#; I wanted this to look like the conver of a novel

[distopea]

"I remember someone I don’t know."

@cantuscorvi

// art by MJ (do not repost)

[jedi-luca]

Avenger Lane Chapter Two

Summary: You and your wife Quinn move your family outside of New York City to Avenger Lane; a small private suburbia. There you face your toughest obstacle of your marriage. Will your marriage with Quinn be strong enough when a certain redheaded beauty captures your attention? 

Parings: Quinn Fabray x G!P Reader / eventual Natasha x G!P Reader

Warnings: Smut in this chapter!

A/N: Let me know what you think 😅

Avenger Lane

Chapter Two: Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'

Not my gifs

“How about I help you unpack and you put things where you want them? That way it’ll be done by the time Quinn comes back.”

“If you really wanna spend your time unpacking then fine.” You laughed.

“I’m not spending time unpacking, I'm spending time getting to know my new neighbor.” She winked.

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“You’ve done a lot so far!” Natasha smiled looking around at the work you and your wife have done.

“Yeah, but to be far a lot of this is brand new. The furniture delivered bright and early.”

“You two have excellent taste in decor.”

“Thank you, but it’s really Quinn’s taste.”

“Does it matter which box or which room?” Natasha asked, gesturing towards the boxes.

“Let’s go to Quinn's office first. I have a surprise for her that I wanna get out of the way before she goes in there again.” You chuckled running over to the kitchen sink taking a black bag out. Before gesturing for the redhead to follow you upstairs.

“What’s the surprise?” She found herself asking.

“I may or may not have made her customized bobbleheads of us.” You snickered placing the back on the new desk that came in that morning. 

Natasha chuckled watching you carefully place the bobble heads below her monitor. “Your daughter's bobbleheads are adorable.” She pointed.

“Right?” You chuckled.

Natasha lifted a box on to the desk cutting through the packing tape,

You connected your phone to the speaker system you had set up earlier. You quickly settled on an 80s playlist before opening up a box as well.

“Wow, you have a first edition of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe?” 

“I got it for Quinn for one of our anniversaries. It's her favorite book. She loves reading. That’s actually sort of her job. She works at a publishing house.” You smiled proudly. She worked her ass off to climb her way to the very top. You take the stack of books she finishes admiring, placing them on the shelf as she makes another stack. 

“That sounds pretty amazing. Being able to read things before they come out?!”

“Big reader?” You grinned as you lifted a hammer to place a nail in the wall Quinn had asked you to build her a shelf. Needless to say a few days before you built her a shelf. Now it’s time to connect it to the wall.

“Of course!”

“What’s your favorite book?” You ask as you hang the shelf. 

“That's a really hard and broad question.” She muttered pausing her movements to see you hammering the shelf in before starting the next one.

“Okay favorite classic?”

“Catcher and the Rye.” She muses. “You?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Truthfully I love noir and spy novels. I like to think I would have made an excellent spy.”

“I’m more of a fantasy sci fi type of reader.”

“What house are you in?” She grinned gesturing towards the photo of you Quinn and Beth at Harry Potter World. 

“Gryffindor.” You blushed. “I tested it 3 times, got Gryffindor 2 times and Slytherin once. Quinn is Ravenclaw.” You say setting her framed degree on the shelf.  

“Makes sense since I see she graduated from Yale.” Natasha smirked pointing at the degree you set down.

“What house are you in?”

“Guess.” She smirked.

“Red hair? And a hand me down robe? You must be a Weasley!” You say using your best Draco impression. “Gryffindor?”

She laughed as she set the sorted books on the shelf. “Nope.”

“I’m… wrong?” You gasped. “Let me think.” You bite your lip really looking at Natasha. “Slytherin!” You yelled as if you were the hat.

She chordled covering her mouth before going back to unpacking while you put things away. Conversing as you both worked. You learned her favorite color is forest green, but it’s actually your favorite color Blue. She isn't as into music as you are, but she’s a huge film buff. She says she never tried acting, but that she did model for Victoria's Secret and a few other luxury brands before she was married. (You’re definitely googling her later.) She has a younger sister named Yelena who is currently going to college with Clint's daughter Kate. You learn Clint actually lives just across the street from Natasha. He and his wife and kids are currently visiting his parents back in Iowa. She tells you that Clint and his wife are her best friends besides Wanda. 

“How does one even knock down a bell in a tower?” You chuckled while putting away books. Apparently Yelena and Kate are thick as thieves, and quite the troublemakers.

“I honestly still don’t understand how, but they found a way.” She laughed.

“How did they not get expelled?”

“Truthfully? Clint and I had to buy a new bell for the tower.” She huffed.

“That sucks! I don't know what I would do if Beth did something like that.” You chuckled knocking on wood. “I'm not really looking forward to her teenage years. Lord knows I was a menace to society.”

“You were a menace?” She chuckled.

“Oh yeah.” You chuckled.

“What was the craziest thing you did.”

“Oof, let me think…” you placed a finger on your chin. “Ooh! Okay once this annoying guy joined our glee club back in high school. He tried to take my spot on the team, and he kept hitting on Quinn. So I told him he had a free record deal. Idiot, why would anyone believe that? Anyway I got him a one way ticket to Los Angeles.”

“You sent him to another state for hitting on your wife?!” She laughed.

“No you don’t get it. He was an asshole. He tried to turn the team against me, glee club against me and my wife. I wasn’t letting some rich brat steal my life away.”

Natasha raised her brow smirking at you like that’s not an excuse.

“Eh he was fine!” You waved her off. “Plus he never messed with Quinn again and he ended up moving to South Korea.”

“So you’re the jealous type? I wouldn’t have suspected it.” She chuckled.

“What? No. No. Just didn’t like him kissing my baby mama.”

She laughed.

“What’s the craziest thing a man has done for you? I feel like you have a ton of stories.” You grinned. “You’re husband sounds like a big guy. BRUCE.” you gruffed hitting your chest.

She laughed, shaking her head. “No.” She laughed out before trying to compose her laughter. “Bruce has a temper at times but he’s not a man's man if that makes sense? And no one has done anything quite like that for me.” She admits before opening another box.

“What?” You furrow your brows. “You’re telling me no one has ever fought over you?”

“What is this medieval times?” She chuckled.

“I just find it hard to believe that no one has ever fought over you, I mean you’re gorgeous.” You bite the inside of your lip hoping she wouldn’t find that weird.

The redhead feels her cheeks heat up. “I was hit on a lot and asked out a lot. Especially during my modeling days. Sometimes even still when I’m with Bruce, but he’s not a fighter.”

“So you’re saying sometimes when you’re out with Bruce you get hit on and he just… let’s it happen?”

“Well…What would you do?” She questioned you.

“I mean it happens a lot to us as well. Then again she also gets majorly turned on when I put someone in their place after they hit on her.”

“Give me an example.” She smirked.

“Okay well if it’s innocent I usually just-“ you walked over next to her and placed your arm around her waist. “Pull her a little closer like this. Smile at the jerkoff and say ‘Ahh’ that usually works, but if they’re an asshole and want to keep hitting on her then she says something that usually ends up with them crying.”

“Has it ever gotten physical?”

“Once. His name was Noah Puckerman, we were sort of friends at one point. He said he was in love with Quinn. She said she didn’t feel the same way. He really thought Quinn had feelings for him. Anyway we were at a party and he just walked up to Quinn and kissed her. She slapped him, but the weirdo wouldn’t let go. So I sucker punched him in the ear. Now I don’t condone sucker punching anyone, but when someone is kissing my girl and she wants them off of her?”

“He didn’t let her go, I probably would have done the same thing. Truthfully I would have broken his nose.” Natasha shrugged. “What happened after?”

“Well he got knocked out after that; a few days later he dropped out of high school and ended up going to jail for stealing an ATM. Last I heard he’s living in Florida trying to make it as a DJ.”

“So was he the only guy you fought with?”

“Uhhhh… no.” You chuckled. “Like I said I was a menace as a teenager.”

“Did Quinn ever fight someone over you?”

“Oh yeah.” You chuckled. You both finished up in her office before heading downstairs. You both grabbed a box right as Journey flowed through the speakers.

“Oh no!” Natasha grimaced after opening another box.

“Uh Oh what’s wrong?” You chuckled.

“It looks like a frame broke.” Natasha gently lifted the frame, setting it on top of the trash can lid.

“Oh.” You muttered seeing an old photo of you and Finn after the state championship.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be it’s not your fault.” You laughed taking the photo out examining it.

“You played football?” Natasha asked, surprised.

“Why the tone of surprise? I told you that guy tried to steal my spot on the team.” You smirked teasing the redhead.

“I thought you meant your glee club. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of girls playing American football.”

“American football.” You chuckled. “It’s just football you’re in America.” You joked; nudging her.

“I’m not American.” She quirked her brow with a smirk of her own. “Football means soccer to me.”

“Get out.” You laughed.

“I’m Russian.” She grinned.

“How long did you live there?”

“On and off throughout my life. It's kind of a long, depressing story.”

“Where in America did you move to?”

“Ohio.” She smiled.

“What town in Ohio?”

“Hamilton.” She smiled thinking back.

“Lima.” You grinned.

“That’s not that far away!” She beamed.

“I feel like we even played you guys once or twice.” You furrow your brow thinking.

Natasha smiles at the crinkle on your forehead as you try to remember.

“So who's this tall drink of water?” She chuckled pointing to the photo still in your hand.

“He was my best friend; Finn Hudson.” You smiled sadly hearing the song he would always sing playing in the background. “Joined the army right after high school. He died in action.” 

“I’m-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You shake your head. “It was a long time ago. Quinn and I named Finley after him. He was a good guy. Always had my back.” You smile looking down at you and Finn making your best game faces.

“So what made you want to be a football player?” She asked to pull you from memory lane.

“Actually I only joined to impress a certain blonde cheerleader.” You smirked lifting an old squad photo of Quinn Brittany and Santana.

“Let me guess she ruled the school?” She grinned, seeing the three hot cheerleaders smiling at the camera.

“Oh yeah everyone called them the unholy trinity.” You snickered. “I noticed her on the first day of freshman year. Her mother had dropped her off and she was wearing this yellow sundress. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.” You chuckled, placing the photo of you and Finn on the coffee table. You’ll grab a new frame later. “Anyway I tried to go and speak to her during lunch that first day.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “One of the teachers was getting their ass kicked by the cheerleading coach, and she didn’t even look up once. The bell rang and she left and I never got to talk to her. It wasn’t until I saw her join the Cheerios that I joined the football team. Santana had told me she only dates football players.”

“You joined a rough sport for love?” She laughed.

“Hey I got the girl in the end so it was worth getting banged up and concussed.” You grinned, making her laugh. Your phone began ringing, lifting it up to your ear. “Sup baby mama.”

“We just grabbed some food and we’re heading back to the house.” Quinn spoke ignoring the greeting she hates.

“Sweet love you, see you soon.”

“I love you too, bye!”

“Good thing we’re on the last box.” Natasha grins, patting the box.

“Phew.” You chuckled, wiping non existent sweat from your forehead.

You let her finish that up as you get ready to feed Ollie.

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Quinn walked in with your friends laughing with food in their hands.

“Oh wow you finished all those boxes?!” Quinn beamed.

“I had some help from a neighbor.” You grinned nodding towards Natasha.

“Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.” Quinn said, setting the food on the table. Santana leaned over towards Kurt whispering as low as she could. “How much you wanna bet that she doesn’t appreciate it?” 

Kurt and Santana snickered, earning a glare from Quinn.

“Stay for lunch?” Quinn smiled. “I mean you made us brownies and helped us unpack. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense you’re not intruding.” You grinned. “Natasha this is-”

“Kurt Hummel, I work for Vogue and my God you are the epitome of gorgeous. I’m more than sure you were on the cover of Japan’s issue of Vogue back what 6 years ago?”

“Spot on Kurt that was me.” Natasha chuckled lightly. 

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing in the burbs?” Kurt grimaced.

“Honey. Excuse my husband, he forgets some people like peace and quiet. Blaine Anderson.” 

Soon you were all sitting around the dining table drinking beer and eating pizza. While the two boys were talking Natasha’s ear off about couture and her modeling days.

“She’s a model. Why am I not surprised?” Quinn quipped as she grabbed another beer for you and herself. She watched as Natasha threw her head back laughing at something Kurt said.

“Probably because she looks like that.” you chuckled as Quinn glared at you.

“You have got to model my line.” Kurt begged.

“Honey. Please stop.” Blaine laughed.

“I haven’t modeled in years.” Natasha shook her head laughing.

“Oh please it’s like riding a bike. Just hop right in front of the camera and get back on that catwalk girl.”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip.

“I’m making a look just for you and you’ll have to say yes.” Kurt winked.

“So Natasha, who is this man you left your modeling career for?” Blaine asked with a smirk.

“His name is Bruce Banner, he's a scientist who is currently in Zurich right now giving a lecture.”

“That’s interesting.” Blaine nodded.

“A model marrying a scientist. You definitely flipped the script with that.” Quinn chuckled.

“When does he come back?” Kurt asked, sipping his hard seltzer.

“In a few weeks it’s a major conference and he’s also working alongside another scientist for a project at the moment so there’s really no set date.”

“That's a long time.” Quinn furrowed her brows looking down at her pizza. There’s no way she’d be away from you for that long. No way she could be away more than a week, maybe two max.

“It’s his dream.” she shrugs as if to say ‘who am I to stand in the way of it’.

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“Today was so long.” Quinn sighed leaning her head back on your shoulder. Letting the hot water relax her muscles humming along to The soft tunes of Al Green that flowed from the speakers.

“Hmhm.” You hummed kissing her shoulder. “I’m glad we got the spa tub.” The blonde hummed, sending vibrations to your heart. You sighed against the back of her neck before peppering her with soft kisses.

“Natasha seems nice.” She arched her brow, a small smirk playing on her lips. 

“She’s very nice.” You continue kissing and massaging your wife trying to get her to relax so she could maybe give you the goods.

“Oh I know you think so.”

You eyed the droplets running down her breasts when you were brought out of your sexy time thoughts.

“Wait…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you think she’s sexy and I know for a fact she’s into you.”

“Quinn not this. Not with our new neighbor we just met.” You whined.

“I’m not upset. She’s a very beautiful woman. Gorgeous even.” She shrugged. “She knows how to toe the line. I'll give her that.” She huffed.

“Quinn, Natasha is not into me. She is married just like you, and just like me. She has a husband.”

“Hm one that she barely mentions or sees.”

“What do you mean she barely sees him? We’ve known her for a day.”

“Think about it. She brushed off any questions about him.”

“It’s our first night here.” You chuckled.

“I’m just saying her husband seems to be MIA consistently if she just doesn’t care that he’s gone with no set date of returning. She also mentioned that this block is close.”

“And?”

“Annnd it would explain why she’s taken a liking to you. You haven’t met her husband but the this whole block has.”

“You’re reaching. It’s our first night. Can we not?”

“Fine.” Quinn sighed, relaxing against your front.

“Remind me to thank your sister for taking the girls.” 

“It’s nice.” Quinn nodded as you wrapped your arms around her. She turned her head meeting your lips.

“God, you're so sexy.” You muttered running your hands down her body as she rocks into your cock. “How about we take advantage of our empty nest.”

“Christening our new home?” Quinn smirked.

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Natasha was reading when she noticed your light in your bedroom flick on. You and Quinn were laughing. When suddenly you spun her around lifting her up against you. Kissing her before laying her on the bed. 

The redhead gasped as you let your robe slide off your body. She gasped seeing all of you for the first time. You were exactly as she pictured tan skin, and muscles rippling throughout your body. What really caught her eye was your dick.

Women with appendages were a rare gem. She knew of only one other woman that had one and that was Val. She only knew because Carol told them one night. She kind of figured you had one when you mentioned your daughters.

You grabbed Quinn’s legs, spreading them as you line yourself up.

“Fuck.” She watches your lips mouth the word as you throw your head back.

Natasha feels a pool between her legs. She gasped as you noticed your curtains were open. You quickly move over closing them not noticing the light coming from Natasha’s lamp next door.

“Shit.” Natasha sighed at the slickness beneath her folds. She couldn’t help but grab her vibrator. She felt almost guilty thinking of you as she touched herself. She had only just met you, but everything in her was telling her to jump your bones.

“Fuck Y/N.” She whispers, closing her eyes as she pictures you on your knees in front of her.

‘Damn babe you’re soaked.’

“Hmm for you.” She husked, dipping inside of herself before turning on her vibrator. She moaned, imagining your tongue touching her clit instead of the only thing that’s been giving her any sort of pleasure. She sighed going back into her imagination.

‘You taste like heaven, I bet you feel like it too.’

“Yes please I need you inside me.” She husked thinking of your long cock she saw enter Quinn.

‘Fuck you do feel like heaven. Oh Natasha.’

“Oh Y/N you feel so good!” She whimpered imagining you plowing into her making her take all your weight. 

‘You sound so close already, baby girl.’

“I’m so close, don't stop!” She moaned imagining your cock pumping in and out of her. “Oh fuck Y/N!”

‘Oh Natasha! Oh baby you feel amazing I’m gonna-‘

She moaned loudly as she came undone thinking of you as she twitched beneath her vibrator

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You slowly made a move to get out of bed when your wife clutched onto you.

“You’re not seriously working out after yesterday are you? Come baby it’s our first morning in our new home.” She snuggled into you.

“Quinn, I ate like a ton of food. Satan is right, I'm gonna get flabby.”

“She was joking with you. She still calls me tubbers.” She smiled, eyes still refusing to open.

“I’m wide awake, I'm going for a jog.” You say getting up hearing your wife sigh.

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Natasha sat with her mug of coffee and a book. She loved watching the sunrise. She heard your door shut looking over to see you stretching. Her activities from last night coming to her mind. She blushed, clenching her thighs together. All you did was walk out the house and she’s already wet for you. She whined at the uncomfortable throb between her legs as she watched you stretch. Your body was a temple and she wanted to worship it.

You waved with a sweet grin; nodding to her as you jogged by. She waved back, eyeing the way your cock outlined your shorts as you ran. She huffed at the pool between her legs going back inside to relieve herself. 

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She was in the middle of thinking of you while touching herself when you strolled into your room. Her breath hitched as you slowly took off your workout shirt that clung to your body. She licked her lips seeing your abs flex as you took off your socks and shorts. She bit her lip with a whimper as you took your briefs off. You were so big, even flaccid.

You looked in the mirror standing near the window as you flexed your arms and abs. “That’s it.” You smirked seeing your abs pop out a bit. “Keep it toight.” You barked.

“Stop looking at yourself and take a shower you stink!” Quinn laughed hearing you barking like a jock.

You took your shower forgetting your clothes, you stepped out a towel loosely hung on your hips.

Your wife came behind you taking the towel off.

“Hmm you smell good.” She hummed kissing your back.

“Hmm the better to lure you with my dear.” You smirked and quickly brought her up. Her legs automatically hook around you. 

“Beth and Finley will be here this afternoon.”

“So we have time.” You smiled leaning down to take her lips with yours. 

“Hmm Y/N.” She whimpered, letting you gain access to her neck. “Make love to me.” She whispered.

“Quinn.” You groaned feeling blood rush to your penis.

“Take your time with me.” She spoke softly, taking her shirt off. “Fuck me slowly.”

“Mmm..” You twitched as you felt her take your bottom lip in her mouth. You hummed laying her down on the bed before kissing down from her neck to the valley of her breasts. Her breathing became rapid. Your fingers worked her shorts down her legs along with her soaked panties.

“Ohhhh God that feels so good.” She moaned, feeling no warning before your tongue was tasting her.

Meanwhile just next door Natasha was once again watching you and your wife. She moaned, closing her eyes, picturing herself in Quinn’s shoes. 

She opened her eyes. She must have had them closed for a while cause now Quinn’s head was bobbing against you. 

You hissed pushing Quinn back on the bed letting your cock flop out of her mouth. You spread her legs meeting her in the middle of the bed. You gathered her wetness on your member before slowly inserting yourself.

“Oh Y/N!” Quinn moaned, bringing your neck down to kiss you. You were pumping in and out slowly. Every once in a while trying a different angle. 

“Quinn” You breathed out.

“What baby?” She husked.

“Get on top.” You grinned seeing her smirk.

You laid down as she got on top of you rubbing against your hardened member letting her juices lather on you before sinking down on your cock.

“You always fill me up so well.” She sighed before moving up and down on just the tip of you before going all the way down again.

“Shit Quinn.” You groaned watching her rhythm speed up. You sat up helping her motions.

“Fuck I’m gonna-” Quinn moaned loudly as you laid her down and began pumping in and out with more speed. Her mouth formed that familiar ‘O’ before she was shaking beneath you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck don’t stop!”

“That’s it, love let go.” You grunted as you pounded into her; her nails scratching down your back.

“Oh baby.” She moaned with a smile on her face. “Fuck that was good.”

“Oh I’m not done with you yet we still have a couple hours.” You smirked before rocking your hips. Your cock was still rock hard and her cunt was still throbbing for more. She moaned against your lips. 

Natasha sighed guilt washing over her after her euphoric orgasm ended. She wasn’t going to watch you anymore. She stood on shaky legs closing the curtains as you and Quinn began round two.

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[sabraeal]

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

[normal-thoughts-official]

The world keeps spinning (it really shouldn't)

Vance did it. He defeated Josephine, saved his grandpa and Elliot, and saved the town. Everything's fixed.

No. Everything is awful. He failed, and now his friend- now Tom is gone.

And he'd rather fight Josephine all over again, because it'd be easier than what he has to do now- tell Andy about it.

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Relationships: Andy Kang/Tom Sato, Danni Asturias/Imogen Wescott, (dannimogen is background and very brief but i couldn't resist), Andy Kang & Ava Cunningham & Lucas Thomas & Lily Ortiz

Additional Tags: tom dies and everything is awful, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Friendship, for basic context im going with the version of ILITW that i got, which is that everyone survived and noah took jane's place, and then for ILB i did the version where tom dies obviously, (which is not the version i got), (everyone survived), (i feel the need to say this for my own ego), but anyway i was like what if tho. andy would be devastated, and then... this happened?, only difference from canon is that ILITW MC told everyone about noah a lot before, also like. imma be real with yall, im physically uncapable of giving my MCs serious names, so ILB MC was named That Bitch and i didnt want to give him a real name, cuz it felt like betrayal, so im just calling him vance for this one, is it his nickname? is he called vance vance? dont worry about it, Anyway that's it, Pining, you know. before the death part. it's mentioned, also we're ignoring the whole richard tries to murder MC thing, cuz i dont have time for that, so pretend ILB ended on chapter 17, Hopeful Ending, considering the theme i mean

Read it on Ao3

The city of Westchester looks exactly the same, but somehow feels a lot less wholesome, now. Vance walks in it and feels like a corpse among the living, like a ghost screaming to everyone that something's wrong. And being ignored.

It shouldn't look the same, without Tom.

But no one knows, yet.

He swallows, running a hand behind the nape of his neck. That's why he's here, anyway - they should know, they deserve to know, and he doesn't want to have the funeral without Tom's friends there.

Which is why he's going to tell Andy. Himself, in person. Because he might not know him very well, but he wants to do the right thing, and that's the least Andy deserves. He knows there's no one Tom loved like he did Andy, and from what he's seen of them together, the feeling was mutual.

He has to do this. But he feels sick, just thinking about that bond, and how it was ruined.

How could he let this happen to them?

He was so cocky, so stupid, so reckless... He thought everything would turn out okay. Assumed it would, even, because it kept getting him through it, to think that everything would turn out fine.

God. What a joke.

He walks into the little diner Andy had recommended. I'm sure you've heard of that place, Tom loves it, he had texted. We always went there to celebrate our wins back in high school. His stomach had churned, but he didn't say anything, because he wasn't going to tell Andy via text. He has to do this right. It's the least he owes him.

So he pretended that everything was fine, and agreed to meet him there. Woke up, and dragged himself to the place, trying to muster up the courage to face the world that seemed to not even care about his mistakes.

When he gets to the diner's door, he takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself for what he's about to do. Face his own mistakes. Face the pain he caused when he failed them both.

He walks in, and to his relief, and despair, Andy is already there. He smiles brightly when he sees Vance, and Vance wants to disappear.

"Vance! Nice to see you, dude. I heard about what went down in Pine Springs, glad you're okay," he says, not giving time for Vance to answer before continuing, this weird sense of calm and sympathy about him. "So, I assume you still need help with that ghost? From what I've seen in the news, it seemed like you handled it pretty well, but it's not like they are giving us supernatural updates or anything, so I figured there were still some loose ends to tie. Are the other guys coming? Where's Tom?" he looks over behind Vance, and Vance wants to die at the question. God, how is he going to tell him? He didn't really think about that, beyond the part where he has to. "I kind of thought you'd come together again. Bad move to come separated, Tom is always late to everything, I swear if it weren't for me he'd have been kicked out of the team for missing practice too many times. And I'm not the most punctual guy in the world, mind you, but I still had to drag his ass there so he'd be on time- is everything okay?"

Vance is a little shocked by the question. It's not, but what is he supposed to answer? "Andy," he says, a little careful, "things… went a little wrong, back there."

"Oh, shoot," he says, "I'm sorry, man, I kinda assumed, when I heard about how the flooding and the animal attacks were in full swing and then just stopped suddenly, that that was when you got rid of the ghost, you know? And seeing you all in one piece… I thought it was over already. Do you need help? I can round up the guys, and we can go-"

"No, Andy," Vance says, "the ghost is gone."

Andy looks at him, confused. "Then what's the problem?"

"Tom," he says, then winces when he sees all the color drain from Andy's face.

Andy waits for barely a second, then breaks into anxious questioning. "Tom? Why? What do you mean? Is he hurt? How bad is it? Did he have to go to the hospital? Where is he?"

Vance wants to cry. God. God. He can't do this. "Andy..."

Andy just looks at him, eyes wild, terrified, and it hasn't even hit him yet. "Vance. Vance. Please. What happened? Does Tom need me? Because if so, we need to go-"

"Tom's gone," he says, and it leaves him in a rush, a whisper, taking with it the last of his energy. He's empty, and somehow, it's still awful. "He's… he's dead, Andy."

Andy looks at him, eyes wide, unfocused, lost. "This isn't funny," he says. "If Tom put you up to this, knock it off right now. Tell him not to ever joke about-"

"Andy," Vance says, then swallows. "Tom wouldn't joke about that. You know that."

"No, he wouldn't, but..." His eyes begin to water, panic settling in, gaze darting across the room as if searching for him, "But… No. No. No, knock it off."

Vance starts crying before Andy does. "I'm sorry, Andy."

--------

Andy is in shock. He freezes in place, mouth hanging open, everything about him completely still except for his eyes, still so damn wide, still searching the place, searching Vance, begging for something, anything. Vance sits him back down on the table, gently, and Andy lets himself be handled back, eyes still not settling on him.

"I'm sorry," Vance says. "I… I promised you that I would take care of him. I tried, but… I'm so sorry."

"How?" he asks, "how could this happen? This isn't… After Redfield, when everyone survived, I just… I didn't think any of us could lose to another monster, I..." He shakes his head, vigorously, desperately. "This was supposed to be over. We were done, we were free, it was supposed to be over, we were all supposed to be safe, it shouldn't..."

"I'm sorry. It all happened so fast, I… If I had been faster, maybe..."

"Well, it's a bit late for that now," Andy snaps, and Vance bites his lip, not recoiling, because he deserves it. Then Andy stops, as if realizing what he had said, and for a second, his eyes seem clear again. He shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry. I… If there's anything I've learnt from everything that happened, it's that we can't point fingers when things get hard." He finally looks up at Vance, shaking, eerily still, nothing like the guy he was just seconds ago. He's wrecked, Vance thinks, and he wants to tear at himself in guilt. "What happened? Did he- did he drown, or… Did the ghost..."

"We were fighting monsters," Vance explains. "There were just… So many of them, and it all happened so fast, I..." he looks away, not daring to look back at the memory, not daring to remember the awful scene. As if he has to. Everytime he closes his eyes, it's back, punishing him. "We got his body," he explains. "Pine Springs is taking the victims to mass graves, but we wanted to give him a proper burial. I thought… You'd want to come."

Andy seems surprised, like that hadn't crossed his mind. "You haven't buried him yet?"

Vance bites his lip. "No. We're doing it tonight. We didn't have the time before, and… Well, I thought you'd want to be there. And I think he'd have wanted his body to be in Westchester, so..." He trails off.

Andy looks at him, hesitant. He bites his lip, looks away, then back at him. "Can I see the body?"

Vance does recoil, this time. He wasn't expecting this question. "I… You won't want to."

"What do you mean, I won't want to? I need to say goodbye to him, I-"

"Andy," he says, as gently as possible, because he deserves Andy's anger, all of it, but he won't let him do that to himself. "You won't want to remember him like that. His body…" He looks at Andy's eyes. He's still furious, livid, shaking, and he's lost, and Vance realizes that he doesn't get it, doesn't understand what Vance is saying, and this might be even worse than having to tell him Tom is dead. "It's torn to pieces, Andy. There's not much for you to see."

Andy freezes, for the second time that day. "Was he- oh, god," he looks at his own shaky hands, somehow even more in shock than before. "Was it… At least, was it quick?"

Vance starts crying again. He opens his mouth to answer. He can't. He chokes on the words, on his guilt, on his uselessness. "I'm so sorry, Andy."

------

Andy throws up. Once, twice. He doesn't insist on looking at the body. Obviously, he can't. Just imagining it- it's too much.

He tries to comfort Vance, because he- he's trying to do better, with his anger, with his impulsiveness, but all he can think about is how much he wants to destroy something, and honestly, the whole conversation is a blur. He punches the wall instead, once he gets home. And throws up. Again and again. Sends his friends a message, letting them know about the funeral. Cries. Punches the wall again. And again, and again, hoping that his hands will start to bleed, that he'll tear himself apart. His mom asks what's got him so angry, and he yells, "Tom is dead!". Her face twists in shock, and he can't look at it. He runs away.

Being back outside is almost worse. Everything- it should be in shambles. The whole town, the whole world should be on fire, fizzling, filled with screams and despair, like Andy is. He's never lived in a world without Tom before, never been away from him his whole life, and it shouldn't look like it's just the same. Everything should be gone, destroyed. And it is, but it doesn't look that way, and Andy wants to tear it all apart until it makes sense, at least.

He hates Westchester now. He hates it. God damn the stupid woods, and the stupid cult, and the fucking Power! God damn Andy for telling Tom about it, for letting him become this sort of- monster hunter, for believing that just because they overcame a ghost once, it would keep happening if they pushed their luck.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Tom can't be dead. It's impossible.

How can Andy still be standing, if Tom isn't here?

---------

He wanders like that the rest of the day, not noticing the hunger that builds up after going a whole day without eating, not noticing the passersby looking at him worriedly, not noticing the thousands of missed calls from his mom, not noticing anything but this awful despair. He knows the feeling of wanting to claw his chest off intimately well, but it's never been like that before. He wants to carve himself hollow. He wants to scream. He wants to run. And he runs from the all-encompassing nothingness, even though he has nowhere to go.

He goes from angry to empty, and then back to angry, all day long, and the day passes in a blur.

--------

Andy meets up with Vance and two girls from their crew. Their group was pretty small, he realizes. A lot smaller than Andy's was, all those years ago. Three years ago. Forever ago. Another lifetime. Just yesterday.

The cemetery is empty, but there's a grave with a black casket they're standing next to. "I thought all the cemetery crew was helping Pine Springs," he says, like he cares. Honestly, he hadn't thought about the logistics of this at all.

"They are," Vance confirms, serious. "You, uh… You know about Noah, right…?"

Andy nods. "Yeah, we, uh, reintroduced ourselves to him a little after you guys left." It was weird, to say the least. All that anger, all that betrayal, bubbling up again right when they had all started to move on from what had happened, to think that it was over… The urge to scream at him, demand answers… And then seeing all the hurt, and the confusion, and remembering that they had loved Noah, once, most of their lives, and that at the end of the day, the only one who had suffered from his actions was himself.

It wasn't easy to forgive. Not to Andy. Or Stacy. Or Ava. But they had been working on it. Maybe they couldn't forgive, much less forget, but at the same time, they couldn't get rid of that bond, either.

Still… "What does this have to do with… With Tom?" If Noah had anything to do with his death, Andy would kill him all over again. He doesn't care about his freaky powers, he'll die if he has to, but Noah will pay.

"He, uh, helped. Dig the grave and, uh, get a casket. That's how we got everything ready."

Oh. "I… I see," he says. "Is he here?"

"No. I told him you guys were coming, and he said it was better if he left."

"Oh," Andy answers. "I guess that's… Yeah. Still..." he raises his voice a little bit, in the direction of the woods. "Thank you, Noah."

He doesn't see or hear anything, not really, but still, somehow, he can tell that Noah is pleased. He can picture Noah's smile and that fragile little "friendsss..."

He sighs, suddenly exhausted.

Vance seems to notice, god bless his soul. "Are the others coming?", he asks, gently.

"Lily, Lucas, and Ava are," Andy replies. "The rest were out of town, and they… They won't make it."

"I'm sorry."

Andy kicks a pebble. "It's fine," he says. It's the kind of lie that's so absurd that it becomes true. Nothing is fine. It'll never be fine. So it doesn't matter at all, and it ends up being fine.

Vance seems to realize what's going through his head, somehow, because he looks unsure of what to say. Finally, he settles on, "uh, Andy. These are Danni, and Imogen," he says, gesturing to each of them, and Andy musters up enough energy to look at their faces while he does that, at least. Then, his eyes widen for a second, finally taking in what they look like.

"Wait, you're Imogen Wescott?" he says, a little dumbfounded. "When I heard that name, I kinda expected you to be, you know..."

"White and insufferable?" Imogen asks, a little smile directed at him, so gentle he can barely handle it. "Yeah. That's why I'd rather go by Genny, usually."

Danni frowns at her, slightly troubled. "You never told me that."

Imogen's smile turns a little brighter. "Oh, no, not for you, Danni. For you, I'd rather go by 'babe'".

Danni also smiles at her, and they squeeze each other's hands, and the edges of grief seem to turn just a little softer for them both. Andy can tell that things get just a little easier for them, just a little less grim, because they have each other. And he needs to look away, wants to run, because he and Tom… They could've… In a way, they were...

He feels like he's ready to run again. God, he fucked up so bad. What was he supposed to do now, how could he get better when the one thing in the world that always made him feel better was Tom? He lost him, he's gone, it's over, and somehow it hadn't hit quite the way it did at that moment, looking at that connection, that love that showed through grief. He averts his eyes, feeling wild and cornered, and turns back right in time to almost run into Lily - who looks devastated, and reaches out to touch his arm. Which feels crazy, because Andy is raw, and his whole body is bleeding, and rotting away, and who would touch him-

"I'm so sorry, Andy." She says, and Andy finds himself hugging her tight, and he feels like she should wither, die at his touch, suffocate, but she just hugs him back and pats him and Andy cries on her shoulder, and he's never cried in front of her before, much less like this. But he can't stop, he can't do anything, he's so heavy and dizzy and lost-

And Lily is stronger than they give her credit for, because she holds him, this endless weight that is him, even when he shakes and stains her sweater with tears, like it's nothing. She feels so solid, right then, the only solid thing in the world. She's got him, Andy knows, and it's like finally he ran into something he can take shelter in. He takes a deep breath, then another, and holds on for dear life.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing he says, maybe the only thing he knows how to say right now. Maybe this is how Jane felt, in the end - this endless spectre of regret, bigger than everything, than everyone, encompassing her and drowning her until it ate her whole and left her empty, with only the Power and its evil inside her.

He's so tired, but he's not empty, not yet.

He almost wants to be.

"Don't apologize," Lily says, so sad and sympathetic, and it takes Andy a moment to realize what she's even talking about. "I'm really sorry, I..."

It's only then that Andy's eyes focus enough to see Ava and Lucas standing a little after her, their faces twisted with sadness and bodies frozen in place. At times like this, it really is obvious that Lily is the bravest out of all of them, by far. Andy doesn't think he's ever cried in front of any of them, and Lucas and Ava look- completely lost.

Lucas is the first to talk, out of them both. His voice is very soft. "Andy, if there's anything you need..."

Ava interrupts, words leaving her way too fast. "We'll be staying with you tonight." She blinks for a second, frowning at Lucas. "Sorry, I, uh, hadn't realized you were talking." She looks like she just came out of a daze. She probably had been running that in her head for a while. Lucas puts his hand on her shoulder, and Ava runs a head on her neck, embarrassed.

"It's okay," Andy answers, even though her apology wasn't directed at him. "You don't have to, you know, watch over me or..." He trails off.

"We're not leaving you alone," Ava says, resolute. "You know the others couldn't come, but we all agreed that we should be… You know..."

Andy chokes on something he can't quite feel. He looks down at his feet, and he hasn't felt this small in years. "I… Okay."

Ava reaches out to him, hesitant, and gives him a little pat on the shoulder. Lucas starts rubbing his back soothingly, and, very awkwardly, they gravitate into a group hug. Andy can see the nervousness in Ava's eyes, the worry that she's doing this wrong somehow, like a hug is the most complex thing in the world, and he tries to muster up a little smile of encouragement to her, but he's forgotten how to do that. He doesn't know how to do anything, anymore.

Slowly, they separate, and all three of them still keep some sort of touch with Andy - even Ava, with her hand close to his shoulder - like they're trying to anchor him, but he drifts away anyway, lost in whatever it is that's left of himself.

Vance looks down at him for a moment, as if waiting for a signal, but Andy doesn't know for what, so he waits for Vance to figure it out. Finally, he says, "should we start?"

Andy frowns. "Wasn't there some other guy with you? Pork something?"

Vance, Imogen, and Danni all look at each other, uncertain, surprised, for a moment. It's Imogen who speaks up. "He… He left us."

Ava swallows. "Did he also..."

"No," she says, shaking her head, sadly. "He, uh, deserted the group."

"He what?" Someone asks, shocked, almost outraged, and when Andy sees the looks in everyone's faces, he realizes that it was him.

"He couldn't take it," Vance says, face twisted with sadness. "All the fighting, the monsters… He left."

Andy is shaking. Falling apart. About to explode. "When?"

Vance doesn't look at him. "Right before the final battle."

"He abandoned you when you were going up against the evil ghost?"

"He..." Vance begins, then finds that he has nothing else to say. "Yeah."

"How…" Andy begins, lost for words, and then it happens. He explodes. "How dare he!" He screams. "Tom was counting on him, he trusted him, he needed him, and he just left? He should have been there! He should have been there, he should," Andy looks at his own hands, in shock, watching them tremble and go out of focus, like there are tears blocking his vision, and he feels sick, on the verge of death, and he realizes that he's not talking about that guy at all. "He should have been there!" He slips from his own control, falling to his knees, covering his face, feeling shame, shame, shame, hatred, disgust. "He should… I should… Oh God, I just let him go alone..."

"Andy..." Someone says. Maybe Lucas. Maybe Lily. Maybe the Imogen girl. It sounds so sympathetic. He wants to claw at his own skin and hide.

"I should have been there, I shouldn't… I had experience, what was I thinking..."

"Tom didn't want you to go," someone else says, gently. "I was there when you talked, remember? You didn't abandon him. You said you were going to come, and he told you not to."

"Tom.. Tom is not my damn boss," Andy answers, still covering his face, feeling the tears stop spilling and start to drown him from the inside, and god damn T, the least Tom deserves is for him to be able to cry properly- "I-I should have… gone," he chokes, shaking.

The next one who speaks is Ava. "He wouldn't have wanted you to be at risk, Andy."

"I don't care. I don't care. I'm selfish like that, I'd rather it was me. I could have helped him, I could have saved him, even if I had to- to take his place..."

"Andy..." is all Ava says, sounding shaken, devastated.

"Fuck!" He screams, punching the ground beneath him as if trying to punish the earth for taking Tom. "He would have never left me like that, I could always count on Tom, I could always..." he feels his chest constrict, or maybe burst, with all the tears and horror inside of him, like he's cracking from the inside. "Always..." he can't form the words, can't find the air, and he falls in on himself, more, more, more, closing in, suffocating, "always..." he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He tries to draw it in, to keep himself steady, but every time he tries to bring it in, the air escapes from him again, further, abandoning him, and he wheezes, again, again, closing in further, suffocating, oh God, he's going to die…

"It's a panic attack!" Someone screams, then kneels beside him, putting their hands on his shoulders. "Andy. Andy. Focus on me. You need to breathe. Deep lungfuls. Come on. I'll count to four. Keep breathing in. 1… 2..."

"Can't," he wheezes. It's too strong, like there's something… Something constricting his chest, inside and outside, and then he realizes… "Binder." He sits down straighter, no longer closing in on himself, and that awful vulnerability gets even worse, but it's easier to breathe. He follows the person's counts… 1, 2, 3, 4… Then up to five, then to six, then to seven, then eight… Until finally he doesn't need help, and he opens his eyes and contemplates the absolute mess that he is, and Imogen's kind, relieved face just inches from him.

"Good, Andy, you did well… I have these sometimes, too, I know how scary they are, you were so brave..." Imogen keeps on saying, painfully understanding, and he nods, a bit exhausted to explain. He didn't take his binder off all day, didn't remember… And if he wears it for too long, he's more prone to hyperventilating, especially if he's stressed. Tom knew that. Tom would have known what was going on. Tom… Fuck.

"I'm sorry," he says, to everyone, and no one in particular.

"Don't apologize. We're all glad you're okay," Lily says, and he realizes that, somehow, she had also kneeled beside him and brought him into another hug. He hides his face on her shoulder, shaking his head, trying to breathe. Breathing. She pets his head, a little bit, and he can feel some more touch, too - little pats on his shoulder and back, all gentle, not crowding him, like he's some sort of wild animal they're trying to calm down.

God, what a mess.

He holds Lily tighter, wanting to hide from the world. She lets him, because it's the kind of person Lily is. He feels himself drift away, for a while, but Lily's still petting his head and he can't lose himself completely. He shakes his head, wanting to fight it, almost wanting to get away from Lily, but he can't escape the gentleness in her embrace. He still can't cry, but he feels his eyes water and burn anyway, and he shakes his head against Lily's shoulder. He just wants this to be over. Please, he's so exhausted.

His breaths even, despite himself, but Andy keeps shaking, and he keeps shaking his head slightly against Lily. He wants this to end, it has- has to be a nightmare…

"Shh, Andy, don't hold it in, it's okay," Lily says, slowly, sadly, and Andy shakes his head more vigorously. No. He can't be weak right now, it's only going to make it last longer. He needs to end it, can't be done with this until Tom has gotten his goodbyes.

It's the least Andy owes him, now that there's nothing else he can do.

So, he speaks up.

"We should go on," he says, suddenly feeling resolute. It's easier to do this if he has something to focus on. He needs to see this through the end, for Tom. If he thinks only about that...

"Are you sure?" Vance asks, hesitant.

Andy nods, forcing his vision to focus. "He needs to rest."

----------

Everyone's speeches go by in a blur. Vance talks about how good Tom's heart was, how he was willing to drop everything to go help a bunch of strangers, how everyone could always count on him. He cries, and he says he's sorry, and the girls put their arms around him, tell him that he did his best. Imogen brings up how kind he was, and Danni talks about his strength. They really loved him, Andy notices, and feels his heart settle just a little bit. He was loved till the end. Of course he was.

Lucas talks about how supportive Tom was, how he was always uplifting everyone around him and would let Lucas babble on about conservation for hours. Lily brings up how much he believed in her and supported her when she was making her videogames. Ava says that Tom was the only one who ever saw her looking up Westchester's history and cults and just… Sat down with her and helped, understanding that she needed this to feel safe, to feel ready, and sharing that burden of getting ready for a disgrace, just a little bit. Andy never knew that Tom had been joining Ava for research. He could've helped with that, too. He could have done a lot of things, if he had paid more attention.

He's left for last, and a part of him wants to be a coward, to stay silent, but that was never his style.

"When Tom had turned into a zombie," he begins, "Redfi- Jane made him hurt me. And I wasn't worried for myself. I was worried for him. I wanted him back, no matter what it took, no matter what happened to me," he begins, not looking at anyone in particular, because he knows most of them already know this story, but he's not going to- he's not going to deny Tom the chance to know how he felt about him, before he rests. It's the least Andy owes him.

So, he takes a deep breath and goes on, pushing himself into saying something that matters.

"Then our friends showed up, and they said that Tom was still there. That I had to reach out to him. So I tried. I talked to him about our childhood. About how much he had been supporting me… How he was my best friend. He was hesitant, but so… Scared. I didn't know what to do. Tom and I always got each other..." He loses himself a little, shaking his head, purging the thoughts that were keeping him from going on, "And then someone said, 'Andy's hurt. H-he needs help'." He loses focus for a second, and that can't happen. He takes a breath, tries to make himself talk. "And just like that… Tom came back.

"He extended his hand to me, and helped me to my feet, and suddenly there was color in his face again, and for a second he wasn't even confused as to what the hell was going on, he just wanted to make sure I was okay. He came back because I needed him. Because he couldn't bear to hurt me. He was always there for me, and I… I don't think I ever needed him more than right now."

He stops a minute, to look at the faces surrounding him. There's a grief in them that looks almost like… Pity.

And Andy isn't even mad about it. He feels pitiful.

"I'm not the best guy with words," he admits, "so I don't know how to express how much this meant to me, or how much Tom meant to me. No one understood me like him. Tom is… Was… No, is a part of me. Maybe the best part of me, because I loved him more than anything else about myself. I'll miss him for the rest of my life." He looks down at Tom's grave, carved out of anything else to say. "I love you, buddy."

It's not the greatest speech that's ever been given, but it's what he can say, and at least he's done it. He'll be able to do better, later. He'll come back to talk to him again. As many times as he can, for as long as he can. He swears on that.

Andy steps back from the grave, and doesn't look as they slowly fill it, covering the closed casket with dirt. He finally allows himself to let the exhaustion catch up with him, and is overcome by that blissful, blissful emptiness.

---------

He's fully expecting himself to drop asleep as soon as they get to Ava's place. They decided to stay there for the night, because Andy still doesn't want to face his mom, to see that same grief in her, for her to want to talk to him, to tell him that everything would be fine. He can't do that, not today. At least Lucas had enough foresight to warn her of where they are, so she should leave him alone for now. Lucas is very reliable in a crisis, Andy thinks, making a note to himself to thank him properly later.

But he can't sleep. He's too exhausted to even rest. And for some reason, even though he doesn't want to talk, that's exactly what he found himself doing for the past few hours. Vomiting up all sorts of memories and thoughts, ranging from funny moments he had with Tom to all of his regrets, and Andy's always been kind of a stress-talker, but it's never been like this. He feels like he's been skinned alive; there's nothing to hold himself together, to hold anything at all in.

He cries all the tears he didn't think he had left in him anymore, and he curses himself, and the guy who left them in the end, and Noah, and the Power, and the cult, and himself again. He scratches his own skin until Lucas gently takes his hands in his, stopping him from doing more of it. And he talks, through all of that. Talks and talks and talks.

The words make him drift through memories, through states of mind, and he knows he's so damn volatile today, it's like he can't anchor himself to a feeling, but his friends put up with him anyway.

Finally, he starts to settle into this sort of… Slowness, like his mind is clear, or maybe blank, even as he keeps on thinking. And he keeps talking through it, letting all the minor regrets have their turn after he's too damn done to keep dealing with the worst parts.

"I never told him I was in love with him," Andy says, staring at the three empty mattresses in front of him, because it's easier than looking at any of his friends, who are currently sitting right beside him, as he babbles on. "I was going to, you know? After R- Jane. I had almost died, so I figured, you know- yolo, and all that. And then I told myself, 'I'll wait until I'm out of the hospital.' And then I started to think… What if he didn't feel the same way? What if things got weird? What if I end up losing him? And I never told him," he looks at his own feet, "and now I lost him anyway."

They all just look at him. They used up all the "I'm sorry, Andy"s left in them a long time ago, he thinks. There's only so many platitudes you can muster up when you know they're worthless, when you're just repeating yourself.

God bless them for trying, though. They're sticking with him through their own- everyone's inadequacy to deal with what's going on. Andy can't thank them enough for that.

"He knew you loved him," Ava says, serious, and Andy frowns at her, doubtful. "He might not have known you were in love with him, but… He knew how much he meant to you. I'm sure of it."

Andy laughs, humorless, "did you finally get those mind reading powers you wanted?" he says. It falls flat, but they pretend it doesn't, for his sake.

Ava rolls her eyes. "Don't be an ass, Kang," she says. "No. I just… I can tell. Anyone can."

Andy bites his lip, looking away.

She presses on, as gently as she can. "Besides, you also know, don't you? Regardless of anything else… Tom loved you, just as much as you loved him."

"I still love him," Andy says, before he can think about it, and a weird kind of shame creeps up on him - for saying it, for not saying it sooner, for realizing that this… It'll probably never go away, even now that it's completely pointless, that it's just proof of his cowardice.

"That's… Normal," Lily says, fiddling a little with her sweater. "You don't forget someone just like that, just because something happened. I mean, look at me and Britney. It took me years to get over her, and even then, I had to have supernatural forces show me exactly who she was, first."

"She didn't deserve you," Ava says.

"Maybe not. It doesn't matter now," Lily says. "The point is… It's okay to still love him."

Andy hugs his knees. "I don't think anything is okay, right now."

"That's okay, too."

They stay in silence for a moment, and then Lucas speaks up. "I know 'it gets better' stories don't really help at times like these," he says, "so I won't tell you that, but… I know what it's like, to feel like nothing will ever be okay, ever be enough. So… At least you're not alone, in that feeling."

Andy's mouth does something. It's not a smile, but it's what it can do right now. "Yeah. At least it's not like last time," he says. "With Jane. We all fell apart, and… It felt really lonely, even though..." He chokes up. "I had Tom."

Lucas rubs at Andy's shoulder sadly, and Andy shakes his head.

"It's just that he didn't get it, you know? And I couldn't tell him, about what happened," he says, instead of thinking about how much worse this is, no matter how many friends he has by his side right now. "So I… Missed you guys." He finishes, ashamed.

"We get it," Ava says, solemn. "And we're sticking with you, this time around."

"Yeah," Lucas agrees.

"Yeah," Lily adds.

"Okay," Andy answers. "I… Thanks."

They hug him tighter. It's all they have to say.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 2

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier

Feliciano walked to the market every afternoon. It was his favourite time of the day. His Grandpa always told him to walk straight, look at the ground, don't dawdle, speak to no one, hurry back. But Feliciano enjoyed his afternoon walk. He loved to walk through the fields and pick flowers. He loved to chat with the villagers and give the flowers to pretty girls. He loved to run down the dusty country roads, racing the local children. And when the day was done he loved nothing more than to sit under his favourite oak tree, a few fields over from his house, and just watch the clouds float past in the orange sky. It was as he was nearing the tree, basket in hand and headed to the market, that he noticed the outline of a German soldier walking slowly in the distance. His stomach twisted in knots and he held tight to his white flag, but as he approached closer he recognised the soldier as the one who had helped him in the street the day before. His stomach suddenly twisted for an entirely different reason.

"Buon pomeriggio, German!"

The German looked over at Feliciano and raised his eyebrows. He tilted his head slightly in recognition. "Buon pomeriggio, Italian."

Feliciano felt a little jump in his chest. He knew he should not be greeting German soldiers, but he couldn't help but feel that this German was a kind man. He must be - Feliciano did not feel afraid of him like he did all the others. "What brings you to this beautiful part of Italy? Well, not the country as a whole, I know what brings you here. So I suppose I mean, what brings you to this field? I've never seen a German soldier so far outside of town before."

The German took a moment to respond. "I had the sudden urge to take a walk."

Feliciano nodded in understanding. "That happens to me too sometimes. Did you eat too much pasta?"

The German blinked a few times and furrowed his brow. "No."

"See, I usually go for a walk after a really big meal. Then I fall asleep under this big oak tree here. And then Lovino wakes me up and gets mad at me. Lovino is my big brother. Do you have a big brother?"

The German looked like he was having trouble following the conversation, though Feliciano couldn't see why - he seemed to speak English perfectly. "Yes, I do."

"What is your big brother's name?"

"Gilbert."

"What is your name?"

"Ludwig. I mean, Lieutenant Beilschmidt."

"Pleased to meet you Ludwig, my name is Feliciano. Feliciano Vargas. Thank you again for stopping that angry man from hitting me yesterday. I'm going to the market to see if there are tomatoes for sale, would you like to walk with me?"

"…Yes," said Ludwig slowly, although he didn't look like he was sure. "I am just heading back that way now." Feliciano felt a happy warmth settle in his stomach as Ludwig fell into step beside him and they walked slowly together through the field. Feliciano had to stifle a laugh in thinking about what Grandpa Roma and Lovino would have to say about this… walking to the village with a German soldier! They walked in silence for a few moments as Feliciano took the time to study the German properly. Ludwig's grey uniform was slightly different to the ones Feliciano was used to seeing, but he recognised it immediately as an officer's. His eyes strayed to the line of decorations on Ludwig's chest, then further, and he could not help noticing that the muscles in Ludwig's arms bulged against the fabric. Feliciano bit his lip and he had to tell himself to look away, feeling a little confused. He quickly shook the feeling away. He breathed the fresh air deeply and swung his empty basket happily, surprised at how comfortable it felt just walking beside this German. He already felt disappointed that once they reached the village he would probably never see Ludwig again. But that was only to be expected.

Ludwig did not seem the talkative type, but Feliciano didn't mind carrying the conversation. He was enjoying the chance to speak in English. "Oh look! The lavender is still blooming! That means it's going to be a short winter, do you know, which is good, because winter is cold and I don't like the cold, or the snow, or the rain really, unless it just happens sometimes and I am inside by the fire. What is the winter like in Germany? Does it rain a lot? I hear that in England, it rains nearly all year 'round. Can you imagine! You would never be able to go outside! I think I would be so bored, don't you? Ludwig, what is the German word for rain?" Feliciano looked up to find Ludwig staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Feliciano smiled and Ludwig quickly looked down at his feet.

"It is Regen." When Ludwig spoke his voice was deep and accented.

"Regen," repeated Feliciano. The word felt strong in his mouth. "In Italian it is pioggia. Do you know, I would like to learn German one day." Something clicked in his mind and his chest flipped. He'd just stumbled on the perfect way to see Ludwig again. "Oh, Ludwig, I have a brilliant idea! You can teach me German and I will teach you Italian! What do you think of that?"

"I…" Ludwig looked at a loss again. Feliciano got the sense that he was not used to the feeling. "I do not even know you."

"Of course you do, we're talking, aren't we? Doesn't that make us friends?"

"Friends…" Ludwig seemed to trip over the word. He shook his head. "You are a very strange man. Why do you suddenly think we are friends? I am a stranger in your country."

Feliciano laughed. "Stranger? You're not a stranger, Ludwig, we've met now! And you seem like a very nice person, after all, you did help me when you didn't have to and you're going to teach me German and you have kind eyes. Are you stationed nearby?"

Ludwig was slow to answer. "Yes, but I can not tell you where."

Feliciano smiled. He'd expected as much. Ludwig was obviously not stupid enough to give away such information to someone he had just met. "That is fine. You can't be too far away though, and that means we can see each other every day, yes? And you can teach me German, and I can teach you Italian, and I am sure that we will become very good friends. You can find me by the big oak tree most days. If I'm asleep, though, make sure you wake me slowly, because I can get very cranky when I'm woken up, but that doesn't stop Lovino from doing it all the time. Big brothers can be very annoying, can't they."

Ludwig made a noise which was almost a laugh. "Yes, I agree with you about that," he said as they walked out of the field and onto the dirt road which led to the village.

Feliciano clutched his basket, feeling deliriously happy with every small thing he learnt about Ludwig. Feliciano was practically an expert at acquiring information before the informant even realised they had given it. He sometimes used the skill for the cause of the Resistance; but it was much nicer to find things out just because he was interested. "Is your brother a soldier like you?"

Ludwig spoke concisely and firmly. "My brother is at the Russian front, and he is a soldier. I, however, am not."

Feliciano looked up at Ludwig quizzically. "Not a soldier?"

"No," said Ludwig, his lips turning up slightly, "I am a pilot."

Feliciano's eyes widened. "A pilot? I've never met a pilot before. Do you deliver supplies, that sort of thing?"

"No. I am a fighter pilot."

Feliciano tried not to make an embarrassing noise of excitement. A fighter pilot… it sounded like something out of an adventure novel. Something completely different to everything he knew. Something new. "That's amazing! Is it difficult? Is it scary? Do you have to wear those funny hats? Have you fought against the English?" Feliciano immediately regretted the last question.

Ludwig took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, still staring straight ahead. "To me, it is not difficult. It is not scary. We wear the required headgear. And yes, I fight the English. Every day."

"Every day?" It seemed inconceivable.

"Of course. After our failure in the Luftschlacht um England…" Ludwig did not finish the sentence. "I just wish to do the best I can for my country."

Feliciano quickly realised he did not want to stay on this subject. He immediately changed it. As they continued walking and talking, Feliciano was surprised by just how much they actually had in common. Ludwig also had an older brother and had been raised by their grandfather, who had taught him English as a child. He liked animals as well, but he preferred dogs while Feliciano had always loved cats. He was also from a small village and loved the countryside. Feliciano discovered that they both loved soccer and Ludwig had even played it at near national level before the war. And when he didn't think Feliciano was looking Ludwig would almost smile and Feliciano could feel his heart skip a beat. In all the afternoons of all the years that Feliciano had spent walking to the market, this was the best.

They walked slowly but eventually they reached the village and headed down its narrow paved streets towards the market. Stone and wooden buildings closed in on all sides, throwing shadows onto the cobblestones. After a few moments of silence Feliciano looked over at Ludwig to find that he was studying him intently. He felt himself turn red. "What is it?"

"How old are you?" asked Ludwig curiously.

"Nineteen, why?"

"Are you healthy?"

Feliciano paused for a moment. What a strange question. "I think so. The other day I got a splinter in my finger while I was helping Grandpa with the firewood and Lovino got it out with a needle and then he said that sometimes people get sick and die from tiny things like splinters but I feel fine so far… have you ever heard of anyone dying from a splinter?"

"Er…"

"Oh, and I had a fever last summer - it didn't last long though, but other than that yes I am quite healthy thank you." Feliciano waited for Ludwig to continue, but he didn't. He searched for the polite thing to say. "And you… are you healthy?" It was a strange topic of conversation, but who knew what they talked about in Germany.

"What? Yes, I…" Ludwig paused, then shook his head briskly. "Nein! What I mean is… if you are of the right age and healthy, why aren't you in the army?"

"Oh." Feliciano shrugged. "I don't want to fight."

"But your country is at war!" Ludwig's voice was louder and firmer than Feliciano had yet heard it, but he just shrugged again.

"Their war, not mine. I don't want to hurt anybody. What did the English ever do to me? English people seem really nice. They wear suits and drink tea and know lots about poetry. I don't want to kill people like that. We shouldn't kill people who know lots about poetry."

"It is the duty of all young men to fight for their country in wartime." Ludwig said it like he was reciting a script.

"Is that why you do it? Because it is your duty?" Feliciano was genuinely curious.

At this Ludwig paused. He took a few deep breaths, like he was thinking. He finally replied, "I love my country."

"What if your country is fighting for the wrong reasons. Did you ever think of that?"

A spasm of pain seemed to pass over Ludwig's face. He blinked it away. "It is not my place to question what my country fights for."

"Yes it is."

Ludwig looked stunned. By now they had reached the market, emerging from the narrow overshadowed streets into the wide open town square. The villagers drew away from them with suspicious and worried looks at the German officer. Feliciano ignored them and headed straight for the stalls where he could see rows of bright vegetables.

"Oh look Ludwig, they have tomatoes after all… Lovino will be so happy!"

When the stall owner glared at them, somehow looking both angry and terrified, Ludwig discreetly touched Feliciano's elbow and said softly, "I will take my leave now."

"Oh," said Feliciano, feeling disappointed. "All right then. But, you will meet me tomorrow afternoon by the oak tree, won't you? For our language lesson?"

"Yes." Feliciano was surprised by how fast Ludwig responded. "Yes, I will."

"Oh good! Ciao!" Feliciano immediately reached out to stop Ludwig as he turned to leave. "Wait, Ludwig, how do you say 'goodbye' in German?"

Ludwig paused, turned, and looked down at Feliciano. "Auf wiedersehen, Feliciano." Then he strode off through the surrounding crowd, who parted nervously as he passed. Feliciano waved a goodbye before turning back to the stall owner. The man regarded him suspiciously, though Feliciano was fairly sure he couldn't have understood their words in English.

"What are you doing chatting with a German, kid?"

Feliciano shrugged. "Nothing."

The stall owner's eyes widened in recognition when he saw Feliciano's face and he nodded, laughing loudly. "Ah, you're Roma's grandson, aren't you? Of course! What are you planning with that one?" He nodded after Ludwig.

Unfamiliar anger and annoyance filled Feliciano's gut, but he just smiled. "Ssh, quietly."

"Oh yes, yes, top secret and all that, I understand. Here, was it tomatoes you were after? There aren't many, I'm afraid."

After acquiring the tomatoes, some more flour, and even a few oranges, Feliciano left the market, but instead of heading out of the village he took a turn into a narrow side street. The entrance to the lane was barely noticeable from the outside. He headed down the cobblestones until he reached a wooden, battered door, one with a crooked sign hanging overhead that read 'Cantina Verde'.

Walking through the door, it could have been any cantina in Italy. Tables and chairs sat in a common arrangement, a bar ran the length of the back wall, and a few waiters wandered through the room. Feliciano bounced happily through the room and waved at the staff. They barely acknowledged him, something he was used to by now. Secrecy was the order of the day here. Through the back door, behind the kitchen, was another room, one which held some of the most secretive and dangerous meetings in the country. The resistance often gathered in this cantina to discuss matters and plan attacks. And there was a meeting today. The room looked up as Feliciano pushed through the back door. He smiled and again waved happily, but the partisans in attendance were as unresponsive as the waiters out front. Feliciano shrugged to himself and walked into the room. It was just as large as the front area, covered with tables and chairs and looking like a simple function area. There was no evidence to suggest the real purpose of the place.

Grandpa Roma stood at a central table and spoke evenly but emphatically to the assembled crowd. "The military presence in the village is increasing and we need to be extra vigilant. I know you have all been careful but at this time more than ever…" Feliciano quickly lost interest, barely hearing the words go over his head. It was a small gathering today, much smaller than the crowd who had gathered for the celebration the night before. The atmosphere could not be more different, everyone on edge and paying complete attention to Roma's every word. Lovino sat on a table, clutching a pistol between his hands and nodding at everything Grandpa Roma said. Feliciano rolled his eyes and wondered if the pistol was even loaded. Lovino really did get carried away sometimes.

Feliciano stood watching Roma for a few minutes more, trying to listen but unable to regain concentration. It all sounded the same to him by now. So he walked to the back of the room and turned on the small wireless radio that sat at the back table. Lovino turned and looked over at him disapprovingly, but when Feliciano raised the basket of tomatoes for him to see his mouth twitched in a tiny smile. Roma glanced over and also smiled at him, so Feliciano took it as approval to sit listening to the radio. He tuned it until he found music and leant against the wall, humming the tunes he recognised. He hoped he would not have too long to wait until Grandpa Roma and Lovino were ready to go home. Eventually a song came through the speakers, an English one that Feliciano had heard a few times but never really listened to. But this time the first word caught his attention and he listened intently.

Auf wiedersehen, auf wiedersehen...

Feliciano smiled. It really was a lovely tune, and he wasn't sure whether it made him happy or sad. Either way, it reminded him of Ludwig. Ludwig, who was so big and looked so imposing, but seemed somehow unsure and even shy. Ludwig who flew planes and played soccer and had three dogs and a brother he worried about. Ludwig who Feliciano had just met yet felt like he had known forever. Ludwig who was part of the German military occupying Italy and part of everything that Feliciano was supposed to hate and fight against. Feliciano looked over to where Grandpa Roma was leaning over a table, outlining a map of the surrounding countryside and speaking forcefully as the partisans looked on. Feliciano sighed to himself, and wondered why his eyesight was suddenly blurred.

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[elara-moon]

Title: Happy Together (chapter five: BingQiu Week Day Five)

Author: Elara_Moon

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Summary: Hogwarts AU (AKA 2.6k words and seven years of Luo Binghe being absolutely smitten)

AO3 Link

When Luo Binghe was eleven, during his first year at Hogwarts, he met Shen Yuan for the first time. Later, he would look back and call it love at first sight. Shen Yuan would call it ‘an undying puppy crush’.

Luo Binghe was a Slytherin, and he and the other first year Slytherins were very, very lost. The castle was massive and full of confusing, intricate halls and pathways, and the group of eleven year olds had made the mistake of letting Ming Fan navigate. Not that Luo Binghe would blame him to his face… but it was definitely Ming Fan’s fault.

They were supposed to be in the dungeons, since that was where the Slytherin common room was. By Luo Binghe’s estimate, they were instead in one of the towers. There were many towers in the castle, however, so that knowledge didn’t help much.

“Hey! You!”

Luo Binghe turned at the voice. The speaker was an older-year student, though Luo Binghe wasn’t sure of what year, and he was wearing a scarf colored in Gryffindor red and gold. He narrowed dark eyes at them.

“You’re the Slytherin first years, right?” he said suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“U-uh, we’re lost,” Ming Fan said. “...Where are we?”

The Gryffindor didn’t look impressed. “You’re outside the Gryffindor dorms,” he said. “Across the castle from the Slytherin dorms.”

As Luo Binghe thought, they were very lost.

Another boy stepped up from behind the unhappy Gryffindor. This one seemed to be about the same age, but he was wearing a Ravenclaw blue and bronze scarf. His bookbag was all but overflowing, the top book peeking out enough that Luo Binghe could make out the title (it was in Latin). The newcomer was even currently holding a book, though judging by the cover, it was a novel and not a textbook.

“Qingge, are you bullying the baby snakes again?” the Ravenclaw asked, tone more curious than anything.

Luo Binghe blinked. Baby snakes?

It was hard to tell who was more insulted: the first years who’d been called baby snakes, or the Gryffindor (Qingge?), who’d been called a bully.

“I am not,” the Gryffindor huffed. He shook his head. “They’re lost. You deal with them.”

With that, he circled around them and strode away.

“Okay, bye,” the Ravenclaw called after him. Then he turned to Luo Binghe’s group. “Wow, you all must really be lost if you’re up here, huh?” He tried to put his book into his bookbag, seemed to realize that it was already full, and then simply shoved the book up his sleeve.

Luo Binghe stared. The uniform robes had pretty baggy sleeves, but not enough for an entire book to sit in one without being visible. And yet, the book was indeed gone.

“I’m Shen Yuan,” the Ravenclaw was saying. “I’m a fourth year. That guy earlier was Liu Qingge, he’s a fourth year too, but even worse, he’s an athlete.”

“I’m Luo Binghe,” he said, stepping forward. “Sorry to bother you, but could you give us directions to the dungeons?”

Shen Yuan smiled. “I can do better, even,” he said. He reached into his sleeve (not the same one the book had disappeared into) and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe unfolded it to discover a map of Hogwarts. It looked fairly basic, only the main halls and corridors.

“A map?”

Shen Yuan nodded. “It’s not super fancy or anything, but it updates to show the moving staircases and whenever a corridor decides to move,” he said.

He leaned over the map, into Luo Binghe’s personal space without seeming to notice. He smelled like parchment and sugar.

“I didn’t label it, but look, here’s the Slytherin common room.” Shen Yuan pointed. Then he leaned away. “I made them to give out to the Ravenclaw firsties, but I only have this one left, so you’ll have to share.”

Luo Binghe shook his head hurriedly. “That’s fine! Thank you so much,” he said earnestly.

His fellow first years echoed him with varying levels of enthusiasm. Ming Fan tried to take the map, but Luo Binghe held onto it with a death grip.

“Ah, no problem,” Shen Yuan said. “Anyway, good luck.”

He nodded to them once, then walked off, retrieving the book from his sleeve as he went.

“Thank you!” Luo Binghe said again, calling it after him.

And after that, Luo Binghe spent his entire Hogwarts years pining.

---

In Luo Binghe’s third year, Shen Yuan became the teacher’s assistant for Defense class. Hogwarts being how it was, there was a ton of gossip about it. Apparently the current professor was planning to retire as soon as Shen Yuan graduated, and the Headmaster had already agreed to let Shen Yuan have the position. It was very impressive if the rumors were true, which was probably why the entire castle knew about it within a week.

It wouldn’t really have much bearing on Luo Binghe aside from his… interest in Shen Yuan, except that Shen Yuan started offering tutoring for Defense class. Luo Binghe didn’t really need the help; his grades were all good, including in Defense.

Still, it wasn’t a bad way to spend an hour every Saturday, watching Shen Yuan explain Defense theory, having his attention on him for even a few minutes when Luo Binghe had a question to ask. It was even better when he got onto the topic of magical creatures, because his entire being lit up. Luo Binghe ended up asking a lot of questions, and maybe a lot of them had to do with defense from magical creatures.

Luo Binghe’s defense grade went from good to near perfect, and that was a good thing, right?

Even with the hopeless pining in his first three years, especially third year, it wasn’t until Luo Binghe’s fourth year that he actually realized that he had a crush on Shen Yuan.

It wasn’t a huge revelation, really. Luo Binghe thought, oh, that explains a lot, and moved on. Knowing that he would maybe rather date Shen Yuan than be friends with him didn’t change one very important thing: Shen Yuan was out of his league. Shen Yuan was a seventh year and already in position to become a professor as soon as he graduated.

Luo Binghe was just a fourth year. He had no way to even approach Shen Yuan aside from the tutoring. They weren’t at the same social level.

Three years seemed like a yawning chasm between them, and Luo Binghe wasn’t brave enough to try to cross it.

As the rumors had believed, Shen Yuan really did become the Defense professor the year after he graduated from Hogwarts, NEWT requirements in hand and already working on a mastery. He was a good teacher, too, far better than their previous teacher.

It didn’t help Luo Binghe’s crush at all.

If he’d thought that it was painful staring longingly across the table in the Great Hall to where Shen Yuan sat at the Ravenclaw table, it was downright agonizing to sit in class with him regularly, several times a week, listening to Shen Yuan explain the latest thing. Luo Binghe was really going to die.

He approached Shen Yuan for extra help, citing his OWLs as an excuse.

“Your grades are already near perfect, Binghe. I’m sure you’ll do very well,” Shen Yuan said, and Luo Binghe almost spontaneously combusted.

But he didn’t dare bring up his crush.

Luo Binghe knew he wasn’t subtle. Half of the student body knew about his crush on Professor Shen. But then, half of the student body also had crushes on Professor Shen, so it wasn’t like Luo Binghe was unique there.

And yet, Shen Yuan didn’t seem to notice in the slightest. Perhaps he was being kind, trying to let down the hordes of crushing teenagers gently by refusing to acknowledge their feelings. If that was true, Luo Binghe was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could handle the mortification of Shen Yuan pointing it out and turning him down.

Luo Binghe wasn’t giving up, though.

He was pretty sure Shen Yuan did like him, if not the way he wanted. Shen Yuan’s favoritism was not well-hidden. So, it was only a matter of time. Luo Binghe would make his advances… eventually.

For some time, he planned to do it once he was seventeen, and therefore legally an adult. But then, during a Hogsmeade weekend (Luo Binghe was not following Shen Yuan; he had simply also gone to the same place), he heard Shen Yuan talking to one of his former yearmates, Shang Qinghua. Luo Binghe had no idea what they were talking about, exactly, but he did know that it somehow resulted in Shen Yuan saying, in a loud, scandalized voice,

“I would never date a student!”

Luo Binghe wilted a little bit, but that was fine. His resolve was steady. He just had to wait until he was no longer a student.

And so, the day of his graduation from Hogwarts, Luo Binghe approached Shen Yuan, determined, but a pit of nerves burning in his stomach.

Shen Yuan noticed him approaching, and turned to smile at him. “Congratulations, Binghe,” he said, lifting a hand to pat Luo Binghe on the shoulder.

Luo Binghe was tall, now, almost as tall as Shen Yuan, and so it would be awkward for Shen Yuan to pat him on the head as he used to when Luo Binghe was smaller. Even understanding that, Luo Binghe couldn’t help but miss it.

“Thank you, Professor Shen,” Luo Binghe said.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Shen Yuan pointed out. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”

Luo Binghe smiled. That was flirting, right? Shen Yuan was saying that one purpose, right? Luo Binghe stepped closer to Shen Yuan, too close for casual conversation, but not so close as to be improper. They were in public, after all. Shen Yuan didn’t react to the new proximity.

“That’s true… Yuan,” Luo Binghe said in a low voice.

Shen Yuan blushed, just slightly. Luo Binghe had to force down a smirk. But Shen Yuan just smiled again, politely, and nodded.

“You’ve been a good student. I’m sure you’ll go on to do great things, Binghe,” Shen Yuan said.

Many possible innuendos came to Luo Binghe’s mind. He carefully avoided those; he had no proof, but based on what he knew of Shen Yuan, he doubted he would appreciate an innuendo. So, how to redirect the conversation without being crude or perverted?

“Thank you very much,” Luo Binghe said. Then, as Shen Yuan nodded again and prepared to walk off, having congratulated Luo Binghe like every other graduating student, Luo Binghe’s entire brain decided to abandon him. “Actually, I had something to ask you!”

He reached out to grab Shen Yuan’s wrist. Shen Yuan blinked down at Luo Binghe’s hand, but he didn’t seem upset.

“Okay…?”

“Go on a date with me,” Luo Binghe blurted out, then cursed himself and his panicky tendencies. What kind of Slytherin was he? Cunning, who? It was all because of Shen Yuan; his presence made Luo Binghe’s thought process dive out the nearest window.

Shen Yuan’s eyes went wide. His arm jerked in Luo Binghe’s hold. For a second, he just stared, and that second was too long for Luo Binghe and his currently off-line brain.

“I’m not a student anymore,” he said. “So it wouldn’t be unethical.” He bit his tongue before his mouth could add something embarrassing like, I’ve had a crush on you for seven years.

“You -- I -- What?” Shen Yuan said, gaze flickering everywhere except Luo Binghe’s face. He cleared his throat and tugged at his wrist.

Luo Binghe let go reluctantly. Fear -- the worry that Shen Yuan would reject him, just walk away now and ignore him -- rose up suffocatingly in his throat.

Finally, Shen Yuan took a breath and said carefully, “You want to… go on a date? With me?”

More than anything, Luo Binghe thought.

“Very much,” he actually said out loud, nodding firmly.

“Oh,” Shen Yuan said, so quiet it was hardly anything more than exhaled air. He folded his hands together, then lifted then to hide the lower half of his face behind his sleeves. After a moment of staring intently at the floor to the side, very emphatically not looking at Luo Binghe, he said, “Well, I suppose… That would be okay…?”

It wasn’t the most eager agreement, but Luo Binghe’s heart soared. He barely restrained himself from tackling Shen Yuan in an excited hug.

“Great!” Luo Binghe said, possibly the happiest he’d ever been in his life, ever.

He didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but whatever it was, when Shen Yuan finally managed to look at him again, his lips curved up in a small, genuine smile, not the usual polite one.

---

“Thank you for the date, Professor,” Luo Binghe purred, holding one of Shen Yuan’s hands.

They were standing in front of the small house Shen Yuan stayed in when Hogwarts was out for the summer, Luo Binghe having acquired permission to walk Shen Yuan home.

Shen Yuan turned red. “Don’t call me that like that!” he said, whacking Luo Binghe on the arm.

“What, professor?” Luo Binghe said innocently. “It’s your title, isn’t it? What’s wrong with that?”

Spluttering, Shen Yuan failed to come up with an explanation.

---

When Luo Binghe was twenty four years old, after a relatively short but immensely successful time as a politician, he ran for Minister of Magic. His sole competitor, the incumbent Minister, was not pleased, but he was an unpleasant person anyway. Even Shen Yuan, who rarely expressed an unfavorable opinion of anyone (though Luo Binghe knew he wasn’t nearly so charitable or tolerant as he pretended to be), had admitted that he disliked the Minister.

The results were soon to be announced. Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan, and Luo Binghe’s campaign staff, namely Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua, were all together in Luo Binghe’s offices, waiting for the results to be announced over the Wizarding Radio.

They should really figure out how to get more advanced technology to work with magic, Luo Binghe thought idly. It would be nice to have smartphones. Or even TVs.

Finally, the radio crackled.

“All right, folks,” said the radio announcer. “The ballots have been counted, and the results are in. The new Minister of Magic will be…”

There was an overly long dramatic pause. Luo Binghe refrained from rolling his eyes, but caught out of the corner of his eye as Shen Yuan rolled his.

“The challenger, Luo Binghe!” the announcer shouted.

Luo Binghe’s campaign staff burst into cheers and applause, nearly drowning out the announcer’s next words. He allowed himself a smile.

“For the first time in nearly two decades, the incumbent Minister has been overthrown!” the announcer continued, very obviously giving away his own political position.

Shen Yuan reached over and took Luo Binghe’s hand. When Luo Binghe looked over at him, he was smiling. Luo Binghe grinned back, and Shen Yuan leaned in close, secure in the knowledge that the rest of the people in the room were celebrating too hard to pay attention to them. Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua were already making out.

“Congratulations on your win… Minister,” Shen Yuan whispered into Luo Binghe’s ear.

Oh. Oh. Luo Binghe kind of understood Shen Yuan’s reaction to him calling him ‘professor’, now. Unlike Shen Yuan, however, Luo Binghe wasn’t the bashful type. As Shen Yuan drew away, blushing furiously, Luo Binghe caught his wrist and pulled him back in to kiss him.

He might have a hard time taking it seriously whenever anybody else called him ‘minister’, but Luo Binghe thought he could get behind the way Shen Yuan said it.

[cyrelia-j]

[Fic] Deuces VII: Bachelor's Dream (Garak/Bashir, Ziyal/Mardah)

Bit of a wait between updates but I'm always working on something! This is my first attempt at like femslash ever so fingers crossed. This one's for you @eilupt​

Previous parts are here:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: AU (no Dominion and some characters who died in the series are alive like Vedek Bareil) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine for a month on a stopover to Bajor. 

This chapter: Their first date may not have gone so well but Julian's definitely made an impression the second time around, both men taking it slow after ending dinner early. And Ziyal finds herself bowling and maybe a little out of her league (Eh? get it? :D)

Warnings: minor language, minor romance of the femslash variety, minor dominance/submission stuff, and daddy kink

Julian had imagined a bit of a different scenario when Garak had made the suggestion they take an early leave and have their entrees wrapped. Namely that there would be a messy dance from the Promenade to his quarters, full of torrid kisses, groping, and some stops along the way steamy enough to give cause for them to stop, clear his throat, and hurry them along with a stern lecture. That may have happened once or twice in the past if Julian’s being honest… maybe more than once or twice. He’d rather been looking forward to it as keyed up as he’d been through dinner. At first it was with an anxiety borne of nerves; he was so grateful to have had a second chance. But as their meal had gone on and he’d been teased and tormented with those smoldering looks and little butterfly touches he was about ready to go off.

Yet somehow Garak is still calm and serene as he handles the arrangements for the food and meal, daring nothing but a hand to the small of Julian’s back as they leave. His back - just his back - not even a playful grope or squeeze lower. Julian wonders if maybe that doesn’t say something about… well his character that it’s one of the things he’s been expecting and looking forward to. Oh that’s not to say that he’s not excited. If anything, Julian is more excited than he’s ever been in his life, letting that energy channel itself into an endless string of chatter during the walk back. Garak walks close to him, a little closer than the conventional standards of personal space would allow for. Julian dares a few discreet brushes to his leg as a hint. Garak smiles politely but gives a chastising tap to the back each time as he keeps walking.

Julian would be lying if he said it wasn’t starting to make him flustered as they reach the dark of the Turbolift. He damn sure doesn’t want to screw this up, and he isn’t sure what rules they’re still following. There’s an anxious shift from him as the lift door shuts, giving that illusion of privacy, Julian finding himself at an odd loss for words this entire time as he looks to Garak’s mouth - or rather tries not to, wondering if there isn’t some signal he might give that he’d very much like to kiss Garak again. Really, Julian? You can’t wait? You don’t even have the discipline to keep your cool for a few more minutes? Isn’t this the sort of thing that turned him off before? Oh think, Julian, you know Cardassians, or rather you should. And at the heart of it, Garak isn’t behaving uncharacteristically human or anything. You can talk. God knows, everyone knows you can talk.

Well there’s talk and there’s conversation as one of his dates once said to him. He was younger (alright not terribly much younger but like is a journey, a million miles walked and he’s sure he’s grown a lot since then) then and he’s sure he knows how to converse rather than just talk at someone. He’s learned that after alienating nearly all the station those first few months, certain that he was going to get drummed unceremoniously back to Earth citing “irreconcilable differences” like a bad marriage: his aunt Millicent and her rabbits could tell him all about that. But he learned, and he’s a bloody augment, so learning isn’t the issue it’s just- Oh God, say something Julian! You’ve gone from companionable silence to awkward and he’s looking at you so surely you ought to regale him with something! Ah, think think.

So naturally he asks,

“Would you like to give Cindy a kiss?” and sort of wants to die on the spot when Garak gives a curious expression.

“Cindy?”

“She’s ah…” Good one, Julian. Might as well seal the deal and offer to show him while you’re at it. Well, there’s no walking it back, so Julian pastes on a smile he hope looks more seductive than sick. “She’s a friend of mine that I only introduce to someone I really fancy.” Was that terrible? Judging by the raise of a brow ridge that he receives in return, it absolutely is so Julian just drops it. “It’s a tattoo I got in college,” Julian explains before thinking of a game that Garak might find amusing. “The story of how I got her is a funny one but. But… I bet that you can’t guess which one’s the truth,” he challenges, crossing his arms.

He can see Garak is intrigued, excited again, and Julian feels that heat between them resurge, greater than it had with just those touches and looks. So Julian clears his throat, remembering what he’s read in his beloved spy novels of perfect lies and physical tells, cheating a bit, to lock his face to the exact same expression, every muscle moving precisely the same as he begins with the stories, leaned back against the wall of the turbolift, eye contact steady. He thinks that Garak has such lovely eyes for the umpteenth time as the lift doors open and he finishes the final story with a little flourish, soaring again when Garak guides him off the lift with another hand to the small of his back.

“So,” Julian says, stopping them both in the dimly lit empty hall. He may bounce a little on the balls of his feet expectantly. He can’t help the smile as Garak pauses, eyes studying Julian’s throat thoughtfully. I’ve got you, Mr. Garak. They’re all true, or none of them are true because I don’t remember a moment of that night so for all we both know they’re all lies. So whichever one you pick, it’s wrong. Julian thinks he’ll ask Garak to kiss him again. Longer, deeper this time, Julian pinned up against the wall. He has to blink a few times, hoping he hadn’t missed anything while daydreaming. But no, Garak’s only now speaking, a tilt of his head as his eyes drag back up with a look that seems both amused and… proud?

“Could it be possible,” Garak says more thinking out loud as his eyes slip sideways, “that none of them are true?” he asks, eyes boring into Julian’s with an intensity that nearly makes Julian shiver.

“Why would you ask that?” Julian answers that rhetorical question as Garak’s eyes are once more to his neck. “That… that wouldn’t be very sporting of me.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s exactly as I would expect from a naughty boy, Julian. I expect these little games that require discipline.” Garak straightens Julian’s collar carefully, his knuckles brushing Julian’s skin. He feels feverish. He feels so hot in the hallway knowing that anyone could walk by.

“Isn’t that right, my dear?” Garak practically purrs. It’s ridiculous. Julian’s been caught out so many times in this hallway with another body covering his covetously, half fucking him against the wall. He shouldn’t feel to fluttery, so nervous when Garak’s left hand falls back to his side, the right following idly. Garak is standing so close to him, Julian swearing he can feel the rise and fall of Garak’s belly against his own, so close to touching but not quite, not quite. God he’s hard. Right here, it has to be obvious, he can feel his cock semi aroused, starting to press out against his boxers as he nods, agrees softly, shutting his eyes, thinking that he feels Garak’s fingers on his face, trace his lips, and he swallows or inhales or does both at the same time as he breathes out “yes yes”.

“Clever boy. You have such potential, Julian. I should think to test your potential a little more. Here’s your reward then. You may kiss me this time. Let your mouth convince me that I should let you do it again.” Garak’s voice is low, his ridges dark even in that light and Julian digs his nails into his palm to steady himself. His first impulse is to throw himself against Garak rubbing, whining, tongue bathing him, climbing him like a sturdy old oak. But he thinks better of it thinking of all these little steps, these lessons, knowing that Garak wants more from him than that. He also considers this like a riddle of some ancient guardian, wondering if he shouldn’t press his palm to Garak’s in an artfully perfected Cardassian meeting of palms. He dismisses that to but then thinks why shouldn’t it be the best of both?

His mouth and Garak’s palm.

That in mind, Julian holds up his left palm, seeing the flicker of disappointment over Garak’s face for the contrived gesture. But that’s when Julian curls his hand and brings the back of Garak’s hand to his mouth. He knows that Cardassians have certain sensitive spots, certain erogenous zones on the back of the hand if pressed properly. He also know the areas between the fingers are especially sensitive. Julian starts with the bank of Garak’s hand, a small, soft glide of his lips over the scales, knowing Cardassian skin lacks the small human hairs, loving the smoothness of the small infinitesimal scales to his lips, the tip of his nose brushing the bones, the faints scales around Garak’s wrist. Julian hears the hitch of breath and he can feel Garak’s eyes on him as his tongue carefully pokes between each spread finger, pinky to index until he ends with the bit of skin connecting the thumb, a flick of tongue, a press of his head and a little nip.

Julian hears another stifled groan and god he’s so pleased with himself, so turned on, looking up to meet Garak’s heated look.

“Might I show you the way to my room now, daddy?” Julian asks, surprised at how unsteady his voice sounds when he speaks, his hand shaking as he releases Garak’s. He doesn’t know why he feels so light headed, so hot, so floating this entire time, but he loves it. He adores it. He never wants it to end as Garak nods, another cup of his jaw as if he might kiss him kiss him. Garak’s thumb flicks over his mouth and he nearly cries, nearly faints as his perfect vision blurs.

“By all means, my dear, show daddy your room.”

---

“You bowl like Kai Winn!” Mardah howls as Ziyal watches the bowling ball slowly rolling down the alley hitting two pins down on the left. She smiles, proud that she was able to actually get two this time. The boxes next to her name are a pretty sad array of 0s to Mardah’s strikes and spares. She’s been trying to roll the weighted ball the way Mardah keeps telling her but she’s terrified that her fingers are going to get stuck in the holes. That may have happened the first time nearly sending her down the alley with it when she had her first go. Since then she’s been using a rather embarrassing two handed roll that hasn’t exactly been working either. Ziyal ducks her head a bit embarrassed as a Bajoran couple turns at the teasing, look at each other, then start laughing. Ziyal has no idea who or what a “Kai Winn” is but she seems to have developed a rather large reputation around the station.

Mardah has regaled her with any number of riotous anecdotes involving this woman since they met up at the entrance to the bowling alley. She usually ends with a conspiratorial look around following and usually other younger Bajorans will join in with a story of their own. So far tonight, Ziyal has heard the story of how Kai Winn was caught “betting on underground vole fights” or was overheard “humming some old bawdy Tellerite songs during silent meditation at service”, and numerous other strange transgressions that hardly seem capable to all be performed by one singular individual. Ziyal had finally whispered to Mardah as that this Kai Winn must be some incredible and fascinating figure to have so many stories attributed to her. That was when Mardah sheepishly told her that it had become customary over the years amongst the station’s youth to try and one up each other with odd exaggerated tales of Kai Winn’s imaginary exploits.

Ziyal supposed she would never understand Bajoran humor but then again, her yad’ would likely find a game amusing as well. She wasn’t sure that she believed all of the stories that he’d told her over the years about Skrain Dukat when the two of them had been acquainted. Ziyal had even overheard her yad’s friend Parmak telling him over kanar that Skrain Dukat was once taken to the emergency room to have a regnar pulled out of his ajan. She’d asked about it later and it was one of the few times she’d seen her yad’ almost choke on a drink.

“Alright then, why don’t you show me what I’m doing wrong already?” she asks with a little huff. It’s her second chance to hit more than two pins and Mardah takes pity on her as she gets out of her seat with a beautiful smile.

“Okay, okay, you look so cute though throwing it like that with both hands maybe I couldn’t help myself.” Ziyah thinks that Mardah really has a nice smile as she stands next to her in a stunning dark purple tunic. Her hair is pulled back and she has such fascinating tanned Bajoran skin.

Ziyal thought she was going to jump up in the air when she met Mardah at the entrance and tentatively allowed a brief warm hug.

“So I know you’re worried about the ball catching your fingernails but it won’t. But they have a few balls up there with handles designed for claws that we can get.” It’s a nice thought, and surely Ziyal can see where it would be useful but that prideful part of her is mortified at the thought. A special accommodation? Oh no... no she’s perfectly capable of handling the ball herself and she promises silently right there no matter how foolish she may look she’s using the same ball the Bajorans are.

“Thank you, I think it’s just nerves. Am I holding it right?” She asks carefully putting her fingers back in the holes, telling herself not to panic at the tight suction.

“Right, got it. Maybe a little like is it okay if I make a few adjustments on you?” Mardah asks getting closer. Mardah smells really sweet and Ziyal scents the air just a little tasting honey and wow, Mardah’s hands are over hers, showing her how to adjust the position of her arm and maybe her heart picks up just a little at that touch while she chastises herself for being completely ridiculous.

They’d exchanged blows, throws, they even worked on basic grappling under Major Kira’s instruction and she hadn’t felt anything like this. Well, alright, that was a different environment and Mardah wasn’t wearing that nice perfume, and wasn’t holding her hands like this, and Ziyal is sure she isn’t hearing anything that’s being said right now as Mardah guides her hands to throw the ball. She really does almost hurl the thing too, overcorrecting, feeling electric current on her arms as Mardah runs fingers lightly over the tattoo that she has of the delicate Edossian orchids.

“I didn’t really get a chance to look up close earlier, but I love this. It looks so real,” Mardah says and Ziyal thinks there’s some loud pin knocking noise in the background but she’s kind of dumbly just looking at Mardah’s face really closely. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Cardassian with a…”

“Tattoo?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“I… I think it’s a borrowed standard word actually. We call it something different but it’s similar it’s um…”

“Hey, you got a spare!” Mardah says, attention diverted as the two girls turn to see the pins and the next frame setting up. It may be undignified, but Ziyal jumps in the air excited.

“I did!” she exclaims, taking Mardah’s hands in hers, only to realize a moment later exactly what she’s doing. She lets go, only to find that Mardah’s grip lingers. “I’m sorry I’d gotten carried with myself, I really didn’t mean to be so vulgar.”

“Vulgar?” Mardah asks looking confused. “I don’t even think Kai Winn would complain about a little hand holding.”

“Oh, oh right or course,” Ziyal agrees, feeling foolish, taking a few steps back as she grabs a self conscious drink. “I really should know better, that Bajorans do things differently and not think that Cardassian culture is the center of the universe. Yad’s’ friend Doctor Parmak is always saying things like that and I’d do well to listen.

“That’s really interesting though,” Mardah says, standing next to her, definitely very- oh very close, stealing a friend potato stick from the table around her. “It’s like how the Tube grubs will wiggle like this to attract a mate,” she demonstrates a comical back and forth motion like a plant leaning towards sunlight, “but you know a gree worm would consider that threatening.” Ziyal laughs, feeling relaxed. Mardah had told her a few stories of some of the insects she’d collected as a child and named, fascinated by the creatures. Ziyal had opened her mouth a few times to contribute her own knowledge, each time having to remind herself that yad’ was nothing more than a tailor, and he certainly wouldn’t know that Elaran weaver venom could be useful in a pinch to feign a comatose state.

“So, am I a gree worm, or a tube grub?” Ziyal asks bravely, finding confidence when she realizes that Mardah still isn’t moving away. Mardah smiles wider, grabbing another stick- a french fry, Ziyal reminds herself. Ziyal found the savory and crunchy sticks to be addictive, eating them until the corners of her mouth started stinging from the salt. Mardah looks thoughtful, both of them ignoring the balls resting lazily next to each other from the return. Ziyal is determined not to look away maybe spending a moment too long on Mardah’s chewing mouth. She wonders if it’s weird that she wants to lick the little salt crystals from those pretty pink lips. Daydreaming, she’s nearly caught out when Mardah finally answers her thoughtfully.

“You’re definitely a peak moth.”

“I’m… a what?” Ziyal asks confused, that moment broken just a bit. A moth? Are those considered a good or a bad omen on Bajor? Mardah quickly continues.

“The peak moth starts out as a caterpillar, but they’re called peak moths because they spend days climbing to the highest part of the tree to build their cocoons, avoiding the birds and other animals that try to eat them. So they’re determined, they’re brightly colored and very friendly if you give them something salty sweet.” Ziyal feels her ridges flushing pleased, also a little embarrassed when Mardah takes her hand and gives a squeeze that definitely starts sending her heart rocketing to the top of the highest tree. “And they’re brilliant navigators. They’re one of the few moth species on bajor that aren’t confused by our artificial lights. You’ll never see one circling around a street lamp like the rest, they’ll go right by, only for the moon, only for heir goal.”

“Oh,” Ziyal breathes, knowing that Mardah won’t quite understand the significant of the gesture, but nonetheless turning her hand to that their palms press together just a little. Mardah’s fingers, sweaty and greasy they are, tease at hers feeling like the best thing ever.

She isn’t sure what she’s trying to say, not having the mastery of flattery and verbosity that her yad’ does.

“I… like your hand,” she says, continuing almost foolishly, she thinks, “I… I bet you get a lot of moths coming to your hand. I mean, you’re like the moon. You’re bright but not too bright and you have a nice hand that I think a moth would really like to rest on if it was tired. And… and you’d be so kind to a little moth ah…” Ziyal trails off knowing she’s babbling, knowing that the man called “father” would say that Cardassians are forceful, they don’t duck their heads for Bajorans, that they’re a proud people. But Ziyal isn’t so proud that Mardah’s threading their fingers doesn’t make her sing inside.

“Moths are my favorite creature to study,” Mardah whispers, a sentence that shouldn’t require such clandestine action but, Ziyal follows suit.

“Would you let a moth draw you?” she asks. That wasn’t what she wanted to ask but it’s what comes out and her stupid hand is sweating because of course Cardassians don’t sweat but Ziyal is something in between and ah… Mardah doesn’t seem bothered when she nods, her nose giving a little wrinkle.

“Absolutely.” Both of them are ignoring the d

in of conversation around them from the other bowlers until they both hear a yell from the back that they should at least have the good manners to finish their set before making eyes at each other.

“You know I’m going to lose,” Ziyal offers lamely, with a reluctant lowering of her hand. She also doesn’t think that she can return back to her quarters if her yad’ and Doctor Bashir are there. Of course he left an hour before she did so surely they’d be finished… by now? Or they may have returned to Doctor Bashir’s quarters? That would make more sense but if he thought he’d have time. Guls, if only there was some way to find out! “I’m just, not sure where else we might go if my yad’ and Doctor Bashir are...” Ziyal trails off, catching a wicked grin on Mardah’s face. “What? Is there something on my face?” She reaches up, patting and rubbing at her mouth. Mardah shakes her head, that gleam still there, making Ziyal feel a rush of anticipation.

“I’ve got something in my room,” she says, holding up a hand just as Ziyal feels her eyes getting bigger- is she's suggesting? “Chief O’Brien one year, thought he’d help Mrs. O’Brien with the school, so he showed one of her classes how to design bots, like these little drones that could perform simple tasks. Well, it didn't go very well when some of them designed these little spy bots that looked like insects and started spying on people." Mardah looks around like someone might be listening, her expression reminding Ziyal a moment of her yad' which is both kind of weird but familiar at the same time. "Odo confiscated them but... Sela kept one and gave it to me for my birthday so I have a little fly in my room."

"Oh! So-"

"You want to take him for a spin? That's Federation slang which is to drive something. Jake taught me that one."

"He seems nice," Ziyal offers diplomatically, hoping all of this wasn’t just in her head.

“He’s a good guy, a good friend,” Mardah agrees, and is she emphasizing “friend”? Maybe? Possibly? Mardah grabs another french fry already in motions before pausing. “Have you ever had a milkshake?” she asks, Ziyal shaking her head no. Her yad’ has some strong opinions on the matter of drinking certain mammalian secretions as he says with a shudder but he’s not here to commentate, and everything else has been wonderful so-

“To go?” Ziyal asks hopefully. “My treat?” Mardah nods, a warm clasp to her shoulder, Ziyal just inwardly singing.

“Oh you know the way to a girl’s heart, Zi.” Really? Oh oh she’ll take that absolutely. “C’mon, I’ll show you the way!”

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Sailor Proof by Annabeth Albert

Shore Leave #1

 What fun this book proved to be! I fell in love with Derrick and Arthur but also with Arthur’s family and the look into what it must be like to be involved with someone in the Navy. I knew that the men on the LST that evacuated us from Lebanon were missing their families, appreciated the effort they made to keep us safe, and thought of them again today while reading this book and realized even more the sacrifices they and their families make every day to do the jobs they do.

 What I liked:

* Derrick Fox: Petty Naval Chief working with sonar in a submarine, orphaned as a youth, raised by his grandmother, the Navy is his career, and he is focused, sweet, kind, gentle, confident, and perfect for Arthur.

* Arthur Euler: musician, different from other family members, fun loving, lives for himself, kind, generous, interesting, perfect for Derrick.

* The Euler family: large, loving, boisterous, competitive, do-gooders, there for on another.

* The look into part of what it might be like to be in the Navy and/or to fall for someone in the Navy.

* The growth of the relationship between Arthur and Derrick

* That the obstacles to overcome were dealt with honestly

* The communication between the couple

* The support of Arthur’s mother

* That the relationship between Derrick and Arthur was healthy and normal and believable

* The family reunion and the activities and situations that occurred there

* All of it really!

 What I didn’t like:

* Can’t think of anything except maybe the undervaluing of Arthur by some of his family.

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

 Thank you to NetGalley and Carina Adores for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 5 Stars

   Sailor Proof by Annabeth Albert is available in trade paperback, eBook and audiobook on September 28th!

 The sexy Navy chief and his best friend’s adorkable little brother…

 It’s petty, but Naval Chief Derrick Fox wishes he could exact a little revenge on his ex by showing off a rebound fling. His submarine is due to return to its Bremerton, Washington, home base soon and Derrick knows all too well there won't be anyone waiting with a big, showy welcome.

 Enter one ill-advised plan…

 Arthur Euler is the guy you go to in a pinch—he's excellent at out-of-the-box solutions. It's what the genius music-slash-computer nerd is known for. So when he finds out Derrick needs a favor, he’s happy to help. He can muster the sort of welcome a Naval Chief deserves, no problem at all.

 Except it is a problem. A very big problem.

 When Arthur’s homecoming welcome is a little too convincing, when a video of their gangplank smooch goes enormously viral, they're caught between a dock and a hard place. Neither of them ever expected a temporary fake relationship to look—or feel—so real. And Arthur certainly never considered he'd be fighting for a very much not-fake forever with a military man.

 Add Sailor Proof to your Goodreads!

 Carina Adores is home to highly romantic contemporary love stories featuring beloved romance tropes, where LGBTQ+ characters find their happily-ever-afters. 

 Discover a new Carina Adores book every month!

Meet Me in Madrid by     Verity Lowell (coming October 26)

The Life Revamp by     Kris Ripper (coming November 30)

If You Love Something by     Jayce Ellis (coming December 28)

D’Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding     by Chencia C. Higgins (coming January 25)

Sink or Swim     by Annabeth Albert (coming February 22)

 Buy Sailor Proof by Annabeth albert

https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335984920_sailor-proof.html 

  EXCERPT

Derrick

Arthur turned out hot. That was my first thought when I spotted him after I heard my name called. Derrick. My actual name, not Fox, not Chief, and outside of Calder a couple of times, I hadn’t heard that name in months. And definitely not like that, all eager and excited and happy. On the sub, hearing my name inevitably meant that someone needed something right that minute, but the way Arthur said it didn’t inspire dread at all.

I’d already been caught up in the energy of the day. Homecoming day was always exciting, even if I didn’t usually have someone waiting. The whole crew was jostling about, getting into our dress whites, making sure everything from our cover to the chest candy of ribbons and medals to the gig line was perfectly straight. Getting chosen to be on deck as we came into port was an honor, one that I usually let others, especially those with kids, fight over, since there was still plenty to do belowdecks in preparation and support. As the chief sonar tech, I was responsible for working with the A-gangers from engineering and the operations department to help navigate us in. Adrenaline was contagious, and by the time my department was cleared to disembark, I had enough energy to rival the reactor that powered the sub.

And then I heard my name.

I recognized Arthur’s red hair right away. But the rest…

Wow. Arthur had grown hot. Still shorter than me and skinnier, but wiry now, each lean muscle defined under a thin white shirt and tight jeans. No signs of his ever-present too-big nerd-humor tees. Same startling green eyes as before, though, and a new, more chiseled jaw sporting the perfect amount of fuzz. He’d grown into his long regal nose, and the hair that had seemed to have a life of its own when he’d been a teen was sculpted now, this perfectly styled wave that made me want to mess it up. His hands, which had always seemed too big for the rest of him, were clutching a giant sign.

For me.

And for a second—a literal instant when our eyes met and time stopped—I forgot it wasn’t real. And in that moment, I wanted it to be. Someone smiling that broadly for me. Had Steve ever been so happy to see me? Hell, I wasn’t even sure the poodle my grandmother had let me keep had been that happy. Arthur just radiated pure joy. The kid was one hell of an actor.

“Welcome home.” Even his voice was different. Deeper. Sexier.

“Hey,” I said because I was simply that brilliant at conver­sation. I reached an arm out, instinctively going for a hand­shake, but Arthur shifted his sign and met me partway, coming in for a hug.

A really tight hug.

Damn, he felt good. Amazing really. Solid muscle against me, hair tickling my nose, exactly as silky as it looked, strong arms able to haul me in and hold me tight. He smelled like mint and green tea, two things in short supply on a boat that tended to smell like old socks on a good day. Sweet. I inhaled deeply as his lips brushed my ear.

“Calder said to kiss you,” he whispered. “And I want to. But you gotta tell me you’re good with that first.”

Was I good with that? Hot guy who smelled like a concoction I wanted to drink every day for a month wanted to kiss me. And ordinarily, the friendship code would put Arthur far, far off-limits, but here was Calder telling us to kiss. It was a free pass, the sort I’d be a fool to turn down.

I wasn’t a fool.

And what harm could a peck do?

“Yeah.” My voice was a rough whisper, and I didn’t have a chance to brace myself before Arthur was sliding his mouth over from my ear to mouth. A double shot of tequila would have had less punch than the first brush of contact.

And okay, not a peck.

We were kissing. Arthur and I, which should have been weird but somehow wasn’t. At all. Someone whooped behind us, but almost all of my attention was riveted on Arthur, like I was on watch and every sense was heightened lest I miss something vital.

Like how soft his lips were. Full too. Or the bristle of his scruff against my cheek. I’d done a submarine shave that morn­ing, not my best job, but close enough that the rasp of beard felt electric. Our chests were pressed so tightly that I could feel his heart pounding. Or maybe that was mine, blood zooming to places that had been in deep freeze for months.

“Wow.” Arthur pulled back, leaving me dazed and still clinging to him.

“Damn.” The statuesque purple-haired woman he’d been standing with laughed loudly and thumped Arthur’s shoul­der. “Is that the best you can do? Your man has been at sea how many months?”

Your man. If only. If he were actually mine, we’d be racing across base, a mad dash to find a room with a door. But he wasn’t and all we’d ever have was this moment. A potent mix of want and resolve raced through me as suddenly I was determined to make this count.

I pulled him back to me, and this time when our mouths collided, I was ready. Ready to taste. Ready to absorb every single detail. Ready to seize control and kiss like the world might be ending.

And it could have. Not sure I would have noticed. Everything faded away. The crowd. The docks. The balloons Arthur had been clutching and his sign both as his strong hands clung to my shoulders as we kissed in earnest. He tasted like he smelled, sweet and minty, and his tongue against mine was like floodlights coming on.

“Welcome home,” Arthur breathed against my mouth as the sound of applause gradually pulled me back into awareness of our surroundings. Applause. Whoops of laughter. Clicking cameras. But still I couldn’t seem to look away from him.

About Annabeth Albert

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a Pacific Northwest romance writer of many critically acclaimed and fan-favorite LGBTQ romance series.  To find out more, check out: www.annabethalbert.com. The fan group, Annabeth’s Angels, on Facebook is also a great place for bonus content.

 Connect with Annabeth Albert

Website: https://www.annabethalbert.com/ 

Facebook Fan Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/annabethsangels 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AnnabethAlbert 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/annabeth_albert/ 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6477494.Annabeth_Albert 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Annabeth-Albert/e/B00LYFFAZK 

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (13/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, mild violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Tempers running high, arrests and interrogations, and...mild attempted assault?

I made it halfway across the country! So thank you to everyone who offered well wishes. And thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting patiently after last week’s cliffhanger, and to all of you who helped me get here. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Like seriously, she’s the best.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

Chapter 13

Stories converge as everyone tries to find out what happened to Henry.

Killian

Killian was sitting with Robin in his living room, watching a film that if asked about it later, he’d never remember. They’d been at it for the better part of the afternoon, though they’d been limiting their drinking. Something about rousing Killian from an alcoholic funk after a week of nonstop drinking had put them off it.

He heard his phone ring with the custom tone he’d set for Emma, and he smiled. She was getting back from Maine, and maybe they could grab dinner…

“Emma, how are y--”

She cut him off abruptly. “Killian, Henry is missing.”

He gasped, “What the hell?”

“Will you meet me at Granny’s? I need to sit and talk with someone. Distract me?”

Frowning at the urgency in her voice, he nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Of course. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Robin is with me--do you want me to bring him along as well?”

“No. I mean, I want to meet him, but not now, I--I just want to see you,” she said.

His chest constricted, knowing he didn't have time to process the warmth coursing through him at her inadvertent admission. But first, they had to focus on Henry's disappearance. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

They hung up, and Killian was giving Robin a quick run-down of the situation, what he knew of it, at least, while he waited for his cab.

As Robin was listening, his phone started buzzing, some kind of notification clearly coming in from his precinct. He made a face, both surprise and speculation visible before he schooled his features. "And I just got a call to go in, about a disappearance and possible kidnapping."

"Do you think..." Killian let his question trail off, unwilling to put words to his thoughts.

Robin shrugged. "I don't know. It's not good, either way."

As soon as Robin was gone, he pulled on his coat and went outside to meet the Uber waiting for him.

&&&

After a short ride filled with terse conversation with his driver, Killian finally pulled up to Granny's. Emma's car was in the lot, and he gave a sigh of relief at seeing her yellow monstrosity.

He made his way inside to find her sitting in a corner booth, Belle and Ruby across from her. She looked up, saw him approaching, and ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, a startled "oomph" escaping him as she barreled into him and he wrapped her in his embrace.

He stroked her hair, meeting Ruby's eyes. She shrugged and took Belle's hand in hers, both women somber and focused on Emma.

She finally extracted herself from his arms, though she let him take her hand. She squeezed it quickly, pulling him over to the booth and dragging him down next to her.

"So, what happened?" he asked.

Emma shook her head. She dropped his hand, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with both hands. "I have no idea. I dropped him off at Regina's and drove back. I stopped for a little while to take a nap, and Regina called me when I was near the city again, which is when I called you."

"I'm glad you did, love," he said. "Do you--does anyone know anything further? What steps are being taken to find him? Forgive me for asking, but is it possible he just ran down to the comic book shop or to the ice cream shop?"

Belle looked at him, aghast, and Ruby squawked loudly, but Emma waved aside their protests. "No, he's right. Those are reasonable questions. But yeah, I did ask Regina, and they can't find him anywhere in town. Apparently they had one of the cops comb over the whole place, and no one had seen him since about fifteen minutes after I dropped him off."

"What could possibly have happened in fifteen minutes?" Killian asked incredulously.

She shrugged. "I have no idea. Apparently he and Regina said a quick hello, but she had to finish up some paperwork, so she told him to go ahead on over to the comic book shop. But he never showed up, according to Doc Enano, the owner of the shop."

He didn't know what to say or what he could do, but he wrapped his arm around Emma. She leaned into him, resting a hand on his thigh. He might not be able to do much, but he could be there for his Swan. Even if he wouldn't chance calling her that at this juncture.

Ruby stood and went to the kitchen, informing them she was getting them all some coffee. His stomach rebelled at the idea of adding caffeine to his system when he was already so wired, but he murmured his thanks anyway. He didn't foresee sleep coming to any of them until Henry was found, so it would be fine.

The silence that had settled over their little group was disrupted when the bell over the door rang. When they looked up, they found it wasn’t new customers--it was the police. They didn't acknowledge Ruby's nod as she made her way back to their booth, even as they came closer.

Shock coursed through Killian when he saw that one of the officers was Robin, in plain clothes and with his jaw clenched. They stopped at the table, and Robin stepped forward.

Regret tinging his voice, he asked, "Which one of you is Emma Swan?"

"I am," she said, leaning past Killian. He felt dread settling into his bones, fear twisting at his stomach as he held Emma and looked up at Robin.

"I really didn't want to meet you this way," he said, grimacing. "But alas. Miss Swan, I'm placing you under arrest on suspicion of the kidnapping and disappearance of Henry Mills. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Killian was halfway up and ready to punch Robin when he felt Emma and Belle pulling him back.

"Don't, Killian. Just call Cleo. She'll get my lawyer," she said, her face having slipped into a blank mask. She squeezed his shoulder as she slid past him, and his heart stuttered.

Robin looked apologetic. "I… we can make this easy. I have to cuff you, but we'll just go back to the precinct and talk. I'll do what I can to make this easier for you."

Emma just nodded, saying nothing.

Killian's jaw clenched, and he glared at Robin. Belle patted his arm and motioned to his phone as he watched his friend walk away with the woman he had just realized he loved in police custody.

&&&

After what felt like an obscene number of hours later, Killian sat in the waiting room at the precinct. Cleo was next to him, her arms folded over her chest as they waited for an update on Emma's status.

He had called Cleo as soon as Robin and his fellow officers had accompanied Emma out of the diner. She'd answered quickly, her horror and disgust evident in every short syllable she'd uttered. She had kept their conversation brief, but told him she'd come by to pick him up as soon as she got Emma's lawyer on the line.

Her lawyer was a statuesque, intimidating woman with an icy demeanor and cutting, dry wit. He was told Kathryn Frederickson had a reputation for getting shit done, and for getting her defendants acquitted. She was a former Assistant DA who had recently struck out on her own, and apparently she had agreed to represent Emma as a favor to Cleo.

Kathryn had gone inside the room where Emma was being questioned, but that had been hours ago. Killian was hungry, grumpy, worried, and angry. As though she'd heard his internal rant, Cleo unfolded her arms and reached inside her bag, grabbing a bag of crisps that she passed over to him.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his foot tapping on the scuffed floor.

She nodded and finally spoke, "No problem. With any luck, it won't be much longer. They can technically hold her for up to twenty-four hours, but I can't imagine they'll find anything to make the charges stick."

"Emma hasn't been charged with anything," said Kathryn, her heels clacking as she made her way toward them. "She'll be out soon."

He could have wept with relief. "So she's off? They know it wasn't her?"

"I might have pointed out Emma's stellar alibi, in the form of all those cameras along the interstate. Fortunately, she's pretty hard to miss in that yellow Bug. It was just a matter of waiting for the footage," Kathryn explained, a slight smile twisting her mouth.

Cleo smiled. "Thanks," she said. Then her smile faded. "Wait, what does this mean for Henry?"

Kathryn grimaced. "Unfortunately, since they thought Emma was behind the kidnapping, they weren't exactly looking for anyone else for the last few hours. So whoever is behind Henry's disappearance has a couple more hours lead."

"Shit," Killian swore.

Then he saw Emma coming from the back, and he leapt up to go to her. He halted as soon as he saw Robin walking beside her, the two of them in close conversation. He tried to push down the rage bubbling inside him, knowing there was nothing to be gained from confronting Robin in his own precinct.

As they got closer, he could finally make out their conversation. "...so sorry. But I had to do due diligence, regardless of my personal feelings," Robin said.

"I get it. It's fine. And maybe we can have a do-over once Killian cools down," Emma said, her eyes drifting over to meet Killian's. She smiled softly, even though it was obvious she was tired and strained.

He smiled back and opened his arms to her. As soon as he felt her arms wrap around his waist, he felt his anger begin to ebb away. His shoulders slumped with relief and in the absence of the rage that had been fueling him, keeping him awake, he felt his own tiredness creep over his limbs.

Robin patted his shoulder. "Killian… I'm sorry."

He took a deep breath, waiting for the negative emotions to return and a sharp retort to rise to his lips. None did. "If Emma's good with you, then so am I."

Robin nodded before also drawing in a breath. "Well, now it's time to get to work."

Emma squeezed his waist, turning in his arms to face Robin. "Let's go find my son."

&&&

They ended up going to Emma’s to grab a few hours of sleep. There was nothing to be gained by staying at the precinct, Robin informed them, other than aching backs that they were too old to deal with. He promised to call as soon as they had any new information or leads.

Emma tried calling Regina, but it went straight to voicemail. That sealed the deal for her--Emma finally agreed to go home for a while, at least until morning. Killian hesitated for a moment, but then Emma dragged him down the steps and into a cab.

Killian was happy to be needed, or even just wanted by her.

So it was without much fanfare that he allowed himself to be pulled into her apartment. They didn't exchange much conversation as they prepared for bed--she found a spare toothbrush for him, and he said he'd make do with sleeping in his boxer briefs. It was less than thirty minutes after they arrived that they were in bed, their limbs tangled together. He brushed a kiss across her lips, and she bid him goodnight.

He awoke with a start about three hours later when he heard a banging on the door. Emma startled awake too, sitting up quickly. She pulled on a robe over her pajamas and rubbed her eyes before heading to the living room to answer the door.

Killian swung his legs over the side of the bed, hoping his jeans and button-up weren't too mussed from the previous day. He joined Emma where she was paused before the door, a panicked but hopeful look on her face.

"It's Regina," she whispered, eyes wide.

He shrugged, not knowing why she might be here.

Emma took a deep breath and opened the door. "Regina? Has there been any word?"

Regina didn't answer. Instead, she burst into the room, tearing toward the back. "Where is he?! Where is my son?! Tell me where you're hiding him."

Killian felt the rage kindle in his chest again. How dare she come into Swan's home and accuse her of--

He let go of his anger as soon as he saw Emma's face. Instead of the anger he had been expecting to see, he saw compassion and sadness (and surprise, but that was understandable).

"Regina, he's not here. I don't have him. I've been waiting to hear more updates, just like you," she said quietly, as soothingly as she could probably manage.

Regina came at Emma, fists flying, clearly not wanting to listen to Emma.

Emma halted her by grabbing her wrists firmly, shaking her lightly. "Regina. I. Do. Not. Have. Him. We're on the same side here."

Regina stopped, her face crumpling. Tears streaked down her face, and she collapsed into Emma's arms. Emma dropped her wrists and pulled her into a hug. "Shhh, shh. Let it out."

She continued to sob, and Killian began to feel superfluous and awkward. He made his way into the kitchen and started to prepare more coffee. It looked like this would be a long day.

Adding some chocolate and cinnamon to Emma's, he topped it with whipped cream. Peeking his head out of the kitchen, he asked, "Regina, how do you take your coffee?"

He heard a sniffle, and then a hoarse response. "Black, but with whipped cream, if you have it?"

"Done," he said, preparing her beverage and then his own. He carried them out to the living room, where Swan had pulled Regina onto the couch next to her. Both women's eyes were rimmed in red, both clearly exhausted. Regina had the remnants of her mascara tracked down her face, and Emma's hair was mussed beyond repair.

After a few more moments of silence, during which they all drank deeply of their coffee, Emma finally spoke. "I tried calling you last night before going to bed, but it went to voicemail. I haven't heard anything since then, have you?"

Regina's hands twitched and she looked down at them. "No. I--I thought it was you. I thought you were lying, and that you had taken him. You two have gotten so much closer..."

"...that you thought I'd taken him somehow when I left," she said, looking thoughtful.

"I--yes. I'm sorry," Regina said quietly.

Emma shook her head. "No, don't worry about that. I--well, it wasn't that long ago that I thought you might be up to something. You know, with Henry talking about feeling like he was being followed--" She stopped mid-sentence, and Regina, Emma, and Killian all stared at each other dumbfounded.

"Did you say anything about that to the detectives?" Emma asked.

Regina licked her lips, her eyes wide with fear and self-recrimination for having forgotten. Killian could recognize the look, having experienced it pretty regularly himself. "No. I didn't even think --did you?"

"No."

"Do you want me to call Robin?" he asked, already reaching for his phone.

"Please," Emma said hurriedly.

As he found Robin in his contacts, he heard Regina ask, "Who's Robin?"

"A friend of Killian's who happens to be the lead detective in Boston for the case. I think he's working with someone in Maine," Emma replied.

"Yes, Sheriff Jameson. He's from Storybrooke, though he works in Augusta now, but he'd be in charge. He's a good man, and a good detective."

Emma smiled. "That's good. Are you…are we going to be okay? For Henry?"

"I think so. Wait, you really thought it was me?" Regina blurted.

She shrugged. "Maybe? It wasn't the most rational time for me. Henry had just come back into my life, and you didn't seem thrilled, and then everything happened with Killian..."

Regina snorted. "I wasn't happy about it because I thought I'd lose Henry, that he wouldn't want me anymore with you in his life. Your life is more glamorous, and you have Jones here--and by the way, I thought you two were done?--and I was jealous. Henry is all I have," she said, her voice breaking.

"I promise it isn't as glamorous as it seems. And Killian and I aren't back together. Not exactly," Emma said.

Killian looked over at her as he waited for Robin to pick up, a small, sad smile on his face.

Emma continued, “Besides, I think Henry would want us to work together. He loves you, and I could never replace you. Nor would I want to. We...we could both be his family.”

Regina sat silently, a thoughtful, contemplative look on her face. She nodded.

Finally, Robin answered his phone.

"Killian? Do you have something?"

"Robin, mate. Aye, we have something. I'm here with Emma and Regina, and they've remembered something."

Robin cursed. "Shit, tell me. And I'll be over as soon as I can, if it's not too much of an imposition."

"Should be fine, especially if you bring pastries. Thank you. I'm putting you on speaker, since Regina and Emma will be able to do a better job with the information than I can," he said.

"Robin? Hey. So Henry has told both me and Regina over the last few months that he’s felt like someone is following him. I looked into it a little when he first mentioned it, but I didn't find much," Emma said.

Regina leaned over. "I looked into it too when it first started, but nothing came up. And occasionally we go see a therapist. Henry does have anxiety, so I thought it might just be that. I didn't know."

"It'll be fine, Ms. Mills, Ms. Swan. We'll do our best to see to it that this gets sorted," Robin's voice crackled through. "Let me pass this onto a couple of the other detectives, and then I'll head on over to you. See you in about 45 minutes?"

They all murmured their assent and bid Robin farewell. They sat quietly, finishing up their coffee. As soon as they were done, Regina went to the restroom to freshen up, and he and Emma went into the bedroom to get dressed.

"You okay, love?" he asked.

Emma sighed. "Henry's gone, and I'm tired and stressed, so..."

"Yeah," he agreed.

He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. She leaned back into him and reached up into squeeze his hand. "Thank you for being here."

He kissed her cheek. "I'll be here for as long as you want me to be."

&&&

By the time Robin showed up, Regina looked as composed as usual, if more tense and on-edge. Emma still looked in need of a good night’s sleep, but was otherwise lovely in a flowery tunic and leggings. Killian knew he was a mess in yesterday’s clothes, but he’d at least been able to wash his face and brush his teeth.

When Robin arrived at the door, Emma let him in. He came bearing a box of pastries, and Killian chuckled at Emma’s jibe about cops and donuts. “It’s actually scones!”

Killian nodded, and then decided to get matters rolling. “Well, you’ve met Emma, but this is Regina Mills, Henry’s other mother. She’s also the founder of Mills & Booth Publishing.”

“And the heir to Regal Hearts Publishing,” chimed in Emma helpfully.

Regina rolled her eyes, looking as imperious as ever. “Robin, was it? Or do you prefer Detective…?”

“Detective Locksley, but Robin is fine,” he said, his eyes riveted on Regina.

She gave him an assessing look, but quickly turned back to the matter at hand. “So, can you help with Henry? Are you working with Sheriff Jameson up in Maine? What kind of news do you have?”

Any admiration Robin may have been feeling was subsumed into the professional mask he donned. “Our office has been working with Sheriff Jameson and other local law enforcement. In fact, while I’ll remain on the case with a few of my people, it will be falling under the jurisdiction of Maine’s police service. With Ms. Swan being cleared, there isn’t much to suggest Henry would be in Boston.”

“What happens if this goes on much longer? I mean, once it’s been 24 hours…” Emma let her words trail off, knowing they all knew the increased risks to Henry at that point.

“That’s true, but we’re hopeful. We found some signs of a struggle near a path in Storybrooke, one Henry would have to pass by to get to the comic book shop, which fairly well eliminates any chance of him having run away. It’s a solid lead that’s being pursued even as we speak.”

Killian fought the urge to curse, as that likely wouldn’t help. Henry running away would be bad, but at some point he’d likely want to come home. Kidnapping, on other hand, offered no such likelihoods.

“So what do we do now, Detective? I don’t think any of us just wants to sit around and wait for word,” Regina said, the urgency in her voice lost on none of them.

Robin nodded, and his face twisted wryly. “I know it’s a difficult situation. My advice is to head back to Storybrooke. I have a feeling Henry’s still there somewhere. I know you just got here, Ms. Mills, but…”

“No, it’s fine. If it’s the best thing to do…”

“...then we’ll do it,” finished Emma.

[immajustwriteoverhere]

Revision

An active example as to why revision is important. I am not going to revise anything after I’ve typed it up, much like people had to do when they used typewriters, or constantly had to write with pen and ink.

I believe I touched on this a lot in my little splurge on reflection, w so we’re probably going to bring back some quotes from over there.

I can see alred already that I’m going to struggle with this whole not fixing, not revising the mistakes I make and/or things I write that I later despise.

“If there was a way to show you all the corrections I’ve made it would be a much more interesting showcase of what reflection looks like when applied to writing. “ This quote, which I’ve written I wrote for Reflecting on F Reflection, is basically what I’m attempting to show in this here piece of absolute mess. Th Nope.

“The spoken word cannot be revised.” Nancy Sommers says. “A bell cannot be unrung,” say the masses. Both are true, and mean about the same thing. And now, this paper cannot be revised, and I am struggi struggling. How appropriate.

It is mentioned that most students would not use the term “revision” but rather substitude it for things such as ‘ “marking out” “redoing” and “reviewing” . These terms are centered tend to be centered on grammatical errors, and replacing words that either do not fit, do not conver convey the tone they would lo like, or words that are excessibe, unnc unnecessary.

Revision is allowed from this point onward.

Alright, I think my point is across, that active example is over now. So painful to look at, but that is the point. Without revision what you want to say becomes perhaps nonsensical. Going back and making certain that a particular phrase that made sense when you wrote it, is still a valid sentence that others will understand is a very important part of the writing process, one that is often ignored, as Sommers begins with in her Revision Strategies article.

Continuing from the last paragraph of my unrevised, unedited section of writing, revision tends to carry with it a connotation of taking a piece of work and making massive corrections within it, moving entire sections of writing, cutting some out, composing new sections. In some contexts, this is true. A revision of a draft for a novel, for example, or a lengthy essay.

I believe reflection and revision are interlinked. When you revise, you reflect on the meaning of what you are trying to say, and the revision is how you alter what already exists so that your point comes across smoothly, efficiently, and effectively. So while editing, grammatical and structural error correction, is comforting and simple, revision requires significantly more thought and reflection, but may produce better writing.

[mariannemaebe]

Dalmaji-gil, the place where we stayed during our 5-day trip to Busan, is a place known for its cherry blossoms and, charming cafes and restaurants within vicinity. For someone like me who’s a caffeine addict, this is the place to be! Not to mention that these cafes are supposed to draw you in into their chic interiors.

On the very first day of our trip, when we decided we wanted to stroll the area all the way to the nearest Subway station, I have chanced to glimpse on some of them (see above for the pictures). The very first of which among them was this one with an adorable Shiba-inu silently bathing in the warmth of the peaking sun.

For three days, I have been looking forward to seeing this cute furball.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

On Day 4, Having come home before 3PM, I spared the rest of the day to exploring this ‘cafe’ as what I thought it was.

Hesitatingly,  as I was stading by the entrance, nervous that I did not bring enough money, ‘coz sure this looks quite an expensive place, I somehow had the idea that this is not a commercial cafe afterall.

From the foyer, it already smell of books, surely another of my favorite things in the world (including the addicting smell of new and old books).

I was very much hesitating to enter since I figured there is only one ‘customer’ inside, but I slightly  calmed to see that she too, was a foreigner.

I was quickly immersed in the place, it feels very familiar for some reason, familiarly comfortable. So I passively ran my hands at the closest collections of books in the shelf within reach, all  waiting to be read.

I somehow forgot the reason I came here in the first place. . . until it snapped me out of it.

He was locked out when I came, and he was howling, pleading to be let in perhaps.

It was a shame though that I wasnt able to pet the Shibu-inu, but it’s fine as I am, eventually, focused on seeing the rest of this ‘Library of Mystery Literature’.

The only staff present was,  the Librarian for the day, I assume, who was a very kind woman of around 30-40 years old. She was smiling the whole time since I entered. Though I know it was a sincere smile, I somehoe felt pressured, that may maybe this is a commercial cafe after all? Maybe I need to order something?

I can speak and understand limited Korean, so most of my conversations were also mostly based on context clues, but gladly I always end up getting the right message. While I was trying to figure out the menu, I noticed there was no price beside the drinks, as what usually is menus in comercail cafes look likebut when I asked about the prices of the drinks, she was saying ‘Free’, but she was also saying ‘4,000’ so I was confused.

I gestured and said ‘wait’ in Korean, and asked (through body language) if I can look around first, though I was just silently trying to figure out what she meant. Maybe she saw through me? ‘Coz she handed me a booklet with english translation. Though it was a nice gesture, I still insisted to look around. (By this time, I already deduced our converation. The 4000 was entrance fee, but the drinks are complimentary).

The books are mostly Korean, naturally, and are Suspense, Mystery and Thriller by genre, “That’s sweet! It’s just my genre!” I almost shouted in glee when I finally figured. But as I said, they were in Korean.

Luckily, there were English collections too. Most of them have stood the test of their times, and the smell of vintage books are just as addicting as new ones!

  After settling with a book that caught my interest, I silently sat by one table and immersed myself in the book . . . but oh! yeah right, I have to pay. I chose a complimentary Orange juice, ironically since I already had coffee at home prior to coming here.

A Chapter later, my interest wa sgain divided to the book at hand and the interior of the place.

Noticing that I was distracted and fidgeting with my Camera, the polite Librarian approached me and told me that there are more books upstairs. “Upstairs?! Woah!” I thought with excitement,  not intending to keep it in anyways, so perhaps, after seeing that my eyes went wide with excitement, she invited me to come over with her, “OH Sure! With mich pleasure!”

The Library is composed of five-storeys of around forty seven thousand (47,000) collection of books in total, mostly of which are mystery books, obviously (17,000). Foreign books are around 6,100 in count and counting. The three storeys are open to the public.

“The library is dedicated to the improvement and pubic awareness of the mystery literature, this is the first of its kind in the world. The library maintains not only its majoring mystery book collections, but also other popular books, magazines and newspapers including Korean bestsellers, foriegn books and encyclopedias”

Visit their website

When I was taking a picture of the view (sea), the Librarian entered in a conversation with me (though in Korean), she was saying about how the view was better before the buildings upfront slowly blocked the panoramic view of the sea.

  Some more facts:

Established on 28 Mar 1992

Registered to the City of Busan on 4 July 1992 as the first specialised library in Korea.

It’s overviewing the sea!

They also do have books on Art, Architecture and Travel (though usually closed to the public – 5th Floor)

They have programs encouraging its guest (and members) to write Mystery novels

Winter Mystery Travel : every Januaries

Creative Classes: for people who want to be writers in the future; Writing Competition (Eveyr Thursdays 3:00PM)

Reading Classes: every 1st, 3rd Wednesdays at 7:00PM. Open to everyone.

  If you are into Mystery literature (as I am), I suggest you take your time to visit this library when you go to Busan. I intend to learn the Korean Language especially after coming here. If you do not really have interest in the Korean language, no worries, they also have English books you would probably dont mind reading. Besides, coming here is a good feeling.

A Look at Busan’s ‘The Library of Mystery Literature’ Dalmaji-gil, the place where we stayed during our 5-day trip to Busan, is a place known for its cherry blossoms and, charming cafes and restaurants within vicinity.