#(so I eat one bite and then have to try to foist it off on someone else or just throw it away outright.)

[cesium-sheep]

rip chico's tacos your food was probably mediocre to allistics but it was perfect to me

[dracoqueen22]

The Care and Feeding of Vhampirs - Tempest Edition

Nym is acting very weird.

Er. Weirder than usual.

Tempest squints and stares at the arcanist as he hovers over Easton, offering him first a bowl of the stew Rathi whipped up, then a handful of jerky, followed by a bag of roasted nuts. Easton turns it all down and goes back to his book – it’s an old thing, all cracked spine, and crinkly pages. Tempest thinks he got it from Tarsus’ sanctum, but she can’t be sure.

Anyway. Easton’s not the one being weird. Nym is. He’s not foisting food off on anyone else, and he sighs like a Mam much aggrieved when Easton won’t take the food. Nym shuffles off and sits next to Dakota, close enough that he can keep an eye on Easton without it being obvious that’s what he’s doing. He starts eating the stuff Easton turned down.

Weird.

Tempest scoops a big spoonful of the stew into her mouth, and slurps up dripping juices. It’s delicious. Meaty. Mostly meat. Rathi doesn’t bother with vegetables much though Dakota dumped a bowlful of tubers and roots into the pot when she wasn’t looking. Silly Dakota. He’s always trying to get them to eat healthier things. Healthful things? Not-delicious things that’s for sure.

Tempest pushed the one root she found to the side of the bowl, and will tip it back into the pot when she goes back for thirds. Waste not, want not. Dakota can eat all of those.

Besides, Easton’s the one who needs to eat more healthful. He’s skin and bones, and Tempest swears he never puts any weight on. Like his body actively rejects food. Horrible. Maybe that’s why Nym keeps trying to shove food at him.

Everyone else knows Easton will eat what he wants to eat and when he wants to eat it, usually out of sight somewhere, but Nym is pretty new. He hasn’t learned their eating habits. Maybe he’s worried.

Wait.

Tempest pauses mid-chew. What if Easton’s sick and Nym’s the only one who knows? What if there’s something seriously wrong with him? She doesn’t know what it could be, but maybe food fixes it. If Easton’s not interested in the stew, or jerky, or nuts, maybe he wants something else.

Tempest chugs the rest of her own stew and digs around in her bag to see if she has something that might tempt his appetite. This old cinnamon roll? It’s a bit stale, but it’ll be soft on the inside and the sweet icing should make up for that. Oh, she’s got a few pieces of bacon leftover from their big breakfast before they left Delilly.

Everyone likes bacon.

Tempest wipes the back of her hand over her mouth and grabs both the cinnamon roll and the bacon. She skips around the campfire and plops down next to Easton, curling her tail around her body. He doesn’t even look at her, but his eyebrows twitch, which means he knows she’s there.

“I’ve got bacon,” she declares, holding it up to him. “And a cinnamon roll.”

“Congratulations?” he says, but it sounds more like a question. The furrow in his brow gets deeper. He’s very, very focused on his book.

It occurs to Tempest that Easton might just be sad. Sinoun up and vanished on them a week ago, and Easton acted like he had no idea it was going to happen. He and Sinoun are very close, too, so maybe Easton just misses Sinoun. It’s hard to eat when you’re longing for someone.

“You can have them,” Tempest says, laying the sticky roll on Easton’s knee and holding it in place so it doesn’t topple off. “You should eat.”

Easton closes the book and looks at her. The dark circles under his eyes tells her he’s not sleeping much. Even less than he usually does. He’s super-pale, too. But food ought to fix that.

“I appreciate the offer,” he says, and plucks the roll with two fingers before placing it back in her palm. “But you should keep it.”

“Bacon then?” Tempest suggests, holding it up. She casts a big smile. “Come on. You gotta eat something. For me?”

Easton sighs. He takes the bacon and nibbles one end of it, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “There. You happy?”

She, in fact, is.

Tempest takes a huge bite of the sticky roll – it’s a bit stale, but still as sweet as the day it was made. She’ll keep an eye on Easton, too. Help Nym out. If bacon’s enough to tempt him, she’ll make sure he gets more helpings of meat. Sinoun might be gone, but everyone else is still here. Sometimes, people just need to be reminded they’re not alone.

Easton’s a bit like Dakota honestly. Big boys that can’t take care of themselves. Good thing Tempest is around to help.

“Thanks,” Easton says after he’s finished the bacon and wiped his fingers clean. “You didn’t—I don’t—” He stops and his nostrils flare as he breathes out hard.

Tempest pats him on the knee. “I’ll bring you more tomorrow,” she promises, and realizes her fingers are sticky. Just like the spot on his trousers where she set the sticky bun. Oops.

Easton opens his book and hunches over it, pretending like he hadn’t heard her, but the muttered ‘thanks’ she picks up on the wind is enough of a prize.

Tempest grins and bounces to her feet, sauntering off to reclaim her bowl and another helping of stew. Minus the vegetables of course.

***

a/n: Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed. I plan on releasing more of this series and I'd love to know if it's something readers would be interested in. :D

[dollslayer]

Homecoming

Biker!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Finally home after being gone on a run, you give Bucky the welcome he deserves

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: Housewife kink, unprotected sex, swearing, NO MINORS

A/N: Hey guys, I know it's been a minute sorry😅 Got the idea for this and couldn't get it outta my head. Hopefully you guys like it! If you do please comment/reblog!!! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

Outside the kitchen window the sun was disappearing behind the trees in the backyard, signaling the end of another day. You sighed, noticing the streaks in the glass and made a mental note to clean it before getting back to the task at hand. Dinner was still a few hours away from being finished but in the meantime it was the distraction you needed, even if you’d be eating alone.

It had been almost two entire weeks since Bucky rode off on a run with Sam and Steve with no word since. Last week you’d missed him so much but after one beep of the disconnected dial tone on the other end of the line you knew that Bucky had to have ditched his burner.

You didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back or even any way to reach him. You knew better than to ask anyone else from the club, though. Whatever the club did was their business and you were smart enough to stay out of it.

After this long of being in Bucky’s life you’d think that you would be used to the inconsistency but it’s hard to settle into anything knowing he could be gone at a moment’s notice. The love you two had made it worth it though, and secretly you loved how tough and grumpy he was for everyone else but was always so sweet and loving to you. Still, times like this where you’d be left alone for days or weeks at a time the loneliness was inevitable.

All the free time you normally had for Bucky was suddenly empty so you filled the void cooking and cleaning to distract yourself. At this point your fridge was filled to the brim with leftovers and if you tried to scrub the bathroom tiles again they might just come off. You just wanted everything to be nice for him whenever he did come home. You knew he appreciated it, if the last time he’d cornered you doing laundry was anything to go by.

You were pulling the pan out of the oven when you heard the familiar rumble of engines growing louder down the road. You nearly dropped the food out of excitement before you hastily set it on the counter. You checked your reflection in the hall mirror, wishing you’d have been wearing something a little nicer than some cotton shorts and a tank top.

You listened to the voices shouting over idling engines and eventually rev up again before retreating back down the road. You were teeming with excitement and nervousness as you undid the deadbolts and waited to hear his boots bounding up the creaky steps of the front porch.

The door swung open and you stepped back, biting your lip to contain your grin when you finally got a good look at him. He let out a soft ‘oof’ followed by a chuckle when you launched yourself into his arms and inhaled the comforting scent of grease and leather.

“Hi, Peach”

You returned a ‘missed you’, muffled by the layers of his jacket. He kissed your shoulder when you buried your face into his neck. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, allowing yourselves to revel in the feeling of relief. His hands pulled you away only to bring you into a deep but soft kiss that you couldn’t help but melt into.

When you broke away you took a step back to get a proper look at him. His jacket was dusty and his boots were caked in mud, trailing all over your freshly mopped foyer but you didn’t care, you were just happy he was here, he was okay.

His grin was wide and uncontrollable when he looked back at you and took in your appearance. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Smells amazing”

“I’ve got dinner waiting for you if you take off your boots” you say as you help to pull him out of his leather.

When he finally stepped into the kitchen and living area he looked around slowly, taking in all of the work you’d done while he was away.

“You been hard at work while I was gone, huh, Peach?”

You smiled shyly, dipping your head at him and turned away towards the kitchen to set out some plates on the counter. Your movements stopped when you felt the scrape of Bucky’s stubble against your neck.

His hands snaked around your midsection and he pulled you back into him, pressing your ass right into his hard cock. You gasped in surprise and he smiled into your skin as he continued to kiss it. You ground harder against him and he let out a low groan into your ear.

“You always keep everythin’ so nice for me, huh? Always takin’ care of me even when I’m not there,” his grip on your hips falters only so he can toy with the waistband of your shorts.

“You’re so sweet, Peach”

He hooks his fingers around the elastic and as he slides the shorts down your legs your movements stop.

“What about din-”

“Let me take care of you, Peach,” he insisted.

You squirmed as pressed his hips to your ass, forcing you to brace your hands on the counter to stay up right.

Where you had cursed yourself earlier for not wearing something nicer than lounge shorts you were grateful now as he curled his fingers around the top and ripped them down in one motion. Your shorts and panties fall past your knees and pool around your ankles and you struggled to hold yourself up. Calloused fingers run over the soft curves of your ass before delivering a sharp smack that has you gasping in surprise.

You felt the outline of his hard cock through his jeans and weren’t sure how much longer you could wait for him to cut to the chase. You ground back against him in hopes he’d get the message.

He chuckled in response and smacked your ass again before he took a step back to undo his pants. You whined at the loss of his warmth behind you and waited. The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the ground and then being kicked away was the only notice he gave you before a hand met your back and swiftly bent you further over the counter.

Your palms squeaked against the formica and your elbows landed harshly against it. With one hand on your hip Bucky used his other to run his tip over your wet folds. Normally he’d take more time with you but you were both too impatient to be with each other again and the excitement of his touch left you plenty wet and wanting.

He pushed fully into you in one go and shuddered out a groan at the feeling. It had been so long since he’d been inside of you that could hardly adjust to the impact. You didn’t care though, you just wanted him to keep going.

A few small pumps of his hips to test the waters quickly became not enough.

“Buck,” you whimpered.

“Yeah?”

His thrusts picked up in speed and soon enough he was pounding into you. The sound of forgotten silverware and plates clattering against the counter were overpowered by skin slapping skin and the moans forced from your lungs.

His grip on your hips readjusted as he foisted you further over the counter, forcing you to try and balance on the tips of your toes. It had been so long for both of you, there was no way he could hold out much longer. There was no way you could either with the new angle hitting inside of you just right. You clamped down around him hoping he’d get the hint, you didn’t know that you’d be able to talk if you tried right now.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much,” his pace increased, “You missed me too, I can feel it, Peach.”

You nodded weakly but the motion was lost as you were jostled back and forth with his thrusts.

“You always take such good fuckin’ care a’ me, care a’ the house. So fuckin’ good, Peach”

“B-buck, please” the broken words left your lips and that was all that he needed to drive it home.

“Ah shit, shitshitshit ‘m gonna cum” he forced out between harsh pants.

The build of pressure against your G-spot was too much and you cried out as you came. Bucky roughly fucked you through it and with a few final slams he shouted as he spilled inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, caging you in with his arms on either side as he caught his breath. You shivered at the feeling of your cum mixing together and sliding slowly down your leg even as he stayed inside you. He kissed your shoulder and helped to pull you back to your feet.

You twisted around and pulled on a loose lock to bring his face to yours. You gave him one chaste kiss and broke apart.

“Welcome home”

He kissed the tip of your nose and slowly ran his hands up and down your arms.

“Good to be home, Peach”

[katsukikitten]

All of you

WARNINGS: NSFW. IM NOT KIDDING THIS IS ABSOLUTE FILTH. 18+/Pro hero au! All of it, all of it happens. Slight angst fluffy after care ending.

Your body seized as you threw your head back into the pillows, forcing your hand to continue its ministrations as you rode out another climax. Although you did not know how many you had achieved. 

You only knew that you felt lonely afterward, so terribly lonely and the only thing that could ease the pain was the temporary high of fucking yourself. 

Since clearly no one else was gonna do it for you. 

Not to mention you felt utterly unsatisfied after each high point, no matter how fast or how hard it came, you never felt full. 

Slowly starting again has your legs shaking, back pressed into the husband pillow for a semblance of human contact, sliding the dildo in and out as your fingers used your slick to slide across your puffy clit. 

"F..fuck!" A gasp that echos around you before you encourage yourself, "Don't stop!" 

"Fuck is right." The male's voice startles you, your eyes blown wide as you draw your legs to yourself, didlo forgotten on the sheets. 

"B...Bakugou!" Damn were you embarrassed, mortified really as your ex stood in the doorway of the old master bedroom the two of you shared. 

Although that was half a year ago. 

"Wh...what are you doing here?!" Great, just great, he caught you at the worst possible moment. Even when the two of you were dating you didn't like having him watch not matter how much it excited him. 

"Needed to return some old key for work, couldn't find it at my place. I thought it'd here." His dark burgundy red eyes made you feel dizzy, as if you're drunk. 

"You didn't call or text! I..I" Tears burn your eyes as you pull the blanket around you. Wanting to pull it over your head and just die really. 

"Don't be shy kitten." The old nickname causes your cunt to clench, you bit on your lower lip as he approaches you, "Why are you hiding from me?" 

"Baku…"He cuts you off, hand tight around your throat as he rips the blanket from your shaking hands. 

"Is that my name pet?" A growl in your ear before his face swims in front of yours. He watches for your telltale sign of floating, your eyes water, lashes fluttering as you fight to keep the panic at bay long enough for it to turn into pure pleasure. 

"Answer me." His voice is steely, fingers pressing harder into that frantic pulse. Warmth washes over your whole body as you begin to feel light headed, soft fingers caress your skin as caramel floods your sense.

Funny how easy it is to fall into old habits. 

"I…I'm sorry S...sama." You choke out, he smiles in response. Pressing his mouth hungrily to yours swiping his tongue along your lips, you part your mouth to allow him entrance. He dominates you with his harsh kisses, hand still pressed to your throat, giving you enough air to breath but choking enough that your vision blurs in your peripheral. 

This kiss, Gods you felt like you could cum from this kiss alone. Higher than any drug you could ever get your hands on as you settled deeply into subspace, your eyes begin to roll. Suddenly Bakugou pulls away and with it all of his warmth. He leans back, a cruel smile on his face as he watches you hesitate to reach out to him. He could tell you wanted more of him. 

No you fucking needed it.  

"What's this kitten?" His voice is deep, filled with malice as he holds the neon pink dildo in his hand, "Looks like you were having fun." 

Your head is far too high in the clouds to answer as your body hums in excitement, he has that look in his eyes, like he likes what he sees. Oh and does he like what he sees, his favorite sub, drenched in your own sweat and slick, cheeks burning red as your eyes scream fuck me. 

And you know it's just a matter of time before he goes feral. 

"Open your mouth." A simple enough command that you do, tongue extended for his pleasure. He chuckles before tapping the head of silicone toy to your tongue. 

"Show me what that slutty mouth can do." 

"Wha..what?" He shoves it into your mouth until you gag, a soft moan follows only widening his smirk. 

"Kitten did you forget that quickly how much I fucking hate repeating myself?" He grabs for your hair, the pleasant burn at the base of your scalp has you soaking the sheets between his knees. He guides your head along pink shaft encouraging you to give him a show. 

You suck and pull on the dildo pretending it was his throbbing cock instead of the lifeless silicone that slid between your lips. Mouth salivating with earnest as you remember his sweet salted caramel taste, a moan escapes your mouth from the thought of his hot cum hitting the back of your throat. You deep throat the toy, gagging again, eyes watering as you hold eye contact. Bakugou swallows thickly, the ache in his pants demanding attention as his cock begins to weep. 

But he isn't done playing with his food. 

 

"Tsk. Guess something never change huh? You just love sucking dick don't you filthy slut?" You moan in response, he watches your cunt quiver from his words. 

Again he rips away your joy, just as you were working the toy over just the way he liked. You feel at odds with yourself as you breathe heavily, hoping and praying he says those magic words. 

He doesn't say them just yet. 

He removes his pants and boxers, freeing his thick member  from their confines. He gives it an eager pump as you lick your lips.

"Do you want a taste of this?" Your mouth waters again, watching as he spreads that delicious precum across his length. 

"Yes, Sama. I do." 

"Have you been good enough to get a taste?" His voice is sultry as he lazily strokes himself all you can do is nod in response, eyes glued to the motion of his hand. 

"I don't think you have, stuffing your own slutty hole and cumming until you've lost count." Your cheeks burn, how could he always read you like an open book, no matter how closed off you thought you were?  He grabs you by the ankles, pulling you to him before he bends over. Breathing softly over your soaking core to watch it clench around nothing. His grin becomes wolfish as he dares to come closer to give your clit a soft lick. You mewl from the action, gripping the sheets to keep from forcing his head into your sopping cunt. 

"Fuck I missed this pretty pussy of mine." His fingers go up and down your core as he smiles, "Tell ya what. If you're my good kitten and hold your cum while I eat I'll let you have a taste of me. Might just fuck  you too." 

A soft gasp leaves your lips, nodding in response. It was going to be hard, out of all of your partners Katsuki always ate you the best. He was always attentive, he knew when to thrust his fingers, when to suck and nip at your clit, hell it seemed he even knew when to grunt to let you know he loved every second of turning you into putty in his hands. He forced back your leg, biting at your inner thighs before he dove in. Tonguing your hole as his nose presses against your sensitive bud. 

Moans echo around the room in a seemingly never ending string as he laps at your sweet nectar. He locks your bud in his mouth, nipping before tonguing it hard, thrusting his curled fingers into your core as he slides over that soft spongy spot. Stars dot your vision as you clench around nothing, screaming as you fight the tight coil in your stomach, holding it as best you can. Foisting the sheets and even his hair as you try to pull him away. 

"S...sama please. I… I can't I…" He comes up to hold eye contact with you, fingers still thrusting into you. Hard enough it rocks your body. 

"You will slut. I haven't had my fill." Purposefully he groans over your abused clit causing your head to fall back, he continues for a few moments more.

Just as you're about to release he pulls away, your body shakes in anguish and anger. Had he stopped a second later it could have been bad for you. 

"Well it looks like you get rewarded sweetheart. Let me see that pretty mouth, I just might fill it with cum." He wipes at his mouth with a deadly grin, his hand smoking, filling the air with burnt sugar. 

You bend over as he gets into his knees, arching your back to best show your ass as you attempt to take him to his hilt. You gag, the head deep enough it cuts off your air. You moan around him sending a vibration up his length. He grips your hair roughly, bobbing your head as he watches your face turn red from lack of air, gagging, adding more lube for his pleasure. 

"F...fuuck kitten. Fuck!" His cock throbs in your throat. Using his free hand to leave a mess of scratches on your upper back. 

"Fuck!" He pulls your mouth from his length with a lewd pop. Breathing heavily as his eyes burn with desire. Your stomach flips as he pulls you by your hair up to his mouth, kissing you deeply. Almost gently before going feral with his tongue. Tasting every inch of your mouth before he attacks your neck. Marking you with deep bruising sucks and pink bites. Hands burning on your ass leaving crude red hand prints. 

"Assume the position." He growls, easily you obey. Turning away from him, face pressed into the mattress as you present your ass to him, wiggling it for a tease earning a quirk backed smack. He rubs the spot tenderly before slapping it again and again. Watching your folds glisten.  He teased you by sliding his head up and down in your slick. 

"You want this cock baby? You want King to dick you down so well you forget your name?" 

"Y..yes." You whimper. He growls, fisting your hair pulling your head away from the sheets. 

"Fucking speak up. Tell Sama exactly what you want." Again you moan. 

"Please, please fuck me s..sama!" You try to move your hips for some friction but he holds you steady. 

"Such an eager slut." He starts pounding into you, bodies flapping as he sets a brutal pace, "God you're just sucking me in kitten. Fuck this pussy was always my favorite." 

Another blasted back slap lands across your cheek, welting into a thick hand print. All you can do is whimper and take his cock as your velvet walls suck him in, sliding against your sensitive spots.  Bakugou spies the forgotten toy as a devilish thought washes over him. He reaches for the neon dildo as he speaks. 

"You like sucking dick baby?" 

"Yes! Yes sir!" You moan out, uncaring if your neighbors can hear you. 

"Good. Then make sure I can hear you moan over this." Again he shoves the hot pink dick into your mouth. You suck eagerly and with sloppy tongue strokes and he demolishes you. 

"Such a good kitten. Such a filthy sweet slut." Another smack sending you closer, "You sure are squeezing me. Gonna cum on my cock?" 

You nod, moaning yes around the toy. 

"Then you better cum hard." He moves impossibly faster, balls hitting your clit just right as you gag yourself with the toy. You cannot take it, the mattress and the world fall from beneath you as your vision is spotted black.  Your body seizes, convulsing beneath his touch as you shake and wither as he fucks you through three more orgasms. Another builds as he presses down on your back, he never was satisfied until you were begging him to stop. 

"S..samaaaaaa!" You try to warn, mouth abandoning the toy as he bends you to take him deeper. The pressure become immense before you break, cunt clenching him so hard he almost cums then and there. A clear liquid leaves you in spurts as you squirt all over him, leaving him the okay to finish himself. 

His pace becomes sloppy. 

"Fuck such a good girl, squirting on my cock for me." He groans, replaying your face over in his head before he looks down at you. Your tongue is threatening to leave your mouth, drool passing down your lips as your eyes roll into the back of your head. The sight is what sends him over the edge as he fills you with rope after rope of salted caramel cum. His throbbing cock bringing small mewls from you as he slowly brings you down. Rubbing your back and ass. Withdrawing himself to fold you into him but it is as if he cannot come to you fast enough. You claw at him, forcing your face into his chest as his strong arms envelop you, one hand running along your spine. 

"You okay kitten?" His voice is soft, you wonder why the two of you let work tear this relationship apart. You shake and shiver in his arms, falling back to Earth at light speed. Tears well in your eyes as you cry into his chest. Feeling something for the first time in such a long fucking time. 

"Shhh...shhh. Sama's got you." He coos,  pulling you so he can carry you princess style, "Let's take a bubble bath to clean up and cuddle okay? Sound good baby girl?" 

You sniffle, clutching at his chest as he carries you to the en suite. He sets you on the vanity. Wrapping you in a fresh towel before he roots around the bathroom as if he never left. Opening the linen closet growling as he settles for scented Epsom salt. 

"I need to get her more bath bombs." He snarls to himself, drawing the hot water into the bath. He finds old bath rose buds and sets them into the water with the salts. He dims the lights, a small pop dances between his fingers as he sets dusty tea candles aflame. When he is satisfied he sheds his shirt, gently coaxing you out of the giant towel. He holds your back to his chest, gently sliding into the tub with you, wrapping his arms around your middle. When you finally relax a bit he sighs. Placing his forehead on the nape of your neck. 

"Kitten I'm sorry. I took advantage or the sit.." You squeeze his arms to stop him. 

"N..no. I n...needed that." You sniffle. Pushing yourself deeper into his chest. He sets his head atop of yours, one hand holding you close as the other traces over your bruises and bites. 

"I needed that too." He answers honestly, "If...if you don't want a relationship I can always just be your Dom. Like how it was before." 

Before, as in BEFORE either of you caught feelings. You shake your head, he couldn't be just your Dom. 

"I want all of you Suki." You turn to face him, voice firm as you stare into his glistening eyes, "All of you." 

He understands what you mean, you're telling him you need his unguarded heart. 

"Then you have me." He leans in, his free hand holding your head in place. Katuski kisses you with such a tenderness you heart flutters. He pulls away slowly, eyes soft as they stare into that stunning color of yours. 

"Always?" You ask meekly. He smirks as his cockiness and bravado return. 

"Fucking always kitten." 

[sluttyten]

7 and 13 with Sicheng? 🐥

“You taste like fucking candy.“ +  “I-I just, I wasn’t expecting that. But I liked it. A lot.” + winwin

You’re not a baby, that’s for damn sure. But somehow, someway, your mother still managed to foist a babysitter on you when you were a full-grown adult living in a city far away from her.

You were sick, but not the kind of sick that medicine could fix. It was more of an emotional sickness than a physical one, and that was something your mother didn’t really understand.

“It’s your birthday, you can’t be sick.” She’d told you as soon as you answered the phone. “What about going out with your friends, having fun?”

But that was just the problem. Since moving to Seoul a couple months ago, you hadn’t truly made any real friends. There were acquaintances at work, but none of them even really knew it was your birthday, and they certainly weren’t about to throw a party for you. You just didn’t know how to tell that to your family, especially since you’d told them stories about your coworkers enough that they recognized the names and assumed they were your friends.

“Mom, I just don’t feel well today.” You repeated against her insistence of it’s your birthday! 

Truthfully it was because of all of this that you didn’t feel well. The loneliness weighed down your stomach like a physical stone resting in your belly, swelling with nausea every time that you remembered that it’s your birthday and you’re alone in a city that you don’t always feel that you belong in.

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone,” your mother says. “Call over one of your friends.”

Again, a pang in your belly. You bite your lip. “I don’t want anyone else to get sick.” The lie only makes it worse.

“You won’t get anyone sick, you’re being silly. If you won’t call over a friend, I’ll text that nice boy from your building and tell him to come over.” You can already hear her moving away from her phone, heading toward the old-fashioned book where she keeps track of important things.

“Mom, oh my God. No! That would be humiliating.” 

What’s worse than being completely alone on your birthday? Having your mom send a random guy who lives in your building to come hang out with you out of pity. You can still remember the bizarre panic and embarrassment that had swept through you in those first few days when you were moving in. Your mother had come with you just to help you get situated and make sure that the apartment was going to be nice like the pictures online. 

She’d gone out to get groceries on the second day while you tried setting up the wifi completely, and when she returned she was beaming and began telling you about the neighbor just two doors down who’d helped her when she dropped one of the bags, who was about your age and so handsome, and she’d told him all about her daughter who had just moved in upstairs. Somehow your sneaky mother had gotten his number just in case she ever couldn’t get in contact with you or if something happened to you and someone needed to contact her.

Or, you know, in case her daughter was lonely and she could humiliate you by contacting this neighbor you had never met, and asking him to come sit with you.

You were mortified.

“Mom! No!” You insisted again as you heard her stop flipping pages and make a quiet aha as she found the number she was looking for. “Mom, are you seriously–”

“You need to have someone with you on your birthday, even if you’re sick. Happy Birthday. Love you!” And she ended the call just like that.

Now you felt even worse than before, so to take your mind off of how you were potentially being embarrassed long-distance, you took a shower, but that just gave you more time to mull over things, so then you dressed and cleaned the apartment, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the sofa, and then vacuuming and dusting.

And when you were just finished with that, about to sit down and watch a movie, there was a knock on your door.

She didn’t, you wanted to scream and you almost wanted to cry angry, embarrassed tears. 

Another knock, and then, “Y/N?”

It wasn’t a voice that you recognized, but when you came over to the peep hole in the door, you were stunned as you realized that you did know that face. But how did it know your name.

You opened the door to face WinWin of NCT and WayV fame.

He looked at you. You looked at him.

“Uhh, when you moved in, your mom asked for my number, and she just called to ask if I’d come check on you?” He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “She said you were sick.”

You could feel your face heating up. “Yeah. You really didn’t have to come check on me. You were probably busy and I really, really don’t want to get you sick.”

WinWin looked at you again, glancing up and down. “You don’t look sick.”

You sigh and lean against the door. “I’m not sick. Not really. I just told her that so she wouldn’t get upset that I’m alone on my birthday, because then I’d have to admit that I haven’t really made any friends since I moved here. And it’s pathetic enough that I’m explaining this to you, I don’t want to have to explain it to her too.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone on your birthday.” He says, and then he holds something out to you that you hadn’t noticed before. “The auntie who cooks for us made this for you when I told her about what your mom said. She says it’ll make you feel better. She also told me that if I don’t feed it to you and nurse you back to health myself, she’ll never let me forget it.”

“Did my mom say that or the auntie?” You ask, carefully taking the food parcel from WinWin. 

“My dorm auntie.” He smiles. “By the way, I can’t believe we’ve never met before. We live so close to each other, and if you’ve not seen me or the others before, I’m sure you’ve heard them. They get so loud.”

Sometimes late at night you’d heard happy shouts or music coming from somewhere nearby. And once you had thought you saw Kun, but he was wearing a hat and a mask and it was late, so you assumed your mind was playing tricks on you. Now you knew that it was most likely him you’d seen.

“Well, tell her thank you for the soup. And I’m sorry about all of this. I’ll tell my mom to delete her number, like, I’d really hoped that she would have lost it by now so that way nothing as embarrassing as this could ever happen.” You start to step back to close the door, but the look on WinWin’s face makes you pause.

WinWin clears his throat. “I can still keep you company, if you’d like? I’m serious, I don’t think you should be alone on your birthday unless that’s what you really want.” It’s not what you want, but you don’t want him to hang out with you if he’s just doing it out of pity. As if he hears your thoughts, WinWin says, “Also, that’s a lot of soup that she made. A lot more than one person can eat. And I might have candy that I’d be willing to share with you as a birthday present.”

“Alright.” You step back, this time holding the door open wider for him to come inside, and in a light, teasing voice, you say, “But only because of the candy.”

As you pulled your short coffee table closer to the sofa, clearing it off a bit to make room for the soup, you were glad you’d cleaned your apartment and showered. WinWin sat there on your sofa, looking around the place with interest. Suddenly you were very conscious of the paintings you’d hung on your walls, the basket of unfolded laundry sitting outside the bathroom door, and the movie you had queued up on the TV.

But thank God the stain was gone from the couch and everything else was neat and tidy, fresh as your clean cotton air freshener could make it.

You grabbed bowls and spoons from the kitchen, and as you ladled some soup into a bowl for WinWin, you told him, “You know, you really probably shouldn’t give your number out to just anyone. Even if she is a mother concerned about the future of her daughter.”

“Why?” WinWin looked up at you, thanking you softly as he takes the bowl from you. “She could be crazy? Or a sasaeng’s attempt at getting my number?”

Yes, those are exactly the reasons. 

“But if I hadn’t given her my number, then what are the chances that I’d get to be sitting here with you?” Your belly does a funny floppy fluttery feeling at his words. “Pretty low, if I had to guess. And that would be a shame because so far I feel like we could get along.”

“It’s probably because you’re a Scorpio.” You say before you realize. Your eyes go wide. “I just, I mean, I get along really well with Scorpios.”

WinWin looks at you sideways for a second. “So you are a fan?”

Again, a funny feeling mixed with nausea and embarrassment. “No, not really. Well, yes and no. I like your music, but it’s not like I obsess over you or anything like that. I’ve just seen stuff about your birthday, so I know you’re a Scorpio.” How do I make myself sound less crazy? you thought, looking down into your bowl of soup, praying that the whirls of steam will reveal the answer to you. 

“It’s not a bad thing if you’re a fan,” WinWin says after a moment. “Just as long as you’re not going to sell pictures of me or stories. Or try to sell some of my hair.” He grimaces, but then tries to hide it as he takes a spoonful of the soup. 

“I’m definitely not going to do that. I didn’t even know you lived here, I swear. And I definitely didn’t want you or anyone else coming to my apartment today. That was entirely my mother���s doing.” 

WinWin changes the subject, talking instead about the art on your walls, asking if you painted them yourself (you did), asking questions about you and how you like living in Seoul. You talk for a bit about how it is coming from somewhere so different to live here, how it’s not a culture shock necessarily, but getting used to living in a foreign country can be difficult. 

Any awkwardness you may have thought you were going to feel with him vanishes, and soon the soup is gone but the conversation continues and WinWin produces the promised candy from his pockets. It’s sticky and sweet and exactly what you needed. Even after the last candy wrapper is crumpled up beside the rest, WinWin stays, and it’s only as it’s getting late that his phone buzzes in his pocket and he has to leave, but not before you exchange numbers, so the next time you’re feeling lonely your mother doesn’t have to be the one to ask him to hang out with you.

And crazy as it may be, you do feel much better afterwards, though you’re not sure if it’s the soup, the company, the candy, or some combination of all three.

You almost passed him on the stairs a few days later.

“Hey.” WinWin’s voice is what caught your attention this time. You looked up so fast that your neck twinged, and you had to clutch onto the rail to keep from falling. WinWin reaches out too. “Woah, careful. Don’t fall because of me.”

“Thanks.” You rub your neck, hoping to soothe it. 

WinWin then digs a hand into his pocket and the next thing you know, he’s holding a piece of candy out to you. You give him a funny look, but you take it anyway. 

“What’s this for?” 

“Just to make you feel better.” WinWin comes to stand on your side of the steps as another person tries to walk down. “Something to keep you sweet.”

You laugh and smile and pretend like you’re not blushing. “Thank you.”

“Are you feeling better? Less sick?” WinWin asks. “Or is your mom going to call me again?”

“She should leave you alone. I told her to.” You unwrap the piece of candy and pop it into your mouth. “And I am feeling much better. It turned out to be a pretty good birthday.”

WinWin’s gaze was warm on your face, a slow smile growing across his face. “Any particular reason?”

“Oh, it was for sure all the candy.” You ball up the candy wrapper, roll it around in the palm of your hand until WinWin suddenly reaches out and pinches it between his fingers. His fingertips brush your palm, leaving a tingle behind under your skin. Distracted by that, your voice comes out a lot softer when you say, “And the soup. Maybe the company, but that’s yet to be decided.”

Your busy smiling at WinWin, so you don’t notice when somebody rounds the stairs behind you and clears their throat. WinWin starts, and turns his gaze at the intruder. Hendery’s standing there, staring at WinWin’s fingers in your palm, the candy wrapper that you’re both seeming to cling to.

“Are you coming?” Hendery asks. 

WinWin nods. “Yeah. A minute.” 

Hendery slowly leaves, and when you’re alone again, WinWin says, “I have to go.” He steps down a few steps, not breaking eye contact with you in a way that suddenly feels very intimate. Before he turns away, he says, “You know, if you’re not going to let your mom contact me to come hang out with you, you could text me. I’ve got more candy, if you want it.”

As if you need the candy to want to hang out with WinWin. He’s handsome and funny and nice, sweet and smart and fun to talk to. 

From somewhere down below in the building, you hear a door open and close. 

“Go,” you tell him. “I’ll see you around.”

WinWin smiles and then dashes away down the stairs to catch up with Hendery.

Every time you see WinWin after that, he hands you a piece of candy. Sometimes more than one. Even if you’re only passing on the stairs or in the hall outside your apartments and neither of you has time to stop and chat, he’ll pass you a piece of candy and a smile. When you actually do text him and ask if he wants to come over, he brings candy. Once you even ran into him when you were coming home from a grocery run and he was stopping to grab some food from the place around the corner, and even then he had candy to give to you.

It was weeks or months later when you finally brought it up to him.

You were sitting together on the floor of your apartment. WinWin was leaned back with his head resting against the sofa, his eyes closed as he groaned about how full he was. You were still picking at what remained of the take out, but you were feeling pretty full too, and if the food continued sitting there, you knew you were just going to pick at it until you were miserably full.

So you started to clean up, gathering empty cola bottles, glasses, the food containers and napkins. And then you noticed a piece of candy sitting right there on top of your phone. 

You sigh and pick up the piece of candy. “What’s this?”

WinWin cracks open an eye to see what you’re talking about. He frowns. “A piece of candy. Like usual.”

“You know, you don’t have to give me candy every time you see me. I promise you, the candy is not why I like seeing you.” You hope he knows that every time you’ve said that the candy is why you let him in that first night, that was a lie. The candy is not what keeps you coming back to him. 

“I like giving you candy.” WinWin says. “Keeps you sweet.”

You wrinkle your nose at that cheesy line. 

WinWin leans forward then and plucks the candy from your fingers. “Fine, no more candy for you then.”

“No! I didn’t say I don’t want the candy.” You whine and reach for it, but he pulls it farther out of your reach. 

He holds it out of your reach, and you crawl toward him, stretching your arm up but your fingers only reach his wrist. WinWin laughs, and you watch as he nimbly unwraps the candy with just his one hand without dropping it. And then quickly, he brings it down. You move to intercept it, but then he closes his hand completely around it. 

“Do you want it?” WinWin teases. You nod. WinWin jerks his chin. “Okay, sit back. Open your mouth.”

You do just that, sitting back on your heels right beside his knee, and WinWin holds the candy out, making airplane noises at you like your a child. He flies it toward your mouth in a zig-zagging pattern, and you’re not about to try to chase it now, but then it’s so close, right there within your grasp, and you move forward. 

Your lips bump into his fingers, but it’s too late. WinWin jerks his hand back, pops the candy into his own mouth, and his lips curl into a victorious smile.

“That’s not fair!” You sit closer, so close to him that when he opens his mouth, you can almost smell the sweetness of the candy. “That was mine!” 

WinWin laughs and takes your hand. 

For a second you forget all about the candy. All that matter is his warm hand on yours, and your heart races trying to catch up with your mind which is jetting off into all sorts of different scenarios, down curious pathways. 

WinWin presses something into your palm and curls your fingers around it. “I have more candy.” His words are soft, sweet, wrapped in a layer of affection you’ve never noticed before. “I’ve always got more candy for you.”

As soon as his hand leaves yours, you unwrap the candy and pop it into your mouth, savoring it on your tongue. It’s the same candy it’s always been, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

One of the others lets you into their apartment when you show up at the door. By this point, they all recognize you as the neighbor that WinWin keeps spending all of his time with when they’re not working. He’s not there now, but he will be soon, and you didn’t feel like waiting around in your apartment for him, so since he’d recently told you that you were welcome over at his place whenever you wanted, here you were.

And oddly, none of the other guys seemed to find anything strange about that. 

You were just showed to the room that belonged to WinWin and someone else, neither of them were there at the moment, so you sat on the bed that was WinWin’s and you waited.

Looking around, you could see what in the space was his, what parts of it he’d made his own. And the more you looked around, the more you wondered, where did he hide his candy stash?

You didn’t want to look around through his things, being nosy and invading his privacy was not the reason you’d come over. However, it had been a few days since you saw him last, and you were craving just a taste of sugar. It didn’t really take long. You just took a peek under his bed, and there you found storage box that had a large bag of candy in it as well as some other snacks. 

You couldn’t help it. You quickly dug out a handful of candy, unwrapped them, and stuffed them in your mouth, shoving the evidence in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you fell back onto the bed to enjoy your mouthful of stolen candy. 

Several minutes later, you were still like that when WinWin came inside his room. He looked a bit worn out, a little rattled, and when he looked at you he seemed calmer.

“Hey.” You sat up, and in a light voice, you asked, “How was your day?”

He didn’t answer, not with his words anyway.

WinWin walked toward you, dumped his bag beside the bed, and put his hands to your cheeks, and drew your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. You gasped, opening up to him, and WinWin deepened the kiss, pressing you flat on the bed.

Part of you wondered if you’d somehow fallen asleep, if this was a dream? Because this had come out of nowhere. Hadn’t it?

You kissed him back, slowing it down and softening the kiss. WinWin makes a low moan that you echo back at him.

“You taste like fucking candy,” WinWin murmurs. He kisses you again, touching his tongue against yours in a way that has you squirming and making another little sound of pleasure. “So sweet. Hmm.” WinWin sits up then, runs his fingers through his hair, and suddenly frowns down at you. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Why do you taste like candy so much?”

Tucking your hands into your sweatshirt pocket, you shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s just how I taste.”

WinWin shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

He leans over you again, and you laugh, place a hand to his chest. “Might I ask what brought this on? Not that I’m complaining about you kissing me. At all.” You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your palm, and it picks up again as he looks back at your lips.

“Don’t try to change the subject.” WinWin leans in again, and this time when he kisses you it’s just so gentle, his lips caressing yours, a hand cradling the back of your neck.

Your hand slips under his shirt, and he makes a strange but cute sound, shivering when you curl your fingers against his hip. “WinWin, why–?”

There’s a soft crinkling noise as WinWin touches your belly. He breaks the kiss, looks down at your sweatshirt, and then his hand plunges into your pocket, and draws out the crumpled up wrappers. “Mm, that’s what I thought. You found my sweet stash?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your chin, and WinWin crushes his mouth to yours again, the candy wrappers cascading from his fingers. “WinWin, really, what’s brought this on?” You ask between kisses.

“You make me happy.” WinWin strokes your cheek. “My day was kinda not great, but you make me happy. And I’ve been holding myself back, thinking that you don’t like me too. You just like me for my candy. But today, today I needed something happy, and here you were waiting for me.” He kissed you again, and this time you loop your arms around his neck.

You’re still kissing when the door opens. The floor creaks then creaks again and the door closes. 

“Oops, your roommate’s probably scarred now.” You laugh. 

“That’s okay,” WinWin says. He kisses you again. “Now he knows to leave us alone.”

You put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly as he moves forward to make out with you once again, and this time he pauses and looks down at you, your face all blushed and you a little out of breath. 

“Are you okay?” WinWin pushes your hair back behind your ear. 

You nod, twist your fingers in his shirt. “Yeah, just a little out of breath.”

WinWin moves off of you anyway. He rolls off the bed, and for a second you hear him rummaging around beneath it, and then he reappears. 

“For you.” He holds out a candy to you. 

You laugh and take it, unwrap it and pop it into your mouth, puckering as it’s a sour one that really hits you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, reaching out to lightly punch at WinWin as he laughs and slides back up onto the bed with you. 

“Sour?” WinWin cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your puckered lips. 

“A little bit.” You shake your head and swallow. He offers you another candy, and this one is sweet. 

You’re in the middle of taking a bath when you mother calls. The bath was nice and relaxing before, filled with bubbles and a pretty flowery scent. The free-standing bathtub had been your favorite feature of the apartment when you moved in, and it still was one of your favorite things about the place.

She didn’t really want anything in particular, just to talk at a time of day that would work out for both of you. You chatted for a bit, talking about work and life and how you were going to make dinner after this call was over since you were in the bath at the moment. 

You run your fingers through the bubbles, scooping some of them up and blowing them around the room while you listen to your mother telling you about what her neighbor’s have been doing, which is apparently something gossip-worthy. 

That’s the exact moment that WinWin decides to make use of the key that you recently lent him to your apartment. You hear the distant sound of him sitting down his keys and his phone on your table.

And then his voice echoes through the space as he calls your name.

Your mother’s story stammers to a halt. “Who’s that?” She asks as WinWin calls your name again. You groan, but your mother ignores that and excitedly says, “Do you have a boyfriend? Wait, is that your handsome neighbor?”

“Mom, oh my God. No. I have to go.” You end the call, stabbing at the screen with a soapy finger. “I’m in the bath, WinWin, I’ll be out in--”

Before you can say anything else, he’s come around the corner, right in clear view of you through the open bathroom door. You’d been alone just a minute ago, not expecting anyone over, so you hadn’t bothered to close the door as you usually didn’t. 

You check your phone again, making sure that the call with your mom is ended, and then you sink lower into the bath, fully covering your body in bubbles, leaving only your head just above. 

“WinWin.” When you say his name, a few bubbles blow loose, drifting in his direction. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to come see you.” He stands in the doorway, leans against the doorjamb, and tries to not stare directly at you. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to grab dinner, but you’re clearly busy.”

You lift a bubbly hand and curl it over the edge of the tub. His eyes land on it and can’t seem to move away. “I’m just finishing the bath. I’m definitely not too busy to go to dinner with you. Especially if...”

“If what?” WinWin looks back up to your eyes again.

In a small voice, you say, “If it’s a date?”

Since that day when you’d made out on his bed at his apartment for the better part of an hour, you hadn’t done anything like that again. Things were almost just normal, just friends. That had been weeks ago, but there was still tension between you, an awkwardness but a strong connection that was just unaddressed. 

“If you want it to be a date.” WinWin’s lips curl up in a shy smile.

You nod. “Can you hand me the towel?” You point over at the towel hanging a few feet away, just out of reach. 

WinWin takes a few tentative steps inside, and then he grabs the towel, and as he hands it over to you, his fingers meet your slick skin. Instead of moving back, WinWin stays there for another long moment, his eyes run over your face, lingering on your lips. 

“WinWin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, but it is enough.

He touches his fingers just beneath your chin, tilting your mouth up to perfectly slot against his in a new, heart-stopping kiss. 

You push a soapy hand into his hair, fingers running against his neck, leaving bubbly trails behind, drawing him more deeply into the kiss. He sits on the side of the tub, his hand drifting lower until it’s sunken below the bubbles, his fingers resting on your shoulder. You drop your hand down, twist it in the bottom of his shirt, and give a tug, trying to get him closer to you.

In just an instant, he loses his balance, and comes sliding into your bath.

“Oh, shit!” WinWin laughs. 

The room fills with disturbed bubbles. Water splashes over the sides of the tub. WinWin soaks in the water, his mouth barely pulled away from yours, and his denim-clad ass rests between your legs. 

“I’m sorry.” You laugh and stroke a hand over his hair. “Are you okay?” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever been better,” WinWin says. He closes the small space between you and him, pulling you into another kiss. You cling to him, kissing him back hungrily, desperately, and you shift, moving your legs out from under him just enough that you can throw one of them over his lap. 

You draw yourself up. The cool air bites into your damp, bare skin, but the bubbles cling to you just enough that although WinWin’s eyes are wide, drinking in the sight of you, he can’t make out anything more than he’s really seen before. “WinWin,” you whisper his name again. As you rise fully up onto your knees, he brings his legs into the tub, shifting around so you can comfortably settle down onto his lap.

The soaked denim, the bubbles, the warm water and his sinking hands feel strange on your body, but at the same time, the feel of his thigh beneath your pussy drives you wild. 

You press your bare chest against his, and you rub your pussy over his thigh with a whimper.

“Oh God.” WinWin looks at your face. “You’re so perfect, you know?”

“Shut up.” You kiss him. “I want you, need you.” Your hands fumble beneath the water, trying to undo his pants, and when WinWin realizes what you’re doing, his hands dip down to help you. His pants come open beneath your fingers, and then there’s his dick, hard and throbbing at your touch.

WinWin groans. You cover his mouth with yours to keep him quiet, a hand curling against the back of his neck, and the other you keep working at his dick beneath the bubbles until he’s fully hard, swearing between kisses until finally he pulls back just enough to tell you, “Please, I want to be inside you already.”

You lift up and then sit down on him, sinking down slowly to the sound of WinWin’s half-swallowed moans. 

It’s strange feeling his clothes wet against your skin, his dick long and so good inside you, and his mouth caresses yours, his hands brush away the bubbles from your skin, leaving more and more of your bare to his eyes and touch. You shiver when his thumbs traces the curve of your breast, when it swirls in towards your nipple, so by the time he reaches your nipple it’s a hard peak awaiting his touch.

You let out a squeal as he tweaks your nipple, and WinWin smiles into the kiss and does it again. You grip his shoulder, rising up just to drop back down on him, kissing his sweet moan from his lips. 

Each move you make as you ride him sends ripples, swallowing down the bubbles slowly. WinWin’s hands hurry the process along, as he touches you moving the bubbles around. 

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.” WinWin tells you, his hand on your hips helping keep your rhythm steady as you grow tired of riding him. “After that day, I just thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. You didn’t make any moves like you wanted me.”

“Are you kidding?” You moan as he rocks his hips up against yours. “I’ve been dreaming about having you like this for weeks now. When you kissed me, God, WinWin, it awoke something in me and I just wanted to have you fuck me.” You cry out, and the sound echoes around the bathroom. “I’ve had all kinds of dreams.”

His hold on you tightens, bouncing you up and down on his dick. “As much as I’d love to hear them, I don’t know if I can take it at the moment. I’m close. You’re so warm and tight on me. Do you want me to cum inside?”

Your clit rubs against the fastening of his jeans and he fills you up so well, and at the thought of him cumming inside of you, you feel a tightening in your belly. You’re on birth control, so you’ll be fine, plus you want it so much. 

“Cum inside me, WinWin. Oh, please, oh God.” You sink down to have him fully within you, and you swirl your hips in circles, your clit against that fastening of his pants, his dick rubbing against your G spot. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”

WinWin swears and bucks up into your heat a few times, and then he orgasms, shooting his load inside your pussy. You desperately rock yourself on his dick, pushing yourself nearer and nearer until a last it overwhelms you, your orgasm unraveling you in one quick moment.

You slump forward against him, heart racing, and you move on him a few more times, just getting the most out of it that you can until your energy leaves you, and you just bury your face into his shoulder.  

“Are you okay?” WinWin cradles the back of your head. 

“I-I just, I wasn’t expecting that. But I liked it. A lot.” You sigh softly. “I thought I’d just have a nice relaxing bath, wrap up and make something to eat for myself. Tonight turned out so much nicer.”

“It was nice, right? But I guess we’ll have to put a hold on dinner. For a little while at least.” WinWin brushes his fingers down your spine. “My clothes are a little too damp to go out to dinner.”

You draw his mouth to yours again, just leaving a little kiss. “I have a machine that dries clothes, believe it or not. If you just want to take your clothes off I can get you dry in no time.”

“I think you just want to get me naked, actually.” WinWin laughs. He pushes lightly at your hips, and you lift up off of him, stand to let the water sluice down your body, the last of the bubbles sliding away and leaving you totally visible for him. You grab up the towel from where you’d dropped it on the floor ages ago, and you wrap it around yourself, carefully stepping out of the tub. WinWin groans. “You’re so cute. Your butt, I mean.”

You swat a hand at him. “Get out of the tub. Take you clothes off. I’ll dry them for you, and I’m sure we can find something else to do while we wait for the to dry.”

As you walk toward the door, you hear him splashing out of the tub. There’s the wet slap of his shirt hitting the tile floor, and you turn to look over your shoulder just before you step out of the bathroom. 

WinWin catches you looking, so he winks your way, and you hurry to your room to put some clothes on. You rummage around, looking for anything you think he could wear while you dry his clothes for him. There isn’t, and it doesn’t seem to matter to him because you turn around from searching your clothes, and see him standing comfortably in the doorway with just a towel around his waist.

“I have something for you.” He says.

You eye his towel, but WinWin grips it tighter around him. 

“Not that. Here.” He holds out his hand, revealing a piece of candy in a soggy wrapper. “It’s a little wet, but I brought it for you.”

You take the candy, but you won’t eat it, not after it soaked in your bathwater. “How about we make some dinner, dry your clothes, and have a night in?”

Cooking while half-naked turns out to be a bad idea. The towel grows loose, you grow distracted, and you end up almost burning the food when you get a bit handsy and make out with your hand beneath his towel. But you wipe your hand clean on the towel, and sit down together to eat on the sofa, curl up to watch a movie together, and forget all about everything else but each other.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 108

And we are somewhat caught up!  My queue has run out at least, and I’m astoundingly glad it has, because now I get to thank a bunch of people who have just detonated my inbox with love, and kept me going.

Before I get into the gratitude: If, at any point, a comment a character makes does not make sense, please let me know. Send an ask, even on anon, because I am well aware that everything in my brain does not get a chance to make it in the story (example: Charly’s triangle comment here, and the fact that Noah’s dialogue in the beginning has an actual translation…)

First, shoutouts to @charlylimph-blog​, @baelpenrose​, and @quantumizedinsanity​ for the characters in this chapter and for being very, VERY dear friends to me.  A global pandemic and nationwide protests, along with a job change and a major move, have done nothing to hurt friendships that are already cross-country from each other.

Annnnd to everyone who has been blowing up my notes with likes and reblogs: @dierotenixe(hang in there! i PROMISE!), @iamverypotato​,@itscryptifssil, @steadynightninja​, @thepalemarcher, @feral-possums-in-the-bog​, @26fancyraptors​(MISSED YOU!), @werewolf2578​ (we don’t talk enough, how are you!?), @experimentalspades​, @odd-dream-worlds​, @duchess-katala03​, @pineapplewitchboi​, @dark-choclat-cupcake, @littleshydragon​, and all the others. 

I held my breath, bracing for what I knew was coming. Nothing came after several minutes, to my surprise.  I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes, focusing on drawing deep, even breaths. Maybe he got bored and wandered off.  Maybe he had mercy on me….

Yeah. And maybe Grey is making genetically modified fish that fly.

Slowly, carefully, I grabbed my fork and lifted a bite of pie to my mouth.  A glance at Charly showed a serious expression, nothing given away. Damnit. I knew she could see Arthur behind me, I was hoping for a telltale giggle, or a warning glance, something.  Right when a traitorous voice of reason spoke up belatedly to point out that Charly was never serious…

“You really will adopt anyone, won’t you?” Arthur asked as he came around to take the chair Jokul had just vacated.

Fuuuuuck…. Busted. “I didn’t adopt him!” I tried to argue. “I actually made a very concerted effort to avoid that!”

Unceremoniously, he snagged Charly’s pot pie, only to have his hand held at fork-point until he let go.  Without even acknowledging the lunch-standoff, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “You tried to ‘avoid’ it by foisting him off on Zach Khan, your… nephew, thing, and his girlfriend. Still adoption-adjacent.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to interact with him.”

“Uh huh. And how will you explain to poor Hannah that dear Ivan’s partner isn’t invited to Insert Winter Holiday dinner, hmmm?”

“I hate you.”

“Lies and deceit,” he rebutted calmly. “You adopted me first. Before anyyyyone on this ship. I daresay you’re quite fond of me.”

I scowled at him, shoving my remaining lunch in his direction. “Here, before you start poaching this direction.”

An eyebrow arched in the general direction of my fish pie. “That looks suspiciously like dairy.  You wound me.” Grabbing my fork, he poked at the lumps of meat. “I would have thought you would be at least a little subtle in any assassination attempts. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Of course you taught me something,” I cooed, jokingly, while I patted his arm. “The fastest way to a man’s heart is six inches of steel through the ribs, slight upward angle.  Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, so always use shortbread cookies to administer it. Three pounds of pressure will tear off a human ear, and even a three year old can bite through fingers,” I recited. “Also, the pie is dairy-free, surprisingly. The ‘cream’ is silken tofu and aquafaba, turns out.”

Charly was choking with laughter, while Arthur finally smiled at me. “See, I told you that you love me,” he gloated before scooping up a scallop and some crust. As soon as he started chewing, his expression changed from one of amusement to something strikingly similar to Mac when I flick water in his face.

“Scallops,” I explained. “I had the same reaction.”

“Heathens,” he managed around the mouthful.  After he swallowed it, he gave the dish a considering look. “Not bad per se, but… There is no fish in this fish pie. What is aquafaba?”

“Chicpea juice.  Usually it’s used as an egg substitute.  I guess they used it for consistency here.”

Charly leaned forward, narrowly avoiding landing an elbow in her lunch. “And how can you tell that’s what’s in there?”

Glancing over at his student, Arthur shrugged. “She has a point. This,” he poked at the sauce, “looks like heavy cream.”

“Tastes kind of nutty, though,” I explained. “Anyway, enough about food. What brings you down here?”

“Galactic Core Curriculum,” he explained. “That’s the excuse anyway. Alistair - Cthulu damn his soul - told me you were eating lunch here after fifteen minutes of questioning. Tyche told me Charly was with you, so I figured lunch with you, lunch with one of my favorite students, plus I can kill two errands with one meal.” Charly stared at him like he had lost his mind, but he ignored her. “When I arrived - lo! What to my wondering eyes should appear, than a certain former cult leader harassing said friend and student! What person could resist such a temptation.” Deflating dramatically, he scowled at me. “Imagine my delight to hear you giving him relationship advice,” he intoned flatly.

“I got him to go away,” I pointed out.

“Before I managed even one strike in a highly one-sided battle of wits.“

“Mr. Farro,” Charly cut off, glaring for all she was worth. “Jokull came in peace, he leaves in peace.”

“Oh, he would have left in pieces. His ego anyway.”

“Fucking triangles, I swear,” Charly muttered, attacking her lunch with renewed violence.

“Anyway,” I forged ahead. “Jokul was here for fifteen, twenty minutes. You had your chance.”

He glanced away with a cough. “I… may have been resisting the urge to vomit.”

“Arthur.”

“Relationship advice is… not in my skillset,” he admitted. “Tell you your partner is abusive? Can spot a mile a way.  Great for getting people out of bad relationships, with concierge crowbar service if necessary. Not great for saving them.”

“Crowbar? Really?”

“You know, for prying people out of bad situations?” He genuinely looked confused, so I left that one alone.

“For what it’s worth, Jokull wanted to talk to you about what he’s going through right now,” Charly added.

“Why in any galaxy…”

I had to laugh at that one. “Everyone treats him poorly,” I shrugged before giving Arthur a pointed look. “He’s having a rough time right now, feels like he has no one to talk to except Ivan, and thought you would have some insight into that kind of thing.”

“What part of this,” he gestured to himself with a fork, “implies anything remotely close to wanting people to like me and therefore actually knowing how to accomplish that.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” I muttered. 

Giving me a hard, thoughtful look, Arthur’s entire demeanor changed. “Ah… On a more serious note, though… yeah.  I don’t get why people not liking you is a problem, but you’ve told me before it’s something that bothers you, so it’s feasible it bothers other people.  I’ll make a point not to make it worse.”

Clearing my throat, I pushed the conversation on to the next topic. “You mentioned two errands earlier. One for me, one for Charly?”

“Right.” The relief to be changing topics was palpable. “For you, Councillor, Galactic Core is almost finished. Eino is already considering other ongoing-education programs, and you’re going to need to start scouting educators again.  That late-twentieth through contemporary Terran history course? Big support-base, turns out.”

“You wouldn’t tell me this without a reason,” I pointed out. “And you’re a History teacher. Volunteering?”

“I want it done right,” he admitted. “The idea being bounced around isn’t for a requirement that everyone take the course. Not at the same time, anyway.  History-focused educators only, approved curriculum.”

“Approved?” I asked. “By whom?”

“A committee,” he shrugged. “Eino, obviously. Xiomara, with her background - which, by the way, is ridiculous - “

“We know, we know,” Charly and I groaned.

After glancing between us for a moment, Arthur continued. “And me.”

“Why you?” I asked. “No offense, just trying to understand.”

“No offense taken, I’ll explain that part later, but I promise it’s for a legitimate reason. The point is, Eino and his committee approve the curriculum and number of slots. You and Tyche make the decisions for who is allotted where.”

“Fair point,” I conceded.

“Fine. The area of history I focused on for my Master’s degree has an important component that ties a lot together and makes revisionism harder - wait. What?” I could almost hear the gears squealing as they ground to a halt. “Did you just say yes?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“That was… disturbingly easy,” he gave me a skeptical look.  When all I did was grin, he slowly turned to Charly. “As for you, I wanted to talk to you about the assignment that’s due next Friday.”

“I already turned it in,” she pointed out.

“Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s a week and a half early.”

“Right….” she nodded slowly. “And I made sure it met all the criteria on the syllabus.  Plus I had three different people proofread it.”

“All of which is admirable, and it would be considered a very well-done assignment,” he admitted. “If you didn’t have an extra week and a half left to make it even better.”

“Mr. Farro….”

“You aren’t in trouble, in any way shape or form,” he reassured her. “But I know you are capable of doing better than the assignment you already gave me.  I wanted to offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Charly asked suspiciously. “This isn’t illegal, is it?”

“What? No…” he sputtered. “Illegal!?”

“Gotta be sure,” she nodded sincerely.  I was reasonably certain she was giving him a hard time, but it was still hilarious to watch.

Shaking his head, Arthur did his best to recover. “The deal is this: if you stick with the assignment you already sent me, I’ll grade it as it stands. But. If you re-do it and hand it in on the original due date, you’ll be eligible for extra credit for your extra effort.”

“But I still get the grade on the one you already have, either way?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ve already graded it, and you won’t get a worse grade if you re-do it,” he promised. 

“I’ll think about it,” she hedged carefully. “That paper was a lot of work.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded. “What if you sent me an audio recording, instead? No extra writing.”

“I can do that,” she agreed, sticking out her hand. After Arthur shook it, she glanced at the time. “Shit. I gotta go. Sophia, don’t be late back to work, okay? Tyche won’t care, but Alistair may stop letting me have extra marshmallows in my cocoa when I come by your office.”

After she left, I gave Arthur a very serious look.  He tried to ignore it, but after about five solid minutes of The Squint, he caved. “For the love of��� She’s smart, okay? You know, I know it. The paper she handed in a week and a half early was much more insightful than anyone else in the class.  They were assigned a research paper on the underlying causes of the breakdown in relations between the Ekomari and Shalt-kri’i.  Everyone focused on political ideologies, trade resources, navigational route control.  Standard causes for war, from a Terran perspective. Do you know what Charly Harper wrote her paper about?”

“Food?” I asked, going out on a limb.

“So close! Cultural differences, plain and simple. Ekomari are vaguely mammalian, and their diet consists of native arthropods. Guess what Shalt-kri’i look like?”

“You’re kidding me…”

“Not even slightly.  And! To add insult to injury, in a very close to literal sense, Shalt-kri’i greet each other as friends by spreading their appendages, a lot like a hug.  Whereas Ekomari show aggression by… standing up on their hindmost appendages and spreading the rest to look bigger.”

“And no one caught this before?”

“Not on the Ark, no.” He spread his arms wide. “No one even considered it.  Sure, the rest are good points, and they did make everything worse, more than likely, but the start?  She nailed it.”

“Then why have her re-write the assignment?” I was honestly confused at this point.

“The way she wrote it, I could tell she wasn’t confident about the answer at all.” He looked about as frustrated as I had ever seen him. “You get her talking about engineering, or pranks, she knows she knows what she is talking about. I want her to know that she is just as right about this as she was about that.”

Hard to believe that this was the same man whose office I had marched into, out for a pound of flesh and the blood besides, because the same woman we were discussing left his class in tears and begged me not to make her go back.  However…

“Honestly?” I ventured. “I want to hear this recording when she hands it in. I’m really curious about this.”

“You think she’ll write it?”

“Pfft,” I scoffed. “I know she will. You gave her a challenge where she can’t lose, but stands a lot to gain. I just hope you’re ready for that sound file.”

“I honestly can’t wait,” he smirked.

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[croonerboy1965]

As Many Forms of Love: Chapter 2- Thief of Hearts

By librarian-von-sassypants and croonerboy1965

Eddie didn’t detest formal dances exactly. He knew there wee good reasons for this one. It solidified his social standing, gave him less of an air of “crazy loner with the damaged son” which many people wanted to attribute to him. He just never saw the point of them otherwise. Crowding one hundred of your closest neighbors into a too-small room, making them dance and fraternize and eat food that everyone secretly thought was sub-par, where everyone talked about everyone else behind their backs, and smiled prettily to their faces.

Eddie had the good fortune of being a conventionally attractive man, and wealthy. He never lacked for conversation or dance partners, and he played the part obligingly, but if he had his way, he’d spend the evening with a book and a glass of brandy, or perhaps reading Christopher bedtime stories.

He’d made one ally early on. Lady Lena Bosko. Utterly beautiful, charming, and, as far as Eddie could tell, utterly uninterested in the company of men, at least in a romantic sense. She was the only female in the room, it seemed, who was not trying to foist hints of marriage upon him, and thus had become a wonderful companion with whom he could simply stand back and observe the party.

“Lady Fortense is absolutely sleeping with the Earl of Viconze,” she whispered to him behind her fan.

He was slightly enamoured with the way her vibrant red hair caught the candlelight around them and reflected it back like fire.

“She would never admit to it, of course, and neither would he, but you can bet her husband knows.”, she said.

Lena was abreast of all the latest gossip, and the circle she chose to share her vast knowledge with was small indeed.

“Poor Viconze,” Eddie remarked as he took another sip of his wine. “She’ll eat him alive.”

Lena smirked.

“She most certainly will.”, she said, biting into the ripe berry she pulled from the lip of Eddie’s glass.

Eddie was well aware that most people took their lingering on the edges of the room together to be a declaration of intent to marry, or at least of amorous feelings. In a way he took it for granted. He needed to find a wife. He knew, and Lena would make a spectacular one.

“So what about you?”, he asked. “Any inclination to nab yourself a husband? I am single, you know.”, Eddie said, as he took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers gently.

Lena giggled and pulled her hand away, feigning shyness as she fanned herself, turning away.

“Well, you are charming, sir. And I can definitely see the benefit of a mutual bond.”, she said.

“Sadly, I have no real interest in the carnal pleasures of the company of men...You on the other hand,” She gave him a knowing look.

Eddie, looked down at his feet, and flushed hot in the face.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”, he said with mock indignation. Then he broke into a smile and they both laughed out loud.

“I guess we’re both just a couple of mavericks.” she said, taking his hand again and giving it a squeeze.

“Still-- it’s nice to have a friend in all this.”, Eddie motioned to the crowded ballroom.

It had been a month since he’d gotten settled into his country estate, made the tour of the surrounding homes, and introduced himself and Christopher the neighbors. Lena was by far his favorite of the lot, and he had visited her estate, where she lived with her aging father.

To their left, a hush seemed to ripple over the crowd, as a new guest arrived.

“Lady Arielle Valens, and Escort”, the announcer said. Lena commented without looking over.

“Everyone’s been up in arms about who she will invite to her ball later this year. It’s supposed to be one of the most exclusive and sought after invitations of the season.” She said to Eddie as she took a long swig from his wine.

A voluptuous woman entered the room, with a dashing, young, strawberry blonde man on her arm. Her face was set in a smile that seemed chiseled from stone, not quite real, not quite false. She wasn’t remarkable looking by any stretch of the imagination.

“There’s something… mysterious about her---intriguing.”, said Eddie. He had only met her once when he’d introduced himself initially, but on second look, was caught up in her strange web. Something about the way her blue eyes latched on and didn’t let go. Or how there was a secret second smile hidden beneath the veneer, one blossomed like the sun, when she’d sat in her drawing room with Christopher, who had regaled her with tales of growing up in London. That boy could charm the pants off of a gargoyle if given the chance, and Lady Arielle could not help but let her guard down, in spite of herself.

She and her companion were making the rounds of the room, and when they drew near to Eddie and Lena, she looked over, and winked conspiratorially.

Eddie couldn’t help but grin.

“A friend of yours?” Eddie asked.

Lena, he noted with some surprise, flushed so red she was nearly purple, and buried her face in her fan with a small grin she couldn’t seem to pry off her face.

“We have...met.”, she said.

“Well, we will absolutely be discussing that, later.”, Eddie said.

Eddie let his gaze linger over Arielle’s companion. She was, to everyone’s widespread knowledge, quite single, but managed to show up to parties with ridiculously attractive men on her arm, and this new one was no exception. Tall, thin, with strawberry blond curls, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a smile that whispered of both sex and confidence with each glance. There was something vaguely familiar about him, Eddie thought, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“Her new one is rather attractive,” Lena commented as the two of them watched the newcomers make a slow circle of the ballroom. Every single eye in the room was doing the same, though most everyone pretended to be busy doing anything else.

“Hmm?” Eddie was distracted.

“Lady Arielle’s new companion. I haven’t seen him before.” Lena said. There was jealousy in her eyes, Eddie was sure of it, but she didn’t take well to teasing, so he held his tongue.

Once they had made a full circuit of the ballroom, Lady Arielle and her companion ended up in proximity to Lena and Eddie, as several of the guests slowly gravitated into their orbit.

“Lord Diaz, Lady Bosko, delighted to see you again,” Lady Arielle made a small curtsy, and nod of her head. “May I introduce my friend, Sir Evan, Lord of Buckley Manor.”

Eddie had never heard of Buckley manor, and he’d studied the surrounding area extensively during his decision to move. Still, no one would ever call her out on it, definitely not Eddie, so he stayed comfortable in the knowledge.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Eddie sticks out his hand for the man to shake. Lord Buckley takes his hand gingerly, and even through the gloves, Eddie can feel the heat radiating off him. The man doesn’t do that usual firmer than necessary handshake, as men so often do with Eddie, in an attempt to assert dominance.

“This is Miss Lena Bosko,” Eddie introduced them, as Buckley took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the air just above it.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Buckley said, and the smile he gave her was absolutely breathtaking. ‘Too bad he’s barking up the wrong tree.’, Lena thought to herself.

“You both must come to my house for tea next week,” Lady Arielle smiled, though it was a mere whisper of her full force. “Do, bring Christopher!”

“Christopher?” Buckley asked the question, and then looked like he wished he could stuff the words back inside himself. Lady Arielle either didn’t notice or chose not to.

“Lord Eddie’s son!”, she said brightly, a little bit of sunshine leaked out when she talked about Chris. “Absolutely the most charming human I’ve ever come across. Buck is staying with us for a few weeks... He loves kids, don’t you Buck?”, she said.

So it was Buck now. Eddie made a note in his mental ledger.

“Indeed!” Buck says with a smile, but doesn’t quite meet Eddie’s eyes.

Just then, a waltz began to play.

“Shall we have a dance?”, Lena said, in an attempt to break the tension.

“Of course.”, Eddie said.

“Shall we?”, said Buck, as he took Lady Valens by the arm and led her to the floor.

Arielle followed and soon they were swallowed up by the whirling flashes of color from a room full of glorious gowns.

Lena looked at Eddie as he led her round, her brow furrowed.

“Eddie, what is it?”, she asked.

“Nothing.”, he said as he guided her, a bit stiffly, in any direction that might put some distance between them and the Lady Valens.

“Eddie.”, Lena pressed. He was looking off in Buck and Arielle’s direction.

“How well do you know, the Lady Valens?”, he asked.

Lena cleared her throat, and said, “Fairly well.”

“How well?”, Eddie insisted.

“Well. Very well.”, she retorted, indicating she meant to add no more.

“Why?”, she asked.

“It’s just--her companion--”, but he was cut off as the pair of them bumped into he and Lena, throwing them ever so slightly off their rhythm.

“I beg your pardon, sir.”, Buck said, throwing Eddie a mischievous grin.

“Mind your steps!”, Eddie spat through a tight smile. As he came round to meet him on the next turn, Eddie almost caught his foot on the hem of Arielle’s gown, his eyes locked on Buck’s.

“Mind yours!”, Buck said, in mock indignation.

“Wha--?!”, Eddie scoffed.

“Buck! Mind your manners!”, Arielle said.

“Apologies Miss.”, Buck said, eyeing her buxom breasts. He thought perhaps he brushed them inadvertently.

“Not me, you nit!”, she said.

They had stopped in mid-round.

Buck looked up, face now red, and met Eddie’s gaze yet again. Try as he might, he could not speak. He felt embarrassed, yet --there was something else.

Lena turned away from Eddie, and tapped Arielle, on the shoulder.

“Might I cut in?”, she said. Arielle’s face became sunny, and she said, “But of course, Madame.”

Arielle met her palm in Lena’s and Lena placed her other hand around Arielle’s waist.

“Men.”, Lena sighed.

As they began their first turn on the floor, Arielle pushed her backside into Evan’s and he came immediately up against Eddie. Not knowing what else to do, he took Eddie in hand and began leading him in a waltz. The closeness, their eyes locked together, the slightest scent of sweet anise on Buck’s breath. His lips were crimson, almost blood red against his pale skin. Buck was slightly taller but his taught frame felt sinewy in Eddie’s arms. This made Eddie harden in his nethers, in spite of his better judgement.

Buck felt Eddie pressing against him, and his own rig twitched with desire.

He recalled the same sensation a few weeks ago, on the road. Buck could not believe he did not realize it sooner. This man. Sure, he is more groomed, more cultivated, more polished. But it is the same man. The one he almost robbed. The one he inadvertently molested.

He can see the exact second Eddie sees it on his face. Eddie can suddenly see through him. The brigand from the road. Nearly unrecognizable in a fashionable emerald waistcoat and cravat, but Eddie would recognize those eyes anywhere. Those stunning blue eyes.

It hits them both like an avalanche.

“YOU!?”, they said in unison. They separated, suddenly aware they had been pressed together a bit longer than either one intended. Then covered themselves as each one spied the other’s reaction to said closeness. They quickly covered themselves with their hands in as polite a clasp as they could manage. Evan could not believe this was the same man. He was so...regal. So...handsome. Not at all like the disheveled traveler he’s nearly robbed a fortnight ago.

“I believe it might be time for you to call it an evening, Lord Buckley.” he said, mocking the title.

“Indeed.”, Buck said, turning to go without another word. As he left, he slid past Kingston, who glared at him, and then looked worriedly at Eddie.

Eddie put up a hand, and then put it quickly back down again, to cover himself. “It’s alright, Kingston, it’s been taken care of.”, he said.

“What have you done?”, Arielle said, looking accusingly at Eddie. “Buck! Wait!” she called after him, but he was gone. Lena shot him a look.

“What?”, Eddie said.

“Miss Valens…” Eddie said. “My deepest apologies, I shall have Kingston call you a carriage, and escort you home.”

“I think you’ve done quite enough.”, Lena said. “I shall escort Lady Valens home.”

Lady Valens, gave her a sheepish look. “How kind.”, she said. And they paraded past Kingston, who looked quite confused.

==============================================================================

Buck walked briskly toward the gate, and as he opened it, he was met by the two henchman he was in league with. He stopped, hands raised.

“Hi fellas.”, he said.

“Hello to you.”, the larger of the two said, his gun drawn on Buck.

“Griff…”, he said, “We are calling this one off.”

“Cawlin’ it off??!!”, Griff said. “I don’t fink so.”, he stepped forward and Buck stepped back.

“I s’pose you were finking of leaving me and Shep out in the cold and taking all the booty for yourself, eh?”. Griff said.

“Yeah, yew tryin’t’ cut us owt?”, Shepp said. He puffed out his chest. He was a full head and a half shorter than Griff and Buck. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. Griff looked over his shoulder at Shepp, making sure to intimidate him. Shepp shrank down and looked at the ground.

“Look, they just moved here, there really isn’t enough to bother looting.”, Buck tried to sound convincing,

Griff looked back toward the manor, and he could hear the chatter of voices and the strains of music off in the distance.

“Sounds to me like it’s ripe for the picking, wut wif all the fancy laawds and laydees and wot not.”, Griff said.

Buck tried to sound forceful in his protest.

“NO! I hired you and I say what goes! And I say, we aren’t doing this!”, Buck said as he stepped to Griff.

Griff took the butt of his gun and cracked Buck on the head, knocking him out. He fell like a rag doll to the ground.

“Who’s the boss now, eh?”, Griff said.

They stepped over Buck’s unconscious body and off in the direction of the house.

Just as Lena and Arielle, made it to the door, they stopped dead, as Griff pushed his way in and forced them back inside. Once in the ballroom, he announced, “Awright everyone, This is a sick up! Get your ‘ands in the air!”

The crowd stood still for a moment as the music stopped, unsure if this was really happening.

Griff shot the pistol into the air over his head. The loud blast cause some of the ladies to scream.

“I said, get ‘em up!”, he ordered. Now, if you do as we say, no one’s gonna get ‘urt…Put all your money and fancy jewels in this here bag,”, Griff said, as Shepp took out a satchel and went around the room collecting valuables.

Griff looked over at Eddie, who was stepping protectively in front of Lena and Arielle. He motioned at them to join the crowd now pressed against each other at the far end of the room. “Now nobody move and we will be off shortly, and y’can go back to your li’l soiree--“, Griff said, just as he heard a small voice from behind, him.

“Papa?!”, Christopher said as he made his way bleary eyed down the stairs.

Griff whirled on him and instinctively fired his gun.

“No!” Eddie shouted and he ran at Christopher and dove to grab him up.

The bullet went straight into Eddie’s back, just as he reached his son, shielding him from the blow. Christopher screamed.

Buck burst into the room, his eyes as wide as plates, and his mouth dropped open. Blood was streaming down the side of his face, as he looked first at Lena, then Arielle, then Griff and finally Eddie. He thought he should charge at Griff, but Kingston was already there and tacking him to the ground. Kingston smashed the man to his back and throttled him with one hand while gripping Griff by the wrist with the other. He put his full weight to bear on him and bashed his gun hand on the marble flooring repeatedly until the gun came free. Sheep, dropped the sack of valuables and made way to the gun, but Lady Valens was there first and cold cocked him squarely in the face, sending him flying, flat on his back. This made Buck smile just for a moment, and then his thoughts returned to Eddie. Lena was already at his side, when he reached them. Christopher was crying and squeezing his father around the neck, his face buried in Eddie’s shoulder.

“Papa! Pappa, NO!”, he cried.

Lena tried to calm Christopher, so she could turn Eddie over, but he would not be moved.

“Eddie…Eddie! Wake up!”, she wailed into his ear. Buck moved in and managed to pry the boy off so Eddie could be laid on his back.

Griff tried to wrestle himself free, but Arielle had him. She scooped up the pistol, cocked the hammer and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

“You go collect the little one, I’ve got this one well in hand, sir.”

She motioned for Kingston to get up and she took his place, straddling Griff, sitting her full weight upon him. Griff thought for a moment this might be something akin to fun, in any other context. He half smiled at her as he felt her fit into his lap.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, you hear?” She pointed the barrel down to the waistband area his pants, pressing the barrel against the fabric of her skirt hard enough where he could feel it tucked neatly between them. Griff’s half-grin faded to a look of horror as Arielle leaned in and whispered, “Best save that for the boys in the big house, eh? I hear they like a stodgy man-toy.”

Kingston, took the binding cords from the drapes and bound Shepp. “Someone fetch a doctor! And get the constable!”

Eddie loosed his hold on Christopher, who immediately threw himself forward on to Eddie’s chest and wept. His glasses were all akimbo as he pressed his face into his father.

“Right away!”, Buck stood and dashed out the door. He headed for the carriage house and unhitched and mounted the nearest horse. “Hyahh!”, he commanded. The horse bolted forward and off he rode into the night.

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Maiden of the Sea 3/5

AO3 link

Carrying the twins is actually easier than Arya ever expected.

Sure, she has to adjust to her size, but that was doable. Renly had owned a great many clothes that Arya can pick through to find ones that will accommodate her expanding gut, though most of them are awfully gaudy.

She’s trying on and tying a tunic of black silk embroidered with leaves and vines one morning. Most of these garments are just sitting around, gathering moths. She should really find someone who can take them apart and sew them into more serviceable garments. She cringes and tosses the silk tunic aside, trading it for a slightly less garish one of green wool edged in gold.  Gendry peeks up from the bed and tells her,

“You should just wear that as a dress.”

Arya stares at him bewildered. The tunic is quite long, nearly to her knees, and blessedly loose around her middle, but still.

“And just go around with my naked legs sticking out like a heron?”

“I like your legs, and I don’t get to see them enough.”

Arya rolls her eyes, and pulls out the hose that were hanging with the tunic. She cringes, realizing that they’re the two piece kind that are supposed to be held together with a codpiece.

“I didn’t know men still wore these.”

Gendry glances over at them.

“Can’t imagine they were ever popular up North, too cold. My uncle was apparently very much into keeping up with fashion though.”

Arya tosses them aside.

“Can’t do those, I’m not giving everyone at the training yard a free show.”

Afterwards, she finds a pair of lambskin breeches that slide on easily and tie very low on her waist. She’ll have to roll them up though, and she’s sure she looks ridiculous.

“You could just have something made for you, it would probably end up being much more comfortable” Gendry interjects.

Arya sits on the end of the bed to pull on her boots, which takes far longer than it used to.

“I know. I just hate the idea of all that work going into making things I’m only going to wear while I’m still enormous.”

In fact, Maester Elric had seemed mildly concerned about her size at first. And then, after interrogating her on her recent eating habits, told her he suspected that she was carrying twins.

Twins, as if the possibility of one child wasn’t daunting enough.

“It’s strange,” Arya had admitted once, “I love children, I always have. I rejected the idea of being someone’s broodmare, but I always thought I’d be the fun auntie for Jon and Sansa’s children. I thought Sansa’s especially would need it.”

She makes a face, thinking back to what she knew of other highborn children. Some she had met seemed to hardly spend any time with their parents at all. While Joffrey had cried to his mother over everything, she didn’t think she recalled King Robert spending any time at all with any of his children.

“I don’t want a wet nurse,” she tells Gendry when she’s seven moons along. “I don’t want to get used to the idea of foisting my children off on someone else, especially for something so...personal.”

Gendry glances up from his papers. They’re going through the ledgers together. They’ve taken to doing that with most of their duties. This was something that normally fell to the Lady of the keep. Arya accompanies him in petitions, and they both manage the servants. Helping each other out aside, it means that if Gendry retreats into his grouchy, sullen self at an offhand comment, or if Arya’s temper got the best of her when someone questions her ability, one could take the reins and let the other go hide and lick their wounds.

And on the rare occasion someone riled both of them up, they were a force to be reckoned with. Ours is the fury indeed.

“If you’re sure,” Gendry tells her, “I mean, I never heard of any woman in Flea Bottom having one, and they get on well enough.”

“Merope tells me there’s a girl in the kitchens, Mollie, whose due a moon before me. I’ll talk to her, just in case of emergency...but I think we can do this.”

It will be a challenge. Aside from the official duties of her title, Arya has taken on much of the role of the Master-at-arms.

The previous one had been killed during Stannis’s siege years ago, and much of the job had been taken on by the captain of the guard, who seemed more than glad for the occasional relief. A couple of the guards had objected to taking direction from a woman. A raised eyebrow and a question if they had heard of the exploits of Arya Stark, bringer of the dawn, had mostly pushed those down.

And for those who didn’t, a firm rap from her quarterstaff had changed plenty. She really doesn’t use the staff enough.

She keeps with the actual sparring as long as her body allows her to. And once she can’t, she still walks the training yard, observing, offering advice.

Even the physical symptoms don’t bother her as much as she thought. The heartburn’s pretty bad, but nothing like Merope had warned. Having to visit the privy constantly is a pain, but she’s in a proper castle now, where that’s never far away. And Maester Elric’s teas keep the worst of the intestinal symptoms at bay.

Sometimes she worries that she’s become numb to physical discomfort. That she’s become so used to it that she won’t recognize if she’s truly hurt.

Somehow, the one that bothers her most is the swelling of her feet, especially when she gets large enough she can’t do anything about it herself.

Gendry insists that he doesn’t mind rubbing her feet before bed.

“I’ve told you, I like making you feel good.”

Arya pouts.

“That’s the same excuse you used the other night when you let me hump your leg while you were still asleep because you were too tired to do anything else, and I can’t reach my own cunt anymore.”

Arya had been right that her pregnancy had made her libido go into overdrive. She hadn’t thought it was possible for her to want him anymore than she already did, but she had apparently been wrong. And while Gendry had enjoyed the change greatly, sometime this life they had built just took too much out of him.

Arya keens when Gendry digs his thumbs into her arches.

“I don’t like being dependent on other people,” she admits, “I spent too long not trusting anyone but myself, and now I’m going to have two tiny humans completely dependent on me. I don’t even know what to name them.”

Gendry blinks like it’s the first time the thought had occurred to him.

“Shit,” is his reaction, “And we have to pick two instead of one.”

He thinks for a few moments, and then wrinkles his nose.

“If either one’s a boy, we’re not naming him Robert.”

“Agreed,” Arya’s silent for a bit, before continuing. “I used to think I would name my firstborn after my father. I can’t. I don’t want to name them after any of my loved ones who have died. You see the way some of the older people here look at us…”

“Like we’re them reincarnated,” Gendry says bitterly. He hates being compared to Robert, just as Arya is uncomfortable being compared to an aunt she never met.

“I don’t want my children’s lives cast in the shadows of ghosts.”

They won’t be. Even names aside, the people of Storm’s End didn’t know them as children, they won’t build their children up on the expectations of the memories of parents.

Gendry drops her feet, and pulls her into his arms. He kisses her slowly but thoroughly, caressing her cheek with his thumb. His other hand finds the waistband of her breeches.

“Is this a bad time to admit I’m so hard I could cut diamonds?”

Arya laughs,

“At least you’re awake this time. “

He pats her on the arse.

“Roll over,” he tells her, voice deep and husky. She does as told.

She feels him pulls her breeches down as she unties and struggles to pull her tunic over her head. She expects to feel him enter her, instead her back goes cold and a few seconds his hand pushes her thigh up and his tongue probes at her from behind.

“Gotta make sure you’re wet,” he whispers lustily, before returning to his licks. Arya sighs and groans, and grasps at the sheets, pushing back against his face. He drives her closer, so close, before pulling his mouth away.

“You’re mean,” she says petulantly. His kisses one arsecheek in apology. He then returns to his previous position, wrapping one arm over hers and pushes in with one firm stroke.

This is pretty much the last position they can do this in. Arya’s sore breasts quickly made her not want to be on top anymore, the shaking making it worse. Then her abdomen began to hang loosely and it made her so uncomfortable that she no longer enjoyed being on her hands and knees. Eventually, Gendry wouldn’t even get on top of her for fear of hurting the babes. Fucking her husband had become nearly as difficult as finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

As she grinds back on his cock to match his every thrust, his hand groping for her nub blindly, she muses that at least it’s a good one to save for last.

She grunts and cries out when she comes. Gendry leans over and softly bites her shoulder as he thrusts hard and spills inside her.

“Can’t wait til I can see your face when you do that again.”

Arya’s still in a daze, but opens one eye.

“I could drag over the looking glass.”

She’s not got quite a moon left when Davos and Marya arrive for a visit.

Arya is delighted when Davos presents them with his gift to the babes, a carved wooden cradle.

The gifts have started coming slowly. Most of the houses were waiting until the actual birth to send their congratulations, fearing stillbirth or childbed fever. Arya understands, but hates the ideas that want to take root in her mind of what could happen.

Selwyn Tarth had sent a young foal, now in the castle stables. He had sent a note saying,

“If you’re child is anything like mine, this may be the only plaything they need for many years. And if, Gods forbid, the worst comes to pass, I’m sure the lady of the house could find it in her heart to make a place for the beast.”

One day out of the blue, Daron and Tim had presented her with a thing made out of fishnets, that they insisted was a baby carrier.

“Since they think you’re having two, there’s a spot to stick one on your back too,” Daron had insisted, lifting the net over her head and showing her.

She will definitely be testing that with melons before putting a child in it.

The cradle is beautiful, made of dark wood, and still rocks smoothly, though it’s clearly been used for many years.

“I’m no craftsman, my lady, but I’ve always been good with my hands, and this served our sons quite well.”

She barely has time to ask if it will fit two when Davos asks where Gendry’s ran off to instead of greeting guests.

“The forge most likely. That’s where he goes when he’s upset or someone pisses him off or he just needs to lose himself. He’s been in there a lot lately because he’s scared but doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t like being bothered when he does, but I don’t think he’ll mind if it’s you.”

Davos has barely left when Marya begins fussing over her,

“I can’t believe you’re still up and moving around as close as you are. With Dale I was in bed nearly an entire moon before.”

Arya flushes red. Maester Elric’s been giving her hell for not wanting to go on bed rest, but she doesn’t feel like she needs to stop. Slow down maybe, but not stop.

“Oh you know, another day. One day it’s achy joints, the next my tits are leaking.”

“If you want comfort, the first one is the hardest.”

“I can’t even think of any others right now.”

Marya holds onto her shoulders, fondly. Like a mother. Arya suddenly feels tears prick at her eyes and wonders what her own mother would think of what she has become.

“I brought you some blankets and baby clothes as well,” she studies Arya before continuing. “You tell me Gendry’s frightened. Are you?”

Frightened? Arya thinks. She knows fear, she’s stared it in the face. She knows fear, intimately.

“Not really. Nervous? Maybe, anxious? Without a doubt.”

She reaches down and runs her hands over her stomach so she can feel the kicks. It’s been a chore keeping other people’s hands away. These are for her alone.

“Mostly? I really want to meet them.”

Marya pulls her in to kiss her on the head.

“I think you’ll do just fine then. I’m glad Gendry has someone like you. Davos used to write to me that he was scared the boy would never adjust to his new status. He  would bristle at the tiniest of insults and sulk at the smallest mistake he made. He needs someone like you.”

Arya feels a smile quirk at the corners of her mouth.

“We’re good for each other,” she says, “We each want to beat up the other’s insecurities.”

Davos and Marya leave in a few days, saying they were called to King’s Landing before they could return home. After they bid their farewells, Arya tells Gendry,

“Bran wrote me a letter. He says he wants to give Dragonstone to House Seaworth. They both know the land, Davos has more than proved himself worthy and they already have multiple heirs.”

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more,” Gendry muses, “I’d have probably cocked this whole lord thing up if Davos hadn’t been here to help me.”

He’s helped them both, Arya thinks.

A few weeks later, she gathers a handful of Renly’s old clothes to take to Mollie. Her son, Tris, had been born three weeks before. The girl had nearly panicked when she’d gone into labor and realized that it would be some time until she could go back to the kitchen. Arya had promised to find work for her that she could do sitting down.

“I’ve tried to take a bunch of these seams out, so we can use the fabric to make children’s clothes in a bunch of different sizes. I don’t know if they’re boys or girls yet, so you can make dresses or trousers if you like. If they’re girls, I’ll let them pick whichever ones they like,” Arya tells her in a whisper.

She leans over the basket and gently taps Tris’s nose, softly. She knows better than to a wake a moon-old baby.

“You should make him some too, there’s some really nice leather among that all.”

“Milady,” Mollie says, touching the fabrics, “These are far too fine for a child of mine.”

She had realized quickly upon talking to the other woman, that Mollie had no one and her child would be a Storm. She could have told her that some of Arya’s favorite boys had been born bastards, and that the only part of them that should be cursed was the men who left them. But she knew it likely wouldn’t make a difference, and she hoped that this might prove to her that Mollie’s son would be treated no differently by the Lord and Lady of this house.

“They’re far too fine to be sitting in a wardrobe attracting moths too. Neither me nor Lord Baratheon are going to be wearing anything like this. I’m sure Renly wouldn’t want them to go to waste, and I’m too shit with a needle and thread. If I were in your position, my children would probably be running around naked until they could sew their own.”

She fingers the golden lace stitched onto the edges of a red velvet doublet.

“Feel free to tear off any of this frippery though. They’re going to be worn by children after all.”

Mollie finally accepts, and when Arya stands, she feels a cramp and stumbles a bit.

“You okay milady? Mollie asks, looking after her.”

“I’m fine,” she tells her. “If anyone asks, I’m heading to the Godswood.”

She’s been spending more and more time out here as of late, when she needed to get away and collect her thoughts. It was her place, the way Gendry’s was the castle forge. When her skin began to feel stretched and heavy, she would come out here, strip and go for a swim.

This is what she does today, pleased that even though it’s a bit cold, the sky is still only gray and not pouring, yet anyway. She feels another cramp, and winces, before feeling the water take her weight and lets herself relax and try to let it out.

The cramps keep coming and going, and Arya is annoyed;. They’re like the ones that came with her moons blood, but are much sharper. When she starts to go wrinkly, another one hits her.

She dresses and gets up to leave, and another hits, this one stronger, so much so that she stumbles.

Alright, maybe she SHOULD go see Maester Elric before supper.

The maester of Storm’s End is younger than any Arya’s met previously, his formerly golden hair only streaked with gray, worn tied back at his neck. He’s also a bit more sharp tongued than she’s used to, but she prefers that.

When she tells him about the cramps, he places a hand on her stomach, and asks.

“Is the pain constant? Any bleeding?”

“No,” Arya replies, “It comes and goes, but they’ve been happening more-”

Another one hits, and she grimaces and draws herself in. That was the worst one yet. She almost forgot she had legs for a minute.

Elric sighs and rubs his forehead.

“I would ask if you were paying attention to the dates I gave you, but you clearly haven’t.”

Arya sputters.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“When was the last cramp before that?”

Arya thinks.

“Twenty minutes or so ago, after I left the Godswood?”

“My lady,” he tells her, measured. “You’re in labor.”

“Oh,” she says weakly, Elric takes her arm and begins to lead her out of his workshop and towards the Lord’s chambers, “That makes sense. Can someone please fetch my husband?”

Arya’s heard a lot about childbirth, from women of all stations, along with perfunctory lessons from her septa growing up. Part of her feels like she’s prepared, but also knows she’s completely not.

The contractions begun coming more frequently, by the time Gendry turns up. Arya hurts in ways that she’s not sure she even knew she could. Gendry holds her hand, even as she tells him some extremely unkind things.

She groans and pants and cries out, but won’t scream. She’s been stabbed, had run through the streets bleeding and jumped into a canal and tried to swim. She had pulled out stitches multiple times. This may be an entirely different kind of hurt, but it’s going to end in something beautiful, so it’s not worth screaming over. This harbour will not submit to the storm.

After a seeming lifetime, Elric announces that he can see a head, and a minute later, Arya hears a cry.

Elric cleans off the babe, wraps her in a blanket and hands her to Arya. She’s beaming and her heart sings, even as she hears Elric go “that’s one down.”

The second comes a few minutes later, with one strong push ending in a sharper pain. Elric cleans and hands Arya that one as well.

He’s clamping and cutting the cords when he feels the need to say,

“I’d watch out for that one, she tore you on the way out. It’s not bad though, barely a nick, it won’t even need a stitch.”

Arya’s cuddling the both of them, marveling at the tiny noses and ears and their little tufts of black hair, so she only vaguely notes Gendry going pale as a ghost and going “That can happen?” There’s so many things going on downstairs, she’s not sure she would even notice a big tear.

Then he says something about “afterbirth”, and Arya chooses not to think too much about what that means. She’s only got eyes for the girls in her arms, and ignores the odd, squishy feeling that follows, Elric’s hands massaging her abdomen, and whatever it is he’s throwing in the washbasin with the soiled towels and he’s talking about burying.

Gendry’s climbed onto the bed beside her, when Arya’s pulled down the neck of her tunic and Elric’s showing her how to get the babies to latch. It’s a bizarre feeling, but the two of them seem to know what to do, so it’s not bad. Elric nods, and tells them he’ll check in on them all again in a bit.

He pats Arya on the shoulder.

“For all the knowledge they guard at the Citadel, they cannot make life. Only women can do that. I think this is my favorite part of the job.”

And then he leaves them be.

Arya’s exhausted, so when the children stop suckling and yawn, she gives in to Gendry’s grabby hands and lets him take one.

“Have you thought anymore about names? Because I have nothing.”

Arya looks down at the little dark haired creature in her arms.

“My grandmother was Lyarra...how about Lyra?”

Gendry nods,

“That’s a good one. But we need one more.”

Arya bites her lip in thought.

“What about Lysa?” She pronounces it with a long ‘i’, “leesa’.

Gendry makes a face.

“Didn’t you have a mad aunt named Lysa?”

“I didn’t know her. I only have Sansa to go on that she was mad. And besides, her name was pronounced “Lie-sa”. I was thinking like Lys, the free city.”

Lyra’s already back asleep on Arya, but Lysa’s wiggling her little arms at her father above her. Arya’s reaches out to tap her nose.

“I always wanted to see Lys, I wanted to see all the free cities. I loved Braavos, loved the sea and the canals. Loved the smell and the fresh seafood and the boats and all the different people going about their lives in such a bustling place. It was like what King’s Landing could have been, if it didn’t stink so much.”

She pauses a bit, the darkness getting back into her eyes.

“Though I loved Braavos a lot more before I learned a blind girl could get beaten regularly in the streets and no one would do a single thing. I should have known better than to expect that people were better anywhere else.”

Gendry leans over to kiss her on the forehead, to help her chase the darkness away.

“Lyra and Lysa work for me.”

Arya eyes her still awake daughter. Her eyes aren’t quite as blue as her father’s, there are flecks of gray in them, like her own. Storm eyes, Arya thinks to herself.

“We could go see Lys someday,” Gendry tells her, “I’ve never seen any of Essos. Someday, we could go. All of us maybe even.”

Arya smiles as she feels her exhaustion threaten to take her. Maybe they would.

Gendry and Maester Elric both have to practically yell the next day when she wakes and tries to get out of bed immediately.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: The Devil Left Him

Rating: G Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley & Jesus, Aziraphale/Crowley Tags: Friendship, Established Relationship Word Count: 2,800 Summary: Crowley showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. The Bible recorded some version of this event, but left off the walk down the mountain afterward. Hard to find the right wording for, "And then the son of God befriended a demon. Don't try this at home." Also on AO3. Notes: I was really struck by the timing for Crowley's name change, and this was what came of it. The hilarity of me, a recovered Christian, writing about a friendship between Jesus and a demon has kept me amused all day.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: “‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’” Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him. (Matt. 4:1-11) 

In general, the different versions of the Bible—even the printings with deliberate errors—agreed: after the devil showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world, Jesus shooed him away with clear hand gestures and admonishments that could not be misinterpreted, and the devil slithered off as angels landed on feather-light feet.

In reality, though, Crawley had already expended a lot of energy on what he'd suspected from the start to be a fruitless task. He wasn't about to slither anywhere. It took a lot of work to take a human with him when he willed himself from one place to an entirely different place, even when that human was the son of God. His bones were blessed heavy.

Maybe something of that showed on his human-but-not-quite-human face, because Jesus said, "You look weary, my friend," as if today's activities had all been an elaborate song-and-dance where they'd both played only a part, rather than themselves.

"It's not as easy as it looks," Crawley said. He seated himself on a nearby convenient rock. "I don't usually drag humans round with me."

Jesus seated himself on the ground. For unknown reasons, this made Crawley's insides squirm in discomfort.

"We should rest a while," Jesus said, "before we walk down the mountain."

"You might want to get a move on, actually," Crawley said, squinting down at him. Forty days of fasting was nothing for a demon, but it reduced a human to something horrifying, a skeletal nightmare with the skin just barely hanging on. Better not to even try to describe the hair. "Find something to eat on the way down."

"I will wait," he replied, peaceably.

So Crawley sat in resentful silence while he got his breath back, so to speak. Jesus closed his eyes and turned his face into the chill mountain wind and, for all Crawley knew, prayed. An old envy burned in his gut, an ulcer still barely sealed over. 

"I'm not going to walk down the mountain, you know," he said. In another place—no easier way to describe it than that—his wings did not ache so badly anymore.

"No?" Jesus asked, his eyes still closed. Starving and dirty and stinking, but the hint of a smile curled his mouth. "Do you not require thanks, then, for what you've shown to me? No interest in reciprocity?"

"I don't see how a walk down the mountain is reciprocity," Crawley said, more wary than sneering.

"You have seen the grander view," Jesus said. "Let me show you the smaller one."

Crawley laughed, because it was laughable. He had already seen every view, after all. He had seen the touch of both Her love and Her cruelty in a thousand, a million, big and small ways. He had seen children drown, magnificent creatures lost forever to a flood. He had more than seen his fill. As he'd displayed the kingdoms of the world, he'd looked away.

"If nothing else," Jesus said, undeterred by the vaguely hissing noise of Crawley's laugh, "it will allow you to gather your strength." 

He looked up, meeting Crawley's eyes. There was something terrible and knowing there, something depthless, that did not belong on a human face. It was a vision of agony, of endurance, of suffering. It was more than a person should rightly contain. Crawley could not look away.

"You will need it," Jesus said softly. It was not a warning or a threat; his voice, his sharp-boned face, was filled with compassion.

The breeze tipped from cool to cold, and Crawley stifled the question rising in his throat, though he wondered: What? What will I need it for? Do you know, or are you as vague and inaccessible as Her?

But when Jesus stood, Crawley followed him down the mountain, moving at the pace of the weaker human. They made meals of stringy rabbits caught in clever snares that Jesus fashioned, whatever fruits and roots they could forage from near-barren trees, handfuls of water from streams that ran too low. Crawley didn't need any of it; he left the too-bitter berries to Jesus and had only a bite of one of the rabbits. They were barely real, anyway. What sustenance existed this far up on the mountain had to be encouraged to show itself.

After one night sprawled in the too-thin grasses by the faint roadside, still practicing sleep, Crawley had the strength to leave. Jesus's feet cracked and bled, and he moved at the shuffle of a much older man, but he would make it down the mountain. Surely She wouldn't let Her son die in obscurity after being abducted by a demon. That couldn't be in the ineffable plan.

But in case it was, Crawley stayed. Occasionally he scoffed at the small wonders that Jesus offered up for his inspection—this flower blooming well past its season, that bird singing long past sunset, the pattern of those clouds descending low to the mountain—but mostly, he kept quiet, and kept his eyes open.

When they parted ways in the village at the bottom of the mountain, Jesus said, "You are welcome at my home, should you ever find yourself there."

Crawley gave him a disbelieving look, a raised eyebrow. Jesus smiled as he departed.

*

There was not much to do in Capernaum. Crawley had heard something—just a murmur—that sounded a bit like Aziraphale, and wouldn't it be fun to ruffle up those feathers again, but there were a lot of fantastical things happening now. The world folded on itself to accommodate the son of God. Could've been any old miracle. Jesus could've done it himself.

And Jesus was around and about, no mistake about that—there, by the low fountain in this tiny square, where some barefoot children occasionally splashed. He was surrounded by no less than four others, usually; Crawley had yet to see him alone again after that trek down the mountain.

But today, unlike the other days, his eyes—those terrible eyes—passed over the square and sought the shadows, and landed unerringly on Crawley.

He mastered the instinct to shrink from view and vanish. He gave a cheery little wave from within a flowing dark sleeve, a smirk paired with it, as if to say, Yes, the Temptation goes on forever; choose what I offered and all can be well.

Not likely.

But Jesus smiled his strange small smile, asked his companions to wait, and made his way over to Crawley. 

"It's good you're here," he said, with no irony at all. "We're going to repair a roof. Will you help?"

Strange man, this Jesus. Maybe the lower-downs had it wrong, and there had been some kind of mixup. Compassion and kindness was all well and good, but surely this kind of olive branch was not meant for demons. It never had been before.

"I hear that carpentry is more your area," Crawley said.

"It is simple enough to learn," Jesus replied, "for a creature as old as you." 

He beckoned, and Crawley, infinitely curious, followed.

They spent the afternoon in the hot sun, balanced by turns on the beam that would support the roof, laying in place a lattice of straw mats that were then smoothed with clay. Jesus's friends passed up materials, and Crawley mostly ferried them between points, watching. Jesus explained how to overlay the mats, where to apply the clay, how the beam at this point and this one supported the weight, and Crawley listened. He asked Crawley to smooth down one section of mat and clay and congratulated him on a job well done.

It felt like having his hands clasped around a nebula, drawing out a necklace of stardust, while She stood at his back and offered direction and encouragement. The sun shone like God had not vanished from the world—or at least, like God had not vanished from Crawley's.

But that same sun was setting by the time the roof was done, and all gathered on it for a simple meal, including the family who lived there. Some looked askance at Crawley, glances lingering on his eyes before darting away, but said nothing. It had rarely been a problem before, but he sensed a change coming. A world narrowing in some ways, widening in others. It would all come back around eventually.

Jesus came to the edge of the roof to offer him bread, which he took out of politeness more than a desire to eat the stuff. "What is your name?" Jesus asked, as if picking up a conversation they'd already been having.

Crawley opened his mouth to answer and closed it again. It seemed the depth of disgrace to give the son of God the name that had been foisted on him after his wings burned; it seemed a humiliation too great to endure. Salt rubbed in a great many wounds.

"Which would you prefer?" he said, the words biting. "The name She gave me? Or the name I answer to when my new master calls?"

Jesus chewed on the bread, swallowed, chased it with a gulp of thick wine. "Which do you prefer?" He didn't rise an inch to Crawley's tone. Crawley was beginning to think that patience was actually Hellish. It was annoying enough to be.

"Neither," Crawley said, and though it was knee-jerk, he found it to be true upon closer inspection. The old name—and he did remember, remembered like holy water had left a sizzling burn in its shape on his mutilated grace—didn't fit, now. Maybe never had.

And really. Crawley. No imagination at all, the first thing that had come to mind for a wretched snake.

"Perhaps you should fashion a new one."

"No suggestions?" Crawley said, vaguely heckling. "No offers to help me begin anew? To save my immortal soul?"

"Do you have a soul?" Jesus countered, with a trace of humor.

Crawley gave a very small, very quiet snicker of laughter. It surprised even him.

"The world is changing," Jesus said, gazing out at where the sun had vanished below the horizon.

"The world doesn't change," Crawley said, just for the sake of argument.

Jesus looked at him sidelong. "You'll have opportunity enough to begin anew. You should choose for yourself."

Crawley snorted, but Jesus only stood, no hard feelings, to return to the other humans. Crawley tried a bite of the bread and left the rest at the edge of the roof when he leapt back down to the ground.

*

"You know, my dear, I didn't know that you had any experience with carpentry."

Crowley, mouth full of screws, sizing up the shelf that had collapsed beneath another of Aziraphale's improbable stacks of books, shrugged. With an effort devoted to making sure he didn't accidentally swallow any of the bits of metal in his mouth, he said, "I helped Jesus fix a roof once."

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale said, as if he thought he'd misheard.

"I didn't have any other plans," Crowley said, more defensively than he meant to. "And he asked."

Roofs and bookshelves were entirely different things. He shouldn't have even mentioned it; he could have pointed to any other example of a stupid human thing he'd picked up over the centuries. He could've lied.

But he and Aziraphale were trying this new thing where they were actually honest with each other, since they had the freedom to be, and his instinct was to not fuck that up. Even when he risked exposing as rotten a wound as this.

"He never asked me to help fix a roof," Aziraphale muttered.

"You weren't really up close and personal with the humans back then, were you? Did he even know who you were?" Crowley brushed away some of the sawdust created by drilling one of the screws in.

"I doubt it," Aziraphale said, and sighed the way he did when he was settling into the chair at his desk; Crowley didn't have to look around, or extend his senses, to know exactly how he looked, mug of cocoa cupped between his hands and balanced lightly on his stomach. "There were so many angels coming and going around him, I doubt that I stood out."

"You always stand out, angel."

He left it open to interpretation whether that was a good or bad thing (answer: both), but still he could feel the way Aziraphale smiled in reaction; the force of it warmed the entire back of him. Set a little more at ease by this, he returned to his work.

When the drill had gone silent permanently, and Crowley was fastening some clever little rubber stoppers over the ends to support the shelf—really, carpentry had come a long way in two thousand years, Jesus would have been impressed—Aziraphale said, "What was he like?"

Crowley considered, sliding the shelf back into place. The places where the wood had given out under the old screws was completely concealed, and the shelf was sturdy again; he started restacking the books.

"Ineffable," Crowley said, half-taunting, and Aziraphale gave a protesting little laugh at that. "No, he was...strange. Patient. I walked down the mountain with him because he asked. I helped with the roof because he asked. That was the sort of person he was. He didn't hold a grudge about the whole Tempting thing, like he thought I was just playing a part. Never had the stomach to tell him it wasn't that simple."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, so quietly and so pained that Crowley had to steady the stack of books against the shelf for a heartbeat before continuing.

"Oh, right," he said, trying to sound indifferent, "the name change. I never mentioned it. His idea. Never got a chance to tell him what I'd settled on."

Aziraphale mulled that over quietly; Crowley fussed with the books, attempting to decipher what order they were meant to be in.

"I thought he might have been important to you," Aziraphale said. "But I never would have guessed…"

"Why would you? I never could figure it out, myself. Why he was so...nice...to a demon. Not like Upstairs at all." Crowley voiced the next almost tentatively, nearly afraid to hear Aziraphale's opinion. Not afraid enough, though. "Thought there might've been something wrong with him."

"No," Aziraphale said sadly. "There was nothing wrong with him. And they didn't learn anything at all."

"Well." This conversation was getting too maudlin for him; he stepped back from the bookshelf to admire his handiwork. "I learned something."

Aziraphale got up to look at the shelf, too; his hand slipped into Crowley's, and Crowley returned the pressure, held on tight. "You've always been more open-minded than the rest of us," Aziraphale said; the fondness in his face was too bright to look at head-on, so Crowley admired it from the side. 

"That's a low bar."

"I know," Aziraphale said, and then, more seriously, "thank you. For telling me. Now, can I treat you to dinner, as thanks for holding my bookshop together?"

"If you would just expand a bit, you'd have enough room for all the books, and this wouldn't happen," Crowley said, falling comfortably back into familiar, toothless bickering.

But over dinner, he told Aziraphale everything, everything he could remember about those brief moments two thousand years ago. Aziraphale was, as always, the perfect audience, scandalized and delighted at all the right places, and Crowley, as always, nearly liked him better scandalized than delighted.

They overindulged, as was traditional, and by the last drink, they were toasting Jesus. Crowley hoped he knew.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 26: On The Job

Chapters: 26/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Have My Favorite Corn Recipe, Seriously It’s Really Good, Oh Yeah A Major Crime Was Committed, Remember That? Summary: No really, it’s a very good recipe, you should all try it out.

“So, what you're telling me,” You said between bites of dried stockfish. “Is that this goddess, your sister, was around for like, three thousand years, and was apparently a favorite of the entire army. You have those little bits of fresco painting to show me. But in the span of like, a few decades, everyone had forgotten her?”

“Or, at least, refused to speak of her, yes.” Loki said, passing a plate of buttered, dark bread your way.

It was just the two of you this time, in a little room beside the kitchens. You could hear the cooks working on the other side of the wall.

“I'm a bit leery to show you the frescoes just yet.' Loki said. “They're extremely unpleasant, and frankly, embarrassing. I brought several bits of the paintings that came afterwards, and those are much nicer. For one thing, I'm in them.”

You smiled indulgently. “That's the important part, right? Just how much stuff did you grab on your way out?”

“Oh, quite a bit.” Loki waved his fork on the air. “Practically everything I passed by, actually. I have quite a bit of room, though I admit, I stretched things a bit. Transporting living things that way is rather difficult.”

“Living things?”

“Leynarodd. The pegasus, a few others. Certain objects I thought would come in handy later, such as Gungnir. A few books, a few artworks. All artifacts now.”

You scooped lingonberry preserves onto a little cup of skyr. “But the point I was making was, there are plenty of your people that are old enough to remember her. So how come nobody ever said anything? Why were there no precautions taken to prevent her return?”

“From what we've been able to put together, Hela did have many supporters, despite her murderous tendencies. She embodied the endpoint of all that Asgard valued, the culmination of the 'noble warrior culture'. When our father decided to change his tactics to more peaceful means, there was, initially, a split in support. The commoners supported Odin; it seems they were a bit weary of being sent off to die in endless wars, no matter how much honor it brought their families. The nobles supported Hela, as they were loathe to let go of even an ounce of their power, no matter the consequences.

Then, apparently, Hela did some things that lost her all support. Brunnhilde says she attempted a coup, and murdered everyone in the palace as she went-hundreds of people, including many of her noble supporters. Heimdall remembers, and has hinted that she did something even worse, but he will not talk about it, no matter what we do.

And that's how most of the older Asgardians are. Those who are old enough to remember will not speak of it. Those who were there went about erasing her name and hiding her from sight, as if it would somehow make her wither away into nothing. We can't force them to talk, not yet. The people are traumatized after all this. Some of them saw their lives destroyed twice by her. We will simply have to wait until someone is ready.”

Loki grabbed a small bunch of grapes, and split them between you.

“As for precautions, well, I don't know exactly why Father failed so badly there. But he always did seem to have a blind spot when it came to his children.” Loki snorted quietly. “Specifically, the left side. The more I think about it the more it makes sense that he reacted so severely to Thor and myself when we displayed a lack of concern for the lives of others. He must have seen her, growing within us. He must have been terrified that we would take the same path, that all of his children would share the same fate...”

He slammed his fist on the table, suddenly angry. You jumped.

“All he had to do was say one thing about it, and all of this could have been avoided! He didn't even have to tell me, if it came down to it. He could have told Thor, and Thor would have told me! That's probably why he didn't. After Hela, he probably couldn't bring himself to trust even in his own children. But all of this, literally everything happened because he just wouldn't tell us what he needed to!”

His moods were still mercurial as ever. You might not ever get used to it, but you'd better try. You reached out and took the hand he had slammed down. He blinked in surprise, all anger draining from his face. He uncurled his fingers just enough for you to dip yours into his palm.

“Forgive me.” He said quietly. “That was unbecoming.”

“This is a part of my job too, isn't it?” You asked. “To help out with this kind of thing?”

“Technically, yes. Council is a part of the job description. I hesitate to foist that burden entirely off onto you however. I am...difficult at times, and you are not without your own traumas.”

“That's true, but you've dealt with them pretty well so far.” You pointed out.

“I have, considering how many of them involve hitting me in the face.” He chuckled at your mumbled apology. “I am not worried about it. And you have nothing to fear either. My fury could burn the very stars, and I would still never raise a hand to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you weren't the type. You seem above that kind of thing.”

“Do I?” He asked, sounding pleased. “Though if a woman were to come at me with a sword, I would not just stand there and get stabbed. We've no shortage of ladies with swords in Asgard, and then there is Freya, of course...”

“Yeah? The book said she was a fertility goddess?”

“Hmph. That book was kinder to her than it was to me, but it was still incorrect. Oh, she and her brother are connected to fertility, of course. Freyr is the fertility of the tilled earth, that is well kept and fruitful. Freya is the fertility of the battlefield. Blood makes the grass grow, and she reaps a crop of the dead.”

“Uh...poetic?”

“I'm saying she is a battle goddess as well. Associations with war and combat are also overwhelmingly common among Aesir. The twins make a particularly effective pair; while Freyr is no pacifist, he also dislikes violence for its own sake. However, so great is his connection to life, that the life-bringers, that is to say, women, can never come to harm in his presence. That works out very well for Freya, who relishes battle as much as any Asgardian, and can lead her armies to battle without the slightest fear when her brother is around. She doesn't show much fear when he isn't around either.”

“But isn't that how Hela was?” You asked.

“Oh no, not at all. Freya loves battle, not slaughter. She does not bring combat to those who are not involved with it, she accepts surrender, she knows mercy. Hela would kill anybody, and once she started, she wouldn't stop until the last drop pf blood was spilled. She didn't spare anyone. She intended to murder every soul in Asgard, and was on her way to doing so when I brought the ship to liberate them.”

“You did that too?” You asked. Why wasn't he still king? “You know, for a guy who attacked my planet, you sure are some hero.”

Loki preened. “I take my responsibilities to Asgard very seriously. Not always in a straightforward or officially sanctioned way, granted, but sometimes a more obfuscated method is necessary. Sometimes, you have to trick people into doing things that are good for them. And sometimes, that makes you seem like a villain. And sometimes, you think you know how to do something that would be good for everyone, but it turns out you were a bit...overzealous in your efforts, and perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all. And that can make you a villain as well.

Well, what I'm trying to say is that, both my brother and I have done decidedly villainous things, for reasons we felt were right. So it stands to reason, that we might both be capable of heroic things as well. And while I have not yet shown your planet anything but that villainous face, it is very likely that I eventually will.”

“Oh. Does that mean you've changed your mind about us? Most people think you kinda hate us.”

“I do not hate you.” He shrugged. “Nor your people. I don't think much of humanity, that's true. It's rather hard to, considering your relative briefness. Your constant moving and changing also makes it difficult to keep up, so why bother? Individuals, perhaps, but humanity as a whole? I'm not really interested. However...” He said, acknowledging your scowl with a tilt of the head. “Asgard is now Midgard. And so, to protect Asgard, I must also stand for Midgard. I will protect your mad planet, and you along with it.”

Heat washed across your cheeks. “That's, uh, quite a declaration.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, both ruminating over what Loki had just said. It ran over and over in your head, keeping your face hot. He would protect you, eh? Your whole world. Sure, he'd said it was for Asgard, but he'd made it sound so personal.

And the more magic you learned, the more you could help. If aliens invaded, you could teleport them into space! If robots attacked, you could...teleport them into space! Hey, it was fine to be a one-trick pony, if that one trick always worked.

“So, uh, what do we do next?” You asked. There were comfortable silences, and there were uncomfortable silences. This was beginning to feel like the latter, and you didn't want him to regret what he had said.

“The most important and prolific duty of royalty.” He stated gravely. “Paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Paperwork.” He repeated. “Endless paperwork. That's what royalty is. Beneath all palaces, luxuries, and power, is a foundation of paperwork. I hope your eyes do not tire easily, because I want you to aid me with it. It will help you to understand the people a bit more.”

It made some kind of sense. Knowing what the people needed, or what they considered important enough to contact their most important people about, could tell you a lot about their values.

A small commotion could be heard rising from the kitchen next door; a great deal of laughter, complaints, and exclamations.

“What's that all about?” You wondered.

“Shall we investigate?”

                                                                      *****

The entire kitchen staff was gathered around a crate, chattering. A tired porter leaned against a chopping table, demolishing some kind of drink.

“The suppliers must have found something unusual this time.” Loki said. “They are mostly wondering what it is, and how they can prepare it.”

“Lemmie see.” You said. “If it's an Earth food, I might know what it is.”

Loki raised his voice over the din, requesting one of the strange foods be handed over for inspection. A green oblong, tightly wrapped in leaves, was presented to you.

You took a single look and burst out laughing in delight. “That's just corn!” You exclaimed.

“You're certain?” He asked. “I've had corn before, you know. It's tiny and yellow.”

“I'm not playing a prank or anything, look.” You stripped back the husks, causing several of the kitchen staff to move back in surprise at the sudden, rubbery sound. You proudly showed everyone the milky white and yellow kernels underneath.

“This grows all around where I live. Miles and miles of it. This is some particularly good stuff. Cook it right, and you will have something fantastic!”

The cook asked something. Loki answered with what you had just said, and the cook asked something else.

“She wants to know how you suggest it be prepared.” Loki said, not bothering to mask his own curiosity.

“Oh boy. Okay, so you take off these outer husks, okay? Put them in the compost, feed them to the animals, whatever. These inner husks you just pull down, but don't tear off. Now you get the silk off, these little strings, you see? That part can get messy. You can compost those too.”

The entire group watched you closely, as Loki translated your instructions, but you were so used to doing this that you could get the silk off in just a few passes.

“Now that you've got the corn clean, and there's no worms or fungus, you can just rub a little butter all over the kernels. Then you pull these husks back up around the corn to hold the moisture in. Cook this just like it is on really high heat, for about half an hour. Once that's done, pull the rest of the husks off, rub on more butter, sprinkle over a bit of salt and pepper, and it's done! It's really, really good that way, and you can cut off the kernels after that, or just eat it right off the cob, if your teeth are good.”

Some of the staff began stripping husks, while the cook thanked you for the information.

“Now, this is sweet corn, and it's only available for a month or so, probably less here in Iceland. Otherwise, you can sometimes find frozen cobs, and canned or frozen kernels. There's also harder, dryer corn, some for popping, and some for grinding into cornmeal. You can make different things from that.”

“I'm looking forward to dinner now.” Loki said, as you headed back to his rooms. “If your taste in corn is anything like your taste in baking, I've much to anticipate.”

“You're very sweet. I got good at that because it was a precious resource during the, uh...Well, the dent corn would keep, but the sweet corn wouldn't. So we ate it in big batches, and we all got pretty good at cooking it. The butter was pretty rare though. Only a few local cows made it through.”

“I see...Does it bother you to eat it?” Loki asked.

“Oh no, not at all. It was one of the only good times in that whole year. Properly cooked corn is amazing, and it was one of the few times I wasn't hungry.”

Loki patted your shoulder gently. “You won't have to worry about that again.”

You felt full.

                                                                         ******

“So why is it that the request for more concrete gets priority over the request for more tile grout?” You asked.

“Tiling is for decoration or waterproofing, and usually only in certain rooms of a building. Concrete has wider applications, and on the tighter budget and time frame we're currently working in, we need to get as much done as possible. So the tile grout will have to wait until winter.”

“What do we do in winter, anyway? I assume the snow is too high for construction.”

“The snow does get very high. Most of the construction workers either work on the interiors of buildings, or they practice their other skills. Winter will be the time when the painters go back to work, the jewelers and smiths go back to full time, the textilers can get a great deal done. Once the construction is done, all those people will go back to their regular jobs. That will be several years though. You and I will be able to pass the hours with study, and of course, ever more paper work.”

He stacked the materials requests neatly in their 'approved' or 'rejected' piles, all of the edges perfectly even.

“Now we have...Ugh, another one of these.” He snorted, annoyed.

“What? What's the deal?”

“The Vinnalings request that I meet with their daughter. I wonder if they mean the widow, or the one who is still practically a child?” Loki said sourly, laying the paper down on the rejected pile. “I'm sure they are both perfectly nice, but I'm not interested in playing favorites among the noble families right now. I'm certainly not interested in being wed to some noble I don't even really know.”

“Is that what it's about?”

“Yes.” His sigh was closer to a groan. “It is irritating. I long ago tired of parents who use their children for political maneuvering. I suppose I won't be able to avoid it forever, but I'm avoiding it for now. And even when I feel ready, I certainly won't be marrying someone who is still in mourning for her husband, nor someone who is still a literal child! Maybe I can't expect love, but I can at least demand someone I can get along with.”

“That's...really sad.” You said, slightly distressed. He sounded so resigned to it. Fear of a loveless, arranged marriage must have been hanging over his head for centuries.

“That's royalty. Part of it. We all dream of a love match, but we know that's tremendously rare. Knowing that it's one more thing my father got to have, that I will not is just so...Well, I've accepted it, I just expected that it would happen to Thor first. I don't know how many of these he gets, but I know they come across my desk far too often.”

“Then ignore them. You're building a kingdom right now, and I think it would be obvious you don't have time for this.” You suggested.

“Oh? Is that official advice?” Loki teased.

“Yup. Look, not to pass judgment on a culture I know very little about, but you guys are way too advanced for something as barbaric as forced marriages. Most of this 'primitive' planet did away with that many years ago.”

Loki quirked a dark, perfect eyebrow. “That is very judgmental. However, I agree with you. And so does Thor, and so did my father. He began phasing such things out a short time before he married my mother, which was probably the driving force behind it. I continued his work during the time I was king, and Thor has expressed his intention to do the same. Thor...also has his reasons. Well, the tradition has only really continued among the noble families.”

“I've never known anyone who was in a miserable relationship, who could also work as effectively as they could when they were in a happy one, or even alone. You have to be as effective as you possibly can be, right? And, you know, if you keep putting it off in favor of building up the city, maybe you and the king can get more laws prohibiting it in place, and neither of you will have to worry about it.”

Loki chuckled. “It's very cute when you try to be conniving. You're so blunt about it. Like an eager child.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed. “I'm trying here!”

“I know you are, and your concern for my future happiness is appreciated. It will likely be many more years before this city is anywhere near done, with all the hurdles we must leap. Look at this one; a request for more supplies for the horses. What do you think?”

“Do it.” You said quickly. “Buildings don't need to eat, and they won't die under bad conditions either.”

“Agreed.” Loki said. “Good to know we are in accordance on that as well.”

“What kind of hurdles are you talking about anyway? Enough housing for everybody, right?”

“Yes, and adapting to the extreme weather of Earth, the unfamiliar flora and fauna. The culture shock from outside, the culture war from inside. Convincing humanity that we have a place here, convincing Asgardians that we must find a place here. The inevitable consequences of humans and Asgardians intermingling. The rebuilding of our technology, our prosperity. Learning the technology of Earth. Preserving our culture without rejecting outside influence. Adapting our culture as to not cause undue conflict. Not isolating ourselves entirely. How to relate to the incredible diversity of humankind.”

“Geez.”

“Those are all big picture items, that will likely take several human generations to achieve. But we will achieve them. We must. Your presence here with speed some of this along, I believe. When the people see your accomplishments, see that you are not the primitive savage that some Asgardians fear humans are, then they will learn to accept. Your coming here was most fortuitous.”

You snorted. “What's fortuitous? You spirited me away!”

“Are you still angry?” He asked.

“...No. I'm okay now. I just hope I can live up to all the faith you've put in me.”

Loki shuffled through a few more papers. “That's the thing about advice. If I feel you are very wrong about something, I can just ignore you.”

“Rude.” You mumbled. Loki smirked, but the expression faltered as he looked over the next paper. “What? What is it? Another date request?”

“The trial will be conducted in two weeks.” Loki said. “Both you and I are to be there to give testimony.”

You shivered. “Oh.” You really, really wanted to get all of that behind you, but you also really didn't want to be in that murderer's presence ever again. Loki placed his hand on your arm.

“Do not fear. He is powerless now. This will be the last time anyone ever has to see him. He will go to prison, and he will be forgotten. You will never have to waste a thought on him after this.”

You knew you would though.

[qqueenofhades]

More Kastle fic prompts you say? Well, if you're interested, consider: Frank the "absolutely not my roommate he just crashes here like three times a week stop judging me Foggy" apartment companion.

It’sraining outside, a slow, steady drizzle splashing on roofs and under cab wheelsand the countless bright circles of umbrellas that rush past below the kitchenwindow, as Karen opens the cupboard and digs around for the instant coffee. Shethrows a few slices of bread in the toaster and wonders if she wants to go tothe bother of making eggs. She doesn’t have that long before work, and she hasto run a stack of files over to the firm before she heads to the Bulletin. She has been doing some research for Nelson & Murdock on their latest case, and needs to talk about some unsettling financial records she’s unearthed, the trail ofdirty money that winds ever on and on. Though there’s always a chance that Mattwill be punching someone in an alleyway over it tonight.

Karensnorts, untwists the coffee canister, and spoons a few generous helpings intothe percolator. She pulls down two plates and a pair of mugs, supposes that theleast she can do is get some protein into her maybe-sort-of-roommate before hegoes off (possibly also to ambushpeople in an alleyway, though his will involve more guns – God, she needsbetter friends), and takes the eggs out of the fridge, cracking them into abowl, beating them quickly with a fork and tipping them into the saucepan. Sheslaps the toast onto each plate, throws some strips of bacon in with the eggs,and wonders if this qualifies as domesticity. It seems like a dangerous thing.

Karen turnsher head as she hears the shower start to run, and bites a brief, soft smile.For obvious reasons, Frank’s name is not on the lease, nor can he be seencoming and going from here every night, but her place is obviously preferableto a dismal cement bunker somewhere, and “Pete Castiglioni” has papers provingthat he is a completely legit and not-homicidal individual, thanks very much.Of course, fake papers would do dick-all against anyone getting a too-good lookat that craggy and recognizable mug, and Frank has mulled growing the beardback, but Karen has said she likes him without it, and he doesn’t want to bemistaken for a hipster anyway. He’s still getting on his feet, struggling tolive a life without a war (though not entirely – the war always finds themsomehow) and she’s said that he can stay here while he’s trying to work upenough credit for even an undiscerning landlord to rent to him. She didn’t meanall the time, but it’s turned into three or four nights a week anyway, and she’sstarted to automatically shop for two people. Food, toiletries, whatever else.He chips in on the rent. She doesn’t ask where he gets the money.

Karen hasjust grabbed the spatula to shovel the eggs and bacon onto the plates with thetoast, when there’s a brief, brisk knock on the apartment door, she turns herhead in surprise (unannounced visitors are not always the greatestthing), and then relaxes as she hears Foggy call through. “Karen? It’sme.”

“Hey.”Karen hurries over, pulls back the deadbolt, and opens it, letting him in. “Whatare you doing here? I was going to bring the files over before work.”

“I know,but I’ve been looking through them too, and I wanted to see if we were on the sametrack.” Foggy steps inside, shaking rain out of his hair, and inhales deeply. “Wow,something smells good. You making breakfast for someone?”

“I – ”Karen realizes just then that, probably for understandable reasons, she hasn’texactly told Foggy and Matt about her impromptu cohabitation situation. Shegapes somewhat awkwardly, trying to think for any other explanation as to why,yes, there are two plates of breakfast and two mugs of coffee sitting on thecounter. “I was – you know, just in case you stopped by.”

“Well, Igot breakfast on the way, I’m good.” Foggy is still looking at her curiously, asKaren wonders if she’s going to have to come up with an excuse to bundle him hastilyout. “Anyway, so this conglomerate is definitely shady, and if they’re not somekind of shell corporation for the Calabrians, I’ll eat multiple items ofclothing, including my – ”

Whateverelse Foggy is going to say, however, is cut off at that moment as Frank Castlewalks into the living room, shirtless and slightly damp from his shower,wearing nothing except a towel wrapped around his waist and using another tobuff his freshly shaved face. He is relaxed, off his guard, not expecting anambush, but he jerks to a halt in his tracks, snaps upright, and staresmenacingly at Foggy, who has let out a piercing screech, jumped like an NBAplayer, and is scrambling to get the couch between him and his opponent (like that’sgoing to do a lot of good). “What the hell– what the hell is he doing – YOU?!”

“Me.” Franklooks sardonically amused, once he’s registered that Foggy does not pose athreat. “How you doin’, Red’s sidekick?”

Foggy looksinsulted that after a virtuous and strenuous career as an avocado at law, thisis all he has been reduced to. “You know that’s not my name, asshole.”

Frank givesa bite-me shrug, wipes his face onemore time, and tosses the towel on the back of the couch, as Karen wonders ifshe’s going to need to run interference. Foggy is turning a betrayed look onher, as if to say that he appreciates the heads-up that she is sharing abathroom (and who knows what else) with the friggin’ Punisher. In this,perhaps, he is right to be concerned, as Frank slept on the pull-out sofa for afew nights, complained it was a piece of shit, and somehow, has mostly moved tosharing Karen’s bed. They’re not together, exactly, but they’re not not together. They haven’t talked aboutit, but things happen.

“How longexactly has this – ” Foggy starts, then stops and shakes his head. “Never mind,I don’t want to know. Karen, were you, I don’t know? Planning to mention this?”

“I didn’treally think I needed to,” Karen says, a little defensively. “Foggy, come on, youknow he’s not going to hurt me.”

Foggy looksas if while he might know that, he is not pleased about it, and gives Frank anarrow stare, which is returned with interest. Foggy is clearly doing hisdamndest not to think about what such an informal and unclothed setup mightmean, as there are mental images he can go his whole life without having, andKaren turnsaway, hoping that the mark low on her collarbone is not visible through herblouse. That is another thing that can go without being thrown into the arenaright now, even as her breath briefly catches at the memory of how it got therelast night. There is a deeply unpleasant silence. Then Frank saunters over andsays, “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs. Toast.”Karen picks up his plate and foists it at him, as if encouraging him to eatquickly and vamoose, but Frank has never been good at taking a hint (especiallywhen he clearly is enjoying watching Foggy squirm). “Here you go.”

Frankraises an eyebrow at her, leans casually against the counter, and takes a forkout of the drawer, as if to silently demonstrate that he’s here often enough toknow his way around the silverware. Foggy winces, looks at the walls, theceiling, and everywhere except the half-naked maniac insolently eatingscrambled eggs, and finally says, “So. I’ll – see you at work, then?”

“I thinkthat would be best,” Karen says apologetically. “I’ll – I’m sorry for not – youknow.”

Foggyclearly has any number of things hecould say to that, but he wisely chooses not to. With one more restrainedshudder, he puts his jacket hood back up, swivels on his heel, and more or lessflounces out, as Frank throws an amused stare at his back. Once the door hasshut, Frank remarks, “That was worth the wakeup call.”

“I shouldhave told them.” Karen stares anxiously after her departed friend. “About us.”

“Us?” Frankseems to enjoy the sound of that word, his mouth curling up in half a smile. “Therean us, Karen?”

She feelsbriefly tempted to glare at him in turn, but despite the edge of mockery, it’ssomething that he clearly, genuinely hopes there is, and she can’t bringherself to begrudge him that. “Yeah,” she says, softer, as she turns and movestoward him, drawn by the same instinctive, unspeakable magnetism as ever, theway they can never stay away, apart, too long. “Yeah, I guess maybe there is.”

[amarantine-amirite]

November Syndrome

Imagine that you're a freshman. You're away from home for the first time, out from under the thumbs of veganism and expectations for high achievement that were previously foisted upon you. You have no sense of obligation other than avoiding being yelled at by parents and school. No discipline. No idea how to schedule anything. No sense of organization or time management. The only reason you ever got anything done before was because you had been emotionally beaten into submission by your higher-ups.

What happens? You go crazy. End of story. For the first two months, you go to every party and social event on campus, then, come November, you go bonkers over how much work you have to do, but you don't actually do any work. Instead of working, you escape into things like writing fanfiction, playing Fortnite, or something else unrelated to your studies. It's almost like you evolve into a master procrastinator.

Worse, you don’t even notice your lack of discipline until there’s no one saying “no” to every one of your ideas. As a premed, one of the courses I had to take was called "Computer Science for Scientific Applications". It sounded better than it was. It involved having to hand-write code. On top of that, we had to write in pen! It sucked. My handwritten braces looked like sideways boobs. It was just awful. What really sucked was that I write in cursive, so I did my code in cursive. The professor was not pleased when I handed my assignments in. Our assignments were graded based on whether or not they worked. We don't know until we hand anything in if it works. We don't test the code ourselves, he runs it for us. He put our assignments were put through a scanner, and the scans would be put through a piece of software that would convert the text on the image of the page into actual text. The text that it scraped would then be entered into the IDE for the language in question. Usually for freshman computer science, the language was Java, but our steam (recall I was in premed at the time) did Javascript. The only sort of editing that had to be done to the code once it was scanned and in the IDE was typically spacing related/missing character (the software was good but not perfect).

How was your assignment scored? If the code ran, you passed, and if not; you failed. And I failed my assignment (I only did one) because my handwriting always created a ton of problems for the transcription software. It was kind of a weird program. The software had an auto-detect-language-and-translate feature. Sounds cool, but because of my writing, it thought that I was writing in Hindi and it would "auto-translate" my code. Since the translation module for the software was not that good, stuff got mistranslated…a lot. I remember on one of my assignments, I wrote something in the comments and it got garbled into "radish boots". Ever since then, my nickname amongst my friends in CS was Radish Boots. I didn't hand in any more assignments for that class after that.

See, that's how it starts. Something very small, very unexpected like that. That's how you get the idea that your assignments are optional. And that was all it took to turn me into a master procrastinator.

Once I got the idea that assignments were optional, I just really let myself go. Within three weeks, I went from "good student" to "crappy student" to "how the hell did they get into university?" With no actual work weighing me down, I went ahead and participated in every campus social event ever. Paint-your-own flower pot day at the library? I was there! Fitness event? I was there! Halloween party? Take a guess? I kid you not, I was acting like one of those guys in a college movie. Rather than studying, I went to social events. It was great, except for one little thing. Turns out (and I learned this at board game night), people find people who act like they're in college movies really annoying.

Anyway, the incident that happened at board game night was related to something that happened in chemistry. We had one of those semester long group projects where they put you in groups of seven or eight people. One of the people in our group (Anne, I believe it was) was at the event, and she gave me an earful. Not going to lie, she was really mad that I wasn't doing any work. That's bad enough on its own, but she was angrier than I had expected her to be because we lost five people in the group (four of whom died in rapid succession in some bizarro chain reaction):

last Monday, Laura died of obesity related complications

last Tuesday, Alejandro took up jogging to avoid dying like Laura. He got hit by a bus

last Wednesday, Kevin became afraid of the outdoors (thanks to what happened to Alejandro) and sought refuge in playing video games. Come the weekend, he died of a blood clot from playing Starcraft for 62 hours straight

on Sunday, Melissa shunned all technology (because of what happened to Kevin) and went off to rough it in the woods. She died eating poisonous mushrooms

and yesterday, Michiru dropped out because she couldn't handle the pressure of doing the work of the people that died 

Now, our group only had two people, and we had to do the work of seven people. Actually, scratch that. Since I wasn't pulling my weight, poor Anne was stuck doing the work of seven people. Understandably, she was fuming with me, and more than a few swear words were uttered. Anne made a point of saying that if I didn't step up in times of crisis, I had no business being a doctor. I would have agreed, but I had my first taste of freedom in my life. There was no one telling me how I had to respond, so I did what people in movies did: I told her to fuck off.

I don't blame Anne for being so ticked with me. After all, she was doing the work of seven people and I was being a coward, hiding behind a mask made out of lies and excuses. No one likes that.

And then, it happened. November rolled around. The amount of stuff that was past due was insane. Seriously! I missed literally every single assignment that wasn't a test (actually, I think I might have missed a couple of tests, too). I made the mistake of buying into the delusion that assignments were optional, and I ended up paying for it.

I needed to get my shit together and do work, but I couldn't. It went beyond lack of discipline. I never built a workflow, and now I couldn't, for it was too late to dig myself out of the hole. And so, instead of doing the work I needed to do, I did a bunch of irrelevant crap. I had run out of time as a procrastinator, but I acted like things were OK. The reality was, they weren't. My situation with school was beyond dire. Worse, I lied to myself about how it wasn't a big deal. Rather than own up to anything, I escaped into a world of playing video games, writing crappy fan fiction, and other bullshit that would in no way help me get on top of school. November called, and I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was stuck where I was.

I know that I sound like I am repeating myself a lot, but I really want to emphasize how I still didn't get my ass in gear even though things had gotten to the point that I really, really had to buckle down and actually do a ton of work to just pass. More specifically, I wanted to emphasize how much stupid fan fiction and creepypasta I read and wrote during that period. I don't know why I gravitated to creepypasta. I think I was trying to hide the fact that I was a coward, afraid to face the consequences of my procrastination. Liking works of fiction involving surreal horror and demented episodes of beloved childhood cartoons somehow must have translated in my mind to not being afraid of anything. Regardless of how the logistics of that excuse supposedly worked, I ended up being a creepypasta addict.

And that bled into my fanfic writing. I know because I tried to write this ridiculous JumpStart fanfic. It was supposed to be a creepypasta/fanfic (like the infamous Cupcakes), but it just came out incredibly stupid. The concept that powered the story was the little animals from the early elementary JumpStart titles (Frankie the dog, Eleanor the elephant, Pierre the polar bear, CJ the frog, etc…) acting like the folks on South Park. For instance, Frankie the Dog was "Kyle", CJ the Frog was "Stan", Eleanor the Elephant was "Cartman" (albeit with a hidden softer side), and I don't remember who was "Kenny" (I think it was Pierre the Polar Bear). Anyway, the actual story was this thing with vampires. The story was that, at some point, Eleanor got bitten by a vampire (and consequently, turned into a vampire). At the same time, Pierre (I think) was in the hospital with some pretty heavy duty muscular dystrophy, and CJ was trying to persuade people to fund stem-cell research in the hopes that they could save Pierre. However; Frankie thought CJ's thing was dumb and said that they could get Eleanor to bite Pierre so he'd turn into a vampire, thereby curing him of his muscular dystrophy. The only problem with that was, well, Pierre would be a vampire. Eleanor ends up being conflicted by the whole thing, and that's the conflict that drives the story.

I remember some time after I posted the first two chapters online wanting to have a twist ending (I'd written about 75% of the story by this time). I didn't know whether I wanted to do "you think it's the future but it's really the past" or "you think it's the past but it's really the future". I guess it didn't matter, because I noticed that I had only two hours left before the submission deadline for my biology term paper. After trying to convince myself that no, I wasn't dreaming this, I wrote the bare minimum of what I needed to write to fit the guidelines for the term paper disclosed on the webpage; then uploaded the results to turnitin.com, fingers crossed that I would at least pass.

Except I didn't. Not only did I not pass the term paper, I didn’t even hand it in. I found out the next day that I had actually uploaded the fourth chapter of my dumb-ass JumpStart fanfiction (and it was a scary chapter too...it was the flashback to when Eleanor gets bitten by the vampire). The prof was not impressed. Let's just leave it at that.

You have no idea how badly I screwed everything up. I managed to get a flat zero in every single course this term. The only exception was CS, where I wound up getting only 2%. Bottom line is that I failed everything. Yes, everything. My only shot at academic redemption is the final exam.

Even still, it might not be enough. As of this writing, I have less than twelve hours before I go in to write the exam. This is bad. I can't sleep even though I'm exhausted. I have to stay up and work. I need to sleep, but I can't. I'm stuck. I've made this bed, and now I'm going to die in it.

No, really. I feel like I'm going to die.

When I first started cramming, I was fine for the first hour and a half. After that, though, I started seeing static in my field of view. The static thing lasted for a couple of hours until it progressed to seeing shadow people. Or, at least I thought they were shadow people. They weren't even remotely humanoid. I was seeing weird, shadowy spider things. They looked like giant tarantulas, all four of them, and they were coming for me. Just before they got me, they vanished.

They were gone. They were 100% all gone. It was like it never happened. No static, no ghost spiders, nothing. Crisis averted. Back to work.

Nope. It's not that simple. The minute I went back to reading the textbook, I could feel my heart race. I tried to highlight stuff and write down key points, but I couldn't, since my right arm is numb. I switch to writing with my other hand, but that doesn't work. I can't write with my other hand too well. Worse, the minute I get the hang of writing with my other hand, I start throwing up like a volcano. After that, it's over. I can't study if I'm throwing up every three minutes. Even if I weren't throwing up the way I am, I wouldn't be able to focus on studying right now. I can barely form coherent sentences, much for your time like to undarastamnd the impotence of teh book biology and chemistry. Chemical biologrehcal flerbut connection ffrhhAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

AAAAAAAAAA!

@the-writer-s-hideout

[lnthefade]

weighty

The battle I have fought for at least 25 years is over. I have put my weapons down, waved the white flag, and walked off the field. I’m done. But can I say I’ve really lost when I suddenly feel so free?

I’ve been struggling to lose weight for a long time. And I have. I’ve lost 50 pounds twice. I’ve reached weight goals. But each time, the weight poured back on in a matter of months. It’s my own fault in many ways; physically, emotionally, intellectually I let myself down and let myself go. It’s not for lack of trying. Weight Watchers worked for a while. A no sugar, minimal carbs diet worked for a bit. Hit the gym regularly for about a year, and that worked in conjunction with dieting. But something happened each time where I would sabotage all that hard work and resulting weight loss and eventually, I’d balloon up again and have to put away the size 10 jeans for the size 16 dresses.

I was skinny for a long time, up until my late 20s. A small child, a tiny teen, a too-thin young adult. I shopped in the children’s department of stores when I was 18. And it was all effortless. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, and never gained weight. “It will catch up with you some day,” older women warned me. And I laughed them off, thinking of them as jealous bitches who wished they could eat like I did.

The weight gain happened shortly after I gave birth the first time. It had nothing to do with pregnancy itself – I didn’t gain a whole lot of weight in the nine months and it started coming off right after. I was a stay-at-home mom, and I had more time to eat, but less time to prepare good foods. I started eating junk, quick fix meals, a lot of take-out. My marriage wasn’t going great, and I began my decades long habit of eating my feelings. I craved comfort food, I craved the pleasure and gratification of food. And I didn’t care what I looked like anymore.

My relationship with food was based on want more than need. I wanted food, I wanted bad food. Pizza, ice cream, cake, burgers all filled a void in my life that should have been filled with emotional care. But that was unavailable to me. What I was missing from my relationship with my husband, I tried to make up for with eating.

Years went by. I had another kid. I gained more weight. I got divorced and lost 60 pounds from stress and pure adrenaline. It was an unhealthy weight loss and I felt like crap. I was unable to eat and had to force myself to shove the tiniest bit of food down in order to live.

It seemed like there was no inbetween for me. Fat or skinny. Eat everything in sight or don’t eat at all. My relationship with food was so skewed I felt like it couldn’t be repaired. I did so much damage to myself in that regard that here I am, 20 odd years later, in a wonderful marriage with good things going on in my life and I still can’t get my food issues worked out.

I’m heavy now, the heaviest I’ve been since I was pregnant 25 years ago. I’ve torn myself apart trying to figure out why I need food to make me happy, why I eat with abandon, why I can’t stick to a damn diet.

But here’s the thing: I am sick of dieting, sick of books about eating, sick of people throwing fad diets in my face, telling me they will change my life. I need to detox, they say. I need supplements. I need to forego certain foods. I need to put all my food in a blender and drink it. I need to go back to Weight Watchers or try keto or go to cross-fit. I honestly do not want to do any of those things. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I give up.

I am 56 years old and I’m trying like hell to enjoy my life before death starts stalking me (if it hasn’t already). The constant dieting, the shame of eating what people say I shouldn’t be eating, the guilt I feel every time I put something that’s not a vegetable in my mouth has done more harm to me than gaining weight has. I have spent the last year of my life at least in a constant state of anxiety over food and weight. I already have an anxiety disorder. I already have depression. I don’t need to add an emotional eating disorder to the mix.

I have learned to accept myself at this weight. I’ve accepted my belly, my thighs, my arms. I’ve accepted that I’m more comfortable in dresses than pants. I will no longer be prisoner to what I assume other people are thinking about me, because that’s what drove me to diet – not my own desire to be thinner, but the thought that others – coworkers, relatives, strangers – look at me and say, she should lose some weight. Judge me. Judge my clothes, judge what I’m putting in my mouth. I don’t care anymore. I just can’t do it. I can’t go on another diet, I can’t put myself through the emotional wringer of judging myself with every bite, every choice. I want to eat without the baggage.

I’ve waged this war for far too long, knowing I was never going to win it. I may have won a couple of battles here and there but it always came with a price. When I lost weight, I obsessed about it to an unhealthy degree. I chastised myself over every bite of food, over every missed day at the gym. I didn’t get to enjoy being thinner because I was afraid that every time I ate all the weight would pour back on immediately. It drove me crazy.

So here I am, tipping the scales once again, wearing my XL clothes again. I’ve been down this road before. The only difference is now I’m staying here. I’m learning how to love myself despite being fat. I’m learning that being fat isn’t a personality flaw. I don’t want to hear your diet tips, thanks. I don’t want to hear about how unhealthy it is for me to be fat. I do want to hear you say you still appreciate who I am, that my worth isn’t tied into my weight.

I am done with dieting. Done with the scale, the measuring cups, the points, the mental cruelty I foisted upon myself in the name of seeking out some ideal that someone else set up for me. The battles and the war are over. I am who I am and I’m living with this version of me as my ideal one, because I finally feel free.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Imagine Me and Mew

All For the Game/The Foxhole Court.  Follow up to Name Games and That Cocky F*%!ing Smile.  Neil greatly enjoyed getting coffee with his new friend, Andrew, until his coworkers inform him he went on a date.  An existential crisis, bad googling decisions, and contemplation of his sexuality ensue.  Read on AO3 if you prefer.

Neil slid into his seat and sighed at the enormous lineup of material to translate that had materialized in his inbox over the weekend.  Jean glanced up at him with concern but didn’t comment.  Neil sighed again, louder, when Sara popped around the corner.

“How are my favorite linguists?” she practically shouted.  Both Neil and Jean cringed.

“Fine,” they chorused.

Sara leaned against Neil’s desk.  “How was your weekend?  Do anything fun?”

Neil shrugged.  “Um, King got a urinary tract infection, so I spent the morning at the vet’s.  Then I had coffee with someone before I went to trivia night.”

“Which, damn, Neil, you’re terrible at trivia,” Jeremy said, appearing on the other side of Jean.  He always did that, appearing out of thin air; Neil wondered if he secretly had trapdoors in the floor or something.  Or an invisibility cloak like that kid in that weird movie about wizards that Nicky had bullied him into watching.

“No shit.  I told you that.  I keep telling you that.”

“Wait, back up, you had coffee with someone?” Sara practically squealed.  “Anyone we know?”

Mr. Rheman’s timely arrival provided Neil with a reprieve until lunch, but he knew the whole crew would descend on him for details.  They did that every time he spoke two words to someone, even half the people he was interpreting for.  It made no sense to him, why they cared about every simple interaction.

The only reprieve from the tedious work—Mandarin was still his weakest written language and of course Jean was useless with it—was the text he received from Andrew.  free 9 tonight or 6 tomorrow  

He texted back either fine and shoved his phone back in his jacket.  Half the time he’d forget to eat dinner until ten or eleven at night anyway, only thinking about it when King started screaming at him for her own food.

It felt like he had barely made a dent in the queue when Jean tapped him on the shoulder for lunch.  He blinked away the fuzziness of four hours looking at his computer screen and checked his phone.  Andrew had sent him a restaurant name for them to meet at that night.  At least he might have a little time to look up more lawyer jokes.

He had almost forgotten Sara’s shark-like interest until he approached the table in the lunch room and saw her looking at him with wide, sharp eyes.  Stifling his desire to pick another table, he dropped into the chair across from her.  Jean and Jeremy sat on either side of him.  Surrounded. 

“So, tell us all about yesterday,” Sara said, twirling her fork in her noodles.

“I told you already, I took King to the vet.  I got coffee.  Well, actually, I got a smoothie, then went to trivia night.”

“You said you met someone for coffee.”

“Yeah?”  Neil didn’t understand the emphasis she put on met.

“Who?”

Neil still didn’t get why she cared, nor why Jeremy and even Jean were so attentive.  He took a bite of his sandwich to buy himself time to puzzle it out but was unsuccessful.  “Nobody you know, I met him at the vet and we decided to get coffee.”

“Ah!” Sara said, pressing her hand to her heart.  “Did you hear that, Jeremy?  Our baby boy is growing up.”

Jeremy grinned.  “Good for you, Neil.”

“I still don’t understand that nickname,” Neil said, looking between them.  “And I drink coffee every day, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.  Jesus, it wasn’t even coffee.”

Jean huffed, a tiny sound, and Neil shifted his glare to him.  Usually Jean was the one he could count on to dismiss the idiocy of the other two, but even he looked amused.  “It’s not the coffee, you fool,” he said in French, leaving Neil even more confused.  

“We’re just happy you went out on a date,” Jeremy said, taking pity on him.

“It wasn’t a date,” Neil said, “it was a smoothie.”

Sara and Jeremy exchanged looks.  “Uh, did he know that it wasn’t a date?” Jeremy asked.

“Of course!  Why the hell would he think it was a date?  We just sat around drinking and mocking each other for an hour.”

“Oh, god,” Sara said, putting her head in her hands.  “Oh, god, oh, god, that poor guy.”

Neil just looked between them with a sinking feeling in his gut.  He didn’t know why Andrew would have thought it was a date; why he would even have been interested in such a thing with someone with Neil’s fucked up face, but… I doubt they’re looking at your scars.  “Shit.”  Shitshitshitshitshit.

Jeremy immediately picked up on his distress.  “Maybe he didn’t.  Walk us through it, how did it happen?  You said you met at the vet?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, drawing out the syllable.  “Um, there was a misunderstanding so this asshole vet assistant pulled us both into a room and while we were waiting we talked a little.  Then the assistant made a snarky comment about King’s name and I, well…”

“You did what you do,” Sara supplied.

“Right.  Anyway, he joined in on my side.  So then we decided to get coffee.”

“How, exactly?”  Neil looked at Jeremy blankly.  “Like, while you were waiting, you made some comment about needing coffee and he was like, yeah, me too?”

“I gave him my number,” Neil said, feeling the heat rise in his face.  “He texted me after, inviting me for a drink.  I told him I don’t drink, so he suggested coffee.”

Sara laughed while Jeremy patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.  “It’ll be fine.”  Jeremy’s voice indicated it would not be fine.  “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said, hearing his own agitation and drawing a slow breath to quiet it.  “I mean, he’s funny, and he’s smart.”  He shrugged.

“But is he hot?” Sara asked.

Neil had absolutely no idea how one even decided that.  Were there some sort of set guidelines that pushed someone into the “hot” category?  He wondered if there was a website that explained this sort of stuff.  He’d have to google it when he got home.

“Alvarez!  Knox!” Rheman barked through the lunch room door, coming to his rescue for the second time that day.  “Stop torturing the new guy!”

“I’m not that new,” Neil said, but everybody ignored him.

“Why are you singling us out?” Sara asked.  “Jean’s here too!”

“Because Moreau is the only mature one out of the lot of you.  Get back to work!”

“Hear that?” Jean said, looking haughty as only a true Frenchman can.  “I’m the mature one.”

“Fuck off,” Sara said, setting the rest of them laughing as they threw their trash away and headed back to their desks.  “And you owe me ten bucks, Frenchie!”  Jean flipped her off.  Neil wondered what the bet had been.

After work he headed to the gym.  Nicky was there, of course, greeting everyone and keeping an eye out for who needed spotters or help with the equipment.  His whole face lit up when he saw Neil and he jogged over.  “Hey!  How’s my favorite new cat parent?”

Neil managed to keep from rolling his eyes.  Nicky constantly asked after King, which he supposed made sense since he was responsible for foisting her—and her gender-bending name—upon him in the first place.  “I’m fine.  King has a urinary tract infection, though.”

“Oh, poor kitty.”

“She’s feeling better.  I took her to the vet.”

Nicky ruffled his hair.  He always tended to do that, even when it was all sweaty and gross.  “Of course you did, I knew you’d take good care of her.”

Neil got on the treadmill and started running, keeping an easy pace for the first mile then upping the speed.  It was one of the few guaranteed ways to clear his head, but after eight miles at a pretty good pace he still didn’t know what to do about that night.  And though he was pretty sure Nicky would be all too happy to help, he also knew that absolutely, without a doubt, he would rather trust strangers on the internet than Nicky with this type of question.

Managing to escape the gym without further hair-ruffling or questions, he went home and sat with King on his lap and his laptop open on the table.  Staring at the open browser screen, he tapped his fingers on his thigh for a moment until the cat decided he was trying to play and smacked his hand.  

He typed What makes a guy hot into the search engine.  Over ninety million results.  He clicked on a few, and only ended up more confused.  Pictures of shirtless men holding kittens, comments about “quiet confidence” and strange things like “rolled up sleeves” and “being able to cook.”  Then there was the stuff that Neil didn’t even know what to do with, like “being gentle in bed” and “getting a boner in Target.”  

Neil was not cut out for this, that much was clear.

He checked his phone, half-hoping Andrew would bail on him but no such luck. He fed King and  left, giving himself plenty of time to get lost because the one-way streets in this city followed no obvious logic.  The end result was he sat in his car for twenty minutes listening to Tagalog podcasts before he saw Andrew walking towards the entrance.  Breathing in for a count of four, out for a count of four, he joined him.

“No sweatpants today I see,” Andrew greeted him.

Neil looked down at his suit pants.  He had changed back into his work suit after showering at the gym and hadn’t thought to change again, just left his tie and jacket on the back of his couch.  He looked back at Andrew, lost.  

“Come on,” Andrew said with laughter in his voice, pushing through the door.

It was kind of like a burger joint, but nicer.  They ended up seated in a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, Andrew claiming the bench against the wall so Neil’s back was to the rest of the room.  At least they were right next to an emergency exit, but he was barely able to restrain the cringe when the waitress appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile faltered for a second when she noticed Neil’s scars but she hitched it back on quickly.  Somehow Neil was not surprised that Andrew ordered a milkshake.  An alcoholic milkshake, but still.  

Neil looked furtively at Andrew, still trying to figure out how one could determine “hotness”.  Andrew had a cat; it wasn’t a kitten, but maybe that counted?  His sleeves weren’t rolled up, but the waitress’s had been and Neil definitely didn’t think it was anything special.  They were just arms.  He didn’t know if Andrew could cook, and there was no way he was going to ask about the boner thing…

The easy rapport of the day before was gone, and Neil didn’t know how to find it.  Andrew didn’t seem interested in making conversation for the sake of hearing himself talk, and Neil didn’t know what to say.  How did you ask someone if you were on a date?

Andrew was watching him with what could have either been concern or irritation.  Neil flinched involuntarily; he hadn’t even realized his leg was doing the bouncing thing again, vibrating the whole table.  He saw Andrew’s eyes darken as a result.  “Sorry.  I, um.”  There was no good way to explain this, either his current nerves or the fact that he had been beaten as a child for that habit.  “Sorry.”

“Do you not want to be here?” Andrew asked.  

It was entirely possible that in his twenty five years on the planet Neil had never met someone quite as blunt as this man, yet he still felt like he was missing pages of subtext.  “No, I do.  I just…”  He rubbed his face, another nervous habit.  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile.  “You astonish me.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Neil said, feeling the whispers of a smile himself.

“It’s entirely possible I’m already there.  What exactly is the problem here?”

It suddenly occurred to Neil that he had absolutely no good way out of this.  If Andrew wasn’t gay, he could end up with a royally pissed, very short but very muscle-y man across the table from him.  If he was, Neil was likely about to hurt his feelings by being completely unsure if they were dating or if he wanted them to be.  And if he ran, well, that would just be embarrassing.  Plus he might never stop, and he was pretty sure his FBI handlers would have something to say about that.

He settled for the truth.  “My coworkers informed me that our trip to the cafe yesterday could be considered a date.”

Andrew’s expression did not change from mild amusement.  “Oh?  And what did they say about this?”  He gestured to the restaurant.

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Why not?”  Still no change in expression but there was a tinge of venom in his tone.

“Because they were already way too excited and I didn’t want to hear it when I don’t even know if you’re gay.  Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m gay.”  He suddenly remembered Sara crowing that Jean owed her money.  “Oh, shit.”

“What new revelations are coming forth?” Andrew asked.

“That’s what they were betting on.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of Andrew’s spiked milkshake and Neil’s iced tea.  Neil gulped half of it.

“Who was betting on what?” Andrew asked once the waitress was well out of earshot.

“Sara and Jean.  After they informed me you probably thought yesterday was a date, Sara said Jean owed her ten bucks.  I bet they were betting on whether or not I was gay.”

“Your coworkers need help.  Or a hobby that does not involve betting on the lives of humans.”  Andrew waited for a moment, then went on.  “This is only a date if you want it to be one.  You said yesterday you were trying to make friends, I thought that was pretty clear.  But even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t matter.  If it’s not a yes, it’s a no.”

Neil thought about that.  He wondered if it was a general dating rule, or an Andrew rule.  “That makes it a lot less complicated.”

Andrew did that thing where he arched one eyebrow but didn’t comment.  Neil wondered what it was like to have one’s eyebrows trained to speak for you.  Maybe it was a lawyer thing.  After all, it could sway a jury but would be impossible for the court reporter to transcribe.  The prosecution raised an eyebrow, conveying the stupidity of the defense.  He pushed the whole thing away as ludicrous.  

Neil somehow managed to get his brain online again and asked about the seminar.  A conventional enough question, but Andrew answered him anyway, going on at some length about the horrors of bad lecturers and asshole classmates.  He managed to convey a great deal about the individuals with very little change in facial expression, just by subtle shifts of his voice and the angle of his mouth.  It was oddly engaging.

They didn’t leave until the restaurant practically kicked them out, vacuuming aggressively in their vicinity.  He wished he hadn’t already used his best lawyer jokes; he wasn’t able to think of a good one when they said good-bye.  King gave him an enthusiastic greeting, wrapping around his legs as if he hadn’t already fed her, and he picked her up and nestled his face in her fur.  He got ready for bed with her perched on his shoulder, her little body vibrating with the force of her purr.

He set the alarm on his phone, then hovered over Andrew’s latest text, debating.  Finally, he typed quickly and hit send.

How do lawyers sleep?

It took a few minutes before the phone chimed.

First I lie on one side then I lie on the other.  Talk tomorrow idiot

Tomorrow.  He had never gone to bed looking forward to the next day; it was just another thing to get through, to survive.  But in the dim light from the streets coming through the blinds, he fell asleep with a faint smile on his lips.  

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT 2

A/N LISTEN UP BEACHES I EDITED THIS WHILE EATING SKITTLES AND DUPLINGS SO YOU KNOW I WASNT NORMAL WHILE EDITING I HOPE I EDITED EVERYTHING IF NOT I’LL CORECT THIS LATER

Genre:Fanfiction/Romance/Erotic Romance

Type:Rated-r(later chapters)

Word Count 5,084

PT.1 , PT2 PT.3

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seoul. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Kwon Jiyong has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Hyo-Rin didn’t give me a brief biography

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Hyo-Rin’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Min Hyo-Rin! I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating Brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Kwon’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, y/n, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want. We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Gangnam-gu, close to the Gangnam campus of GAU. I’m lucky – Rin’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Hyo-Rin is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview. “Y/N! You’re back.” Rin sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little kittens, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.” “Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her. “Y/N, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Min Hyo-Rin, Inquisition. I struggle to answer her question. What can I say? “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.” Rin gazes innocently at me. I frown at her. “Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Hyo-Rin clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-eight. Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”(a/n let’s imagine that this store is in korea ok?!) “Y/N, you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started atGAU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Gangnam area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Kwon Ji Yong. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me. “y/n! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Hyo-Rin is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with… him. “You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/N. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look. I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Rin doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription. “I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks. “Um… no, I didn’t.” “That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush. “I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. “Oh come on,Y/N – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that,Y/N. Come on , he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen. “So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something – quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts. I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Y/N, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me? Now Hyo-Rin’s being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Kwon Ji Yong that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Rin and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Hyo-Rin has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday. I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and Brown eyes. For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Hyo-Rin is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-kittens PJs. I call my mom in Jeju to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Y/N?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.” “Y/N? Have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Y/N, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Hyo-Rin and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Mino, (dont hate Me)clutching a bottle of champagne. “Mino! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” Mino is the first person I met when I arrived at GAU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Mino’s Father were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Mino is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Mino has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me. “The Gangnam Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Hyo-Rin beams at him too. “Way to go Mino! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins. “Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Mino looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Rin. Mino and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Hyo-Rin often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven’t met anyone who… well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.(a/n ME THO) But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kwon? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely? I watch Mino open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Mino’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Mino looks up and smiles. Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold Brown gaze of Kwon Ji Yong who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Kwon,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr.Kwon?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Y/L/N. A slight frown mars Kwon’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning. “They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me – because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Gangnam? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head. “Are you in Gangnam on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Y/N! “I was visiting the GAU farming division. It’s based at Gangnam. I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts. “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease. “Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny? Funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, Brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Y/L/N! “Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Kwon says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium. “Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. “What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord… ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.” Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife. “Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Kwon.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing,Y/N?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Y/N, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks.(A/N BOIIII!!!!) “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Rin is. Miss Min. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Kwon raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off. “You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Hyo-Rin will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous… “Hyo-Rin will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position. Oh my. Kwon Ji Yong’s lost look. “Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Hyo-Rin is going to be thrilled. “Y/N!” Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Kwon, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Y/N, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Y/N, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Kwon Jiyong, he’s watching us like a hawk, his brown eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant. “Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Kwon’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Paul, this is Kwon Ji Yong. Mr. Kwon, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Ji Yong holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Kwon,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up – not the Kwon Ji Yong? Of Kwon Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kwon gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?” “Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Y/N.” “Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Kwon?” “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Kwon, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his brown eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Y/N.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh – and Y/N, I’m glad Miss Min couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay – I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Hyo-Rin and organize a photo-shoot.

boi i swear he...ugh he as a rich ceo....just yasss,also i didnt change the paul name because its the only time he appers in the book so yeah tommorow i will upload another part!!!!

[mowseries]

Allies Obstruct

=INTRO C: COLLAPSING PEACE=

((Courtesy of @codedhopes & @sirensniper))

<<—Previous——————Table of Contents——————Next—>>

{Meanwhile, in England…}

[It was a peaceful evening as Jack and Kate entered the quiet flat.

The siren sniper gave a smile, her eyes hidden by the sunglasses she typically wore in her Civilian form.]

Kate: An’ here we are! Welcome to yer new digs.

[The recovering newbie fighter awkwardly made his way into the living room, looking around in awe.]

Jack: Man, it sure is nice to be out of the hospital…

[It was much nicer than any place he had lived before he joined up with Greater Dusk, that was for sure.]

Kate: Rent’s been paid for a couple months, so it’s all yours.

Jack: What? Aw, geez, Miss Eight—you didn’t have to do that—

Kate: Aw, maybe not, heh. But yew deserve something nice after all that happened. Give ya some time to let things calm down.

[Since he wasn’t sure how to respond to that, he just followed the tall assassin as she gave him a run-down of the place.]

Kate: This here’s the sitting room, Ah’ guess… bedroom’s over that way; careful about the shower, they have it kinda like a large version of a sink sprayer, real easy t’ get water everywhere…

Kate: -Walking into the kitchen- It’s all pretty small—but that’s standard for somethin’ in Britain.

[Inside the kitchen, there was a large box on the table.]

Jack: ? Uh—what’s in there?

Kate: Oh, just a lil’ somethin’ t’ get ya started. -Grins-

[Jack put down his suitcase.

Despite being a member of a (in)famous (and now banned) battle team, he didn’t really have many belongings. Only the changes of clothes that had been foisted onto him as part of the contract of being a team member… which he hadn’t been allowed to read before signing, of course.]

Jack: -Puts such thoughts aside for now- Let’s see what we’ve got here…

[Kate looked on with a relaxed smile, biting down on a dart as the clumsy combatant fumbled with the wrapping paper. She let him figure out a way to open it on his own; she was just enjoying the downtime.

It was something she didn’t get very often, with her job. Nor had she ever really had anyone other than family to spend it with. But Jack—Jack was different than the others.

As the sponsors were wont to say, he was “a good”—and he deserved nice things.]

Jack: Geez, whatever’s in here has some weight to it—!

[He heaves a large hiking backpack out of the box, looking more than a little surprised.]

Jack: A backpack?

Kate: -Gleeful ping- Yeah, that’s part of it, fer sure.

Jack: Looks like—is that a sleeping bag tied at the top?

Kate: Yup!

Jack: -Inspecting the outside- Wow, it comes with a water bottle and a compass…

[He unzips one of the compartments.]

Jack: Man, you really stuffed this to the gills. Poncho, first aid kit…

Jack: —!

[He pulls out something in clear plastic wrapping, with “Nighthawk Industries” printed on one end.]

Jack: AW SWEET COOL GOGGLES.

Kate: -Amused smile-

[He IMMEDIATELY puts those on—they fit rather nicely once he adjusted the strap—]

Jack: Dude—

Jack: These are like, perfect fit—

Kate: David had ‘em custom made. They’ve got lotsa functionality. Good for protectin’ ‘gainst rain an’ wind, a’ course…

Kate: -Puts her hand to her hip, grinning like crazy- But beyond that…~

Kate: Go look out the window, why don’cha?

[Jack glanced out the window in the kitchen, and Kate abruptly turned off the lights.]

Jack: !!!

Jack: ...? What's this—

Jack: —! OoooooOOHOHO THIS THING HAS NIGHT VISION—

Kate: Bingo~

Jack: So THIS is what the world looks like to you at night! (I feel so damn BADASS—)

Kate: -Turns the light back on- Neat, ain’t it? Lady Ky made those for ya—I put her contact info in yer phone in case you’d like another job of hers…

Jack: …? Uh… -What phone, we don’t have a— - Wait a minute…

[He eagerly starts digging through the rest of the backpack, pulling out the stuffing inside it as he went.

The top of the backpack was a nicely pressed set of casual clothes, shrunk to be airtight to pack in as much as possible. Underneath, there was a small bed roll, some blankets, and a travel/camping pillow.]

Jack: I’m surprised you didn’t put a whole tent in here, too…

Kate: Pup’s still workin’ on something that will fit but be spacious when you pop it out. He says you should just get a Spinarak an’ teach it Secret Power, an’ it’ll be even better than a tent.

Jack: Heh…

[Going through the pockets, he pulled out some maps, a small radio, a burner phone, and a wallet.]

Jack: ? -Peeks inside the wallet, curious-

Jack: !!! (That is—! A lot of gift cards! And–and cash, too?) You… -Kind of speechless-

[The sniper strode over and put her hand to his shoulder, giving a reassuring smile.]

Kate: One of these days, you’ll get outta here, Jackie. Be ready for a new life, what with GD not around anymore. That’s fer you to use t’ get around… pick out a nice ride of some kind, maybe, have a bit t’ eat an’ enough fer somewhere to stay… just until ya get yer footing. It should be good for a couple months once ya get stateside.

Jack: All this is…? (This is for me…?)

Kate: Our gift to you. | } Or… most of it, anyway. Still one more thing from Felix—he said it was important, but he’s still asleep… though his friend Piers is there t’ look after him. Ya might think of stopping by—it’s an easy shortcut to an’ through the Wilderness between worlds.

Jack: Wow, Miss Eight, I…

Jack: Honestly don’t know what to say…

Jack: -Gestures to the gifts all over the table- This is… -Gestures around the living room- All this is… man, it’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, ever.

Kate: Aw, it’s the least we can do! Yer a good man, Jack, an’ well-liked. ‘m only sorry we didn’t get all this to ya sooner.

[She walked over to the freezer and pulled out a gallon of ice cream. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw it—but even moreso when she opened the fridge and brought out some steak.]

Kate: Let’s forget talkin’ fer a while an’ eat. M’ starved.

[Jack was more than happy to oblige, and Kate leaned back against the wall as she ate an ice cream cone with her one hand.

It was so nice to see Jack in such good spirits and properly well off after all that he’d been through. Ever since she first got to know him, she’d wanted to help—she’d grown more and more concerned for him the more he talked about Greater Dusk, about the way the team had treated him. She’d grown convinced he was in a dangerous situation, but even she couldn’t have anticipated what happened next.]

Kate: (Hmmmn…. The finals…. Still don’t have a good enough answer on what those crosses were. Malware of some sort, that’s for sure, but…)

[It was a grim prospect that required further investigation. It may not be her world, but she’d grown to care for the people in it.]

Kate: (Coding like that could cause a lot of damage.)

[She squinted behind her sunglasses, narrowing her eyes in distrust.]

Kate: (Whatever mysterious “provider” Jack said Blade was talking to is -probably- stateside… just like Blade is, that damn bastard…)

[Jack had told her that Blade had turned up dead.]

-=-=-=-=-

Jack: They....They sent it back to CherryDyn for them to look over what went wrong with him.

Jack: ....They said they found nothin', so they patched him up and kept him in for observation.

Jack: ....Then...

Jack: .......

Jack: He's dead, man. Dead.

Jack: .......

Jack: I...they told me he was...

Jack: Freakin' tortured…

Jack: ......

Jack: -turns away-

-=-=-=-=-

[…Kate, however, didn’t buy it for a minute.]

Kate: (That’s too convenient… Something isn’t right, here…)

Kate: -Broods- (That worm isn’t going to escape justice THAT easily, no sir…)

[…She was almost tempted to see to it herself, when she did come across him. But no—he had too much to answer for, and she would have to keep her head high and not sink to his level by turning away from doing the right thing.

Didn’t mean she couldn’t have the satisfaction of imagining otherwise.]

Kate: …

Kate: -Frowns and sighs internally- (…Look at me.)

Kate: (Off of work for once, and saddling myself up with another “case” that needs someone who cares…. Maybe Sis is right. Maybe I am a workaholic…)

Kate: -Finishes off the ice cream- Jack— do me a favor an’ make another cone, please…

Jack: Yeah, sure thing—

[She rubbed what was left of her right arm thoughtfully as he prepared seconds for her.]

Kate: (Not even on a job an’ I’m out there thinking like a killer…. Gotta try to remember not to let myself grow that bitter at the world…)

Jack: …Miss Eight?

Kate: Hmm?

Jack: I’ve been… wondering something…

Kate: -Accepts the second ice cream cone- Yeah?

Jack: I don't know how to word this right, but...

Jack: ...Stuff like this is kinda your thing, I know, but...why go through all this for me? I mean—I'm not anyone THAT important, and on top of that, I'm a Cherry…

Kate: …Well…. Ya… ya always treated me like a person. Not very many people do. -Looks away in thought- ‘m just Fighting Mighty Eight to them— or Artemis, herald of death. Or just a pretty face with lots of money to burn.

Kate: That means something to me.

Jack:  ...Really, huh... (I guess, with what she does…)

[There was silence for a while as Kate finished off the second ice cream cone. This time, she seemed satisfied.]

Kate: Thanks for the help, Jack. I could do it myself, but it’s awfully messy, heh…

Jack: Oh, no problem.

Kate: -Turns on the faucet to wash her hand- Well, this was a nice evening. It was good to see you settled in.

Jack: Oh—are you headed off?

Kate: Yes.

[She wiped her hand on a dishcloth as best she could.]

Kate: Stateside.

Jack: Wh—You're going back to America? This soon?

Kate: I have some investigating t’ do, Jack…. Ah’ don’t think this is over yet.

Jack: -Internal groaning- (Agh, she’s probably right…)

Kate: Things may have died down, but… somethin’ is wrong over there, Ah’m sure of it.

Kate: -Turns to face him- Y’ need t’ lay low for a while, too. I hate t’ leave at a tahm like this, but the longer it waits, the colder the trail gets. You should be safe here from any prying eyes of this world—but just in case…

[She walks over and places something on the table.]

Jack: A… is that a taser?

Kate: -Momentary twitch of a smile- (…Figured you’d just hurt yourself with pepper spray, so…) Between that an’ yer Combat abilities, you should be able t’ hold yer own long enough to call for help. -Points over at the cell phone- Either ping somebody or—couple a’ contacts in there, just a call away.

Jack: I...um.

Kate: Yes?

Jack: Look, I appreciate the gesture, Miss Eight, just—do I really need this thing, I mean, it's a little much—

[The Mighty Number works her dart over to the other side of her mouth and tilts her head just so, giving the CDN a look that said otherwise.]

Kate: ....

Jack: …Right, stupid question—

Jack: Thanks, I guess...

Kate: Hmm hmm. Yer welcome. Ah' better git goin' nao.

Kate: Stay safe, Jack Parker.

Kate: I’ll be in touch when I figure things out.

Jack: M'kay. Don't go do anything too crazy, alright?

[She gave a characteristic grin, slowly fading away from sight. There was the rattle of the front door, and then she was gone.

Jack takes another fresh look around his new home, rubbing the back of his head quietly as he sinks down into the couch. He couldn't help but wish Miss Eight would've stuck around a little more, but it wasn't like he could stop her.

She's got her mind set on things for his sake, too.]

Jack: (…Guess I better start looking over this stuff…)

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