#whom they understand was found 'in a box at the side of the road' as a bigger child

[waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle]

ᵤₙfₒᵣₜᵤₙₐₜₑₗy ₛₘᵢₜₜₑₙ ₍ₘₐfᵢₐ bₒₛₛ! Gₒⱼₒ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ₎

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Summary: Life leads you to treacherous roads after deciding to enter the dangerous life you knew well not to follow.Having gojo by your side inviting you deeper and deeper into all that’s wrong in the world, inciting you to be selfish and carefree wasn’t supposed to be to your liking, so why do you shiver with adrenaline every time he decides to be the devil on your shoulder?

Contents: Mafia boss gojo x secretary reader.(civilian au ig)

-Secret crush Gojo!

-Yandere Gojo

-Physical altercation I guess.

-angst.

Gojo being an egocentric bitch! Wealthy gojo! X no nonsense reader.

Warnings: trigger warning if you’re not interested in anything mafia like drugs or violence related. The narration of this story is inspired by Latin and Asian mafia.

Wc:3k

🏷:@busyreader17 @starlight5cat @xavlyzn (I love y’all for tuning in I appreciate your comments🫶🏻🫶🏻)

Chapter 3

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Some dew drops are seen sliding down the windows of a custom Gulf Stream jet ;due to the rain as it lands on a clandestine pathway in the city of Shanghai, China.

As the wheels below the jet deploy you feel a soft warm hand tap you on shoulder waking you up out of your slumber, as you feel the jet tremble due to the landing;you gasp yourself awake due to the strange circumstances of your awakening.

-“Good morning Miss, I hope your flight with us has been lovely. I’ll leave you a cup of coffee ,a bottle of water and some ibuprofen in the case that you require them. Mr Gojo and Mr Geto are waiting for you outside the jet so you can all head to Báisè de huā villa. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be taking my leave.-“ Said the flight attendant before taking a bow then leaving.

You wink your eyes in hopes that I’ll help you understand what the fuck she just said,since you slept too little, you were still a bit drunk from all the whiskey from a few hours ago. You popped an ibuprofen then exited the master bedroom which you don’t remember getting into. You notice that your top is now lingering a scent of a mens cologne, but you shrug the thought off and conclude that the alcohol is just messing up your senses.

As you strut through cabin corridor,you quickly spot the jet door.Which leads you to an unknown country full of posibilites or new found problems. You tip tap down the jet stairs in hopes of finding warmth in one of the 5 Ford Everest parked by the path way, but you soon notice that in front of you is your boss and his god mother standing proudly before 2 lines of 20 men , 10 on each side forming a hallway to the vehicles while respectfully bowing down to them. Out of instinct you decide to take a step back to process the power demonstration being held before your boss, you knew he was a shady man but you’ve also never thought of him like anything else but a coworker; as you take a step back you also realize you’ve stepped out barefoot and now you have an un pleasantly wet foot.

-“Fuck.”- You comment making heads turn your way as you practically announce your arrival, as their workers noticed you ;one of them ran over to you to place and umbrella over your head.

As your presence is known; Gojo swiftly turns around and looks at you with slight amusement sparking his blue orbs.

-“How shameful,I should fire you.”-He recites while walking over to you, while making some weird hand gestures tu one of his men.

-“Be my guest.”- you reply as you gather your hair up in a pony tail to look more presentable.-”Lovely weather isn’t it?”-You comment as you rub your feet together trying to fend off the cold.

He scoffs strolling over to you ,knowing he wouldn’t fire you in his wildest dreams, a few seconds after ;the assistant whom he was signing to handed him a box. He then proceeded to crouch his tall figure to the ground , it looked as if he was bowing down to you, then he took some slippers out of the box to then grab an ankle delicately to slip then on. As of you weren’t already nervous due to this unexpected action,the look of his men piercing you made you anxious.

-“I can put them on myself you know. Stand up you’ll get your suit dirty.”-You mumbled squatting down to take the slippers from his hands.

-“Don’t tell me what to do.”-He expressed looking you dead in the eyes as he snatched back the fluffy slipper from your hand putting them back on your other foot.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

3 figures could be seen sitting down in the main dining room of the Báisè de huā villa, it is currently 2 pm and all of you just woke up from a few hours of sleep after you guys arrived from the landing site.

You were now in an impromptu business meeting as your boss explained to you your obligations as his secretary while on this very important work trip.You timidly smiled as you see how the passion for his work ( truthfully power hunger) sparked a passion in his eyes ,as he explained to you how he wanted to add Chinese territories to his reign; starting with Shanghai.

Todays meeting was very important ,here he would be meeting with a very noteworthy drug supplier that worked with very few clients due to the quality of its goods and mainly to avoid getting dragged in between gang wars, the goal for today is to be accepted to the client list and negotiate prices.

You were perfect for the job

He knew that from the moment that Geto and he started stalking you, after seeing how you built wonderful companies from zero, that you were the only one capable of fulfilling their expectations. Yes, you were young, and many people may associate that with immaturity, but your age only highlighted your strategic thinking and endless energy.

You started to supervise some work your underclass men sent you to Japan when you noticed a clothed reflection on your computer screen.

-“Do I bore you?”-The deep familiar voice questioned.

-“Sometimes.”-You snapped back in annoyance due to his stupid questions.

He frowned from your unexpected reply , your tone making him a little sad. He knew you were a woman of firm character,a quality he admired about you ,so he started to worry of what would happen if you found out about what him and geto did.

-“Are you being sincere?”-Gojo asked in a more serious tone.

-“Dead serious.”-You reply as you smile from ear to ear at his “playful” questioning.

As soon as he realized you were playing ,the stress left his shoulders , he sighed and cackled at himself due to his behavior. He barely recognized himself, the guilt is eating him alive, he needed to makeup for it fast.

-“Want to go shopping?”

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The busy Nanjing road if full of locals and tourist.The infrastructure of the shopping districts is breathtaking , the afternoon sunset is reflecting beautifully on the buildings decorated by big led screens and beautiful compositions of glass.

In the big sum of people, Gojo and you found peace due to the fact that, to the naked eye, you were no different from any tourist. Your boss stayed close to you as he scanned the environment with his icy blue eyes; he hid his hands in his cashmere pockets as he looked down on you.

-“I have a surprise, c’mon, follow me, princess.” - Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those sweet words come out of his pink lips. For some reason unknown to you, your boss only let out those teasing words in front of you. You decided not to think much of it since you knew he had his fair share of good-looking girls behind him. You knew your place, his secretary, nothing more.

His calloused, cold hand grabbed yours as he calmly walked through the crowd; he looked ahead so calmly. You felt embarrassed for thinking anything of his nonchalant attitude. But to him, oh man. His heart was running a thousand miles per hour; the only thing he could do to hide his blushing cheeks is to look ahead. Your hand felt so warm, so soft, so small against his; that only led him to wonder what the rest of you feels like. For a woman with such a small frame, you surely had too much attitude. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t fantasize about all the ways he could tame that cheeky attitude of yours. In the end, that white-haired man decided it was better for him to stop such wild thoughts before he started having issues controlling his breathing.

When both of you arrived at the store, the sales assistant immediately recognized the tall man beside you and promptly led you to a private room. It seemed to be a private dressing room; it was composed of a luxurious cream sofa, a extravagant white wood table, and what seemed to be another small room to dress in. On top of the table was a black suede box with a red bow that screamed open me!

You look over to the grinning figure beside you for permission, and as soon as he gives you the green light, you scramble to open the mystery box, which reveals a beautiful turquoise Qi pao with tiny white flowers detailing the side of your hip. The cloth ended at mid-knee and seemed like silk; it glided beautifully under your fingertips, and the stitching was impeccable. Once the sales assistant noticed you were satisfied with the dress, she took her leave.

-“You shouldn’t have.”-You gasped.

-“Oh, but I did.”-He sweet-talked as he started getting closer to your face.-”How about you model that piece for me as a thank you.”

-“Model for you?”-you giggled.-“I’d rather pay credit.”- You say as you searched your purse.

-“Fuck.”- He mumbles under his breath as he drags one hand on his face.-“I’m starting to think you get a high from contradicting me, when will you stop playing dumb, my dear.”-he taps your forehead with his index finger as he mutters this sentence.

You grab his hand, catching him off guard.

-“I don’t know if fooling around with me is your source of entertainment for today, but please consider that it’s not normal for a man such as yourself to grab my hand and plan surprises for me and take me to foreign countries. I’m aware it’s all for business reasons, so I beg you to keep this as strictly professional as possible.”

With a swift movement; your hand still in his, he turns you around to face the mirror as he positions himself behind you, towering over you as he hugs you with the arm you're both holding hands with. You gulp at the sight of his broad shoulders contrasting your own back, at the way you're engulfing yourself with his aroma, sweating at the way he dared to rest his head on your other shoulder just to whisper…

-“What if it wasn’t for business, what if the absolute truth was that you drive me crazy.”-He groaned as he looked intently at your cute expressions through the mirror.-“The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you make me want to have some damn morals just so I can have the right to talk to someone like you.”

You shake your head as you refuse to accept the reality of the situation you're in.

-“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Gojo.”

He bit his tongue in anger and frustration; all he could do is tighten his jaw in hopes he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

-“Good, cause all that’s not the fucking case.”-He left the room after spitting that out in resentment at the way you turned down his feelings as he was a beggar. He knew it; he’s a fucking idiot for ever having hope; all he’s done on this trip is embarrass himself in front of you. Having to swallow his feelings these 2 years drove him to insanity; all he wanted was to include you in his life’s plans, why couldn’t you accept that?

Oh, he clearly knew why.

It’s because you deserve better.

You deserve a Prince Charming who will offer you peace and warmth, someone who works a 9-5, someone who has a family life to offer you, probably someone who doesn’t have to carry a gun in his waistband to protect himself from all the bad things he’s done in the past, someone not crazy enough to kill for you or even better someone who’s not masochistic enough to live with the burden of his unrequited sentiments towards you.

But in the end, he knew he was selfish; that’s how he got to where he is today. He knew damn well you deserved better, so why did he still have the irresistible urge to steal you away, to drown you in his feelings to the point where you couldn’t deny them.

He laughed, no cackled at himself outside of your dressing room; you had no idea what you had coming.

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Three champagne glasses clicked in celebration of a newfound business project. Tonight’s meeting has been a success, even though you’ve been burning your brain cells trying to decipher what the hell happened at the boutique this afternoon. You were clearly distracted but not to the point you forgot why you were here in the first place.

You sat back into your seat, participating in idle chit-chat with the supplier. Meanwhile, your tight turquoise Qi pao emphasized your waist, the slit by your thigh earning some stolen glances from your boss as he still acted indifferent towards you after today's spectacle.

Geto could already smell what was happening between you two, but in reality, he didn’t care one bit to even ask about it. So all he could do was stand by the door, keeping watch for any potential danger.

The meeting concluded wonderfully, so you said your goodbyes to the supplier to excuse yourself to the bathroom, allowing yourself to think straight for a few minutes before returning to your chaotic reality.

As you finished washing your hands, you touched your nape with your cold hands with the hopes of cooling down your body heat. After fanning yourself a few times, you exited the bathroom.

But to your surprise, you found a familiar face in the hallway.

-“Miss! You’re Gojo’s secretary right?”-The supplier asked, waving his hands at you to come over.

-“Yes, sir, can I help you with anything?”-You answered with a grin.

-“If you’re so very kind, I’d like to know what kind of jet you both traveled here in, because I’d also like one that can hold as much cocaine as yours do.”

You chuckled at the poor guy in front of you, too drunk out of his mind to comprehend what he’s saying.

-“Sir, we didn’t bring any cocaine; the only thing the plane carried were the three people that were in the room with you.”-You smiled as you explained the situation to him.

-“Don’t try to act sly with me, young woman! Your boss just told me that he secretly brought over 400 kilos in that jet of his; he brought them to sell over here while I released some of my product to him.”

As he uttered that sentence, your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. This morning you were used as a drug mule, and you didn’t even notice it.

You truly thought he would respect your boundaries.

How foolish.

You start to tremble as you start to imagine what could have been if the navy or the immigration officers wanted to inspect the plane and found the three of you with all those drugs in it.

You run back to the bathroom feeling sick, thinking that by slim chance your hard-worked career was almost over. No, your precious life was over if they decided to try you for drug possession in a country as strict as China, all because of his stupid greed.

You dried your sweat as you quickly mapped out an exit back to Japan without your two business partners finding out about you knowing their dirty little secret. Now you knew you couldn’t trust them; it was idiotic of you in the first place to do so.

You quickly ran to the entrance unbeknownst to the fact that Geto was trailing after you since the moment you left the dining room. Sure, he could have prevented the supplier from telling the truth, but that would’ve been even more suspicious in your eyes, so he finally had to let the truth break free.

You signaled over one of the cars that Gojo put at your service; all you hoped for was to get your passport back from the villa and take the first flight back to your home country and maybe even treat yourself to a little crying session in the taxi.

But the moment your hand met the car door handle, a cold force pulled you back by your free hand.

-“Please, baby, let me explain.”-Gojo stated out as he felt his heart rip to shreds due to the liquid pearls forming in your eyes.-“You weren’t supposed to know; I knew we weren’t gonna get caught, so I didn’t want you to know since I knew you’d get nerv-“

A smack was heard echoing the Shanghai streets as Gojo held his red cheek after his sentenced was slapped into the air since you decided to give him a taste of what a liar like him deserved.

-“I fucking hate you!”-you yelled out while pointing a finger at him while wiping your tears with the back of your other hand.-“ I wish I never met any of you motherfuckers!”-You said as you pointed to Geto and his crew.

What surprises all of them next was your ability to get lost in the busy Shanghai streets after crossing a simple street.

Gojo didn’t hesitate to chase after you into unknown territory wishing he could turn time back, unbeknownst to himself that some threatening enemies were watching close by.

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A/n: Holy fucking shit man , i hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I hope sacrificing my spine for the time I edited this in one sitting is worth it. Any suggestions or comments let me know!! Have a good day 🥸🫶🏻💋

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Yes please writte this historical Au cause you'r writing is already amazing but medival enemys to lovers for Susie and Demarco would be a real gift to us .Lots of Love and a Happy week to you

Thank you so much anon - and extra thanks to everyone else who's messaged me about this AU! <3 hope you enjoy!!

@xxluckystrike @p-polaroid

wars of the roses au -> susie lamb x bernard demarco

The carriage swayed uncomfortably from side to side against the uneven road below, the only sound the constant rattle of wheels and braying of horses as the boy and his father approached their destination. Bernard DeMarco slouched in his seat, staring back at the elder man across from him, a sour frown contorting his expression.

"Stop sulking like a child and sit up straight," His father snapped, tearing his unimpressed gaze away from the window. "It's bad enough we have to grovel to these people, do not arrive looking a fool."

Bernard rolled his eyes. "I still do not understand this. My brothers married Ladies - you are an Earl. And who is she? Her father had no title - her brother may be a Baron now, but he was not born one. Why have I had to fall so far?"

"Your brothers may have married Ladies, but their families are now outcasts from the court of our new King Henry. We need influence and new alliances, and her sisters have married well - this will connect us to the right people, son."

Suppressing a sigh, he leant sideways against the inside of the carriage, staring out at the red-brick chimney pots and they pulled into the courtyard of the Lamb family's home, the walls encircling him like a prison. As the carriage rolled to a halt, he and his father stepped outside, the fresh country air a balm after so many hours inside the wooden box. At the door, an older woman awaited, closer in age to his father, skin pinched at the corners of her eyes, dark hair pulled tightly back beneath her cap. "Welcome, my Lord. My son is waiting for you inside."

Watching as his father fell in step with the woman - whom he assumed would soon be his own mother once this business was over - Bernard trailed closely behind, taking in his surroundings as they filed through the corridors towards the house's main hall. The place was plainer than he was used to, although not entirely without its charm. As they crossed the entryway, a girl appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down at them, warm brown curls framing her face, a pink flush tinting her cheeks as she sent him a sweet smile. Although not the most handsome girl he had seen, she was certainly pleasant.

"Father?" He called as Mrs Lamb disappeared in search of her children. "Who's that, up there?"

Following his gaze, his father nodded. "Eleanor. The youngest sister."

He was sure his disappointment was visible. "Can't I marry that one instead? She seems agreeable."

"Hm, the King thought so too. Which is why she is already betrothed to the Earl of Leicester's son."

"So I am truly to take the scraps?"

"Unfortunately," A voice echoed from the other end of the hall. Bernard and his father turned simultaneously, peering at the woman as she approached, loose, auburn locks bouncing over her shoulders with each movement, footsteps echoing against the polished wooden floor. She eyed him closely, with the scrutiny of a fox assessing its prey, and he felt sweat begin to bead at his brow.

"Ah! Susannah!" Her mother exclaimed, a younger man at her shoulder as she returned, his gaze skittish, never meeting the eye. But there was a distinct resemblance between the two, and he found himself suppressing a snort as he realised the man must have been the Baron. "Wonderful. My Lord, if we may talk in the drawing room? We can leave these two to make their introductions."

In that moment, Bernard wanted nothing less than to be left alone with this woman. Nevertheless, his father had soon vanished, and the pair stood silently at the base of the stairs as he tried not to flinch under her gaze, so penetrating it was as if she could see straight through his clothes and flesh all the way to his very bones. Eleanor let out a giggle from upstairs, and soon she too was gone.

"So," Susannah Lamb began. "You truly are desperate."

A prick of indignation stabbed at his chest, pushing his shoulders back to tower above her even more than he already did. Her lips were pursed in a thin smirk as she waited for his reply, and he realised that - as irritable as her expression was - her face was far from unappealing to him. If anything, at least their children might appear personable.

"Madam, I am doing you a favour with this match," He grimaced.

"Oh, certainly. But it humiliates you to do it - to marry so below your birthright, all because your father chose the wrong side."

"It's surely telling that no one on your own side would take you as a wife - although I can't confess to being surprised."

At this, she began to laugh, and Bernard bit at the inside of his cheek so hard that he almost drew blood. He certainly hadn't intended for such a reaction, and worse still was the melodious warmth with which she did it. It was a laugh that, in itself, he could have surely come to love. That it came from Susannah was... confusing.

With a final dry chuckle, she finally spoke. "Well, you have confirmed my every expectation, Sir." Susannah nodded, still smiling.

He scoffed. "And you're pleased by that?"

"Oh absolutely. If you'd been agreeable I would've found you so much harder to dislike."

"You're very resolved to dislike me, aren't you?"

"Well, it certainly makes my life easier," She shrugged, her skirts rustling as she turned on her heel and began to walk away, the rhythmic drum of footsteps parting the tense quiet. Bernard watched on for a moment before letting out an irritated huff as he began to pursue. Up ahead, her dress swayed side to side with each step, all at once infuriating and disgustingly hypnotic.

"In what way?" He yelled.

"There's no expectation that I see you beyond what is strictly necessary," Susannah called over her shoulder, the sunlight through a passing window casting shadows across her profile. She had just made it around the next corner when he caught up, seizing her wrist and tugging her to a halt. Expression contorted in distaste, she yanked her arm sharply from his grip, yet made no effort to flee. "Until the very moment we are wed, you do not touch me."

"Do you truly think I want to marry you?" He sneered.

"Do you truly think I care what you want?" She shot back, mimicking his own tone in a way that made his blood boil.

"My brothers wed Ladies-"

"And I'm sure they were very pleased with themselves at the time."

With his jaw clenched so tightly he feared his teeth may shatter, Bernard searched desperately for some scrap of wit he could hurl back in her face, only for his mind to come up devastatingly empty. It wasn't until the pair had fallen silent that he realised quite how close they'd become. With each insult, they had inched forward to better spit their venom, but all it seemed to mean now was that there was barely a gap between them, their breath fanning each other's cheeks, heads tilted towards one another, lips mere inches apart. Susannah's expression was cold, unyielding, and it seemed to take her a moment to realise this herself. Suddenly clearing her throat, she took a decisive step back, and the air around him seemed to clear, suddenly absent of warmth.

"Bernard!" His father's voice echoed from somewhere back down the hall.

"Off you go," She whispered, that ever-present tone of mockery still lining her voice. "He's tugging your leash, pup."

Taking a step back towards his father, Bernard took one last scornful glance at the woman, a beam of sunlight streaking through the window and lighting her hair a fiery orange.

"Milady," He bit, turning his back on her as he returned to his father, who stood waiting for him at the base of the stairs, brow raised in question. At the sight of his son's dour frown, he nodded, seemingly entirely unsurprised.

Susannah's mother uttered her thanks, and they were out the door almost as swiftly as they had come, the gravel in the courtyard crunching noisily beneath their feet as they returned to their carriage. Swinging the door open, Bernard's father climbed in first, looking back at his son once he'd taken his seat.

"So? What do you think of her, then?"

Turning his head, he took one last look at the house. Movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye, and he glanced up as Susannah took a seat upon the sill, attention so captured by the book in her hands that she never spared a glance for the man who was to be her husband. When peaceful, she appeared an entirely different woman. With a huff, he clambered inside, sitting down opposite his father.

"I think we'll make each other miserable."

[iulia-caesaris]

I like to think Philza actually adopted them all from random sources, and the fridge thing is the way he scrambled to explain How Babies Are Made to his kids because since he didn't make them he cannot do he classic "when a mommy loves a daddy". And they just never questioned it even into adulthood because they live in a magical world, it might as well happen.

I think it was a spurt of the moment for (a mildly immature at the time) Phil when little Wilbur asked him where he came from he simply said "from inside a fridge!"

And later on Wilbur started to rationalize how that might actually be true and concluded with all confidence that a fridge must have been pregnant with him, and if Phil is his dad that means that Phil made that fridge pregnant, because one parent makes the other pregnant, right? Right.

Since Wilbur died I think he would preserve this belief forever because he has a hard time processing new information and making new memories as a ghost, even if someone explained that this is not what actually happened or Phil admitted it.

It's simply sad that maybe Wilbur will stay forever his young age, with his young person understanding and idealisation of the world, while both Techno and Tommy will (probably but not certainly) outgrow his age.

Someday Tommy will wake up and think "I'm older now than Wilbur was when he died".

Or maybe in life Wilbur understood that the fridge thing was not a thing (maybe after he found himself in the same situation that Phil was once in... Yes my Fox son, I, your human father had you with a Salmon mother) but the memory of the funny fridge story is one of the things that brought him joy and after death happy things is all he remembers.

I also think while Wilbur as a child took in the idea so seriously and Techno and Tommy might have as children too, influenced by Wilbur's confident leader attitude, Techno managed to rationalize away from the fridge story as he grew older than a toddler.

I think none of them were told that they're actually adopted orphans, it's a very uncomfortable, heart wrenching and unnecessary conversation to have with children, and while Wilbur might not have come to the realization until he had Fundy, Tommy doesn't pay his parentage a second thought for a long time.

But Techno must be a different story, I think he must have felt some kind of call that sent him in a search for who he really is, exploring the nether and sort of studying the piglins, wondering if this maybe is where he truly feels at home and where he actually belongs.

And despite biology and behaviour similitudes with the nether pigs Techno still feels something is amiss among them.

[ren-c-leyn]

The Shackles of Time Chapter 18 - The Stormy Road Ahead Part 2

Hello, hello~! The team continues their second quest and we get to learn a bit more about Night and something that the Shade-kin people fear...

This chapter ended up being just under 2,900 words long.

As far as trigger warnings go - There is mention of undead creatures, including a depiction of one, as well as some mild violence, suggestions of death in passing and murder, and a nightmare sequence. No gore, though.

Missed a chapter? Want to find the next? Want to start over from the beginning and binge-read the whole series to refresh your memory? Just want to check to see when the next chapter is going to be released? No problem! Here's my handy-dandy chapter masterlist for you.

And with that, happy reading~!

The hours rolled past much like the scenery. Daylight waned, as did the conversations, and soon she was handling her vigil over to Dusk. The wagons pulled over into a small clearing for the night. Elduin and his fellow merchants tended to the mules and horses, seeing to it they got enough water and a good spot to graze near the camp, as well as a good grooming.

Night watched Merle, carefully stacking the kindling and dead wood she had gathered. It wasn't a formation Night was used to seeing, a careful box-like stack, but it seemed effective enough. Before the night had fully settled in, a bright campfire had burst to life. Though Night found herself craving the encroaching darkness. The bright specs of light that danced from the flames were dizzying after the long day's vigil, peering out at a clear, bright day. No doubt her companions intended on keeping it burning all night for their watches.

Unfortunate, but she'd make due. Compared to daylight a campfire could barely be called an inconvenience. At least she could turn away from it and still maintain her vigil. That would be enough to give her eyes the rest they needed. It would have to be enough.

Shade-kin sight was no longer meant for the day, for the bright world of color that came with Dawn. She was Night, a creature of her namesake's domain. Best suited to walk in his comforting darkness, to hunt in pools of deep shadows away from the sun.

The the light was the price she had paid, though, when she left. When she chose to walk alongside those whom were born in light, no matter how woefully distracting the dancing speckles were or how her eyes strained in direct sunlight. She'd even gone to lengths to train herself to endure it better. Most Shade-kin whom had dealings with the outside world did. Some even trained as children, made to stare into light without letting the speckles draw the eye. It was harder to do as an adult, but one proven to be well worth her time and effort. She wondered if she could have even made it to the guildhall had she not prepared herself before leaving the Fel.

Night closed her eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. She was just in sight of camp, lurking in the fringes of the shadows. Even without sight, she knew roughly where everyone else was. Zephyr and Glenn were on the opposite side of the second wagon. Merle was still with the fire. Arlen and Cherrenth were behind her in the forest. They'd been in the same spot for awhile, likely investigating something that had caught Arlen's attention. Elduin and his fellows were still with the horses, talking among themselves.

"I tell you, I hadn't seen her since she hopped in. She just melted into the supplies like she never existed! I think she might be a ghost."

The human man laughed lightly.

"I don't think ghosts walk in sunlight, Sig."

A ghost, hm? Is that how the outside world saw her? Night found it almost amusing. Almost. Sig's sentiment was closer to the truth than their companions gave them credit for. Yet it was still far enough away to be laughed off. Such was the Shade-kin. It was their nature, something she doubted outsiders could fully comprehend, even if they had wanted them to understand. No. The only ones who could understand were the ones whom were born with them: The Shadows, the monsters, and her....

Night's eyes opened, watching the little dots of light swirl around the flames and dance off into the night with the sparks and stars. Her amber eyes barely caught the light, but where they did they shone like fire, reflecting the ever-shifting hues of oranges and yellows. She stared at the flames as though they could burn the thought out of her mind. Watched the lights like they could distract her restless mind from its current course. They couldn't, though. It lingered, seeping deeper and deeper into her thoughts.

It had been awhile since she thought about that tale. The most dangerous of their kin. The creature whom had freed them all in her frenzy. Their savior, their sister, and their greatest threat. She still lurked somewhere in the darkest places of the world, hunting, feeding, watching, waiting. Or so the stories went.

What had brought her back to Night's mind? Silence answered her question. She didn't know. Nothing in particular had happened to call the old tale back to mind, to bring the nightmares back to the forefront of her thoughts. No omens in the dark, nor questions from outsiders.

Night closed her eyes again.

It was just a memory. They did that sort of thing. Reappearing when you didn't necessarily need nor want them only to fade away again when you did. She took a deep breath and let it go. It was just a memory.

A memory that had surfaced the night before she died.

Stop it, she chided herself. Coincidence, not fate nor omen. Fate didn't exist. Nothing was certain nor set in stone. It was just a way to write off consequences as inevitability. An excuse not to dig deeper into the actions that caused tragedies. She knew exactly why the half-elf woman had died on her watch. She understood the cause and effect. It wasn't fate, it wasn't destiny, or divine meddling, it was just the way The Fel worked. No monsters aside from the ones that lived there were involved. No fate besides the choices they had all made had been at work.

Her fingers twitched, craving the weight of the box, or something to do. Anything but thinking about this. It was in her hands before she had even decided to fiddle with it again. The pieces rotated and slid smoothly. She pulled, pressed, and slide them around. Left, right, down, still locked. Turn up, right, down, still locked.

At this point, fiddling with the box had become less about unlocking it and its secrets and more about distracting herself. Perhaps that was the true reason her dear friend had kept it as well: A distraction. Working with it occupied her hands and her mind. It helped the time pass easier and make her relax, though not enough so where she wasn't aware of Zephyr's interest.

It seemed to be an unfortunate draw for mages. Though most were smart enough not to challenge her for the box. Those who had not been only made the mistake once. Only once.

She felt Arlen shift behind her, coming around the tree to her side. He sat down next to her, lips quirked up into a muted smile. An odd sight for him. Usually it was one extreme or another.

"It feels almost strange, doesn't it? This is the first time I've camped with a party."

Her fingers slowed for a moment.

"It is the first time I have camped with company as well."

"Good to know I'm not alone." There was a slight lull before he pressed onward, quieter, more thoughtful. "My people aren't nearly as in touch with the ways of the wilds as the rest of our kin. I don't think most of us have even slept outside once in our lives," he trailed off, looking around the camp. "Everyone else seems so at home, don't they, Miss Night?"

She followed his gaze to Merle and Elduin happily chatting about dinner ideas as they worked together to start preparing it. Glenn and Zephyr had joined Sig and the human merchant, having a good laugh over a joke she hadn't caught. They did look at home. Just as at ease as if they had been in the guild hall.

"Perhaps we will as well, in time," she offered, not sure what else to say.

"In time," he agreed with a nod.

The conversation between them died out as they took to watching their companions. Dinner was a simple stew, but no one had complaints. Merle, in particular, seemed quite pleased with her handiwork, polishing off three bowls.

The end of the night came quickly, however, and the merchants returned to their wagons to rest, leaving the adventurers out in the warmth of the fire.

"We should decide watch," Merle declared.

"You should decide watch," Zephyr replied, a playful air to his otherwise exhausted voice, "I'm going to sleep. If anything happens, scream. The louder and shriller the better."

Glenn chuckled affectionately as his partner crawled into their bedroll.

"While this is your mission, I'd be willing to take a watch with you," he offered. "Easier for everyone to get rest with more people on the lookout."

"That would be great, thanks," Merle accepted cheerfully. "I'll take first watch."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer the last shift," Glenn replied.

"Then I shall take second," Night said softly.

Merle nodded.

"How do you prefer to be woken up?"

"No need to worry about it, I will wake before you get within arm's reach."

Merle's smile faded into confusion, but she nodded all the same.

"I guess that leaves us with third shift, Cherrenth."

The small cat-dragon huffed.

"It's settled then," Merle replied, rising from her seat by the fire.

"Sleep well, unless you're on shift, then please don't," Glenn said with a chuckle as he rose.

"You too," Merle replied with a wave as he joined Zephyr.

Night and Arlen slipped into their bedrolls and drifted off to sleep.

Though Night quickly found herself wishing she hadn't.

A dream. Familiar and vague. She could smell the reek of old death and stale dust. Everything was in grayscale, no color to be seen anywhere. No light touched this world and it faded in strange ways. If she focused, she could make out some level of detail, but otherwise it all may as well have been behind a thin veil of mist.

Noiselessly, she moved past rows and rows of ancient stone coffins. Dwarven, perhaps, based on the size and elaborate stonework patterns. She didn't know for certain, however, and it didn't matter. No in this place, this moment, at least. Perhaps in another moment, in another place, she would have found interest in it. A story of Arlen's research, or Zephyr and Glenn's misadventures. Anything, anywhere, anytime, but this.

She kept walking forward, deeper and deeper into the lightless depths of the crypt. Everything in her was screaming against it. Every fiber of her being begged her to run. Yet, she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to defy it, to turn around and leave, her body kept walking steadily forward.

The all too familiar staircase came into view, large stone statues of winged beasts snarled on either side of the wide, spiraling stairs. As she gazed upon their judging faces, the lump in her throat grew. It was getting hard to breathe. She knew what was down there, she knew who was down there.

The only thought running through her mind was the same futile plea she had made the last time: Please not again. Not this dream again. Anything but this dream.

Still, her body moved. Weightless and unbearably heavy, she glided down the stairs. They felt as though they would go on forever, passing doorway after doorway, each with a different set of beasts glowering at her. She was not welcome. They knew it as well as she, but she couldn't run and they couldn't stop her. Why couldn't she just run?

At the bottom was a single chamber, dyed purple by the flicking lavender flames in the hands of the statues. Personifications of the Night and Death. Both were tall, imposing, bearing impassive expressions as they gazed down upon their daughter. She lingered as long as the dream would let her, staring up into her namesake's sharp face and cool gaze. There was apart of her that hoped he could giver her the strength she needed to face what laid beyond, but Night knew better.

After all, she was his daughter too. A sister, of a sort. He couldn't save Night from her.

The dream forced her forward, pulling her like a puppet on a string, through the large stone door and into the ruined room. It was just as she remembered it. Broken seats lay beneath the rubble of a ceiling that had once held the weight of centuries. Statues, chipped, broken, and whole all stared down at an alter, bearing witness to her nightmares.

Night could see her in the flickering light of a purple brazier, sitting elegantly on the pitiful, undead remains of a warrior. Long waves of hair darker than the deepest shadows flowed down her shoulders and back, reflecting the dance of the purple flames. The creature beneath her screamed and thrashed the best it could with it's broken, undead body. It knew what she represented. Even after all this time, even with all of its personality and emotions had been eaten away with time and its curse of undeath, it still fear it. Feared her.

The woman's hand rose, holding a blade of pure darkness. It sliced elegantly through the air, sending chills to the depths of Night's soul as it plunged down. After centuries of wandering these halls, the undead warrior laid still and silent at last. As the unnatural light in its eyes faded, her eyes lit up. A beautiful, terrible blood red glow washed over ghost-white cheeks. Night felt her body shiver with revulsion. The flickering wisps of something came up out of the warriors chest and into the woman's.

All Night wanted was to run, to bolt back up the entire flight of stars and keep going, but her body was rooted to the spot. Her eyes were helplessly locked onto the terrible specter before her.

After the wisps faded, the woman's face slowly turned to her. This was the fourth time they had locked eyes like this. Once when she was a small girl. Once the night after she had joined The Fel's guard. Once the night before her friend had been slain. Now, here she was again, peering into Night's very soul with shining red eyes.

"Little pale one," she called, voice seductive and cool, "you have come to visit me again? How adorably terrified you look. Come now, I can't bite you... here at least." She paused, tilting her head. "You smell... different, this time, though. Less of shadow, more of sun, and... our blood. Our kin's blood has seeped into your skin, your hands, your face.... You are a kin slayer now too?" She clicked her tongue, like a disapproving mother. "And you still call me a monster... We're not so different, are we, my pale sister? Though I never thought you the type to turn your blades on your kin. Ah, I see. I smell it now. That was why, wasn't it? The suntouched. You turn against your kin and walk with them. Bold, different, I like it."

She rose to her feet and started walking towards Night, slowly with strides she couldn't hear. Her weight shifted back onto her heels in a vain effort to put distance between them. The woman was inches from her now, leaning forward enough that their noses almost touched.

"Even though you are bolder now, you should still ware your dreams. They may answer your call and come find you one day." The woman flashed Night a predatory grin, revealing multiple sets of sharp fangs. "You have caught my attention. Enjoy your waking hours, my pale sister. This hunting ground has been picked clean, and so we may meet during them someday soon."

The woman laughed and patted Night's cheek with her cold hands.

Night's eyes snapped open at the contact and she bolted upright, hand on her dagger. A sharp breath drew Night's attention to her side. Merle was standing over her, just out of arm's reach, eyes wide with shock.

"You were serious when you said you'd be up before I had to do anything."

Night took a deep breath, reaching out with her senses. The merchants were still in the wagons. Zephyr and Glenn were still entangled in their bedroll. Cherrenth was laying on Arlen's side as he slept soundly between the fire and the horses. There was a deer bedded down, barely within distance of her senses. Owls and other small creatures of the night were going about their lives, but there were no threats.

She wasn't here. She wasn't here. She was just a dream. Just a dream.

"Well, it's your shift now. Arlen's next," Merle continued with a yawn, slowly wandering over to her bedroll. "Nothing's happened, yet. It's been a pretty quiet night, I haven't even heard wolves howling. The main threat is dying of boredom.

Merle chuckled as she stripped off her armor. The warrior was curled into her bedroll, the forest as her back, and asleep before Night had finished calming her racing heart.

She took another deep breath.

"Just a dream," she mutter in her native tongue, quiet and whispering like a breeze, "nothing but a dream."

~

Taglist, feel free to ask to be added or removed at anytime -

@dragon-swords-prophecies @helathorloki @catinthesun2 @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

[bubble-tea-bunny]

i could make you care

[saiki kusuo x reader]

author’s note: i tried to incorporate as many characters into this as possible to make it feel like an actual episode and i got overwhelmed so fast lol i haven’t written this many characters in a story in a long time. in any case hope i did them justice and that you enjoy :’)

word count: 3,029

Today’s morning is bright, and Saiki’s walk is quiet. Typically this would be no cause for concern. A quiet walk to school is few and far between, difficult to come by given the company he keeps. (He’d much prefer a calmer bunch, if he were granted the chance to choose, but that is neither here nor there.) Don’t misunderstand: he’d bask in this brief peace, guaranteed to be broken the moment he passes through the gates of PK Academy, if the reason for this uncharacteristic period of silence comes about because of the absence of one particular person—someone who, if one could hardly believe it, Saiki actually prefers to have around more often than not.

He walks past the street which leads to your home, his pace never slowing because he expects you’ll join him, as you do every morning. You’ll wait for him on the corner and smile widely like you haven’t seen him in weeks then skip towards him, falling in step easily. He’ll remain nonplussed as you hug his arm, give it a brief squeeze as you greet him—Good morning, Kusuo!—and then promptly let go because you understand he likes his space but you just can’t help but indulge a little bit.

However, none of the aforementioned events play out this Friday. You’re not on the street corner, not there to smile and fall in step with him. There’s no arm hugging or a bubbly greeting Saiki pretends he isn’t affected by. But the truth is that he is, the routine coming somewhat as a comfort, even at the price of sacrificing some of his beloved personal space. So when you’re nowhere to be found his brows furrow and he wonders where you are.

His steps slow until he comes to a complete stop. He wants to check up on you, sooner rather than later. There isn’t much time to delay if he wants to make it to school before the first bell, but this won’t take long. He crosses his eyes, activating his clairvoyance, and he centers in on you immediately. You’re still at home. You’re at home, and you’re sick.

A box of tissues rests on your nightstand and you’ve pulled your small trash can right next to it from where it usually stands by your door. You toss used tissues into it before nestling beneath your blankets, pulling it up to just below your chin and hugging it close in order to retain heat. Your breath evens out quickly and he can tell you’re asleep. Your body must be exhausted dealing with your cold, and he’s confident this is the way you will be the rest of the day—drifting in and out of sleep, dealing with the sniffles and congestion.

He blinks and loses sight of you and now he’s staring once more down the road. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder with a sigh, he resumes walking and thinks about his plans for the day. As it was the last day of the school week, he’d planned to go to Cafe Mami for coffee jelly to celebrate. But now that he’s learned you’re sick in bed, he’d have to make adjustments. Momentarily he debates if that’s really necessary. You probably wouldn’t want visitors in the state you’re in, and knowing you, you’d tell him to go to the cafe without you to enjoy himself anyway. The thought is tempting, truly, yet he can’t shake the urge to check on you.

It feels less like an obligation and more like a simple desire of his own to make sure you’re okay. Saiki shakes his head, more amused than frustrated. There’s no one else for whom he would so willingly do this, or much else, for, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tell you because you’ll tease him the way you are wont to do whenever his facade cracks and he’ll let you have your fun because when you ask if you’re really so different as to make him act this way, the answer is, well, yes. You are.

He imagines this scenario and the corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. Good grief. You could be quite the handful.

“Hey, Saiki!”

Nendo’s voice is entirely too loud for the morning and Saiki heaves another sigh, one that sounds as though it belongs at the end of the day and not the beginning. Nendo is joined close behind by Kaidou and Kuboyasu, and they easily fill the silence with discussions about going to get ramen after class and the latest movements of the Dark Reunion. Saiki really only picks up words here and there that allude to the topic of conversation but it doesn’t require his full attention. It’s the same song and dance every morning.

The commotion once he arrives at school is much the same. During lectures he is afforded the temporary reprieve from having his ears talked off, since the only one speaking is the teacher, but at breaks, the noise resumes, and though he always stays sitting at his desk, in hopes the others will get the hint that he’s uninterested in chatting, they inevitably crowd themselves around it, until he is right in the middle.

Hairo has outlined a new workout regimen and in his louder than normal volume of speaking he shares it. He’s going to start it today, and if anyone wants to join, they’re more than welcome. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to take the offer, which is expected. Hairo’s exercise routines were… a little extreme.

In any case, Hairo is nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from everyone else and remarks he can’t wait for the end of the school day.

“I think I’ve been losing muscle tone,” he laments, and he complements this statement with a casual flex of his arm, more so to point out the specific areas he thinks are getting soft rather than to show off, but even if he isn’t trying, his biceps are bulging and if his sleeves hadn’t been rolled up, they would have torn.

Saiki’s brow raises. Yeah… I don’t think that’s an issue for you, Hairo.

“I’ve just finished installing an indoor gym at my home, you know.”

Everyone turns to find Saiko has entered into the circle, a smug smirk on his face. When had he gotten here? Really it’s only Hairo who has any sort of reaction to this, eyes practically sparkling imagining the machines and equipment (or maybe that’s just the glare from the fluorescent classroom lights). All the same, Saiko relishes the attention, boasting of the privacy and space and how really, it’s so much easier to be productive if there’s no one else there but Saiki can only wonder if Saiko even works out at all. He doesn’t remember that being mentioned, and Saiki is nothing if not detail oriented.

Saiki doesn’t have long to ponder over this (not that it would’ve continued much longer because he doesn’t actually care about whether Saiko exercises or just set up a gym in his house to brag) before Nendo asks where you are.

Had he just noticed? You always join them on their walk in the morning. But Saiki can’t say he’s surprised it took this long. What he is surprised about is that Nendo had noticed in the first place.

“Oh that’s right,” Kuboyasu adds. “I thought she just went ahead of us today.”

Yumehara informs them of your whereabouts before Saiki does. “She texted me this morning she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home.” Her phone dings with a new message and she glances at it, then looks back up. “But she says she’s a little more awake now!”

“It’s the Dark Reunion.” Kaidou’s sudden interjection draws everyone’s attention. He clenches his right fist, staring at the bandages wrapped around it. “They’re trying to get to me by going after my friends!”

Saiki remains expressionless but if he didn’t have such good control he would’ve rolled his eyes. Or maybe she just has a cold.

Upon Kaidou’s claim that a secret society is responsible for your illness, Saiki picks up Yumehara’s thoughts: I wish I was the one Kaidou was so worried about! Maybe if I got sick he’d worry about me too! Getting sick to grab Kaidou’s attention? That’s… going overboard, but Saiki can’t find it in him to be shocked, considering from whose mind this speculation has sprung.

“Poor [Name],” Teruhashi says, kind as always. She sets an index finger on her chin, gaze momentarily aimed upwards as she thinks. “I was about to suggest we all go to the cafe after school today and I wish she could join.”

This gives Saiki pause. Wait. The cafe?

“That sounds like a great idea!” Yumehara declares. Again Saiki hears her thoughts: If we go, I need to do my best sit next to Kaidou!

Whether a visit to Cafe Mami comes across as a good idea because it’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the school week or simply because Teruhashi suggested it, Saiki doesn’t know, but one by one the murmurs of assent resound through the group and he barely contains a relieved huff. He’d already changed his own plans from visiting the cafe to seeing you instead, and it’s a good thing too since it’s apparent his alone time would’ve been ruined. Now he has an excuse not to stick around.

Once the final bell rings, they begin their walk into town towards the cafe. The sidewalk feels crowded with all of them on it, and they have to split into pairs to keep the opposite side of the sidewalk free for people going the other way. Among comments from everyone else about how hungry they are, Saiki makes known his intention to just pick up food before leaving. There’s somewhere he needs to be.

“You’re going to go make sure [Name] is doing okay!” Teruhashi exclaims. It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s sweet of you.”

Saiki shrugs. “Sweet” is not the first word he would associate with his actions. It just seems like common sense to check on you. You’d looked miserable this morning, but he takes your message to Yumehara earlier as a good sign that you’re improving, slowly and surely. Still, he’d be more comfortable seeing you himself. He hadn’t gotten any other chances today to use his clairvoyance, but at least it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be heading to your house.

Chisato is working today and she seats everyone. Saiki goes directly to the counter to place his order—coffee jelly for him and strawberry mochi for you—and he stands off to the side while waiting for the treats to be packed. The others are sitting on the far side of the cafe (in his peripherals he sees Yumehara has taken a seat right next to Kaidou) but he can hear them clear as day discussing what food they should order. Yes, he’s certainly glad he won’t be sticking around. Spending Friday in the midst of that noise is far from ideal.

Holding the bag of coffee jelly and mochi in one hand, Saiki uses the other to push open the door, the bell jingling gently, and someone, Nendo it sounds like, raises their voice to shout across the room: Seeya later, Saiki! Then the door closes behind him, and all he can hear is the footsteps of other pedestrians and the low whoosh of cars.

He exhales slowly. Peace at last. He proceeds in the direction of your home, and when he thinks to himself that any longer and his ears might’ve begun to bleed, he’s only half joking.

In the neighborhood it’s much quieter, the only person he passes being someone walking their dog, and only a couple of cars drive past. He knocks on the door and he assumes you’re in your room and so it will take some time for you to open it, but you’re there faster than he expects. You open it just wide enough to stand in the gap, and immediately he notices the fatigue in your eyes. When you realize it’s him, they light up, and the fatigue fails to take away from the brightness of your smile as you open the door wider.

“Kusuo!”

Inside, he sees you’ve moved downstairs to the living room. That’s why you’d answered the door so quickly. There’s a pile of blankets on the couch and a tissue box on the coffee table. The television is on and playing an animation. He doesn’t recognize it, but it must be one of the new ones you mentioned wanting to watch. However, you’re not interested in it now that he's here and you grab the remote to turn down the volume.

“I thought you were going to the cafe today,” you state, head tilting.

Saiki shakes his head. Change of plans. Instead I brought the cafe to us. He holds up the bag of food and doesn’t have to tell you what’s in it. You squeal in delight that he’s come bearing treats, but the sound is a little raspy and awkward due to your sore throat. It’s still easier on Saiki’s ears than the earlier commotion he’d been surrounded with and, if he’s honest, it’s cute.

You plop down on the couch and wait as he joins you. He unties the bag and opens the box, first taking out the packaged pink mochi and handing it to you. Then he grabs his coffee jelly and the plastic spoon it came with before settling back against the cushions.

You sit cross-legged facing him and bite into your soft and squishy treat, humming delightedly. “Thanks, Kusuo.”  

Saiki chews a mouthful of coffee jelly and glances at you.

You grin and hold up the mochi. “For the snack and for coming to see me.”

He shrugs because it’s no big deal. Or, well, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you know him better than that, better than most others do, and don’t brush it off so quickly. You breathe out dramatically and set a hand on your chest.

“What must I have done for Kusuo Saiki to give up his quiet time for me?” Then you giggle, and  it’s punctuated at the end by a sniffle.

He tells you there would’ve been no quiet time at the cafe since the others had also decided to go, and that you’re much better company. Even when I’m sneezy? you ask him, and he chuckles. Yes, even when you’re sneezy.

His remark about coming to see you because he’d prefer to be here and not at the cafe with the rest of your friends is merely part of the truth. The rest of it is that he did genuinely want to check on you to make sure you were okay. Though to give this a voice felt like too much for someone typically so reserved in his feelings, but you understand perfectly fine as you smile softly. You’re appreciative of his actions, and it would seem Teruhashi had been right about them, for you murmur that he reminds you of the mochi you’re eating: You’re so sweet!

Grabbing your mug from the coffee table, you frown when you see it’s empty. “I ran out of tea.”

Saiki sets the spoon and now empty container back in the box then holds his hand out. You blink, momentarily confused, but when it registers what he’s doing, you give him the mug. As he stands to make his way into the kitchen, you call after him.

“Thank you!”  

Having been to your house a number of times already, he knows where everything is and starts brewing a fresh cup of tea. You’ve turned the volume up on the television again, but you have to rewind to return of the spot you were at before he’d arrived. Once he comes back with a filled mug, instead of allowing it to continue to play, you pause your show.

You’d snuggled beneath the blankets and have to finagle your arms out of the multiple layers to take the mug from him. You say thanks again and blow gently at the tendrils of steam floating from it. The ceramic is warm in the palms of your hands and you sigh contentedly.

“Sorry I’m a little high maintenance today,” you apologize suddenly. “I’d make the tea myself but I just have such little energy…”

Saiki wishes you wouldn’t apologize because there’s nothing to be sorry for. So he tells you as much. Don’t apologize. Besides, he’d offered to make that tea, and if you wanted soup, he’d offer to make that too. He does understand where you come from, however. You tend to be more independent, opting to do things yourself, and you also know his propensity for being alone and needing space. As such, you’re careful not to be overbearing, and the idea of Saiki doing even little tasks like brewing you tea bothers you.

It’s endearing, the level of care you take to make sure he’s comfortable too, but when he says you’re far from high maintenance, he means it. You immediately understand what he’s implying and laugh before scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, point made,” you concede. With a small smile, Saiki grabs the remote you’d tossed down on the couch and presses play.

He would struggle to call you high maintenance on any day considering who your friends are.  They’re loud and all over the place, practically bouncing off the walls. Life could hardly be tranquil when around them and their antics. It’s the total opposite of Saiki, who values calm and silence. If they were high maintenance, he was low maintenance. That’s the way he prefers to be, existing in relative quiet and as close to mediocrity as he can muster. But he can't say he’s opposed to the occasional interruption to the otherwise mundane, especially where it concerns you. You’re not to be found on one side or the other, but right in the middle, and to Saiki, you are just right.

[iamyoursinblog]

MAFIA

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Mafia!AU

Word Count:  1.3 k

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LIST

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Mafia! Kim Taehyung x Detective! Reader

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You stopped in the middle of a deserted road, practically running out of the car because you were out of breath. The last few days have been a disaster for you. You found out what you didn't want. You didn't speak to Jungkook after dinner, not wanting to know more details. You practically breathed a sigh of relief when you sent your little brother back to America. No wonder why he didn't want to go to Busan. These memories were an open wound for him.

But it shocked you even more than your first love was Kim Taehyung. Now, remembering those phone conversations, you knew for sure that it was Taehyung's voice. He was too strong a memory to forget any details of him. Especially when your brother flew in alone. You were shocked to see that Jungkook had a gunshot wound... but you were even more worried about his mental health condition. He ate practically nothing and cried every night. He said over and over that it was all his fault that he could not save his best friend. Your heart broke when Jungkook revealed that his friend was beaten to near-death the night he was shot.

"Why, from all the people on this damn planet, it should be you!" you kicked the grass on the side of the road in anger. Why are you such a fool, how could you not understand that your Tae and Taehyung are the same person? So Taehyung couldn't come, not because the mafia prevented him, but because he was forced to become the mafia. Why, why! You already lost him once, and now everything is happening again. Your heart ached. Everything in your head is confused ... but even worse, everything is confused in your heart.

You weren't even surprised when you drove up to your house and saw Taehyung sitting on the hood of his car in front of your house. You have to finish it all. You knew from the beginning that nothing would come of it. But now everything you've been doing has lost its meaning.

You got out of your car and walked past Taehyung and got into his car in the passenger seat. He stared at you through the windshield in surprise while you buckled up. He got into the car, staring at you in disbelief. “Let's go,” you said, still not meeting his gaze. You were just afraid to look into his eyes.

"On a date?" he asked

“Almost ...” you gasped. “Ride to my work,” you replied, looking ahead.

"Am I under arrest?" he chuckled

"Just ride..."

You drove in silence. None of you knew what could happen. Even after arriving, none of you spoke. Taehyung silently followed you to your office. You tried not to pay attention to the shocked faces of other detectives, who did not understand what was happening.

You opened the door to your office, letting Taehyung go ahead. Once inside, you closed the door and the blinds on the window, not wanting to feel the hundred of eyes that were watching you. Taehyung stood in the middle of the office, silently watching you. You went to the closet, taking out several empty boxes from the top shelf. You collected all the material you had on Taehyung. Absolutely everything that was, all the evidence, the testimony of witnesses, all the cases that were somehow connected with the mafia. You put the boxes at his feet, meeting his confused look for the first time. "I'm done," you said, turning to leave. You didn't want to have anything to do with this anymore. Maybe you should just go back to America? Apparently, the guy, for whom you came here to save him, doesn't need your help.

Taehyung grabbed your hand “_______” he practically whispered your name, stopping you.

Even after all these years, your stupid heart fluttered at the way he pronounced your name. "I will no longer meddle in your affairs," you said, removing his hand from your wrist. “Let's not meet again” you turned and left the office.

You went to your captain's desk and left a resignation letter on it, along with your police ID and weapon. You wanted to fight the mafia because you thought they were the reason why the one you were waiting for didn't come with your brother. But it turned out that the one you were waiting for and looking for, is the mafia ... your work has no point anymore...

You got into a taxi and headed to the hotel. You didn't want to stay where Taehyung could find you easily. Even after arriving at the hotel, you checked in with your American passport. I hope it's all over now, you whispered as you ride up the elevator to the needed floor.

You lay in the middle of the bed, still not believing what was happening. How could you not understand that it was him ... and you call yourself a detective, you scolded yourself.

= = =

You wonder how long you are going to hide here, you asked, looking at yourself in the mirror. Several days have passed, and you have not even left your room. You looked at your discharge phone, only guessing how many missed calls and unread messages there were. At least you need some clothes and a phone charger, you're mentally persuading yourself. You can't always walk in a dressing gown ... You looked at the clothes that were returned from the dry cleaning, and today is the day when you leave this room.

You opened the door and froze when you saw Taehyung standing opposite.

"I really thought that you were going to die there," he said, flexing his neck. "If you hadn’t ordered room service, I would have broken that damn door by now."

"How do you find me?" you stared at him

"Do you really think I don't remember the name of my first love?" he glared at you. "Your behavior every time confuses me," he said, taking your resignation letter from his pocket. He took steps in your direction, forcing you to go back to your room. "I was thinking while you were playing hide-and-seek with me. A new detective appears from nowhere, who with the fury of a tiger tries to arrest the whole mafia. But after she finds out that the boss of the mafia, me,  is the guy who confessed his love to her on the phone, she quits her job. So, I came to the conclusion that I was the reason for you coming from America. Am I too for you the first love that you still keep in your heart? " he smiled

"Kim Taehyung" you practically yelled at his name, forcing him to stop.

"I liked it better when you called me Tae."

You lowered your head, closing your eyes. "What do you want? Why do you keep haunting me? Are you asking if you are my first love?" You first met his gaze." I was in love with a sweet and funny guy who called me, introducing himself as my future husband. I was in love with the one with whom I talked every night about everything that worries him. The one that made Jungkook cry every night, blaming himself for not being able to save him," you brushed away the tear that rolled down your cheek. " Yes, you were," you whispered, shaking your head. "It's just a pity that not a trace of the one with whom I am in love is left." You walked past him towards the exit.

“In front of you is the same guy who still wants to marry you,” he said to you, forcing you to stop at the door. He came up to you and held out his hand to your hand.

"And is the guy who lost me still alive?" You asked, forcing him to take a step back by lowering his hand down... You chuckled at such an obvious answer to your question. Without saying another word, you left the room, leaving this hotel.

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[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type  – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

[fallout4reactsblog]

A Very Commonwealth Christmas: Year Two

“Are we seriously doin’ this again?” Gage griped from his place beside the window. “It sucked last year.”

Ada shook her head. “Actually, by my calculations, the endeavor was a great success. Sole’s enthusiasm and overall happiness was far above predicted values. As such, it is only logical to repeat the exercise.”

Cait (who still refused to even look in Gage’s direction) huffed. “So long as we do somethin’ fun this year.”

Preston smiled gently, showing his infinite patience once again. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to do the same thing twice, so we’re switching things up a little. Is everyone familiar with the concept of Secret Santa?”

A mixed bag of responses came back.

“Well, it’s simple. I’ve written down everyone’s name on a piece of paper and put them in this hat.” He tipped the hat to show them the neatly folded squares of paper. “Each of us will draw a name, and you’ll get a gift for whoever you draw. Sole was worried that we didn’t exchange gifts ourselves last year, so this year we’re going to make that happen.”

“And what if we don’t like whoever we get?” X6 asked, not looking directly at Deacon, but the subtext was clear.

“You’ll just have to pretend. Remember, for the next few weeks, we’re all good friends as far as sole is concerned. We all get along.”

To Preston’s credit, he did manage to not glare at Gage, X6, or any of the others that were deemed “troublemakers,” but they got the message. He’d made plenty of threats last year if people didn’t get along, threats that were not empty and, undoubtedly, very much still on the table.

“But what about sole?” Piper asked. “Is their name in there?”

Preston shook his head. “They’re not playing. According to them, the effort of us playing is enough.”

Ada took the hat from Preston’ hands. “We will go in alphabetical order to draw names. Cait, you will draw first.”

Cait was at least kind enough to wipe her hands off, freeing them of the looser flakes of dried blood, before snatching out a name. It seemed that the reading lessons between her and Piper had been going well, because she didn’t ask what it said. That, or she was too proud to admit it.

Slowly, they passed the hat around. Some people were better at concealing their reactions than others; Deacon might as well have been wearing a mask for the emotion he showed, but Curie didn’t even try to hide her distaste for whoever she’d drawn.

“Alright, people.” Preston clapped his hands. “Because of the game, I’ve called in some extra help from the settlers to get the other preparations done. You should have plenty of time to get your presents. You’ve got a week.”

Ada

It was a pleasant surprise to have drawn MacCready, in her opinion. Though he wasn’t someone she’d spent much time around, he was a fairly easy man to understand. Plus, it was unlikely he’d be expecting much from her. After all, he would put more effort into his own family celebration than this one, and wouldn’t expect her to do anything but the same.

Still, a part of her wasn’t content with just getting something easy and moving on. That wasn’t the spirit of the game, now was it? But she couldn’t well talk to MacCready directly, so she hunted down the closest person to him.

“What would I want?” sole asked, wiping their hands off on a dirty rag. “Ada, you know that I’m not playing.”

“Of course. But you know all of us the best, do you not? And you have quite a lot in common with my partner.”

“Well, alright.” They leaned back against the workbench to think. “I mean, anything at all is enough to make me happy. A new coffee mug would be nice, though. I’ve been looking for one that’s shatterproof so I can just toss it in my bag on the road and not have to worry about it getting chipped or anything.”

“That is a helpful insight.” Already, her mind was working, thinking about things that could make life on the road easier. “Thank you.”

“Sure, anytime.” They turned back to the workbench. “Good luck.”

Cait

The evening found Cait curled up next the fire, beer in hand, bitching with Hancock about the whole thing.

“How am I supposed to know what Deacon wants?” she said, glaring at the bottle in her hand as if it was to blame. “I don’t know shite about him.”

“No one does. That’s his whole gimmick.”

“Makes him a shitty person to find a gift for, then, doesn’t it?”

“Just get him a box of ammunition or something. It’s a good, generic gift.”

She glared at him. “Do you even know if he uses a gun?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no. But there’s gotta be somethin’ like that that’ll work. Rad-X, or RadAway, or RadSomethingElse that he needs.”

With a sigh, she took another drink. “You reckon sole’ll mind?”

“They’ve gotta know how he is, right?”

She shook her head. “Who did you get, though?”

He crinkled what was left of his nose. “Guess.”

“Someone you don’t want, by the looks of it.”

“I’ve got the ol’ tin can himself.”

She snickered into her drink. “Bad luck.”

He let out a long sigh. “Anythin’ for sole, right? I’ll dig up a gift for crew cut, you find somethin’ for shitty James Bond, they’ll be happy and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, sure. Anythin’ for sole.”

Codsworth

Of all the people that could’ve drawn Hancock, it had to be him.

Most people, of course, would take the easy way out. A box of chems would be more than enough to make him happy, and would be easy to procure in the Commonwealth. But it just didn’t sit right with him. It just wasn’t his style, so he needed a new idea.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to just get some drugs?” Farenheit asked.

“Positive.”

“Shit.” She blew out a long trail of smoke. “That makes things harder. Do you mind gettin’ your hands dirty?”

“I’ve been known to get into the occasional scrap.”

She nodded. “A while back, John lost his lighter to some punk, a raider or somethin’. He said it wasn’t a deal, never went and got it, but if you could get it back, I bet he’d like that.”

“And where is this hooligan now?”

“Last I heard, he was hiding out in Dunwich Borers.”

Not the safest place, but he could probably talk sole into going with him. After all, if they heard raiders had moved back in, they’d want to take care of business.

It was better than any plan he had, at least.

Curie

She wouldn’t have called herself a mean person usually. She liked to think of herself as someone who was generally kind and understanding, someone who was forgiving above all, someone who wouldn’t judge others based on rumor alone.

Porter Gage was her one (and only) exception. Which made her current situation awkward, to say the least.

Worse was that there wasn’t anyone to ask, was there? Except for sole, no one knew much about Gage, and those she was closest to happened to hate his guts on principle.

But for the next few weeks, that wasn’t allowed. She could harbor no ill will toward Gage, and instead had to consider him as just another friend of sole’s. Of course, usually that meant she would go straight to sole, but they were off-limits for direct questioning. They didn’t want to know who had drawn whom, which left her with only her own critical thinking to figure this one out.

While her critical thinking had not failed her, it seemed her own ability might.

“Sacre bleu,” she swore under her breath, staring down at probably half a dozen mirelurks. This area was supposed to be peaceful, and she’d hoped to track down some pre-war bug spray. It was no secret that he was no fan of insects, and as much as she hated to agree, these mirelurks were really starting to get on her nerves. Damn giant water bugs.

At least she had found the spray, and she was safe hiding up here in the rafters for the moment. How she was getting down was uncertain, and how she was going to dodge the mirelurks without losing a leg was also up in the air, but she’d gotten what she came for.

Danse

At least he had luck on his side. Of all the people to get a gift for, Cait had to be the easiest for him. She may not have liked him, necessarily, but he understood her better than he understood most of the others. The only better pull would have been Preston, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad,” Preston said over breakfast. “Maybe it will help her warm up to you a little.”

“I wouldn’t be certain. I understand her hesitance; it’s a wonder to have been so widely accepted by your Minutemen.”

“Our Minutemen, now.” Gently, Preston tapped his shoulder with a fist. “But speaking of the game, I don’t suppose you’ve spent much time around Ada?”

Danse turned to him, surprised. “I would have thought you were more than equipped to be paired with Ada. After all, she has been the other primary organizer for the holidays around Sanctuary.”

“Yeah, but that’s all business.” Preston sighed. “I don’t think I know much about her as a person.”

“She seems to have affinity for the same kinds of junk that sole does. Perhaps something related to that?”

“Good idea.” He glanced up from the fire and smiled. “Thanks, Danse. I bet you’ll get a great gift for Cait.”

“I hope so. You’ll undoubtedly make an excellent selection for Ada as well.”

Deacon

“You’ve known sole a long time, huh?”

“But of course!” Codsworth says, dusting off the top of the fridge. “I have known sir/mum since even before the war. Before young Shaun was born, even!”

“And you’ve just stayed here this whole time?”

“Certainly. A Mr. Handy never abandons his post!”

“Must be hard.”

“It’s certainly not the easiest work, but I am happy to do it for sir/mum. It was easier before the war, when we had such modern amenities as vacuums and indoor plumbing, but I will endure for their sake.”

“That kind of loyalty’s hard to come by,” Deacon said, leaning back. “Sole’s lucky.”

Codsworth made a noise akin to a scoff. “They’d be luckier if they ever remembered to bring a new feather duster as I asked. I’ve been waiting months now.”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a lot on their mind. Little things lost in the mix. Happens to the best of us.”

It’s the nature of Mr. Handy’s to be talkative, which only gets worse when left alone for a couple hundred years. Still, at least it’s fun to stretch those interrogation muscles again. It’s been a while.

Gage

He knew this was rigged. It has to be. His luck wasn’t bad enough that, of all people, he drew Preston fucking Garvey out of that hat. Even worse, no one would trade with him; they said that it’s not the nature of the game. It was fuckin’ stupid.

So he was stuck with the one guy that hated his guts more than anything. Fuckin’ great. Worst part was, he would have to actually make an effort, because sole had been so thrilled he’d played nice last year, and the last thing he wanted was to get on their bad side. The Overboss’s anger was a dangerous thing, after all.

He hadn’t had much of a choice but to ask sole, despite their insistence on not knowing the pairs. An exception had to be made. After all, he wasn’t sure who else to go to, and they knew Garvey well enough to put him on the right track. Which left him here, digging around the catacombs in the Castle.

“Back in the day, there was a sword that the leader of the Minutement carried around,” sole had said. “Ronnie told me about it. I bet if you tracked it down and polished it up, he’d like that.”

So here he was, choking on dust, searching for some rusted-out piece of junk that probably didn’t actually exist.

“You’re doin’ this for sole,” he muttered, rummaging through a shelf that seemed to only have bags of cement.

Anything to dodge the Overboss’s wrath, even playing nice with fucking Garvey.

Hancock

The worst part was that he knew exactly where to start. He didn’t like it, oh no, in fact he hated it beyond belief. But he prided himself on giving good gifts, tin can or no, and this was a real easy one, if he could just make it work.

At least it was easy to convince sole. They’d gone out for a little bartering, he’d volunteered to come along, and from there it was easy enough to suggest they swing by the Prydwen to barter with Teagan and get paid for those technical documents. Both very time-consuming items, and both things that tended to draw attention once sole had their nice clothes on for bartering.

The nice thing about the Prydwen was that sole had keys to everything. All he had to do was “borrow” their key ring, find the right key, and he could stroll into Maxson’s living quarters like he owned the place.

His prize was easy to find. It seemed ol’ Arthur hadn’t moved on as well as he pretended; Danse’s holotags were sitting right on top of his desk, beside his terminal. They clinked as he picked them up. Sole had mentioned they’d had to turn them in to Maxson when Danse got exiled, and he’d noticed the former Paladin often reaching for a chain around his neck to find only empty air. Which made this gift the best anyone would be giving, hands down.

“Hey, there,” he muttered, turning them over to check the name. “We better get out of here before somebody sees us, huh?”

The nice thing about sole was that they were far too engrossed in bartering to even notice he’d been gone.

MacCready

What were you supposed to get a man that already had everything he needed? It wasn’t like coursers were supposed to want things anyway. Heck, did he even have use for anything except fusion cells?

Sole’s time being a precious commodity, it seemed, left him with three options (three fellow synths, if he was honest). One: Curie, the sweet scientist who had been a synth for about five minutes and had as little in common with X6 as anyone could, save for being a synth. Two: Nick, who didn’t like X6 and probably never would. Both bad choices which, tragically, left him with lucky number three.

Admittedly, since last years mutfruit disaster, he and Danse had upgraded from “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and that’s fine by us” to “your presence around me isn’t the literal worst” which was a marked improvement. Still, he made the effort to catch Danse while he was working on his power armor, which meant he was probably in a half-decent mood and less likely to try to kill him.

“You sought me out for advice because I’m a synth?” Danse’s tone was not pleased. Surprise, surprise.

“Well, it’s not like you don’t have other stuff in common. You had your whole heart in an organization, too, and it gave you everything you needed.”

“When I was a Paladin, you mean.”

“Yeah. What would you have wanted?”

Danse sighed and shook his head. “As much as it pains me to admit, both Curie and I have observed that Generation Three synths seem to have a terrible fondness for Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. They were forbidden on the Prydwen due to their lack of nutritional content, and I would suppose the Institute is no different. If there is anything that X6-88 wants, that’s my best guess.”

“Snack cakes, huh? That’s... surprisingly easy.” He nodded. “I bet I could get my hands on a bunch in Diamond City, I bet. Thanks, Danse.”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

Nick

It seemed to be his lucky day, because his partner was someone he knew well, and had already planned on getting a gift for: none other than Diamond City’s favorite reporter. He’d gotten Piper a gift probably every year, and already knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it. Lucky him.

“Do you think I should do rose this year?” he asked Ellie, crouched to peer into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He’d stowed away at least twenty years of perfume in there, specifically for Piper.

“You went floral last year,” she said. “Do you want to repeat yourself?”

“That was more lilac than rose,” he grumbled, but pushed the perfume in hand to the back.

“I don’t think we’ve tried anything citrus-y yet.” She hopped off the desk where she was sitting to look, too. “There’s a nice one somewhere in there. What’s it called? Fresh something?”

“Fresh Citron de Vigne.” He pulled the bottle out of the back. “This one was pretty popular before the war.”

“It might be nice to switch things up for her so she doesn’t smell like a florist all the time.”

He nodded. “All that’s left is to wrap it.”

“I’ll take care of that.” She plucked the bottle from his hands. “All you’re going to do is make yourself frustrated when you rip the paper.”

He glared down at his metal fingers, which tended to wreak havoc on anything delicate, especially wrapping paper. “Thanks, Ellie.”

“You can thank me by giving her my gift while you’re up there.”

Piper

The only real question was black or brown, but that was rapidly turning into one hell of a dilemma.

“He’ll like either of them,” Nat said from the couch. “That’s why you got them.”

“I know. I just don’t remember if I gave him a black tie last year.”

She couldn’t see Nat roll her eyes, but she could feel it. “Just ask Ellie. She’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I should give him the blue one to be on the safe side.”

“The one with the little cats on it?”

“Ugh, I forgot about the cats.” She tossed both ties onto her desk with a heavy sigh. “Why did I even get that one?”

“Hey, you don’t know that he won’t like it until you try.”

She shot her sister a scathing glare. “I’m not going to embarrass him in front of everyone with the blue kitty tie. If it was just us, maybe, but now it’s a whole event and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Which means it’s black or brown.”

Nat was unfazed by her sister’s glare. “Well, which one do you like better?”

“The black one.”

“So give him that one.”

“But I might have given him a black one last year.”

"So give him the brown one.”

“But I like the black one better.”

Nat sighed dramatically. “He’s not gonna care, Piper. It’s Nick and a tie. He’s gonna like it no matter what.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to think I can only get one color of tie.”

“You’re overthinking this. Here, give me both ties.”

Reluctantly, she handed them over and watched them disappear behind Nat’s back.

“Okay, right hand or left hand?”

“Right.”

“Brown it is.” Nat handed over the tie. “There, problem solved.”

She took the tie back and looked at it a moment.

“You know what, I think I’ll do the black one.”

Preston

Sewing was a nice, therapeutic exercise. After a long day of working on putting up lights and assembling trees and assigning cooking duties, it was nice to be able to come home and return to a project. Sole had told him about jigsaw puzzles once, and he figured this was probably a lot the same.

He’d designed this backpack specifically for Ada, less as an independent bag and more as something that could function in conjunction with the bags she already carried. It had been a uniquely challenging idea, and he’d spent quite a few nights on it before finalizing his pattern and beginning to actually cut into some leather.

Overall, it was coming along nicely. He figured it would be done well in time for the celebration. He hoped everyone else was progressing on schedule; if one of them showed up without a gift, well, he didn’t know what he would do. The idea that one of them would disappoint sole had crossed his mind more than once, and he swore to himself that if anyone failed to perform this year, they’d suffer the consequences. He just wasn’t sure what those consequences actually were.

He shook his head. No use in worrying about it before it happened. The best he would probably get would be a stern talking-to anyway, and maybe the chance to punch somebody in the face. Sole wouldn’t want him hurting any of their friends on their behalf.

Besides, depending on whoever their partner was that this hypothetical asshole had wronged, he might not have to do anything. He couldn’t see Cait letting it slide, that was for sure, and Danse believed so heavily in being a person of honor that he wouldn’t tolerate it either, no matter who had gotten screwed over.

In the end, he probably wouldn’t have to do anything, and that put a smile on his face.

X6

“You want what?”

He tried to not let his face betray him as he stared down Dr. Holden in the corner of the Bioscience division.

“A full lab kit for above-ground experimentation. Orders from the future director.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; sole wanted him to participate in this silly game, which meant they had essentially “ordered” him to get a gift. What could a scientist want more than a full, top-of-the-line lab kit from the Institute?

“But not Father.”

He peered down at the doctor. “If you are refusing, Dr. Holden, I will report back to sole. I’m certain they will be happy to come themselves, or send word along to Father of your refusal.”

Dr. Holden huffed, and he saw the tiniest spark of fear in his eyes. “I didn’t refuse. I just wish they’d go through proper channels when requesting equipment, that’s all.” He scratched a few words on a piece of paper and handed it over. “There. That’ll get you everything you need.”

He said nothing, just took the paper coldly. Not for the first time, he appreciated that sole had authorized him to act on their behalf. For one, it showed trust, and it also made getting around much, much easier. All he had to do was mention their name, which carried the full force of the director’s office, and everyone was willing to acquiesce.

All he had to do now was make sure nothing broke. Glass was a difficult thing to transport, after all. He could relay straight back to Sanctuary, but Curie might see him, and the point was that the gift was a secret, hence the name “Secret Santa.” He could relay to the nearby Red Rocket, but that left him further to go, and more at risk of things breaking.

Decisions, decisions.

The Exchange

Shockingly, everyone had managed to get their gifts wrapped. Granted, some were better than others; Deacon still dominated with his perfect, sharp creases and hand-folded bow, where X6 might as well have just put his gift in a trash bag, but in the end it was the thought that counted.

Everyone had gathered in the newly established meeting hall of Sanctuary Hills, where sole had spent the last few days placing enough chairs and tables for everyone to be comfortable, as well as a few rugs to make the place feel cozy. They’d even made a fireplace appear out of nowhere, no easy feat, and with the settlers’ decorations it really did feel festive. Sole themself was seated by the fire, curled up with Dogmeat at their feet, and their eyes sparkled to see the gifts their friends had brought.

“Well, go on.” They waved their hands encouragingly. “Let me see what you did. I might be more excited than all of you are. Who’s going first?”

“It will be alphabetical,” Ada said, standing. “I will go first.”

She made her way to MacCready, who looked honestly surprised to see a gift appear in his lap.

“Ah, thanks. I’ll just, uh, open this.”

He tore into the paper and opened up the generic cardboard box, furrowed his eyebrows, and pulled out a series of small plastic jars.

“I have noticed you have an affinity for cooking,” she said. “I thought you might appreciate some new spices to try while on the road. It will be very difficult for you to break or spill them while traveling, as they are all in childproof containers.”

“That’s... surprisingly thoughtful.” He shook a container of dried parsley as if trying to figure out what it was. “Thanks.”

“Okay, my turn.” Cait clapped her hands and stood up. “Thanks for not changing your look again, Deacon. I’ll at least be able to find you.”

She dropped the box in his hands unceremoniously. “Don’t complain if it’s not somethin’ you want. You’re not the easiest guy to get a gift for.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort at least,” he said, peeling away the practically mangled wrapping. “If you ever want some lessons on wrapping paper, though, I’m happy to- oh.”

He pulled out a leather jacket, turning it around so that sole could see Cait had made the effort to track down the Atom Cats. A smile quirked his lips.

“Actually been looking at one of these for a while.” He gave Cait a real smile, this time. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she huffed, clearly embarrassed. “I mean it.”

“Which brings us to me! Here you are, Mr. Hancock. One present, as promised.”

“It’s light,” Hancock commented wrily, shaking the box. “You didn’t get cheap on me, didja?”

“But of course not. I simply went for something more personal.”

“Personal?” He raised what was left of an eyebrow as he unceremoniously tore through the wrapping paper. “How did you manage that little trick?”

Codsworth waved an arm dismissively. “I have my ways.”

“Well, shit, I guess you do.”

He pulled the lighter out twirled it in his fingers and gave it an experimental light. It flicked on with ease.

“I guess you refilled it too, huh? That’s really somethin’.”

“So that’s why you drug me out to Dunwich Borers,” sole said, laughing. “I knew something was up.”

“Certainly not,” Codsworth replied, but his tone betrayed that if he could have laughed, he would have.

“Ah, I suppose that means it is my turn, non?” Carefully, Curie picked her way over to Gage. “Happy holidays, Monsieur.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He took it uncertainly. “This isn’t a bomb or anything, is it?”

“Of course not!” She sounded genuinely offended. “It is a gift, and not one that is easy to procure.”

“Just bein’ careful.” He still shook out the can more carefully than was probably necessary.

“Bug spray,” she explained. “It should repel the overly large insects you so dislike.”

Gage actually looked surprised. “I.. shit. Thanks.” He turned his head to the wall, obviously embarrassed. “Whoever’s next...”

“That would be me.” Shockingly, Danse had actually ditched his power armor for the day, at sole’s request. “Here you are, Cait. I hope it proves useful to you.”

She seemed hesitant, but accepted wordlessly, peering into the box. There was silence for a long moment, then she said, “I thought you only knew how to mod energy weapons.”

“I made an exception. That should provide you with exceptional damage and a better rate of fire for your shotgun.”

Cait could only shake her head, say, “Thanks,” and wave for the next person to go.

Deacon took his cue and handed his gift off to Codsworth. “There you go, buddy. Happy holiday.”

“Mr. Deacon.” Codsworth sounded all too pleased. “I should have known.”

Deacon shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up. At least you know you got what you wanted.”

“How thoughtful!” Codsworth turned to sole. “You needn’t search for a new feather duster any longer sir/mum.”

They nodded, impressed. “I had forgotten I was supposed to be looking for one. Good work, Deeks.”

“Hey, you’ve got a lot on your plate boss.” He shot them a quick set of finger guns. “I’m just helping out with the little stuff.”

There was silence for a long moment before sole said, “Gage, I think it’s you.”

“What, already? Alright.”

He stood up, and when he paused in front of Preston, the room froze. No one even dared to breathe as he handed off the box, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, Gage was the only person Preston seemed actively willing to shoot at any time. This could only mean a fight.

“Happy holidays, Garvey.” He almost sounded genuine.

Preston accepted, understandably cautiously. “Thanks, Gage. Happy holidays.”

But when the paper was off, and the box was opened, Preston’s hesitation vanished into thin air. 

“How the hell did you even find this?” he breathed, slowly pulling the sword from its sheath. It glinted in the firelight.

“Ah, it was no big deal.” Gage’s face was smug, and he leaned back in his chair with confidence. “You guys shouldn’t leave important relics just sitting around.”

And to everyone’s surprise, especially Gage’s, Preston rose from his chair to offer Gage a handshake.

“Thanks,” he said. “For real.”

For a second time, Gage was stunned into silence before taking Preston’s hand and breathing, “Don’t mention it. That’s the game, right?”

Sole shot Gage a discreet thumbs-up as Preston settled back into his seat, and the poor guy could only nod.

“Well, ain’t that touching?” Hancock leaned over to pass off the small box to Danse, who had somehow ended up seated directly across the circle from him. “There ya go, crew cut. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Danse nodded. “I won’t.”

Sole shot Hancock a warning look as Danse carefully unwrapped it, and he winked in reply, as if to say, “Trust me.”

Danse quite literally choked.

As he pulled the chain out, the box fell from his hands, leaving the holotags in the open air. Sole gasped from their place by the fire, realizing exactly what Danse was holding, and Hancock let his smile widen.

“These should be on board the Prydwen,” he breathed, turning them over in his hands. “They should have been destroyed.” Teary eyes turned toward the mayor of Goodneighbor. “How did you...”

Hancock leaned closer to Danse, clearly enjoying his moment. “Well, it didn’t make much sense that they were on Maxson’s desk if they’ve got your name on ‘em. After all, they’re yours. What does he need them for?”

Danse leaned forward, too, pulling Hancock into a bone-crushing hug. “You could have died. If you had been caught...”

“But I wasn’t.” John Hancock truly looked like that cat who’d eaten the canary. “Happy holidays, Danse.”

“Thank you, John,” Danse replied, and his tone was sincere, without the hint of malice that usually accompanied any of his interactions with Hancock. “Happy holidays.”

Preston patted Danse’s shoulder as he let go, but still managed to shoot an impressed look across the circle at Hancock. Hancock made a peace sign at him, still grinning.

“Well, shoot,” MacCready said. “That makes me next, but I feel kinda stupid about my gift, now.”

He opted to deposit the clearly heavy box at X6′s feet instead of in his lap. It was by far the largest gift, and shockingly neat in its wrapping. He dusted his hands, said, “It’s heavy,” and returned to his seat.

“I admit that I have no clue what this is,” X6 said, prodding the box gently. “It looks too large to be fusion cells, which is what I thought it would be.”

MacCready smiled, just a little. “Maybe it’s a lot of fusion cells. Why don’t you find out?”

X6 carefully unwrapped the gift, and only just managed to open the box before his head shot up.

“Is this whole box full of them?”

“You betcha.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Sole protested from the corner, “I can’t see what it is.”

“It’s snack cakes.” X6 held up a box indicatively. “They’re difficult for me to acquire, due to the Institute’s strict supervision of my diet, but a vice among gen three synths. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

MacCready, to his credit, managed not to look too smug at the courser’s apparent wonder.

Nick stood. “Here you go, Piper. I suppose you know what it is. Here’s Ellie’s, while we’re at it, but you can open it later.”

She laughed and held out a hand to stop him from returning to his seat. He looked at her, bemused

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head and reached under her chair to hand off her gift to him. “Some luck, huh? Happy holidays, Nick.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Some luck, indeed. Happy holidays, Piper.”

They opened at the same time, Piper saying, “Oh, this is a new one,” at the same time Nick said, “Well, how classy.”

They held their gifts up in sync for sole to see, though Piper was still reading the label of her perfume.

“Citrus, huh? This’ll be nice for a change of pace. I haven’t had anything citrus-y before.”

“It’s been a while since I got a new black tie,” Nick replied, examining it. “I like the pattern. It’s subtle.”

“I can’t believe you both drew each other,” sole cut in, though they didn’t seem disappointed. “I bet you’d already planned to do gifts anyway.”

They nodded in unison.

“This does make things a little easier, though,” Piper said. “We didn’t have to set our own date this way.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, we’re to you.”

“Sure. Here you go, Ada.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I have tried to predict what this would be, but had some difficulty, especially in the situation where you were the gift giver. I am curious, to say the least.”

“Well, I hope you like it.”

She cracked it open, albeit with some difficulty, before declaring. “This was not among the options I predicted.” She drew it from the box to examine it better. “How thoughtful. It even appears to be designed to work in tandem with my current storage.”

“That’s the idea. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can at least get some use from it.”

“To the contrary. You designed this yourself, and took the time to create it. I can see you’ve even stitched my initials along the straps, as well as the initials of those formerly in my caravan. The details and the effort make it quite touching.”

Preston knew Ada well enough to know that he had gotten the best possible response, emotion-wise, and turned to X6 with everyone else.

“Well, you all already know who this is for.” He carefully passed the box over to Curie, who beamed.

“Merci.”

He nodded, not entirely coldly, and she began to remove the paper with a surgeon’s precision, letting out a gasp when she’d opened the box.

“Oh, Monsieur! This is- I have not seen such fine materials since before the war. Where did you find them?”

“They’re top quality, designed for Institute scientists.” A hint of pride lingered in his voice. “I knew you would like them.”

“Yes, I like them very much! I cannot wait to work with new glassware again, it has been so long.”

Sole sighed contentedly from their chair, drawing their attention. “I’m so proud of you guys. I knew it was a risk asking you to do this, but I’m glad you could put aside your differences, at least for a while. Honestly, this has gone better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Anything for you, General,” Preston replied. “You’ve been more than helpful in putting us on the right track.”

They shook their head. “I was happy to do it. It showed me you were all really trying, when I thought we’d be seeing nothing but boxes of ammo. You all went above and beyond, and for that, I salute you.”

They picked up their glass and raised it to the room, smile still lingering on their face. “To all of you, for taking the time and energy, both physical and emotional, to indulge me. I’m beyond proud to call you my friends, and more proud to call you my family.”

“Happy holidays, everyone.”

[kyoonqs]

iluso amor ; fourth part.

↬ summary: Cora has always considered herself elusive, easy to bore and adventurous to the last fiber of her body. One day for no apparent reason, she appears in front of the manager of a globetrotting circus passing through the city where she is temporarily staying to fill her life with magic. Baekhyun, as serious as he is handsome, has no intention of playing a role other than on the main canvas of the circus. He decides to separate Cora from her life of fantasies created by her travels and sets out to show her reality as raw and cruel as he knows it. Or so he believes.

Will time run out too quickly before love and passion devour him and he decides to risk everything for a love that lasts… Forever?

↬ pairing: baekhyun x cora fem!reader.

↬ circus!au ; illusionist!baek x hitchhiker!oc ; strangers to lovers au!

↬ genre: fluff ; romance ; angst ; drama.

↬ tag list: @changshapatrol @spacebyuns @fluffyhunnie @soos-goddess @hoho-cham​ @shadoukiti @sunbyun21 @mangobaek @suhotly @pororodks @bbhbae @blahblahblah-boo @leewalberg @byunsbobobu @endzii23 @taeilpathic @jennie7​ @ainedreams​ @lylthy​

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, please let me know!

↬ masterlist.

“Leave me alone.”

Cora opened her eyes just enough to glance at the clock and see that it was five in the morning. She wasn't going to argue, much less lose hours of sleep, so she snuggled against the upholstery of the truck –which she had entered half-asleep a few minutes earlier– and closed her eyes again. He slid his eyes down her body and snorted in resignation.

“Are you sure you don't want it?” He said as he shook and offered her the last berry flavored yogurt – despite it being his favorite. He had retrieved it from the refrigerator when he saw that she hadn’t had breakfast since they were about to embark on their next trip.

She snatched it from him and placed it in the compartment at her side. She was quick to return mulling over the events of the three previous night. Cora scanned Baekhyun's face for any trace of resentment but couldn't find it. She was too tired and sad to argue again but if she didn't reply, it would seem that she had given up and was doing what he wanted.

Cora’s days in Fraga consisted of rising early, cleaning the caravan, shopping at the market, cooking for the both of them, covering Gael's stall, attending performance, cleaning up and sleeping. Regarding Baekhyun, she had decided to speak up if she required it and to stay close when she needed help and Talia couldn't help. Although it was hard for her.

With Talia she formed a close friendship, making her the only person with whom she had opened up to most until now. She had learned that the girl came from Goa –a place in India colonized by Portuguese years ago– and that they were practically the same age. Her family had always been part of the circus, not necessarily working under  the same banner but they hailed the lifestyle as tradition. She was a hard-working girl, attentive, funny and above all, very sweet and that moved Cora to the bone.

“It's going to be tough staying here if you don't respond when spoken to, dulzura.”

“What happened three nights ago, I didn't deserve it.” 

He said nothing, and if it hadn't been for the way his lips pursed, Cora would have thought he hadn't heard her.

They continued to travel in absolute silence until, finally, Cora fell asleep. 

Lost in her dreams, she found a more comfortable position and ended up leaning on Baekhyun's shoulder. A lock of her hair fluttered in the breeze and caressed his lips. He let it play there for a while, brushing his mouth and jaw. She smelled of sweet , expensive perfume, like the scent of wildflowers in a jewelry store. 

Cora was right about what had transpired. He had been a fool but only because he was going against his current. He had never met a woman with so many contradictions. She had said he was cynical but she was wrong. Of course he had feelings but they weren't the ones she wanted. Life had taught Baekhyun that he was incapable of having them.

He told himself that he had to pay attention to the road, but he couldn't resist looking down at the warm, lean body that nestled against him. With her legs tucked up on the seat, Cora had finally lost the battle against her fussy dress and now it was raised to show the smooth curve of her inner thigh. Baekhyun's eyes fell on her thighs but he looked away, angry at himself for undergoing such torture. In his eyes, she was beautiful. He had to admit that she was not the young woman he had initially thought her to be. She possessed an unexpected and disturbing sweetness that made her seem more vulnerable than he wanted.

In the afternoon, Cora was exhausted. Only by trying her best had she been able to finish cleaning the trailer, showering, preparing something to eat, and getting to the red wagon in time to service the ticket office. It would have taken a lot longer if Baekhyun hadn't given her a hand by placing the utensils used during lunch, a surprise since he was always running back to his activities.

It was Saturday and she accidentally overheard the brief conversations of workers who came to collect their pay envelopes. Baekhyun had told her that some of the workers who set up tents and moved equipment were troublesome but low wages and poor conditions did not attract more stable employees. Some had been working in the circus for years just because they had nowhere else to go. Others were adventurers drawn to the allure of the circus world but generally no one lasted long there – perhaps even her?.

Baekhyun looked up from his desk when Cora entered the trailer. She was beginning to think a perpetual frown had been drawn onto his face.

“Today Argelia returns. I'll tell her to find you a malliot for the show. When she can help you, I'll send someone to take care of the locker.”

“Remember that I’m not an artist.”

“This is the circus, dulzura. Everyone is an artist.”

Her curiosity about the mysterious Argelia made her ignore his grin. 

“Fionn told me she was a famous aerialist.”

“She’s the last of her generation. Her family is par excellence the owner of trapeze and aerobatics. Stay as far out of her way as possible.” He paused as he got up. “Remember what I told you about the money box. Don't lose sight of it.”

“Okay.” With a sharp nod, Baekhyun disappeared. 

Cora handled the ticket sales without a hitch. The flow of people stopped as soon as the performance began, and she sat on the stairs of the trailer to enjoy the night breeze. She looked at the lights and flags that decorated the small play area of the kermesse that always accompanied the circus which, in addition to attracting children, was another way for the circus to make money. At that moment, an antique Cadillac entered the compound accompanied by a trail of dust. An exotic-looking woman with bright reddish hair stepped out in a tight top, tight rubber leggings revealing her long legs and beaded sandals. Large gold earrings gleamed in the dim light through her tousled hair and a matching pair of bangles adorned her slender wrists. As the woman made her way to the circus entrance, Cora caught a glimpse of her face: pale skin, well-defined features, and a voluptuous mouth emphasized with crimson lipstick. 

This woman was so self-assured that it was impossible for it to be a visitor. Cora knew it could only be Argelia.

Cora chatted with a customer queuing to buy tickets for the second show for a few minutes and by the time he left, Argelia had disappeared. As soon as she had dispatched everyone who came to the box office, Cora began to peruse the contents of an envelope filled with clippings from old local newspapers. Baekhyun's number with the whip was mentioned in several articles dated two years earlier and was not mentioned again until a month ago. She knew that circuses changed performances and performers moved from place to place, which made her wonder where he would have performed in the days he wasn’t traveling with today's circus.

When the first show finished, a tall young man appeared, the same one who had danced with Talia, she still didn't know his name but she knew that he was in charge of organizing the smaller tents and lighting the place.

“I’m Adal. Baekhyun sent me to take care of the box office. You have to go back to the caravan to try on a maillot.”

Thanking the messenger, she headed for the trailer. When she entered, she was surprised to see Argelia, folding the clothes she had left hanging on a makeshift clothesline. Cora felt doubly insulted: first for seeing someone with their hands on her clothes and then for being late. She wouldn’t add to those sins being rude.

“Would you like a cup of tea, maybe a soda?”

“No. I'm Argelia LeBlanc but I guess you already knew that.” Upon closer inspection, Cora noticed the circus owner was wearing more striking makeup than she would have chosen, not that it didn't suit her but combined with the clothes, somewhat provocative, and those extravagant accessories, it was clear her aesthetic had been influenced by life in the circus.

“Baekhyun likes order and he’s known to eat well. You hardly have anything in the fridge.” A deep emotion crossed Argelia's face, revulsion combined with almost palpable hostility. Instantly, Cora realized that Argelia LeBlanc would never be her friend.

“I know, I plan to do it soon. Thank you for telling me.” Argelia looked ready to pounce but Cora knew who would lose, so she pointed to the two sequin maillots on the back of the chair.

“Are those the maillots I have to try on?” The woman nodded with her head. Cora picked up the one on top and realized that it was nothing more than a sequined piece of cloth.

“I have a feeling it will cover me very little.”

“That's the idea. This is the circus. The public expects to see a good portion of skin.”

“And does it have to be mine?” Argelia watched her critically, evidently expecting her to straighten her back. But after beginning to understand how they behaved in the circus, Cora knew when not to clash in arguments. Sincerity was the only defense against experts in malice. 

She went into the bathroom and removed all of her clothes except the panties but when she put on the tiny garment she realized that the cut on her leg was so high they could be seen. She undressed again and started again. When she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror and felt like naked. Two vertical strips with blue sequins covered her breasts, and a wider horizontal strip crossed them. The body of the maillot was nothing more than a fine veil of golden net.

“I don't think I can go out with this.” She exclaimed through the door.

“Let's see…”

“It's too re–” Her words were interrupted when she saw Baekhyun leaning on the sink semi-dressed for the performance. She wanted to run back to the bathroom, and if Argelia hadn't been there, she would have. Why did he have to show up when she was dressed like that?

“Come closer so we can see you.” he said.

Cora stepped forward reluctantly. They were both silent and she had the feeling of being an intruder. Baekhyun didn't say anything, but scrutinized her in such a way that she felt naked.

“Turn around.” Argelia ordered. Cora blushing turned around again.

“It's a show for families, I don't want her to show up like this.” Baekhyun said, closing his eyes with the idea of recording the image just seen in his head, but also seeking control over himself.

“You're right. She doesn't have enough attributes to fill it out properly. Let's see if the other one suits you better.” The woman opened her leotard without warning and pulled it down, leaving Cora naked to the waist. With a gasp, she grabbed the pool of sequins and the net that had slid down her belly, but her fingers were clumsy and it was like trying to catch air. She looked at Baekhyun, who was standing with his ankles crossed and his hands resting on the counter behind her.

“God, you blush like a virgin. Haven’t you ever gotten naked in front of a man?” Argelia's lips curved into a smile.

“Enough, Argelia. Leave her alone.” Baekhyun stepped between the two women, almost as if he wanted to hide Cora's nudity, which was ridiculous, as it was from him that she wanted to hide.

“Give it to me. This one is best.” The loose sleeves of the white shirt flapped as he ripped the red sequin jersey from Argelia's hands. He looked at it and handed it to Cora with some tenderness. She grabbed her jersey and ran into the bathroom. 

When the door was closed, she leaned against it and tried to breathe normally, but her heart was pounding and her skin was burning. Finally she put onthe maillot, and was relieved to see that something more than the other covered her. The sequins of all reddish to orange, in the shape of a tongue of fire, climbed from the crotch to the bodice, where they stuck to her breasts in an irregular and jagged way. The leg openings reached almost to the waist, showing a good portion of skin. She opened the door and reluctantly left the bathroom, at least it covered her waist.

“Where is Argelia?” There was only Baekhyun, leaning on the edge of the table with his hip. Cora gulped and chewed on her lower lip.

“She had to speak to another of the employees. Turn around.”

“You were lovers, right? Was she married to the owner of the circus when you were with her?”

“Not now. Now stop gossiping and let me see you from behind.”

“Wanting to know more about you is not gossiping. I've been looking at some old newspaper clippings and I noticed that you didn't do the circus tour last year. Why?”

“So… What difference does it make? That's none of your business.” Baekhyun was the most reserved person Cora had ever met in her life and she knew she wouldn't get anything else out of him.

“I don't like this jersey. I don't like either of them.”

“You look like an artist.” Since she didn't turn around like he asked, Baekhyun got behind her. The young woman hated being exposed like that and pulled away when she felt him touch her shoulder.

“Stay still. It couldn’t be criticized even by the most conservative.” He grabbed her waist with his other hand.

Baekhyun had gotten so close that her breasts brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt when she turned to him. She shuddered. He lowered the hand he had placed on the girl's waist, sliding it along the bottom edge of the leotard and placing it on the girl's lower back, millimeters from where her buttocks began. Fiery flames shot through Cora from head to toe. She pulled back a little, not because she wanted to sneak away, but because she wanted too much to stay where she was.

“Remember what you told me.” Without taking his hand away from where it was, Baekhyun tilted his head and nuzzled her neck, warming her skin with his breath on her ear. He leaned back and she could see the amber specks gleaming in his eyes.

“Maybe I don't care too much anymore.” Cora's heart raced and she knew she couldn't have escaped even if she wanted to. He looked up and felt as if everything had vanished and there was nothing but the two of them.

Baekhyun's mouth seemed strangely tender to her despite her harsh gesture. He parted his lips and covered her gently, while at the same time, he held her even more against his body. His chest felt broad and heavy against her. When Baekhyun molded his mouth to hers, she experienced a moment of astonishment. His lips were tender and soft in contrast to the rest of her person. 

Cora offered herself to him since she couldn't do otherwise. He stroked her lower lip and brushed the tip of her tongue with his. The sensation made her feel slightly dizzy and she wrapped her arms around Baekhyun's waist, feeling the silky fabric of his shirt under her fingers, then she slid her palms down his biceps. He moaned against her mouth, then his tongue plummeted down on hers. The kiss went wild. 

Baekhyun lifted her against him and pushed her back, pulling her up onto the counter. Cora clung to his back to keep her balance. He stepped between her legs and the decorative chains on his hips dug into Cora's inner thighs. The soft feminine moan resounded like an echo in the warm masculine mouth as he felt Baekhyun's hands on the back of her neck.

“You're beautiful,” he gasped, looking at her. He began to kiss her again while his fingers tangled with the hair on the nape of her neck, making gentle strokes that didn’t stop drawing her towards him. It was too much for her. The brush of the belt jewels on her thighs, the soft caress of his hands.

“Five minutes to the show! Baekhyun!” Someone banged hard on the caravan door. 

Cora jumped off the counter like a guilty teenager and, turning her back to him, nervously adjusted her hair. She felt hot, agitated, and terribly irritated. How could she be so eager to give herself to a man who hardly ever said a kind word to her? She shot into the bathroom but stopped when she heard Baekhyun's soft, husky voice.

“We will continue later, dulzura.”

While Argelia was checking the box office and flipping through a pile of old magazines in the office, Cora sold the tickets for the second show. She did it in a mechanical way, smiling at the customers automatically. Even though she spoke non-stop, she could only think of the passionate kiss she had shared with Baekhyun and barely paid attention to what people were saying. 

She melted at the memory, but at the same time she felt ashamed. She shouldn't have given herself to him with such abandon when he had made it clear to her that she shouldn't romanticize about them. 

As soon as the music for the show's presentation stopped, Argelia left the red car without saying a word, closing the box office behind her. Cora knew that although Argelia would be indifferent, something was bothering her and she couldn't help but believe it was related to her caravan partner, much less stop thinking about what had happened between them.

As she was about to leave the locker, the phone rang and she turned to answer it.

“Circo Gran Fele, how can I help you?” Said Cora, somewhat hesitant, it was the first time anyone had called.

“With Byun Baekhyun, please” said a male voice.

“Sorry, he's not here right now.”

“Could you tell him that I called you? You already have my number. Tell him that Dr. Kim's studio is trying to contact him.”

“I'll give him the message.” She hung up and wondered who the person was as she jotted down the message for Baekhyun. There were too many things about him that Cora didn't know and to tell the truth, he didn't seem like he was going to tell her.

She heard the music that announced the start of the show, the voices of the workers moving from one side of the room to the other, and the usual sounds as they prepared to enter the dance floor. On her way to the caravan, she heard two voices arguing.

Cora noted the tone of Baekhyun’s voice, he was furious. He looked at Argelia and then at the whip that he had curled around his fist –although the woman did not seem as scared as she was– Saturday night was payday for employees and some were already drunk, so he had the whip as a deterrent. However, it was not the workers bothering him. 

The promise that Baekhyun had made to Mael LeBlanc on his deathbed caused him to have constant confrontations with his widow. Argelia LeBlanc was his employer and she was determined to put pressure on him as much as possible. But he was determined to respect Mael's wishes. It was a compromise that didn’t satisfy either of them and it was inevitable that an open war would break out between them.

The two shared a long complicated story that stretched back to the summer when Baekhyun had convinced his parents to attend a function. But everything began to get complicated when he turned fifteen and spent the holidays traveling with the Gran Fele circus. 

The aerialists Paris, like every year, were also on tour that summer and Baekhyun fell madly in love with the queen of center court, who was twenty-one at the time. He spent nights dreaming of her elegance, her beauty, her boldness. The girls he had known so far seemed like little girls compared to the delicious and unattainable Argelia Paris. In addition to feeling a certain affinity for her because they both sought perfection in their work and a will similar to hers, Argelia also possessed an egocentric streak that her father had nurtured and that Baekhyun had never had. 

Basil Paris had made Argelia believe that she was better than the others, however, the trapeze artist also had a softer and more motherly side and, although she was very young at that time, she acted as the first consolation for the other members of the group company, scolded them when they misbehaved and advised them in love affairs.

But Basil Paris had something else in mind, although Baekhyun's circus skill wasn’t as impressive as theirs he had improved over the eight years of seasons, but in Basil's eyes it wasn’t acceptable enough to become the progenitor of the next generation of aerialists Paris and Argelia had pleased her father by falling in love with another man. 

Jealousy had eaten away at Baekhyun and he had vowed to improve in all aspects of his life from then on.

Summer came to an end, and Baekhyun was preparing to go back to school. The same day that Argelia unexpectedly entered her fiancé's caravan and found him stripping one of the tightrope walkers.

He would never forget that night, when the show ended he found the girl waiting for him.

“Come with me.” It didn’t occur to him to disobey her. Argelia led him to the edge of the compound, where they ducked into a small dark space between two caravans. Baekhyun's heart began to pound at her dark, clandestine purpose as he lost himself in the musky scent of her perfume.

The trapeze artist had looked deeply into his eyes. Without saying a single word, she opened her blouse and let it fall from her arms. He had imagined something like that hundreds of times, but fantasies hadn't prepared him to touch such a body, ever.

“Kiss me.” He had shuddered with satisfaction and humiliation. Argelia had then pressed her lips against his, offering him a long, deep kiss. Then she stepped away and turned between the caravans. It was then that he realized that her fiancé had been there the entire time, watching them. The hard, triumphant gleam in her eyes told Baekhyun that she had known it at all times and the feeling caused by that betrayal was so devastating that he couldn't breathe. She didn't care about him. She had only used him for revenge.

Argelia turned again and sealed Baekhyun's lips with a kiss. He understood that cruel display of self-love, like her, he would never let someone or something threaten what he was, no matter the price he had to pay. Despite hating her for using him as a pawn, he couldn't help but respect her for it.

Argelia spent the next few years as a leading artist in the world's great circuses and didn’t tour with the Gran Fele circus until her career began to decline. By then her father had already died and she, single and childless, had become the last Paris.

Mael welcomed her back to the Gran Fele circus and set the show around her. Furthermore, in his infrequent phone conversations with Baekhyun –who had stayed by his side– he revealed enough of him, for him to deduce that Mael had a crush on her.

Baekhyun and Argelia had reunited two summers ago, and it immediately became apparent that there had been a shift in the balance of power between them. In his early twenties, he was in the prime of his manhood and had nothing left to prove, while Argelia's best years as an artist had passed.

The fire of passion crackled between them, but this time she was the one looking for him. 

Baekhyun didn't want to hurt Mael and, at first, he ignored her insinuations. However, it soon became apparent that the circus owner was resigned to the two getting involved and, with his peculiar idiosyncrasy, was offended when Baekhyun continued to snub the woman he valued above all else. Finally, Baekhyun let her into his day to day and although he appreciated her, he didn’t love her. Not anymore.

“Why haven't you gotten married?” Baekhyun asked her one night sitting at the table in the luxurious caravan, where they were preparing to enjoy the second meal of the day.

She put a plate of food in front of him and went back to the kitchen to get hers. But she didn’t return to the table. She stood still staring at the food she had prepared.

“I guess I was much too ambitious. You already know that there are things that cannot be had. I will not marry just anyone, much less without stability. Stability and lineage. It's a good combination.” She took a bite of food and put her fork back on her plate. Then she looked closely at Baekhyun, with a provocative glint in her eyes.

“You know Mael told me years ago that I shouldn't have let you get away. I’m the last of my generation and you… can start one.”

“I have no intention of starting it. I'm sorry but you'll have to look for circus lineage elsewhere.” 

He had suspected at first that such kindness had a reason but he refused to believe that he could be used as a pawn for the second time in his life.

Their fiery relationship carried on, so lustful and peaceful that he paid no attention to the increasingly possessive way she treated him or how, little by little, she began to consider him her equal. Despite the subtle changes in Argelia's behavior, he wasn’t prepared for what happened that summer afternoon in the compound, that day she confessed to him and when she did, he realized that she wasn’t speaking genuinely. 

She was determined to change his mind with the same determination she had once used to achieve the triple jump, and it was only when he was packing to leave after his last performance at the circus that she realized that he wasn’t joking. He had never lied to her. He didn’t love her and he wasn't interested in marrying her. 

When she finally took in that sharp rejection, everything Argelia believed about herself was shattered and she went mad. It was at that moment that she did the inconceivable, which she would never forgive. It was when she begged him not to leave her. She had bowed down her pride, the thing that made her who she was.

At that moment Baekhyun could see how the supposed love that she felt for him turned into hatred. A week later, Argelia married Mael, a man almost twice her age who bore no children, and he was the only one who knew why. His rejection had hurt her to the core of her being and she could only rise from her ashes by joining someone powerful to put her on a pedestal again.

↬ author’s note: Today's chapter explains a lot why Baekhyun is so reluctant to relationships, but can Cora change his mind? tell me what you think! hope you enjoy it! as you know, any feedback is welcome ♡  (as always) thank you for your help and i love you Oliv.

[nodameshield]

Day 5: Future / “Some things are destined to be—it just takes us a couple of tries to get there.” - J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

Fate is a bit of a bitch, if you ask Goh about it. He won’t tell you why - the technicalities are a bit too much for him to explain - but he’ll happily say to anyone who listens, that Fate is a bitch.

This is now the third lifetime he wakes up on in which his soulmate is nowhere to be found.

It’s nothing like the first time, when he didn’t even know of the existence of this other being, when he ignored there was someone out there who was made to match him and accompany him through all of their lives’.

Ignorance really is bliss.

For centuries now, it’s taken but a couple of years for him and Ash to run into each other, sometimes they’re kids, sometimes they’re teenagers who go to the same school or farm the same fields or hunt the same witches (though that one time Goh had been the witch himself, and Ash chasing after him with a pitchfork hadn’t been the most ideal of first encounters. Not really the stuff of romance, that.) 

But no matter the circumstances, what is certain, over and over again, is that they will run into one another, for they are twin-flames, meant to love and hold together for eternity.

Which is why, as Goh wakes up as a ten year old in this new lifetime, with vague recollections of past lives and a distinct sense of wrong, he’s got no-one to blame but Fate. He curses its very existence with the limited knowledge of mean-words a ten year old would have.

Ash isn’t here. Hasn’t been born, probably won’t be. 

And now he has to burden however-many years on his own. Yearning and missing and ugh, he can’t wait to die. What’s the average lifespan in this era? Seventy-what? 

Ah, fuck him.

Even if he wanted to complain, it’s not like Fate has office hours, or an assistant with whom you can schedule an appointment. You get what you get and if you don’t like it, well,…tough, buddy, better luck next time.

Except it’s been no luck for Goh for the last three lifetimes, and he’s starting to feel a bit like the butt of a joke.

He is worried, because, what if something happened to Ash’s soul? What if it’s something serious and their reincarnation cycle is now broken and they won’t meet again? That is…that is the worst thing Goh can ever imagine happening and, if it were the case, he doesn’t really think he can keep going with this living business. He simply doesn’t want it.

And unless you, too, are part of a reincarnation cycle and have a soulmate of your own, please abstain from commenting on how extreme and dramatic that sounds. You simply don’t understand.

Twin-flames must meet on every lifetime. Otherwise the whole thing just feels…off. As if you shouldn’t be there in the first place. As if you shouldn’t exist at all. it’s taxing for one’s soul. It’s definitely taken a toll on Goh’s, who wakes now for the third time and meets the heartbreaking realization that his one and only person isn’t here.

Again.

But Goh is a determined - (read: stubborn) soul. And he refuses to let another lifetime pass him by without his partner. That’s unacceptable.

Fate might not have office hours. But he’s paying a visit anyways.

It’s several years before he can make good on that decision. As he learns the ins-and-outs of humanity this time around, as he grows, becomes a someone in this lifetime (he chooses science, because Ash had been a chemist in a past life, and he feels as though that is a respectable homage to his lover. He thinks he’d be pleased.)

There are creatures in this world other than humans or regular animals. They’re called Pokémon, he’s learned. They live alongside humanity and societies. Goh has a companion of his own, a fire-hare that has been with him since he was a child. Cinderace has heard all about Ash and their bond and how important it is to find him.

And so, when he’s twenty, Goh and Cinderace set on a journey to where he’s heard the goddess of Destiny lives. It’s the closest thing to ‘Fate’ he’s found. It’s months on the road, but Goh is not giving up. The life he leads, the future he wants, it’s up to him to make it happen. It’s up to him to get Ash back.

It’s late May by the time he arrives. He lights his candles and says his customary prayers and, when he’s the only patron left at the shrine, he lays it down on Fate as he’s wanted to do for ages.

Listen to me, your ‘highness’. I think it’s very messed up how you gave me a soulmate, and then decided to simply take them away. That’s not how this works and you bloody-well know it. I swear, if you don’t bring Ash back -

Goh doesn’t actually remember how Ash left the Earth last time they were together. He doesn’t remember who left first, or the events that led up to it.

It’s been a minute (three lifetimes). And it’s not the kind of thing they remember every time anyways. Some stuff comes back stronger when they meet, but that hasn’t happened in a minute (three-fucking-lifetimes), either.

Fate is kind enough - cruel enough - to show him exactly what happened, last time. It shows him the King, angry and vengeful, ordering his guards to attack him, get him away from the young prince.

The young prince, who jumps in front of Goh to protect him. Who takes the arrow to the heart. The young prince, with whom Goh had been meeting in secret for the last several years, in love and forbidden.

The young prince. His Ash. Who’s just sacrificed himself for Goh.

Goh, who spent a lifetime of tortures for his sins. All of them meaningless and painless, for his life had disappeared in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

Goh remembers now. Goh remembers and cries and begs to understand what it all means. Why isn’t Ash back now. Why hasn’t he been back in so long.

He gets no response. Fate’s done listening to him. Fate’s closed its gates to the past. Fate invites Goh to look into the future with some more hope.

Goh doesn’t know what to do with that, either. But he extends his gratitudes and leaves with Cinderace by his side. More confused than he’d been upon arrival. The feeling of dread towards yet-another-lifetime without his soulmate never leaving him.

It’s four years after that, on a day Goh is moving around his new lab and organizing the last of the boxes, that he’s hit in the gut by what can only be defined as power. A surge of energy that shakes him to the core and has him tumbling to the ground instantly.

Cinderace rushes to him, worried and startled. And, as Goh gapes for a reassurance, he feels it again.

His eyes fill with tears as he looks forward. Sure enough, right at the entrance of the lab is the figure of the person that was crafted just for him.

He can’t see much from the tears. But he can feel. And that’s enough.

Ash rushes to his side, unannounced and somewhat clumsy. Instead of helping Goh stand, he comes down to the floor with him, hands holding onto Goh’s face, meeting his crying blue eyes with shinning brown ones.

“Shh, I’m here now. I’m here. Goh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m not leaving anymore.”

It’s a litany of assurances for the next several minutes. Of I missed you’s and I love you’s and I’m sorry’s. Of you idiot’s and don’t ever leave again’s and have-you-got-any-idea-of-how-long-it-has-been’s. Of Ash explaining how his soul had been healing. How he didn’t understand what had happened, and the last thing he remembers is jumping in front of some guard to keep Goh safe.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, decides Goh. Because he is finally, finally holding Ash back in his arms. And it’s been too long for comfort since that’s happened. He’s not wasting a second more.

They can figure out who Ash is in this life later. Together. They can look into finding him a Pokémon companion later. Together. They can make plans for the future and make plans for the night and make love in Goh’s bedroom. Together.

What’s the average lifespan in this era? Seventy-what?

Goh can’t wait.

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Cobalt Short Story

The Checkered Half of Edward Baxter’s Life

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Raw || Index

He met him for the first time when attending a boarding school in Switzerland.

He had no plans for homecoming even as summer vacation came about. It was better to stay in Switzerland as things were noisy at home, his father had told him on the phone, and he was not a fourteen-year-old innocent enough not to catch onto the meaning of “I’ll have to look after you if you come back and this would reduce the time I have for my research” that lay underneath.

There was no helping it, so he secluded himself in the library. However, the library was full of children like him, with no place to return to. He gradually started feeling depressed.

Switzerland, which Queen Elizabeth also loved, had many picturesque tourist attractions. There was no lack of places to have a fun time from dawn to dusk and a pipe organ concert was being held at a church in town, which was quite close to the school, so he imprudently thought that it would be safe even at night.

Since he had an unnecessarily exemplary daily conduct, it was easy to earn permission for exiting the campus. The question of where he was going was disregarded, and it was hard for him when a nuance drifted about, saying that he should go play around a little, if anything. He already knew by then that he was most likely a child who did not specialize much at behaving like a child.

The summer city was brimming with sightseers. Made of brown bricks, the cityscape that looked like those from fairy tales was decorated everywhere with pink and white potted flowers. The city seemed to have many watersides, with restaurants lined up by the river shores, a big black dog that was probably someone’s pet dragging its leash around and waggling, looking like it wanted him to play with it. Just when he thought of playing a little, its owner apparently called for it from afar, so the dog turned its body around and rushed away.

The city was fun at night. Being able to get the feeling that he was with someone even without being accompanied was just what he needed.

He only realized that he was lost long after he had started losing his way. He was certain there was a church in that area where a concert was taking place, but while roaming around, what came into his field of vision was nothing but apartment complexes, garbage dumps and tunnels with no signs of life. He had apparently entered a residential area where the public order was not too good, but did not know how to get out. As he decided to just go back the way he had come from, there were people standing behind him once he turned on his heels.

“Yo.”

He was able to tell right away that they were around seventeen to eighteen years old because the boys were wearing parkas and baseball caps. With such looks that one would not see so often in a waterside of bustling terrace cafés, they spoke while chewing gums. Just as an earl would sometimes do, he pretended not to have heard them.

“Shortie, what’cha doin’ out here? Where yer papa and mama?”

“They not around? You alone?”

“Then don’tcha have a wallet with ya?”

“You’re as pretty as a doll, huh. Can’t talk?”

“Young Master, could you please spare us a blessing?”

Cold sweat beaded on his back as he wondered what would happen if he refused. He had begun having boxing lessons, but the classes were strictly separated by age and body weight, so he could not think of it as training for fighting opponents who were clearly older than him.

Just when unpleasant memories started whirling in his head as he pondered what he should do, what he had to do, what he was supposed to do to cut his way through a time like this all by himself, someone most certainly grabbed his arm from the side.

“Hey, Edward! Edward, isn’t that you?”

For a second, he did not know who the owner of that familiar voice was.

Brownish blond hair and light blue eyes, a knit vest and black slacks. Shiny leather shoes and an armor-like smile.

“Je... Jay!”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me, Jay. I’m happy you remembered.”

The one who went around the boy from behind and hugged him from the shoulder was his cousin, Jeffrey, who was two years older than him. Even as the boy stared at him with eyes that asked why he was in a place like this and how he had gotten here, Jeffrey maintained the same-old theatrical face that he pulled off so well and hid behind his back the one who had the status of a younger brother to him.

“What’re you doing in this place? You’ll be late for the meeting if you don’t hurry. Won’t your uncle be mad if you make him wait any longer? He’s a really scary person.”

“I-I’m sorry. I will be going right away.”

“That’s it, so bye!”

Tightly hugging the shoulder of the one that he was supposed to protect, Jeffrey left the scene. Perhaps due to him handling the matter with such a lighthearted and loud voice, there were no signs of the two chasing after them.

“That was terrifying.”

“We’re leaving this place.”

“All right.”

Jeffrey walked in long strides from the semi-darkness where a fishy smell drifted about to the main street lined with the glow of light poles. The boy walked keeping his body close to Jeffrey’s, as it did not seem like the latter intended to let go of the shoulder that he was firmly holding onto otherwise.

“Honestly, good thing I was around.”

“How...?”

“‘How’, you ask? I’m your super hero, so isn’t it obvious that I’d rush to you when you’re in trouble?”

“Not that; what is the truth?”

“I meant it as the truth, though... Kidding. It was just a coincidence. If I’m not wrong, today’s the day that summer vacation started for you, right? My school was a bit faster to give us leisure time, so I planned to ambush you and make a surprise. But when I visited your school, they said you’d gone out all by yourself, so I was the surprised one,” the older cousin said cheerfully.

He was a man with a big heart, the kind that constantly changed his voice tone and facial expression as he spoke, who was always smiling and accepted first-thing the evaluation that he was charismatic yet shady. Moreover, he continuously took his little brother, who had been born to free-spirited parents and was younger than him, under his feathers. For the boy, his existence was much more than that of an older brother.

At the words “I’m the only one here”, the boy realized that he was relieved. The earl and the even older cousin from whom he would have to conceal this were not there.

“You okay?”

“Yes, but the earl and Brother Henry are not here.”

“Father was in Cannes, I guess. Henry is following him to make appearances. Looks like it’s a busy season for the high society.”

“How awful.”

“I wonder if they’re getting caught up with playing around. Aah, but Henry is a serious guy. Piano practice might be more fun to him than a casino.”

“I think I understand how he feels.”

“That’s right. Let’s go to Cannes with him someday too. Let’s live it up in a casino or something.”

“If I become penniless from buying too many books by then, what will we do?”

“Leave it to me. I might be like this, but I’m hoping to enter the financial business. I’ll lend you as much money as you want. With damn high interest.”

“You little—”

They shoved each other around as if to hug one another, and by the time they had all but arrived at the main street, filled as it was with human presence, the boy finally released a sigh. That was dreadful. He was not very used to being threatened. At school, he had already grown somewhat used to having his appearance mocked or people using the words “I’ll throw the trash away for you” as an excuse to touch his body, and had come up with countermeasures to some extent, but troubles outside the school were always beyond hypothesis.

As he gave an abrupt shudder upon recalling being sandwiched from front and back by two older boys, something landed on top of his head with a tap. It was Jeffrey’s hand.

Patting his golden-haired head in light rolls with the palm of his hand, the boy who was two years older grinned at him. “Well, first things first, you should start with not getting lost.”

“You were watching me?”

“I wasn’t. I ran around here and there because of that. It had me out of breath, but I was a prize-worthy elite actor for not letting it show, huh? I want a trophy.”

“Then how did you know I was lost?”

“You’re not the kind of kid who’d go to a place like that on purpose, Ricky.”

At that moment, the boy had the sudden realization that his cousin was a child merely two years above him, and so he was supposed to be protected, not to be protecting someone else. Fearing kidnappings, everyone in the earl’s estate had an enormous amount of money on insurance payouts. The fact that he would rather be someone who had next to no worries in going outside of school than have the presence of the bodyguards who would be tagging along with him in normal circumstances made the boy shiver again.

“Hum... Jeff, is everything all right for you? My apologies for that. Your guards—”

“You’re still on about that? Y’know, you could just leave it as ‘that was terrifying’. I lost my guards. I mean, it’s no fun with them. I think I’ll get a call from Father lecturing me again, but isn’t it kinda disturbing to have two old men in suits clinging to my back even when I go see my dear little brother’s face?”

He had probably taken that measure due to foreseeing that the bodyguards would scary his cousin, the boy realized. Before he sank into an apologetic sea once more, Jeffrey found a random shop at the side of the road and took a seat in the quiet interior. He ordered two lemonades. As he was striking a lighthearted talk about how they were perfect for Switzerland in the summer...

“Hum.”

“What?”

“Who was that Edward from just now?”

“Uh? Aah, no one. I let it out of my mouth without much thought.”

Jeffrey did not say, “It’s because they might memorize your name if I were so stupidly honest to call you Richard”. His consideration from not wanting to say it and expressly scare his cousin, as well as his carefreeness of not deeming it necessary to be said, were comfortable for the boy.

Edward, Edward, he repeated in his heart the unfamiliar name, and after drinking just a little bit of the lemonade, the boy whispered intermittently, “It’d be good if you had a name like that too.”

“Uh?”

As he said, “Like Edward”, Jeffrey laughed.

“Isn’t that ‘Jay’?”

“That was just because I didn’t manage to say ‘Jeffrey’...”

“Hmm,” Jeffrey interjected with an indifferent attitude, sucking onto the straw of his lemonade.

Aah, it’s the face of someone who’s planning something fun, the boy noted, and as he laughed a little, his older cousin showed a smile three times happier than that.

“Then give me one.”

“Uh?”

“You can give me a name like that too. Let’s make them secret names between us.”

“For Brother Henry too?”

“Keep it a secret from Henry.”

The smile of his cousin, who laughed without any maliciousness, was as sweet as nectar. The boy displayed a facial expression of sincere reassurance, then began turning over the name dictionary inside his head with “not this, not that either”. No matter what, his favorite names either were related to individuals from classic literature or leaned towards Japanese people, but none of them suited Jeffrey’s face.

The boy made up his mind about the fact that a basic name would be best and raised his head, peeking at his cousin’s eyes. “James.”

“‘James’?”

“James.”

“Huhu, roger that, Edward. I’m James, yeah? Aah, what’s my family name? Anything but ‘Bones’, ‘kay? I don’t like martini that much.”

“Jeff, you already drink?”

“We’re talking about James now and Jeff has nothing to do with it.”

While he jokingly raised the lemonade’s straw, spinning it in twirls like a magic wand, the boy observed him as if looking at a gemstone that emanated a dazzling shine. He was a wonderful person who could do anything and who showed concern for the boy – more than that, the boy considered him someone special and could not come home to anyone else in the world, no matter where he searched. He was a treasure that the boy most definitely could not exchange for anything, not even if an ancient king came up to him with an elephant loaded to the brim with pearls, rubies and emeralds on its back, and whenever the boy was in bad health, he would always think that, if they were ever pulled apart to places where they could never see each other again, he would cry profusely.

He was the one who promptly contacted the boy whenever anything happened in general, driving away the latter’s nightmares, so the honor of granting a name to someone like that gradual and silently filled the boy’s heart, turned into a word and overflowed, “Ya’aburnee.”

“Hm?”

As Jeffrey had apparently not heard it well, the boy repeated the word for him, “Ya’aburnee. The word is cut between the ‘ya’ and the ‘aburnee’. The accent is on the first vowel.”

“‘Ya’aburnee’, huh? It’s pretty yet has a mysterious ring to it.”

“It is Arabic.”

“Learned a new word again, huh, you damn prodigy?”

“I am no prodigy.”

“I meant an ‘effort prodigy’. ‘Cause you’re a hardworker. Okay, my secret name is James Ya’aburnee. Edward, what about you?”

“Uh?”

“What’s Edward’s family name?”

Taken aback, the boy hung his head after a moment of indecision, looking depressed. When Jeffrey asked what happened, the boy timidly raised his face. “Hum... The two are real brothers, so they have the same family name.”

As he said so with a voice that sounded like it was fading, Jeffrey’s eyes widened just slightly, and after nodding with a “hun-hun”, he grinned. That smile of Jeffrey’s was even now said to be difficult for his parents to distinguish whether it was fake or not, but the boy was able to tell the difference. If a dimple appeared on his left cheek, it was not a fake smile. Jeffrey himself had told him that.

There was a dimple on his elder cousin’s left cheek.

“Heeh~! That so?”

“It is so.”

“Then James and Edward are really just like us.”

“Uh?”

“I mean, we’re real brothers, right? That’s how I think.”

As Jeffrey ill-manneredly drank the remaining part of his lemonade in slurps, the clerk made a disgusted face at him. The headline on the magazine that she had in hands read, “How to Date Rich Men”, and so the boy felt like saying something rude to her, such as, “I think the person you just glared at is probably richer than the ones in that magazine”. It felt like he could do anything that the boy usually was unable to. He was cheerful, bright and warm at heart.

As he sat quietly without saying anything, Jeffrey smiled subtly and gently rested his hand on the boy’s golden-haired head. “Wanna go back to school? Or not?”

“I want to be together for a bit longer.”

“Okay. Then let’s do that.”

Holding hands with his “little brother” of two years bellow him, Jeffrey escorted him to a hotel near his dormitory, converting into a parent and calling the boy’s school to request permission for him to spend the night out, and after checking into one of those cheap inns that was would be crammed with skiers in the winter, the two immersed themselves in conversation on their bed the all night long.

Jeffrey talked about their homes and families. About his friends. About financing, which he was studying. About drama theory. About how he felt like throwing up from agony when preparing for an assignment where he completely slipped into the role of a prime minister who had only managed to rescue 150 civilians alive out of 300 that had been taken hostage by terrorists. About how he cracked up when he was told, “Everyone will stop trusting you” after he showed off too much the chameleon acting that he had mastered in drama class.

Jeffrey’s talks were not tiring – all topics were interesting, adding gemstones of lustrous gleam to the boy’s heart one after another. In return, the boy talked about the satisfying life he led in at the Swiss lodging house. About the bright sunlight, the climate that was warmer than England’s, the ever-white snowy peaks overlooked in the distance, the lively teachers who were like sportsmen. About how he not have many friends, but believed that it was due to him not conducting himself like a child, so there was no helping it, and how he would not mind it much if he did not have anyone, as long as he had Jeffrey.

As he was sprawled on the bed while resting his cheek on one hand, Jeffrey tipped Richard’s head back down. “You shouldn’t please me so much. Or else we won’t be able to stay away from each other.”

“What is so bad about that?”

“When you start hating me, I don’t want you to think, ‘I hate him but I can’t let go of him’.”

“I believe something like that will never happen. So that is okay.”

“There you go again saying something that makes me happy... Y’know, Ricky, people have this thing called a ‘rebellious phase’.”

“It seems I do not.”

“Plus, it’s pretty scary afterwards; I read a paper that said reactions also happen.”

“I do not have that, but thanks.”

After rubbing each other’s heads into a mess, they resumed the talk about Edward and James. Where the two of them lived, if their relationship was a favorable one, if they had any other acquaintances and what they usually did to pass the time. Dreams and jokes mixed up with the human drama built up amidst their sleepiness, and so they became yakuza, lived in Japan and fought over whether or not to put wasabi on sushi, but were the good-natured kind of duo that would always make up immediately. They did not endeavor illegal activities and instead were yakuza who respected the old-fashioned thinking of “humanity and justice”, of lending a helping hand to people in trouble, and did not bear tattoos as they were a little scary. Amongst the yakuza, there was a pledge called sworn siblinghood, but since they were blood-related siblings, so there was no need for such a thing.

By the time they had started to doze off, the boy woke up with a start. Jeffrey was not making a drowsy face. His bottomless eyes, which appeared to be looking into somewhere far away, even so maintained their focus immersed on Richard’s face.

“Hey, Ricky, what’s the continuation to that story?”

“Hueh?”

“What happens to Edward and James in the distant future?”

Amidst the sensation that he seemed to be airily drifting towards the world of dreams, the boy tilted his neck. He had no idea why Jeffrey was asking something so obvious. His mouth moved in a natural manner, “They continue getting along forever.”

“I see. Go rest already,” Jeffrey said, getting up from the single-person bed, giving him a pillow and putting a blanket over him, then tucked himself into his own bed and attempted to sleep.

He did try to fall into slumber, but upon noticing his small cousin staring at him with eyes that seemed to be imploring for something, he took his pillow and went back to the boy’s side. Like two hatchlings huddling their feathers onto each other, the two children slept while dreaming about the future.

The next morning, Jeffrey took a still sleepy-looking Richard back to school, scattering an amiable “I’m leaving him in your care” all over the place, shaking people’s hands here and there and returning to his angry-faced bodyguards’ side. Gossip ran about like gale amongst students with time to spare, saying that the second son of an earldom – a brilliant honors student even within a famous public school from England – had apparently come to see a sibling of his who was in this school, which became a rumor in the whole school at one point, but said rumor, like a mirage faintly surfacing over a lake in the summer, was gone before autumn came around.

“Let’s decide on your name.”

“Eh?”

“Calling you ‘Seigi’ would have a bad effect in a situation where there are only enemies. If I call you by a completely different name, there is the possibility that you would not be able to react, so I believe a name somewhat similar to your own is safer.”

“Then, ‘Seigi’, ‘Seigi’, ‘Seigi’... Make it ‘Seiji’.”

“Too close. Some people might mishear it as ‘Seigi’ instead. Think of a surname. I will call you by that.”

Richard had started saying odd things about perhaps having to throw fists at an accessories shop that was disseminating fake turquoises. For me to come up with a fake name. Indeed, revealing our true names even if by accident could be a dangerous situation.

I squeezed up a knowledge that I didn’t have, deep in thought. Something that sounded kind of similar to my real name. Yet was a different name. Hmm.

“‘Nakata’, ‘Nakata’, ‘Nakata’... ‘Yamada’, Yamada? No, ‘Tanaka’ is also... Ah~, I wonder which. Yamada or Tanaka?”

“Then let’s make it Yamada. Yamada Seiji-san. I will be counting on you. I am Edward Baxter.”

“Where’s ‘Richard’ as the base for that?”

“I will be in your care.”

“My pleasu~re.”

Wearing a red open-necked shirt that looked like it could show up in contests for rare clothing articles, I sat on the Jaguar’s passenger seat. However, in terms of outfit eccentricity, I didn’t feel like I could beat the man sitting next to me. White, white, white. It was thoroughly white from top to bottom, the hairstyle pulled all the way back. It was a bit of an underground person look.

“I’m checking just in case, but what kind of setting is this Edward Baxter-sensei from?”

“A messenger from the Great Universe who miraculously predicts fortunes and foresees the fate of gems.”

“Uh. Got it. I’ll do my best not to laugh.”

“Obviously. Laughing at a messenger of the Great Universe is insolence.”

“Hahaa~”

The Jaguar sped up like always. If this car had a voice, it felt like it would frantically cause a stir, asking, “Mister, aren’t you too different from usual?” but the Jaguar was reticent and loyal.

As the vehicle kept running, my nervousness increased a little. I wanted to say something, but Richard’s profile was rock-hard. It would feel awkward if I discussed about tea and snacks that had nothing to do with it here and now. But I wanted to talk. I was able to come up with just one thing when wondering what I should say.

“Is there... a family in the setting of that Baxter-sensei? Or does he not have any, since he’s a messenger of the Great Universe? Sorry. You didn’t think that far, did you?”

When I asked that, Richard briefly made a strange face. Unlike his usual refreshing smile, that expression could only be described as a “suggestive grin”, with a gaze that didn’t appear to be looking at me but at something in the distance.

Then he stated, “He has no relatives whosoever.”

“Roger that.”

And so, the two of us headed to the shop of shady history. Edward Baxter-shi, who claimed to have not a single relative, seemed to be making a just slightly sad-looking face within the glass of the windshield. However, Yamada Seiji courteously pretended that he was not at all seeing the weakness of a messenger of the Great Universe.

He had no idea what Nakata Seigi made of it, though.

[thestalkerbunny]

Okay repost because for some reason the ask wouldn’t let me HIDE MY FUCKING SHIT under a read more and it was upsetting me.

The request was ‘Write something with Crowbar being a Proud Dad/Uncle Please’

Calliope paints Crowbar. It gives him time to think about the odd arrangement they have.

She asked to paint you.

And you said yes.

You sit in the office-studio really, any sense of order as a office for business affairs has been pushed aside to make room for canvases and paint, woven tapestries, sculptures,  murals, it is certainly not an office in any sense-awkwardly on the stool. The stool is not really meant for a leprechaun your size-which is misfortunate because you're relatively average sized and this would be a most awkward 3 hours since one leg seems to be shorter and the thing continuously wobbles.

You see her peer from behind the canvas and blinks owlishly at the noise of you trying to get the stool to stop wobbling.

"Is there a problem, Mister Crowbar? Do you need a break?" She asks in that soft lilting little voice of hers. You snap to attention and stop fiddling with the chair.

"No, I'm fine Lady Ohpiee. Carry on." You quickly assure her. She stares at you for a moment, tilting her head like she was a little bird of some kind before disappearing behind the large canvas again. The soft sketching of a soft tip pencil against canvas as she apparently tried to capture your form as you struggled to stay still while planning to burn this ridiculous piece of furniture that was somehow permitted into this house.

If it was anyone else, who asked you to sit for around 3 hours, still, on a wobbly little stool and do absolutely nothing, you would have said no and added a smack to the back of the head for wasting your time.

But this was Lady Ohpiee and there was a very glaring fact that made you do such a thing.

It was that you loved her, very dearly, more than an employee should love an employer.

You remember when you met her-well you met her brother first. In all sense of the situation, you and the rest of your clan of Leprechauns belonged to him. Irritable little creature, his face never smiling unless something horribly twisted was happening. The kind of individual who probably finds amusement in live vivisection footages and laughs at old people falling off cliffs. You got along with him. Mainly since it was in your nature to be agreeable and personable to whomever is in charge of you. Itchy once called you a 'brown nosing yes man' once and you decided to show him where your crowbar was made by smashing it across his face.  

That aside-Caliborn was an unruly creature. He often would spit and snarl instead of speak-you assumed this was for the lack of lips-about a sister whom he held with great disgust and disdain. Apparently this game he was playing was being played with a sibling whom he had 'plans for' later down the road and that was the only reason she was spared his ire.

Caliborn hated sleep.

He spent most of the time as he acquired the other leprechauns staying awake as best he could for as long as he could. But between his fits of anger at the world/himself/you all-he would simply pass out into a temporary unconsciousness. He had given you an order-very firmly and directly-to choke him back into unconsciousness the minute he awoke from any sleep. You did not understand this, but you promised you would comply unquestioningly.

You did not.

Your natural Leprechaun curiosity kept your hands to their side when you watched your master wake up for the first time and gaze up at you with soft green eyes instead of the harsh red ones, features much more relaxed and there was less of an risk in the air that if you stood too close, you would not be bitten (again).

She had said she was called Calliope. And she was the sister Caliborn spoke so ill of.

You had decided quickly you liked Calliope much more than your Master Caliborn. She was much like you. Personable. Agreeable. Polite. You found yourself doing less agreeing and complying when speaking with her and more along the lines of having an actual conversation. Which was a rare thing to have then, Caliborn wasn't really the 'civil discussion' kind of person.

She took an interest in you, your species, the others as well-even though they couldn't seem to wrap their heads around why Master Caliborn was being so nice all of a sudden. She said you all were fascinating and she wished to know about you all. She scribbled numerous things down in this little note book of hers-it had been in a strange little lock box Caliborn carried with him and often you caught him trying to brute force it open, along with some other artifacts that seemed to be personal just to her.

You told her what Master Caliborn asked you to do. You did not wish to be in trouble with him. That it was really nothing personal, you quite liked her. She said she understood and didn't resist much.

You choked her into unconsciousness and Master Caliborn returned.

It was like nothing happened. He commended you for your obedience and together you resumed his quest.

You threatened the others into silence to not let Master Caliborn know who they had met against his wishes. It was less making the threat, more of you all universally agreeing that Calliope was a preferable company although Caliborn was the one they needed to win this 'game' of his, and passing along this information with each new member gathered.

She was a creator where Caliborn was a destroyer. She always gave everyone her full rapt attention when they spoke-her hands moving scribbling in her notes even though her eyes were on them. She spoke sometimes about her upbringing. She and her brother only had each other, that's the way it was with their species. Two are stuck in one body until one of them simply has had enough and 'devours' the other at adulthood, taking full custody of their shared form. One full of hate and anger and the other full of love and kindness. It was just a matter of who had the stronger will. She spent her life shackled in a room with her brother as a sole companion. Who broke her things, who she could only communicate with through horrid notes he'd leave her, who wished her death more than anything in the world.

She tells you that she is accepting that she will die inevitably at the hands of Caliborn. But it was her dream for them to both live, to work in tangent together and become essentially a transcendent being. It was a pipe dream, she told you, that she should live-that they should both live. It was inevitable, really. The day would come where they would simply have a 'stand off' with each other and one would walk away. And she told you the probability of it being her walking away would be one in a million.

Of all the creatures in the world to be stuck with-she was truly alone aside from one being who hated her with every ounce of weight in his blackened soul. At least you-in your strange short existence on this metaphysical plane-had the other Leprechauns. You had at least a sense of comradery together. Calliope did not have that.

You felt a great sense of pity for her.

She spoke once of a sort of 'parent creature' to her, which was odd because Cherubs apparently did not have parents that stuck around. The parent creature also didn't stick around. Caliborn kept driving him off. With biting. and er-well bullets. Caliborn seemed to chase away all forms of remote happiness for Calliope.

She said that being around you and the other leprechauns was reminiscent of that small window of happiness when that parental creature was there. It was nice to have friends other than her brother. She never really had friends before.

You realized you did not want to lose her.

The small window of time you would have together, you showed her how to shoot. She carried a pistol with her-another item found in her little lock box-and she was a decent shot. But her aim was always wobbly. She would shoot past things rather than directly at them. She did this on purpose, you knew. She was giving warning shots instead of fatal shots-she was blatantly choosing not to kill. The only real way to drag her into practicing hitting her actual target was baited promises of telling her more about leprechauns-mostly the things her other resource (Itchy you blabbermouth you.) refused to expose.

It was enough of a motivator to get her to hit the targets set up everytime and then eagerly demand more about the strange lore and history of Leprechauns.

You knew for a fact the others were showing her things as well. Baiting her with information in exchange she learns things. You caught more than one of them showing her something. Anything. Knives, blunt weapons, guns, even her own hands. To improve the odds whether she knew it or not.

You loved this child. You all loved her.

It was when Caliborn woke up giddy and excited that you began to worry. He told you that the end of the game was near; that soon he would ascend into literal godhood and as soon as that was accomplished-as soon as the game was won, he would kill her, he would kill his sister in a horrendous 'twist' he called it. She would think they finally did it, together they had done the impossible for their kind and worked together as a single unit to win the game and Caliborn planned to jerk the rug from beneath her feet.

The next time Caliborn would fall asleep, there would be only one of them and it would be Caliborn.

At the time, you wished to have at least been able to say goodbye to Calliope. You were no good with sad goodbyes, but you still wished it. You wished to say goodbye to the little child you and the others had grown to love in secret against Caliborn's wishes.

You were still fuzzy on the details of how this all came to be, but you remember the felt standing around watching the unconscious body of Calliope/Caliborn-still as the grave and just as quiet. You did not know what kind of game they were playing inside their shared psyche. That there was no real way for any of you to help her. Only to hope that she actually took the killing shot instead of giving warning shots.

Time passed for a while. Perhaps they had both died.

You all built a home around her, a place to keep her safe. Across the desert of the strange planet you now inhabited, odd chess people built a city. And like any logical beings with no marketable skills, you all did what you had to in order to make sure you were kept flush in booze and food and cash; do crime. And so what if you accidentally became a criminal empire built on scamming gamblers, shooting, robbing and tipping over casinos, there was no 'boss' at the moment and so you had to make all the executive decisions.

And of course, rumor got around there was some great treasure in the manor, something worth having 14 men (and one woman, one of the Chess people had joined your ranks making you a threat of 15) living on the grounds to protect. Suddenly you were getting near daily visits from the Midnight Crew-ravenous and hungry to see what treasure lay behind the protective 'safe' inside the manor.

Of course it was a treasure. It was Calliope.

You'll never forget the day, you had just been sitting in the kitchens, skimming over a newspaper; the press had hopped on the Midnight Crew's case for once which was a nice distraction for the several dozen armed robberies The Felt committed in the last month. And you had heard a small scooch of the chair across from you. You assumed it to be Clover based on the footsteps and took no great interest in looking up at him until you felt good and ready to deal with whatever the smutty munchkin had to say to you at this 6am on a Tuesday.

You had sputtered your coffee when you heard that soft voice say words you'd never thought you'd hear.

"I'm sorry I'm late coming home, Mister Crowbar. My brother held me up for quite some time."

You stared at her, coffee dribbling from your agape mouth and onto your shirt front and pants. The swirls on her cheeks now full and green. She looked tired for someone who had been asleep for so long. You stared at her for what felt like hours but had to have been just a few minutes, before finding your words. The only thing your brain-for as clever as you were-could manage to say was something so simple. So unremarkable. So understated to express how you felt, your real emotions that she was finally here again. That she was here at all. That she managed to do it.

"Welcome Home, Miss Calliope."

-

"Mister Crowbar? Mister Crowbar?"

You jerk awake, you realize that you had fallen asleep sitting up. Your internal clock says that you must have been asleep for an hour or more. The stool wobbles-damn this stool, you have plans for this stool and the fireplace later today-beneath you as you straighten up. You see her peeking around the canvas, looking at you again with those glittering green eyes. Not as tired as when she returned to you, but only sleepy in the sense she spent all night awake chattering away  on her computer again.

"You fell asleep, Mister Crowbar." She remarks, getting up and wiping her hands on her black apron. "I suppose we can call it for today, I don't want to over exert my model. That and I seem to need to get more white paint. You know, Mister Crowbar, you're more of a saturated yellowy green than a solid green itself." You rub the sleep from your eyes and get off the stool of doom. The world still feels a bit askew and you wish to go find a bed and lay down for another hour and get the sleep fully out of your system. She's there, stirring the bucket of paint water with her brushes to fully clean them out. Your girl. Your talented little Mistress. You never really took in consideration how fortunate you were to have her. Naps do tend to have these kinds of revelations in your own personal history. She looks up at you-she must have felt you staring at her.

"Would you like to see what I have so far?" She asks softly, taking your gaze as interested in what she has done so far.

You say nothing as you walk around her, looking at the canvas she was working on.

It's you.

It's a remarkable realistic likeness of you, catching the bit of light that does dapple into the room from the large picture window that overlooks the gardens on the back of your jacket. It's of you, slouched a bit as eventually you had leaned a bit to the left to prop your elbow up on the table nearby, your chin resting on the palm of your hand. Half asleep, fighting to stay conscious but losing the battle. It's such a small moment of rare vulnerability you expressed in a life where you're constantly on guard and alert. You wouldn't be looking at this-or any of these things she's created that decorate the manor, this room-had she not done what she did. You would not be enjoying the level of odd comfort you do not. (Life has changed drastically. There are more chess people, a new city of sorts, same manor more or less, strange creatures called humans and trolls now fill the world. One of the humans seems to be close friends with Calliope, a Miss Roxy; you and the boys got into a bit of trouble when you all drew and cocked your weapons when she came over unannounced. Life is more even paced now with brief interludes of excitement over something) You do not wish to think about what your life would be like had Caliborn become your master. You're afraid she'll never understand the gratitude you feel towards her the way she often speaks of her happiness of knowing all of you.

She stands in front of you a bit, she's talking about something, you got lost in your thoughts again-something about how she wants to give your painted doppleganger a cigarette to give it that 'cool aloof look' that she claims you usually seem to have.

You place a hand on her shoulder and pull her into an awkward sort of side hug. She looks up at you, almost a little taken aback by the small subtle gesture of affection from you.

"I'm proud of you, kid" You say. For all the braincells you were blessed with for some reason, that's the best you seem to be able to do. She looks at you with those large eyes you fell in love with and wanted to protect.  She smiles. Which is an odd sort of thing for her-considering how her face is structured. But it's a small sort of shift in your face and you can tell she's smiling.

"Well, thank you, Mister Crowbar. I still have a ways to go yet with this piece, you'll have to come back tomorrow, I want to make sure I get all the shaded spots in." She comments, looking back at the painting. You're not sure if she understands what you were trying to convey. But it'll do.

You hadn't realized it before, but she came up to your chest. You recall her saying that she wouldn't get any bigger. She was not a fully adult Cherub when Caliborn challenged her. Usually Cherubs were adults when the 'standoff' happened and one was devoured. But Caliborn had no patience. She wouldn't get any bigger than this. She'd change in mind and spirit-but she was going to be permanently stunted physically. She wouldn't be your little girl anymore despite how small she was compared to you. She'd grow up properly. And most likely, she'd move on. Maybe she'd leave you all behind. Because that's how it worked, right? Children would grow up and leave their parents and go off into the world and start families of their own. Well that's not how it really worked for your kind-leprechauns are communal by nature, building up large clans of extended families. She'd probably move and go on to be around creatures her own age, not 14 disaster men who could barely take care of themselves most days,let alone express emotions correctly in a healthy manner. You feel a tinge of sadness entertaining these thoughts. But that was hopefully not for a long time. Maybe when the time came, you'd have the proper words together to express the pride that you had for her. 

But for now, this would have to do.

And you wouldn't trade it for anything.

[yeats-infection]

@sqvalors tagged me in a lil writing meme... if you’d like to participate please do and tag me! 

ao3 name: fluorescentgrey but i also post some things as drglass (dr. glass is the second song on the fluorescent grey EP by deerhunter, so if i make another pseud it will be likenew, then washoff, etc.) 

fandoms: about two thirds of my fics are harry potter or star wars but there are a lot of random little goodies. currently i have shifted into the terror (2018) mode. 

number of fics: 59 right now... i will throw a party when i get to 69... 

fic i spent the most time on: this is funny because some of these technically took me like six months or more of working on them extremely intermittently... namely, bone machine. the series in the garden has taken me the most time generally... and in that, minuet did take me several months of working really hard while i had a schedule / commute that was not conducive to having a creative practice... 

fic i spent the least amount of time on: hilariously, literally my most popular fic by ninety miles, the witcher PWP that i wrote out of spite in two or three hours. 

longest fic: the source codes series... particularly heelstone which is 102k. i wrote these two stories in a single summer like a crazy person and i hate talking about them because i find them WAY too gooey. honestly, that’s why they are so long. it’s all the gooeyness!!!!!! 

shortest fic: yes, the answer is the witcher porn again (this silly thing is going to be the answer for many other questions in this little meme but i’m just going to stop talking about it while i’m ahead). the west end is just about 50 words longer and is much better and is a much better and more interesting story. 

most hits: we’re just going to pretend it’s sex and dying in high society, which has the second most hits. this is certainly due to the fact that @wolfstarwarehouse hypes this story a lot for which i am endlessly grateful! 

most kudos: recovery position has the second most kudos so let’s go with that one! i have been very touched by the response to this story, though i do personally like the sequel beachcoma a little more... i understand why not everyone wants to read it because it is a little more bittersweet. but it also comes from my soul. 

most comment threads: the two stories in the source codes series are leading here, because i only posted two chapters at a time so that i would get maximal validation, lol. 

most bookmarks: in order to talk about a story i haven’t talked about yet, the rosary has the fourth-most. i think this fic is truly my r/s swan song... i said everything i wanted to say and did everything i wanted to do. it’s a really good mystery/noir story that i didn’t think i could pull off until i did! and i love the OCs in it who have sort of manifested these secret headcanons for me that i may expostulate upon someday. thank you to @piovascosimo for the inspiration to write it. 

total word count: 1,000,478. lol! 

favorite fic i wrote: cannot possibly choose but probably the top five in order of date posted are: desperado, a handful of dust, doom town, beachcoma, jump into the fire

fic i’d rewrite / expand on: i already said all of source codes because it’s way too gooey, i also could make hard time killing floor blues a lot tighter, and a memoir of the flesh deserves a way better ending because i was rushing to make the yuletide deadline...

share a bit of a WIP: i was trying for a while to write a band of brothers AU where they are vietnam vets who start growing cannabis... based on the steve earle song “copperhead road.” this could have been SO good but the plot was too huge and unwieldy so i gave up. my roommate is obsessed with this idea and keeps asking me how it’s going so i may yet finish. but there’s a bit below the cut.

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.  

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

-

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

-

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

[prudnces]

( 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒 & 𝚌𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 ) + you know 𝘗𝘙𝘜𝘋𝘌𝘕𝘊𝘌 𝘝𝘈𝘕 𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘛, the 25 year-old 𝘗𝘙𝘐𝘝𝘈𝘛𝘌 𝘐𝘕𝘝𝘌𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘎𝘈𝘛𝘖𝘙 that has lived in eldstead 𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕 𝘠𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘚? i heard she has a tendency to be 𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘖𝘜𝘙𝘊𝘌𝘍𝘜𝘓, 𝘐𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘈𝘓, 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘉𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘛 & 𝘚𝘜𝘙𝘓𝘠. the 𝘛𝘈𝘜𝘙𝘜𝘚 has equipped 𝘒𝘌𝘠 in time for the full moon.

HI i’m hero, 22, i lov horror movies and no longer have a shudder subscription :pensive: normally i do these on google docs but i’m lazy and prue is Incredibly New so i’m still trying to get the hang of things

name: prudence van holt  nicknames: prue, p age: 25 gender: cis woman pronouns: she/her d.o.b.: april 23, 1995 zodiac: taurus sexual orientation: homosexual homoromantic mbti: isfj - the protector character inspo: wynonna earp, veronica mars, prudence halliwell (mayb i took the name don’t look @ me) aesthetics: a steaming mug of black coffee, deep green woollen sweaters, golden rings and necklaces adorning her, a camera hanging around her neck, the mist of the morning, a deer grazing in the forest, the heavy thud of boots against old hardwood, a grandfather clock striking the witching hour

HISTORY

triggers: child abandonment, car accident (drunk driving), death

prudence van holt’s birth is a mystery-- all she knows is she was dropped off at the fire station in a town outside of seattle, the only identification a baby blanket with her name on it. 

she ends up being adopted by a couple, the van holts, who always wanted multiple kids but could not after their first, a boy. 

growing up, she’s always been a little shit. she doesn’t mean to be. she just has an insatiable curiosity, sticking her nose in other’s businesses, finding lost things, she had a strange knack for it. it got her into a lot of trouble, children had no business sticking their nose into adults’ things. 

her brother never really liked her-- he always resented the fact their parents brought her home, took her in, when they already had a perfectly fine child needing attention. petty things, except it’s sparked a life long sibling rivalry that runs deep. 

it’s a pretty uneventful childhood, her parents are good people, they provide for her, and support her, despite her troublesome antics. 

she’s always been a lonely child, she’s never had the easiest time making friends, so she’s spent a lot of her time exploring the woods near her home. 

she’s thirteen when she discovers her mother, whom she always has written off as simply eccentric, is more than that-- she’s a witch. and a good one, too. her book club meetings she’s often privvy to walking through is more than that, it’s her coven. 

so of course, prue wants in-- how can she not? it’s a whole new world, working under her mother’s wing, driving a wedge further between herself and her brother. she tells her to be careful, to watch her back, that there’s bad people who want to do bad things with the power they wield. it instills a deeper ideal of trust no one in prudence-- one that sticks with her to this day.

and she’s dedicated to the craft! she takes time to learn the different meanings and uses of herbs, flowers, etc., makes potions, cast spells-- perhaps sometimes for personal gain, but she’s dedicated herself to using them to help others. 

she sort of becomes a private investigator in high school, not on purpose, but a friend tasks her to find out if her boyfriend is cheating on her, so tails him, catches him in the act-- gives him a little hex for good measure. 

it becomes a thing, people need something found? they go to her. think their partner is fooling around? they go to her. and she delivers, all with a little touch of magic. eventually, she wants to go deeper, take on more serious cases, but alas she’s only a teenager. 

sike! that doesn’t stop her. and as much as she hates cops, she has an in at the department through her father, so soon she’s not so legally trying to solve murders. 

and that’s all fine and dandy, until just a month shy of her eighteenth birthday, and two months before she graduates from high school, her parents get into a car accident coming home from a meeting one night. a drunk driver swerves into their side of the road, hitting them head on. neither survive. 

it’s that that has her change her mind about college, why go to college when she already knows what she wants to do? life is fleeting, and she’s hurting, so she graduates, and moves to eldstead, a town an hour and half away from her own home. it’s not a big change, but enough for her to have a fresh start. 

she knows something is different about the storm when it hits, that it brought about something... destructive. and she’s inclined to get to the bottom of all of it. it’s in her nature-- she has to snoop. 

she runs her own private investigation that used to serve eldstead and the surrounding area, but now it’s simply eldstead. she makes her own hours, and works alone, because she prefers it that way. 

PERSONALITY 

she’s really closed off-- she prefers to be alone, because of the shit she’s seen, and the people in her life, she just expects to be let down. 

when you first meet her, there’s a chance she’s just going to brush you off. she’s not exactly the friendliest person out there? 

will she be an asshole for the sake of being an asshole? no. absolutely not. but she is unflinchingly honest about her observations, and that doesn’t always go over well. 

very much a ‘do the thing first, ask for forgiveness later type of person’-- doesn’t have a lot of regard for rules that aren’t her own. (*dw voice* that sign can’t stop me bc i can’t read!)

if u do manage to be friends with her, she’s got ur mf back she’s unflinchingly loyal and if you break her trust, you’re pretty much dead to her lol 

TIDBITS 

she has a black cat (wow a witch with a black cat...... groundbreaking) named inkblot (creative, rly), nicknamed inky like the pacman ghost

surprisingly high alcohol tolerance, loves 2 go for a beer or a whiskey at the end of a long day 

lives in cableknit sweaters-- this is the pnw i mean a bitch be cold 

doesn’t really date? she came out when she was 16, and there’s been a couple relationships, but they never really pan out-- it’s always because of her. she doesn’t know how to open up 

swears a lot 

has a pretty good understanding of basic hand to hand combat just in case perps get a little rowdy, took boxing classes for abt 4 years? 

probably an elderly person when it comes to social media, kinda likes to keep a low profile but she also posts a shit ton of pictures of her cat 

INCREDIBLY good at finding lost things-- keys, phones, dogs, u name it she just knows-- and she doesnt know if its the intuition that comes from being a witch or just herself 

prob should join a coven, but shes a lone wolf awoo

prob barks at men idk 

lives off of black coffee, doesn’t rly sleep 

has multiple ear piercings and a couple tattoos but she usually keeps them hidden 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

informant - she gets information from them for her cases, they got a p good grasp 

someone she’s solved a case for - p self explanatory, now they’re friendly enough, or perhaps she couldn’t stand them and did it for the money 

someone who wants to be her friend but she’s weary - tbh shes weary of everybody 

coven adjacent - another witch, maybe theyre trying to get her to band together with them 

drinking buddy - they meet at the bar and shoot the shit 

opposites attract - friend who is nothing like them! but still hangs around! 

someone she feels like she has 2 protect - for whatever reason, even tho they can prob take care of themselves, prue is super fkn protective of them 

a genuine friend - yeah she just needs one idk she’s doing her best 

ex (f/nb) - someone she dated for a little bit but they broke up because of prue’s inability to open tf up 

fwb (f/nb) - ? maybe we all got needs, and she’s not looking for a relationship

attraction (f/nb) - there’s tension and neither know why! 

rival - to paraphrase a tumblr post what is a rival if not a crush you’re unhappy abt 

pure of heart, dumb of ass and lesbian - i just love this trope 

sibling like - someone who she genuinely sees as a younger/older sibling... goes to them for shit... protects them

frenemies - theyre not rly friends but they dont entirely hate each other either? 

tbh anything 

[oatsn-honey]

cornflowers and caramel cubes

chapter one - aches and anxiety

masterlist

ao3

summary: Kageyama was always observant of his boyfriend, small and beautiful, vibrant and loud. Drinking in each feature, every word that fell from his lips, he could never get his fill. He was utterly enamored. And yet, how could he have missed something as blatantly obvious as this?

Or:Hinata gets extremely ill -- it’s appendicitis.

notes: i'm back writing fics i'm not supposed to beeeeeee help haikyuu and kagehina is absorbing my life-force and commanding me to create content this was a little hurt/comfort idea (when is it not hurt/comfort with me) that just popped in my head! pls enjoy!! <333 thank u sm for reading!

btw, just some warnings!! this does involve vomiting and vomiting blood, as well as other mentions of illness. there are hints to anxiety, but purely situational anxiety!

He looked beautiful that day, Kageyama thought. But, he looked beautiful every day. That didn’t stop his eyes from sneaking glances at him -- his milk skin; tangerine-pink lips, soft and supple (he would know, after all); those freckles that were lovelier than the stars painted in the sky; and, of course, that smile that never ceased to make his heart skip a beat (or ten) and immediately send heat straight to the tips of his ears.

“Tobio?” His voice, the sound like the morning sun, broke the setter from the stupor he had unknowingly found himself in. (Though, if he were to be honest, this was becoming a daily occurrence.) “You good?” The boy in front of him waved a small hand -- everything about him was small, except for maybe his heart. And eyes. And tenacity. And . . . -- in his face. Wait, when had he started staring?

“Uh, yeah. All good, Hinata.” He could feel his cheeks burning, the back of his neck feeling uncomfortably warm. The sun beating down at them wasn’t helpful in the slightest. Briefly, Kageyama found himself groaning internally -- When did I become so sappy? It’s gross. He’s gross. But cute.

He slumped against the brick wall, poking absently at the lunch placed in his lap. With a sigh, he switched his chopsticks for a box of milk. His brows pressed together, and he willed the warmth from his face away, as he sucked through the straw. His eyes slid over to Hinata, his partner aimlessly gazing at his food. Oddly, a murmur of distress fell from his lips, and he abruptly closed the lid to his bento, pushing it aside.

Kageyama curiously curled his lips to the side. Cocking an eyebrow, he prodded at his boyfriend, “Are you good?” Cornflower met caramel as they shared a look. A small hum from Hinata told him that he was alright, but Kageyama believed otherwise. That look in his eyes; it was pleading.

Practice was more-or-less a bust. At least, that’s what thought was at the forefront of the small decoy’s mind. Hunched over, a sharp and nagging pain coursing through his abdomen, Hinata counted the minutes until practice ended. 98, to be exact.

It didn’t help that Coach Ukai clearly had a personal vendetta against them (at least in the redhead’s mind), each player in nearly the same position as Hinata -- if not, their hands were atop their heads and heaving chests faced the ceiling. As the others regained their vigor enough to joke and laugh, though, Hinata’s breaths continued to come in short, laborious gasps that left his innards feeling as though they were contorting and twisting about within his body.

A single shout is an executive order for Hinata’s head. “12 laps around the gym, sprint!” A simple task, really. But with his intestines so jumbled, breaths simple puffs of air, and head pounding against his eyes, blood pumping in his ears, Hinata didn’t know if he could take even a single step more. He starts anyway, mindful to blend in with the others -- don’t fall behind; don’t push ahead. Just inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale through that knife stabbing at your stomach.

Next, receives. He supposed it went fine, considering he already tended to do poorly in that area. He swallowed harshly when a sardonic laugh made its way to his ear; “It’s almost like it’s the beginning of the year again!” He didn’t question who said it, only focused on not collapsing on the hardwood floor. His stomach should be a gymnast, he thought, with all of its tumbles and flips. An involuntary shiver ran through him as a tsunami of pain made its way to shore.

“5 minutes!” A chorus of relieved sighs and exclamations echoed in the gym, and the boys made their way towards the bench. Unsteadily, Hinata followed suit, his legs quivering and body tense. It’ll pass with a swig of water, he told himself. But when his trembling hands brought the water bottle up to his mouth, the opening knocking lightly against his teeth, he came to regret that thought.

It was all too much.

The shouts of Nishinoya and Tanaka.

The choir of heavy breathing and the squeal of shoes against the polished floor.

The sweat dripping down his back, the migraine threatening at his temples.

That awful twisting in his gut.

Hinata found himself on the floor propped on his hands and knees, his entire body burning and aching. The whole team had encircled him. His arms shook, but he was soon held protectively in someone’s arms. He grasped at their shirt, a wet sob broke past his lips, and he turned his face into them as strong hands rubbed circles into his quivering back. Kageyama.

He was covered in his own vomit. The floor was. The equipment was. Everything.

A hand, slightly cold to the touch, tenderly pushed his soaked bangs back from his forehead. As the black dots, piercing at his eyes, fade away, he sees the blurry face of Suga, gentle brows furrowed and his face pale with worry. “Hey,” he cooed, voice as lilting and soothing as ever. As the ringing in his ears quieted, but never truly disappeared, he could hear someone on the phone. His eyes flitted around the room anxiously, and his heart rate spiked.

“Hey, now, Hinata, look at me, okay?” That hand, still holding back his sweaty hair, gently scraped at his scalp, and he surrendered to the touch. “What’s wrong?” So the interrogation began.

A pained groan was as suitable a response as Sugawara had expected “Understandable,” Daichi’s booming voice, disquieted, pitched in from behind the setter. “Here,” he whispered, handing something to Suga that Hinata couldn’t make out.  He twitched nervously in Kageyama’s -- whom he was relying completely on to sit up -- arms. “Don’t worry,” Sugawara reassured, his presence relaxing Hinata’s frantic pulse, “I’m just going to check your temperature.”

His senses returned to him slowly, but he could feel the thermometer underneath his tongue as the thermometer read his temperature. His eyes, dazed and misty-eyed, settled on Suga, his soft features quelling his panic. A small beep-beep-beep reached his ears, and the thermometer was taken back. His eyes shifted up to his captain, who hissed as he read the temperature. “38.5.” A groan rang throughout the gym and only then did Hinata fully comprehend just how close everyone was. It was suddenly too hot, too stuffy, too close.

“Okay, kiddo. Give him some space, guys!” Daichi ordered. Had he said that last bit out loud? He didn’t care, Hinata decided, simply needing to end the agony riddling his stomach. His exhale was trembling as he weakly pressed closer to Kageyama.

“Is it your stomach?” the raven-haired setter spoke softly in his ear. He nodded minutely, hands snaking around his own midsection. He hissed as Kageyama adjusted his grip on his feverish body, the movement jostling his tender pains far too greatly. He couldn’t help the whimper from escaping, his eyes screwed shut, as Kageyama rose to his feet, carrying him with the grace that could only belong to a setter towards the bench.

Hinata could feel hot tears stinging his eyes, angry with himself (for his weakness, he supposed), ashamed, and unable to stop the small whines of pain that slipped past his parted lips. He fell asleep to Kageyama’s soft whispers of, “It’s okay, Shou, you’re alright. I’m here.”

30 minutes later, he awoke to the stabbing in his gut, but he was somehow in his bed, blankets tossed about from his tossing. Downstairs, he could hear, and smell, his mother cooking. But the thought of food simply made him blanch.

As he shuffled into the gym Hinata steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation with his team; their demands as to why he was there. Their eyes turned to him and he was already prepared to shrug off their questions and answer half-heartedly. But what he had expected to be simple turned out to be more difficult than the arduous bike ride across the mountains (he would be sure to keep to himself the fact that he had to take several breaks, and had once found himself collapsed on the side of the road, trying to keep from spewing on the asphalt).

Hinata received a massive chewing-out from the entire team, Suga’s own reprimands surprisingly harsh. Seated on the bench, he observed the other boys’ practice, watching but not entirely seeing, gaze distant and hazy. There were painful goosebumps tickling at his skin and a shiver coursed through his back.

Rubbing his tense neck, the muscles knotted and hot, Kageyama glanced over at his boyfriend, doubled over at the bench. A curse was hissed through gnashed teeth as he made his way over to him in long, agitated strides.

Knocking the redhead’s shoulder lightly with his clenched fist, the setter asked pointedly, “Hey, shrimp, when was the last time you ate?” Doe-eyes sluggishly turned towards him, and Kageyama found himself gulping back in apprehension, the heat leaving his body. He gnawed at his lip tentatively. “Hey,” he pressed.

A storm of violent tremors ran through Hinata’s small body, quivering and haggard, leaving behind the damage of a natural disaster. As he answers, “I think I had a banana yesterday?” Kageyama’s calculating eyes are glued to the decoy’s face -- the lines and contours gaunt, the dark circles (he had been kept up by pain all night) beneath those normally vibrant eyes unsettling.

The taller boy cursed, color draining from his face, “Hinata!” His face scrunched in what he wished was fury -- Kageyama wanted to be angry, he really did. He knew how to deal with anger. But this concern, all-consuming and disastrous, left his heart in disarray and his mind jumbled. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, carving small crescents into the skin.

“I swear, I’m not hungry!” Hinata defended, his voice weak and breaking. His hands, clumsy and shaking, reached out to grab at Kageyama’s sleeve -- what for, he didn’t know. He worried at the inside of his lip, a drop of frigid sweat trickling down his back. He leaned forward, just missing Kageyama’s arm as the player turned away.

Shouting, his voice reverberated throughout the room, the drills slowing so each teenager could peek at the situation, “Coach!” He threw on his jacket, quickly zipping it up to his chest. “I’m taking Hinata home!” In a huff, he switches his shoes with mastered precision and throws his bag over his broad shoulder.

“W-wha-! No, Kageyama, you can’t do that!” Hinata stammered, his arms crossing over his body as he firmly planted himself on the bench. “I have scho-” A sputtering gasp pushed its way through his lips. That pain that he had nearly become accustomed to had morphed into something loathsomely sharper; something localized. His stomach, set ablaze, convulsed excruciatingly, and his hand shot up to clamp over his mouth. The corners of his vision tunneled inwards, that obnoxious, drowning ringing returning to consume all sound.

“Shou?” When had Kageyama kneeled in front of him? His hand, comforting with its strength, yet tenderness, was braced upon his knee. The team stole glances from behind the setter, frozen mid-motion. They inch closer and closer still.

A look at his boyfriend, lip caught between his teeth, worry etched into that already pressed face, led Hinata to unsteadily clamber to his feet. “I-I’m fi-fine,” he jumbled out, swaying and lurching, his face green. He slipped, plummeting into Kageyama’s arms, safe, a haven. “S-sorry.” He quaked, willing the wave to pass as Kageyama eased him back down onto the metal bench.

His hand, sturdy and reassuring, rubbed shapes into his knee. “It’s okay, Shouyou, take your time.” Even with his arms wrapped constrictingly around his turning stomach, the redhead peeked through his curly bangs -- which were needing a trim -- to stare lovingly at his boyfriend, his powder blue eyes like the dusk sky, swirling with stars. “But,” Kageyama hesitated a moment to nibble at his bottom lip, “You really should get home and try to rest, you know.”

“R-right.”

Suddenly, a weight settles on Tobio’s shoulder -- Takeda’s voice filtered into their little bubble, “I’ll take him home, Kageyama.” The setter whirled around to look up at his teacher, a set of keys jangled in his extended hand. He smiled gently, “You should stay and practice instead, okay?”

Despite his better-intuition asking-- no, begging-- him to say otherwise, he sputtered out, “O-Okay. Thanks.” His eyes, wavering and uncertain, flicked to Hinata’s. The apprehension and panic he sensed made every fiber of his body scream, “Stay with him!”

But, 5 minutes later, Hinata was being guided from the gym, Takeda’s hand braced on his elbow, and Kageyama was twirling a ball in his hands, his teammates calling for sets.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright alone? Do you need me to walk you in?” Takeda broached gently, shifting the vehicle into park. He unlocked the car and turned to gaze at Hinata, slumped against the cold window, moving to rest his bent arm on the center console.

Twitching uncomfortably, the redhead clutched onto the small handle, pushing the car door ajar. “Mmhmm, I’ll be okay,” he laughed weakly, the look in his eyes entirely contradictory. As his feet hit the pavement of his driveway he stifled the urge to cry out, trapping the sound behind his teeth. When he turned around to retrieve his school bag, an attempt at a smile, which appeared closer to a pained grimace, lined his features. “Thank you.”

Hinata didn’t care to announce his entrance as he dragged himself into the house, bothering only to slip his shoes off while entering. His bags clattered to the floor, and he couldn’t bring himself to worry whether he had disturbed the others in the house. His vision faded as he trudged up the stairs, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped the stair-rail.

He crawled into his bed, clad into a soft shirt Tobio had left at his house, the smell and reminder of him helping to calm the churning and biting of his stomach. It was nice, but it never quite substituted for the real thing. He settled into his covers, burrowing underneath their warmth, and faded into a fitful sleep, arms snaking around his abdomen.

He didn’t wake up for several hours.

Later that evening, in the Karasuno gym, Kageyama wrung his hands, slick with sweat, nervously. “He’ll be okay,” He heard Sugawara call from behind him, his tone consoling. But, the first-year couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about the whole situation. Shouyou had honestly looked horrendous. And he was so scared, Kageyama could tell.

Attempting to shake the thoughts out of his head, the setter rolled his shoulders and took a swig from his uncapped water. It was stale and room temperature -- unsatisfying. He set it down again, screwing the lid on again. Toying with his lip, he watched as the other players stretched and joked, but couldn’t bring himself to join. He just wanted to see Hinata.

An obnoxious song blasted throughout the gym suddenly, snapping Kageyama from his stupor. Gasping, he frantically lunged for his bag, digging for his cell. It was Hinata’s ringtone -- his favorite song. A shiver ran up Kageyama’s spine when Nishinoya and Tanaka creeped over his shoulder, lurking. His hand clamped around the small device, vibrating and singing still. He slid his finger across the screen frantically, “Hello?”

He took a moment to worry about how rushed and jumbled his words were, breathless and too-eager. But all thoughts were fully erased when a sound was carried through the line.

“Tobio,” A heart wrenching sob echoed through Kageyama’s head as his eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “Tobio, help. I-” Shrill, choked cries cut him off, filling all of the vacant space created by Kageyama’s silence.

He bristled at the sounds, and the team took immediate notice, practice halting in its entirety. Many joined Tanaka and Nishinoya, all encircling Kageyama as he crouched on the floor, his breath spiking in anxiety. He swallowed. “Shou, what’s wrong? Shou?”

He only briefly thought about how he hardly used nicknames around the rest of his team.

Through wails and frenzied huffs of air Kageyama heard, “To-Tobio, please, my stomach--I-” He was interrupted again by his own wails.

Kageyama hissed a curse through his teeth, and each and every person present knew what it meant -- the situation was bad. No questions arose as he moved towards his bags and began slipping his jacket over his sweat-soaked practice jersey. “I’ll be there soon, Shouyou; just hang on for me.”

The other was nearly suffocating on his breaths, the agonized gasps sending spikes through Kageyama’s chest and launching his mind into a spiraling panic of what-ifs. The redhead on the other end, muffled by something, managed to answer yet, “H-hurry, please, Tobio.”

“Hinata,” his tone hardened: firm, terribly distressed, and endeared all at the same time, “Listen, I need you to breathe.” He was close to hyperventilation. “Breathe,” he reiterated, “In, out, in, out.” He ignored the alarmed looks he received, like spears thrust into his back. The unsteady breaths, still shuttering with each inhale, slowed, thank Kageyama��s stars.

Takeda is standing just where Kageyama had prayed he would be: by the door with keys clutched in his trembling hands. Never before had Kageyama been so thankful for his teacher’s talents for observing -- he knew he needed to get there quickly.

“I’m gonna stay on the line, okay, Shou?” The words tumbled from his lips as he stepped from the gym and towards Takeda’s vehicle, each stride long and rushed. “Talk to me, and breathe. Can you stand? There’s medicine in your cabinet.” He knew because Hinata had gotten a fairly nasty headache the other day, and Tobio was fortunate enough to find himself in the role of personal nurse. He would’ve taken care of him anyway, though.

“N-no… I-I,” Another whine resonated in his ears, the noise muddled -- a definite no. He only resisted the urge to bark vulgar obscenities for the sake of his ailing boyfriend and teacher as he clambered into the car.

“Just... Just hang on, Shouyou,” he murmured, mostly to calm his own hectically pulsing heart. He flashed a look towards Takeda, eyes swimming with tears, and the teacher grit his teeth, pressing his foot firmer onto the pedal.

At some-point during their frenzied drive, the entire event a blur and yet lasting a million years to Kageyama, the connection had been lost between the call. He cursed the mountains and cell towers, fully knowing that it made no difference what he thought or what situation was occuring.

When they finally pull into Hinata’s drive-through, Kageyama itching to launch from the car, the setter flung his door open and barreled into the house (he praised whatever deity had been so blessed as to tempt Hinata to slip him an extra key).

“Shou!” he bellowed, storming into the domestic home, unfit for the chaos raging through him. “Shou!” He teared through each room, careless for the state they were left in.

The whimpers filtering from upstairs queued him, and immediately he was bounding up the staircase, each step an insignificant obstacle as he pummeled through. Barging into the dark room, Kageyama took not a single breath before he dove for the small crumpled figure on the unmade bed.

“Hey, hey.” He kneeled, his hands instinctively flying to run through Hinata’s curly locks, untamely and wet with sweat. “I’m here now.”

His lips, vacant of all color, trembled. Fat tears rolled down his ghastly cheeks, path skewed as he curled in on his side, arms wrapped protectively, and yet tentatively, around his midsection, his hands pale and cold. “T-Tobi-” he tried, only for another torrential wave of pain to flow through him.

The panic wedging itself into Kageyama’s mind, he rushed out, “Hey, talk to me Hinata.” But as the boy before him blanched, green tinting his pallor, his heart sank to his feet.

“B-bathroo-” There wasn’t enough time for him to finish -- it seemed there never was -- before a harsh hiccup ripped itself from his throat, his hand slapping over his own mouth. Without thinking, and with brilliant speed, Kageyama scooped him into his arms, body feeling unnervingly small and fragile, he surged towards the restroom down the hall.

By the time they had crossed the threshold, it was far too late -- it had already begun.

It was all over Kageyama’s shirt, Hinata’s pants, his lap, his entire body.

However, it continued as Hinata scrambled towards the toilet, throwing himself over it, retching over and over and over again. Futilely, Kageyama took to rubbing his partner’s back, convulsing with each heave, and smoothing the sweaty bangs away from Hinata’s burning forehead.

At the time, Kageyama had thought the noises from over the phone were the most wretched things ever conceived, but as he was forced to listen to the unbearable gags he wished to go back. These were sobs stopped only by the terrible choking that came with the upheaval of one’s own stomach contents. He clenched his eyes closed, sick to his own stomach.

Only after Hinata had finally finished, panting breaths raw from innumerable rounds of dry-heaving, did Kageyama finally take notice. He stared, pupils shrunk, at Hinata, slumped limply against his chest.

Those lips -- stained red.

The toilet brimming with blood swirled bile.

Their clothes soaked with a deep crimson.

This was bad.

big thank u to @Tmalasia on the izuocha temple server for editing this!! ilysm! pls go check out mal's stuff, it's amazing!! <3

so i actually finished this last night but i couldn't post it cuz i only had my school laptop and um when i went to ao3,,, it turned out that i was flagged and reported to my school board for,,,,,, umm, y'know. and now i am terrified for my life.

anywho!! second chapter of this is in the planning stage, so pls stay tuned!!! i rlly hope u enjoyed this first part, hopefully it wasn't too OOC and jarring aha,,,

also, i have *another* kagehina fic that i'm planning rn that should just be a short one-shot, only maybe 2K, so expect that soon!!

now,,,,!! just a word about the crisis happening rn (if u don't care or think this could trigger you, pls skip!) with all of the chaos happening rn, i'd like to just advice everyone to stay safe and calm -- pls practice good hygiene and do all you can to protect yourself (do elbow bumps instead of high fives, cough into ur elbows, wash ur hands frequently, disinfect surfaces, etc.) without going to excess. that's what's making everyone freak out, so do your best to know your own situation and stay rational! i'm sending good thoughts to everyone and their health rn, pls stay safe and healthy!! <333

thank you for reading!!! much love~! <3

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 15

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: R (all the adult language - what can I say, Drake swears)

Summary: A much needed conversation, part two.

Author’s Note: Thought I would have this up yesterday, but my Vikings broke my heart, so I couldn’t bring myself to do final edits. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! This chapter is not even remotely holiday themed, but it contains one of my favorite scenes in this story, so I hope you enjoy it!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

It was pitch black out when Drake awoke to a faint tapping sound. He checked his phone. It was 3:26. He figured he must have imagined the noise and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but the noise returned. It was a knock on his door - light, but insistent. Drake was tempted to ignore it, but deep down, he knew who it was. So he shuffled over, flipped the lock, and cracked open the door. 

“You know it’s 3:30 in the morning, right?”

Liam nodded. “I apologize. I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe… But you’re right, it was rude of me to come by at this hour. I’ll just-”

Drake cut him off with a groan, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Liam to enter. “No, come on in.”

But Liam didn’t enter, instead pausing in the doorway for a moment before he spoke, “Actually, I was hoping you might want to go fishing.”

Drake blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his mind. They hadn’t gone out, just the two of them, in a long time. And given their most recent… conversation, it seemed like an odd choice. But Drake had stuck around to support Liam, so if he needed to go out fishing in the middle of the night, well then Drake would be going with him. “Yeah, okay. Just gimme ten minutes.”

So Drake brushed his teeth and got dressed, grabbing the fishing rods, the lawn chairs, and the tackle box before making his way down to the private garage. It was just Liam there when he arrived, so either Bastien had cleared a private outing, or Liam was ducking out without his security team knowing. It didn’t matter much to Drake either way. He just loaded their gear into the back of his car and moved to hop into the driver’s seat, but Liam called out, “Actually, do you mind if I drive?” Drake shrugged and walked around, sliding in on the passenger's side and settling in for the short drive to their usual spot. Except instead of turning right after passing through the palace gates, Liam turned to the left.

“Uh, where are you going?”

Liam glanced over at Drake before returning his eyes to the road ahead of him, “There’s a different lake I want to visit. I hope you can forgive me this break from our typical routine.”

Once again, Drake found himself shrugging. Not knowing how long of a trip they’d be taking, he leaned his head against the side window. It was dark enough out that he couldn’t see much of the scenery, but he knew they were basically heading east. They drove for well over an hour, not talking, just listening to Liam’s classical music playlist, the one he used when he needed to think. Drake didn’t know what was going on, so he let Liam drive on without any questions about where or how or why. They just drove and drove, and eventually, tinges of orange and pink started to appear in the sky. As the sun began to peek above the horizon, Liam turned off the main road onto a smaller frontage road. After about five more minutes, he pulled over to the side and stopped.

“We’re here,” was all he said before he got out of the car and went to grab his half of the gear from the back. Drake followed his lead, carrying his rod, chair, and the tackle box down a gravel path, Liam just a few paces ahead of him. It was a short and easy hike, leading to a large, crystal-clear lake. The area Liam had chosen was basically a meadow, but there were thickly forested patches along the shoreline, giving rise to large hills and mountains just beyond. Across the lake, Drake noted a grand estate.

He had no idea why they were here and not at their usual lake just west of the capital, but Liam had already set up his chair and was threading his line through the guides. So Drake placed his own chair next to Liam’s, opened the tackle box in between them, and started prepping his own line. Soon enough, they were casting out, the sky lightening in color by the second as the sun continued to climb upwards. They were both silent at first, but after several minutes, Liam broke the ice.

“So, Olivia’s aunt is behind the attacks.”

Drake whipped his head over to the left, trying to gauge Liam’s mental state. That must have been why Olivia came to the palace two days ago. It certainly explained the surge of activity triggered by her visit. Liam didn’t make eye contact with Drake, choosing instead to stare out over the water as he continued to fill him in on the situation.

“She wore a wire yesterday, securing recordings of her aunt talking about the whole thing. Lucretia’s initial plan was to kill any degree of public approval I had before I abdicated, leaving Olivia poised to take the throne. Olivia somehow managed to convince her that we were sleeping together and to give her more time so that she could eventually get pregnant and a Nevrakis would become the heir to the throne.”

“Wait, her aunt thought you two were sleeping together?”

“Olivia didn’t disclose how that even became a point of conversation with her aunt, but Lucretia brought it up unprompted very early on in Olivia’s surveillance, so it must have been part of her ploy to get the initial confession out of Lucretia. Regardless, it was effective. While Olivia was informing me of her aunt’s aims, Lucretia was scrambling to strike deals with her co-conspirators since they were no longer a necessary part of her scheme.”

“How’d that work out for her?” 

“About as well as you would expect. Turns out people who are willing to destroy and kill to gain power don’t respond kindly to being cut out of a coup. Lucretia started naming them all without Olivia even asking because she was planning on having the two of them take out the other key agents in the attacks, all of whom were looking to kill Lucretia at the first opportunity after she dismissed them from her plan.”

“Ah, classic Nevrakis family bonding.”

“Heh. Olivia made a similar remark. Regardless, the strike teams will deploy today to bring the parties involved into custody. Hopefully, things will be well coordinated enough that no one will be forewarned and able to flee. One other insurgent in particular is someone we absolutely need to arrest. His name is Anton Severus, and he and Lucretia seem to be the ringleaders.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“We hadn’t either. Initial research turned up some… strange connections to Olivia that we’ll need to investigate further. However, this photo was even more interesting.”

At that, Liam grabbed a small piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and passed it over to Drake. He nearly dropped his fishing rod when he saw the face on the paper.

“It’s that Justin prick!”

“Indeed. Seems he was working under an alias.”

“What the fuck, Liam? He was Liu’s press secretary. He spent a shit-ton of time with her one-on-one. He could have-”

“Drake, this whole situation is a disaster. If you have concerns about the vetting that went into hiring this man, I suggest you take it up with Bertrand. There is something else I thought it prudent you know regarding him, though. He arguably stood to gain the most from the initial scheme concocted by him and Lucretia. Understandably, it sounds like he is the most upset by her recent change in strategy.

“From the way Lucretia talks about him, not only is he highly dangerous, but he also has access to key information Lucretia has been collecting. This includes the findings obtained by the PI that was following you in New York. Apparently, the goal there was a titillating piece surrounding you, me, and Riley. Unfortunately, we think it is highly probable that he will have leaked the information obtained thus far to the press given Lucretia’s description of her conversation with him. So I apologize, but it is likely you and Riley will gain some media attention.”

“So will you.”

Liam shrugged at that, “Yes, well, that comes with the job description for me. That’s not exactly the situation for the two of you.”

“Was warning me about this why you brought me out here?”

“No, that was something I obviously needed to do, but that’s not why I wanted us to go fishing.”

“Why, then? Why today?”

“It's all just been... It's been hard to handle all the…” Liam trailed off. Drake couldn't remember the last time he was at a loss for words.

“Yeah, you've had a lot of shit to deal with.” 

Liam chuckled. “I think that safely qualifies as an understatement.”

Drake smiled softly, letting the quiet of the surrounding nature keep the moment still and peaceful. When Liam got like this, it was best not to ask a lot of questions. just let him talk when he felt like it. So they sat there, lines dipping below the surface of the water. The fish weren't biting, but that didn't really matter at all. They were both silent for many minutes, but eventually Liam started talking.

“My mind is just so full all the time. As soon as I think I have a handle on one topic or issue, another one just worms its way deep into my brain. Being out here, it's nearly like all those conflicting ideas can just float away from me. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe, that I can decompress even slightly. I know that I can't escape the realities of my life forever, but this is a nice reprieve. So thank you, Drake. Thank you for indulging me, even if I did wake you before 4 o’clock.”

Drake nodded, “Of course, Liam. you know I'd do…”

Liam's eyes drifted over to Drake's as Drake trailed off. He wasn't sure if he had the right to finish that thought. A few months ago, there was literally nothing that Drake wouldn't have done for Liam. He couldn't imagine a single thing. But now, after everything with Riley... Well, saying something like that seemed pretty fucking disingenuous.

But Liam just shook his head sadly, “Even after I said horrible things to you the other day.”

Drake frowned at that, “Liam, I deserved nearly all of it. I should be the one apologizing. You have a shit-ton of crap to handle everyday, and my pissy attitude should not have to be part of it.” He kept his eyes focused on the water, ashamed that he couldn’t even figure out how to be the first one to apologize. But Liam chuckled lightly, seeming to be oblivious to Drake’s pain and guilt.

“Drake, since when are you worried about your attitude around me?” 

He let out a sigh before he responded, “Pretty much whenever I can tell you’re stressed.”

“But that shouldn’t be how this works,” said Liam, “We are supposed to be equals, my title be damned. That can’t happen if you are tiptoeing around me when my life becomes stressful.”

“See, I knew you would see it this way. But you’ve gotta understand that the shit you face is so much worse than the shit any of the rest of us face. I gotta be more careful with you than you are with me. Besides, you look out for me, too. You gave me a place to stay, you let me duck out and do my own thing when I get antsy, you find me lots of high quality whiskey.”

“Are you kidding me, Drake?”

He smiled at that, glancing over at Liam, “Just a little. My point is that we both have been there for each other.”

Liam shook his head. “But don’t you see, Drake, that everything you just listed didn’t really impact my life in any major way. Doing those things for you required very little sacrifice. You, on the other hand, just aggressively reminded my brother that you have uprooted your entire life for me. You put long-term plans on hold to be there for me.”

“You were a prince, Liam. Now you’re the fucking king. You made the best accommodations you could for me given the situation. I did the same. It’s no one’s fault that your life doesn’t allow you the flexibility that mine does.”

“Be that as it may, I worry I’ve taken you for granted, that I’ve treated your support as a given. You altered major life plans for me. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

Drake waved his hand through the air, almost as if he could swat away Liam’s concerns, “Trust me, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Your screaming match with Leo would suggest otherwise.”

“Eh, Leo was just being an ass and things got outta hand.”

Drake dropped his eyes to the lake’s surface, watching his line cut through the water. He could feel Liam’s stare on the back of his neck, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe, if he just sat there quietly, Liam would let it go. Accept his statement as the truth.

“So this is what you meant about keeping your attitude from me when you think I’m too stressed to handle it.”

Drake sighed slowly, rolling his head around to look at Liam. He didn’t know what to say, but his silence kind of confirmed Liam’s statement.

“I don’t need you to turn yourself into an emotional martyr for me, Drake. I would never want that for you.”

“That’s not what this is, I just-”

“Drake, I think you do it without even thinking about it. It’s become nearly reflexive for you. Remember at my coronation, after Riley was forcibly removed from the palace?”

Drake nodded. While the overall events of that night were burned into his brain, he honestly didn’t remember the details all that well. He’d been a mess. Chasing after Riley. Thinking he’d fly out to New York. He’d gone from being convinced that she was going to be this gnawing presence in his life, happily engaged to Liam and just out of reach, taunting him as the possibility that was never meant to be, to being terrified she would not even be a small part of his life anymore. It was in that moment that he decided if he ever saw her again, he would be grateful to fill whatever role she wanted for him in her life, even if that meant opening himself up to excruciating pain in the end. “Yeah, that one was pretty hard to forget.”

“As soon as I got visibly upset, you jumped into action, planning and organizing. You even told me you would go to New York, and I just assumed that you were doing that for my sake. But that wasn’t your primary motivation, was it?”

Drake closed his eyes and shook his head, “I needed to make sure she was okay. I just wanted to be there for her.”

“You loved her already, didn’t you?”

Liam’s question gave Drake pause. He’d never really bothered to think about when he’d fallen for Riley. It was just one of those things, where one day it had just hit him out of nowhere that he was completely gone on her. They’d been eating breakfast with Hana and Maxwell at Applewood the day after finding the photographer’s ID badge. She’d been giving him shit in response to some comments he’d made about mimosas and after a few moments of bickering, she’d stuck her tongue out at him, as if that would win her the argument. It had just been so stupidly silly, so damn playful, so completely her that he’d just known. And that had been it. He’d never really bothered to try and figure out when he actually fell in love, at least not until this moment.

“I think so,” he finally spoke, barely getting the words out. It felt so shameful, to admit out loud that he was in love with Riley. That he’d been in love with her for a long time at this point. It was stupid to get hung up on this. He’d moved to a new country for her. Of course Liam knew he loved her. But to explicitly state it felt wrong. Dirty. Cruel.

The silence of the surrounding nature felt unbearable. But after a painful minute or two, Liam finally responded to Drake’s confession.

“I wish you would have told me how you were feeling. I wish both of you would have told me, but I really wish you would have told me.”

“Liam, I-”

“Let me rephrase that. You should have told me. The rejection would have never been pleasant, but I would have handled it. Romantic feelings go unrequited all the time. But you lied to me, if not outright, then certainly by omission. And that Drake, is the aspect of this whole mess that I am struggling with the most. I always trusted you to be the one person in this world who was honest with me, to never have an ulterior motive during our discussions. And I’ve lost that faith, Drake. That is what hurts the most.”

“I know, Liam. I’m so sorry.”

“See, this is why you can’t just decide that you need to hide your actual emotions from me. Regardless of whether or not my royal obligations are intense, there needs to be mutual honesty between us.”

Drake shook his head roughly, “It wasn’t all about protecting you. That was part of it, sure, but it was more complicated than just that. I wasn’t exactly trying to be noble.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t want to make excuses here, Liam. I know I fucked up.”

“I just need to understand, Drake. I need to make sense of all of this. So please, just talk to me openly.”

Drake took a breath, trying to organize his thoughts before he started, “It was self-preservation really, and I know that’s selfish of me, but it’s the truth. It was going to be bad enough in the end when she chose you. That alone was going to hurt like hell. I just couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing about it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was convinced that she was going to choose you once she cleared her name.”

“Is there some reason you thought that, or…”

“Previous experience mostly. It’s not important, though.”

“It kind of is, Drake. You are talking about this like it was some foregone conclusion that she wasn’t as interested in you as she was in me, when all I have is evidence to the contrary.”

Drake let out a huge sigh, his shoulders sagging in the process. He wasn’t sure if this topic was wildly embarrassing or just uncomfortable, but they were here now, and Drake didn’t see a way out of it at this point. “Over the years, there have been quite a few women who’ve tried to use me to get close to you. Some just feigned interest until you guys were introduced. Others seemed to have researched me and my interests pretty extensively, letting things escalate between us for quite a while before they suddenly didn’t have time for me. Usually, that was right after they met you. It didn’t take long for me to learn the drill.”

“And you thought Riley was doing the same thing? Drake, she hadn’t even heard of Cordonia when we wandered into that bar.”

Drake mustered up what was left of his courage before continuing, “I think she would have accepted your proposal that night. We snuck outside for a bit. Talked a little. We kissed. I don’t know. We both made it pretty clear that was it for us. It felt a lot like goodbye.

“Then after you got engaged and she came back, I don’t know. Things were different. She kept bringing up us actually being together. It was a strange shift, and part of me just couldn’t believe that she really wanted to be with me. I  kept wondering if she was just looking for comfort after being publicly rejected and I was the best option. So I kept telling her we should wait until she cleared her name to talk about our future. And I braced myself for the day that would happen and she would realize she could have you again. That she could go off and be with who she actually wanted.”

“You told me about your relationship the day after she cleared her name.” Liam’s voice was quiet, but calm. Understanding. Gentle.

“I know it’s not an excuse, Liam. But I just didn’t really think that she had any deep feelings for me until she told me she loved me that night. Some part of me couldn’t shake the thought that whatever the hell was going on between us was about to come to an end.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No. It didn’t.”

They both sat there, still and silent. It was tense, to be sure, but unlike the other day, Drake didn’t sense any anger rolling off Liam. He knew he was much calmer, too. Maybe they had just needed to purge their more toxic thoughts before they could have this conversation. Or maybe it needed to happen outside of the confining, binding walls of the palace. Out away from pressures and obligations, away from nosy servants and nobles. Maybe that was why Liam had wanted to go fishing. Maybe deep down he knew this was the only way either of them would talk. But that didn’t explain his choice of location.

“Why here?”

“What was that?”

“I am just trying to figure out why you wanted to come out here to… wherever the hell we are to have this conversation.”

“Valtoria. That’s where I brought us.”

“Okay, so why Valtoria?”

Liam sighed, looking around and fully taking in the surrounding woods and meadows. He was silent, with only the lapping water and the hum of last of that year’s cicadas filling the air. Eventually after several painfully long moments he answered.

“You know how Valtoria has been vacant for decades? Well, it was going to be hers.”

“What are you talking about, Liam?”

“I was going to offer her the title of Duchess of Valtoria.” He kept looking around, almost as if making eye contact would be unbearable.

Drake's mind raced as he tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about. It only took a few seconds for him to realize the truth behind it all. “You couldn't marry a commoner. You had to make her fucking suitable match.”

Liam winced at that, finally turning his head to face Drake. “I was trying to give her a home. I wanted Cordonia to feel like her country, not my country. But yes, Drake. I was also looking to appease her critics on the council. Titling her was a needed formality.” 

Drake let Liam's words wash over him. He knew that Liam himself didn’t really care that Riley came from poverty, had clawed her way to a working class lifestyle. But somehow, the fact that he would have elevated her to noble class before marrying her rubbed him the wrong way just the same. His discomfort at the idea must have shown on his face, because Liam spoke again after a brief moment.

“Come on, Drake. I know it’s your reflex to hate the nobility, but surely that wouldn’t apply to her?”

Drake shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? Why would the mere formality of titling her upset you?”

“That’s not…. It’s just… No one needs to change anything about her.”

A faint smile crept across Liam’s face at Drake’s reply, even as he squinted his eyes in disbelief, “My god, who are you and where have you hidden Drake Walker?”

“What?”

“That was dangerously close to romantic, my friend. Certainly more saccharine and sweet than anything I have ever said.”

“Bullshit, Liam.”

“Fair enough, but you have to admit that was far more sentimental than you usually act.”

“Jesus, Liam. I’m not saying that to be romantic. I just don’t like the fact that you wanted her to change who she is to marry you.”

“It was never about changing her. It was merely adding a formal title.”

Drake squinted at Liam, trying to figure out how he could be so oblivious, but then it dawned on him. Riley hadn’t let Liam see her as she really was. She’d kept things light and polite. She’d never laid into him. Never opened up to him. She had kept playing at being princess the whole way through.

“Tell me, Liam -  how many times have you heard Liu swear?”

After a couple of seconds, Liam said, “My answer is that I can’t recall her ever swearing, but I can guess that is not her typical behavior based on that question.”

“She called me a ‘goddamn motherfucking asshole’ within her first few days here,” Drake responded, shaking his head with a smile, “You may not have asked her to change who she was, but…”

“You’re saying she just felt compelled to act differently around me.”

“I think so.”

Liam was quiet for a few moments, likely thinking about everything that had been said. Eventually, he shook his head, “Well, I think there’s some form of irony buried in this whole situation. Apparently, there have been many women out there who acted differently around you to get to know me. The one woman I actually wanted to get to know was acting differently around me as she fell in love with you.”

“Liam, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Drake. At least not for that part. I will certainly accept your apology for hiding your feelings from me and prolonging the uncomfortable situation. But the rest of it is just life. I fell for someone, but she fell for someone else. There’s no reason for her not to be with the person she loves if he loves her in return.

“I’m not blameless in this whole mess. You were right; I just assumed she was interested in me. I could blame the entire dynamic of the social season, but that wouldn’t be proper. I am a grown man, and I should have recognized her waning interest in me.”

“No, you were right. We should have talked to you sooner.”

“And I probably shouldn’t have offered up being my mistress without asking about her feelings surrounding my relationship with Madeleine. There is plenty of blame to go around.”

“Excuse me, you what?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, Drake, but I was desperate and grasping at straws. Looking back, I certainly could have done better there. However, I am guessing you have some moments you wish you could redo in this whole debacle?”

Drake was still trying to process the fact that Liam had apparently asked Riley to be his side piece, but he knew his overall point was valid. They both had made mistakes here. And maybe it was time to leave those mistakes in the past and start moving forward. So Drake just nodded, a gesture Liam returned with a smile before he looked out over the lake again. The silence between them wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it certainly felt closer to normal than it had in a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley poured the couple at the bar two more IPAs, then quickly glanced around the room, trying to see if there were any other customers who needed another round. Not seeing any obviously empty glasses or anyone trying to flag her down, she started loading up a tray with dirty glassware to bring into the back to get cleaned.

After her breakdown her first night back in New York, she’d resolved to not think about Cordonia, and she honestly felt like she’d done a pretty good job. One of the afternoon bartenders had quit unexpectedly, so she volunteered to pick up some extra shifts, which not only kept her busy and distracted, but also helped her earn some much needed cash.

She gotten some texts from Maxwell and Hana, but she’d kept her responses light and casual. She really was doing fine. She just had to convince them of that fact. If they kept asking her how she was doing, she would fixate on everything that had happened, and the would be the opposite of helpful. She needed to keep moving forward, and then she would be able to move on with her life.

Riley carried the heavy tray into the backroom and loaded up the industrial dishwasher. After washing her hands, she went back out front, but the sight in front of her stopped her dead in her tracks. She knew that hair. She knew that face. But that hair and that face were supposed to be in Cordonia, not scanning the room awkwardly, clearly looking for someone.

“Hana?” she finally called out when she found her voice, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

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