke a sharp grin, all teeth, but the accusation lacked bite so Kisuke doesn’t let it bother him. Besides-

“They gave me my old set of apartments back,” Tessai admits, and the look he sends Kisuke is almost apologetic. “And the current Kidou Corps Commander, he was my former Third, and he’s been asking if I want my old position back. I’ve refused so far. It’s his now, and he’s good at it. But… I’ve been helping them with training and some of their missions. I wouldn’t mind returning to that, and Hachigen-san has been doing the same.”

Kisuke nods. Yoruichi looks between them before jabbing a finger at him. “You already knew. Of course you did.” She frowns. “I didn’t know. I’m losing my touch.” She scowls at him. “I guess you also know I’ve resumed Clan Head duties then?”

Kisuke arches an eyebrow. Yoruichi rolls her eyes again. “Right. Fine.” She sighs. “I’ll move my stuff out in the next few days. I suppose we’re all going back then.”

There’s a moment where they all just look at each other, a hundred years and change playing through their minds.

“We’re the stupidest fuckers in the world,” Yoruichi mutters with uncharacteristic vulgarity even for her, downing the rest of her tea in one gulp. “And if we get exiled again, I’m gonna kick my own ass for actually being this fucking dumb.”

“At least with Kurosaki-dono around and Kyouraku-soutaichou in charge,” Tessai says with a faint note of amused resignation. “Something like that would not be as likely.”

Yoruichi scoffs but doesn’t refute it. Tessai clambers to his feet, nodding to Kisuke. “I’ll get started on that inventory then, Boss.”

Silence resumes in the kitchen with Tessai’s departure. Kisuke offers Yoruichi the last of the tea, and when she shakes her head, he pours the rest for himself.

He still needs to make a trip to the bank. Then he should come and pack up a few pillows and blankets, maybe find a tent-- the shop probably has one. He has a feeling Ichigo will be working through the night, and it feels wrong to come back here to sleep while Ichigo’s still out there.

“Just tell me one thing,” Yoruichi says abruptly. Kisuke glances at her and finds her watching him with unblinking feline eyes. “You didn’t accept the post because you feel you owe the kid, did you?”

Kisuke… well, he thinks back to that conversation not even four days ago, to the honesty Ichigo offered him, to the expectation that Kisuke wouldn’t let him down, to you’re my first choice.

To the trust inherent in all those things.

Debts are fickle. Once paid off, there’s no guarantee of further loyalty.

But Ichigo trusts him enough to name Kisuke his Second, to want no one else for the position, to offer him equal standing in a plan that might just revolutionize Soul Society-- how can Kisuke give him anything less?

“No I didn’t,” He tells Yoruichi, and it’s a truth he’s glad to feel down to his very bones.

Yoruichi stares for a few seconds longer, and then her features soften into something warm and knowing, and kinder than Kisuke’s seen aimed at him in a good long while.

“Alright then.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, Kisuke,” Yoruichi stretches, limbs going loose and lazy as she cracks a fanged yawn. “Alright.”

Later, Tessai puts it into words, straightforward and to-the-point the way Yoruichi wasn’t.

“Is this what you want, Boss?”

“...Yes.”

“Alright then.”

[Part 5]

[thetoxicstrawberry]

Summary: An alternate universe in which Madara survives the war and spends his days flirting with irritating the Hokage.

The Price of Atonement

Ch. 1: Limbo

Ch. 2: The Losing End

Ch. 3: Minor Adjustments

Ch: 4: A Whole New Low

With the click of the door, Kakashi leaped up, which sent his desk chair skidding backwards and into the wall. He squinted blurry eyes to see Shizune’s form slip in, Ton-ton in one arm and a pile of manila folders in the other.

“I was only resting my eyes,” he blurted.

“Hokage-sama,” Shizune said, her back straight.

“Kakashi.” He corrected.

“Kakashi-sama, I’ve brought the files you requested.”

He sighed as he took the stack from her outstretched hand, before he realigned his seat and sat back down. “Thank you. I wanted to look them over again before the meeting.”

He flipped the cover open on the top file and absently thumbed through the first few sheets.

“Tsunade-sama was the same way,” Shizune said.

“Hm?”

“Not sleeping. Worrying about things out of her control.”

“Am I that obvious?” he asked.

“There’s drool on your mask,” Shizune said and then swiftly added, “sir.”

“Oh,” he mumbled as he ran a gloved hand across his mouth to find there was indeed a wet spot.  He didn’t even remember dozing off.

He knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. Worse than normal, which was erratic at best. Over the years he’d become accustomed to exhaustion. Staying up for days and only giving in when his body finally collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.

That much hadn’t really changed. He only had a better excuse now that he was Hokage.

“Are the preparations complete?”

“Yes, sir. The main conference room is prepped and our guests should be arriving within the hour.”

“Good,” Kakashi said as he leaned forward in his seat. “We need this go as smooth as possible. What happens today could change everything.”

Skepticism flashed across Shizune’s face, before she quickly schooled her expression again.

Kakashi didn’t fault her for that. He too had reservations, but couldn’t decide if it was the proposal in general that left him on edge, or simply the idea of change. He should be used to it by now, with the way everything had shifted after the war. New alliances brought new committees. Whole buildings had been erected to house departments for international exchange. Old departments, already staffed thin, were stretched even leaner, both from the opening of new positions and the vacancy left from those who didn’t return from the war.

“I’ve also assigned extra ANBU guards to attend to the entrances,” she added.

He lifted one of the sheets and examined it with narrowed eyes. “I don’t recall requesting that,” he glanced at her for a moment, before he looked back to the paper. “I’m not even sure what this is. Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t understand any of it,” she said, without glancing at the diagram. “And the ANBU is to ensure that Madara doesn’t interrupt with his histrionics. We don’t need him storming in here like he normally does.”  

“I’m too old for this, Shizune.” He slumped in his chair and returned the sheet to the top of the stack. “You don’t need to worry about Madara. I’ve already taken care of it. He should be here shortly to receive his assignment.”

Another incredulous look, and Kakashi laughed, low and a little raspy from exhaustion. “Don’t worry. I’ve assigned him babysitters to make sure he doesn’t interfere today. They’ve been instructed to physically restrain him if necessary.”

“It still wouldn’t be a bad idea to leave the extra guards.”

“You give him too much credit.”

“And you need to set better boundaries,” Shizune chided and quickly added, “I apologize, sir. That was out of line.”

Kakashi opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

“Sorry to bother you, Hokage-same,” Yurito said as he walked through the door. “I just need your…”

“Move out of my way,” Madara snapped as he bumped into Yurito and knocked a stack of papers out of his hands and onto the floor.  “The idiot requested my presence.”

“I'll go triple check everything,” Shizune said, not disguising the roll of her eyes as she turned and walked out. Madara didn’t so much as glance at her as she glided past him.

“I’ll come back later,” Yurito shut the door behind him.

Madara stopped directly in front of the desk and peered down at Kakashi with amused eyes. “Well, you look like shit.”

“Thanks. Physical appearance has always been a priority of mine.”

“I hear your sarcasm and acknowledge that we are both under the assumption that your face is hideous under that mask.”

Kakashi stared at him blankly. He wasn’t in the mood for this, but didn’t want to spoil whatever good mood Madara seemed to be having.

“I have a new assignment for you.”

“Is that so?” Madara said as he leaned over and placed both hands on the Hokage desk. “Another one of your pitiful attempts to humiliate me?”

Kakashi noted how worn his gloves looked, the leather cracked and smudged with dirt. He wondered if he ever took them off, even while sleeping. He should probably wipe the area down after Madara left. Just to be safe.

“Sadly, no. This is more for your benefit than mine,” Kakashi turned and slid open the top left drawer. “You’ll go to this address. I’ve even written directions to help get you there.”

In the time it took Kakashi to open his desk drawer and retrieve the information, Madara snatched up the top paper from the folder he had accidentally left open.

“What is this?” He cooed, as he brought the page up to his eyes.

Kakashi’s face remained neutral as he calmly replied, “Ah, that? Something I’ve been doodling.”

“Right,” Madara snorted. “I’ve seen your drawings. If they can be called that. Tobirama was the same way. Ruining important documents with his idle scribbles.”  

Idle scribbles? Kakashi felt his eyebrow twitch. He was aware that he didn’t possess the artist skill of someone like Sai, but he couldn’t be that bad. Could he? He’d like to see Madara do any better.

That was it. Kakashi pushed away from the desk and stood up. “Enough games,” he said, all humor gone as he extended his arm. “Give it back. It isn’t for you”  

“Oh, is that so,” Madara teased. “Must be important.”

“Important enough that you shouldn’t be messing with it.” He held the paper close to his face, as he turned it sideways. “No, seriously, what is this? Torture machines? Witchcraft?”

In one rapid movement, Kakashi snatched the paper out of his hand and ripped the left-hand corner clean off. Madara stared back him, stunned, before his face curled into a snarl.

“Scowl all you want to. It wasn’t yours to play with,” Kakashi scolded. “And I think you might need glasses.”

Kakashi knew he had pushed him too far, when Madara’s face reddened, and he suddenly lunged at him. He was easy to dodge. Without any chakra, Madara was clumsy and slow.  Even so, Kakashi knew he shouldn’t prolong this, and side stepped when he made another grab for the paper.  He kicked his foot out from under him and Madara tipped forward. Kakashi caught him by one arm, promptly twisted it behind his back, and with his other hand, shoved Madara’s face down into the desk.

“Madara! Calm down.”  

“Just give it to me"

It was at that moment Shikamaru walked in. He made it two steps into the office, before he froze, stalk still like a deer. Too stunned by the sight of Madara bent over and writhing. The Hokage pressed against his backside.

“Did someone come in?” Madara grumbled. Most of the sound muffled by his curtain of hair.

It broke Shikamaru from his trance. He quickly covered his eyes and stammered, “I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“This will only take a minute,” Kakashi chirped and gave a closed eyed smile.

Shikamaru made sure to throw the lock before he shut the door behind him.

He turned back to Madara, who had taken to calling him some very creative nicknames. No one had ever referred to him as a “piece of monkey shit” before. Kakashi tightened the grip on his hair, the other hand still locked firm around his wrist. He suddenly became acutely aware of their closeness and noted that Madara felt smaller at this angle. Much less imposing. He was still squirming and the sound of him panting sent a chill through Kakashi.

He released him and pushed back far enough to give them adequate space. It took a moment for Madara to compose himself and twist back around. Kakashi expected that he might come for him again, but instead Madara turned to him with an expression that was both confused and humiliated.

Without a word, Madara retrieved the address, which had fallen to the floor, and stomped out of his office.

********** Since losing his abilities, Madara had grown accustomed to walking everywhere. At first it was exhausting; incarceration had left him lethargic. Muscles that were once well tuned ached and he grew weary after even short distances. But that was months ago. Now, he spent most of his days puttering around the village and he found the rhythm of it soothing.

But the people still annoyed him. All of them crowded in the streets, with their crying children and idle chatter.  He took mostly to back alleys and side streets in order to avoid the clusters.

For that reason, he didn’t even look at the directions Kakashi had scrawled. He knew the street, so finding the address was no issue. He wasn’t even surprised when he found himself outside one of those obnoxiously large clothing stores, but that didn’t mean the masked menace wasn’t going to get an earful once he was done.

“There he is. Madara!” Sakura called waving one arm to get his attention.  

Madara eyes moved between Sakura and the petite blonde that glared at him.

“Sakura,” Madara groaned as he crumbled the address up and tossed it to the ground. “Are you here to assist me on this little adventure?”

“Kakashi-sensei asked us to help you pick out some new clothes.”

“Of course he did. As if I were a child and not a grown man completely capable of dressing himself.”

Madara knew the real reason for their presence was to keep him out of trouble. He guessed the old dog was finally catching on that Sasuke did little more than watch his shenanigans unfold.  “But why is she here? I don’t need two of you to put pants on.”

“Gross. Like anyone would want to touch your pants,” Ino sneered and then whispered, “pervert.”

“Trust me, Blondie, you’re not my type,” Madara uncrossed his arms and made his way to the entrance door. “Sakura, grab your Yorkie, so we can get this over with.”

“Did he just call me a dog?”

Sakura grabbed Ino by the arm, “Just ignore him. He’s only trying to goad you.”

A soft “ting” rang as they crossed through the door.

“Hi and welcome to…” a young girl in a blue vest chimed and faltered, her voice trailed off the moment her gaze fell on Madara.

He swallowed. Did every insect in this village recognize him on sight? Back in his day, a civilian like this would quiver in fear at the sight of him, but the way she was looking at him now wasn’t with fear. No, this was disgust.

It was much the same when the village was founded. No matter what the alliance meant, hostility unmasked itself not just in sideways glances, but in petty ways. Hashirama tried to mitigate some of the trouble, but outside pressure left him placating to the opposition more often than not.

Madara didn’t really blame him. At least, not as much anymore.  He was the one that abandoned their dream, after all.

He ignored the daggers the sales woman was shooting him and stomped in the direction of the big sign that said ‘Men’s.’

Sakura sidled up next to him. “You missed your last appointment.”

“I was busy.”

“I’m sure,” she said, her steps keeping pace as his stride quickened. “Your therapy appointment too.” “I was busy that day as well.”

“Active life,” Sakura nodded. They had reached the men’s section and Madara was already looking around for something to distract himself with. “Are you at least taking your meds?”

Ino, who hadn’t rushed to keep up, finally arrived behind them.  

Madara eyed her warily. “Why bother? They don’t do anything.”

He made his way to the closest rack and flipped through it quickly, without any real focus. Obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

“We talked about this,” Sakura leaned in and whispered. “You’re not going to see the effects right away, but if you give it a little time.”

“Enough,” Madara snapped. “Just give me another appointment and I’ll be sure to be there. I don’t want to yammer on about it today.”

“If he wants to suffer, just let him,” Ino said.

Madara ignored her and pulled a shirt from the rack, realized once it was out that it was two sizes too small, and he tossed it to the floor.  

Sakura snatched the shirt off the floor and hung it back up. “What are you doing? You can’t just throw things on the floor.”

“Why have you brought me here?” he groaned, “These garments aren’t suitable for peasants. You might as well fit me with a potato sack.”

Sakura let out an exasperated sigh and pulled a few items off the rack. “See, these aren’t too bad. Why don’t you go try them on?”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“How about this?” Ino said as she held up a vibrant orange and black one piece. “I think this would look stunning on you.”

“Be serious,” Sakura scolded.

“Fine,” Ino sighed. “But we’re not dressing him in blue.”

“Agreed, no blue,” Sakura said. “How about this?”

“Hm, I dunno,” Ino placed a hand on her chin. “His shoulders are too broad for that and I’m thinking he needs a button down. I can’t see any shirt hole being large enough to fit that hair of his. Oh, this one looks nice.”

“I like that, but maybe go up a size. He’s put on a little weight since he got here.”

“You both know that I’m standing right here?” he snarled. “I don’t need you picking out clothes for me.”

Ignoring him, Sakura heaved a large pile of garments into his arms. “Here, this should be good for now. Let’s go try them on.” Before he could protest, she was shoving him towards the fitting rooms.  

Madara slammed the door behind him and tossed the clothing on the side bench.

With a few snaps, he undid his shoulder pads and draped them gingerly on the nearest hook. He did the same with his armor. The rest of his clothing was neatly folded and set in a corner. Once undressed, Madara reached down and pinched a bit of the flesh on his lower abdomen and frowned.

Maybe he had gained a little weight.

He reached out and took the first shirt from the pile, light-weight and heather gray. The fabric felt smooth between his fingers. He combined it with a pair of black slacks.

He wondered if the shirt was too snug and sucked in his gut as he gazed at himself in the full-length mirror. The v-neck cut felt strangely…revealing. He stripped them both off and threw them into a corner that he deemed worthy of at least consideration.

The next was a pale blue short-sleeved with the words “Warning: This T-Shirt May Contain an Idiot” across the front. Blondie’s work, he was sure. He tossed it in the rejection pile.

“Madara,” Sakura called through the door. “You should come out and model them for us.”

“Not a chance.”

“Just let him finish. The sooner he gets done, the sooner we can leave,” Ino said.

Even at a whisper, Madara could hear her through the thin door.

“If you have somewhere you need to be, you can go. I can handle this.” Even lower, Sakura added, “I can tell you don’t want to be here.”

Ino let out an audible exhale. “Of course I don’t want to be here. Looking at him makes me sick.”

There was a crack in her voice towards the end and Madara leaned in closer to the door. A long period of silence followed and he wondered if they had moved farther away.

“Ino,” Sakura finally said, voice soft. “Is this about your dad?”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” her words shook. “I’ll let you handle this. I have somewhere I need to be anyway. See you later, Forehead.”

“Wait! Ino!” Sakura called after her, but Madara could hear her fading footsteps.

Madara sucked in a deep breath. He now understood the girl’s hostility. Her father must have died during the war.

He had never been close to his own father. Tajima had been an unaffectionate bastard and the only thing that bound them was blood and war. Madara may have killed him with his own hands if consumption hadn’t taken him first.

He didn’t even know who her father had been. One of many faceless shinobi. He had no way of knowing how many people he’d killed over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? One doesn’t keep tallies in battle. You only rest your head at night, thankful to live another day.

 But why did he suddenly feel so guilty?

“How’s it going in there?” Sakura called and Madara jumped.

“Fine.”

He turned back to the pile of clothing to continue where he left off. One pile for acceptable, another for rubbish.

 Who cares if some teenaged girl hated him?

After he tried everything on, Madara put his old garments back on and handed off the rejects to Sakura. “These ones will do, I suppose.”  

“Good, we’ll call this a win,” Sakura gave him a strained smile.

Neither one of them mentioned Ino’s absence as Sakura paid for the items and they made their way to the door.

“Come Monday, I want to see you in my office,” she reminded him and patted him softly on the shoulder. “Promise?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “I promise.”

********** Once back at his house, Madara hung up each new item in his closet, leaving out the first outfit he had tried on. It seemed fitting to show the Hokage that he had completed his foolish task without fail. He thought he might walk over there and gloat before it got too late in the evening.

As he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, Madara pulled at the snug gray shirt and wondered if, maybe, he should have gone with a larger size. Having decided that it looked fine and he hadn’t gained that much weight, he went to flip off the bathroom light and paused at his reflection.

He was suddenly struck by how a simple change in attire altered his appearance. Smaller, maybe. Less threatening, true. But it was the normality of it he found unsettling. He could be anybody. Not someone legendary, but an average guy just going about his business.

He looked like a civilian and, Madara thought, he supposed that was what he was now. No longer a shinobi. He’d lost the right to call himself that.

By the time he left the house, the sun was already low enough to cast everything in a golden hue. It was nearly dark by the time he reached the Administration Building. He was surprised to find the windows of the Hokage office unlit and wondered if Kakashi had decided to take an early night.

“I agree. It's a risk,” Madara recognized Kakashi's voice and froze where he was. “But we won't move into it blindly. I want more information before I make a solid decision.”

More muffled words that Madara couldn't make out. He crouched to the ground and kept low enough that he was camouflaged by a cropping of boxwoods.

“It's foolishness,” a woman shouted. Madara recognized her as one of the elders that had argued in favor of his execution. He couldn’t recall her name, nor the older man standing next to her.

“As it is, the village cannot sustain itself,” Kakashi said firmly. “Missions have dwindled and even if the hadn’t, we don’t have the manpower. We have to adapt.”

“You'll do what you want either way,” she snapped.  “But if things go wrong, you’re the one that will answer for it.” With that, the woman turned and dramatically walked away. Her companion following close behind her.

Once they were out of sight, Madara watched as Kakashi's shoulders sagged. He stood for a moment like that, before he turned and walked in the direction of the Hokage mansion.

Madara waited until he was gone to get up from his hiding place. He looked down to find his new clothes covered in dirt. Guess he would have to learn to work the washing machine after all.

More importantly, what was that idiot up to?

[martinafrancula]

The packaging design process

Remember how you want your packaging design to tell a story? The choices you make in the design process are what’s going to help you tell that story.

1. Understand packaging layers

There are three “layers” of product packaging: outer packaging, inner packaging and product packaging. Your product may need one or all three of these.

Outer packaging is the first thing a customer is going to see. It’s what protects your product from the elements. This could include the box that the product is shipped in or the shopping bag the item is placed in at the store.

Inner packaging is what keeps your product nestled safely in the outer packaging. This might be packing peanuts or tissue paper that stops something from getting jostled or scuffed. Or it might be a sealed bag that acts to preserve freshness.

Product packaging is what most people think of when they think of packaging: it’s the box the toy comes in, the bottle with a label, the tag on a garment, the wrapper of a candy bar.

Each one of these layers of packaging gives you a chance to tell a part of your story.

2. Choose the right type of packaging

There are many different types of packaging available for your product:

Choosing between a box and a bottle may sometimes be a no-brainer. But sometimes it’s not. Here are a couple of things you need to think about when selecting the right type of packaging for your product:

The product Everything always comes back to this! If you are selling something liquid, that’s going to limit your options. (Though don’t let this stifle your creativity! Look at Capri Sun: they turned the juice-box industry on its head by creating a juice-sachet. Or Go-Gurt, which took yogurt from a spoon-required snack to one you could suck out of a packet.)

The competition Does everyone else put their soup in a can? You’re going to want to think really hard about putting your soup in something else. On one hand, it will make you stand out, which could help set you apart. On the other, consumers are used to cans of soups, and grocery stores are setup to stock cans in their soup section, which may mean your box of soup is fighting an uphill battle.

The budget You may have an awesome idea on how you’re going to sell your astrology charms in a star-shaped box. But if your budget is $0.50 per piece, that’s probably not going to be possible. Remember to always keep the ideal customer in mind: if your charms are going to sell for $12 each, a simple, inexpensive box is probably your best bet. But if they’re hand-crafted, gold keepsakes that you are selling for $100, you may be better served to up your budget and go for that luxury star-shaped box.

3. Line up your printer

Printing is not something you’re going to do until after the design is complete. But you should think about it way before you get to that stage! Not only is connecting with a printer going to ensure you’re solid on the costs of printing, but they’ll be able to give you specific information that can help your designer prepare files.

A couple things you’ll want to ask about:

Dielines If you’re going with a standard-sized box or label, printers should be able to provide dieline templatesthat can be shared with a designer.

File-format requirements Your printer will need a vector file. Does it need to be a layered file? Should you include cut-lines or not? Your designer should supply a print-ready file (usually an Adobe Illustrator (.ai), Photoshop (.psd), PDF or EPS). You may not be able to open these files if you don’t have the right software, but your printer will be able to. The designer will also supply visual mockups in a PNG or JPG format (which everyone can open). Make sure you understand which file types are what so you can supply them to the right people.

Color options Some printers are going to be able to color-match to any Pantone color. Others (especially less-expensive options) are going to have a limited color palette for you to work with.

Digital vs. offset printing Which type does your printer use? If they do offset, what is the minimum order number? How do the costs scale?

4. Create your information architecture

Think back to those 3 questions, specifically who’s buying your product and where are they finding it. You’re going to use that to create the information architecture for your package.

You may have beautiful photos of your product in action, a brilliant testimonial from a customer, a witty tagline that explains how you’re awesome, and a great graphic showing customers how to use your product. But when a shopper looks at your packaging they’re probably only going to remember one thing. What do you want that to be?

Pick the one absolute most important thing you want customers to know about your product. That should be the centerpiece of your design.

You can then add 2-3 things you want to show once they’ve picked up your product (or clicked on your link) that will close the deal. Let’s look at an examples:

5. Evaluate a packaging design

You’ve got some great design ideas! Now it’s time to give some feedback. Here are a few things you’re going to want to think about:

Is it clear what your product is? When you look at the package, is it clear what the product does and who it’s for? Buyers are only going to spend money on things they understand. Make sure your packaging doesn’t look like something else (unless it’s very intentional). You definitely don’t want to confuse your consumer.

Is the packaging an honest representation of your product One of the worst things you can do is misrepresent your product in your packaging. Make sure any photos on the packaging are actually photos of the product. Of course you can and should put your best face forward, but if you show a picture of muffins filled with raisins and there’s actually only 1 raisin in each of your muffins, a customer is going to feel cheated (and probably won’t buy from you again).

What will this package look like in 3D? A good designer should provide a mockup of your design both print-ready (flat) and in 3-dimensions. You can also create your own mock-ups by printing something out on white paper and constructing it into a box or tube. This will help you notice things you wouldn’t otherwise. Sometimes an image will look great when flat, but terrible when constructed (or vice versa). Make sure you understand the difference.

What will this package look like in stores? Shelf-impact is very important for products that are sold in-stores. You’ll want to consider:

How much of the packaging will be visible? When products are lined up next to each other, you can usually only see one-face. Make sure your most-important info is front and center.

What will it look like when these products are stacked next to and on top of each other? Is there a pattern that’s created? Do you want there to be?

What will this look like compared to the competition? Go to one or more stores where your product will be sold and figure out where your product would be placed. Are most products one color? How will you make yours stand out and get noticed?

Is this design versatile? You may only have one flavor of Aunt Miranda’s Famous Hot Sauce at the moment, but in the future you might want to create Aunt Kelsey’s Infamous Buffalo Sauce and Aunt Sasha’s Secret Caesar Dip. Is your design going to be easily modified to accommodate new variations of your product?

Is your packaging reusable? This may not be important for every product, but you may want to consider if your packaging can be reused (and if you want it to be)! For example, can your bag be repurposed into a grocery tote? Free marketing! If you sell gardening gloves, can your box be reconfigured into a planter? That’s clever and functional!

6. Collect feedback

Before you 100% decide on your packaging design, make sure to run it by both key stakeholders and people who have never heard of or used your product.

Even if it’s just your neighbor across the street, people not closely associated with your product will notice things you never did. Consider asking them:

What does this product do?

Who is supposed to buy this product?

What is the one key message you get when you look at this packaging?

Their answers to these questions will help you determine if the packaging is communicating what you want it to. If it’s not, go back to your designer and figure out what you can change.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Red Rose - Chapter 13

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 CH. 13 Ch. 14  Ch. 15  Ch. 16

Summary: The second day of the Presentation comes, and the girls are submitted to a culinary test. Riley and Olivia find some common ground. Charlotte hides witnesses in Greece.

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Hello, everyone! Missed me much last week? I noticed that I’m now past the hundred followers, and I didn’t mentioned it because I didn’t know how without having to come up with a giveaway. Since I’m poor and overworked, I won’t be able to host one, perhaps when I’m 200 in...

BUT, I’d like to personally thank my hundreth follower, @mythup, and all other 99+ who have graced my tally.

The submissions for the taglist are open! Just hit me up and I’ll add y’all to it!

Athens, Greece, Fall 2015

Charlotte locked the door behind her. She, the two girls, a maid and her driver gathered on the narrow entry hall of the old house.

“This is where you’ll be staying for a while.” The young noblewoman told the two girls in Russian. “While it isn’t safe for you in Cordonia, think of this house as a haven. No-one aside from Ms. Flowers, you and I know of it, much less that you’re here. I expect for you to follow Ms. Flowers instructions to the letter and to dedicate yourselves to your studies. A tutor will be provided for you in the morning.”

“Of course, Ms. Charlotte.” Katya bowed appropriately. “We’re very thankful for your help.”

They moved to the living room, and the girls sat on the couch, backs aching from too many hours hidden inside a car trunk.

“Can we leave the house?” Katya asked.

“No.” Charlotte was blatant. “Not only we do not know whether your former boss has connections in Greece, you were smuggled into European territory. If a police officer asks for your papers, you’ll be deported back to Belarus. Better safe than sorry.

She pointed to the maid and continued: “The cook will make sure you’re fed and clothed, while the tutor will keep you busy starting tomorrow. There’s a small yard in the back, where you can sunbathe if you ever feel the need.”

Zarina looked over the window, restlessly. “When will we be able to go back?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I don’t know for sure. Soon enough. We’ll send for you as soon as it happens.”

“Ms. Charlotte?” Katya calls upon her attention.

“Yes?” The oldest respond, facing her.

She handed her a manila file. “The last time I’ve been to the brothel I stole this from the safe. I thought I could use it as leverage to escape, but it’s in Greek, and I have no clue what’s on it. I think it must be important. All the others were stored somewhere else.”

“I don’t speak Greek either, but I��ll take it to Riley. She should know what to do with those.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Early in the morning, Riley sat on the dresser, finishing the last tints of her make-up for the day. It was exhausting to wake up early every day, just so Maxwell and Bertrand wouldn’t see her without it in the morning, but it was necessary.

Back in New York, she made sure to only have night employment, so her looks would be less recognizable, but Cordonia’s social season, contrary to expectations, played out mostly in the mornings.

She was reminded amusingly of Penelope’s complaints, “My advisors said I only needed to look pretty at the balls and flirt with the Prince, but it hasn’t been going that way at all”. It seemed them all were misled about the nature of the tests to become the next Queen of Cordonia.

While putting on the mascara, she received a message from Charlotte, saying Katya and Zarina were safe in Athens. Smiling, she deleted the message, as a security measure.

A knock followed it. “Rise and shine, little blossom!” It was Maxwell.

“Day two of the Feast.” Bertrand announced. “I hope you’re prepared to fight for your time with the Prince, Riley.”

“And all the apples! You’ve made an apple pie before, right? And you’re pretty good at planting apple trees?” Maxwell asked.

“I guess we’re all finding out today.” She opened the door for them to enter. “Good morning, Maxwell, Bertrand.”

“Good morning.” Bertrand said, gruffly. “We’re here to prepare you for today’s events.”

“Very well. What am I supposed to be doing?” She asked, sitting back at the dresser and crossing her legs. Before Bertrand could open his mouth, she interrupted. “No, wait, am I supposed to be dressed differently for some inane reason?”

He narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The best dressed lady will be crowned the Apple Queen.”

“Which means?” She raised one of her inquisitive eyebrows at him.

“It’s a fun tradition!” Maxwell said. “The people vote on who will run the Apple Court.”

“Yes, you’d get extra publicity, the favor of the actual Queen and the power to boss people around for an hour.” Bertrand amended.

“Interesting.” She said, with a contemplative smile. “What do you have in mind?”

He threw her a dress bag. “Change. There’s no time to lose. Through a series of promises and threats, I was able to procure a historically accurate rendition of a Cordonian peasant’s best gown from the realm’s most prestigious stage production company, available on consignment.”

She shook her head at him. “I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash only.” He smiled wolfishly.

Riley grumbled and took the dress to the bathroom and changed. “How’s this?”

“It’s perfect!” Maxwell whistled.

“You can thank me later.” Bertrand said, arrogantly.

She opened her jewel box, took a stack of hundred Euro notes and threw them at the Duke. “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor me so.” She said, sarcastically.

Vienna, Austria, Fall 2015

“You summoned me, Your Honor?” The slightly-chubby man said, fearfully.

“Good evening, mister Brandl.” Karen greeted with a smile. “Please, come in.”

She was sat on a divan on the sides of a rich and tastefully decorated living room. The windows, with frames typical for townhouses such as that one, opened to the Danube canal just on the other side of the street.

The house was deathly silent, to the point the clacking of porcelain of Karen’s cup and saucer was deafening.

“Sit down.” She motioned to the divan next to hers, in a polite, if commanding, tone.

Brandl obeyed wordlessly.

She put down her chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of her and picked up a paper portfolio laying on that same table.

“This, mister Brandl,” She showed him the portfolio. “Is an invoice from one of my accountants.”

He gulped. “I hope everything is going well with your investments, ma’am.”

“Oh, they are. Exceptionally well, in fact. For every breath I take, I grow wealthier.” She said, dismissively. “Nothing new, but there was a development that concerned, if not pleasantly surprised, my accountant.”

“What was it, ma’am?” He asked, tentatively.

She opened the file and placed on her lap. “Yesternight, an auction was held at the London branch of Christie’s. A painting by miss Valois reached a very high sum. You see, miss Valois always arose fair prices for her works, but never have a painting by her reached one hundred thousand pounds, and yet, this particular work was sold by two hundred fifty pounds.

“I am sure you know I and my children own collectively the most extensive collection of miss Valois works, and if each of them reaches a fraction of that price at any given auction, we would be over thirteen million Euros wealthier.”

“And all that without lifting a single finger. Some would call you very fortunate, ma’am.” Brandl amended.

“Indeed they would, but what concerns me is why that particular painting sold for so much.” Karen pondered.

“The pound is at a bad exchange rate these times, ma’am, and the economic uncertainties favor us at the art market.” Brandl offered.

She hummed. “Yes, yes, all good points, mister Brandl. Yet, I am unconvinced.”

“Why so?” He stuttered.

“Call it a hunch.” She dismissed with a hand movement. “It was enough, however, for me to issue an inquiry. Can you guess what I have found out?”

He turned blank. “No, ma’am.”

“I assure you it will be most entertaining, but I digress. The seller was kept secret by Christie’s, and you know how protective they are of such information. However, I knew that particular piece, and I knew it had been gifted to a very kind, if simple, lady.

“Regrettably, that woman passed away a few years past, God bless her soul. That painting, then, fell to the hands of her children, whom, without the artistic sensibility nor the emotional attachment to the piece, found it to be a hideous heirloom.

“Imagine their joy when someone offered to purchase that ridiculous painting for a sum of 2.500 Euros. They sold it right away, of course. That person, opportunistic, was purchasing miss Valois paintings scattered through galleries at artificially low prices. They were, after all, works by a moderately unknown artist.

“After he collected a sizeable amount of works, he accidently let out a certain princely family was looking for purchase of miss Valois works, which explained the mysterious surge of demand for her paintings. He, then, offered one of his collected paintings, exactly that one he purchased from those naïve heirs, for auction, believing that would be the one least likely to be traced back to him.”

At every word uttered at a sickly, scary calm by Karen, Brandl shrunk further into the divan.

“You will ruin your back if you keep contorting it like that, mister Brandl.” She pointed out, thin as a knife. “Anything comes to mind with that tale?”

“No, ma’am.” He manages to let out.

“You see, mister Brandl, people look at me and they see just some bored wife of some inbred, aristocratic family that should have gone extinct a long time ago. However, both you and I know that this could not be further from the truth. I am a cruel and ruthless woman. And as such, I don’t leave debts undisputed. You lied to me, mister Brandl, and I do not take lies kindly.” She snapped her fingers.

Her head bodyguard appeared at the door, looking as menacing as always.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” He stuttered, jumping to his feet.

“Restitution, mister Brandl, restitution. You caused me great disservice, running your mouth like that, aside from cheating a poor family out of an opportunity. I will have the money you earned from your pathetic maneuver to its rightful owners, I will have the paintings you bought at my disposition, and you’ll have only the debts you contracted for purchasing them.”

“You cannot do this!” He shouted.

“I can, I want, I did.” Karen was taxactive. Then, turning to her employee: “Now, if you may, escort mister Brandl out, he is becoming an inconvenience.”

The man was forcibly taken out of the living room, and the silence reigned once more.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

A short walk later, they arrive to the orchard, where the nobles were congregated for the festival.

“Now, Riley,” Maxwell said. “Are you ready to show off your baking skills?”

“No time like now.” She responded, determined.

Maxwell grinned. “Good, ‘cause you’re baking a pie for the Queen!”

“Today’s all about gaining the Queen’s favor. As we draw closer to the Theophany, she’ll be testing all the potential candidates.” Bertrand instructed. “Be careful what you say around her.”

“It’d also help if you won the pie-baking contest.” Maxwell said. “But you won’t be doing this alone! It’s a team event, so you can rely on the other ladies if you need to.”

Riley pursed her lips. “Now, that’s concerning. How can I trust some girl that never even came close to an oven in her life?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Some of them are absolutely amazing bakers!” Maxwell praised.

“I’ll pretend I don’t care how you know that and say it must be some other cutting-edge husband-catching technique.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of parents in desperation for noble in-laws, where’s Hana? She’d be a mighty asset for this, I’m sure she’d be able to do it blindfolded.”

“Dunno,” Maxwell shrugged. “But maybe you can get her on your team!”

“Okay, let’s do this!” Riley threw her nose to the air and joined the other girls.

“Make House Beaumont proud!” Bertrand commanded.

The two men walk off, leaving Riley with the other women. A minute later, Queen Regina join them.

“Greetings ladies.” She said. “I’m glad to see everyone here again. We will soon be dividing into two teams to partake in the apple pie baking contest. I’ve decided that Olivia will captain one team and Madeleine the other.” Of course she did. “Ladies, please select your teams.”

Again, with no surprise, Madeleine had the first pick. “I choose Lady Penelope.”

The black-haired woman walked cheerfully to Madeleine’s side. “We’ll bake poodle-shaped pie crumpets!”

“No.” Madeleine quickly shut Penelope down.

“Okay…” She retreated into submission.

“Lady Kiara.” Olivia selects, and the tanned-skin woman walks over to her side.

Also unsurprisingly, Hana and Riley were the last pick of the crop. The black-haired controlled an urge to roll her eyes, it was such a pathetic, puerile power play that even teenagers considered it childish.

“Look at the two strays!” Olivia laughed, wickedly. “Come on, Riley, I’ll adopt you. You’re not as mangy as Hana.”

“Oh, no, Olivia.” Riley linked her arms with Hana’s. “We’re a pair.”

“Two undesirables on one team? That’s just vile.” Olivia demeaned.

Riley shrugged. “I respectfully disagree.”

Madeleine resolved the dispute. “I don’t really care. You can have both of them.”

Hana and Riley smiled at each other and marched haughtily to Olivia’s side. As they walked towards the outdoor baking setup, the Queen approaches the black-haired.

“Lady Riley, I hope you’ll exceed expectations like last time.” She said, offhandedly.

“I wouldn’t worry, ma’am. Apple pie, after all, is America’s national dessert.” The younger woman smiled, with a side note of defiance.

Regina did not back down. “I imagine you’ve had some decent apple pies from your homeland. Though I expect that after today, you’ll be saying ‘as Cordonian as apple pie’.”

And with that, she left.

With the arrival of the girls, Olivia and Madeleine organize their teams.

“Riley, Hana, cut the apples.” The redhead commanded. “That should be a simple enough task that even you can handle.” And she walks away before either of them could utter a word.

Riley hugged Hana’s shoulders. “If mise-en-place is what we were given, it is on the mise-en-place we’re going to shine.”

With all the ladies positioned, Queen Regina addresses the crowd. “Let the bake-off begin!”

The ladies jump into a flurry of activity. Olivia slams a basket of apples in front of Riley and Hana.

“Get to work.” She ordered.

They quickly peel and slice the apples.

“Okay, done.” Riley dropped the knife. “The recipe says we should add two cups of sliced apples.”

“But we’re doubling the size of the pie, so we should add four cups.” Hana warned.

“Great, I’ll do the measuring.” She picked up the cup.

“I’ll start getting the spices together.” Hana said and left for the spice cupboard.

Riley takes the four cups of apples and set it aside for the cinnamon mix. “Hey, Olivia!” She called the redhead over.

With no response, she walked over where the Duchess was. When she came closer, the redhead hid two identical shakers behind her back.

“The apples are ready.” Riley informed.

“Uh… good.” Olivia dismissed.

The black-haired rolled her eyes. “Is this the best you can do, Olivia? Y’know, for all that I’ve heard from the Nevrakis, I expected a more seasoned conspirateuse.”

Olivia seems ready to bark, but then sights, checks around for eavesdroppers, and starts whispering: “I’m switching the salt and sugar labels for the other team. Now that you know, you can spare me your moralizing and leave. I don’t have much time.”

“I would, if I didn’t think Madeleine is probably thinking of ways to do the exact same thing.” Riley shrugged.

Olivia seemed shocked. “You want to help?”

“I want to slap that smug smile off Regina’s face.” Riley said.

“That I can agree to.” Olivia nodded. “How about you distract Penelope for me? She’s their guard dog.”

“On it.” Riley said and stealthily walked over to Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s the pie baking?”

The other woman sighed. “Madeleine doesn’t trust me, so I’m ‘standing around and looking pretty’. But, you know, at least that means she thinks I’m pretty.”

“But you’re a noblewoman!” Riley argued. “How many centuries you could trace your lineage back again? Four?”

“Six.” She blushed, self-conscious.

“Six hundred years of high-birth.” Riley emphasizes. “Certainly you can bake a measly pie.”

“If only.” She lamented. “I’ve never even boiled water! Right now I wish I could just snuggle up with my poodle.”

“That I can understand.” The American used a low, emphatic tone of voice.

“Do you have poodles?” Penelope asks, excitedly. “They’re my favorite breed of dog. Did I tell you about the golden poodle statues around my family’s estate? We have one in the atrium, the gardens, the bathhouse…”

Before she could continue, though, a hand patted Riley’s shoulder. “Penelope, darling, excuse me for butting in, but this little sheep has wandered from the herd. I’ll be taking her back now.” Olivia came for her rescue.

“Of course.” She responded, cheerily. “Goodbye!”

Olivia leads Riley back to their team’s kitchen. “Not bad for a beginner.” If only the redhead knew. “But now I need you over by the oven.”

Riley walks over by a wood-fired oven. Hana waves and comes over. “The pie is almost ready to be baked. Want to help me decorate it before it goes in the oven?”

“Only if I can steal some batter.” Riley said, smiling.

“There is leftover filling.” Hana offered.

“Good enough. Let’s go.” She took the Asian’s arm and went over to the table.

Hana presented the pie to be baked. “I want to add a little flair to the pie, so it’ll bake with a pretty design. Though I’m not sure what the design should be. What do you think the Queen would like?”

The first two images that came through Riley’s head was a penis and a red rose. A penis was self-explanatory, but the rose, well, it was a finer print of cruel. Today, however, wasn’t the day for pettiness. She had a contest to win.

“We should add a Cordonian Royal Seal.” She decided, to stroke Regina’s ego. “It’s a pie fit for a Queen after all.”

“The seal is a bit complicated, but I love a challenge!” Hana said, excitedly.

Riley supposed she should volunteer to help, but decided against. Observing the Asian, she felt she had to comment: “You’re really good at this.”

“You sound so surprised.” Hana laughed.

“As I said to Maxwell earlier, I’m surprised you were taught this. It seems so… middle class, I guess.”

The Asian shrugged. “I never had to cook, and if my parents have their way, I never will. But it’s artistic, refined work.”

Before Riley could answer, Kiara appears from behind them and complains: “Hey! You’re not supposed to…” She takes a look into the work and stops on her tracks. “Whoa… Very nice.”

“You think the Queen will like it?” Hana asks.

Kiara smirked. “She’d be a fool not to.” And then takes the freshly-decorated pie and puts it in the oven.

As they waited for the pie to cook, Riley and Hana take a break. Some ice-cold water was served by the maids of the manor, and the girls had the opportunity to enjoy the late-Fall sunlight filtered through the apple trees.

“So, Hana,” Riley said. “As we were saying, if I was to guess, I’d say baking is yet another thing you’ve learned and don’t really like.”

“It was alright. At least I got to taste test all of my creations, including sneaking in some uncooked batter every now and then.” She smiled.

The black-haired snickered. “What would be the point otherwise?”

The timer went off. Riley put it carefully out of the oven and handles it to Olivia. The redhead snickers, smoothly takes the pie and presents it to Queen Regina, almost simultaneously to Madeleine presenting hers.

“Thank you both.” Regina said, ceremonially. “We’ll begin the judging with Madeleine’s pie.”

The woman looks carefully at the dessert, evaluating its presentation.

“This is very well done. Good work, Madeleine.” Regina appraised.

Riley contained a smirk. “Wait until you taste it.” She thought, meanly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Madeleine bowed.

Regina then takes a knife, cuts out a piece and places it on a Portuguese ceramic dish. With silver cutlery, she carves the smallest of the pieces and puts into her mouth.

“Oh, my!” She quickly places her napkin to her mouth. “That’s a bit heavy on the salt.”

It was probably as salty as the Dead Sea, but Regina would eat the entire pie with a smile, just so she wouldn’t have to admit it.

“What?” Madeleine vociferate, surprised. And then her fists ever so clench, as she glowers at Penelope. Said young noblewoman shrunk, fearfully. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Knowing nothing she said could savage Madeleine, Regina began appraising Olivia, Riley, Kiara and Hana’s pie.

“The design is superb.” She commented. “Who did this?”

“I did, Your Majesty.” Hana said, overjoyed.

Her soft scowl dissipates, as it turned out it wasn’t the handiwork of Riley’s. “You’re exceptionally talented, Lady Hana.”

The young woman bowed her graces.

Regina followed the protocol for tasting once again the pie. She bites and tastes it at length. Finally, she declared: “The perfect amount of apples with exquisite flavoring.” The Queen dabs her moth with a napkin. “After weighting the strengths and weaknesses of each side, I declare Olivia’s team the winner.”

With a barely-noticeable smug smirk in her face, Riley celebrated the victory with her teammates. The girls from both sides of the competition applauded, signaling the end of the event.

“Ladies, if you’ll proceed across the ground for our next event.” Regina oriented, as the cleaning staff swarmed to unassemble the outdoor kitchen.

Riley was walking over the signaled area but felt a small nudge to her shoulder. She turned to see who was it, and it was the Queen. “Lady Riley,” She says. “May I have a word?”

“Of course, ma’am.” She assented, politely.

Regina leads her away from the ladies for a stroll through the apple orchard. When they were far enough for anyone to overhear them, Riley asked: “Pardon my rudeness, ma’am, but what is it that you wish to speak with me?”

“I wanted us to get to know one another better.” She said, with an inviting smile. Riley thought she’d feel more at ease with a sneer. “I’ve been impressed with how you’ve comported yourself so far. You’ve demonstrated grace and composure unlike most.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.” She thanked, gracefully, all in the while she braced herself for the slash.

“But a queen, no matter how graceful and composed, cannot be everywhere at once. You’ll need to appoint advisors and ambassadors to act in your stead.” She said, seriously. “Which is why I’d like to hear your opinion on some of those around you.”

Regina was baiting her, Riley was sure. She remembered Bertrand’s words about being diplomatic, and she was going to take them to heart. “Of course, ma’am. I’m happy to be of service.”

“Madeleine is one of your strongest competitors. What is your opinion of her?” Regina asked.

She forced a snicker away. Regina couldn’t help herself. “Madeleine’s an asset.” Riley answered. “She has the pedigree and the skills to thrive at court, and she uses it to her advantage. She has the potential to be a decisive ally. Or a difficult enemy.”

“Interesting assessment.” Regina considered her words. “Hana has been a competitor since the beginning, and you seem closer than the others. What do you see in her?”

Now that’s a low blow. She’s pulling her friends into her intrigue. “Hana is extraordinarily talented, ma’am. And very kind, as well, she’s helped me find my footing here when I didn’t know where to step.”

“She’s someone you’d like to keep in your inner circle, I assume.” She insinuated.

“Of course.” The black-haired smiled.

“I concur with your evaluation.” Regina said. “What you say about your friends can reveal more about you than about them. And Liam’s commoner friend, Drake?” Riley noticed she could barely dissimulate her contempt. “You’re by his side quite often despite him having very little to do with the competition.”

“Despite his sour disposition, ma’am, Drake’s very reliable. He’s exceedingly loyal, and I cannot help but understand why Prince Liam trusts him. So do I, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s good to surround yourself with people you can trust.” Regina said, somewhat demeaning. “A true queen must have a network of allies she can call upon. It’s clear you’ve been assessing how those around you may help you someday.”

“I try my best, ma’am.”

“You may return to the other suitors, Lady Riley. It’s time I announce the next event.” Regina dismissed.

“Of course, ma’am.” She said, with a smile. “And if I may say so, I quite enjoyed our conversation. If you ever wish to know about me, I’ll be happy to provide the information. You needn’t to corner my aunt for it.”

Regina blanched. “How do you know of it?”

“Aunt Isabel is hardly a simpleton, ma’am. She found most strange for a man with an accent to ask with such determination about her niece she hadn’t seen for so long.” Riley informed, smirking wickedly. “Excuse me.” She bowed and left a somewhat-gaping Regina behind.

At the edge of the orchard, the people of the village congregated once more.

Shortly after, Regina addressed all the girls, completely recomposed. “The festival we throw during the Presentation serves to remind us the growth vital to keeping our nation thriving. Now, as is tradition, we will honor one distinguished, best dressed lady as this year’s Apple Queen. This is a ceremonial position for the people to decide. Last year, it was our very own, Lady Madeleine.”

Riley’s eyes moved round ever so slightly, while Madeleine bowed. “I very much appreciated the honor.”

“As for this year, people of Applewood,” The Queen addressed. “Who do you wish to honor with this title?”

A strong, quasi-unanimous chant of Kókkini Prinkípissa took the crowd by strike. The French-bred ladies looked at one another, wondering about whom were the villagers referring to. Riley knew whom, and Regina’s face showed she did too.

Kókkini Prinkípissa. Red Princess.

“I think we have a clear winner.” Regina said, unable to keep her contempt away from her tone. “Lady Riley will be this year’s Apple Queen.”

“Woo!” Riley heard Maxwell celebrate on the distance. “Go, Riley! Party like it’s 1299! All hail the Apple Queen from the Big Apple!”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Lady Riley, please join me for your ‘Coronation’.”

Riley kneels in front of the actual Queen. She hands her an apple-shaped scepter. “I pronounce you Queen of the Apples. Long live the Apple Queen!”

“Thank you all for electing me to represent you as the Apple Queen.” Riley addressed the crowd in Greek, arousing cheers from the peasantry, usually kept at large from those events. “I’m happy to accept this esteemed position, and I will treat it with the utmost respect.”

“My Queen,” Regina said in a low baritone. “I will serve as your acting seneschal and guide you through the ceremony.”

Riley forced a smirk away. Regina must be loving this, she thought, meanly.

Regina continued: “Before we proceed, we must fill out the Apple Court. These are the courtiers who will parade behind you. Who will be your cup-bearer? This person should be a close confidant you would trust with your life.”

Her eyes fluttered through the crowd. To her right-hand side, in a discreet position behind Regina, stood Liam. It was aligned to the objectives of the afternoon, choosing him, but at the same time, such a choice would come across as aggressive, especially to Kiara and Penelope. Their new allegiance would suffer if she was too conspicuous.

Her eyes fluttered to the crowd. At the forefront, Hana smiled, supporting. Now there’s a trustworthy person, as much as she was valuable strategy-wise. Her counsel was to be taken into serious consideration, not to mention a position in that travesty of a Court would be exceedingly beneficial to her own interests, if nothing else to appease her overbearing parents. However, Hana was also the obvious choice, and that’s neither strategic nor interesting.

Her mind branched to the other girls, she could choose a random girl, but that would bode as mocking the ceremony, and as skeptical she was to the whole ordeal, there was something inherently wrong about picking Madeleine or Olivia. Riley wouldn’t put behind them craving a literal knife to her back halfway through the event.

A solution came from the far back, though. A wicked smile spread through Riley’s face.

“Drake. I pick Drake.” Riley announced.

He came, smiling, trying to fowl her plan to make him miserable. “You know the cup-bearer tastes drinks for poison, right?”

“Yet, this is an apple festival. We’ll be drinking nothing but apple martinis.” She smiled, sweetly.

He grumbled. “I am blessed to carry out your agenda, my queen.”

Drake takes his place at her right-hand side, between Riley and Regina, who was also so very glad to be behind the order of precedence of not one, but two commoners, as fanciful as it was.

The blonde woman takes out a goofy-looking fool’s cap. “My queen, if you’ll name your court jester.”

Madeleine or Olivia? Choices, choices, choices. Riley laughed at her own evil. The reality, however, was less amusing. If she chose either of the girls, it would be an act of open warfare, and she preferred to keep the façade of naïve outsider, if only to an untrained eye.

There was someone, however, who would appreciate the position. “I pick Maxwell.”

Said man pushed his way to the front. “Step aside, plebeians! Three-time jester MVP, coming through.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this.” Drake pointed out.

Maxwell, however, was undeterred. “I’m sensing jealousy.”

“Forget I said anything.” Drake aggravated.

The Beaumont spare plopped the jester cap on his head. The bells jingle as they fall down on his face.

“My queen,” Regina said to Riley. “With your court assembled, it is your right to issue an edict before your people.”

“My people,” Riley addressed the crowd, in Greek once more. “Love bind us together. Whether is love of country, love of citizen, love of self. These bonds hold us together. Our differences are insignificant compared to the power of love we share with one another.”

Regina cuts her speech short, summoning a horse and a carriage. “Magnanimous queen, show your generosity and share with us the products of your bountiful harvest!”

Riley got into the carriage and started handing delicately apples to every attendee with a blessing and a smile.

When the apples ran out, Regina led her to an area where Madeleine stood beside an apple seedling. “Your majesty, please honor your ancestor, the previous year’s Apple Queen, and plant a tree for the next generation.”

Madeleine curtsies. “My queen. Happy wishes for you.”

“Thank you, my ancestor.” Riley smiled, diplomatically.

“The labor of your forebears will help you build a better world.” She responded, in a tone of ceremonial neutrality. Lowering her voice, she whispers to Riley: “Not many get the pleasure of being addressed as ‘my queen’. Savor this moments. You may never hear the phrase again.”

“I thought we were beyond petty threats, Madeleine.” Riley smiled at her. “If you want to scare me so, you will have to do better.”

“As you wish, Lady Riley.” Madeleine responds, and step aside showing a hole in the ground for the sapling. “The ground is yours, my queen.”

Riley takes the seedling and place it into the hole and scoop the dirt in around it. She then turns to the crowd and addresses the masses: “The work we do today will benefit future generations. Our children deserve a better world then that we have it today.”

“Thank you, gracious Apple Queen.” Regina said. “As your final honor…” She motioned for Liam to approach.

He comes closer in a confident march, but averting, shyly, his eyes from her. “You are entitled to a kiss, my queen.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I humbly accept your offer.”

He beamed. “As my queen desires.”

Prince Liam rises. He tenderly leans in and kisses Riley on the cheek.

With that, the festival wraps up and the cheering crowd disperses. Before Riley could walk very far, however, Maxwell comes after her, breaking through the crowd and waving over.

“There’s our glorious Apple Queen!” Maxwell greeted.

“Hey, lord jester.” Riley smiled back. “Thanks for your vote, I heard you cheering out there.”

He turned bashful. “Well, somebody had to do it. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

“What do I owe the pleasure, then?” Riley asks.

“I might be able to get you some alone time today with Prince Liam!” He exclaimed, merrily. “I happen to know he’s in the manor’s conservatory right now waiting for some nobles. I could distract them long enough with offers to donate to their favorite causes.”

“Let’s do it, then!” Riley responded, excitedly.

“The conservatory’s on the other side of the estate grounds.” He pointed her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Maxwell. You’re the best.”

He smirked. “Someone needs to think I’m the best to make up for Bertrand thinking I’m the worst.”

Applewood Conservatory, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked into the Victorian-style conservatory, and as soon she stepped into it, she was hit with a distinctive citric smell. She couldn’t pass on the irony, apples and oranges.

Liam, expecting company, perked at the sound of the door, bracing himself to an unamusing exchange. The prospect only furthered his joy when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Lady Riley, what a surprise.” He beamed. “And wearing a costume?”

She smiled, self-conscious. “Bertrand says it’s historically accurate.”

“Well, you look fantastic.” He praised.

“You’re too kind.” She says, and on another note, she continued. “I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“I am supposed to meet some of my mother’s friends to discuss the flowers, but I’m very excited to see you instead.” He grinned.

His mother’s friends. Lady Carmela’s friends. The significance did not go unnoticed by Riley.

She knew; however, it wasn’t the time to discuss such matters. Instead, she smirked and said: “Yes, I might have asked Maxwell to entertain them for a while.”

“How courteous of him to have complied.” Liam concurred, with a smirk of his own.

“You’ve been busier than usual lately.” Riley commented.

He sighed. “Yes. Since my father has announced his abdication at the Regatta, I’ve been suddenly overrun by nobles wanting to…” He struggled with the concept he was trying to convey.

“Congratulate you in such fortuitous occasion, all in the while securing their position in the new regime?” Riley offered, in an ironic tone.

“Yes, that’s about right. My ascension seemed like a distant event, but now it’s actually happening. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be King of Cordonia.” He sighed again. “I thought I had more time.”

“Oh, Liam.” She came closer to him and placed her hands on each of his arms. “I trust you are more than ready to take upon this responsibility. Besides, if everything goes as smoothly as they’re going, you’ll have me by your side every step of the way.”

That statement has a dimension Liam had no clue of, but still rung true.

He smiled bashfully. “You make me believe you. We are a good team.”

“The greatest.” She laughed softly.

“It’s just so strange to think that so many people would be counting on me, depending on me.” He confessed.

“Well, even if you were a random man on the streets, people would still count on you. If you were a doctor, many patients’ lives would be at your hands. If you were a lawyer, your clients’ liberties would be on you.” She augmented. “Even if you were a househusband, your family’s life would be dependent on you. Responsibility is a side product of societal life, yours just happen to be… unusual.

“Besides, I know you. You’re kind, responsible, and noble, frightening so. And, perhaps most importantly, you’re always thinking of others. I am sure the realm will thrive under you. Or do you think I’m that off-mark?”

He smiled in modesty. “You say you see me so clearly, but how about yourself?”

“What about me?” She wondered.

He sighed. “I know there’s much undecided, but let’s say you were my selection. You’re such a free spirit, Riley, and I love that about you. But there are expectations that come with being queen. Royal events, palatial life, children. Can you really see yourself by my side as your place?”

“I left home very young, Liam.” She breathed. “I left for college at seventeen, and I never really looked back. There didn’t seem to be my place, it never seemed to be a place to go back to. Nowhere did, really. But now I’m going on thirty, and I’ve seen lots of great things and others not-so-good, and the truth is that I’m tired.

“I want to build something, I want to have something to look at fondly, I want to have a reason to stay. It all begins with finding someone I want to be with, and I want to be with you. So, it doesn’t matter if we’re going to live at the Brigades or at a shack in Montana, or if you’re the King, a high school teacher or a homeless guy, I’m sticking with you.”

He hugged her. “This means a lot to me, Riley.”

“Well, I mean it.” She said, earnestly.

“Meeting you in New York was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me.” He confessed. “You changed my life.”

She laughed. “I’m not even going to mention in how many ways my life changed because of you.”

“For better, I hope.”

“Certainly beats my old gig.” She laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Riley, whatever it happens, know that I am grateful for the time we spent together.” Liam said, feverishly. He pauses in front of a rose bush, picks one out and hands it to her. “I know you don’t like roses, but have you ever seen a Juliet?”

“Only at a public garden.” She said, while admiring the flower. “The five-million-dollar rose.”

He smirked. “It’s rumored that the man who created this breed spent five million dollars and fifteen years on it. It must have been a labor of love.”

“And yet, so less dramatic than a black tulip.” She smiled. “Thank you for giving it to me, my mother would love a picture of it.”

A rose. It seemed so ominous for Liam to seal his promise with a rose, just like hers to Charlotte is also sealed with a rose.

And, yet, it seemed so very appropriate. Sub rosa, she believed she had heard, no light shall ever shed over the secrets sworn by the rose.

Liam, sensing her discomfort, even if he was mistaken about its cause, decided to change subjects: “How did you find the Presentation?”

She smirked. “Lord, you people really love your apples! It was all fine and good, but I swear I could kill for a banana.”

“In the future, I’ll make sure you get a reprieve from all the apples.” He smiled back. His gaze lingered at the girl, and his smile fell only so slightly. “I don’t know how much longer Maxwell is going to be able to stall the nobles. He cannot entertain all of my appointments.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you even met Maxwell? He would at least try, if nothing else.”

Liam scoffed, good-naturedly, and wrapped the girl on his arms. She could smell his perfume, fougère, oakmoss and coumarin. His fingers delicately traced a line through her cheekbones, while the other hand, allotted on the back of her head, brought her face closer to his, finishing on a deep kiss.

As they break apart, Liam said, breathlessly: “We’d better stop, or I’ll never leave you.”

“I thought that was the point.” She raised a defiant eyebrow.

He captures her lips in another long, lingering kiss, then reluctantly pulls away, tucking a rebellious strand of black hair back into its rightful place behind her ear.

“Until next time.” He said goodbye.

She recomposes herself and leaves the conservatory in a haughty fashion. By the door of the manor, there waits Maxwell.

Before she could say anything, Maxwell jumped the mark. “I hope everything went well with Liam, but we’re switching gears for the next event.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bertrand.” She looked pointedly at him.

“Sorry…” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s just that we’re kind of late, and we’re clearing the ground for the ‘fox hunt’ tomorrow morning.” He made air quotes.

“We are hunting now?” She admonished.

“No, not really. It’s more like a race that takes place at the Royal hunting grounds. Which means horseback riding through the woods!”

“Lord help me.” She aggravated.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

The knock of the dress shoes to the polished wooden floor sounded like a thunderstorm over at the empty, silent hallway, for its feverish pace. From the windows, the light of the setting sun heats the late-autumnal waft running through the old building.

A knock to the grand, engraved door reflected the pace so-far, in a desperate plea for access. When the order was shouted, in mild irritancy, the man barreled into the bedroom.

“Your Majesties,” He bowed. “There is an emergency.”

“That much we’ve gathered, for how desperately you punched against that door.” Regina snapped.

“I am most sorry, ma’am.” He apologized and kept to himself by the entrance.

“Well, boy, now say what you have to say and don’t waste my time!” She berated.

“Regina, please.” The moaning voice of the King came from the bed. “Keep quiet. And you, secretary, come closer and tell me what brings you here.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve brought the newspapers that will be published in the morning, and that is what they’ll be headlining.” He handed the man an issue.

His eyes popped. “Is this real? Is this the truth?”

“The Security Department is looking into it, but they said that, preliminarily, the newspapers have a very strong case.” He answered, regretful.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked, grave.

“No, sir. It is too late.”

“There is nothing else but to brace ourselves, then.” The King said. “You are dismissed.”

He bowed and left.

“What is it, Constantine?” Regina asked.

The man said nothing but handed her the issue.

“What?!” She screamed. “That is outrageous!”

“It’s the truth, Regina, and you know it.” He bellowed. “Thank the Heavens they did not mention us.”

“Not they, her.” She snapped. “I told you that girl was problem. And yet, you did not listen to me.”

“I have it under control, woman.” He demeaned.

“You better have, you better have.” She said, and also left the room.

Red Rose - Masterlist

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Taglist: @boneandfur; @mfackenthal

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Set Her Free

This wasn’t a request, but I had this pop in my head out of no where and I had to write it down.  Still have a long way to go for to properly write a mythical type of AU, but I still liked writing this (I’m a sucker for mythical/fantasy shit)!! Worry not, requests and reactions are still on the way!! <3

Monsta X

Who: Im Changkyun (I.M)

Genre: Fantasy/Mythical Creatures, Romance

Words: 6.5k

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Changkyun wasn’t sure how he found himself in this position, in the position to work under scientists of the state, becoming an assistant to government known and trusted brainiacs.  More than that, he wasn’t sure how he found himself being a keeper of deep government secrets and finding, more specifically you.  

Somehow, he work in scientific research and his many theories and thesis’s won over someone’s heart in Korea, as he received an email tell him to contact a given number, only to figure he was calling a well known scientists working on classified experiments.  When he was offered a time to come and witness the way of the science government doesn’t reveal, under the exception he work as an assistant.

When the day came for him to start his ‘new job’, he couldn’t even drive himself there.  Apparently, where he was going to tour around with his superior was a private facility that was blocked off to the public.  He was picked up with a driver in a black car, like you’d see in those spy movies.  He was dressed in dark pants that weren’t ruined, a partially tucked in shirt and a jacket with a bag he slung over his shoulder with his papers and research.

He was told to wear what he wished, and to bring his papers and files to confirm it was indeed him, so he sat in the back of this car, staring out the window as his driver took him to this facility. He’d be lying if he wasn’t nervous.  Normally, no one would rightfully accept this offer without some sort of meeting prior, or making sure what he was being dragged into wasn’t some illegal business or scam, but he only kept thinking that if there really was more to science that he could learn, he wanted to.  

So, when he entered a tunnel and took a turn to approached a caged off location with a large building inside of it far outside of town and near the sea, he was more than a bit surprised.  The drive was long, but he was anxious and excited the entire time.  When his driver pulled into a parking garage and parked the car, Changkyun left the car and was greeted by a man in a lab coat and a ID hanging around his neck.  

They exchanged handshakes, the man apparently was foreign, not from Korea, but spoke Korean well.  He explained as he started walking, Changkyun following after him, bag on his shoulder, that he was a scientist called from America to help study a specific subject that had appeared within the last few weeks.  

“What was the new subject? Is it a mineral or spore or something that they needed to call you all the way from the States?”  The scientist shook his head with a chuckled as they stepped into an elevator from the parking garage.  The options for floors went to 6 basement levels and 6 upper levels. He pressed the the buttons to head to a lower floor, B4.

“No, it’s no spore or mineral.  It’s a new species so to speak.  We’ve only heard rumors of it for years, centuries even.”  Changkyun didn’t know if it was something heard in private behind the scenes or governments for years, or if it was a rumor that was known to the public.  Either way, he assumed he was on his way to see a government secret.  He had more questions of course, but he didn’t ask any.  He would save what he had for whatever didn’t get answered in time.

When the elevator came to a stop and the metal doors slid open he was following the scientist out as he was met with a long hall with a single room at the end of it, closed off with a set of pretty dramatic looking metal doors.  In the hall was desks of different scientist with different set ups of machines and technology.  Papers would be stacked on one desk, another would be filled with tags for something, there were even small bags of blood resting on one desk with a set of pliers and different medical looking equipment.

“There sure is a lot going on in here.”  Changkyun whispered, more to himself, as he looked around.  The scientist heard him though and responded.

“Of course, we’ve had to do tests and experiments for our find.”  Changkyun felt a chill run up his spine into his neck for some reason as he spoke.  The scientist used an almost cold voice, like one of a sadistic pleasure.  

“What did you find?”  The scientist moved to the giant door at the end of the corridor as he approached a keypad and ID scanner.  

“You’ll see once these doors open.  Don’t be too frightened by her attitude thought, it can be a bit obnoxious.”  Changkyun spared the man a side glance as he spoke and punched in a code of number before sliding his card into a reader.  Soon, after the green light showed the information entered was correct and valid, the door slid open and the scientist walked inside, Changkyun following him.  

The room was large and the only thing in it was one table you’d find in a hospital for surgerys, and along the back wall an entire tank full of water, coral, seaweed, shells and all sorts of sea life.  It was like a miniature aquarium with the tank taking up the entire wall from either side and nearly reaching the ceiling.  On one end of the tank, was a small pulley operated crane with a fish net attached to it, obviously used to scope something out.  

“So, this new species is a type of ocean life?” The man nodded as he approached the table and picked up a small remote, walking back over to Changkyun.

“Indeed.  She tends to be a bit shy towards strangers, so we’ll have to bring her out using this.  I’m sure she can see us, hiding in some seaweed or what not.”  He moved closer to the tank as he started raising his voice, talking to whatever he wanted to get the attention of inside.  “You know what this little remote does darling.  You want to come out, or do you want to do this the hard way?”

Changkyun approached the glass tank next to the man, and jumped with a piece of coral was thrown at the glass from inside, out of seemingly nowhere.  The man only clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Hard way it is.”  There were two different buttons on the remote, one with a lightning bolt on it and the other with a symbol of to releasing clamps.  He pressed the bolt button and once he did, Changkyun jumped at the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.  Over in a tall, thick bed of seaweed, something started moving or thrashing about.  Whatever it was, Changkyun saw part of it slam against the glass.  The way the seaweed thrashed worried him.

“What did you do?”  He asked, both form worry and curiosity.”

“I just gave her a little electric shock as a boost.”  He widened his eyes.  They were electrocuting whatever was in this tank?!  “But, wouldn’t the shock spread through the water and injure the other life?” The man shook his head.  

“No, we modified this particular method to work only through the body of the tagged.”

“So, the shock is in the tag?  You tagged it?”

“Her.” The man corrected. “And yes, we did.  Ah, there she is.”  The grin that broke out on the man’s face made Changkyun’s face twist as he looked back into the tank.  Through the plants, he saw a human like arm reach out of it.  He jumped, thinking someone was in there, but before he could fully react, the thing in the seaweed swam out rapidly.  

They had swam past the front glass of the tank, banging against it, startling CHangkyun to the point he stumbled on his feet and fell to his rear.  What he was looking at made his mind rell.  This had nothing to do with science, this was just discovering that an old myth did exist.  He didn’t believe it at first, that he was looking at this being.  

Changkyun couldn’t believe he was looking at a mermaid right now.  That he was looking at you.

Your hair was long and flowing behind you as you thrashed around in the tank.  He couldn’t see your face clearing because of your rapid movements and your hair masking it.  Your chest had scales of beautiful pastel violet and teal that seemed to grow over your breasts, unlike in the movies were they had shells.  Your tail started at your hips, just below were a human’s pelvis would be and the same shades of violet and teal mixed all the way down to the bright blue fins.  

He didn’t have to see your face to notice your beauty and you were still in pain from the shock.  Changkyun shot up, dropped his bag off his shoulder and grabbed the remote without thinking form the man.  When his thumb came off that shock button, your thrashing stopped and you seemed to relax and float back to the bottom of the tank, on the sand.  

“Can’t you see that with you constantly holding that button, it hurts her?!”  He was confused and worried.  Sure, this is a breakthrough is some many ways, but then he thought of the bags of blood in the other room, the medical equipment, the papers and the god forsaken remote in his hand.  With so many people and tests, he thought you must be in pain.  

“She’s the first mermaid the human race has seen in records-”

“And that gives you the right to treat her like an animal?!”  He was getting more and more worked up.  “She’s not an animal,she’s not a pet.  That girl-,” he pointed to your unconscious figure in the tank, “is a living being and she doesn’t deserve to be shocked just because she’s more than likely terrified!” He threw the remote behind him as it broke against the wall and took deep breaths.  

He knew that his words and actions might give him hell, and probably even kicked out, but he didn’t care.  If anything, he’d only want to stay and try and keep you safe.  He wanted to get to know you and know your pain.  He’d want to make sure to be your friend so you wouldn’t hurt as much as you would if you were alone.  

The scientist sigh as he crossed his arms.  

“I accepted this kind of reaction from someone like you.  You put a lot of your personality into your thesis’s and your work, so this was rather appropriate of you.”  Changkyun rose his brow at him.  Did he… literally make an hypothesis on how he would react to a fucking mermaid? “That being said, I really only sought you out to keep out scaled beauty company.”

Changkyun blinked at him, now more composed than before.  

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to bring you here to see if you would be able to form a bond with her.”  The man looked at the tank again.  “She refuses to speak to us, if she can speak at all.” Changkyun had to stop himself from scoffing, or course she didn’t speak to you.  He wouldn’t speak to a group of psycho-scientists keeping him in a cage with electric shocks either.  “However, if you were to introduce her to a seemingly harmless body with no intentions of learning about her through science, she may just try and communicate.”

Changkyun was both pleased and angry.  He was pleased that he’d be able to stay and do what he wanted, like forming a bond and trying to help her.  But, he was also angry that they wanted results of communication from her so badly they resorted to using an outside force instead of just changing their tactics.  

“I assume I have no choice in the matter either way.”  The man smiled to him, in a threatening way that was masked in innocence.  

“Correct. Now, how about I leave the two of you alone for a bit, hm?”  He nodded his head as he walked past Changkyun to pick up the pieces of the broken remote.  “This will need to be repaired.”  Changkyun’s jaw clenched at his words as he glared at his back as he left and the metal doors shut behind him, leaving only Kyun and the mysterious mermaid.

Changkyun sat on the ground for a time before he saw your arms and tail start to twitch, signalling your consciousness coming back to you.  When you moved to start lazily floating above the sand, you saw Changkyun as he stood and bolted for the seaweed again.  Changkyun ran to the tank’s glass and tapped on it.

“Hey, come back!  I’m not going to hurt you!” He tapped on the tank with his finger and as you peeked out from the plants, he offered you a smile.  “I won’t hurt you.”  He said it quieter, but he doubt that you could hear him.  He motioned you to come closer to the glass with a smile and a small wave.  You did so, not seeing a smile like that from anyone else.  When you got to the glass, he finally got to see your face.

Bright, wide e/c eyes and plush pink lips in one your face was enough to capture him.  You had traces of scales on your cheekbones but they were faint almost like they use to be there, but had been removed.  Changkyun pointed to his cheeks as he asked you about it.

“You cheeks?  What happened?”  He mouthed it slowly just in case you did understand him.  You brought your own fingers to trace your cheeks, and felt the empty spaces instead of your smooth scales.  You shook your head and pointed to the door.  Changkyun looked over his shoulder and started feeling annoyed again.  

“They took them?”  You nodded and he rose his brows. “Can you understand me?”  You nodded again and pointed to your lips, signaling you could read his lips.  He nodded as you then looked to where the small pulley operated crane at the end of your tank.  He hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a basket just large enough for a person to stand in and be taken to the top of the tank.  

Changkyun looked back to you as you pointed to it then pointed up.  

“You want me to go to the top of the tank?”  You nodded as you swam with him as he walked to to the crane.  He walked inside the basket as he flipped a switch as it took him up the net attached to the basket following him.  He watched as you swam to the surface of the tank and waiting for him.  You didn’t actually break the surface until he was at the top and leaning over to look inside.  

“Hello.” He greeted again as you slowly pushed your head over the water and rose your body just enough so where your shoulders were out of the water.  You looked at him, your hair wet and sticking to your forehead as water dropped off your bangs and down your face.  

“Hello….”  You had responded in a small voice.  He smiled as he rested his arms o the side of the tank.  

“So you do understand me.  Did you learn this language?”  You nodded.  

“Mermaids tend to learn the language of the land closest to where they live.  I was born in the seas closest to Korea, so I’ve been learning this language since I was born.”  Changkyun nodded at you.

“Interesting.  You speak it well.  Do you know any other language?”  You shook you head.

“Do you?”  He nodded at your question.

“Yeah.  I can speak English.”  You tilted your head at this statement.

“English?  Isn’t that the language they learn in the west?”  He nodded.  He explained how he use to live in America and learned how to speak English fluently in his 3 years in Boston.  When you asked him to speak English so you knew what it sounded like, he did so and your eyes lit up with interest.   He chuckled at you.

“Do you want to learn English?  I can always teach you a few things.”  You smiled at him in excitement and he saw your tail move just a bit more rapidly in happiness.  He chuckled at you and also took the time to admire your smile.  “You know, you’re really cute when you smile.”  You were taken aback by his statement and tilted your head.

“Cute?”  He nodded.  “What is that?  Is it a compliment?”  He blinked at your question. Did you seriously not know what ‘cute’ was.  

“It’s a compliment.  It means that I like the way you look when you smile.”  You nodded. You didn’t know that, no one had ever taught you that word or called you it before.  

“You’re the first one to call me cute.”  

“I’m honored.”  You chuckled at him as he smirked.  If cute was something you thought about someone when you liked the way they looked, you then in turned called him cute.

“I think you’re cute when you smile too.”  Changkyun playfully held his chest at your innocence and laughed. You held casual conversation for a while longer before the door started opening again and you had disappeared under the water again and away from Changkyun.  It wasn’t until you were gone and he was lowering himself down in the basket, that he hadn’t even told you his name.  He didn’t get yours either.  

The man from before entered the room with a grin.  

“I see you and her were having a conversation.  Talk about anything interesting.”  Changkyun clicked his tongue.  

“What’s it to you.”  

“Ah, but you two did speak yes?”  

“We did, but only small phrases she’d picked up from listening in on you people I’m sure.” He didn’t want to tell him that she could basically speak fluent Korean, so he lied about how much she could communicate.  He had to watch what he said and did, or else it could turn out to be more tests done on you.  After talking with you for that short time, he already knew he didn’t want you get get hurt anymore.  

In fact, he had wanted nothing more than to get you out of that facility and back into the sea. He thought about it if it were him who was captured by a different species he didn’t know existed and the more the thought about how he would feel in your position, the more he wanted to change it.  

And, almost too simply, Changkyun was picked up and dropped over nearly daily to visit with you.  You trusted him since day one, as you couldn’t see any ulterior motive for him to possible gain your trust only for him to hurt you.  His eyes, voice and even movements were much more slower and gentle than the others you’ve seen.  

You’d watch as his eyes ignited with rage when he came back one day to more of your scales missing, or when that stupid shocking remote was fixed, or even when he’d see new bags of blood resting in the corridor.  He’d always express his hatred for the way you were treated.  But, other than all the bad that surrounded you all day, every day, he was a light of good.  

He’d teach you more words in Korean you hadn’t heard, and even teach you English.  He’d be impressed with how well you learned and how happy you looked while being taught.  In turn, he’d ask you questioned.  About how you live, how it feels to be able to be in water and air, even if land was a limited thing.

It was just another normal day that he spend sat at the edge of your tank in the metal basket.  You had taken to sometimes pulling yourself to rest your arms on the side of the tank as well, getting closer to him as your torso would be out of the water.  He’d always worry that you’d dry out, so he’d always remind you to go in the water every now and again.  He left that day just like any other, but when he came back the next day, you didn’t greet him as you normally did.  

He tapped on the glass of the tank, just in case you didn’t hear him enter.  Still getting no response, he got in the small basket to travel to the top of your tank and called for you.  He was starting to get a small pit of fear in his stomach that he tried to calm.

“She’s probably just sleeping.”  He tried to reason, but nothing felt right to him.  He was content on just waiting for you to appear, if you would, but the glimpse he got of  your tail made him lean over to nearly touch the surface of the water.  It looked like your fin had been torn.  He, thinking now that you might not visit him, decided he’d go to you.  He removed his shoes and peeled off his shirt as he jumped into the water of the tank.  

The temperature made him yelp slightly as the bubbles of air left his mouth. He swam up to regain his breath as he took breaths to calm his body to the sudden temperature change.  He then took a breath before diving back into the water.  He swam to the bottom of the tank and suspended his body in the water by the seaweed before pushing it away.  He saw you, your arms covering your face as you faced away from him.  

Your shoulder shook slightly, as you were crying.  Changkyun figured it be hard to cry in water, where your tears disappear, but as you reached out to your shoulder and you jolted to see what touched you, he saw the red rimmed around you eyes.  You watched wide eyed as his pants were darker because of the water and how his hair moved in every direction due to the water constantly moving.

“Changkyun?”  You had told each other your names on the second day of his job, feeling a bit foolish for the lack of formailites on the first.  For some reason though, he could understand you perfectly.  It was like you weren’t in water at all, it made him forget he was in water.  He opened his mouth to respond, but only noises and air bubbled emerged from his mouth as he started to couch under the water.  

You quickly moved from your bed of seaweed and grabbed his arm as you swam quickly to the surface, pulling him over it.  He gasped as he coughed more and ran a hand over his face, slicking back his hair.  You looked at him in both a glare of anger and worry.  You worried over his well being as he wasn’t in the state to be in such cold water, and anger for not thinking about his health.  He watched you narrowed your eyes at him and pouted.  

“Hey, in my defense, I called for you and you didn’t answer.”  Your expression changed to a shocked one.  

“Ah, sorry.  I didn’t hear you.”  

“Clearly.” You moved to swim to the edge of the tank, to put him back on the edge of the tank, but he tried to stop you.  “What happened to your fin.”  He didn’t really ask it as a question, as he was already feeling anger bile up in his throat, and you hadn’t even answered.  Honestly, you didn't have to, he was fairly sure he would guess.  

“The evil men cut some of it. For DNA testing, or something.  I wasn’t really listening.”  You looked away as Changkyun only sighed and bottled up his anger for a little longer.  He swam closer to you and pulled your chest to his.  The scales that covered your breasts weren’t as rough as Changkyun first thought, they were even smooth.  You’re skin too.  

“I’m sorry.  I wish I could take you out of this nightmare.”  You could feel his legs as he tread the water with the movement of the water and the occasionally touch of your tail.  You moved your tail to support his weight water weight as you slowly encased your arms around him like he did you.  Sure, back in the sea, you’d hug your friends on occasion, but hugged a human was so strange.  

Their skin was much more dry than a mermaid, and their scent was different, even when submerged in water.  Their clothing was a strange texture against you scales and all in all, it was comforting. You wanted to be held, wanted to be consoled, but you always considered yourself strong, but when Changkyun held you, it was like silent permission to be weak for one single moment.

It was times like this that you wondered if humans were more like the evil people who has been keeping you caged up, or if there are more like Changkyun who care and are warm.  Changkyun ran his hand up and down your bare back, your hair tangling about his fingers occasionally. After what seemed like an eternity, you pulled away from him and smiled to him, signalling you were okay now.  

“I’m going to figure out a way to get you out of here.”  Your smile faltered.  

“Changkyun-”

“I’m serious.  I’m sick of this.”  He motioned to you, as he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, scaled just not starting to grow back in from the previous ones that were removed.  “I know you don’t want to be filled with this false hope that you’ll be free again, but just trust me.  Trust that I’ll figure something out.  No matter what it takes.” He moved to make sure he was maintaining eye contact with you the entire time he spoke, and he wouldn’t allow you to break it.  He was serious, he meant every word.  

“Do… do you promise?”  You spoke softly.  He nodded.  

“I’ll even pinky promise on it.”  You looked at him confused.  

“Pinky promise?”  He chuckled, expecting you did know what this ultimate form of truth and promise meant.  

“It’s a very serious deal that I won’t lie and I’ll do as I say.  All you do is lock pinky’s,” He extended his as you slow did yours and he took finger into his, “and finally now we reach over and touch thumbs.  Just to make it completely official and serious.”  So with a movement of both, the pads of your thumbs touch and the promise was complete.  

“That’s a strange way of keeping promises for humans.”  He scoffed.  

“It’s not that strange.  I bet you fish people just slap your fins together and call it good.”  You rolled your eyes.  

“No!  We exchange scales for promises.  If we give a piece of ourselves to someone, it’s like holding the promise in our hands and we can’t forget about it or else we have to painfully attach the scale that isn’t ours to our arms as a constant reminder that we lied.”  You spoke it in such a straight face as you sighed.  “I’ve never broken a promise, so I’m all clean.  I just think your ‘pinky promises’ are so simplistic.”  

“Woah, that’s pretty deep.”  

“Well of course, merpeople are a truthful race.  We have very few liars.”  

“I mean to be fair, there’s an old saying that if we break pinky promises, we have to swallow a certain amount of needles.”  You gasped.  

“That must be painful!”

“We don’t actually do it.  There’s a very high chance we’d die if we did.”  You two sat in the water in silence for a moment before laughing.  You spent the rest of this day swimming around in the tank with Changkyun until he was sitting out, drying his pants slightly before he had to go.  

More and more days passed and Changkyun always reminded you of his promise and one day he found out some information by being just a tad bit nosy.  He had overheard something about you being moved to an island facility to expose you to more wildlife experiments, and sure enough, written on a clipboard he just so happen to peek at, he got your date of shipment.  

That was his only chance to get you out.  So, as the day soon rolled around, as expected, Changkyun was incharge of getting you to the upper levels for transport and even accompany you to the bay where you would be boarded on a ship and moved.  He told you not to worry, as today was the day he would set you free.  

They had moved you into a much small tank, just the size for you and your tail to barely squeeze inside.  Your shocking tag had been removed for the transport as you were stuffed in the small tank.  YOu were placed on a wheeling cart as Changkyun pushed you to the elevator, and into the parking garage where you were loaded into a van along with him beside you.  

The staff knew you would offer trouble to anyone and everyone other than Changkyun, so he was incharge of you entirely. So, when you were both unloaded at a port with a small boat prepared to move you Changkyun looked to you and mouthed ‘brace yourself.’

With an, actually pretty believable, act of trying over the boards of the dock, he stumbled as he pushed the tank and you over the side of the dock.  Not letting go of the cart, he was pulled in as well.  The staff and scientists all panicked as everything fell into the water below.  Changkyun under the water now, worked quick to unclasp the top of the tank and you sprang out.  

You both broke the surface of the water and looked to the shouting above you on the dock.  Before anything else, You grabbed Changkyu around his waist his side to yours as you dove under the water and began swimming as quickly as you could.  You kept glancing at the closed eyes of Changkyun under the water and the way he held his mouth and nose to keep his breath in as well as water out.  

“I know where we are.  I know a safe place, just hold on a little longer.”  He heard you shout from under the water over the sounds of the seas rushing past his ears.  He only nodded as he concentrated everything on keeping his breath in.  HIs face began to turn red and he was ready to open his mouth unconsciously, but just as he did, you pulled him above the surface.  He took harsh breaths as he felt you pull him into more shallow water under he was laying on a hard surface.  

Finally opening his eyes, he found himself staring at the ceiling of a small cover by the seaside before you hovered over him into his vision.  

“Are you okay?!  I know we were under the water for a long time for humans!”  He shook his head, his breath still labored but barible now.  He chuckled as he reached to you and hooked his arms around your neck and pulled you on top of himself, hugging you as he laughed.  

“I actually got you out of there.  I’m so happy.” You chuckled back to him.  Your long wet hair was cold to him, but he was just happy to hold you and not being surrounded by scientists or people with evil intentions.  “You’re finally able to go home.”  It was when he finally let his hidden sorrow show a little bit.  “I’ll miss you know.”  He sat up as you moved away from him and rested your tail over his stretched out legs.  

“Well, do you visit the ocean often?”  He thought about it  He didn’t normally, but if he had even the slightest chance of seeing you among the waves, he’d definitely make more trips.  

“I’d be willing to travel to the beach any day of the week if I got to see you again.”  You smiled at him as you moved to lean closer to him slightly.  

“Will you wait here for me for a bit longer.  I want to get something for you.”  He didn’t know what you wanted to do, but he figured he could wait since the scientists were probably in the middle of multiple hernias at losing such a precious specimen.  He nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll wait.  But be careful.  They could be around looking for you.”  

“I’ll stick to the sea bed, they can’t detect mermaids when they’re moving along the sand.  Call it a camouflage trick of ours.”  He rose his brows.

“Neat.”  So, he left the cove and Changkyun.  He peeled off his shirt and rang it out before setting it on a rock to dry in the sun that peeked in.  He removed his shoes and socks as he messily ran his finger through his hair.  Thankfully it was still midsummer, so he wasn’t cold.  

It was maybe 2 hours later when he saw your tail flick up in the distance and second later you were swimming into the cove and pulling yourself closer to him. Around your neck was a shell with an old looking chain holding it to your chest.

“You waited for me!”  He rolled his eyes at your smiled.

“I did say I would, didn’t I.” You nodded.  “What’s with the shell?”  You looked at the shell as you took it and pulled it over your head, your hair being pulled over your shoulder as the chain was removed from your neck.  

“It’s a shell that will help you call me.”  You offered it to him as he rose his brow, taking it and examining it.  

“It looks like a regular old shell though?”  You nodded as you called him closer to you, and he moved to be at your side.  

“It was, but it’s been enchanted and modified for calling or summoning.”  You pointed to the small nozzle at one end of the shell.  “See, if you blow into this bit hear, it will emit a silent, but very high pitched call that only sea life can recognize.  The pitch is loud even your land animals would hear it.  The pitch comes out of the end,” you gesture to the open bit at the back of the shell, “and if you just blow for 5 seconds I will hear it and and be able to recognize the direction and sea you closest too.”

“Impressive.  It’s like a dog whistle mixed with a cell phone.” He moved it around in his fingers as he tapped on it.  “Does it break like regular shells do?”  You nodded.

“Unfortunately yet, but since I also had this made to go along with it,” you gestured to a small earing in your ear, “I’ll know when it becomes damaged.  When, or if it doesn't, just come here to this cover and leave it for me to find.  I’ll take it and have it repaired in a day so you can come pick it up again.”

“Is the earing an amplifier as well?”  You nodded.  “

It helps me identify it’s you calling me.”  You smiled as he looped it around his neck. “This way we don’t really have to say goodbye.  We can still see each other.”  

“I’ll have to get a case to put it in.  This is my new treasure, you know that right?”  You giggled at him.  “I’m glad I’ll be able to see you again.”  He playfully looked around as if someone was with you two in the cove before leaning and cupping a hand against your ear and whispering to you.

“Just for the record, I might have a little crush on you.”  You looked at him as he pulled back, chuckled because he knew what you were about to say just by the look in your eyes.

“Crush?  Isn’t that the action of flattening something?”  You looked a bit concerned as he laughed.  

“Yes, but is also means something else.  It’s a good thing, trust me.”  You wanted him to explain further but he didn’t, making you cutely pout when he told you he’d tell you someday, but not today.  As the sun started showing signs of setting, you advised him to get back to his own society and find a place to sleep for the night.  He set mental notes to move out of his previous home as soon as possible, since those scientist knew where it was.  

Soon, you had left to the water, and already missing you, Changkyun blew into the shell.  Not a minute later, your head was peeking out of the water not too far from him.  He smiled as he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted to you.

“I’ll see you soon Y/N!  Please, be safe!!”  You smiled and raised your hand to wave at him before disappearing into the water again.  Luckily, a friend lived near where you had taken him so with little notice he decided to bunk there for a few night.  

He had his things moved closer to the coast in an apartment building as he lived in a high story with a few of the ocean.  He kept your shell kept in a small glass viewing box and would always take it with him when he planned to go to the shore.  He’d always meet you in that coves or secluded areas where you could talk without risking being seen.  He was pleased to see all your scales come back in and stay in place and even your fin had started healing.  

You had also started wearing gems around your neck and around your wrists even having small shell rings and clips and you had shown him a shell crown a child had made for you once under the ocean where you lived.  You were healthy and happier in the ocean just like he wanted and your smile never faded with him either.  

Even though you never found out what this ‘crush’ of his was, he was happy seeing you as often as he did.  He knew it’d be hard to try and maintain a relationship with someone like you.  So, when you came to him one day and pulled yourself out of the water, only to show that your tai had started changing, your scales into flesh he would both be confused and worried.

You had worked and paid an innocent sea magician to help you change when your body wasn’t in water.  He was at first angry at you for making such a decisions.  He’s seen the Little Mermaid, and it almost ended badly for her, turning into foam and making a deal with a sadistic witch.  But, when you assured him nothing would happen to you he forgave you.   

You also made up for your innocence and your choice on the day you told him you may be in love with him.  

[myofficesupply]

Essential Office Supplies for Start-up Companies

The necessity of office supplies is something we all take for granted. It’s the unifying factor in business, but we never pause to consider why it is so important. Everyone uses reams of paper, pens, printer ink, and plastic files, but do we ever consider what would happen if they did not exist? A lot of organizations do not pay attention to their office supplies and instead rely on their employees to keep track of them. We generally don’t appreciate the relevance of office supplies in a work environment until we need one and do not have any on hand.

If you are looking for products, ensure they’re suited for work and have the quality and comfort you prefer. Consider the type of envelopes you will need if your company sends a lot of internal mail or the type of notepad you will need to supply if your employees are frequently on the phone.

Importance of Having Office Supplies

Productivity

You may find it rather challenging to give your company such importance to success as a comprehensive supply of offices. However, it has been found to enhance offices’ productivity.

To be able to do what your employees have to do during the day, they will require the correct tools and equipment. Even the smallest items, such as pens and a printing paper bundle, can stop or at least postpone a process.

To complete basic office tasks

Office stationery not only helps you make a good first impression and promotes employee morale, but it also helps you complete fundamental office tasks. If staff do not have the equipment or supplies they need to complete their tasks, an office can come to a halt. Paper, pens, calculators, printers, scanners, and copiers are all vital in ordinary office work, but they are especially important for administrative tasks. And you can get all these office essentials from My Office Supply, the best office essentials supplier in Qatar.

Efficiency

You can not afford these inactive moments when it comes to running your company, since they tend to build up and have a real impact on production in the long term. If they do not have access to the necessary materials and equipment, the momentum of the workflow process can be disrupted. In the end, the efficiency of the employees will be affected.

Safety

Your business should contain not only ordinary office supplies such as folders and printer ink but also safety materials. This is a requirement in your business to provide emergency aid to someone.

In general, it also clearly shows how much you regard your staff’s safety and well-being. Since they work hard to help them operate your business, the least you can do for them is to make sure that they have the resources they need to work for them.

Organization

Office supplies are critical to a company’s success, as is spending appropriately on them.

Nothing is more distressing than a disorganized business that clients are aware of. Your company must be an innovator, and if you can introduce yourself to the company, clients will flock to you. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways.

You must endeavor to change your employees’ attitudes, and the laws and regulations you desire to follow must be communicated to them.

Professional Appearance

You make a great impression on your organization by employing high-quality office supplies. It’s possible that your customers and clients do not come to your office very often, if at all, but they will notice the result regardless of what office supplies you use. They may get mail from you, for example, and if it is provided in higher-quality envelopes and printed on higher-quality paper, they are more likely to have a positive impression of your business.

Furthermore, you will be more confident in your work if you use everyday office supplies with which you can comfortably and readily operate. You can not understand it, yet it’s still there. This trust will be reflected in your clients, who believe you are aware of what you are talking about.

Cost-effective and Efficient

Office supplies include stationery, paper, printers, photocopiers, and toner, and everything that most employees require on a daily basis must be readily available if you want to make your office as efficient as possible. It is impossible to accomplish any activity without the correct equipment. It helps those with everything at their disposal to be much more effective and productive. It is a modest measure, but it can make a big difference. It is both efficient and inexpensive; there are numerous approaches to take, and the choice is entirely yours. If you prefer paper filing, go ahead and do so; if you prefer digital filing, go ahead and do so as well.

Branding

Not only will it be far easier for you to use your everyday office supplies as a brand approach for your business, but you will also do so for less money than you would if you purchased this paper mill and paid for its branding through other means.

While branding your workplace documents, you can ensure you can use their corporate colors or even the logo when there is space for it. You also have your email and phone number. It is a nice idea. You miss a huge opportunity to increase your identity with many more people if you don’t do it.

Environmentally friendly choices

Now you may get more environmentally friendly office stationery from the office essentials supplier in Qatar. You may get recycled paper and pens, markers, rubber bands, and many more things which are considerably more environmentally friendly. People react to these things and they may opt to do more business with you when they perceive you are responsible.

Essential Office Supplies for Start-up Companies

Business startups are the outcome of a vision for entrepreneurship. A business owner understands what his or her company will do and how it will do it. But in order to make this vision a reality, the fundamental demands of the workplace are often the last thing. When it comes to filling their offices with the appropriate supplies, a new CEO may know everything there is to know about economic trends or which fashion designs will be popular next spring. We, My Office Supply, one of the leading office supply suppliers in Qatar, can assist you in this area. The actual office supply essentials that any startup needs to have in its armory to get off to a good start are listed below.

Paper

Paper is the most basic but crucial component of any office on the globe. Opening a brand new package of A4 paper is incredible. In a bigger office setting, printing is a common occurrence; in fact, most employees are likely to print on a daily basis. Perhaps you might consider storing a variety of papers. Making a new business card or using glossy photo printing paper. Special and important documents may require the use of pricey printing paper.

Shredder

The paper must be destroyed as rapidly as it is created. Your firm is responsible for the information it receives. It could be personal information about an employee, a customer list, sensitive materials from a client, or a confidential letter. Information that you are in charge of getting into the wrong hands can be disastrous for your business and your clients.

Stapler

Have a stack of papers that you constantly misplace or that you require in a specific order? The stapler can help you with this. Staplers are available in many shapes and sizes, so you’ll discover one to fit your workspace properly, whether you need a smaller or more substantial one to deal with big mounds of paper files. To lighten your workstation, multiple staplers in each color of the rainbow are offered. For only a few pounds, you can purchase thousands of these, so don’t worry about running out!

Folders

Folders are an excellent investment for the workstation. Folders and files are the ideal choices for the safe and damage-free keeping of information. There are a lot of files to pick from. The bill fits into a lever arch file. Do you have to see which papers are exactly where? The transparent files are ideal. There is no excuse not to be organized with so many different files to pick from!

Pens

The pen offers us a chance to learn more in the corporate world when we have a computer for comprehensive functions. You know, writing with a pen and paper helps sharpen our minds and enhances our cognitive capabilities and motor skills. Not to mention that vital notes must be scored before they inevitably depart our brains forever. Not to mention the importance of scoring important notes before they vanish from our minds forever. When it comes to office life, one can never have too many pens!

Envelopes

Workplaces must have a well-stocked supply of envelopes, which come in a variety of sizes ranging from ordinary plain to heavy-duty padded. You want to make certain that whatever you send is secure! Envelopes do not have to be expensive. They are frequently sold in bulk quantities at inexpensive prices, making stocking up in your office a breeze.

Post It Notes

Post It Notes are great for taking notes on anything essential and attached to any surface – your computer screen, your desk – and because they are so bright and colorful, you won’t forget them! Another advantage of these small notes is that they may be adhered to and removed from any surface without leaving any stains or residue!

Hole Punch

The basic, yet handy trough punch is another superhero of the office. It is, nonetheless, critical to have a good one. Nobody enjoys stumbling through papers to leave barely half a circle on each one! You may buy three, four, and even one hole punch, undoubtedly the most popular ones, but don’t be afraid. There will be a hole punch for you, whatever your needs are!

Highlighter

Highlighters have made it easier to prepare for tests and large presentations. Available in a range of bright colors, highlighters allow you to construct color-coded file folders and eye-catching posters. Several pens feature integrated convenience grips so you can work and write chores for hours. Gel-based pens function well on thinner paper because of their superior bleed-through resistance. Light yellow models are not shadowy, so they can cleanly copy papers without any crucial features that are obscured or blurred.

Binder Clips

Binder clips are ideal when rubber bands don’t have adequate strength, staples are not ideal and the tape is too chaotic. Clips are used to keep documents together, close open snack packs, and serve as bookmarks. Mini binder clips can be used to secure tablecloths, prop up keyboards, and straighten computer wires. Binder clips are important office essentials that can be used to prepare, organize, and display information for a variety of jobs. The adaptable clips include a unique shape, strong clasping strength, and a long-lasting design.

You should also be very concerned about the firm from whom you get your office supplies. Some agencies simply purchase anything out of stock from random local stationers. On the other hand, certain companies give the initial company listed with an annual office supply contract. Both of them are inadequate. Only reliable and reputable companies should be selected, such as My Office Supply, which is one of the leading office supply suppliers in Qatar.

We tailor our services to guarantee that our customers can get what they need from our many locations throughout Qatar. Our team includes a variety of professionals with expertise in not only office items, but also workplace design and technical assistance for employees. My Office Supply, the best office essentials supplier in Qatar, is dedicated to providing personalized service to all of our customers, regardless of where they work. You can search for us on the internet just by typing office supplies near me in the search bar.

[bwglifestyle]

The Importance of a Clutter-Free Home - How This Impacts Your Mental Wellbeing

No matter how hard we try, clutter is often something that is unavoidable. Due to a lack of time, that little corner as you walk in the house can sometimes become the dumping ground for all your little trinkets you put down as you enter the house. However, just like that dumping ground in your corner, your mind, too, can become clogged if not de-cluttered. Clutter is bad for our health and can often have a profound negative effect on our anxiety levels, sleep, and ability to focus.

Clutter has been linked to chronic stress, weight gain and even depression. If you’re asking “why is clutter bad for me, and how can I fix this?” you’ve come to the right place.

How Clutter affects our mind

When we allow our cupboards to burst, clothing to pile, or papers to stack around the house, we instantly drain our brains by the constant visual reminders of what has to be sorted or done. It may seem relatively harmless at first, but without even realising it you are draining your cognitive resources in the mind. Our brains enjoy order and structure, and when you allow the space around you to become disorganised you essentially reduce the working memory, essential to everyday living. By clearing just one area of clutter, you could substantially improve your ability to focus and process information, as well as increase productivity both at work and at home.

Besides this, the mounds around your home could be impacting the relationships of those around you. Clutter can inhibit the ability to interpret the emotional expressions on people’s faces. Coupled with the inability to focus and process information that is discussed with you, your conversations could become a struggle, leaving you feeling frustrated and overwhelmed. And don’t think for a second that it’ll all disappear when you lay your head down to rest. It’s been proven that sleeping in a cluttered room makes you more likely to have sleeping problems, including difficulties in falling asleep and being disturbed during the night.

Clutter eventually begins to chip away at your mental health. The lack of energy thanks to the sleepless nights, and difficulty concentrating can further lead to depression, making it even more difficult to start cleaning up.

The dangers of clutter on your health

In cases where houses are extremely packed up with clutter, the response of our body and brains is that of a fight or flight response, constantly taxing our physical resources designed for survival. These in turn can trigger psychological changes that affect how our bodies digest our food and ward off infections and illnesses. Research found that people who lived in cluttered homes had higher levels of cortisol, which is a stress hormone, in their bodies.

 These psychological triggers can also lead to poor eating habits, and thus weight gain. People in cluttered environments were found to be more likely to eat unhealthy snacks and junk food, than those who were in a less busy surroundings.

 Speaking of risks to your health, living in an extremely messy environment also increases your risk of physical injury. Tripping over items that are left lying around as well as the potential fire risk, especially when these items block your escape route, should be a good enough reason to start clearing up the spaces around you.

 So what can you do about it?

Sometimes clutter in the home could be a sign of an underlying mental health issue, and in these cases it’s important that you consult a qualified councillor or therapist. However, by starting small and setting manageable goals for yourself, you’ll see how quickly the spaces around you (and your mind) improve. In fact, clutter is one of the easiest life stressors to fix.

When beginning to declutter, remember the following; if you don’t use it, don’t need it, and don’t want it – then toss it, recycle it or donate it.

Here are FIVE KEY STEPS to a less cluttered home

Start with small areas, such as a drawer in the kitchen, or your cupboard. Try to complete at least one small task per day. Even making your bed or doing the dishes is a good start. By finishing one small area at a time, it gives you a sense of accomplishment as you see your successes and begin benefitting from them.

Create designated places for items. Frequently used items should have a spot that is easily accessible in order to find it quickly and easily when needed. However, try to make those spots in drawers or cupboards – in other words, out of sight. If items are left stored on open shelves or countertops, your mind still “sees” these items and the visual stimuli will continue to stress you out.

Everything has a place and everything in its place. When something is taken out to be used, ensure that it is returned once you are finished using it. It sounds extremely simple, but it actually takes a lot of practice and commitment.

Papers are the worst! Random papers piled up everywhere are one of the greatest stressors when it comes to clutter. Mail, menus, newspapers, etc. are constantly filing our homes, but the key here is to be conscious of what you bring into the house. Also try to throw away any unnecessary paperwork, as soon as possible.

Keep at it. It is important to never give up on the process of decluttering. Although you went through a major deep clean in January, the couple of months passed means more paperwork, another Birthday, another occasion where items have come into the house and are sitting uninvited in that drawer, that corner or on the desktop. Start your process all over again to ensure your house is kept clutter-free at all times.

Top Tips

If you use it, but only rarely, store it in a box in the garage and put a date on the box. If you haven't opened the box in a year, whatever is inside is probably not something you need. Get rid of it. One person’s trash is another’s treasure.

At work, it’s absolutely normal for things to get a bit crazy when you’re working but try to make sure you declutter your workspace before you leave every day. Put everything back in its place and you will find that you have more of a sense of closure when you leave. You’ll also return to a clean desk in the morning!

 Mental decluttering is extremely important too. Try to focus on one project at a time without distractions such as cell phones, emails, and other electronic gadgets. You'll be amazed at how much more you can accomplish when you focus on a project without allowing anything else to distract you.

One last note here. Clutter isn’t always bad. One study showed that a messy desk can actually make us more creative. By having a neat, ordered environment, it tends to make us more likely to play it safe, not allowing us to break with the norm and look at things in a new, creative way.

[ravenvsfox]

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!

Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot --  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

______

The next time he sees him, they’re on either side of a meeting with a room full of players in Moriyama circles. Neil is bleached pale blond, and his eyes are brown behind boxy black frames. His mouth twitches when he sees Andrew, and Andrew looks at him like he hasn’t been searching for him for four months.

“We’re taking care of it,” someone says. “We’re close.”

“Close to a replacement? Or close to finding our loose end and snipping him.”

“Both,” someone else says evenly.

“The butcher can’t be replaced. No one else has that kind of history, that level of loyalty.”

Neil’s eyes narrow. Andrew watches them resize back to normal, his mouth tipping up thoughtfully, dutifully jotting information down. He’s playing an intern, today, quizzical and non-threatening. Andrew can see the throb of tension in his bicep through his starchy blue shirt.

“We have plenty of butchers,” the first voice says. “It’s not a difficult job. I’m more concerned with the proficiency of whoever’s cleaning up messes than I am with who’s making them.”

“Like Lola?” someone guesses, and there’s a smattering of polite laughter.

“She was a mess herself,” the first voice drawls.

“What about Nathaniel?” Neil asks suddenly. Andrew’s attention all pours over to him, his earnest expression and relaxed hands. “Shouldn’t we be worried about him taking out more men? I heard he killed everyone in the butcher’s circle.”

There’s a ripple of trepidation, and the first speaker eyes Neil up, fingers folded in front of him.

“He’s a child throwing a tantrum,” he says slowly. “We’re not worried.”

“Hm.” Neil peels off his glasses and adjusts them on the pristine, uncrossable conference table. “Your mistake,” he says conversationally. “Andrew, if you would?”

There’s a chill of confusion. Neil doesn’t look at him, and Andrew realizes — with a shiver that eats his whole body — that he’s being given an out. Kill or leave.

Andrew retrieves his gun from his ankle holster, and shoots the man next to him in the temple without hesitation.

Neil smiles, heaving the table over so that water glasses and laptops go skidding onto the hardwood. Everyone scatters, ducking and crawling for cover, and Neil produces a gun from his jacket and just— opens fire.

The adrenaline of it takes Andrew by surprise. Everything slurs with violence, and Neil is a steady instigator, pulsing at the heart of it all. He shoots precisely, puts his free hand to his own smile until it fades into a frown. The room is full of lackeys trying to categorize murder and please monsters, and Andrew knows they deserve it. The bystanders always deserve it.

Andrew goes instinctively for the knives in his sleeve when he spots someone lunging for an alarm, and he catches them in the neck, knife shredding straight through their jugular.

“I assume you’re Nathaniel,” Andrew calls through the last of the gunfire, wiping blood from his knives onto the finely upholstered armchairs. Neil rolls his foot onto the last living person’s neck and doesn’t look up.

“You’re smart,” he says simply. “But don’t call me that.”

The smell of blood is nearly unbearable. Neil looks up at him, across the shattered glass and well of gore. His shirt is clean and his glasses are back on. He looks like his conscience is as bleached and brittle as his hair.

“You killed your father,” Andrew presses. He keeps visualizing the Wesninski nameplate connected to the Moriyama’s on a string on his board at headquarters. He remembers writing Nathaniel out on a post it note and sealing him to the butcher. “You ran away.”

“The one thing you were right about,” Neil agrees. “I’m a runner.”

Something in Andrew’s throat burns at the way he says it, like he’s been turning Andrew’s words over in his head for the past few months and now he’s trying to prove it to him.

“You’re supposed to pick fight or flight,” Andrew says pointedly, eyes falling to the victims of the impromptu brawl to the death.

“They’re both necessary,” Neil argues. “You need to pick honesty or spy work.”

“They are not mutually exclusive.”

“The spy who doesn’t lie,” Neil muses. “Seems like such a sanctimonious routine.”

“I don’t call myself that.”

“But it’s what you want,” Neil prompts, winding through the mess, watching Andrew watching his approach.

“I want to make bad people look like bad people. I have no patience for the way reputation and connections can keep anyone safe.”

Neil nods, visibly engaged, looking like he understands despite the fact that no one ever has and Andrew doesn’t really want them to.

“And me? Just another bad person, right?”

Andrew cocks his head, watching Neil quake, boundaries strangely unsettled, like maybe the guilt is finally outweighing the bravado.

“I’m a bad person too,” Andrew says, clipped. “But no one’s managed to kill me, yet.”

“And you’ve stopped trying to do it yourself?” Neil asks, nodding at Andrew’s sheathed arms. He can feel his own expression drawing up tight, and there’s a whisper of satisfaction across Neil’s face. “I’ll see you next time Andrew,” he says, dismissive, already turning.

“Work for us,” Andrew says impulsively. He keeps trying to get him to stay, though it’s pointless and every possible response is a bad one.

Neil looks at him flatly, then at his watch, then at the quietly closed door they’re both to disappear out of. He doesn’t pretend to be flattered or interested. “Why?”

Andrew blinks. “You could change things.”

It’s expertly vague, but it seems to be enough for Neil to settle slowly, his nervous energy smoothing and folding itself up for storage. He reaches out for a handshake, and Andrew accepts it, but neither of them shake.

“Maybe,” he says, and squeezes Andrew’s palm very slightly. He can’t see the mess around them anymore, can’t see past the dark, amber roots wriggling past Neil’s dye job. He wants to see Neil without make up or contacts or lies or that fake chalky smile of his. It’s the only stupid thing he’s let himself want in years.

______

“Turn left.”

Neil veers right. Even in miniature on-screen, Andrew can see him taking his own pulse, two fingers slipped beneath his collar. He does it when he’s nervous, focuses on the beating against his fingers, the simple heave of blood. He’d done it the first time Andrew kissed him.

He’s grainy grey through the shitty hotel security cameras, and he’s ignoring every instruction Andrew gives him.

He winds through the empty hallway full of conference rooms and violently retro carpeting, pausing when he reaches the swinging doors to the kitchen.

“Andrew?” he murmurs. There’s crackling static for a long minute, and he watches Neil tense up and put a hand to his ear like he’s taking an important phone call. “Are you there?”

“Oh, have you found a use for me,” Andrew says, and Neil sighs.

“I need eyes on the dining hall. I can fake my way through the kitchen, but I don’t know what to expect after that.”

“Too bad. Go left.”

Neil makes an annoyed noise. “I’m killing Riko first.”

Andrew’s body rebels, and he swallows a gag, holding the headphones flush to his ears. “You are not. He’s all but irrelevant to them.”

“He’ll be relevant when he inherits the fucking— Moriyama throne. He had his own teammates abused for his entertainment, Andrew, he’s a dictator.”

“Go left,” Andrew repeats. “He’s irrelevant and you are not.”

Neil shakes his head, frustrated. Andrew grits his teeth. They sit in their disagreement, the air tight between them, wind whistling through the plated metal of the van Andrew’s hunched in.

“I’m going in,” Neil tells him hollowly, and pushes the kitchen door open, shouldering under the ropes of activity.

Andrew stays silent, fear wandering into his field of vision for the first time in a decade.

“Neil—“

He’s not even conscious of having opened his mouth, but he’s careful to close it, self aware enough to climb out of boiling water he’s in. He doesn’t have any visual for where Neil is in the din of the kitchen, all he can hear is snatches of yelled orders and sizzling and clattering dishes.

“Fine,” Neil says smoothly under his breath.

“He’s surrounded by human shields, Neil, and he will let them die.”

Neil doesn’t respond, but his breath is a constant, lopsided relief.

“He’s an athlete. He could kill you with less than half of his ability.”

“I’m an athlete too,” Neil has to say, hissed into the microphone in his bowtie. His predictability is comforting and stifling, cotton in Andrew’s throat.

He shivers back into view on the dining room camera, cutting a sharp figure against the pale wallpaper. He’s a glinting blade. He’s incredible to watch, leonine and calm as he stalks single-mindedly towards Riko’s table.

Andrew takes his headphones off, skirting panic, and his hands are freezing when they graze his own face. He watches Neil approach the raised platform of the table, and he has low ground, low speed, low numbers. Neil blurs into the shape of an unlikely statistic. He’s too close to the idea of Riko’s death. He wants it like he seems to want so many things — justice and family and rightness and touch. He’s so fast, so obsessive, he wakes in the night with his ideas lighting up the whole room, he runs when he can barely walk.

Andrew needs him alive.

“Neil, don’t. Don’t. You’re surrounded.”

Neil doesn’t stop.

“Listen to me.” He can hear the streak of panic in his own voice, like a drop of blood through clear water.

Neil takes two leisurely steps, leans into the table like an inquiring member of the wait staff, and then the person next to him collapses. He looks at the bodyguard crumpling to the floor as if he’s as surprised as everyone else, and then he lunges for a wineglass, breaks it, and drives it into Riko’s face.

It’s the sloppiest thing he’s ever done — the sort of dirty move that should finish a fight, not start it. Andrew stands up, weightless. He feels like he’s in the middle of a failed bike trick, and he’s just waiting to land wrong.

He’s holding the mouthpiece but he doesn’t speak. He watches someone wrench Neil’s arm back like they’re trying to remove it. Riko’s spasming and then he’s flipping, kicking, crawling for Neil, and Andrew knows that he’s lost all hope of dying quickly.

Dinner guests start pointing and darting like they’re waiting for someone to kill a cockroach, and Neil fights his way out of two chokeholds before he comes face to bloody face with Riko. He punches him, which is stupid, and then tries to get up, which is impossible. Gunfire flashes, and Andrew grabs for his headphones.

“Don’t fucking die.”

Neil’s pinned, shoulders at odd angles, legs kicking. Andrew watches the fight flicker, and Riko climbs on top of him, the expensive knees of his pants pressed into the curve of Neil’s waist.

“Can you hear me? Neil. Can you hear me, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil chokes instantly. “Yes. Drew.” He makes a bloody, gurgling sound, and Andrew watches his face get smeared into the carpet for exactly one full second before he’s kicking his way out of the van and into the spray of evening rain.

He barely closes the door. He barely registers the slap of the storm or the oncoming traffic or the way the air seems to get thinner the closer he gets to the hotel.

The dining room is just off of the glistening amber foyer, a private affair behind a flimsy door that Andrew splinters open. There’s a mob of runners, and smoke and rust in the air. Someone’s screaming, and when he breaks through the clot of bodies he sees that it’s Riko, a dinner knife in his gut, hands around Neil’s throat.

“He’s mine,” he keeps saying. “He’s mine, don’t touch him, he’s mine.”

Anonymous Yakuza members in suits watch Riko like he’s a puppy learning to fight. Bodyguards watch each other for action. Dinner guests clutch each other and whimper like children.

“He’s not yours,” Andrew says, and it’s the last thing Riko ever hears. Neil bares his teeth and twists the knife with the last of his energy, yanking it up through a break in his ribcage. Riko’s hands drop, and Neil sags down onto his chest like they’re locked in a grotesque hug.

Andrew cracks his neck, shoots the two closest targets that he recognizes from all of their stillborn planning, and drags Neil off of Riko’s body. He hears him fail to repress a pained little noise when Andrew wrestles him over broken glass and behind overturned tables. The rush of action trips around and over them, and Andrew pulls Neil into his chest, holding his bloody face upright.

“You made this,” he says, turning his face towards the chaos. It gets a sleepy smile out of Neil, and Andrew shakes him, lifts him, and struggles to carry two people’s weight on one set of legs.

“Riko was getting on my nerves,” Neil slurs, swaying nearly out of Andrew’s arms. The fight is beyond them, a brawl over Riko’s body and property damage and which direction Neil went.

“You are getting on mine.”

A gunshot slings into the doorframe beside them, and Andrew cups Neil’s face protectively. Neil is reckless and murderous and furious for what he thinks is right, and Andrew needs him for everything in his life to breathe and sleep and live like it’s supposed to.

He remembers looking at old photographs of Charlie Pilot and thinking that he sounded like a terrible spy. He remembers finding Neil and then finding him again, blood under his nails, taking his contacts out in the bathroom outside of the slaughterhouse he created.

He remembers the first time they were partnered together for recon, and they kissed over the scope of a sniper rifle on a rooftop in California.

Neil can’t let things go, and it’s like he’s taught Andrew to do the same thing — so now he blows covers and storms hotels and lets himself be touched and mouths at Neil’s scars and lets himself be lied to.

He reaches for Neil’s neck, the other hand still holding his gun at the ready, and they dip and fall out into the street. The rain wipes the blood from them both, the hotel staff shouts furiously after them, Neil starts laughing, delirious, and Andrew holds him up, taking his pulse.

[imaginativemarvel]

The Hitman - Bucky x Reader - Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky works as a hitman and receives a mission to take down a normal college professor at a local university. Once he sets eyes on her and gets to know her, he realizes there a lot more to the story than just an average English professor. Will he pull the trigger? Or will something stop him? Pairing: Hitman! Bucky Barnes x Reader Word count: 2K A/N: Requests are open and I absolutely am open to anything! I love speaking to you guys and receiving any type of feed back so please don’t hesitate to send an ask or message (:

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

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“I don’t know who sent me. I swear on it.” After hours of trying to manipulate this mysterious man tied in her desk chair to tell her his name, he refused. She soon moved on but didn’t forget.

“So the guy was anonymous.”

“That’s how it was sent, nobody usually comes out with their identity, I’m one of the few people who let people come anonymously.” His hands moved to lay on his lap as he leaned back into the chair, not taking his eyes off her or the gun she held.

“How much did he offer you?”

“Let’s just say that killing you would be equivalent to killing 5 people. It was a lot of money.”

“And you’re just okay with that? It’s been 5 years, I’ve created a life that isn’t fake and I have people I care for now. I do everything on my own and I completely disconnected myself from people like you. Why are they after me?” She ran her free hand through her hair before dropping the gun to her side. At gun point or not, there’s no way he could escape.

“Like I said, anonymous donor. All I know is you’re something special and they want you to disappear.” He spoke nonchalantly knowing he had nothing to offer her except the fact that he was the one sent to do the job.

“So either I wait for someone else to kill me or I take action and join what I purposely left 5 years ago.” She sighed deeply before placing her hand onto her hip.

“What about me? Are you just going to kill me?” His back straightened as he continued to stare into her eyes.

“No. I don’t kill… anymore. You’re going to stick with me until I figure out who this guy is.” His eyebrows quickly furrowed before he brought his hands up and waved them back and forth. “No! No way I can stay with you. I have my own life too!”

“It doesn’t matter to me, you refuse to tell me your name… and tried to kill me.” He rolled his eyes before lifting up his hand in defense. “Hey, don’t act like you didn’t hold a gun to my back!”

“Yeah, I did. After I figured out you would have done it first if you had the chance. I mean seriously? Who carries a gun on campus. You’re an amateur, there’s was many more ways to hide it.” She laughed before smirking in his direction, earning a scoff.

“So you used to do what I do? You’re saying you’re better than me? No. Not likely. We may be Hitman but we hide our identities with code names. The best are known by those names, If you were one I’d know-”

“You think I don’t know that? Look, if you claim you’re so good at what you do, consider me better. Why? You’re trapped in my house at gunpoint” Once again she lifted up the gun into his direction. “Plus, I had a code once, we all did.” He rolled his eyes once again before shrugging his shoulders and sighing in defeat.

“Oh yeah? And what’s your name?”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She giggled at her answer as he glared into her direction.

“I meant your code name, idiot.”

“Oh that? Are you sure you want to know? I don’t know… I mean you refuse to tell me your name so…”

“If I tell you my code name will you tell me? I just want to see if I’ve heard of you.” His voice filled with desperation, he was begging to just hear her code-name and possible rub into her face that she is not well known, or so he thought.

“Go ahead, tell me yours.” She shrugged without a concern, not agreeing to his deal but allowing him to expose himself.

“They call me the winter soldier.” His hand raised to his head as he leaned down onto it.

“Wow, never heard of you. Shocker.” She lied, she had heard his name before. Not frequently, but enough for her to remember.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep them coming. What’s yours?”

“I never said if you told me yours that I’d tell you mine.” He quickly sat up and set his hands on the arms rest, giving her an angry face. “Seriously? Yeah. Of course you didn’t. Okay well can you at least let me go now? I have no information for you.”

“I want to know your real name.” He smiled in disbelief, laughing at her foolishness.

“Yeah, well. Not happening, doll.” He stood up from his chair before crossing his arms.

She quickly walked up to him, pushing his body back into the seat forcefully and placing the gun to his forehead. “I have no problem with shooting you. Tell me your name or speak your last words.”

“I really have to if I want to live, don’t I?”

“Well, if you don’t, you die. If you do, you’ll be accompanying me until I find this anonymous donor. After I find him and kill him, you’ll be set free and live your life while I forget you existed.” His body didn’t move an inch, his eyes stared up into her as she gave him no emotion. His expression was priceless, he felt hopeless.

“If I tell you my name, I lose everything.”

“You think I’m going to tell anyone? No. I’m only asking for my safety and benefit.”

“What if someone was listening right now? If someone heard me, what would I do then?”

“I would know if there was, plus I don’t have any cameras or microphones in here.”

“Can I at least write it down?” She sighed before setting the gun into her pants pocket and grabbing a notepad and pen from the desk by the door. “Fine whatever, but don’t try anything.”

“You wish, Darlin’.”

He grabbed the paper and pen from her hands before scribbling down a name. He could have easily lied about his name, but she felt deep inside that he wasn’t. Once he was finished he hesitated before holding his hand out into her direction. She slowly grabbed it before reading the name written on the paper. ‘James Buchanan Barnes - Bucky.’

“Hmm. It’s unique, I like it.”

“If you say that name, my life is completely over. I’m okay with being your side-kick for now, but please do not repeat those words to anyone, even myself. If anything, just call me some dumb pet name. I’d prefer that over anything.” Bucky stood up and looked down at her in sadness, realizing what deep hole he was in.

“I promised I won’t. If I do, kill me. But before any of that happens, you’re going to help me carry some of my belongings to my car, they’re bound to raid this place. On the other hand, we need new identities. Ones that are believable and not a 25 year old who isn’t in debt.” He laughed at her joke before giving her a playful grin.

“Hey, I needed something good to be put into your classroom!” She slapped his arm before walking to her closet and grabbing pairs of clothes.

“This time you’re not making the identities, for now, let’s pack up. They’ll be here soon.”

After a few hours of shoving clothes into bags and grabbing documents and electronics, they both sat in the car, exhausted from non-stop packing. After a few minutes of catching their breath, she started the car and drove through the backstreets.

“So, the plan?” He looked into her direction, admiring every feature on her face as she concentrated on the road before her.

“When I was still in the business, I knew a few people. They found another way to live, like I did and they all ended up being in the same state as me. One of them owns a diner now, one that’s in an isolated area and only used by locals.” A red light was visible as she stopped the car and turned to look at him. “I used to go there to lay low, and he wouldn’t mind if we stayed there for a bit. We need to make these identities and I’m sure he has some equipment too.”

“So is this guy nameless too?”

“Eh, just call him Steve.”

After 40 minutes of sitting in a crammed car, they finally parked into an almost empty diner. A few cars were parked out front, one being Steve’s and the rest probably being locals. After getting out of the car, she entered the building with a ding from above the door. A bearded man was wearing an apron, while wiping down the counters. He ran his hair through his slicked back hair before looking at the door. In an instant they recognized each other.

“Jesus Christ, Steve! You look like a lumberjack! No more clean cut, I see?” She quickly fastened her walk and ran behind the counter to give the old friend a hug.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t (Y/N). It’s been a while, what brings you here?” He gave her a smile before whispering into her ear. “You’re only here when things are serious, yeah?”

She looked around at the few people dining before giving him a nod. “Let’s meet in the back.”

The moment they all were in the back, she quickly explained the situation to Steve as he took in ever detail and stroked his beard. He was concentrated in his own thought before he creased his eyebrows.

“We used to be partners, (Y/N). If they’re after you, what if they’re after me?”

“I’d keep an eye out, otherwise you’re pretty safe. All I’m asking is to hide out here for the night, until we figure things out.” She leaned against the counter before looking at him with sympathy.

“You’ve done a lot of things for me in the past years, and I haven’t done nearly as enough as I should. Stay here as long as you want.” Steve walked towards her and brought her into a long, heart-warming hug. “You guys can go sit in the back room, I’ll bring the equipment.”

She walked along side of Bucky to an empty and isolated booth. Soon enough Steve walked to them with stacks of papers and his laptop. He sat down next to her and started to pull out file by file, creating the perfect personas they both could consider. After an hour of him setting the details and records together, he came up with the perfect lifestyle.

“Alright, so. Athena and Sebastian Stan. High-school sweethearts who love to travel, keep things at minimum and always exploring. Both grew up in Glendale, Arizona. Both graduated from high-school with an average GPA and didn’t attend college. How’s that?” Steve typed the rest of the information before hitting print and printing off an important details she’d need.

“It could be better, but it’ll do.” Bucky’s voice was heard with a hint of disapproval. She gave him a glare before smiling at the bearded man.

“Yeah, it’s perfect. We can work with that.”

“Alright well I’ll go work it out right now in the back, in the mean time I have some left over disguises if you are interested. You know where they are, and after that, I’m afraid that’s all I have to offer.” He gave her a quick kiss on the temple before grabbing his belongings and taking them into the bad room. “It’s more than enough, thank you so much Cap.”

“Cap?” Bucky spoke up once Steve was out a sight, confused but amused.

“Oh it’s nothing.” She giggled to herself as she realized what she let slip. “Just a nickname from the old times.”

“Sounds kinky to me.” He laughed to himself before giving a toothy grin. “Ew! It’s nothing like that! Change of topic!”

“Alright,” he laughed a bit more before finishing his sentence. “so we’re leaving tomorrow morning? Then what?”

“Well, I know a lot of people. Another old friend of mine, she might know a thing or two considering she still is in the job. I don’t have any leads and she could be my only option, so we’ll be heading there.” She leaned back into her seat before yawning from lack of sleep.

“Who is it?” He questioned her, giving her a confused look. She quietly laughed before giving him a smirk, confusing him even more.

“The Black Widow.” ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ Tags: @walkingtravesty97 @vougebandit @mizz-kraziii @ssweet-empowerment @nadtandy @feelmyroarrrr - Totally unnecessary note but I updated my description bio to have my personal and marvel blog linked in so if you’re interested (;;; They both post marvel content honestly soooooooooo yeah! I’m so open to talking to you guys so if you want, knock yourself out and send me a message (: