#I am this close to finding a group shot and pausing some of the rehearsal clips

[storyweaverofgondor]

I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT!

I was running the little blurbs on the site through google translate and i got this:

which translates to:

“Image and Communication” is the group coordinated and organized by Laura Poletti, who deals with the management of the photographic, graphic and media aspect and social management of the company, and Simona Scotti for the video part.

Which seems to suggest the Cats we see in the promos are these people.

One of the primary promo images is this!

Which brings the performers who played Bomba, Skimble and Victoria down to six.

Now i think its pretty safe to say the Guy is Skimbleshanks . . . Or maybe Munk??? Munkustrap was in a lot of the video promos. Hmmm . . . Well, one the two at any rate!

I think . . . i think the last lady is Bomba. Jaeenia P(squiggle)e(a or o)letico. (Someone who can read this handwriting help me!)

I think, considering her mention in the blurb, Simona Scotti is a prominent character. Since she is listed among the dancers instead of the singers as i think she'd be if she was Grizabella,I'm leaning towards her probably being Victoria. (stares intently at promo Vic) ehhh . . . but she doesn't have the cheekbones. OP Vic has intense cheekbones. But maybe that's a makeup illusion . . . the chins might match.

The rest of these ladies is most likely either Grizabella, Tumble/Bill Bailey, Exotica, Misto or Jemima considering they also feature quite heavily in promo pieces/interview videos like these on the youtube channel.

@statisticalcats2 @whitmerule

[val-aquenta]

Mace Windu Appreciation Day One. 

Prompt: Serenity/Acting

Here on ao3

 Mace Windu sat on his seat in the council, hands steepled in front of him. He let out a long breath. The problem of Ryloth was complex and with multiple faces. The Senate was pushing for one side, and while he in part agreed, he could see and understand the other side. He shook his head. He had already spent long on this issue even though the Senate’s push had solidified what the Order would do. They disagreed, but if they made it known, the Senate would be quick to order them. As he walked from the seat into the centre and then to the door, he shed the mantle of authority that came with his seat. He was still the Master of the Order, but away from the seat of decision making there, he felt more free, closer to his family. As he exited the room, Mace took a deep breath of relief. The room was somewhat stifling after so long. “Padawan Aleya, you’re free to go if you wish.” The twi'lek smiled widely. “Apologies for keeping you so late. I should have signalled.” 

“No worries, Master Mace. You aren’t that late.” Aleya assured, bustling at the desk and picking up a stack of datapads. Mace lifted a bemused eyebrow. “I had some work to do.” He mutters, blushing a bright green in embarrassment. Suddenly, he perked up, clearly remembering something. “Oh… Knight Depa had a message, Master. There’s an opening in the play they’re doing soon if you want to join. Not sure about the play, though. She just said you should meet her at the theatre.” Aleya stumbled slightly to the side, the datapads tilting precariously. Mace moved forwards, drawing the Force around the Twi’Lek to keep him from falling. 

“Well, I look forwards to the play. Perhaps you’ll even see me on stage, hmm?” Mace grinned, bemused at the bright green flush again. Aleya had only recently been assigned to the Council desk as Shaak Ti’s padawan. He still had, despite his older age, that youthful hero-worship of some members of the Council. Shaak herself, though, was an exception. “And yourself? It’s nearing exams, isn’t it?”

Aleya cringed, his face twisting into a displeased frown. “Yeah. I’m busy, but still managing. The exams come up soon.” He frowned, fiddling with his stack of datapads. “I still don’t get the Ryloth War in 406. Elya seems to be the cause of the revolt, but then the Rila commune also could be part of it, and the-” He stopped suddenly. “Sorry, Master. I was babbling.”

“No worries, Padawan. I’m afraid I’m not too well-versed in Ryloth’s history. I had not studied it. Cyslin, my Master, she studied Ryloth, though it was a while back before I became her Padawan.” Mace explained, a contrite look on his face. 

“Oh! That would be helpful. I’ll talk to her.” They reached the end of the hall. Aleya tried to manage a wave around the datapads. He was… somewhat successful. “Well, see you tomorrow, Master!” And with that, he walked down the left corridor. 

Mace raised a hand in an aborted way. “Good luck with your studies!” He called back, receiving a smile his way. Alright, now for the theatre. It would be fun to act again. Even for just a moment.

Depa was outside the arts centre, waiting for him. She smiled widely as he neared, looking up from a holo and placing the datapad in her robe pocket. “Master! You got my message.” She had changed her hairstyle from a braided crown into four looped braids. 

“Of course. Padawan Aleya is nothing if not diligent.” Mace commented, close enough to feel the gentle warmth of his former student. She shuffled a bit closer, her youthful features lighting up in happiness. 

“Indeed.” She paused for a while, simply soaking in the familiar presence of Mace before speaking once more. “Well, the younglings were putting together a show, and they need a Master and a Knight.” She pointed to Mace and then to herself. “I already volunteered you.” 

Mace sighed, of course. “Depa, you know I am quite busy now-” He started only to be interrupted by Depa. 

“I already checked your schedule, Master.” She grinned unashamedly. Mace had idly wondered if knighting Depa would lessen the amount she pestered him. It appeared not. “I’ve cleared it for practice and rehearsal. As Master of the Order, shouldn’t you be spending some time with the younglings?” She raised an eyebrow slyly.

Mace snorted, “That’s Master Yoda’s job.” Still, he followed Depa into the theatre centre, hands folded into his sleeves. If she had, in fact, cleared his schedule, it would be silly for him to miss this. Depa shot him a smug smile, unfazed by the dry look she received in response.

“Master Windu, Knight Depa!” The crechemaster, a tall mirialan surrounded by a small gaggle of younglings. “Thank you for coming.” Mace bowed, Depa copying him, her hair bobbing playfully. She shot a smile at one of the younglings, a young nautolan who smiles hesitantly in return. Mace takes a glance over the group. There are nine children of various ages, spanning until probably 12. He can’t truly tell. “We’re acting out the tale of the caves for the day of discovery.”

“Ah, a lovely choice,” Mace assured, trying not to feel too sad when some of the children seemed to startle. It appeared he had been missing creche supervision because of all the paperwork from the council seat he had gotten right after knighting Depa. “I’m quite familiar with it. I’m sure you are too, Depa?”

Depa nodded, a hand reaching out to move her braid out of the way. “Yes, we acted it a few times when I was younger. You played the knight if I recall?”

“Indeed.” It had been where he first met Depa. A fond memory he kept close to his heart. “So, when will we begin?” He asked the crechemaster, Tirna if he recalled correctly. 

Tirna was about to speak before a flimsi was pushed into her hands. She looked down to peer at it for a moment. “It’s lovely.” She murmured with a soft smile to the small twi’lek, returning the drawing and receiving a bright smile in return. “We were waiting for you two, so I suppose we can go in. 

The younglings were corralled in, excitedly whispering to each other. The theatre was a familiar place. When he was younger, he had spent most of his time here being taught the art of acting on stage. He’d even dabbled in music on stage, though he preferred to simply speak and not sing on stage. Both Cyslin and himself were surprised when he had gotten an offer from the theatre to become an instructor here. Sadly, his path to knighthood had gotten in the way and Instructor Rhuy had been disappointed, but not exactly surprised by Mace turning down the offer. Sadly, the chiss had passed to the Force a few years ago in his few missions offworld. He had not become familiar with the new instructor, too busy with Depa’s final years of apprenticeship. Mace looked at the brown and gray walls, breathing in the familiar scent and soaking in the warmth of the place. It was a place for entertainment. While, yes, people were driven to tears with some performances, the imprint left in the place was one of happiness and joy. 

Depa, at his side, watched him with a sideways glance. She had not seen him act much in recent years. In the middle of their years, when they were on rotation at the Temple for Depa’s studies, Mace would find himself often in the theatre, but a lot of those memories were hazy, just long enough ago that Depa could only recall them with a blurriness on the edges. A striking image of Mace in full attire of older Jedi, the ornamental robes and rather fancy modified training hilts came to mind. He turned in an elaborate fighting dance with another Jedi, a crechemate in the story. Another image, this time of Mace in more modern Jedi robes, a Nautolan next to him as he acted out a confession scene. She recalled the way she had cringed away from the stage. By the Force, it was her Master up there with that knight. Cyslin’s soft chuckle and a warm hand on her head finished the memory, the faint murmur of Mace’s voice in the background. 

He belonged in the theatre, she concluded, watching his eyes light up as they saw the familiar sight around him. Just as he belonged in the Council chambers, or in some blaster fight on some war-torn planet, or at some negotiation table, impassively looking between the two sides. Mace was many things, and that included being an actor. He looked at home here amongst the rows of seats, the stage as a backdrop, but he also belonged elsewhere. His eyes caught hers. Depa lifted her brow in question. Mace shook his head and followed Tirna up the stairs to the backstage and rehearsing room. Depa took one more look at the theatre, lit up with a warm yellow light, before following the group. 

The rehearsing room was, essentially, a large room, somewhat soundproof and almost large enough to duel. There were mirrors in one corner. The kids stood with Tirna in the corner where she handed out papers. The play was short, most of it being a question and response play. It was a kid's play after all. Depa and he stood in the corner, Mace trying to relax his back. Sitting in the Council chair for so long is a painful experience. He would rather not be there sometimes. Depa eyes him sympathetically, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulders. They both turn to Tirna, in a strange synchronisation that is a result of their partnership. The mirialan blinks before offering the script. Mace accepts it, though he thinks he can recall all the words. “Thank you.” He says softly, flicking through it. The flimsi flutters under his fingers. He looks up to catch the woman smiling at Depa as she hands the flimsi. It occurs to Mace that he never asked why Tirna had asked Depa for her help first. It appears Mace muses with a bemused smile, that Depa is hiding something from me. And that she is doing a rather poor job. He turns back to the script

Tirna floats through the class as they read through it dramatically. The exaggerated expressions and voices of a few directly contrast the other side who read with a bored monotonous voice. It is endearing and familiar. Depa shuffles where she’s seated, rearranging her clothes, a nervous tell Mace has noted for a while. Mace shuffles a bit closer to her, hand going out to rest on her free one. Depa settles, easily leaning into the familiar warmth. They continue reading this way. The nautolan boy near them shoots him a look before returning to his rather exaggerated fearful voice. “But, Master, it’s too cold. I’ll freeze here.”

“Worry not, I feel a heat coming forth.” He tries to be comforting. “Knight Lea, you feel it too?” He asks Depa.

“Indeed, Master.” She responds, easily falling into a lightheartedness as a part of her character. “Younglings… see the light, it comes through the chamber and… through the ice.” The children act as though they are surprised, and relieved. 

“It will save us from the caves. The ice, it’s going down.” A young mirialan says, veil pushed quickly to the side from where it falls on his face. “Melting.” He’s rather good at it, Mace muses. The mirialan boy looks awed. And so, the play ends. Mace finds himself clapping happily much to the embarrassment of the younglings who end up blushing and sharing glances. Depa hands out compliments easily, the children used to her mannerisms indicating she’s been here often. 

The mirialan, Lameo, comes up to him. “Knight Depa says that you were once part of the theatre, but you chose to become a council member instead.” Mace blinks from where he sits, looking slightly upwards at the boy. 

“Indeed, I did.” He confirms, his head tilting slightly to the left. 

Lameo seems to perk up, sitting down in front of Mace. “What was it like, the theatre I mean, not being a Master? I want to join the theatre club, Master Windu, and I was wondering if I should or if I shouldn’t.” 

Mace hums thoughtfully, hands unconsciously steepling in front of him, “If you desire it, and you feel that it is your path, join it. I must say, you have a knack for it as well.” He grins a bit, happy when the young mirialan smiles back. “The theatre would benefit greatly if you joined.” 

“You think so?” 

“I would not lie, young one,” Mace says.

Lameo breathes in deep, furrowing his brow for a moment before he stands and bows thankfully, “I’ll think about it.”  

The performance happens two weeks later. Mace wears slightly more traditional robes, extra ornaments and embellishments on the cream robes. The children, all decked out in their own gear, like all children do, love the elaborately designed hilts, not made for comfort in dueling, but made to look flashy and beautiful. He turns to welcome Depa and is taken aback for a moment. Her robes are designed differently from what she usually wears. The sleeves are more poofed, less easy to fight in, the pants billow before coming to a close at the boots, and there is a pattern on the fabric itself, intricate little swirls that seem to fit. He recalls a younger Depa in cream coloured tunics before she became a Padawan. It appears, he muses, that she has grown up. Her hair has been intricately plaited on top of her head, in a style that Mace would say tops even the most intricate Naboo hairstyles. When he looks at her, he feels happy, yet also sad, yearning for the time when she would only reach his elbow.

“Master?” Depa asks as she sides up beside him after praising enough of the initiates for their costumes. “Are you alright? You seem… off. Are you nervous?” She seems genuinely concerned. 

“No worries, Depa. Just… thinking.” She shoots him a confused look, obviously not exactly understanding at all. Like he’s done before, he starts explaining. “You’ve grown up. It is… novel sometimes.”

Depa snorts, reaching out to smooth non-existent wrinkles on his robes. “You knighted me a year ago.” She murmurs. “I was far from my Padawan years then.”

“I suppose it is only hitting now,” Mace admits, shifting the tunic a bit from where it sits skewed to the left. It was a tradition to make sure they were both dressed properly before leaving the apartments. It has carried on to this day. “In many ways, I can still see the little you.” Depa laughs lightly, a small chuckle really. Her eyes sparkle like they always do when she finds something humorous. 

“Oh dear, I must have a long way to go then, before I am fully grown in your eyes, my Master.” Her affectionate tone accompanies her hands squeezing his. “Well, are you ready?”

“Of course,” Mace says. Depa smiles and joins Tirna in corralling the kids onto the stage. Mace takes a moment to breathe before following her on the stage.

[gremlin-writes-angst]

The Unkissable Prince CH.2

I cant find it so ill post it again just in case

The past few weeks the cast had been working hard to make something they could be proud of, and they were proud of what they had accomplished so far as a group, but problems arise in individuals. Most of the actors were in their last year of high school and had other problems and worries this late in the school year. Lunch was one of the only times they could relax without having to do school work or production work. It was a time of fun relaxation, laughs and for some, it was a time to make new relationships or for some to evolve.

Denki and Shinsou had been working together during rehearsal almost every time the actors were given time to work on individual character work. Even though Denki was who Shinsou worked with the most, Denki was always disappointed when Shinsou worked with another actor. Now Shinsou was a part of the theater kid group, even during lunch. Currently, most of the students in the production were having lunch together and it was only the second week that Shinsou was a part of this lunch group and he had taken notice of something. For one he noticed the closeness of Tokoyami the actor playing Scully and Aoyama the french boy who played the french chef in the show, he assumed that they were together or were getting to that type of relationship. He also noticed that mina was ursal, not that she was naturally ursal but she constantly in character, basically method acting, and it scared most of the none theater people. What he took notice of most was how they treated Denki, for the most part, it was harmless jokes that could be taken the wrong way. What he was really unsure of was how Jiro treated him, her jokes were more insults than the others, half the time he couldn’t tell if she was even trying to joke about it. Shinsou could tell that Denkiwas affected by Jiro’s words, and he was too. Mostly because her insults were always about other’s feelings toward Denki. Things like

“Your so annoying, it makes people hate you.”

“It’s hard being around you when you are so stupid.”

"I still don’t how you landed the prince role when you the furthest thing from a prince .”

“It’s so hard to act like I’m in love with prince eric when you’re the one playing him.”

“I’m not surprised that you’ve never been in a relationship, I pray for your future partner.”

That last few ones were the ones that hurt Shinso because he was a part of Denkis prince Eric’s portrayal. The last one also struck a chord with him because he liked Denkieven before they become friends, he was almost hopelessly in love with Denkinow that they got to spend time together. Even though Jiro’s comments hurt both Denkiand Shinsou, neither of them was able to stand up to her. All Shinsou could do was find a way to comfort Denki when they were alone.

Later in the day after school now at rehearsal, once again Shinso was hoping from person to person helping them during their individual work. Denki was running over his lines, memorizing, blocking, and figuring out how to say each word, the way prince eric would. Shinso had taught him many acting tips in the past few weeks, it made Denki feel a little dumb because he had done acting for fun since he was little and he was only learning such things in his last year of high school. Denki sat and thought of tactics, a term, and a method that Shinso taught him. Basically, each line has at least one tactic, a tactic is an action verb that is aimed at the other characters in the show. For example, he used ‘to swoon Ariel’ quite a bit, swoon being the tactic and Ariel is who it is for. All the work he was doing made him think of Shinsou, and how Shinsou wasn’t working with him right now, it made him feel alone and jealous that he didn’t have the fluffy-haired boy’s attention. The director called for clean up which indicated the end of rehearsal, and Denki still hadn’t worked with Shinsou today, it disappointed him more than it should have.

Denki

I pack up my bag and script but stay seated in the chair I was in. I know that it’s time to go but I wasn’t ready to leave, not mentally at least. I watched as my ...our stage manager talked to our director, I have no clue what their conversations about but it’s not unusual for them to talk after rehearsal. I began to space out, still staring in their direction, I’m broken from this state when I notice both men looking at me, I panic a little because when two people are talking and looking at you it means that they’re talking about you, and I can only assume that their talking shit if it’s me they’re looking at. In my slightly panicked state, I didn’t realize that Yamada has left and that Shinso has started to approach me. I try to calm myself and get ready to stand up but before I could stand up I hear the amazing smooth voice of Shinso.

“Stay seated.”

Even though his tone wasn’t demanding or scary, I summited and was scared. I watched as he sets down something and pulls out another foldable chair, across from me and my chair. I couldn’t think of what to say or question but luckily I didn’t have to because he knew the answers to the questions I hadn’t even thought of yet

“I asked Yamada if I could work with you a little more today here because we didn’t get to.”

I nodded my head and took note of how awkward he knew that we were alone together. I guess he thinks I’m stupid because he went into more detail.

“He said yes, just no funny business and to lock up and that return the keys when I get home.”

He was less awkward now, he even rolled his eyes at the no funny business part. I assume that the shiny thing he put down was the keys to the auditorium. The most confusing part was the ‘return the keys when I get home’.

"Wait you live with Yamada?”

I yelled that a little loud and was a little too excited for that, it probably made him uncomfortable to be around a loud person like me.

"Yeah, he not my dad or anything. At least not biologically, he’s my foster parent, has been for the past 3 years but he hasn’t asked if I wanted to be adopted yet so I think he waiting till I turn 18 so he doesn’t have to deal with me.”

He laughs but I don’t think it’s very funny, because I don’t think it true, and Yamada isn’t like that. I hold my breath though, no one wants to hear my thoughts anyway, so I switch the subject.

"I was working on tactics today, hear let me show you!”

We worked for the next 30 minutes on different parts of the script, until we ended up on the wedding scene, the same scene that prince eric and ariel kiss. The atmosphere became weird between us, we weren’t acting or anything, just reading the lines and talking through different ideas. But the topic of kissing filled the air with awkwardness. But we had to continue with analyzing and discovering my character.

"I’ve been having trouble portraying Eric at this moment. It’s hard to show the love he feels for Ariel.”

I admitted to Shinso that love was hard to portray which is pretty embarrassing.

"I would try and draw out, or remember an experience for this scene, like your first kiss, or date, something romantic.”

Shinso suggested, I tried to rack my brain to find a replay that doesn’t include Shinso learning that I haven’t had my first kiss yet. But that’s what enders up coming out.

"I haven’t...”

"You haven’t ...what? Kissed someone? gone on date?”

Shinso sounds very shocked by this discovery. I just nodded my head not wanting to face him.

"But you’ve rehearsed this scene before, so you’ve kissed Jiro?”

I suddenly realize that every time Jiro and I have rehearsed that scene, Shinso isn’t in his chair, and when Yamada announced we would be doing stage kisses instead, Shinso hadn’t joined the club yet. Meaning that Shinso didn’t know about the stage kisses.

“No, she was uncomfortable with that so we opted for stage kisses, so I’ve never had a first kiss, not a romantic one or a fake one from Jiro.”

“Whats a stage kiss?”

I’m shocked, my stage manager doesn’t know what a stage kiss is. He knows all these other terms for acting but he doesn’t know about a basic stage kiss. Well, now I get to be the smart one.

"Well, it’s so that actors don’t have to kiss but it tricks the audience. Basically one of the actors grabs the other’s face and kisses their thumbs.”

I was feeling pretty smug about knowing something Shinsou didn’t. Until he spoke again.

“I don’t understand. Maybe I’ll understand better if you showed me.”

I cough out a little bit in shock, yeah sure it’s a stage kiss and I wouldn’t actually be kissing him, but the idea makes me nervous. It’s not like I don’t want to kiss him, stage kiss him, it’s the opposite, I’ve grown fond of him and might even say I have a crush on him. I know that I don’t have a shot with him or anyone for that matter but I can’t help but wish for more than a stage kiss. But if a stage kiss is the closest I'll get to being with Shinso I'll take it.

Without saying anything I get up from my chair and move towards Shinso, I place my hands on his face and then I lift my thumbs positioning them in front of his lips. they flout above his lips as I pause for a second, thinking about touching his lips with my thumbs, it’s still intimate in my mind, but his puzzled look makes me place my thumbs down on his lips. There soft, I would have expected chapped lips but this is a pleasant surprise. I close my eyes and kiss my own thumbs, I keep my lips there longer than I do when I stage kiss Jiro, but Shinso won’t know that. I pull away and open my eyes, to see Shinso smiling and almost laughing, then he begins to laugh. I began to feel insignificant and stupid again. I know I don’t have a shot with some as amazing as Shinso but that doesn’t mean I didn’t still hope that the stage kiss would lead to something more, and real.

“Sorry for laughing. You really haven’t had your first kiss.”

It’s that obvious to him, sure I told him but how can he tell how inexperienced I am from just a stage kiss.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

I asked in a more rude tone than I meant to.

"Well you closed your eyes, like the whole time, and you were there longer than needed.”

“You’re supposed to close your eyes, right. That’s what they do in movies and like it’s bad if you open your eyes, or that’s what I’ve heard.”

Shinso nods at my statement but it seems to be in a teasing way.

“Wel that right but you make it seem like life or death, your eyes aren’t just closed there squeezed shut, and with simple kisses that the .. um … the stage kiss is replicating, it’s short. Cause in real life it would be a little awkward to put your lips against someone else’s without at least some lip movement.”

I find his corrections on my stage kiss annoying, and I don’t try to hide it in my voice.

"Oh, so your some sort of kissing expert?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that, but I’m more experienced than you.”

I become more annoyed because his voice changed and he became more smug

"Well, it’s not my fault I haven’t had my first kiss!”

I yell at him.

“Neither is it mine.”

“Yes, it is because anyone who hasn’t tried to kiss me is at fault!”

I blurt out without think of consequences, and when I look at Shinso and his smug, flirtatious face I know that there’s going to be consequences.

“So if I kiss you then I can be free from being blamed?”

I go wide-eyed, I can’t tell if he’s being serious. And if he is I don’t know if I want my first kiss to be under these circumstances. Oh, who am I kidding I was ready to have my first kiss be with Jiro for a play. I try to ask him how serious he is but it stumbles out in pieces.

“How ….uu. I ho-how seri-serious is your.. Uhh ...your ..proposal?”

I sound like a mess. I watch as Shinso stands up from his chair moving closer to me. His left hand rests on my cheek. Leans in and whispers...

“As serious as you want it to be.”

We stand and stay in this position until Shinsou whispers more...

“I’m asking if I can kiss you.”

“Yes!”

The yes that falls out of my mouth is too fast and too quiet but Shinsou heard it and leaned in. I don’t like to admit that I’m wrong but I was and Shinso is right. Without movement this is awkward. But then he snickers with his lips still on mine, that’s when I realize he wasn’t moving on purpose to prove his point. He begins to move, and I half expect it to become a french kiss but it doesn’t. I follow his lips movement hoping that I’m doing it correctly.

We eventually pull away, both our faces tinted pink with blush. I’m not used to silence so I try to fill it.

"Wow, where did all that confidence come from?”

Shinso was often not as flirty as he has been for the past 10 minutes.

“Don’t know, it happens more than you’d expect.”

His hand does that thing that I’ve read in teen romance stories, where it goes behind their neck. I can see the movement of hair and fingers and I assume that it’s some sort of nervous tick to play with his hair, it cute.

“So I think we did enough work for one day, so I guess it’s time to go home.”

I nodded and turn back to grab my stuff, I turn around and Shinsou is already ready to go, waiting for me, but he doesn’t seem to be annoyed like most people are when I take longer to get ready. He locks up the room and we walk to the exit together. When we get outside I turn to start walking home, Shinsou turns the other way but before I get too far he turns back and yells at me.

“Do you need a ride? People shouldn’t walk this late at night, I don’t mind giving you a ride. “

I turn around and yell back...

"I don’t want to get you in trouble for being home late.”

“I’d probably get more in trouble if I let you walked, that’s how my dads are, so come on.”

He waves me over and I jog over to him.

During the ride we don’t talk much, letting the radio fill the car, scaring off the awkward silence. I told him my address and he uses a GPS for direction instead of asking me every 2 minutes when to turn. So I was able to just watch him, and I never realized how attractive people can be while driving till now. Especially the one hand on the wheel, his right hand still on the shift even though it an automatic, his left hand on the wheel. The same hand that was on my cheek less than 20 minutes ago. The realization brings color back to my face, I begin to think about the kiss again. My thinking almost always leads to questions that make me insecure, and like always, I begin to question. Along with my brain answering with the most likely answer

Did I do it right? No.

Did he like it? No.

Does he regret it? Of course.

Was it just a moment thing? Yes.

Or does it have a deeper meaning? No.

Will it happen again? Never, don’t even get your hopes up.

Will we become more than friends? Idiot.

Did he hate it? How else is someone supposed to feel after kissing you?

Is Jiro right? Has she ever been wrong, no, and that hasn’t changed.

Will he stop being my friend? Probably and if not, it’s pity.

Why did he do it? To teach you, cause your a lonely idiot.

Does he like me? Not even a question, of course not, look at him, then yourself. He would never like you.

“Denki is this it?”

I’m broken from the negative thoughts. Shinso has already parked, I look out the window, and sure enough, it is my house.

“Yeah."

I step out and grab my stuff, I close the door, the window rolls down.

"Have a good day Denki.”

"Yeah, you to Shinso.”

I begin to walk away but he yells out a little more...

"Call me Hitoshi. Also, It wasn’t a moment thing, and I want to see where this leads.”

My back was turned the whole time he said talked, I stand there frozen in disbelief. It’s only when I hear his car drive away that I breathe again, my first breath also being a whisper of his name.

[winterscaptain]

in harmony.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’ve cast the choirs (because i think i’m hilarious) and have a playlist to listen to as you read, if you want the ~full experience~. i’ve done my best to time it out with the music so it flows properly, depending on how fast you read. the beginning moves a little faster than the music, so i would recommend starting the playlist at the beginning of the fic. this one has been living in my head rent free for way too long and i’m so stoked to share it with you.

straight no chaser as the nsa mc6 a cappella as the atf pentatonix as the fbi

words: 4035 warnings: mild swearing, internal monologuing, and pining!hotch ft. supportive!jj, tw: a capella themes setlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7GQkhBUhUfdJI4m0vZbqbJ?si=46TMCTj9SkCRoHlnAxHfkg

masterlist | requests closed!

The Official Unofficial Los Angeles Inter-Agency Choral Competition was in its final stages of preparation, and you were at the center of it. CIA did the judging, as usual, and each agency had a team, a setlist, and a competitive streak a mile long. 

Because the bragging rights awarded by the CIA were so coveted, the agents involved in the choral groups got a half day off of work, waived by the Assistant Directors themselves. 

Thus, the NSA, ATF, and FBI choral teams were goofing around in the federal building auditorium with the abandon of a bunch of high schoolers. Sound check was always criminally fun, and most of it was spent giving each other a hard time and arranging music on the fly. 

The engineers were still working and would still need a few minutes to themselves before you all got onstage and ran your sets. 

“Hey, Bureau.” 

You turned, finding Ben behind you in his black button-up and tie. “Hey, dumbass.” 

Ben was the arranger for the NSA team and your closest friend in Los Angeles. You got along famously, and you joked that the friendship between you was the only reason there was interagency cooperation in your jurisdiction at all. 

He was looking particularly sharp this afternoon, as the NSA team prided themselves on their polished performance aesthetic. 

“Ready for tonight?” He asked. 

You laughed. “God, am I ever. I’ve been working CT down in the bunker for weeks.” 

“Oh, dude that’s brutal. When was the last time you saw daylight?”

You blew air through your lips. “Ah, fuck, I dunno, like a week?”

Ben laughed and slung an arm around your shoulders. “This is a helluva way to get back into civilization with the rest of us.” 

You scoffed. “It’s bold to imply anyone at the NSA is a part of any society.” 

“C’mon. Trash talking doesn’t start until we’ve rehearsed at least once.” He jostled you, and you let out another peal of laughter. 

“Try me, hot shot.” 

Meanwhile, upstairs, the BAU was finishing up their goodbyes and case reports for the Los Angeles field office. There was a spree killer wreaking havoc in the Mid-City neighborhood, and the BAU was of enormous help in apprehending the suspect. 

You’d been in the aforementioned CT bunker for at least a week and had no idea your (greatly missed) former unit was on your side of the country, let alone in the same building.  

“Oh!” Agent Fitzgerald said, suddenly. The BAU looked up all at once, and it was almost comical. “I completely forgot. There’s an event tonight that’s always really fun. If you all aren’t in any rush to get back to Quantico, we’d love for you to stay. If you’re eager to get back, they’re in the auditorium right now for a dress rehearsal and it shouldn’t take more than a half hour.” 

JJ’s head tilted. “What’s going on?”

“The Official Unofficial Los Angeles Inter-Agency Choral Competition.” Fitzgerald grinned. “It’s really fun, surprisingly good, and never not hilarious.” 

Emily laughed. “You’re kidding.” 

“Not even a little.” 

+++

Ben and his team were in the middle of their set, and you were bopping along with some of the ATF guys in the corner. 

You couldn’t deny the talent on the NSA team. They were clean-cut, crisp, and well-arranged (thanks to Ben), but you couldn’t help but think they were a little too polished. 

Ben had the lock on comedic mashups, and had a great on-stage persona - one of the very few NSA agents with a sense of humor. He sang directly to you, much of the time, in rehearsal because he knew it made you laugh. His sense of humor was infused through all the arrangements, and the lyrics alone were enough to have you on the floor.

Their movie medley opener was your favorite, full of silly references and even a sing-along section. You knew all the words simply because you’d sat with Ben as he spent three days arranging and adjusting it a couple of months ago. Obviously, you offered absolutely no help because all you wanted was to watch him crash and burn. 

Maybe some sabotage could come in handy next time…

They rounded out their set with a clean-cut cover of Smash Mouth’s All Star. Ben was always in it for the laugh, and you loved it. Both teams in the house were laughing as the NSA made increasingly bigger spectacles of themselves. 

It was easier to forget how much you missed your family in Virginia when you were with the other teams - rehearsing and bonding and spending time together. There was no unit in Los Angeles like the BAU insofar as the bond between team members, but this event always mimicked it better than anything else. 

Without Ben, you’d barely have anyone at all. He happened to be assigned to you as a liaison between agencies on one of your first cases, and you got on like a house on fire. His friends became your friends, and you found your footing in your new home. They showed you the best beaches (Manhattan and Malibu), the best sushi (Enya), and perhaps most importantly - the best route and attack strategy for navigating the hell that was LAX. 

You avoided calling your old unit as much as possible, as you were sure it would keep you from fully settling down. If half of your head was in Virginia, you’d always hate Los Angeles. That said, Aaron was still the first number on your speed dial, and your thumb spent a fair amount of time hovering over it before inevitably shoving it back in your pocket. You’d done it just today, walking from your office to the auditorium. 

You left the ATF to their ridiculous devices, and joined your team in the house. 

“Doin’ alright? I heard it was a rough week for y’all down in CT.” Michael, a Texas native and an insane talent, could have been an excellent profiler if he wasn’t so great at ferreting out tax fraud. You both spoke in hushed tones, as to not disrupt the rehearsal. 

You nodded, patting him on the arm. “I’m alright.” 

“Missin’ home?” 

You nodded again. “Just a bit. It’s weird coming out into the world after being in the bunker - it’s almost like I don't remember where I am, and I almost expect to be somewhere else.”

He didn’t say anything, but leaned against you. It was a small gesture, but a meaningful one.

When NSA was finished, with their levels set and lights programmed, it was ATF’s turn to get up on stage and flutter around until they were adjusted. 

Michael said something ridiculous, and it made you laugh out loud. You slapped a hand over your mouth, hearing it resonate through the house as one of the floor mics picked it up.  

At the back of the auditorium, only minutes prior, Agent Fitzgerald had slipped in with the BAU. They all stood along the back wall, and you only would have seen them if you knew where to look. The auditorium was massive, and the only lights up were the lights onstage - distinguishable features were nearly impossible to determine from the distance. 

Aaron’s breath caught for a moment. A microphone picked up someone’s laugh near the stage, and it sounded startlingly like yours.  

Must be mistaken. There’s no way. 

As ATF started up, Ben grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to your feet. He turned you under his arm and led - dancing you around on the floor at the front of the stage. You laughed your way into his arms, and fell into a relaxed Lindy Hop. You took turns leading, throwing him under your arm just as many times as you ducked under his. 

Aaron’s thoughts wandered, the laugh he heard triggering something in him. He missed you greatly, but that was no secret. You two had started seeing each other, unbeknownst to the team, a little more than three months before your transfer. 

The team were too polite to tell you, but they knew something was going on from the get-go. Hotch was happier, and you were more effusive in all situations. You balanced each other well, and could bounce ideas and fight and communicate like nobody else in the unit. It was an asset more than anything, but when the transfer assignment came through, there was no negotiating. 

For all involved, you decided it was best to end things - or at least pause them - while you were stationed at the LA field office. It would be too hard, and you’d hate to hate him by the time you got back to Virginia for one reason or another. So, you were alone at the LA field office, while he stayed right were he was. 

Wait. The LA field office. 

He was jarred from his thoughts by JJ, who smiled and asked, “What’s their deal?” Her eyes were trained on the dancing couple on the house floor, out in front of the apron of the stage. 

“Oh those two are the only reason the FBI and NSA play nicely in the sandbox together. They’re two peas in a pod. They work counter-terrorism for their respective agencies, and have a knack for solving inter-departmental disputes.” 

“Are they together?” JJ’s question was light, but Hotch knew there were ulterior motives. Maybe she’d heard your laugh too, and refused to doubt. 

She was good at that - not doubting. Hotch, on the other hand, sucked at the whole faith thing. He found his skepticism was only getting worse with age, and he (in that very moment) decided to have a little more hope. 

“Oh, no, not at all. Ben doesn’t swing that way, and my understanding is that Agent L/N left someone back on the east coast and hasn’t been seeing anyone out here.” It was clear Agent Fitzgerald, a new import to the LA field office herself, had no idea you worked with the BAU prior to your transfer. 

Maybe you hadn’t talked about them at all. 

That thought sent a little unpleasant spike through Hotch’s chest. 

Hope. Hope. 

Maybe Fitzgerald just missed something, or didn’t know you too well. 

Hotch could feel Emily’s eyes on him, but continued watching the ATF runthrough. It was your laugh he heard. Ben threw you around with ease, and you both cut clean, sharp lines silhouetted against the stage lights. 

Then, of course, it was Emily’s turn to ask questions. “So how did this...tradition start?”

Fitzgerald shrugged. “It’s my understanding that it’s been happening for years, brought on by some ridiculous bet between ATF and FBI. Never ones to be outdone, the NSA inserted themselves, the CIA wanted a piece of action, and the rest is history.”

“Only in California,” said Dave with a laugh. 

As the songs changed, Aaron watched you tap out of the dance, sitting down heavily in one of the house seats and taking a few huge sips of water. Ben grabbed his water bottle from the floor and came to the row behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Though he was just told Ben would not ever be into you in that way, Hotch couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy that snuck up his belly. JJ, beside him, stepped close to him and hooked her hand around his forearm, her thumb brushing circles against his suit jacket. 

“I’m alright,” he whispered. 

She squeezed once. “I know.” It sounded like she knew more than that, but Hotch let it go. While sometimes irritating, it was nice to have people around him that knew him so well. 

JJ continued to cling to his sleeve as the ATF transitioned to the FBI. 

It nearly startled him out of his skin to hear your voice echo through the house on a hand-held microphone. You stood on the edge of the stage, squinting at the booth at the back of the house. “Can we run full tech? We have AV that needs to be sequenced correctly.” 

A click, then a disembodied voice. “We’re ready for full AV.”

You shot a two fingered salute. “Thanks, team. Let’s bring up the seal for now and go from there.” 

The FBI seal and motto floated into focus on the fabric behind them, and Aaron felt himself almost lean forward in anticipation. He chanced a look down the line, and the rest of his team was smiling, waiting, watching. Just like he was. 

JJ bumped his shoulder.  

The stage was rather dark, but he could see all five of you lined up almost against the fabric. The song started quickly, with strong base and an uptempo beat. 

Your team ran to the front of the stage one by one, following the phrases of the music - fun and high energy. 

“I didn’t know…” Emily whispered to Derek, at a loss. He shrugged, still totally floored. You’d never joined them in their horrible karaoke spectacles, claiming the sanctity of your dignity, but Hotch realized now it was just to spare their feelings. 

You were incredible. Your eyes shone in the light, your smile flashing behind your microphone. It was obvious you were having a helluva time, and were close to your teammates. You played off each other easily, keeping pace without conducting, feeling the music and harmony in every cell of your body. Hotch saw your work ethic even in this - collaborative, but still taking charge. 

It was clear your team looked to you for tone and energy, and you delivered. With a start, Aaron realized he’d never heard this song before. He leaned forward and asked, “Are some of these originals?”

Fitzgerald nodded. “The FBI team has a few strong writers on it this year, so they were able to pull together a medley, an original, and the closer in about three weeks.” 

Hotch raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s impressive.” 

She laughed lightly. “You’re tellin’ me. I was in here one day when they were workshopping after hours and was blown away.” 

When you were finished with your first piece, you looked back to check the cyc - satisfied to find Home, arranged by Y/N L/N in gold, in the FBI font. 

“I’m gonna practice my little spiel here or I won’t get it tonight. I’ll count you off at the end, go on three, yeah?” 

Click. “Copy. Go for it,” came the disembodied voice once more. 

“When we were deciding which medley we wanted to use, we figured out there was nothing in our library that really spoke to us at that moment where we were. So, we wrote a new one. This one is called Home, and includes a bunch of songs that not only include the word ‘home,’ but ones that mean something to us or someone we love. 

“Home, to us, is where our families are. We all chose a series of pictures that represent home for us, the people we love. I hope you enjoy listening to this medley as much as we enjoyed writing it.” You flashed a winning smile before raising your hand, waiting a moment, and then dropping it, immediately starting to sing. 

The rest of your team fell in right away, stepping up to the mics and sinking into the arrangement. A figure jogged up the steps toward Hotch, and he latently realized it could only be Ben, his agile stride giving him away. 

He settled right beside Hotch, leaning against the wall. Needless to say, Aaron was confused. That is, until - 

“You’re Hotchner, aren’t you?”

Aaron kept his gaze trained on the stage. “Who’s asking?”

“Ben Collins, NSA. I would be a really shitty friend if I couldn’t recognize someone I’d seen in a framed photo on Y/N’s desk like 20 times.” 

With that, he gave Hotch a mock-salute and trotted back down the stairs. 

JJ furrowed her brow. “What was that about?”

“I have no idea,” Hotch admitted. “He knew me, though, from photos.” 

He felt, rather than saw, JJ’s smile as she bumped him with her shoulder. “Focus - You’re missing it.” 

He huffed a laugh, and tuned back in. 

Home was an undeniably fun medley, and the photos were heartwarming and strategically chosen to hide all faces except the agents’ on stage. Aaron smiled when he heard a line from one of his favorite songs. 

Our house Is a very very very fine house...

Just a brush, but it felt like your touch, your smile, reaching him. You took the next section with renewed energy, never falling into stillness as you drove the music forward. 

JJ clutched at Hotch’s sleeve, and he lifted his gaze from you to the cyc. On it, there were photos of Dave’s backyard, mixed in with what he only assumed were the pictures from your teammates’ homes and families. They were piling on top of each other, as if someone was throwing them into a pile, one by one. 

A photo of JJ, Emily, and Penelope flashed by, their backs to the camera. 

There was one of you, Jack’s face hidden in your neck as you smiled fondly at the person just to the left of the camera. Aaron recognized that image, but from a different angle. You’d been smiling at him, just next to Emily. 

Emily’s eyes strayed to Hotch. There was a look on his face she’d never seen before. She almost looked away, feeling like she was intruding on an intimate moment. Instead, she lightly smacked Derek’s shoulder, and he looked over too. 

“The separation has been hard on them both,” he said, his voice low. “Look.” He tipped his chin toward you. 

Your posture didn’t look any different to anyone who knew better, but Emily could see the slight sag in your shoulders, hear the small catch in your breath. The music affected you more than you’d care to admit. 

A photo came into view on the screen - one where you stared out the jet window with your chin in your hand, Hotch’s face pressed into your torso as he slept with his head in your lap. Your fingers were tangled in his thick dark hair, twirling absent-minded curls into the locks behind his ear. JJ smiled. She’d taken that one. It was soon covered with another, then another, then another. 

Agent Fitzgerald bid the team a quiet farewell and slipped out to take a phone call. Hotch barely noticed. She’d been on her phone most of the time, and had missed the photos. She was blissfully unaware of your connection to the team, and for that Hotch was grateful. It almost felt wrong to disrupt the little world you’d built here. 

They were almost done, preparing for the closer. 

Maybe he was biased, but Hotch felt your team was the strongest. 

NSA had the polish and that classic choral look and looked like they were having just the right amount of fun, but there was still that competitive edge that took some of the luster out of the performance. 

ATF were the most traditional of the group, all of their music recognizable, tightly arranged, and reminiscent of barbershop quartets. While entertaining, it was clear you and Ben stole the show with your dancing, the music taking a ready backseat to your antics. 

Your team had fun. There was no bite in it. You weren’t there to win, but rather just there for the sheer fun of it. Your music was yours, it meant something, and was more creatively arranged than the rest of them by a long shot. 

Aaron felt a rush of pride as he watched you shine. While he couldn’t articulate it, he could sense the same thing Derek noticed. There was something pulling at you - the same thing pulling at his shoulders and the corners of his mouth whenever he had fun without you. 

“Alright,” you said, just a little out of breath. You took the mic off the stand. “We have one last number, and we all sing it together.” You held the mic out to your left, and Ben took it from you. 

“This is our favorite, because it’s a really good excuse to think of the people we love.” 

Some agent (whose name always escaped you) from the ATF took the mic next. “Thanks for coming out tonight to watch our ridiculous annual competition, for bragging rights and honorary ownership of the City of Los Angeles.” 

Ben took the mic from him and passed it back to you. 

“I hope we all have someone in our life that we love so much it's difficult to articulate. I know I do.” 

JJ inhaled sharply as Hotch let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You missed him. He could feel it. He wasn’t alone. 

You replaced the mic, and stepped back. With the FBI in the center, ATF to the right, and NSA to the left, you began. 

There’s a calm surrender To the rush of day When the heat of a rolling wave Can be turned away

It was a beautiful picture, all of you standing together as one united front. The sound was incredible - filling the space with sound that spun right into the chests of everyone listening. You stepped up with Ben and an ATF agent, standing close to the mic. 

Ben reached for your hand, knowing this one was hard for you. You’d probably never get a chance to have Hotch in the same room, feeling what you felt, singing this song. It was silly - a Disney song. But it always cracked you wide open. It was only ever for him. 

You took Ben’s hand and gripped it tight. It wasn’t performance, so you could really do whatever you wanted as long as sound and projections were able to do their work. 

The breakdown of the song was your favorite, and you threw your hands in the air, releasing Ben - the final lighting cue of the show. It was designed to bridge the gap between the players and the audience, bringing everyone together.

The house lights came on about halfway, and the BAU was visible from the stage, as they’d all crept forward during the set. Hotch could only imagine what that lighting effect would do when the house was full of agents and their families later tonight. A true communion, with the music and the people. 

Your eyes scanned the house, rehearsing your engagement pathway through the audience. A small cluster of people caught your attention, and Ben squeezed your hand. You looked over at him, still singing, and he gave a tiny toss of his head back to the group. 

Looking more carefully now, you saw your team. More specifically, you saw Aaron. 

He was watching you with a fond smile, and you knew he saw you clock his presence. JJ was on his arm, likely anchoring in him place and comforting him in only the way she could. 

Against your will, a broad smile pulled at your face, a shot of adrenaline pushing you into the finale. Your eyes were locked on his, the music only a footnote to two simple words running on loop in your head. 

He’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here.

The world for once In perfect harmony With all its living things. 

You hit the final chord and let it hang in the air for a moment. It felt like forever - the BAU burst into applause, Derek and Emily whistling and shouting - while you and Hotch just stared at each other across the house.

The connection was only broken when Ben yanked you back to rehearse bows, which took all of thirty seconds. You squinted at your friend when you stood straight again. He had a smug little smile on his face. 

“You knew,” you accused with absolutely no heat. 

Ben shrugged. “I investigated.” He shot you a wink as he said, “It’s what I do.” 

You rolled your eyes and shoved past him, nearly leaping down the steps into the house. You ran up the aisle, and Hotch was there to catch you, holding you close. 

“You’re here.” 

He kissed the side of your head. “Of course I’m here. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

+++

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[rjhpandapaws]

Secure the Stage

Ch 1: Behind the Scenes

Allen could hear singing coming from the theater room as he patrolled the lobby. As far as he had known, everyone from the Detroit Community Theater had left for the day. He was curious as to who had stayed behind. He followed the sound, using the security door to get to the side stage.

The mystery singer was a brunette. He was singing to himself as he broke down the left over set pieces and cleaning the stage for the next group. Something that was usually left for the theater staff. The song he was singing was slow, sad, and haunting. A ballad of some kind that Allen hadn't heard before but still found himself captivated by anyway. He leaned against the wall and watched.

At somepoint he must have made a noise because the new song stopped and he found deep dark brown eyes staring back at him. He took in the new stranger. Loose brown curls that fell into a close undercut, a smattering of freckles high on his cheekbones and over his nose. He had cupid's bow lips that were curled into a frown. The stranger was shorter than him by a few inches, but what he lacked in height, he made up for with his presence. Their staring contest ended as the stranger approached.

"You just planning to stare or are you going to help me," he paused long enough to glance down at his name patch, "Allen."

"Uh," the security guard's brain short circuited for a moment when he heard his name in the stranger's measured voice, "I guess I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Great," the stranger smiled, and Allen was relatively certain he would follow that smile into hell, "We're breaking down sets."

"Do you have a name?" Allen asked dumbly as he followed him out onto the stage.

"I do." The stranger hummed, a teasing smile lighting his face, "Would you like to know it?"

He got to work taking down set pieces and Allen did the same, "Yes."

"Silas." He said with a slight smirk.

Recognition dawned on Allen when he heard the name. Silas was one of a few college students in the theater group and the only one with plans to do this full time. He designed most of the sets himself and painted them, scheduled practices and rehearsals, and helped with costume designs. In the four years since he joined, he had gradually become the group's backbone. Something that Allen found himself admiring.

Idle conversation bounced between them as they broke down the sets. They moved the wall pieces back stage and the smaller parts to their proper storage rooms. After that Silas set to work sweeping the stage which was a one person job, so Allen observed him from the stage wing.

"So why do all of this?" Allen found himself asking, "Breaking down the sets and all the cleaning? Isn't that what the theater staff is here for?"

"The theater staff are here to make the experience of the theater better, not to clean up after the actors." Silas said, sounding as though he was speaking to a particularly ignorant child.

"Okay, but like, why you specifically?" Allen pressed, "No one stayed behind to help."

"They never do. Most of the group have lives outside the theater." Silas finished sweeping and grabbed the mop, "This is my time to unwind and I enjoy it."

"Sorry for intruding then, I can go if you want." Allen offered when he realized he had shoved himself into something private.

"You're not intruding, its fine," Silas said, shooting him another disarming smile. "You know about me, so how about you tell me a little about you. What's with the security get up?"

Allen chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck, not expecting to be put on the spot, "I'm in school for a degree in criminology. This is just to pay the bills."

"Ah, going to the police academy once you graduate then?"

"That's the plan. I'd like to make SWAT at somepoint."

Silas leaned on the mop handle, "That desperate to get shot? Here I thought you were working to security to flex your strength. Use your muscle to knock some heads together." Brown eyes very obviously toured his body following the statement, enjoying the view if the slight smile Silas seemed unaware of was anything to go by.

"I want to help people. Save them if I am able." Allen explained, "There are enough people trying to prevent the bad from happening, but not enough ready for when it inevitably does. I want to change that."

"That's very noble of you." Silas remarked, "I like it."

"Thanks." Allen paused, "I think?"

"It was a compliment." Silas laughed as he got back to mopping.

"So what about you?" Allen inquired, "Why theater?"

"That's easy." Silas put the mop away and sat on the edge of the stage, "Up here I get to put the world away and become anyone I want to be. In the process I get to help people find their escape as well. Pull people into a story and all of us get to forget the world for a while. A performing arts degree seemed like the best way to get to keep doing that."

Silas's phone blared to life and he answered it, nodding along to whatever had been said before he hung up and stood, "That would be my ride. See you around Allen."

"Yeah, see you around Silas." He said as Silas hopped off the stage and left toward the lobby.

Allen collected himself and got back to work. His thoughts wandered back to Silas. He did most of this alone. Built the sets and painted them. Set things up before rehearsal and then tore things down so he could clean once it was done. Out of a mix of wanting to, and so he could make things easier for those around him. Allen wondered if anyone thanked him for his efforts. As he finished up his shift he decided he would stay late on rehearsal days and help Silas clean up. It seemed like too much work for one person.

He didn't understand his attachment to the actor, so he chalked it up to the other brunette's contagious enthusiasm. When someone showed so much unrelenting kindness it was only natural to want to know them better. Perhaps, it was also that he was tired of being alone.

Pushing Gavin away had hurt, but the fear of falling had been bigger and more demanding. So Allen had done what he always did, shoved Gavin away and ran like the coward he is. It had been too little too late, Allen had fallen for the firey green eyed man despite his best efforts. Gavin had been hurt understandably, and had cut Allen out of his life. Now it was his turn to move on, and as selfish as it was, Silas seemed like the perfect distraction. Starting something with him would soothe the pain of missing Gavin. It would be simple and casual, no feelings involved. Allen would keep his in check this time. There would be no falling in love.

[undercoveravenger]

Light Up My World

Pairing: Jake Dillinger x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “I am delighted that you know BMC!! Can I request a one shot of Jakey D with an s/l that’s not the most liked in the school, if that’s okay with you!”

A/N: Y’all don’t understand how excited I get when someone knows Be More Chill, let alone when someone requests it. So the fact that I have two requests for Jake in my inbox?? I’m LIVING for it. (Now if only someone will give me an excuse to write for Michael or Rich lol) Thank you to the requester!

__________________________________________________________

The first time Jake saw you it was at the first rehearsal for the play. You had been sitting in the circle with the rest of the actors, but you never actually read any lines. You were just sitting there with a copy of the script balanced on your lap as you scribbled notes in the margins of the pages.

He had been planning on coming over to talk to you once rehearsal was over, but as soon as Mr. Reyes dismissed the cast, you were shoving your script in your bag and the auditorium doors were slamming closed behind you.

It had taken Jake a second to push aside his disappointment and reassume his typically bright grin as his friends flocked around him, clamoring for his attention.

-----------

The brunet tried to intercept you a few more times, but to no avail. Whenever he was finally about to talk to you, he’d be interrupted. Either you’d be busy and disappear or his friends would ambush him, and you’d be gone by time he managed to free himself. 

You were always at rehearsals, at least, which gave Jake ample time to try and think of what to say to you when he actually did talk to you. He wondered whether asking you out the first time you spoke would be too fast or if it would be weird of him to tell you he thought it was cute the way you bit your lip when you were thinking or that he really liked that band tee you wore that one time, not necessarily that he liked the band, but that he really liked the way it stretched tight across your shoulders and chest. He was dying to be able to talk to you, but it was definitely much harder to ask out a guy than a girl.

But Jake was determined. One way or another, he’d find a way to ask you out.

-------------

When Jake finally found the time to approach you, it was during his free period one day. He had told Mr. Reyes that he could stop in and help the tech students for a while before he had to go to his Model UN meeting.

When he wandered into the Drama classroom, the first thing he saw was you standing at the front of a group of six or seven other students with a clipboard, seemingly delegating tasks. He joined the group, standing near the back.

“Alright, everyone knows what needs done today,” you said, not even bothering to look up from your clipboard. “Let’s get it done.” With that, the group dissipated, people branching off to do what you’d asked them to, muttering amongst themselves.

Jake stepped up as you turned toward the door. “Hey,” he called after you, grinning sheepishly when you finally looked up at him. “I came in a little late. What do you want me to help with?”

You looked him up and down for a moment before sighing, “Normally, I’d make you help moving set pieces since you’ve clearly got the physique for it.” Jake knew he had an impressive set of muscles, but the way you said it made him feel less like the king of Middleborough High and more like he’d been appraised like a piece of meat taken to the butcher. “But since they’re being painted right now, I guess you can come help me with lighting.” As soon as you finished speaking, you turned on your heel and headed out of the room, leading the way to the Auditorium.

The brunet nodded brightly, determined not to let your dismissal get to him. “Okay, I can do that! You might have to give me some more specific instructions though,” he couldn’t help the wide grin that took over his features as he trailed after you.

You shrugged, pulling a ring of keys from your pocket as you came to a stop outside the Auditorium doors and unlocking them. You held the door open for Jake before entering yourself, second-naturedly stepping around the end of a row of chairs and heading for the door to a small room at the back of the theater so you could flip on the work lights.

“You have keys to the Auditorium?” Jake called after you, hesitant to follow you until the lights had come on. Once he could actually see, he trailed after you, pausing at the doorframe.

“Of course,” you muttered, grabbing a few tools and shoving them into your pockets before pushing past Jake and heading for the stage. “I’m the Stage Manager. I have to be able to get in to make sure shit gets done and Mr. Reyes isn’t always on campus when the class needs to work on sets and tech.”

Jake nodded a little, standing on stage as he watched you make your way over to one of the thick ropes lining the wall and use the pulley to lower one of the bars of rigging until it would be within reach. You then made your way back over, gesturing for Jake to come join you so you could show him how to slip a gel over the end of the spot so the lighting would be a different color when turned on.

You were explaining which lights needed to be which colors when Jake slipped up. “Would this be a bad time to tell you that you light up my world?” The look on your face was enough to convince Jake that he’d messed up and he was about to apologize when you cut him off.

“Did you just try to flirt with me using a One Direction reference?” You rolled your eyes, ducking under the bar so you could work on a spotlight with a burnt-out bulb, “Does that actually work on the girls you hit on?”

Jake winced, knowing you probably only saw him as a playboy, “Honestly, I don’t really flirt much. Just with people I really like.”

You bit out a laugh, keeping your eyes on the bulb you were replacing, “Then I assume you were just joking.”

“Why would I have been joking?” 

You looked at him like it should have been obvious, “Nobody likes me, Jake.” You didn’t seem upset by the idea, just kind of… resigned. As Jake watched, you shrugged it off and turned back to the spot, turning a few bolts to secure it and slipping a colored gel over the lens.

“That can’t be true.” Jake was confused. Sure, while he hadn’t exactly seen you talking to anyone during rehearsals and you were quick to leave when they were done, he was sure you had your own circle of friends outside of the drama department. 

“And why’s that?” You retorted, rolling your eyes again as you moved onto the next light. “You ever seen me at one of your ‘killer’ parties? Ever seen me hanging out with anyone?” You let out a derisive snort, “Didn’t think so.”

Jake hesitated, knowing that he was about to make himself more vulnerable than he’d ever been. He forced himself to move, standing in front of you so you had to pay attention to him. “Because I like you. A hell of a lot, actually.”

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by his admission. “You need to raise your standards then.” Your eyes dropped back to the lights in front of you. 

“Fine, I’ll prove it.” Jake was quick to duck under the bar to join you on your side, gently pulling the gel from your hands and setting it aside. He took your face in his hands gently, like he was afraid you’d break, and leaned in to kiss you.

It was just the barest press of lips, hardly even a whisper of a kiss, but Jake was still thrilled when it was over, especially when he noticed the bright flush on your cheeks.

“See?” He grinned at you, “I meant it when I said you light up my world.”

You groaned, shoving him lightly, though you were still grinning a little. “If I agree to go out with you, will you stop quoting boy bands at me?”

Jake paused like he was thinking about it before letting out a thoughtful hum, slipping his arms around your midsection as you tried to get back to work. “Fine, no more One Direction,” he paused to press a little kiss to your cheek before wandering back to where he’d been working.

While you were still a little more prickly than Jake had been anticipating and he hadn’t exactly been smooth about asking you out, he was still thrilled that you’d agreed. Besides, there were plenty more love songs he could pester you with.

[chairismaticchair]

Star Crossed Enemies

Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary:  When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.

This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!

If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.

Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.

"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's  putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role. 

Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.

They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.

"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.

"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him." 

"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."

"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."

"I've had dates." Roman protested.

"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."

Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”

"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"

---

Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .

Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.

Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."

"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically. 

---

Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.

"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.

Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"

"What role are you auditioning for?" 

Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."

"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."

Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."

---

The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.

Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing. 

A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"

The two nodded in synchronisation. 

"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly. 

Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos

Julien: Janus Taylor

The two boys turned to each other in horror.

"Y - you mean -"

"You thought-"

"Julien."

"Romeo."

"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"

The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!" 

He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.

Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more. 

---

There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."

They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.

Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."

"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "

Virgil choked. 

Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."

As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"

Virgil just shrugged.

Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”

Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.

“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”

Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?” 

Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil. 

Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.” 

Roman blushed even harder, and looked away. 

---

Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card. 

“So...ya like jazz?” 

Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?” 

“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”

An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”

“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.

“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."

“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.  

Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats. 

---

“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement. 

Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.

Romeo.

Kisses.

Julien.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?

Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.

Oh for fucks sake. 

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.

Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus. 

A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”

“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot. 

Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager. 

Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again. 

Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.

---

"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.

"What did I do?"

"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”

He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"

"Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go." 

"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened. 

"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene." 

The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?" 

"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."

Roman stared at his feet. "It was."

Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."

"Oh fuck off."

Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Far From the Shallow

Day 31 of 2018′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!  Note: new for 2020.  Credited as 2018 for organizational purposes, & back-filling the prompt.

Prompt: Midnight

Rating: General, with occasional strong language

Pairing: 12xRose, Human!AU, SuperStar!AU, vaguely A Star is Born!AU

Summary:  In an effort to combat low ticket sales, Ian Noble’s record label insists he takes to the Times Square New Year’s Eve stage with the label’s newest pop princess - but it’s a backup singer that captures his attention.

2018 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

AO3

---

Resettling his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, Ian Noble paused for a deep breath before pushing into the practice room.  He still wasn’t entirely clear on how his manager had convinced him to do this, but it was too late now to pull out and he’d just have to grin and bear it.

“Right, ready to start kiddies?”

His fleeting hope of finding a bunch of professionals on the other side of the door was quickly dashed. His band was ready, as always, but they were the only ones.  His ‘partner’ was nowhere to be seen, her backup singers/dancers/hangers-on lazing around the room, laughing and joking.  A few dancers were stretching at the barre, but that was it.

Shaking his head in disgust, he headed for his bandleader and dropped his bag at his feet.  “All good?”

“We’re ready,” Craig confirmed.  “She’s not here yet.”

“Of-fucking-course not.” ‘She’ was the current Pop Princess – Serenity Lake.  Twenty-two years old, she was every bit the bubblegum-pink, super-sweet platinum blonde teeny-bopper he loathed above all else – except unprofessionalism.  Though, it seemed, she was that as well. “Practice started when?”

“At three.”

“And it’s now?”

“Three-oh-five.”

“Can we start without her?”

Craig exchanged looks with their drummer, Rob.  “I don’t think that would go over very well.”

Ian bit his tongue, hard. The sales for his last tour had been… not great (Clara, his manager, had used the word catastrophic), and it had been decided by PR people and good-for-nothing label execs that he needed to ‘reach new crowds’, even though the album itself had sold well.  One of the arse-wipe suits had decided the perfect time and place was a duet with the label’s newest acquisition.  On New Year’s Eve in Times Square, New York.

Perhaps Clara had made the right call by telling him over the phone while he was already on the plane under false pretenses.

“So we just wait then, til the fucking princess arrives?”

The band shrugged, and he shook his head in disgust before turning his back on them.  The practice room was large, easily the size of a ballroom, with industrial-sized windows opposite a mirrored wall, complete with ballet barre.  Two of the female dancers were still warming up, while another four sat around chatting up the men.  Two backup singers were sprawled on mats, with no sign of the usual third.

“Is everyone else here at least?”

“Actually-”

Craig was interrupted by the door swinging open, a young blonde in workout clothes hurrying in with a tray of drinks from Starbucks.  Rage ignited inside Ian, and before he consciously made the decision he strode across the room towards her.

“You!  Blondie!”

She startled slightly, turning to face him.  “Me?”

“Yes, you.  Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?  We’ve been waiting for you!  You might be queen on your own fucking tour, but now you’re wasting my time, and my band’s time.  I don’t like this arrangement any fucking more than you do, but it’s what the High fucking Council of Douchebags wants, so it’s what we’re going to do.  Get over yourself, dig deep for some fucking work ethic, and let’s get through this so we can both get on with our fucking lives!”

Rant over, he settled his hands on his hips, still glaring at her.  To his horror and disgust tears had welled in her eyes, though they hadn’t fallen yet.  That just confirmed that she would be a flash in the pan; if she’d gotten this far without developing a thicker shell, she wouldn’t get much further.  Maybe she had a bulldog manager that treated her like the fucking princess she thought she was; maybe she was shagging one of the label heads and used that to get what she wanted.  He honestly didn’t care; he just wanted to get the show over with.

“Well are you going to say anything?” he snapped.

“I’m Rose,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I’m Rose, I’m Serenity- Miss Lake’s new backup singer.  She texted me- well her assistant did- that they were stuck in traffic and had me go out to get some tea.”

He never would’ve been able to hear her, if the room wasn’t dead silent.  No one seemed to be breathing; he sure as fuck wasn’t, as he realized the enormity of his mistake.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”  The girl sniffled, but kept up a brave face, glaring at him.  “She should be here in just a minute.”

“I-” he grimaced, removing his sunglasses.  Shit, shit, shit.  “I’m very sorry, that was completely unprofessional.  Erm, Ian Noble.”

“I know who you are.” Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but she no longer looked so close to tears.  “Big fan, actually.”

“Uh, thanks.”  Ian blinked at her, at a loss.  He was, ironically, saved by the real Serenity Lake.

“Hello, darlings!” The pop star strutted into the room, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “Who’s ready to have some fun?”

-

Ian watched sourly as Serenity practiced her dance moves.  They had one song, a duet he’d done when he was just starting out with a woman who’d long since disappeared from the spotlight so thoroughly he couldn’t remember her name, complete with a dance routine.

To her credit, she’d taken one look at his face and suggested he leave the dancing to her; he was so grateful, he didn’t even care if it was a dig about his age.

Happening to glance towards his left, he found the girl he’d yelled at standing next to him, guilt flooding through him.  Watching her watch the dancing for a moment, he hesitated before speaking quietly.  “I really am sorry.”

“Thank you.”  Staring straight ahead she barely acknowledged him, though her shoulders untensed slightly.

“I don’t want to make excuses, but I really don’t want to be here, and I took it out on you.”  He kept his focus on the dancers as well.

“Thank you,” Rose repeated.

“Um, you’re a backup singer?”

She shot him a confused, questioning look, but nodded hesitantly.  “Yes.  I came Stateside with Jo Shannon, who opened for Serenity on her last tour.  When it ended Serenity offered to keep me on, and I accepted last week.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets he looked around awkwardly, but no one appeared to save him. His band was, of course, playing for the dancers, and the various assistants had disappeared, leaving them alone.

“Where’s Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

“Beka and Margot went for a smoke break.”  Rose’s lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her blank expression.

“You a song-writer?”

Her face lit up, saying it all, even though she tried to play it cool.  “Sort of- I mean, I have ideas, I don’t know if they’re any good though.”

“If you want-” he had no idea where the offer was coming from, why he was taking an interest in this girl’s career.  Maybe it was the fellow Brit in the room, or guilt over yelling at her.  He tended not to care about the support, as he called them.  Didn’t matter whether or not they were there, he hardly noticed them unless they fucked up.

She was different.

“Ian!” Serenity chirped. “We’re ready to run through now.”

“I’ll get Beka and Margot,” Rose volunteered, scurrying out the door and returning thirty seconds later with the other two.  They lined up in the back across from the band, Ian and Serenity taking their spots front and center.

For no reason he could adequately explain, he spent more time watching her in the mirror than the star of the show.

-

After seven hours and a break for dinner, they finally called the rehearsal quits.  Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and they’d only have one chance to get it right on live television.  Most of the group packed up quickly, disappearing out the door amid bursts of laughter.  Serenity was first out, oversized sunglasses dominating her face and only making her stand out more than she already did in a fluorescent pink sweatsuit and large handbag.

Ian lingered, taking his time packing up his notes and arrangements, barely acknowledging his band’s goodbyes and dismissing their offers of getting a drink.  The girl, Rose, the one he couldn’t take his eyes off of, was lingering as well, and then suddenly they were the only two left.

Abandoning his things, he approached her when she made no move to leave.  “Rose?”

She yelped, spinning, and putting a hand to her chest.  “Shit! You scared me half to death. What?”

“Erm-”  Shuffling his feet, he found it hard to meet her eye. “Listen, I’m sorry-”

“You’ve said that,” Rose cut him off with a sigh, before offering him a tentative smile.  “And I accept your apology.  It’s all good, really – you don’t need to keep saying it.”

“Right.  Thanks.”  He rocked back on his heels for a moment.  “If you’re not busy, I thought… I mean, if you’d like an experienced professional’s opinion, maybe I could take a look at one of your songs?”

Her expression shuttered, eyes narrowing in suspicion.  “I highly doubt I’ve written anything worth stealing,” she said stiffly, shouldering her bag.  “Thanks, though.”

“What?  No!  No no no. Really.  Listen, you know Johnny Rotten?”

“I’m from London.”

“Right.  Well, when I was just a kid starting out, and not knowing my arse from my head, I got five minutes alone with him in a limo – five minutes.  He asked if I was a songwriter, I said I was, he told me to sing him something.  The next day I was in front of suits from EMI. A week later I had my first contract.”

“That’s nice.”  Rose folded her arms across her chest, turning to go, and in desperation he caught her arm.

“No, listen, my point is – you seem like a nice girl, and I was an utter bastard.  Let me make it up to you.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm, which he promptly removed, then back up at him, steel in her eyes.  “I want to succeed.  I want to make it.  I want it more than anything – except my dignity.  I’ll make it on my singing.  And if I don’t, I don’t, and I’ll figure something else out.  But I will never trade sex for opportunity.”

“I would withdraw my offer if you tried,” he shrugged.  “I don’t know what to say to convince you to trust me.”

Biting her lip Rose looked towards the door, the wheels turning in her mind.  “D’you know a good place in this God-forsaken town to get chips?”

-

Thirty minutes later they were seated side by side on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.  It was too dark to see much other than the occasional light, though the path itself was well-lit.

“So why are you such a surly bastard?”  Rose carefully selected a chip before turning expectant, curious eyes on him.

Picking at his own paper basket, he glanced at her quickly before looking out over the water.  “I’ve been in this business too long.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not…” he sighed heavily, trying to figure out how to put it into words without scaring her off her chosen career path.  “It’s not about music.  For others, I mean.  To me, as long as I believe in what I’m singing, then hang the rest.  I don’t care if it’s… a sold-out Shea Stadium or half-empty corner pub.  The money, the trappings, the fame… it doesn’t matter.  Well it does, but only so far as is required to keep playing the music I want to play, supporting my guys, you know?  Yet everyone else is obsessed with all of it, far more than the music.  To them, it’s just a way to make money.”

“Too much of a purist,” she teased gently, nudging his arm with her elbow.  “I get it.”

“I’ve seen too many talented musicians ruined by the trappings,” Ian said quietly, staring down at his hands.  “Money, fame, sex, drugs, alcohol.  I don’t touch any of that shit.”

“You’ve made a lot of incredible music in your time.  You still feel like you’ve got more to say?”

“Sometimes… sometimes I feel like there’s a black hole within me.  That it’s just… waiting.  For the right song, the right lyric, the right chords.  That eventually I’ll write the perfect thing that fixes it.”

Rose nodded.  “I think I know what you mean.”

They lapsed into silence. Putting his rubbish on the bench next to him, he leaned back and spread his arms, staring across the water.  For late December in New York, it wasn’t too terribly cold out; at least, not enough to make him call it a night.

“Tell me something, boy,” she started to sing suddenly, a halting flow to the words.  “Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void?” Standing up, she wrapped her arms around her waist as she turned to face him.  “Or do you need more?” Another pause.  “Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore.”

Sitting up straight, Ian stared at her in surprise.  “Did you just write that?”

Rose nodded shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “I’ve had the tune for a few days, but couldn’t figure out the right lyrics.”

“Almost sounds like it’s about me.”

“I don’t think there’s any life rights involved,” she said dryly, blushing.  “Not that it’s much good, anyway.”

Ian considered it, already hearing the sample on a loop in his mind.  “Actually, it’s brilliant.  It deserves to be heard.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, before smiling reassuringly.  “By you. It deserves to be heard from you.  Thank you for sharing it.”

Her head ducked for a moment, and when it raised, she readjusted her scarf around her neck to try to hide her red cheeks.  “This has been brilliant, and thank you for the chips and just… listening to me, but it’s getting late and tomorrow’s a long day, so-”

“Right, yeah.” Standing up, he brushed himself free of crumbs before gathering all the trash and tossing it in the nearest waste bin. “Can I give you a ride back to your hotel?”

-

The next day was a blur, full of interviews and strategy meetings over Skype with Clara.  He’d been inspired when he got back to his room, staying up far too late scribbling out fragments of songs.  It was seven by the time he was due at the staging area, and he spent an inordinate amount of time in hair and makeup, forced to watch the show on telly.  The official kickoff was at eight, though he and Serenity weren’t scheduled until roughly eleven fifteen – with live TV, they had to be ready to go at any moment.

Throughout the evening he caught the occasional glimpse of Rose, each time looking more harried and panicked until he finally snagged her as she passed his dressing room, pulling her inside.

She yelped, trying to scramble away until she realized it was him.  “Ian!”

“Sorry, sorry.”  He got her steady before letting go, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.  “What the hell’s going on?”

Rose licked her lips, glancing nervously towards the door.  “Don’t freak.”

“Why would I freak?”

“No one’s seen Serenity since breakfast.”

A dull buzzing started in his ears, mind already whirling with alternatives and potential plans. “What’s being done?”

“We’ve been calling her, her boyfriend, her parents, everyone, but there’s no sign of her. Police are looking, but… it’s New Year’s Eve, they don’t exactly have the time for that right now.”

“We go on in half an hour,” Ian pointed out, eyes narrowing in thought.  “What’s the plan?”

Rose shrugged helplessly. “Hope she shows?”

“Right.  Well, you look busy, I won’t keep you.”  He crossed his arms, gesturing towards the door.

Shoulders unhunching, she smiled shyly at him.  “It’s okay. I like talking to you.”

Their eyes held, and for a moment, just a single heartbeat, he thought he saw something there, but then she blinked and it was gone.  “Right! Gotta go, lots to do.  See you out there, hopefully!”

Then she was gone in a whirlwind, leaving him with more questions than answers.  One of the songs he had toyed with the night before came to him then, and grabbing his coat, he went in search of his band.

-

“Thirty seconds,” a producer barked in Ian’s earpiece, and he gave him a thumbs up across the stage. He was waiting in the wings, his band already on stage setting up while some pop star on the West Coast performed. The backup dancers and singers filed onto the stage then, and he caught Rose’s eye.

She shook her head and he nodded in return, before giving his bandleader the prearranged signal.

“Miss Lake isn’t here, so you’ll have to go on without her,” the aide at his side informed him.  “The backup singers will handle her part, the dancers will stick to the routine, just… do as you rehearsed otherwise.”

“Actually, we’re going to do something different,” Ian informed him, giving him a grin before walking up onto the stage, not giving him a chance to argue.  “Hello New York!”

The crowd went wild, though whether it was for him or in anticipation of Serenity he didn’t want to know.

“There’s been a bit of a change, and Miss Lake unfortunately won’t be joining us tonight,” he announced, relieved when no one booed, though a murmur rippled through the crowd. “Instead I’ll be doing a brand new duet with the lovely, talented Rose- well, Rose.”  Belatedly he realized he’d never bothered to get her last name.  Oops.  “Rose?” He turned to look at where she was standing, frozen, at the mic, one of the other singers nudging her forward.

Eyes wide Rose did, coming up to his side and waving tentatively at the crowd.

“Now, Rose here is a talented songwriter, but you don’t have to take my word for it – you’re about to find out yourself.”

Covering the mic so only she would pick up his next words, he leaned in close.  “I know I said I wouldn’t steal it, and I don’t consider what I’m about to do breaking that promise, but it’s not entirely keeping it either.  Just trust me like I’m trusting you.  This is your moment.”

“I don’t-” she started, but he thrust the live mic in her hands and she stopped.  Nabbing his guitar from Craig and slipping the strap over his head, he readjusted his headset, praying the mic would pick up his voice.

He began picking out the melody he’d arranged overnight, took a deep breath and began to sing.  “Tell me something, girl.”  He met Rose’s eyes just as they widened, relieved when they didn’t seem to hold any sort of homicidal intent.  “Are you happy in this modern world?”  The crowd was silent, more so than he’d ever heard, and if he hadn’t been performing so long it would’ve been entirely unnerving.  “Or do you need more? / Is there something else you’re searching for?”  His heart leapt to his throat, and he wondered if she’d be able to see the truth in his next words.  “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”

The band behind him came in, softly at first, and he met Rose’s eye again and nodded.  She came in perfectly on time, her voice seemingly more beautiful than it had the night before when she’d sung the very same lyrics. “Tell me something, boy. / Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void? / Or do you need more? / Ain’t it hard keepin’ it so hard core.”  His heart stopped when she continued, mirroring his pre-chorus.  The hesitation in her voice made him wonder if, possibly, it was the truth for her as well. “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”

And then she went solo, singing the part she’d added in the car the previous night just before they reached her hotel.  “I’m off the deep end / watch as I dive in / I’ll never meet the ground. / Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us / We’re far from the shallow now.”

-

Ian stumbled off the stage somewhat in shock.  They’d made it through, Rose performing beautifully, a haunting vocalization in the middle of the song he was certain was already going viral online it was so damn good.  He kept Rose pressed to his side, not letting her escape as he fought their way back to his dressing room, waving off the comments being thrown at him.  The crowd had gone ballistic, a thunderous roar of approval so great it had been a veritable wall of noise.  He didn’t want to know what anyone else thought until he’d heard from her, explained his side.

Slamming the door behind him, he finally let her go and turned to face her, braced for a slap. “I’m sorry I ambushed you, but I haven’t been able to get that fucking song out of my head.  It’s incredible, Rose, and that reaction we just got? That was for you.  You. As a singer and a songwriter.  I mean, that- that-” he fell silent as she stared at him.

“You violated my trust,” she said quietly.  “I shared that with you in confidence, and twenty-four hours later you gave it to the fucking world.  I can’t- I’m sorry-”  Rose darted forward, hand covering her mouth, and he could only watch, disappointed and angry with himself, as she ran away.

“Fuck!”  He wanted to throw something, destroy something, but the small rational voice in the back of his head reigned him in.  He was already on thin ice for going rogue; better not to ruin in all in a fit of rage. Slamming back a glass of water and wishing like hell he drank, he got himself together before heading for the inside viewing area where a party was raging.

Clara was going to kill him.

-

Sparkling water in hand, Ian sulked in the back of the room.  The network hosting the concert had offered their nearby studios to the performers, hosts, and crew, most of whom were finished with their work and ready to party.  Ninety seconds remained in the year, before it would finally be over and they could all pretend, if only for a little while, that everything would magically be better.

“Ian.”

Her voice sent a shiver racing down his spine, and he turned to face her, resigned to his fate. “Rose-”

“Thank you,” she interrupted.  “The song was perfect.  It was true to what I had written, and yet somehow so much better.  That’s down to you.”

“How many offers did you get?” he asked after a moment, studying her face.

Her neutral expression melted into a grin.  “Six different labels want to sign me.  I haven’t made any decision yet.  Not about that, at least.”  She looked decidedly nervous, rubbing her palms on her skirt.

“Then what did you make a decision about?”  His heart picked up pace, hoping for something he wasn’t willing to consider within the realm of possibility.

“I… I really liked talking to you,” Rose said quietly.  “Something about it… I don’t know.  I thought- I mean- maybe this is totally crazy, but-”

“Ten!  Nine!  Eight!” Everyone’s attention focused on the telly, where the ball was nearing the base.

As the countdown continued, things became clear in Ian’s mind.  This girl, Rose, made him feel alive again in a way he hadn’t in a very long time.  And, if he understood her stuttering correctly before they were interrupted, she was trying to say the same thing.

Eyes darting up, he spotted a spring hanging from the ceiling, and smiled.  “Mistletoe.”

“New year’s about to start,” she replied, breathless, stepping closer.  “Would hate to start it out with bad luck.”

“You just became an overnight sensation, you can’t risk it.”

“Four!  Three!  Two!”

“I am sensational overnight.”  Eyes wide, she was definitely leaning in.

Hand coming up to cup her cheek, he closed the distance between them.

“One!  Happy New Year!”

Their lips met, and the fireworks started.

We’re far from the shallow now.

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #3

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: So sorry I've been MIA! Here's the news. There are only two chapters left of this fun little story. And something else is in the works for which I'll be posting a sneak peek of very soon (bet ya can't guess what it is!) I hope you're all still just as in love with this plot, though, because I know I am. Let me know your thoughts as always, dudes

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"What the hell are you doing?" You hissed through your teeth at your very own reflection. You were dressed for any imaginable occasion. If folks noticed you waltzing down the street, they might assume you were on your way to lunch with friends. They might think you were headed to the market, or to the movies, or shopping around. But they most likely wouldn't imagine you were on your way to get married. But you were.

You perfected your lipgloss and fixed your hair, and when there was nothing left to primp, you stood there, still, waiting for the girl on the other side of the glass to reach through, grab your shoulders and shake some sense into your head. But she didn't.

///

"That's it? We're done?" You asked in a stunned breath. The cheery old fellow who'd walked you through the process of signing a bunch of papers and reciting a few promises smiled, but studied you for a beat before nodding.

"You're married, now. Congratulations!" He escorted you and your group toward the door, waving a bony hand from the entry before slamming the old wooden door shut, abandoning you in the massive marble halls.

"Oh, that's absolutely not it." George's sister whined. The girl yanked you and her brother out into the warm sunshine. She shoved some wildflowers in your hands, forced you to stand in place, and shoved her brother to your side. George draped an arm around your shoulder as you both grumbled for the girl to stop making such a fuss.

"Just think of all the things I was talked out of doing. The party I could have- no, should have thrown. Now smile!" She rose her phone camera and snapped a few shots, humming with satisfaction when she was decidedly finished. Bless her, she really did only want the best for the two of you. And you and George were due for some new photos besides the ones snapped of your forced smiles at the latest award show.

"Well, I forgot to bring cake as promised, but let me take you round the cafe uptown to kick off my stress eating. " Dean sighed as if someone was making him pitch the offer.

"Sounds like ya need it." You jested. Dean rolled his eyes and gave you a real, soft smile. George's sister left with a big wave and a dramatic congratulations.

Dean was excited to choose your celebratory treats himself, and was the first to dart inside the posh cafe when you arrived. You and George followed, laughing about how your friend had transformed into the classic "kid in a candy shop." You lost Dean to the winding line and moved to find some big comfy seats in the busy shop.

The reality of your latest achievement hadn't quite set in yet. George's laughter was such a familiar, comforting sound, as you settled beside him on some ridiculously oversized ottoman. Today was just... another day.

"Please tell me that what Dean just told me is a big fat joke." A familiar lilt pipped up from the other side of the paint chipped coffee table in front of you. George's agent was stood, slack-jawed with a big, whip cream filled to-go coffee in hand. How funny she happened to be here, you thought. Only her surprise greeting was much different from the times you'd bumped into each other and chatted in line at the markets, before.r

"It's nice to see you too, Donna." George laughed, watching as she set her drink down and moved to sit in the claw foot chair at your side. The woman reached for your hand in a flash, focusing on the ring you'd grown rather attached to over the week.

"Surprise?" You laughed, a twinge of worry settling in your stomach as the woman glanced up to you, eyes full of shock.

"Why on earth did you get married?" She asked in a slow squeak, turning to George as you drew your hand out of her clutch. "More importantly why haven't you told me?"

"Well, it's only just happened. Like half an hour ago." George looked to you, then back to his agent. Donna let out a laugh, and you understood her shock, but her reaction was a bit unnerving. She continued to ask a string of rhetorical questions, how, why, where, why, why?

That was about the time Dean emerged from the line that was now flooding out of the doors and around the building. Was it filling up in here, or was the place closing in on you? A nagging unease settled at the base of your lungs as George told Donna some of the things you'd discussed and what led you to signing some papers, together.

Your favorite third wheel plopped down a tray of little bite-sized cakes, decorated in different shades of pretty pastel icing. They reminded you of the macaroons George brought home from the last award show after-party, and never shared.

"Care to join in the celebration? Tea is on it's way." Dean spoke in Donna's direction before casting his gaze to you, sitting across the way.

"Unfortunately, I've got to get going, but I do wish we could continue discussing what the hell you two have gotten yourselves into." Donna stood, with a wavering smile, grabbing her condensation covered to-go coffee, and spinning toward the door to the tune of your crew's goodbyes.

You glanced down to the cakes Dean had picked out, as he piped up to explain their fillings and flavors. George reached over to place a hand on your knee, as he nodded along to his friend's excited dessert-themed rambles. All the worry that had sprouted at Donna's confusion was swiftly put at ease when you noticed the ring on George's finger. This was your decision, together. You'd talked it all the way through and back. Anyone else's worry over the matter didn't hold value over that fact.

When your tea came, you had managed to ask Dean about the girl he'd been seeing. The three of you noshed on divine desserts and listened to your friend gush over the girl he'd taken on a fourth date, just the night before last. His eyes sparkled and you couldn't help but smile when he paused to think up just how to describe his new beau. He was lucky to have found someone who brought a blush to his cheeks at the mention of their name. Hers, was Claire.

You'd been enraptured by Dean's rose-colored chatter, so much so that your phone's sudden rhythmic buzz in your pocket made you gasp aloud.

"Oh shit." You muttered, past a bite of cake. "We're gonna be late for that thing." You turned to George whose face lit up in recognition. He had an interview today, one for a late-night talk show that would be on air long after you'd settled in for the night.

George thanked his friend for the desserts and for being there today, for the both of you. You knew George meant it, you knew how important it was to him. But to hear his genuine appreciation in his goodbye to Dean made your heart lurch.

"I know I've been giving you both a hard time about this, and I'm still a bit confused by the whole thing, but honestly, I'm happy for you both. And I'm glad you let me come along today." Dean shrugged as you all stood to head your separate ways. Now your heart was a puddle, as you flung yourself to the fellow, wrapping him in a hug and thanking him for being too good a friend. You were lucky too, you figured.

///

It was almost actually funny how uncomfortable these things made George. He was so keen to be a movie star, in the most romantic sense, of course. He could go on for days (months, even, you suspected) about the magic of storytelling and all the lessons to be learned from his chosen career.

But promoting his works, promoting himself, wasn't something he was fond of in the very least bit. So once, you tagged along to some garish dinner party that was really just a competition for best dressed, in disguise. He mingled with the people he knew, and the people he was meant to know, trying with all his might to make genuine connections because if he'd failed to learn at least one person's life story on a night out, he considered the evening wasted. And when they asked about him, he'd get it over with in a flash before turning his attention to you, introducing you, asking you to tell that one story. And when you were left alone to await the next celebrity encounter George begged you with his hands clasped together to come along with him to all of the ridiculous Hollywood shindigs he was ever required to attend. And of course, you couldn't tell the boy no.

So tonight was another one of many. You went home, tossed on a dress, and spun out of the door again without a second to breathe. All your focus was spent reminding George that this would all be worth it in the end. How selling his latest film to millions of viewers would ensure the story he was so proud to have been a part of would effectively become dear to most everyone who tuned in to hear his interview.

When you crept through the studio doors, hand in hand, the welcome George received was perplexingly warm. Interns offered both of you snacks and drinks, directors passed through the green room doorway with beaming smiles, and instructions for George to follow. Writers breezed in, covering the last of the bases, and a friendly old makeup lady fussed over his look just in time for George to float to the stage. When he did, he dragged you along with him. You let go behind all the cameras, promising you'd be near the door's he was meant to exit- near enough to give him the odd thumbs up and dash away when it was all said and done.  

A small audience murmured as the set changed, and cameramen fluttered about. And then it was off. A man in a casual suit sped through a nauseating, over-rehearsed introduction and you wondered how many of the audience members were laughing for real or because they'd been told to.

And then, out of nowhere, without any warning, the interview took a turn you hadn't prepared for in the least. After the usual quick nice to see you again greetings had been passed back and forth, the host asked George a question he already knew the answer too and presented a photograph you hadn't even gotten the chance to see yet.

It was the one his sister had taken this morning, with the wildflowers, out in the midmorning sun. She'd posted it to her Instagram, tagging you in the caption that featured some long-winded sentiment. And you knew that the girl only had you in mind. She probably wasn't dreaming of George's next interview when she uploaded the photo for the world to see. She most definitely probably wasn't thinking of a moment like this coming true, and how her brother would hate it. In the blink of an eye, you envisioned George angrily phoning his sister and her dramatic defense, and a big unnecessary row breaking out.

But then you zoned back to life and watched George answer the interviewer's question with a small smile. He confirmed that he was officially married, and glad to be. George swiftly moved the conversation toward the film he was meant to prompt, which didn't sway the host on a strict schedule to cover all sorts of topics in the next three minutes. But George wasn't dismissive of the subject. He didn't squirm when the aspect of his personal life was spoken aloud to a room full of strangers. He smiled and caught your eye from the stage. You were too stunned to give him the usual thumbs up from where you waited, you just watched as he grinned, and nodded when the host offered his congratulations.

Then it was over, and the audience flooded away, and you and George hurried to collect yourselves and leave in as big of a hurry as you could without seeming rude. He held your hand like a vice, and you led the way out of the exit, toward the car park.

Before you could reach sweet freedom, a small crew of George's fans had been waiting near the back, with hopes of catching a moment of the guys time they'd come to watch get interviewed. The three young girls held out a marker and asked for his autograph in a shy manner. You noticed most of the fans George encountered over the years were just as meek and mild as the guy himself.

So he smiled and agreed with pleasure, as you awkwardly shifted on the sidelines, unable to flee to the car across the way because he had the keys.

"We're really happy for you, by the way." One of the girls piped up, facing you. "You guys have like, always been our favorite couple."

"You restore our faith in love." Another one of the girls giggled, approaching George with movie posters in hand.

All the complex feelings in your gut the rose at the girl's comments didn't matter. It was entirely too sweet of them to say something. So you thanked them with a smile, and waved goodbye when the last of them had their selfie with George. He said goodbye and turned toward the car with a sigh. You could practically see the weight of the evening's events fall off of his broad shoulders.

You piled into the passenger seat, debating on what to have for dinner, already knowing he dreamed of nothing more than a self-indulgent end to the long night. When you both agreed on what to have, a silence fell over the two of you for the first time all day.

It was heavy with different versions of the same question, the same subject. You'd woken up in one era, one that ended around ten this morning. And neither of you had much of a chance to talk about the fact that you were married now.

"Are you... happy?" You spoke up, at last, watching the world float by on your drive through the city.

"I am. Are you?" George smiled, turning to catch your eye, glancing back at the road ahead a couple of times.

"Yeah." You laughed a little. You wouldn't have agreed to any of this if you weren't dead sure you'd be at peace when the decision was made. And you were filled with that same calm that filled you in the cafe, this morning when George rested his hand on your knee. You'd made the right decision for the both of you, and you were very glad for it indeed.

///

Three months had passed. They were quite busy, and filled with all the usual stress that any typical trio of months held. But as the days passed by, you found George was right, somehow. Things... were easier. Maybe you'd talked yourself into believing so, but you noticed celebrities had stopped leaving you out of chit chat when they breezed through after-parties. You notice stranger men had stopped pestering you at the bar, half of the time. And when you met new people and wound up in new places, you didn't have to go through the long spiel of who Geogre was to you, and why he was always around. He was simply your husband, now.

It was strange to get used to the tile at first, but by the time you'd made it to month four, it rolled off your tongue like melting butter. George seemed most keen to use your unity to get out of other plans.

"Sorry I'll have to miss the next gala, my wife wants to go kayaking." You'd never kayaked. You didn't know how, and you'd never brought it up.

"Ah yes, I am that guy from that one movie but sorry I can't come back to your motel, I've got to help my wife pick out dinner." He had rushed you along grocery store stalls in a hurry to escape the odd, unnerving encounter.

That's how your week started, avoiding the scary fan who kept stalking through the market, stopping George with strange questions around too many corners. It wasn't his most unsettling encounter, but one that left the poor guy on edge for another day or so. You'd get home after fifteen-hour shifts, too tired to talk about it. Too tired to ask what he'd been up to all day.  

By the end of your week, you'd barely seen George, and he'd been just as busy. You ended your last, hellish never-ending shift with tears in your eyes from the thousands of little things that had piled up and left you stressed till it was time to clock out.  

You got home to find George in the living room, reaching for the remote. He left the thing on the coffee table when he twisted to see you in the doorway, worn down, strung out, over it. He asked if you were alright as you kicked your shoes away and hung your coat up in a hurry to decompress.

You demanded George wait to watch whatever film he had in mind for you to join him. You desperately needed to shift your focus from your own worries to an unrelated fictional realm. In a hurry, you showered the day from your achy body and slipped into your comfiest nightclothes.  Then you piled up your best blankets on the sofa, using a couple as faux pillows while you and George shared one big, massive quilt, and flipped on the film.

"What'll be tonight then?" You asked, sinking into the cushions at long last.  

"That one my mum won't shut up about. About that couple who gets divorced? WOn a bunch of awards." George muttered, clicking on Netflix. He'd always made it a point to watch the films the public raved over, to find out if the fuss was worth it.

"What if this kick starts our own divorce." You joked, the thought escaping your lips as soon as it passed through your head. Regret might have seeded itself in you if George wasn't so quick to laugh.

"I solemnly swear I will not let a fictional couple's marital issues affect my promise... no, my genuine desire to continue working at being with you for better or for worse."

Where the hell did that come from? You gapped at George as he queued up the film.

"Damn. You're getting good at this whole husband thing." You let out a small, stunned laugh. It made the dull ache in your head hammer. George noticed as you drew a hand to your brow, waiting for the thrum to settle.

"I'm sorry you had another bad day," He whispered.

"Thanks, You softened, knowing he truly empathized.

George lifted his arm and bobbed his head, beckoning you closer. You took the invite to curl into his side with a sigh. He was warm, and comforting, and his bicep was the perfect pillow. You relaxed for the first time in forever, it seemed, closing your eyes in to soak up the calm, quiet evening. The sounds of the film faded as you fell into an accidental nap.

You were jarred awake by a dreadful buzzing coming from the coffee table. George's phone was ringing, and when he twisted too slowly to reach for it, you realized he'd fallen asleep too. You noticed Dean's name flash across the screen as George answered, lackadaisically holding the cell in the hand that wasn't still closely wrapped around you.

"You're on speaker," George warned, as you stayed lethargically content at his side.

"Good! I have a question for both of you." Dean 's voice crackled through the telly. His assumption that you were already wherever George was, made you chuckle.

"Claire and I are staying in that quaint little seaside town, this weekend. Fancy coming along? In fact, it was her idea to invite you both to join us." Dean explained, it sounded as though he was walking through the city, shouts and clangs passing through the call.

You glanced up to George from where your head still rested near his shoulder. Neither of your expressions held signs of disinterest so when George carefully responded to Dean that the idea sounded nice, and asked for more details, you grinned and relaxed back into place.

Dean listed off some more information as George hummed and murmured in response. When the call had ended and new plans were made, George tossed his phone back on the table, and settled deeper into the sofa, shifting the weight of his arm beneath you, but hardly disturbing your peace a bit. The sun was peeking through the cracks of your curtains, and the movie must have been nearly over. You both drifted back asleep without another word, and all seemed well. It must have been.

You and George were closer than ever before- and you had already been classified as inseparable. But you'd hardly gotten to enjoy each other's company since making whatever you had official. Rule number three of this marriage enforced you must take every opportunity to for a bit of fun, as possible. It was time for a small getaway. A peaceful sleep would have to do, till then.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes​ @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham​ @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama @haileymorelikestupid

[urmysilverlining]

Give Me Time

“If you tie it a little bit tighter, you’re going to choke me”

“Shut up, this way it’s perfect” you said, adjusting the tie of your work partner, Angus MacGyver.

“Thanks, but it got nothing wrong before” He replied, peeking at his shape reflected in the mirror, then proceeding to button his black suit jacket’s sleeves.

“C’mon guys, we’re late” Jack Dalton, your second co-worker, abruptly entered in the room.

“When did you start to respect a timetable?” Mac frowned his eyebrows, while turning to Jack with a sassy half smile. It was the first time you saw that weird expression, that now feels so familiar.

“Can’t wait to make my entrance” the older man answered, confidently preceding both of you out of the room.

When he left you alone, you stepped in front of Mac, avoiding him to take a step further, and spoke:” Okay, MacGyver, I don’t know how you and Jack had been trained or got used to work in these years, but do you think you can keep a low profile, just for once?” You placed a finger on his lips, so that he couldn’t interrupt you. “I wouldn’t like if something turned bad on my first mission with a new team.”

Mac stared in your eyes, for what it seemed a little too much, for a smart guy like him, to say a simple “yes” or “no”. Then, he gently lowered your hand and smiled: “You don’t have to worry, everything will be fine. And please, just call me Mac.”

You walked down the huge stair, leading to the casino main hall. Here, you split to have a better coverage of the area. Mac reached the bar, you moved towards the roulette table, and Jack…well Jack always does what he wants, so you lose sight of him in the crowd.

“Which color do you prefer, beauty? Black or red?” The man you were looking for, approached you.

“Green, actually” you answered.

“That’s brave. You’re going to be the end of me, girl” he smiled in a very charming way before turning to the croupier “I bet all my money on the zero” 

Despite the thirty seven to one shot, he gained and exclaimed: “How is it even possible?! You brought me good luck! What’s next?” 

You rehearsed the plan in your mind: sneaking inside this man’s hotel room and stealing a suitcase, containing nuclear warheads’ launch codes. If you had failed, he would have consigned it to countries planning mass destruction attacks. So you decided to take the shorter road.

“What about we go talk in a quieter place?” You got close and touched his arm, your typical fake flirting move.

He nodded and showed you a way out. You followed him, but before you could reach the casino’s exit, you heard a raspy voice, sweetly whispering to your ear: “Where were you, babe? I couldn’t find you anywhere” 

You looked over your shoulder and met Mac’s blue eyes. He placed an hand on your stomach, keeping you close to him, and tilted down his head to place a lightweight kiss on the exposed skin of your neck. 

“I brought you something to drink” he offered you a glass and introduced himself to the man you were trying to seduce few minutes before.

You took a sip of wine, feeling like your body forgot how to breath for a moment and just started to regularly function again.

The man took leave of you and disappeared down the hallway. You and Mac faced each other,  asking at the same time: “What did it come to your mind?!”

He talked for first: “Sorry, I was just trying to save you from this situation”

“Excuse me?”

“Flirting with that man. I don’t feel comfortable in you being alone with corrupted people we don’t know which things are capable of.” he said without taking breath.

“It was the fastest way to get in his room, period. We would have already stolen the suitcase, if you had trusted me. I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I’m not a damsel in distress, I’ve already been in mission, before meeting you.” 

Jack showed up, interrupting your heated argument: “I had to take off my comms, because my head was about to explode! You guys, go upstairs. I will keep our man busy until you get the suitcase.” 

Walking down the building, you heard some shots and steps coming from the corridors behind your back. You speeded up the pace, and reached the room you were looking for. Mac quickly unlocked the door, and you closed it behind your back.

“Go hide in there” Mac said, pointing to the closet.

“What about the suitcase? We can’t let them taking it away…” 

“We’ve got no time now. We’re going to wait here until the way is clear” Mac pushed you inside the locker. 

It was narrow and dark: the only light came through the thin slots of the shutters. In the silence, you listened to the voices of a group of men approaching the door of the room. They left minutes after, walking along the opposite side of the wall you were leaned against.

“I think we can go out now” you whispered, placing your hand on the handle.

Mac stopped you: “Jack hasn’t said it’s clear. It could be not safe, yet.” 

You were both breathing heavily because of the small place and the adrenalin running through your bodies. 

“Mac, let me go, I can’t stay here any longer” 

“You’re stuck with me, like it or not”

Before he could push you back, you started gasping “What are you talking about? It’s not because of you, stupid. I’m having a panic attack. I hate being closed in dark and tight places…”

He made a pause and, with a completely different tone, said: “I know that it’s scary, but you can overcome this. You just need to breath…”

“How am I supposed to do it?” you yelled.

“Well, just inspire and expire slowly…” He took a step further, and started doing himself what he told you.

A noise made you wince, so Mac tried to get your attention: “Y/N, look at me, there’s nobody except you and me” He moved your hair behind your ear and then lifted your face, to keep eye contact with you. You felt his chest rhythmically rising and lowering against yours, and this helped you calming down. You closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness: you wouldn’t have felt comfortable with anybody else, in that situation.

Suddenly, the door of the closet had been opened and the light made you open your eyes. Mac shielded you with his body, right before the loud sound of two gunshots filled the room. You saw the man that was holding a gun behind Mac’s shoulder, falling on the ground, but not before having noticed a red stain of blood on your mate’s shirt. 

“No, no, no, damn Mac! What did you do? I thought having asked you to follow the plan for once…” you cried, gently moving the wet hair from his forehead. 

You were holding Mac’s waist, helping him to stand up and avoiding him to collapse, when you heard Jack’s voice, approaching the wardrobe: “Hey guys, everything is okay?”

“Too late, Jack” Mac groaned, pinning himself with one hand against the wall behind your back.

“End of the chapter.” you closed the book, with a resonant vibration, and laid it on your legs.

“What about reading another?” Mac turned to look at you, his head rested on the hospital bed’s pillow, and smiled. That soft smile that would convince you doing anything.

“We said one chapter a day”

“Yes, but this one  was shorter” he lengthened his arm and drummed his fingers on the hard cover of the book. “And I want to know what happens next…” he looked straight in your eyes.

You got up from your chair, and picked up your things saying: “I am going to tell you what happens next: I go home and finish filling the pending reports Matty asked me to hand her one week ago”

As you walked past his bed, he took your hand in his, making you turn: “Why do you always go away so fast? I think we have good time together, but if you got tired of coming here everyday…”

You sat on the edge of the bed: “I could never get tired of spending time with you. It’s just I feel so guilty for what happened. You wouldn’t be here, if you didn’t want to protect me”

“Well, Jack always says that some relationships born out intense first encounters”

You shook your head: “It wasn’t our first encounter”

“First mission, it worth the same. And trust me, I would have risked my life for any other person”

 “I don’t know if this makes me feel better or worse” you both laughed.

“So, since I took a bullet for you, I think you own me a dinner” That half smile, again.

“What about a little welcome back party? I’m going to text the others, later.” you proposed him.

“I was thinking to something more like a date”

You became serious and answered: “Mac, I’m sorry but I have to refuse. I think it’s better if we stay friends.”

“Okay, I understand” he forced a smile. 

You appreciated he didn’t insist on this point, but you knew everything wasn’t alright. It wasn’t for you either.

 Before going away, without even foreseen it yourself, you placed your hand in the hole between his neck and shoulder, and got close, entwining your lips with his for a long moment. You felt like you were back in that closet, next to him, without being able to breathe, but this time for a completely different reason.

 “I’m sorry. Forget about it.” you whispered against his face. “ I guess, we’re even now.”

Jack, Riley and Bozer entered in the room, and you took advantage of it to walk  towards the door, before the situation got more awkward. But you couldn’t help to turn and look at Mac’s expression once  before leaving.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Mac lets slide a black tie around his neck, over the cotton fabric of the white shirt he is wearing.

He is in front of the mirror, holding the two ends in his hands, as you ask: “Can I make the knot?”

“Of course” He smiles, turning to be in front of you.

While you are moving the narrow part on top of the thick one, you say: “This is the place of our first mission together, do you remember?”

“Yes, and you adjusted my tie that time, too”

“I hope you didn’t mind it”.

“I didn’t. I like when you do my tie…and makes me crazy when you undo it later” he pulls you closer for a kiss.

“C’mon guys, we’re late.” Jack abruptly entered in the room “Anything you were about to do, you can do it later. I need to make my entrance now.”

“Is it just me or does he say it all the times?!” You joke with Mac, as Jack exits.

Before leaving, you hold Mac’s hand and say: “Do you remember what passed five years ago? You better not make it happen again, okay?”

“I’ve always known you would have been the one I’d take a bullet for” 

“I’m serious, Mac. We’re not alone anymore, you know”

“It’s the first thing I think about every morning when I wake up. If something turned wrong that day, I would have missed the five most beautiful years of my life.” he says laying both his hands on your stomach. He looks down, smiling, and adds: “I am starting to see your baby bump. I wonder how have the others not noticed anything, yet.”

 “Well, maybe we could tell them after this mission”  you propose.

Mac laughs: “In this case, we have another reason to stay alive”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Weight of Their Worlds

Switch AU

I’ve been neglecting JJ in this AU. Ironic, considering he’s my favorite out of the normal boys fjhaskld So he gets his own story! That’s great! There’s also a little bit about Schneep in here, but it’s mostly JJ. Let’s check in on him, see what’s been going on with him in this AU, how he’s interacting with other people and going about his life. This one is a long one, boys and girls and other, but I really like how it turned out.

More of this AU found here

The alarm went off at eight o’clock am. The beeping had been ramped up in volume, something that Jameson suddenly very much regretted. He also regretted that he’d set his alarm clock on his bookshelf across the room, instead of the nightstand right next to him. He groaned and rolled over, briefly considering throwing a magic bolt at the clock to shut it up, but instead stood up and walked over to turn it off. He sighed. Well, he was awake now.

Normally, JJ was more of a morning person than a late waker. But he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Last night, the last he’d glanced at the glowing digital numbers of the clock, it was 3:45 am. And he remembered waking up a couple times, too. He was probably nervous about what he had planned today. 

Which reminded him. He needed to get ready. He went through the drawers and found a set of clothes for the day, then went downstairs. While heating up a cinnamon roll for breakfast, he jotted a note down for Marvin, explaining where he would be all day:

Sorry, I won’t be around all day. I have that meeting with another magician at nine, that one I told you about a few days ago. Then I’m going to go visit a few people and study at the library. I have rehearsal starting at 4:30, you can come watch if you want. See you later! -JJ

He hoped that would help. Marvin hated being out of the loop.

After that, it was a half hour to get ready, and another half hour to take the car and drive to the park, where he’d be meeting...someone. He wasn’t sure what they would look like. About two weeks ago, he’d reached out to the ABIM—the organization that functioned as a loose government for magicians. He didn’t know much about them, having only interacted with them maybe once or twice. But...well, things were starting to look bad. Jackie had been missing for six months. He hadn’t had any luck scrying for Jackie’s location, and there were no signs of Distorter to go off of, either. He hadn’t seen Anti in person in a few weeks, Schneep was being evasive as well, and Marvin...well, he wasn’t exactly talking about what was going on with him, but Jameson could hear him and his nightmares through the floorboards.

So of course, Jameson had to do something about this. He couldn’t just let everything fall apart. He had to make sure the others were alright, had to find some way to help fix everything. But at this point, he couldn’t do it on his own. Which is why he reached out to the ABIM, hoping other magicians would have some sort of advice. A week ago, they’d gotten back to him, saying they would send a representative out to talk.

Which was why he was in the park right now, walking around the perimeter of the small pond, looking for someone. The park was pretty empty at nine in the morning, on a cloudy weekday, so it was easy to see the only other person around. She spotted him at the same moment, waving him over to a bench sitting by the pond’s shore.

“So. You’re Mr. Jameson Jackson, then?” She asked, eyes scanning him as he approached.

“Yes. And who are you?” He scanned her in turn. She wasn’t too unusual, he supposed. Well, she stood out a bit because of her red hair and green eyes, a rare combination. But her jeans, T-shirt, and zip-up hoodie didn’t seem too magical to him.

“My name’s Aoife Kelley,” she said. “I’m part of the Magi, which is a subdivision of ABIM. How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, I suppose. You?”

“Good. Here, let’s sit.” Aoife gestured to the wrought-iron bench. Once JJ sat down, she did as well. “Now, then. To business.” She muttered a few words, and reached forward. Her eyes flared golden yellow, and her hand disappeared, like she’d slid it into a pocket in the air. JJ jumped in alarm, then stared in fascination. He’d never seen a spell like this before. Aoife’s hand pulled back, suddenly holding a blue binder. She flipped it open. “I’m going to just ask you a few questions, see if we have your information right.”

JJ nodded. “Alright.”

“Your name’s Jameson Daniel Jackson. Male. British nationality, Caucasian race. Twenty-seven years old, birthday October 31st, 1990.”

“Yes, that’s all correct.”

“Elemental magic with an ice/water focus, as well as a lesser healing ability. You work as a stage magician?” Aoife raised an eyebrow at that last part.

“Yes.” JJ tried not to squirm. Ironically, he didn’t like being the center of attention. At least, not on such an...individual level. “If you’re going to lecture me about the dangers of using magic on stage, I’ve already heard it from one of you. I’m being cautious.”

Aoife grinned. “Well, alright, if you’re sure.” She looked back at the file. “There’s no history of magic in your family, nor is there a history of mental illness in you or your bloodline.”

That last part was a bit odd. “Yes, that’s right.” JJ coughed awkwardly. “Are...can we get to the purpose of this meeting? I’d planned to meet up with someone else after this.”

“Oh. Yes, right.” Aoife flipped the binder close. “Sorry to keep you.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s not too pressing.” JJ shrugged. “I just...this is a...rather pressing situation I’m in, and I would really appreciate any advice you have on the matter.”

Aoife’s brows scrunched together. “Well, y’see. That’s the problem.”

Jameson felt his heart stop. “What do you mean?”

“This...creature, that you say is following you. That took one of your friends...” Aoife bit her lip. “We...don’t have any records of something like it.”

Jameson could only stare at her. “I’m sorry?”

“We don’t have any records of it.” She opened the binder again, pulling out a piece of paper. Jameson recognized it. It was a printed-out copy of the letter he’d sent to the ABIM online. Because surprisingly enough, the magical organization had an official website. Aoife scanned through the typed words. “It’s something that appears to be human, but with that head injury, it can’t be a living human. And its array of powers...being able to confuse people, sometimes directly control them, and otherwise make it so the mind doesn’t register it as existing...” She tucked the letter back in the binder. “...we don’t have anything like that in our files.”

“Tha—that’s impossible,” Jameson said softly. “You must have something in there. Maybe something buried deep—”

“Yeah, I checked all our records,” Aoife said firmly. “My permissions are pretty high-up, I have access to everything. And I couldn’t find anything like this. Oh sure, there are records of undead that fit the physical description, and some creatures with similar powers, but nothing that fits.” Aoife paused. “I have to ask...are you sure this thing is really out there?”

“Am I sure?” Jameson asked, incredulous. “Am I sure?! He kidnapped one of my friends and poisoned another! Convinced one of them to walk out into moving traffic! My housemate has nightmares about him that wake him up screa—” Jameson took a deep breath, clenching his fists in an effort to calm down. “We’ve all seen it. Of course we’re sure.”

“Alright. Alright.” Aoife raised her hands, as if in surrender. “I believe you. But, well...some of the others don’t.”

“Some of the others?” Jameson repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” Aoife confirmed. “It’s a big group, and your request for aid got passed around a lot, looking for someone to help. Some of them think you’re making it up, some of them think you’re mistaken...a few of them think you’ve lost your marbles.” Suddenly the question about history of mental illness made more sense. “But the fact of the matter is, we just...we’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

“Why would I make it up?” Jameson asked quietly.

Aoife shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think you are. But not everyone does. If you could show some sort of proof, it would be helpful.”

“Oh, do you want me to take a picture of him, next time I see it?” JJ drawled. “In between the moments of me fighting for my friends’ lives and free wills?”

“I don’t know,” Aoife said quietly. She stood up, tucking the binder under her arm. “Look, I’m sorry, but until there’s some sort of evidence...we really can’t help you.”

Jameson shot to his feet as well. “Then why did you even agree to meet with me in the first place?”

“Well, it would be rude to just dismiss you in an email,” Aoife said calmly. “Impersonal, you know?” Her voice softened a bit. “Look, I want to help, but I can’t as long as we don’t know what this is. We just need something to show that this...what you’re saying it is. And if it is, then...well...” She pauses. “Then we’ve never seen anything like this before. And we’ll need time. And information.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular piece of wood. She held it out to JJ, who took it silently. Looking down at it, he saw a phone number burned into the wood surface. “This is my personal cell, call me when you’ve...got something. Okay?” She waited for him to nod, then smiled. “Be seeing you.” And without another word, she left.

Jameson stared down at the wooden card, then tucked it into his pocket. He watched Aoife walk away, until she was out of the park and out of the sight. Then he turned, let out a cry of frustration, and kicked a rock out onto the surface of the pond. Where it landed, ripples turned the water a bright, glowing blue that slowly faded away.

He shook his head, making an effort to breathe slowly and deeply. If they’ve never heard of anything like Distorter before, it made sense that they needed proof. Just to make sure he wasn’t pranking them or anything. But god, was it frustrating. What was he supposed to do?! When and how was he supposed to get evidence that Distorter existed?! The gray man hadn’t been seen in months! Not to mention, part of him wondered how much help the other magicians could really be, if they’ve never seen anything like Distorter before. All that meant...all that meant was that they were dealing with a threat unlike anything before. Jameson shivered.

No, he’d...he’d figure it out. He had to. Maybe he could modify some of the mind protection spells he found, so they could ward a specific place? Maybe work them into some sort of offensive spell? Or he could put a little more effort into the tracking spells, if he just tried a little more he was sure he could find Jackie.

JJ headed out of the park and back towards his car. He’d planned to do the studying after he got all his visits for the day done, but his mind was already brewing. He could adjust the schedule a bit. Time to head to the library.

———————

The clock read 9:34am, a fact which surprised Schneep when he looked at it.

Didn’t it say 12 just a few minutes ago? No, there had been a 3:40 in that interim somewhere. Or was it 6?

You really should go to sleep.

Schneep shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Shut up.”

There was a figure hovering in the corner of his eyes. You’re going to kill yourself before you get anything done.

You weren’t supposed to acknowledge it. Schneep knew this. But it was a little hard to ignore it when it looked like one of your friends. Still, he didn’t answer this time, instead backing up to get a full view of the map he’d taped up on the wall. He used to have this entirely digital, but he’d tried printing in all out on paper, see if that helped. The map was littered with push pins, strings tying together locations to newspaper articles he’d found and taped to the wall. He was aware this looked like a crazy conspiracy board, but it was sort of helping.

The figure hovered closer. It looked close enough to reach out and touch, peering over his shoulder. Is it going to help? You look terrible. Is it really worth it?

“Yes,” Schneep breathed, leaning on the back of the couch. “Yes, if I can find you. It’s worth it.”

There was a knock at the apartment’s door. Schneep jumped, trying to back up but somehow managing to fall over the back of the sofa instead. Who was at the door? Who came to see him? Was it him, the gray man, coming to finish the job?

Another knock. “Dude, I can and I will pick your lock, let me in.”

He knew that voice, he realized, standing up. But was that proof? What if it was someone pretending to be him?

Oh, too late, the handle was rattling. The door opened to reveal Anti, who entered and closed the door behind him. He looked around the apartment, whistling. “This place is bigger mess than the room of a nine-year-old who refuses to clean. What’s up, Volt?” He paused. “You look terrible.”

I told you.

“Thank you,” Schneep muttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I just...” Anti looked around the area again. “I was in the neighborhood. Why do you have a serial killer board up on your wall?”

“Shut up,” Schneep snapped. He put his hands on his hips and looked over the wall. “I am trying to figure things out. It is a new approach.”

“Uh-huh.” Anti’s eyes darted over the wall. “Figure what kind of things out?”

“You know what I mean! Anything, everything!” Schneep began pacing the length of his living area. On the edges of his vision, there was a shadow of a red hoodie, of big round glasses and brown hair. Is it worth it? Is it going to work? “It will work,” Schneep insisted. “I-I can find you.”

“Um...” Anti glanced around the apartment. “Who’re you talking to?”

Shit, no. Anti couldn’t know. Not now. Schneep really didn’t feel like being analyzed by Mr. Psychology-Is-My-Hobby. He whirled around, pointing at the wall. “I am keeping track of everything, everything odd in the last few years. Is very strange, you see? There are a high number of disappearances, and of accidents in the city. More so than in other cities.” He felt his eye twitching, a tiny pulse in his lid. He ignored it. “It is no wonder the police have been no help in finding him, they are useless at this!”

“Really?” Anti looked over the newspaper articles, taking in all the headlines. “You think maybe it’s...you know, all been him?”

“Possibly, possibly.”

This isn’t going to work. The shadow was whispering in his ear. You’re slowly dying over this, and it’s not worth it. Can you really find me? You haven’t had success so far.

Schneep waved in the direction of the shadow, as if trying to clear it. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Anti said, looking at him skeptically. “You...did you go to sleep last night?”

Apparently not. Or maybe the clocks were lying to him. Schneep almost sat down on the sofa, but he knew if he did that, he wouldn’t want to stand up and keep working. And that was the most important thing. Keep working. He had to succeed eventually. “Anti,” he said. “Can you do something?”

“Uh, depends on what it is.”

“Where have you been?” Schneep asked. “I have not seen you in, mmm, a couple of months now. Not outside of text.”

Anti shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his neck. “Well. Y’know. Been busy. Is...is that what you wanted me to do? Answer the question?”

What question? Wait, what? What was happening? Schneep shook his head. “No. I am sorry, I got distracted. I wanted to know if you could...I do not know, do something to keep me thinking.”

Anti took a step back. “Um, what?”

“Like one of those stories you like,” Schneep said. “Those spooky ones you tell. Tell one of those, I want to think about something else for a while.” The shadow stood beside him. “But I do not want to think of nothing.”

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” Anti flung himself down on the nearest armchair. “I can think of one you haven’t heard yet. You gonna sit down?”

“No.”

“Well, uh. Alright, then.” Anti bit his lip, thinking. “I could tell you the story about the house on Aspen Street.”

Schneep blinked. “I think you have mentioned that before. But I do not remember it.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve talked about it.” Anti flashed a grin. “But I always got stopped from talking about it, by Jackson and Jac—” He cut himself off. “Well, I can do it now.”

“Why would they stop you from talking about it?”

“I guess it could be kind of freaky. I mean, it starts with a true story.” Anti sat up straight. “Five years ago, we all turned on the evening news to a shocking story. A family of four had been found dead. Tragic enough in itself, but things start to become even bleaker once you heard the rest.”

Schneep sat down on the sofa. He gestured for Anti to continue.

Anti’s eyes lit up. “The house was 68 Aspen Street. For years, it had been home to a mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. It had been a happy place, a haven. But things started to crack and fall apart. The parents began arguing. About what, we don’t know. Maybe it was money, or bad habits, or the kids, or anything else that could drive two people apart. But drive them apart it did. And eventually the mother couldn’t handle it anymore. She took the kids and left, filing for divorce. It went through, of course, and the father was left alone in the house that had once been full of loved ones.”

“Now, the details of what happened next are hard to fudge out. We know that the kids visited their father on the weekends, and that they were the only people he saw regularly. The father was fired from his job, and had no luck finding anything new. The neighbors stopped seeing him, as he stayed in the house almost every day. He became a recluse who only really lived for his family. A family that was seeing him less and less.”

“One spring day, the kids and their mother disappeared. The police investigated the father, of course, but they found no evidence that he was involved in any way. Until a week later. A neighbor called the authorities, saying she heard gunshots. Four of them, to be precise. Three close together, and one a little bit after. It came from the house on Aspen Street. When the police arrived, they found the whole family. Dead. The father was still holding a handgun.”

Anti paused. “And from there? Well, stories like that tend to linger. Sad spirits refuse to leave. They say the house on Aspen Street is haunted by the family. People who live there tend to get in accidents. And those who get out before the accidents kill them, they always report hearing voices, having things move when they aren’t there...and seeing the figures of the family. Watching. Waiting.”

The apartment was silent. Then Schneep suddenly took a deep breath. “That is a...that is a very sad story,” he whispered.

“Yeah. It is.” Anti said nothing else. The events spoke for themselves.

“You are very good at scaring people, Anti, your voice can be quite...eerie,” Schneep said.

“Thanks.” Anti grinned. “Now. You should go to sleep.”

“Maybe I will. But not if you are here.” Schneep stood up, and pointed at the door. “So, out.”

“Okay, fine.” Anti started to leave, but paused just before reaching the door. He turned around. “Are...are you doing...?” He seemed to have trouble asking the question he really wanted to.

“I am fine,” Schneep insisted.

“You’re going to go to sleep now, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re...you feel...you’re...?”

“Yes, I am fine. Now leave.”

Anti seemed to hesitate, but he opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

Once he was gone, Schneep sighed. He turned to look back at the wall. Something about that story...something was niggling at his mind. He walked up to the map, grabbed a spare push pin, and pushed it into the paper, right at 68 Aspen Street.

You really think this’ll help? It won’t.

“Shut up,” Schneep muttered. “You are not here now, Jackie. You are somewhere else. And I will find you, and bring you back. I...” He leaned his head against the wall. “I promise.”

———————

JJ lost track of time in the library. He meant to only stay there until twelve, but when he next checked the time on his phone, it was 1:30. He immediately cleaned up, reshelving the books. He had to be sure to do it himself. After all, these weren’t normal books. They were spell books, hidden in part of the library’s reference section for any magician to use if they wished. Well, as long as the magician was registered with the ABIM, since they were the people who allowed someone to see through the concealing ward around the books.

He was...tired. He’d spent about of of his time practicing the spells he read about, hidden in a nook on the second floor of the library. And four and a half hours of consistent magic use was...draining. But it didn’t matter. He had more to do.

A short drive later, JJ parked in the driveway of a familiar house. He grabbed the tupperware container he’d had sitting in the car since he left that morning, climbed out, walked up to the threshold, and rang the doorbell. A short while later, the door was opened...by seemingly nobody. JJ looked down. “Oh. Hello, Michelle.”

“Hi Uncle JJ,” Michelle said. “Are you looking for Dad? He’s not here.”

“No, I-I know.” JJ tried to smile. It came out smaller than he intended. Of course Jackie wasn’t here. “I’m looking for your ren.”

“Oh. Okay.” Michelle darted back into the room, leaving the door open. “Ren! Uncle JJ is here! He wants to see you!”

JJ walked inside. The living room looked the same as ever. Except for the coat rack by the door. The white coat hanging from one of its hooks had a bit more dust.

Rama appeared from down the hallway. “Thanks for getting the door, Michelle,” they said, ruffling their daughter’s hair. Then they looked up at JJ. “Good to see you again, Jameson.”

“Good to see you too,” Jameson nodded. He showed off the tupperware container he was holding. “I made cake. Thought you’d want some.”

“Oh. Thanks.”  Rama brushed a strand of their hair behind their ear. They hadn’t been wearing the red beanie they used to lately. “C’mon, let’s go in the kitchen.”

Jameson nodded. He shut the door behind him and followed Rama to the house’s kitchen. He set the container on the counter while Rama pulled open the silverware drawer and took out a couple forks. “Here,” they handed one to JJ.

“Oh, no, I mean thank you, but I-I already have some at home,” Jameson stammered. “This is for you.”

Rama nodded, putting one of the forks back. They peeled the lid off the tupperware and took out one of the slices inside, putting it on a plate already sitting on the counter. “So. Is this the part of the visit where you ask me how we’re doing?”

Jameson paused. “It can be.”

“Well...I guess we’re as okay as possible.” Rama plunged the fork into the cake slice. “Nothing much has changed since you last visited. Which I appreciate, by the way, you checking in.”

“It’s no problem.” Jameson smiled sadly.

Rama chuckled. There were dark bags under their dark eyes. “Does Michelle still say the same thing when she opens the door?”

“Yes,” Jameson said softly. ‘Are you looking for Dad? He’s not here.’ “How is she?”

“I don’t know.” Rama shook their head. “I’m worried about her, you know. The effect this could have on her, especially if...” They stop. They’d been toying with a part of the cake slice, and they finally put it in their mouth. They swallowed visibly. “The police aren’t giving us updates anymore. The last time they showed up, the detective lady said that, statistically, the longer someone is missing, the more likely it is that they’re...” They trailed off. Then they shook their head, a determined set to their face. “Jackieboy is a fighter. He’s always been tougher than people give him credit for, including himself.”

“He really is.” Jameson nodded in agreement. “People often mistake kindness for weakness. But he’s not weak at all.”

Rama looked...reassured by that. They looked down at their cake slice. “Did you know...that his birthday was last week?”

Jameson was silent for a moment. “..yes,” he whispered. July 10th.

Rama nodded, as if that’s all they wanted. “Well, thank you for the cake.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sure you have much else to do today.”

He did, but that didn’t matter. “I can stay longer, if you want.”

“No, no, you go ahead,” Rama waved. “This has been nice, and...and thank you.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Jameson headed for the door. “Anything else you need?”

Rama smiled. “No. That’s enough.”

Jameson nodded, and without anything else, he left.

Once outside, he leaned back against the closed door and let out a long, long breath. It felt like there was something pressing down on his spine, making his head want to dip forward. Or maybe it was on his head itself. Or somewhere inside it. But he couldn’t let it happen. He had more to do. It was 1:52, he only had three and a half hours left before rehearsal. Plenty of time for his last visit, but maybe once that was done he could squeeze in another bout of studying. Maybe he could find some sort of spell that would lighten someone’s mood, if only for a little. Or a potion, that would be better. He could learn how potions work, if it could help them. He could do it. He could do it.

Jameson bit back a yawn as he got back in the car. It wouldn’t be too far a drive.

Fifteen minutes later, JJ was knocking on the door to Schneep’s apartment. There was no answer. He waited for another minute, then knocked again. He heard something fall over. “Um...Henrik? Are you doing okay in there?”

The door opened. Schneep was standing in the doorway, his hair wild, his shirt rumpled and with some sort of spill staining the blue material. He was wearing one of his electrical gloves, the ones that would shock someone upon contact, and judging by the wide-eyed look on his face, he was prepared to use it. But he relaxed a bit upon seeing Jameson. “Oh. Is you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” JJ tried to peer around Schneep into the apartment. “Can I come in?”

Schneep muttered something, but stood aside, letting Jameson enter.

JJ paused, taking in the map and pins on the wall. “That’s...new,” he said slowly.

“I am trying a new approach to finding things,” Schneep explained. “What are you doing here?”

Jameson spun to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“What are you doing here? Why are you here? What is your point?” Schneep pressed. “I am having many visitors today, first Anti, then you. What is it? Are you two having a plan?”

“Whoa, hang on, slow down.” JJ raised his hands. “I just wanted to check on you. I haven’t seen you in...in a while, now. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Well. I am doing fine, so you can go now.” Schneep turned his back to Jameson, walking up to the map. “Shut it.”

“I...I don’t think I said anything?” Jameson said, confused.

Schneep shook his head. “I know. Anyway, you can go now.”

Jameson stayed where he was. “Henrik...” His voice was soft. “Did you sleep...at all, recently?”

“What is with you people asking me that?!” Schneep suddenly yelled, pounding his fist against the wall. “I am fine!”

“That wasn’t my question.” Jameson approached Schneep, stopping within arm’s length. “You...you don’t look good.”

Schneep blinked idly. Dark circles, pale skin, a bit thin...it wasn’t a pretty picture. “Wie spät ist es?” He asked.

“I...I don’t know what you just said,” JJ confessed. “What is spät?”

“What time is it?” Schneep clarified.

Jameson looked at the wall-mounted clock. “It’s ten past two.”

Schneep’s eyes widened briefly, but then he covered it up. “I see.”

“Did you wake up early?” Jameson pressed. “Or...did you not go to sleep at all?”

“You also look like you did not sleep well, what does it matter?” Schneep’s eyes flicked to the side for a moment. “Nein.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, that doesn’t matter,” Jameson said dismissively. “Schneep, are you okay?”

His eyes flicked to the side again. “I am fine, you do not need to keep asking. Perhaps I am tired, but that is all. I have been drinking coffee, it is fine.”

“Of course you have,” Jameson muttered under his breath. “Henrik, you should really go to sleep. Take a nap.”

“I can’t.” Schneep looked at the map. “I am working on things.”

“They’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You do not know that.”

That was...an odd reaction. “Of course I do.” JJ tried for a laugh. “Things don’t just disappear.”

Schneep didn’t answer, his eyes scanning the map while occasionally flickering to the side, as if he was seeing something move in his peripheral vision.

Jameson stepped forward and placed his hand on Schneep’s shoulder. “Henrik—”

Schneep suddenly screamed. He grabbed Jameson by the wrist, still wearing his electric glove. The shock it sent through Jameson’s body was enough to stun him, so he couldn’t react when Schneep then flipped him over. He landed on the ground with an oof-inducing thump, his head solidly hitting the back of the sofa. He slumped, dazed.

“Mein Gott, Jameson, I-I am sorry!” Schneep was still standing, hand covering his mouth. He pulled off the electric glove and threw it over to the desk, where it landed. “I-I did not mean—! I thought—Jackie—”

“Jackie...?” Jameson sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “What about Jackie?”

“I-I-I—” Schneep was shaking. “I thought he touched me! I thought it was mehr als ein Schatten! I—!”

“Henrik.” Jameson climbed to his feet, using the sofa as support. “Jackie’s not here.”

And Schneep suddenly started crying. “I know that! I know he is not here, but he is! A-and I do not want—! I do not want to stop seeing him!”

Jameson shook his head, bewildered. “Henrik, what are you talking about?”

Schneep buried his face in his hands. “I have been forgetting medication recently, it is making everything confusing!”

“You’re on medication? Hey, it’s okay.” Schneep had fallen to the floor, landing hard on his knees. Jameson knelt beside him. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help. What’s wrong?”

Schneep grabbed Jameson’s arm. “I did not tell you,” he gasped in between tears. “I d-do not tell anyone. I told Marvin one time, I-I thought he would understand. I do not want anyone to thi-think the worst of me. I would never hurt anyone! Th-these things I see are not dangerous! He knows, the Distorter knows, he pokes fun at me, likes to make his illusions because he knows reality is alrea—sometimes I cannot tell—!”

“Hey, calm down, take deep breaths. I’ll do it with you. In for four...hold for seven...out for eight...in...hold...out...in...hold...out...” It took a few minutes for Schneep to get calm. Once he was fine, Jameson asked, “So...you take some kind of medication?”

Schneep nodded.

“And without it, you see things?”

Another nod.

“And you’ve been forgetting it, so you’re seeing Jackie?”

And another.

“Alright. I understand now.” Jameson nodded. “Henrik...there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know,” Schneep whispered. “But I am worried others do not know that. That they will think I am...” He trailed off.

“Well, I think you’re a good person. You’re smart, and stubborn, and sarcastic, and...other adjectives that begin with S.” Jameson smiled when that got a laugh out of Schneep. “And this doesn’t change any of that.”

Tears started to gather in Schneep’s eyes again. He buried his face in Jameson’s shirt. 

“See? It’s okay. It’s all okay.” For a moment they were silent. Then Jameson said, “I think you should go to bed now. But not before taking that medication you’ve been missing.”

Schneep nodded. “Stay with me, a while?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay with you.”

He had time to.

——————— 

Jameson arrived at the theatre for rehearsal. He had not been expecting to spend an extra two hours at Schneep’s apartment, but he wasn’t about to leave while his friend was upset. Even if that friend had fallen asleep within fifteen minutes and hadn’t shown any signs of waking up in all the two hours he was there.

Jameson paused before entering the theatre, leaning against the wall. A few deep breaths. He was tired. God, he was tired. The weight was pressing down, not on his spine or his head, but directly on his mind. But he had to go to rehearsal. Everyone was expecting him. He couldn’t skip one. He couldn’t let down all the crew members that needed to run through everything. And if they missed one, that could delay the show and disappoint the audience. He couldn’t do that. He had to show up. Run through the show. It was only another three hours. He could do it.

It was not encouraging when his stage manager Darla greeted him with a “Where have you been?! You’re ten minutes late!”

“Things came up,” Jameson said. “Now are we ready to start?”

“Yeah, of course.” Darla nodded. “You left your cape and mask here last time, we brought them out, check with Ryan.”

“Got it.” He...hadn’t actually realized he’d left his mask and cape at the theatre. Well it was a good thing the others had found it, and he hadn’t had to drive back home, look for it, not find it, only to drive back and find his stuff already here. He would hate to waste everyone’s time.

Things went smoothly for the first hour. But it was when they all reconvened after a ten-minute break that things started to turn for the worse. For whatever reason, the lights wouldn’t work, and the techies took twenty minutes to figure out the problem. Just when they thought it was fixed, the main spotlight flickered and died. “It’s fine, we’ll just run it without that one,” Jameson said, sighing. He blinked, lingering in the darkness for a while, before opening them and returning to the busy world.

Then he was having trouble remembering his planned lines. True, being a magician didn’t involve nearly as much memorization as being a stage actor, but it was still more than most people thought. Not to mention, it often involved more timing, as you had to get the line to match up perfectly with the trick or it loses all dramatic effect.

Oh yes, the tricks. Jameson’s tricks were a clever combination of real magic and stage magic, a fine balance between the two. Of course, the crew didn’t know about the real magic. They just thought it was some wonderful light tricks and digital effects. So when they magic came out strained, because Jameson had spent three hours trying out new spells earlier that day and was a little lower on energy, that meant the rehearsal was delayed for an entire half hour while the crew tried to fix technical devices that didn’t actually work. Guilt was curdling in Jameson’s stomach. He was making everyone stay late.

And indeed, the time was 8:23 pm and it didn’t look like the rehearsal was anywhere close to being finished. Jameson squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears start to well. No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Sure, he was tired and his head felt heavy with the events of the day. It didn’t matter. These things weren’t important. What was important was everyone else’s thoughts and feelings. Not his.

“Alright, one more time!” Darla called out. “Start from the levitation trick!”

That trick was...well, tricky. Levitation magic didn’t come naturally to him. Jameson took a deep breath, adjusted his mask, and shouted, “Ready!”

The objects he was levitating—just wooden cubes for now, probably to be replaced with something else in the actual show—were placed on the tables around the stage. Jameson blinked sweat out of his eyes, trying to focus. He chanted the words under his breath, feeling the strain of magic. Like trying to stretch a barely-used muscle after you’d already been working out for half an hour. Focus. Concentrate. Watch the blue magic float around the target, watch them wobble, then lift, slowly, trembling in the air—

“It snapped!”

“Backdrop’s coming down!”

“Watch out!”

The shouts snapped him out of concentration, sending the cubes crashing to the ground. Jameson whirled around to see the painted backdrop crashing down as well, landing just a few feet from him. He stared at it where it landed. The shouts of the crew members faded into buzzing background noise.

He could fix this.

He could fix it, he could help.

It was alright.

It was fine, he could help.

He could—

He felt his heart burning cold.

Tears slipped from his eyes, from under his mask, only to freeze the moment they left his face, shattering on the floor.

The buzzing background noise was growing louder, louder, it was a storm inside his head, thoughts whirling in a whiteout of feelings he couldn’t name, he was tired, he was so so tired, tired of this, tired of everything—

A blizzard exploded on the stage.

Wind howled, blue chips of cold magic swirling around him in a storm, a storm, a storm. Beneath his feet the wood of the stage groaned as the temperature dropped, glowing icicles of freezing magic jabbing from the ground. He’d fallen to his hands and knees. All he could see was blue and white and blue and white and blue and white—

Someone was shouting. He was vaguely aware of the sound through the screaming gales in his mind. The magic storm swirled taller, reaching the lights above and freezing their bulbs until they burst.

Someone was in front of him. He could see their shape in the fog of the magic flakes. They grabbed him by the arms, started shaking. He didn’t respond. Just stared. Tears were still slipping down, freezing his mask to his face.

Slowly, a voice started to pierce the winds. “—Jems! You can’ keep t’is up, you’ll hurt someone! Yourself, too! Jems! Look at me!”

Jameson’s eyes focused on the someone in front of him. A familiar face. Marvin. “Are you alrigh’, Jems?” he asked.

And Jameson shook his head.

“What’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He shook his head again. How was he supposed to say so much? How was he supposed to explain about how he was being crushed? Crushed first by Jackie going missing, by Distorter being out there and ready to fuck with them at any time, and the other magicians wouldn’t or couldn’t help, so he had to do it on his own, he had to make sure his friends were safe from this creature, he had to learn some way to keep him at bay, and he had to be there for everyone else, had to listen to all their problems, had to make breakfast in the morning after Marvin had another nightmare, had to bring food and anything that could help to Rama and Michelle who’d just lost a husband and a father who might not come back, had to figure out what was wrong with Anti, had to check on Schneep because he was in danger of working himself to death while being attacked by his own mind, he had to do all this and it was crushing him, it was killing him, he couldn’t handle everyone’s problems as well as his own, couldn’t hold their grief and his too, but it didn’t matter didn’t matter shouldn’t matter should it matter? couldn’t matter in the face of all—

Oh. Oh, Marvin was hugging him. He was shivering, in the face of this cold storm coming from Jameson, but he was still hugging him. There was frost forming on his jacket, but he wasn’t leaving.

Jameson leaned his head on Marvin’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his friend. His shoulders started to shake. But the storm died down, ice covering the stage melted into nothing. Things were warm again.

“We’re goin' to go home,” Marvin said in a voice that left no room for argument. “We’re goin' to go home. And we’ll relax tonight, and tomorrow, too.”

Jameson started to shake his head. He couldn’t let Marvin worry about him—

“Yes, we are.” Marvin stood up, still holding Jameson close. “You do a lot for others, Jems. Let someone else do somet’ing for you.”

That...that sounded really nice. Jameson grabbed the fabric of Marvin’s jacket, clinging to it. He nodded.

“Alrigh’. Let’s go. C’mon, one step at a time.”

One step at a time.

They took the bus back, since Marvin wouldn’t let JJ drive. Once home, Marvin tried to cook. He did better than expected. They turned on the television in the living room, with Marvin in his usual chair and JJ lying on the sofa, underneath a blanket. The cat took the opportunity to fall asleep on him. And eventually, JJ found he was drifting off as well.

Maybe...maybe it did matter.

Maybe he should let it matter.

JJ fell asleep, feeling warmer now knowing that there would be others still there when he woke up.

[hookedonapirate]

A Helping Hand

Summary: My girlfriend just dumped me and I’ve gotten piss drunk and somehow managed to get into your apartment instead of my own. I’m trying to masturbate my feelings away and boy were you surprised. Based on a Tumblr prompt that spiraled out of control.

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter before the epilogue! I'm so sad to finish this story and still completely baffled by the reception this story has had, but I am so grateful. Thank you all so much!

A huge thank you goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones​ for not only beta reading so quickly, but for putting up with all my typos. She is truly the best! Thank you for @onceuponaprincessworld​ because without her I probably would not have finished this fic. I also want to thank the Anon who had sent me this prompt in the first place; without her, this fic would not exist. And thank you for the lovely pm you sent me a while back to let me know who you are so I could thank you properly! This was supposed to be a one-shot and turned into so much more than either of us had ever imagined. I would also like to thank @daeneryskairipa​ for the gorgeous gif set she made for this story as my 2017 CS Secret Santa. If you haven’t seen it, check out the link below! 

AHH Graphic 

Rated: Mature for sex and salty language.

Also available: AO3 I FF.N

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17 Ch 18 Ch 19

Chapter 20: Happy Beginnings

After breakfast, the group split up for the day. Emma and Mary Margaret had planned for the ladies to spend the day along the Royal Mile, the heart of Edinburgh, for Elsa’s bachelor party. The bridesmaids gave her a sash that said Mrs. Captain Jones on the front, and she giggled when she saw it, and put it on before they left. They began at an extinct volcano and continued down a slope that was formed by the retreat of an ice age millions of years ago and was now the main street of the adjoining burghs of Edinburgh and Canongate. They visited a few of the significant landmarks, including the Edinburgh Castle, a world-famous attraction, and the Scottish Parliament for a tour of the building and its art collection, and to see parliament in debate. They had lunch in one of the restaurants down the Royal Mile and visited a few museums and shops, all while enjoying beautiful views across the city to the Firth of Forth, the estuary of several Scottish rivers.

 Meanwhile, the men, including Leo, spent the afternoon competing in mini highland games. The group reconvened at the Lighthouse Hotel for the rehearsal dinner and afterward, Liam and Elsa said their goodbyes for the night with parting kisses, both of them giddy with excitement for the big day tomorrow. The ladies threw Elsa a small party in the hotel suite where the bridesmaids were wearing matching royal blue robes with their title for the wedding in pink letters on the back, and they drank wine and showered the bride with gifts and played some silly games.

 The wedding day finally dawned, bringing a pandemonium of excitement through the hotel, and also a few minor hiccups along the way. But it was nothing a cool-headed bride, an over-exuberant wedding planner and eager to please groom could not handle, even if he were a bit of groomzilla. The soon to be married couple complemented each other, and usually, Elsa was the one talking Liam down or putting him in his place. He was the worry wart and she was the levelheaded of the two, the one who always had a way of calming him down to a normal, human level. However, even Elsa had a breaking point.

 Emma ran frantically through the hall in her high heels and royal blue maid of honor dress, holding up the fabric so it didn't drag along the floor as she headed for the groom's suite, bursting through the door with one hand covering her eyes. She scrambled into the room shouting, “Where’s Mary Margaret?” while trying to catch her breath.

 Liam and his groomsmen were startled, grumbling in complaint from the female intrusion. “Bloody hell, Emma, don’t you know how to knock?” Liam asked curtly.

 Emma scoffed. “You're one to talk. You wouldn’t know how to knock if there was a sign on the door that had instructions on how to knock.” When she thought it was safe to do so, she peeked through a narrow slit between her fingers to see that everyone was decent - Liam was buttoning up his shirt and David tying the bow of Leo’s tux—and removed her hand.

 “Aunt Em Em!” Leo shouted and ran over to Emma jumping into her arms as she scooped him up. “Hey, kiddo.” She gave her nephew a small smile and a peck on the cheek, but she knew she still looked anxious; she was afraid her friend would have a nervous breakdown before the wedding.

 Killian was buttoning up his vest as he approached her, and of course, he looked adorable and handsome as always, with his black tux and blue vest that matched his mesmerizing eyes, his hair a bit untidy from running his hand through it over and over. And of course he was not opposed to her presence in the dressing room, but his smile fell when he saw the frantic look on her face. “What’s wrong, love?”

 “There’s a wedding dress emergency,” Emma replied, setting Leo down. He was growing like a weed and getting heavy; soon he’d be too big for Emma to carry. “The zipper broke, so Elsa can’t zip up her dress at all, and she’s freaking out, afraid she’s going to have to walk down the aisle with her butt hanging out.” As she looked around the room, she could see the little smirk on Liam’s face; he was not opposed to the idea. “We need Mary Margaret, she will know what to do.”

 “I’m not sure where she is, did you check our room?” David asked her.

 "Yes, but she's not there." Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “Great, the wedding dress is defective, the bride’s a wreck and the wedding planner’s missing, what else could possibly go wrong? Not even her own sister can calm her down.” Emma placed her fingertips to her temple, rubbing them slowly to ease the headache blooming over her.

 “Hey,” Killian murmured in a soothing tone as he came behind her and kissed the tip of her ear, massaging her shoulder with his one good hand, switching from one side to the other. Emma melted into his touch, able to calm down a bit. “Relax, we’ll find Mary Margaret, I’m sure she has a sewing kit.”

 Emma shot David a questioning glance.

 “Knowing my wife, she’s fully prepared for situations like this.” He extended his hand to his son. “Come on, Leo, let’s find your mother.” Leo took his hand and they headed for the door.

 “Thank you,” Emma said appreciatively.

 “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” He flashed her a reassuring smile, somehow easing her nerves a bit, and left the room.

 Emma's back slumped into Killian's chest as he wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the warmth he offered. Killian always knew how to calm her down, and right now the whole atmosphere of the wedding needed calmness.

 “Come on, Killian, you can help me calm the bride down.” She took his hand and headed for the door.

 “Oi, what about me?” Liam asked with a frown. “I am the groom.”

 “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Emma told him and pulled Killian out of the room.

 “But, love, if her own sister can’t calm her then what makes you think I can?” Killian asked in confusion.

 Emma paused and turned around, cupping one of his cheeks in the hand which was not entwined with his. “Because, baby, you may only have one hand, but it works wonders.”

 Killian didn’t bother to argue any further as he flashed a smug grin and allowed Emma to lead him to the bridal suite.

 When they rushed through the door, Elsa was still in panic mode as she sat in her chair while Anna’s arm was around her sister’s shoulder as she planted a kiss to her temple, trying to calm her as Ruby applied Elsa’s makeup. Although, neither Ruby's nor Anna’s attempts were working very well. Elsa could not sit still and was squirming in her seat as Ruby sighed in frustration trying to hold her chin where she needed it in order to not fuck up her makeup.

 Elsa moved her head away, her makeup only partly done as she looked at Killian and Emma. “Did you find Mary Margaret?”

 “No, David went to look for her, but in the meantime, I brought the Best Man to help you relax.”

 Elsa arched a brow, not in the mood to smile. “As much as I like you, Killian, I don't like you that much.”

 Killian chuckled. “She didn’t mean it like that.” He went around and started massaging her shoulders.

 Elsa’s tense body seemed to melt at Killian’s touch. His hand was magic like that. “Oooh, that is very relaxing,” she murmured and closed her eyes. Elsa was able to relax enough to allow Ruby to continue with applying her makeup. She added some final touches before handing the bride a hand mirror so she could study her reflection.

 Elsa frowned, panic washing over her features. She had blood red lips and her face looked even paler than her normal complexion. “What did you do?"

 Ruby frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? I made you look like a Queen, just like you wanted."

 Elsa's eyes widened at her. "I said Ice Queen, not the White Queen!"

 Ruby’s face flashed with apology. “Oh, sorry, I just thought the dark lips was what you wanted.”

 “No, I wanted cool tones for my eyes and lips, like pale pinks and blues, not warm colors!” Elsa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

 “Alright, alright, I’ll redo it, it will be fine.” Ruby cleaned off Elsa’s makeup and retrieved some lighter colors from her cosmetic case.

 Elsa kept looking into the mirror to make sure Ruby was doing her makeup to her satisfaction, critiquing every step and blurting out comments like, “Too much blush," “Not enough eyeshadow," and "Why are you using that color? It's too dark."

 Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes. "Keep telling me how to do my job and I’ll make you look like a drag queen,” she warned with a sweet smile.

 “Did someone ask for a sewing kit?” Mary Margaret's voice pulled their attention as the cheerful Nolan woman entered the room with a bright smile.

 Elsa’s eyes widened when she saw the kit in her hands. “You have one?”

 “Well of course. What kind of Wedding Planner would I be if I didn’t have a sewing kit handy?”

 Elsa sighed in relief. “Thank you, you're a lifesaver.”

 Killian stepped away, letting Mary Margaret stand behind the bride as she stood up, allowing Mary Margaret to assess the damage as she pursed her lips together. She tinkered with the zipper a little before concluding, “Well the bad news is there’s nothing I can do about the zipper…”

 “And the good news?” Elsa asked impatiently in a panicked tone.

 “The good news is I can sew the dress together but it won’t be very easy to get out of. You’ll have to cut the thread to get the dress off.”

 Elsa sighed. “Fine, do what you need to do to so my ass isn’t hanging out of my dress when I walk down the aisle,” Elsa bit out in frustration.

 Emma took her friend's hand to soothe her. “Don’t worry, MM knows what she’s doing, just relax," she said in a calming tone as her hand soothed Elsa’s.

 Ruby snickered and everyone glanced at her, wondering what was so funny. "I’m sure getting out of the dress will be no problem for Elsa, Liam could just rip the dress off himself. He has strong hands."

 That remark earned a scowl from Elsa. "Talk about my groom's hands again and you won't have any,” she shot back.

 Ruby frowned. “At least spare one of my hands, I can still work with that.” She shot Killian a mischievous smirk. “Lord knows Killian has learned to work with what he’s got.”

 “Alright, enough of the offhanded comments,” Mary Margaret interjected, and the other women snickered.

 Killian groaned. “That's enough hand jokes, aye?” Then his frown turned into a smirk as he pulled Emma into his arms and kissed her cheek. “Besides, I don’t have to try very hard, do I, sweetheart?”

 Emma shook her head and blushed as a small laugh tumbled from her lips. “No, you don’t.”

 Ruby returned to her task of working on a grumpy Elsa’s makeup. “Just relax, Elsa, I don’t feel like losing my hands today. Besides, if I had no hands then who would do your makeup? Believe me, with your attitude, you're going to have a hard time finding anyone else.”

 Elsa closed her eyes in regret. ”I’m sorry, I’m just very tense, and normally Liam knows how to calm me down.”

 “Why don’t I get him for you, lass?” Killian offered.

 Elsa's eyes flipped open in surprise. “Yes, please,” she sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

 “No!” the other women all shouted at once.

 “It’s bad luck-”

 “Then cover his eyes with a blindfold, I don��t care, just bring him to me!” Elsa shouted, and no one bothered to argue with her. Very seldom, Elsa raised her voice. So when she did, everyone knew not to mess with her.

 “I’ll get him,” Emma offered and left the room in a flash to fetch the groom. She dashed into the men’s dressing room as Liam flashed her a questioning look. “Were you able to find Mary Margaret?”

 “Yeah, she’s going to sew Elsa into the dress.”

 Liam sighed in relief, and without any preamble, Emma undid his tie and started wrapping it around his head. He stepped back, putting his hands up in a defensive pose. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing lass?”

 “Elsa asked for you,” Emma replied without any further explanation.

 Still, he allowed her to tie the fabric around his eyes. “I always knew you were kinky.”

 Emma rolled her eyes. “You have no idea,” she mumbled.

 “What?” he asked, dragging the blindfold from his eyes.

 She laughed. “The blindfold is supposed to affect your vision, not your hearing. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

 “Well, can I at least see on the way to the bridal suite?”

 Emma sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room. “Fine, but before we reach the door, it goes back on.”

 “Such a demanding thing, aren’t you?”

 Emma scoffed at that. “Again, the pot calling the kettle black,” she teased and rushed him to the Bridal Suite.

 Emma opened the door and peeked her head through. “The groom’s here, can you turn Elsa around, please?” She pulled the blindfold over Liam’s eyes and pulled him into the room when Elsa was facing away from them. Ruby pulled the train of Elsa’s dress to the side so Mary Margaret could have room to work on the back opening of the gown without worrying about stepping on the gorgeous skirts of Elsa’s dress.

 “Liam?” Elsa called to her groom.

 “I’m here, darling,” he said in a soothing tone as Emma led him to her.

 “Can someone hold the dress together?” Mary Margaret asked.

 “I’ll do it,” Liam replied quickly and Emma guided his hands to the material, and he held the opening of her dress closed while Mary Margaret sewed. With his finger and thumb securing the fabric together, he raised his other hand to Elsa’s lace covered shoulder and offered soft endearments to her. Elsa instantly relaxed and placed her hand on top of his.

 “Everything’s going to be alright, love,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. We are going to be married by the end of the day, and none of this is going to matter.”

 The women swooned as he continued to ease Elsa’s worries with his soft, encouraging words, and in no time Mary Margaret was finished with the dress.

 “There, all done.”

 Elsa visibly sighed in relief, as though a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

 Mary Margaret moved out of the way with her supplies, and Liam wrapped his arms around his bride, planting a kiss to her shoulder blade.

 “I love you, Elsa.”

 “I love you, too.”

 It was a beautiful sight to behold as he held his bride in his arms, melting all of her fears and worries away.

 “Oh hell, let them see each other before the wedding,” Mary Margaret said. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” Emma agreed, and the bride and groom did not appear to be opposed, so Emma removed the blindfold.

 His eyes widened, a big smile taking over his lips as Elsa turned around, also flashing him a grin. She took his breath away as his eyes scanned her beautiful form. The dress was not the traditional white and instead was a pale blue, but she looked no less gorgeous in it.

 The others left to give them some privacy, and Mary Margaret went off to check on the current status of things, making sure everything was in order for the wedding.

 Killian pulled Emma in his arms once they were left alone. “Finally, we have a quiet moment,” he said with a smirk. Emma blushed and smiled as he kissed her lips, reveling in her taste. “Have I told you how exquisite you look in that dress?”

 She ran her hands down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket with devilry in her eyes. “No, but maybe you could show me later?” she offered with a lascivious grin.

 Killian arched a brow, intrigued by her proposal. “I can’t wait, love.” He pulled her to him and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, peppering soft kisses to her neck. Emma laughed, his trimmed beard tickling her skin.

 Ten minutes later, the women were back in the room when the minister knocked on the door to announce the ceremony was about to begin. The bridesmaids and maid of honor gathered around the bride, hugging her and wiping the tears from their eyes.

 Soon, Anna and Elsa’s Aunt Ingrid entered the room. She gathered her nieces into a hug before cupping the bride’s cheeks in her hands, a look of pride in her eyes. “So beautiful, just like your mother,” she commented, her eyes welling up with tears. “Are you ready to be walked down the aisle?”

 Elsa had a smile on her face and nodded without hesitation, finally ready to walk down the aisle; there was nothing that could bring her down now. And since Elsa’s parents passed away long ago, Ingrid had always been more like a parent than an aunt, so they only saw it fitting for Ingrid to walk Elsa down the aisle.

 ~*~

 “Are you ready, brother?” Killian asked an anxious Liam, patting him on the shoulder.

 Liam inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising as he adjusted his tie. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned and looked at his brother. “How do I look?”

 Killian rested his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Relax, you look fine, Liam.”

 Liam frowned. “Just fine?”

 “You look like you’re ready to get on with this shindig,” Killian clarified with a laugh. “And also handsome,” he smirked and added, “but not as devilishly handsome as me.”

 Liam rolled his eyes. “How did I know you were going to say that?” He took another deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I can’t wait for this day to be over with. Does that make me a bad groom?”

 Killian shook his head, another chuckle leaving his lips. “No, it just means you can’t wait for your’s and Elsa’s lives to begin.”

 Liam grinned from ear to ear at the idea, his blue eyes lighting up. “Exactly.” He drew Killian into a bear hug. “Thank you, brother, for being here with me every step of the way… even if I have been a royal pain in the arse.”

 Another laugh tore through Killian’s throat as the two men patted each other on the back. “I’d take my royal pain in the arse brother over no brother at all,” he murmured sincerely. “I love you, Liam”

 “I love you too, brother.”

 They broke apart, and soon it was time for them to enter the ceremony from the side and join the minister at the altar as Liam waited for his bride in heightened anticipation.

 The ceremony was an enchanting affair for an enchanting couple, beginning with the bridal party walking down the aisle in pairs. The chairs were square, each one adorned with a silver cover and royal blue ribbon which wrapped around and tied in the back with silver and light blue roses. There was an archway made of silver leaves and a mixture of light blue and royal blue flowers. Bouquets of royal blue and light blue accented with crystals, stephanotis and blue Picasso Calla Lilies were set out on the ends of each aisle in long, tall vases made from real crystal, and there was a pianist in the corner playing live music.

 Emma entered the room, carrying her bouquet as she walked down the aisle alone, following behind Anna and Kristoff with a brilliant smile that showed off those pearly white teeth as she made eye contact with Killian.

 Gods, she looked gorgeous, he thought to himself, and even more so when he winked at her, making her cheeks flush with an adorable shade of pink.

 She never tore her eyes away from him though, only smirked when she reached the other side of the altar. Leo wandered down the aisle with a ring bearer pillow holding the rings and then the flower girl, who was a second cousin of Elsa and Anna’s threw one blue petal at a time, and everyone laughed as she dumped the rest of the petals at the end of the aisle. The bridal party stood in their positions, the bridesmaids holding their bouquets. The bridal chorus cued and all the guests stood and turned to watch as Elsa entered with her Aunt Ingrid. Killian glanced at Liam, and the look on his face was priceless. Even though Liam had seen her prewedding, he was still blown away and waited for his bride with bated breath. When Liam had seen her before the wedding, Elsa was a nervous wreck, but now… now she had a giddy, carefree smile on her face as she locked eyes with her groom. The spark between them was undeniable, and Killian’s heart warmed knowing his brother had picked the most perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with. She was stunning, and looked like an exquisite ice queen.

 Elsa kissed Ingrid's cheek and joined her groom at the altar still donning a bright smile as they exchanged the vows they had written for each other, telling everyone how they had met and how they had fallen in love, not leaving a dry eye in the place by the time they said their I do’s .

 Through a watery gaze, Killian looked over at Emma, who was wiping tears from her eyes, and he could hear the sniffles of the guests throughout the room. When the rings were exchanged and the minister announced them, husband and wife, Liam kissed his bride as everyone cheered, and off the happy couple went down the aisle.

 The day was bright and clear when the bridal party made it outside for photos, and even though it was a little chilly, it was nothing to deter them from having the photos taken out on the edge of the cliff with the beautiful mountains as their backdrop as well as at the top of the lighthouse.

 The reception was held in the banquet hall with an open bar, raided by the guests before they sat at their assigned tables. The bridal party sat at the Head Table and Killian took the microphone and stood to give his speech.

 "For those of you who don’t know me, I am the more devilishly handsome and wittier Jones brother,” he quipped, and immediately received a playful eye roll from Liam. “What can I say about Liam?" he asked and then held up a finger as though an idea struck him suddenly. "Ah, yes…" He reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved a folded piece of paper, which was blank, but he pretended to read from it. “Liam Jones is a great man, he is selfless, he's kind... he’s honorable." Killian paused and looked at Liam pointing at the piece of paper. "Liam, you spelled handsome wrong," he spoke loudly, “you forgot the d,” and everyone laughed, including Liam who shook his head. Killian returned his attention to the guests. "And apparently he can't spell correctly, even when writing about himself."

 "Haha, very funny," Liam teased with a bashful grin.

 Killian cleared his throat as he tucked the paper away and looked at his brother, lifting his hand to his shoulder. "No, but seriously, Mum would have been so proud of you if she were alive today,” he said sincerely and looked toward the audience again. “Ever since we were kids, Liam has always been there for me… when we lost our mum, when our dad walked out on us, when we were in the navy together, when I lost my hand, and even when we weren't on such great terms." He looked at Emma and smiled. "There was a time, believe it or not when I did not have great taste in women, unlike my brother here." Killian gestured to Emma, "I’m clearly not speaking of my lovely girlfriend, Emma."

 Emma smiled and blushed, and Liam nodded, not willing to argue with him there.

 "He warned me about this other lass, who shall remain nameless. Tried to tell me she wasn't good enough for me, and I should've listened… but alas, I was a stubborn arse, just like my brother here, and so I got my heart stomped on by said woman. To make matters worse, I was an alcoholic at the time, so I tried to drink my sorrows away, and then one day I decided to get out of bed and pick my pride up off the floor to call Liam. After I told him what had happened, he could’ve said he’d told me so or he could've just hung up on me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me to pack my bloody things, get my arse on a plane and fly as far away from that devil of a woman as I possibly could. And I said to him, where am I gonna go? You're all I've got, brother. And that's when I knew those were the magic words to Liam's heart, because after he so lovingly told me to go to hell," Killian paused, allowing the guests to laugh before continuing, “he said, you're staying with me, whether you like it or not. So that's exactly what I did. I got on a plane and literally stumbled through my brother's door. I dropped my luggage off before stumbling over to a bar and then, later on, I stumbled into my neighbor’s apartment and one of the occupants came home,” he added with a smirk, “boy was she surprised." He winked at Emma while the audience laughed.

 “I ended up making said occupant my girlfriend, but that's a story for a different time. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, when I was at my worst," Killian held up his prosthetic hand, "and yes, it was worse than getting my hand blown off in the Navy…" he joked, prompting another spur of laughs from the crowd, "Liam offered me his home, got me a job and helped me get on my feet again. He has always taken care of me, despite how angry we were with each other or how much more handsome I’ve always been than him" he said, emphasizing the d, "and how much I beat him at arm wrestling, even with one hand."

 Liam rolled his eyes but was smiling at the same time.

 "And Elsa, well… I don't think it needs to be said, but I'll say it anyway… Elsa, I am so glad Liam found someone to put the royal pain in the butt in his place. I could not have chosen a better sister-in-law if I had picked her myself." Killian went over to Elsa and they exchanged chaste kisses on the cheek.

 "Thank you, Killian," she smiled.

 "Liam… Elsa…” Liam took the microphone, holding it up for Killian so he could raise his glass. “To a lifetime of love and happiness.”

 "Thank you, brother," Liam said appreciatively, patting his brother on the back.

 Everyone drank to the toast, and Liam passed the microphone to Emma as she stood up.

 “Hi, I am Emma, the Maid of Honor and also one of Elsa’s best friends. So, the story of how I met Elsa is pretty ordinary,” Emma began. “Elsa was looking for a place to live, I was looking for a roommate and the rest is history. But little did I know at the time, our friendship would be so much more than ordinary. I can’t tell you how many days we have known each other, but I can tell you, there was never a day when Elsa wasn't there for me. She is like the sister I never had and while we were roommates, we borrowed each other’s things without asking, we got after each other for borrowing each other’s things, I would break into her boyfriend’s apartment to borrow things from him—you know the typical sisterly stuff," she quipped before adding, "but then I didn't have to break in because I started dating his brother." She looked at Elsa and Liam who were both laughing and offered a sweet smile. "But before that, I had the advantage of witnessing these two fall in love. I remember how Elsa would come home with a great big smile on her face after running into our British neighbor who had moved in across the hall, and I remember how he came to me one day to ask for advice about how to ask Elsa out. If it were any other guy, I probably would've told Elsa to run away and never come back," Emma laughed, "but I knew Liam was different and I'm so glad I trusted my instincts. It was such a privilege to be there for them every step of the way while they slowly fell in love with one another.” Emma’s eyes welled up with tears as Liam took Elsa’s hand, and she could tell they were also on the verge of tears.

 “And now they're both moving out and getting a place of their own. But I'm not worried because there is no distance that could keep us apart." She looked over at Elsa who was smiling back at her. "You will always be like a sister to me," Emma said sincerely and turned her attention to the audience. "And if there is one thing I have learned about my good friend, Elsa… it's to never keep a secret from her because you’ll regret it. Elsa will never judge you, she is warm and kind and forgiving… and no, she did not tell me to say these things,” she joked with a small smile. “She is really perfect for Liam because for those of you who don’t know him very well, I will be the first to say it—he is an OCD control freak.” Emma paused as everyone burst into laughter. “Elsa is the only one on God’s green earth who can sweeten his bitter ways. That's why he takes his coffee black and why we never hear him complain about Elsa hogging the blankets, even though we know she does… it's because she's sweeter than any creamer and she's warmer than any blanket he would need. He's the whiskey to our glass and she's the Coke with the cherry garnish. He's the peanut butter to our bread and she's the strawberry jam. Alone they can be a bit overbearing—well Liam can be at least," she corrected with a smirk, and Liam scowled playfully, "but together they are the perfect combination. In fact, being friends with these two is like going skydiving… only instead of jumping off the plane when you’re ready, Liam throws you the parachute and pushes you off when you refuse to jump.” Everyone cracked up, and Emma continued when the laughter died down. “And Elsa is the parachute that softens the landing.”

 The audience cheered and clapped as Elsa looked up at Emma with tears in her eyes.

 “I love you both, and it is with great honor that I raise my glass to you...” Emma lifted her glass to Elsa and then to Liam, “to you...” before raising her glass higher to both of them, “to your happy beginning… and to happily ever after.” They clinked their glasses and drank, and Emma handed off the microphone to the announcer as Elsa stood to hug her.

 “Thank you, Emma, that was very sweet.”

 “It was only the truth,” Emma assured her.

 Liam took his turn and drew Emma into a hug, kissing her cheek as Killian looked over at her with pride in his eyes. “Great speech, Emma.”

 “Aye, you nailed it, love,” Killian added

 Emma smirked and kissed her boyfriend's cheek. “I know.”

 After they all had their turn at the buffet, it was time for the cake, which looked way too good to eat. It had three tiers and royal blue frosting, decorated with silver sugar pearls to make it look like it was frosted with snow. Liam and Elsa cut the cake before shoving it in each other’s faces. They had their first dance as husband and wife before everyone else joined in. The group took turns dancing with each other in pairs, and Leo got to dance with Aunt Em Em, and finally, Emma got a chance to dance with her boyfriend. He spun her around and dipped her, spurring on a gale of giggles. The reception was a blast, and soon, it was time for Elsa to toss the bouquet, which Emma caught. Killian made sure to snag the garter belt after Liam flung it in the air, and he promptly slid it up Emma’s leg.

 They sent the bride and groom off in a decorated limousine. And from there, the newly married couple would head to the airport and leave for their honeymoon in Bali. Emma and Killian went back to their hotel in Glasgow that night, and were so exhausted they went straight to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. While the rest of the group had to get back to the States, Emma and Killian spent a few more days in Scotland before they headed home. Luckily they had a different flight attendant who didn't hit on Emma’s boyfriend.

 ~*~

 The next couple of months flew by, probably because they were very eventful, with Elsa and Liam moving into their new home, Killian and Emma moving his things into her place, both couples buying new furniture and of course the holidays they all spent together. Because Elsa and Liam were still in the process of unpacking at the time, the group spent Christmas at the Nolan’s, and then Liam and Elsa hopped on a plane to visit Anna and Kristoff for New Years, while Emma and Killian spent the days leading up to it painting their bedroom, which had been Emma’s when she had lived with Elsa, but they both decided pink wasn’t the best color, just like the pink, fluffy pillows and pink furniture needed to go as well.

 They both wanted to make their new home theirs. And since they moved Emma’s bed into Elsa’s old room, and since Killian’s bed frame was so old they literally broke the bed, they were waiting to get a new frame once they were done painting their room (although they started playing around when Killian told her she missed a spot on the wall and they ended up getting more paint on themselves than they did on the wall that day and cleaned off together in the shower). They spent New Year’s Eve in Times Square watching the ball drop since Killian had never experienced anything like it before. As fun as it was, the weather was bitter cold and they spent a lot of time waiting for the ball to drop since they had to arrive very early to retain their spot, they agreed to spend the next New Year's Eve at home.

 Superbowl Sunday was at Liam and Elsa’s house, and the couple was more than happy to host their first party after they had made the desired changes and redecorated the home to their liking. Liam, of course, wasted no time to make sure the house was picture perfect. Although it was nowhere near finished, for he planned on fixing up the basement and garage and planned on building a backyard deck in the spring.

 The next day, Emma had to drag herself out of bed; she felt like crap even though she and Killian had no alcohol. She had explained to the gang she was refraining from alcohol to support Killian’s sobriety, but what she didn't tell them was the other reason she hadn’t drank…

 Emma sat on the toilet seat, waiting in anticipation as she stared at the white stick in her hand, not able to peel her eyes away, as though the pregnancy test would catch on fire if she looked away. She couldn’t believe she forgot her birth control pills while she was in Scotland. She never forgot to take them and didn’t even realize she hadn’t until after she and Killian had arrived home. She didn't think she could get pregnant from going a few days without them until she ended up vomiting yesterday morning. And it couldn't have been the food she ate the night prior when she was babysitting Leo considering he didn't get sick, although he was recovering from the flu.

 When only one line remained, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She and Killian had talked about having kids someday, but she knew they weren’t ready yet. They’d only been dating for eight months, she loved their life and didn’t want anything to change just yet. But a tiny part of her—okay maybe an even larger part of her—ached in disappointed at the fact that she was not pregnant. It turned out she'd gotten the flu from Leo.

 ~*~

 One week later

 “Okay, I can’t take it anymore, what’s the surprise?” Emma asked as Killian took her hand and led her through their apartment. “And why am I wearing my bathrobe for such a surprise?” Only moments ago, she was wearing a black dress and heels for her birthday dinner that she had carefully chosen when Killian told her he was taking her out to a nice dinner and dancing. Now she was in her bra and panties and a bathrobe per Killian’s request. She was also wearing a blindfold as he took her to his desired destination.

 “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, love.”

 Emma sighed, but allowed him to lead the way, and soon she felt the cold, tiled floor under her feet, which meant they were in the kitchen, because why would they be in the….

 Killian lifted the blindfold, and to her utter confusion, they were in their bathroom, and it was currently lit by scented candles which covered the bathroom countertop.

 Emma raised a brow as she looked at Killian, who was also in nothing but his bathrobe. “Why is this such a surprise?”

 Killian smirked at her with those smoldering blue eyes that told her he was up to no good, and he pulled at the belt of his robe, untying it. He let the cotton fabric fall to the floor and got into the tub naked. It wasn't even filled with water.

 “What are you doing?” Emma was even more perplexed

 Killian reclined back, leaning his head against the tiled wall as he waved his hand around him. “Doesn’t this look familiar to you?”

 Emma planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, thinking about his question for a moment. Killian was lying in the tub naked, which of course was how she had found him nine months ago. “This is how we met... sort of.” She crossed her arms and smirked. “Only you were jerking off if I do recall.”

 Killian nodded, blush coloring his cheeks as he gave a small smile. “I was, but that was a different time in my life. Milah had just broken up with me, and my brother and I were not on speaking terms. But you, my love, you found me in this exact spot.” His features grew serious as he continued. “I was a shattered mess... and you accepted me even when I was at my worst.”

 Emma smiled, her eyes pricking with tears. She climbed into the tub and straddled him in the cramped space. Killian sat up and wrapped his arms around her back as she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

 “You were adorable,” she laughed.

 “I was a hot mess,” he tried to correct her, his eyes clouding with regret and embarrassment as he lowered his eyes.

 “An adorable hot mess,” she added with a small smirk and lifted his face so she could gaze into those bright blue eyes she had swooned over even during their first encounter. “I can’t say I would have pictured us getting together at the time, you did throw up in my hair,” she reminded him.

 Killian blushed deeper, and his expression was still full of regret, but at least she got a small smile out of him. “Sorry, love, it wasn’t exactly my finest hour, was it?”

 Emma shook her head. “Nope.”

 Killian’s smile widened a bit. “And yet, you're still here with me.”

 She smiled brightly. “That's true, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 “Me neither.” Killian bit his bottom, and he looked nervous about something, although she didn’t know why. “In fact, I always want you here with me, love, no matter what.”

 Emma arched a brow. “Here in the bathtub?”

 Killian chuckled and shook his head. “No, in my life.” He glanced above Emma, and she lifted her head to see what he was looking at. “Could you hand me that, love?”

 Her eyebrow only seemed to rise higher toward her hairline. “You mean the loofah?”

 “Aye.”

 “Okaaay,” she answered skittishly, studying him cautiously. “But if you plan on taking a bath, you kind of need water and soap to do that.” Emma grabbed the loop of the loofah and removed it from the hook it was hanging on. Glancing at it, she noticed something silver and shiny sitting at the bottom of the loop. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the large diamond.

 “No, I plan on asking you to marry me.”

 Emma was too stunned to speak as she gaped at the ring with wide eyes.

 Killian took the loofah from her hands and removed the engagement ring, holding it up for her. “Will you marry me, Emma?”

 She gazed at him in shock, seeing the glint in his eyes as he awaited her answer.

 “Love?” His face fell slightly in concern, and she knew what her answer was, she just didn't have the strength to say it at first.

 Finally, a smile blossomed over her lips and she blurted her answer out in a choked sob. “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes, I will marry you,” she laughed, a tear streaming down her cheek.

 Killian sighed in relief, a big smile spreading across his lips. His eyes were buzzing with excitement as he drew her in for a kiss, his hand sliding through her hair as he breathed her in. “Love, you scared me for a moment,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

 “Sorry, I was just surprised.” She stuck out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you, Killian, of course, my answer is yes.” She giggled and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

 “I love you, too, Emma.”

 Pure bliss took over them as she crushed his lips with hers and they kissed with everything they felt for each other. She would never grow tired of kissing this man’s lips, she never grew tired of how he smelled or how he tasted, how he bit her bottom lip and groaned in her mouth when she slipped her tongue against his. The kiss ignited a fiery spark between them and quickly intensified, similar to how a flame reacted to gasoline. Emma removed her robe, tossing it to the floor, along with her bra and panties, and they made love in the tub, both of them finding blissful release in each others’ arms before collapsing. Killian laid on his back, resting his head on the edge of the tub and Emma laid her head on his chest, their limbs entangled as they struggled to catch their breaths.

 It took a few minutes of calming her heart rate before she was able to speak again. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, running her fingers through his chest hair and taking his naval charms in her hand to admire them as she often enjoyed doing.

 “Of course, love.”

 She looked up at him, gazing warmly into his eyes. “You still don't remember anything from that night, do you?”

 Killian took a long breath as he thought about her question. “I remember being at the bar, but that’s it.”

 Emma nodded and bit her bottom lip. “It’s really strange because I was only gone for not even ten minutes. I left my apartment and headed downstairs. It’s amazing we didn’t see each other before I found you in the tub.”

 “You were only gone for ten minutes?”

 “Yeah, I was in a tank top and a pair of grey shorts, you know the shorts I always wear when I don’t plan on going out in public.”

 Killian grinned salaciously and ran his tongue over his lips as he skimmed his fingers up her arm. "Are you kidding? How could I forget those shorts? I'm just surprised I don't at least remember you wearing them that night."

 Emma nodded. "There are many little mysteries from that night I wonder about."

 "Like what, love?

 “Like why you decided to jerk off in the tub," Emma laughed.

 Killian shrugged. "Not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say I took the elevator up to our floor and got a peek of you in those shorts as you took the stairs down to the laundry room without noticing me, and I decided to take matters into my own hand once I got home. This bathroom is where my bedroom was in Liam's apartment so I probably mistook the tub for my bed. Once I realized it was indeed not my bed, I was probably too trashed to care,” he mused with a solemn expression and a weak smile. “So, I thought of you in those lovely shorts to avoid thinking about my bleedin' heart."

 Emma nodded and smirked at the idea. "That sounds like a reasonable explanation. If only it were true."

 "I guess we'll never know."

 Emma shrugged. "Guess not."

 They were silent after that, and eventually, they moved to the bedroom and he scooped her in his arms under the covers with only the light of the moon aiding their vision.

 Her mind was frazzled with thoughts, and she decided to tell him about how she had thought she was pregnant a week ago, and how she didn’t tell him then because she didn’t want to get his hopes up before she knew for sure. Killian was shocked, but told her he’d love any baby they have. Emma agreed.

 “I have to say I was a little disappointed when I found out the test was negative,” she confessed.

 “Don’t worry, love, we’ll have babies when the time is right,” he assured with a small smile as he stroked her cheek.

 A thought occurred to her suddenly and she laughed as her face heated up with blush. "Just think, when we do have children someday we'll have to tell them the story of how we met, you know when they're old enough."

 "I suppose you're right," he chuckled.

 She looked at him to see him also blushing. "You wouldn't be too embarrassed to tell them?"

 "Perhaps a little, but, as long as I get to tell it with you, I’d be a very happy man.”

 Emma looked up at her sentimental fiance—wow, she'd have to get used to calling him that—with pride. She was so grateful she had met him, even if they did meet under less than ordinary circumstances. Now, nine months later, they lay in each other's arms, engaged to be married. Another unbidden thought occurred to Emma and she snorted out loud, clapping her hand over her mouth.

 Killian peered down at her with a raised brow. “Love? Care to share what's so funny?”

 Emma shook her head, her face beet red. “Sorry, I was thinking… we’ll have to tell our friends how you proposed bare ass naked. Liam will make fun of you, for sure.”

 Killian blushed profusely and scratched behind his ear. “Aye, I guess when I came up with such a brilliant idea, I clearly didn’t think it over thoroughly."

 Emma shook her head and laughed as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “No, you didn’t. That’s okay, I love you anyway,” she teased with a wink.

 "I love you too, Emma, and I'd take endless joking and teasing from my brother than a lifetime without you," he professed sincerely, carressing her cheek. Emma's heart fluttered at his words, and she smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "As I've told you many times before… I never wanted just part of you, I want the whole thing. So if that means we have to tell our children how we met and our friends how I proposed, so be it.”

 Her smile broadened as she remembered fondly the first time he had told her that, when he had refused to take advantage of her for one night of passion. It still melted her heart, to this day. Emma nuzzled his nose softly with hers, whispering to him gently, “You'll always have the whole thing with me... I promise." She sealed her promise with a kiss.

@acaptainswaneternity @basful-Killian @deathbycaptainswan @dragon-princess @onceuponaprincessworld @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke@wordsmith-storyweaver​ @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @andnothinghurts @slimacwrites @onceuponaswanscastle @piratesbooty63fan @idristardis @ladyciaramiggles @truefangirl97 @t-tamm-​ @wellhellotragic​ @takhisismb​ @winterbaby89​ @julesep3026​ @jennjenn615​ @swanjonescaptain​ @cynmoon​ @mayquita​ @kday426​ @jennjenn615​ @shady-swan-jones​ @teamhook​ @andiirivera​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @hooked2kill @truefangirl97​ @its-about-bloody-time-cs​ @fleurreads​ @roterteufel11​ @hey-it-is-jess​ @hookslovelyswan​ @coliferoncer @m98h @hungrywhovianpotterheadfrom221b​ @all3ofthatcrap​ @kgchambe @olliemarch​ @dmitriy30 @fhel09-blog @missclois86 @greys-shepherdland @animatedshorts​ @pinkbonesforeverblog​ @buckybarnex​ @captainswan-shipper88​ @iminwinnipegthatsincanada @killylovesemma​ @myideaaofperfect @julieta-tas​ @roterteufel11​ @rere105 @bethacaciakay​ @unmotivated-trashcan @aeinhorn12​ @wanderlust1990​ @121101chara​ @swanderful1​ @thesavior-and-thepirate​ @densi-captainswan @myprincess-myemma-mypirate​ @lostprincessofatlantica​ @troiansbeautynz @trishnelle84​ @micharah​ @captainvintage-and-cupcakes

[nextcassie]

Your Scent 3

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for the shit storm that was your junior year of college. Discovering you were an omega was only the first discovery in a long line of complicated ones. Thank goodness Min Yoongi was there to help.A story about college and discovering what you like and don’t like in both romantic relationships and friendships.

Abo Au - University AU

Pairing: Main-Min Yoongi/Reader ; OT7/Reader

Chapter words: 5128

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Heats and Ruts

 Heats happen monthly for omegas and betas. There are quarter heats, half heats, and full heats. Quarter heats happen every other month and are generally last for only 12-24 hours. Half heats happen four times a year and last for about 2-3 days. Full heats also happen four times a year and can last anywhere from 4-7days. The intensity of all heats varies from person to person. The general cycle of heats is full heat-quarter heat-half heat-quarter heat, then this cycle repeats. Most choose to spend these heats with a partner because having someone else there helps with the intensity.

 Ruts work the same way except alpha males (and some high dominance Beta males) experience knotting. I think everyone knows what that is a bulge forming toward the base of the penis that locks inside a female to ensure fertilization. Alpha females experience clotting which is a burst of fertile liquid during this time and the only time that a female can get another female pregnant.

 If you have any questions please ask!

 Warnings: Voyeurism, thigh riding, sex, and just a lot of kinky stuff

OO00OO 

You stared curiously at your first assignment for your music composition class. Honestly it had been about two weeks into the semester and you were seriously doubting your capability to comprehend the course. Music was hard enough to read, but the fact that you had been matching Korean characters to the music had made it even more difficult. However, to your surprise you had managed to receive full marks and a nice work message at the top of your assignment from your professor.

 The girl next to you who had sneered openly at you as she glanced at your higher grade. After sitting next to her and her friend for the past week you had discovered the girl was actually a music composition major. She didn’t seem to take to kindly to the outsiders present in the class. She especially seemed to hate you, but it was easy to ignore her if you tried.

 You gathered your stuff as you made your way out of the classroom. You were meeting Jimin for lunch. Normally, you ate lunch with Mark and Jackson, but Jimin had been bugging you to go get lunch with him. He had complained that his dance major friends were starting to believe he was making you up. That’s also why you had to meet him in the dance studio.

 Thankfully, because you had just gone to a music composition class you didn’t have to travel very far in order to meet him because all the fine arts buildings were in the same general area.

 It took you a few minutes to walk to the building and once you got there you were surprised at how large the building was. The music department was much smaller. You knew that the most popular fine arts major at your university was theater and the second was dance. You just thought that they weren’t really popular, but you guessed you had been wrong.

 The halls had a few students loitering around and the practice studios all seemed to have people in them. You checked your text from Jimin seeing that you needed to find studio 4B.

 “<em>Can I help you?</em>” The voice was slightly unsure, but the English was clear.

 You turned to see a tall and muscular alpha. He had dark chocolate hair and could have easily been mistaken for being older if the roundness of his big eyes didn’t give him a rather youthful appearance. You were relatively positive he was younger than you.

 “Hello, I’m looking for studio 4B. I came to get lunch with a friend,” you said.

 The boy’s face broke out into a satisfied smile at you speaking Korean.

 “Oh! I can help you find it,” he chirped. “I’m Jeon Jungkook by the way. Alpha…” He had hesitated to clarify his sub-gender and you weren’t going to question it. Honestly, you still weren’t too aware of Korean greeting customs. It seemed to change every time you met someone new.

 “(l/n) (y/n), Omega,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you Jungkook.”

 He beamed at your response.

 “Wait are you looking for Jimin?” he asked.

 “Yeah, I am,” you said.

 “Really? We all thought that he was making you up.” Jungkook let out a laugh before stopping and opening a door. “After you.”

 Music was playing and you watched as Jimin and his partner seemed to effortlessly glide across the floor. Jungkook quietly shut the door behind the two of you as you watched them dance until the end of the song.

 “I think that was good enough for now,” the other guy said to Jimin.

 “Yeah, I’ve got lunch plans,” Jimin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

 “Yeah, sounds good.”

 “Jimin, (y/n) is here!” Jungkook called. Jimin turned and glared at Jungkook.

 “That’s Jimin-hyung and (y/n)-noona to you,” he grumbled. “Ignore this brat.”

 “It’s fine, he helped me find you. Do you need to shower and cool down before we go eat?” you asked.

 “Nah, I have a rehearsal later today again. I just need to make sure to drink water at lunch,” Jimin said. He pulled a sweatshirt on and grabbed his shoes before walking over to you.

 “You’re going out to eat? Can I come with you?” Jungkook asked.

 “No,” Jimin growled. He sat down and began to put on his shoes. “Why are you even here? You’re not even a dance major.”

 “I still have club activities that revolve around dance,” Jungkook said, rolling his eyes. “Why can’t I come?”

 “Because I said so,” Jimin said. “We’re having some omega talk time.”

 “The two of you live together can’t you do that later?” he asked.

 You watched as the two of them went back and forth like siblings until Jungkook just huffed at Jimin and agreed to let the two of you go.

 “You both seem close,” you said as the two of you began to walk to the cafeteria.

 “We grew up in the same area and he’s always been a brat,” Jimin grumbled.

 “He seems like a good kid though.” Jimin let out a huff of a laugh at that.

 “You know Jungkook was totally trying to get into your pants, right?” Jimin asked.

 “No, I didn’t realize,” you said. “He just seemed like he wanted to help me.”

 “He might have, but he also wanted to fuck you into the mattress. Don’t let the cute face fool you he is an absolute beast in bed. Don’t even get me started.”

 “Speaking from experience I take it?” You gave him a smile and Jimin rolled his eyes.

 “Before he knew he was hot shit I was his heat partner because he was too afraid to mess it up with anyone else. Kid is incredibly high on the dominance spectrum. The two of you might be a good match actually, seeing as you’re so low on it.”

 “Hey I don’t know for sure if I’m low on it or not,” you protested. Jimin shot you a look.

 “You know… Jin is hosting another party tomorrow,” Jimin said. He paused for a minute. “If you want to come I’m sure it’s ok. Last time you couldn’t go because you had plans with Mark and Jackson because Saturdays are your movie nights. Tomorrow is Friday, so you don’t have any obligations right.”

 “Yeah, no obligations but… Oh gosh how do I say this,” you trailed off. “You’re the first Korean guy I’ve ever actually been with in any sense.”

 “Wait haven’t you lived here for like two years?” Jimin asked surprised.

 “Yeah, but I’m sorry Koreans have a tendency to not take foreigners all that seriously and like I said before, I was never really looking.”

 “Ah the whole ride the foreign horse thing.” Jimin nodded his head at that. “I don’t think you have to worry about that with this group of people though if I’m being honest. Everyone is pretty chill and pretty open about relationships and what not. I mean they would have to be because the Jin and Namjoon searching for a third mate isn’t exactly normal by Korean standards. A couple people there have also dated foreigners seriously before. I’d beat them up if they played you.”

 “Thanks, Jimin,” you said. “Can you describe what I would have to do at this party?”

 “Well, the game varies from party to party.” Jimin paused for a moment. “We do all strip down to our underwear though, so you might want to wear something nice. You also have to be ok with being watched…”

 “Like how much are people watching?”

 “Well, nothing goes beyond the realms of foreplay,” Jimin said. “So, no oral or actual sex. However, people do sometimes get off on other actions. Sometimes people are fingered until they climax. Honestly, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t masturbated while watching others. It kind of just goes where it goes. Sometimes people pair off for the night and other times they just go home. It just depends on the night.”

 You thought a bit about it.

 “Yoongi will be there.” Jimin smirked at you and you just scoff.

 “I was going to say yes before you said he was going to be there.”

 “Sure, you were cupcake. Sure, you were.”

 OO00OO

 “Namjoon, stop what you’re doing!”

 Jin burst into the room, causing Namjoon to fall off the stool he had been sitting on. Yoongi just let out a sigh. This had happened way more often than it should have.

 “I can’t,” Namjoon said, getting off the ground. “We need to finish this this assignment before the party tonight. You know when I signed up to be in grad school, I never imagined that the music program would have harsher deadlines than he Biology program.”

 “Jin I think you managed to bond with an idiot,” Yoongi said.

 “I think his issue is that he’s too smart actually,” Jin muttered. “Anyway, (y/n) is coming to the party. Jimin just texted me. You need to get ready to meet her!”

 “You realize the party is a good four hours away right?” Namjoon said. “I don’t think—”

 “I have to get cooking and you have to get ready!”

 Jin suddenly left the room, leaving Yoongi and Namjoon to stare at each other.

 “He’s pretty serious about this one,” Namjoon said.

 “I can tell,” Yoongi replied.

 “You like her, don’t you?” Namjoon said. Yoongi raised a brow at him. “You were able to identify her by a description and not a name, so I just kind of knew.”

 “I wouldn’t say I like her, but I’ll admit that I’m aware that she exists,” Yoongi responded. Namjoon hummed in response.

 “Knowing that she exists is kind of a big deal when it’s you. You’re a high dominance alpha who doesn’t take on heat partners. It means something when you are aware that someone exists.”

 “I guess so… Jin is so excited though that I would feel a little bad,” Yoongi said.

 “Jin and I will always have each other, so he would get over it. Trust me on this. We are looking, but if she’s not interested in us then we move on. Polyamory isn’t for everyone.”

 “I don’t think the girl is really very sure what she likes, so I wouldn’t count yourself out yet.”

 “So you wouldn’t feel angry if Jin and I approached her tonight?”

 Yoongi paused for a moment. He actually didn’t have an answer to that. He felt protective and somewhat possessive of you for almost no reason. Well, he did have a reason, but he wasn’t sure if it was good enough. He had seen you at one of your most vulnerable moments and you had trusted him to help you. He did so successfully and it was something he had been taking pride in.

 “You took a long time so you would at least be slightly annoyed,” Namjoon stated. He let out a sigh. “I think you should go for it hyung. She seems like a great girl.”

 “Jin would be so pissed at you right now,” Yoongi replied. “Maybe I will, if she’s interested. It’s been a while honestly.”

 “How long?”

 “Six months.”

“I swear I can barely go six hours.”

 “Not everyone is a perv like you and I really didn’t want to know that.”

 “I wasn’t like that before I met Jin though. When we met it was like we just clicked physically and mentally. When I see him I just can’t help, but want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. Oh and scent and mark him. We were just meant for each other.”

 “You are disgustingly cheesy.”

 “NAMJOON! Get your ass ready!” Jin yelled from the other room.

 Namjoon let out a sigh and shot Yoongi an apologetic smile.

 It looked like Yoongi was going to be on his own for this project.

 OO00OO

 Jin and Namjoon’s apartment was really nice for being in the middle of Seoul. It wasn’t penthouse big, but it was definitely bigger than the normal apartments in Seoul. You guessed that it had something to do with the fact that Jin seemed to own a mildly successful restaurant and you thought Jimin had mentioned something about Namjoon living off research grants and commissioned songs.

 “You can just go ahead and make yourself at home for a bit (y/n),” Jin said. “We’re still waiting on a few people and there are some snacks in the living room.”

 Jimin motioned for you to follow him into the living room. In the living room were people just standing around in their underwear. You were slightly surprised. Jimin had warned you about it, but you didn’t think people would be almost naked right from the start.

 “Do you want to leave?” Jimin asked. “It’s okay if you want to.”

 “No, I just didn’t expect to have to take my clothes off so soon. I’m still up for it. Where should I do it?”

 “You can just peel them off right here.”

 As you took your clothes off it was hard for you not to compare yourself to the other females in the room. With such short notice and a small budget for the month, you didn’t really have the chance to go buy lingerie or anything. Most of the girls were wearing bold colors with lacy details. You had decided to wear a blain white bra and matching lace panties, but they were noticeably less extravagant. You almost wanted to slip your clothes back on to see if you could get away with it.

 “Noona! Jimin!” a voice called out. Approaching you with a bright smile on his face was Jungkook. A Jungkook that was dressed in black boxers. He was shirtless and for a kid the boy was well sculpted. It was also the first time you noticed the rich scent of chocolate that seemed radiate from him.

 “That’s hyung to you,” Jimin growled.

 “Whatever. I’m so happy you could make it tonight,” he said, looking at you.

 “Yeah, I’m happy to be here…”

 You looked around and realized that you didn’t really know a lot of people in the room. You looked at four girls who were all laughing and eating snacks that Jin had probably made. You wished Dahyun and Mina had come with you.

 Into the room walked Min Yoongi and another smiling male. You wish you could stop yourself from staring, but you couldn’t. There was just something about him in his plain blue boxers that attracted your eyes.

 “Okay, now that everyone is here we’re going to start,” Jin said, coming into the room. “Namjoon! Get in here!”

 A tall alpha male walked into the room. He was in black briefs and had well styled hair. There was an easy-going vibe about him.

 “Okay let’s all sit down and get this party started,” Jin said. “So tonight’s game is rather simple. We’re just playing draw a task and a name and going around in a circle. Everyone will write their names down and an activity. Once it’s your turn you just draw an activity and a name and complete it. As always you can back out at any time if you feel uncomfortable. Yes Hwasa.”

 “Can we do a quick introduction of people here?” you saw her glance at you.

 “Sure. I’m Jin omega and that’s Namjoon alpha.” He pointed to the alpha who had sat next to him. So that was Jin’s mate and oddly enough they seemed to suit each other.

 “Taehyung,” the smiley guy who had come in with Yoongi said. “Beta.”

 “Yoongi, Alpha.” His voice sounded, so relaxed that it made you more nervous.

 “Moonbyul, beta.” A girl with dark hair with a purple tint

 “Wheein, beta.”

 “Jimin Omega.”

 “(y/n) omega…” You could curse yourself for your voice no longer sounding very confident.

 “Solar omega,” said the girl next to you. She sent you a welcoming smile and you almost sighed in relief.

 “Hwasa alpha.”

“Yugyeom alpha,” a boy said. He looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t remember where you had seen him.

 “Jungkook, alpha.” Jungkook was eagerly grinning, like he couldn’t wait to get started.

 “BamBam omega.” The boy was young and you knew instantly from looking at him that he was another foreigner. You breathed a sigh of relief that you weren’t the only one.

 “Okay now I’m going to pass out the paper and you can all go ahead and write down everything. Keep in mind I only have whip cream left because Taehyung literally drank all the chocolate syrup the last time he was over.”

 “Hey I was thirsty!” Taehyung protested.

 Everyone laughed a bit, but drinking chocolate syrup didn’t sound very good to you.

 “So I’m going to let Jungkook start because he was whining about it earlier. We’ll just go around in a circle.”

 Jungkook eagerly dug into both bowls, pulling out a name and an action.

 “Lick whip cream from (y/n)’s underwear to her neck,” he said. His eyes were gleaming with excitement, but you barely noticed.

 The only thing you were thinking about was of course it would be you. Of course, you had to go first. Why on earth would the universe give you a break?

 “Here (y/n),” Jin said, drawing your attention. He put out his hand and you took it.

 Jin led you to the center of the circle and helped you lay down. You noticed the can of whip cream in his hand and stared nervously at it.

 “Just relax and let us know if you need to stop,” Jin instructed. He shook the can and shook it before placing right above the line of your underwear. He squirted a bit of it and you flinched from the cool feeling of the cream against your skin. “You okay baby?”

 You shivered a bit from the sudden nicknamed and glanced at Jin’s eyes. They were noticeably darker than you remembered and he looked as if he was ready to devour you whole if you would let him. There was something incredibly arousing about it. He trailed the stream of cream up your stomach and between your breasts to the right side of your neck, ending it there.

 “Hyung, I want to start,” Jungkook said.

 Jin smiled at you before pulling away.

 “She’s all yours Jungkookie.”

 The nickname was cute, but when you looked at Jungkook all traces of the cute boy were gone and replaced by an attractive man. His round eyes narrowed as he was drinking in the sight of your body laid out before him. He smirked at you.

 “Excuse me, noona,” Jungkook said, before his hands grasped your thighs and parted them. He positioned himself, so that he was laying on his stomach right in front of your parted legs, never once breaking eye contact.

 You felt anticipation curl in your stomach as one of his hands stroked your thighs. His hands were powerful and you could feel a buzzing sensation in your mind as the scent of chocolate got stronger. Oh, he was definitely high on the dominance spectrum, the way he was looking at you was enough to make you want to arch your back in desperation and push closer to him.

 The two of you kept eye contact as his tongue slowly came out and licked the first bit of cream off your body. A whimper escaped you as his lips placed a tiny kiss on the same place.

 You took a chance to glance around the room and saw that everyone’s eyes were intently watching the two of you. You sent Jimin a quick scowl at the shit eating grin on his face. His look telling you a silent told-you-so.

 You let out a surprised moan when Jungkook dug his fingers into the side of your thighs, a warning to pay attention to him. As he began to lick the cream up, kissing his way to the center of your stomach, you found yourself biting your lip to keep the little noises you were making in. God, did it feel good though.

 When he moved again he adjusted his position over you and you felt him press into your body. It made you happy that you clearly weren’t the only one enjoying this because there was no doubt in your mind what was pressing against you at the moment.

 Jungkook didn’t give you time to ponder though as he licked his way up to the center of your breasts, hands naturally coming up to knead them before making his way slowly to your neck. When he got there, he continued to kiss at it and the sensitivity had you digging your fingers into the ground as you tilted your head to the side to offer more of your neck to him.

 “I think he’s got all the cream of you now (y/n).” You opened your eyes to see Jimin with the same shit eating glare on his face and you glared at him for deciding now was the time for him to talk.

 Jungkook moved off you, glancing at you one more time before licking his lips at you. You moved to your seat next to Jimin, who just nudged you with his arm. You rolled your eyes.

 You were completely oblivious to the hungry stare some of the others in the room were giving you. Especially, one Min Yoongi. Oh, he had definitely enjoyed the sight of you mewling out your pleasure, he just didn’t like that it was Jungkook causing all of it. He had to dig his nails into the skin of his hands to stop himself from interfering. He was also fully aware of the knowing looks that Namjoon had been shooting him throughout the whole thing.

 You watched as the next few people took their turns. You were starting to notice that some people in the circle were touching themselves or someone else. You were tempted to, but you were just so entranced by the other’s actions in front of you that you would momentarily forget.

 “Choose two people to make out for thirty seconds,” Namjoon said. “Well, the name I drew was Jin. So Jin and…” He trailed off and you made the mistake of making eye contact with him. “(y/n). I’ll start the timer when the two of you start.”

 Jin was grinning as he made his way to the circle and you did as well.

 “Try not to faint,” he said, confidently.

 “Same to you,” you replied back, giving him a small smile.

 There was a playful gleam in his eyes and then Jin was kissing you. He started out with a feather light touch of his soft lips to yours before pressing more firmly, moving his lips slightly. His hand came to the back of your neck guiding you to tilt your head as he bit softly on your lower lip.

 With a gasp, you parted your lips and Jin’s tongue skillfully invaded your mouth. You felt yourself melt into the kiss as the other took complete control, mapping out your mouth as he saw fit. You tried to keep up, but were finding it hard with the sheer force the other was using. You brought your hands to his broad shoulders and gripped onto the bare skin as Jin began to completely over power you making your head tilt back as he continued.

 “Seokjin times up,” Namjoon’s deep voice said, stirring the both of you for a moment.

 Jin growled a little bit, but he pulled away from you. The two of you returned to your seats and this time there was a deep arousal curled in your gut.

 If you thought about it that was the first real kiss you had shared with anyone and you were oh so willing to repeat the action again with someone. You looked at Jimin.

 “Screw Jackson and Mark, you’re my new best friend,” you said. Jimin grinned at you.

 “Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “However, I am dying for some action.”

 “Get someone off with your hands or have someone get you off with their hands,” Taehyung read. He shot Jimin a grin. “I pulled your name Jiminnie. Why don’t we put your stubby little fingers to work?”

 Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as the two of them moved to the center of the circle.

 “Shut the fuck up you idiot,” Jimin said.

 Without hesitation Jimin straddled Taehyung and his hand instantly going to draw circles on Taehyung’s already apparent bulge.

 Mid way through Jimin had taken Taehyung’s length out of his boxer briefs and was stroking it. You had never seen a real penis before and found yourself captivated at the sight of Jimin’s hands stroking up and down the slicked length.

 You could feel yourself getting wetter and you tried to resist the urge to touch yourself. Taehyung certainly wasn’t helping you with the pornstar moans he was letting out. The guy was incredibly vocal about everything, letting Jimin know when something felt good or telling him faster.

 “Jimin, I’m coming,” Taehyung gasped out.

 Your eyes were transfixed on Taehyung as his hips jutted into Jimin’s hands as he came in hot white spurts, moaning and groaning the entire time. One look at his blissed-out face and you were suddenly jealous that Taehyung had gotten off.

 When Jimin came back he glanced at you and smirked.

 “That turn you on?” he asked teasingly.

 “Obviously,” you scoffed. Jimin just smirked.

 “Do you need a helping hand?”

 “Depending on what happens next, yes.”

 Jimin just chuckled at you and moved his hand to your thigh as if getting ready to help you if you needed it. He had picked up on that you felt a little awkward getting yourself off and he was more than willing to help if you returned the favor.

 OO00OO

 Of course, he would. Of course, Yoongi would draw the one card everyone else and himself wanted. It was just topped off by the fact that he had drawn the card that allowed him to choose the person he got to do the task with.

 “Get someone off on your thigh, your choice of person,” Yoongi said.

 His eyes were scoping out the rest of the people. He could see that some were completely uninterested, but there were a few who were looking at him with hunger. He glanced at you to see Jimin’s hand on your thigh and eyes filled with something he would describe as a cross between hopefulness and desire.

 Oh, how he wanted to give you what you were hoping on. By the slight glimmer of sweat and the smell of peppermint he could pick out from the mixing scents he knew you were beyond aroused.

 “Jin get me a chair,” Yoongi stated.

 The older male did as asked and brought a chair from the kitchen giving Yoongi a knowing smirk. Jin knew that Yoongi had gotten serious.

 Yoongi sat down in the chair and glanced around the circle one more time. He decided that he really shouldn’t fight fate on this one.

 “(y/n), come here,” he said.

 He watched as you got up and gave Jimin a nervous glance. The other had an encouraging smile on his face, urging you to step forward.

 “Is this okay with you?” Yoongi asked quietly. “If it’s not I can ask someone else to do it.”

 “It’s okay, but I don’t really know what to do,” you said. Your eyes suddenly looking at the ground like it was the most interesting thing on earth.

 “That’s okay,” Yoongi said.

 He brought his hand and gently intertwined it with yours. He tugged it gently and you followed without resistance. He guided you so that you had one leg on either side of his right thigh. His hand left yours and he moved both of his hand to be on your hips. He felt your body tense at the action.

 “Let me know if you need to stop,” Yoongi instructed.

 You let out a huff of a laugh before placing more of your weight onto him, causing his grip to tighten on your hips. Anticipation was curling in your gut as his hands began to guide you to move on his leg.

 Admittedly riding a guy’s thigh had sounded like it wouldn’t have felt that good, but it was the way that Yoongi guided you that had you instantly letting out a whimper. He had made you angle your hips, so that your clit had rubbed right against his thigh muscle.

 His pace was slow and soft at first, but soon he was forcing you onto his thigh harder and speeding up your hips.

 “Move with me,” he purred. The scent of fresh pine filled your senses and you moaned in response.

 You felt the need to instantly do as he said. Your hips now hesitantly trying to follow the motions of his hands.

 “That’s a good girl,” he praised. You let out a moan at that. Those words egging you on to try harder. To grind against his thigh harder.

 You bit your lip to hold back the sounds you were making every time your center dragged back dragged back and forth against his thigh.

 “Is it good?” he asked. You nodded your head, moving it to rest on his shoulder. “Use your words. Is it good?”

 “Yes,” you gasped out. You felt him give a squeeze to your hips in reassurance.

 Yoongi moved his boxers up his leg, so now your center was only coming into contact with his bare skin. He clenched and unclenched his muscles letting you experience the extra rubbing sensation.

 You opened your eyes and saw that Jin now had a hand solidly wrapped around Namjoon’s cock as Namjoon watched the two of you. You let out a moan at the sight.

 You felt more than heard Yoongi chuckle at that.

 “Focus on us, not anyone else.” Yoongi placed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, so close to your scent gland, but not nearly close enough to provide you any relief. “Do you want to come?”

 “Yes,” you rasped out. At the moment, you couldn’t even recognize your own voice.

 “Don’t hold anything back from me. I want to hear every sound you make.”

 You didn’t have any time to reply. Yoongi began to bounce his thigh and roughly drag you against him.

 “You’re soaking my thigh.”

 You responded to him with a moan and closing your eyes as your hands moved to grip tightly on his back. He was absolutely right you had soaked through your underwear which only helped move you faster on his thigh. He was so good at this your clit managing to be caught in every motion that you couldn’t take it anymore.

 Yoongi said something else, but you were far too gone to understand Korean at this point in time. You buried your face into his neck inhaling his scent and then you let go.

 Your body shivered as an incredible shuddered wracked your whole body and your juices spilled onto Yoongi’s thigh more. You were breathing heavily as Yoongi kept moving your hips, so that you could ride out your high.

 As he slowed down he planted light kisses on your neck and shoulder. He placed a careful one on your jaw before pulling away.

 “Are you okay?”

 “Never better,” you responded. You were still breathing hard at his actions and not quite ready to let go of him. He seemed to sense that and waited for you to catch your breath.

 “Not to be the party pooper or anything,” Hwasa started. “But the girls and I are going to head out.”

 “Yeah it is about time we wrapped this party up,” Jin agreed.

 You forced yourself to stand at their words and went back over to Jimin who was now grinning at you.

 “Ready to admit I’m always right?” he asked.

 “Shut it.”

 Jimin was probably right about you having a thing for Min Yoongi, but you weren’t ready to admit that to him yet.

 You and Yoongi both went home without partners that night, but with a silent vow that wouldn’t be the case next time. 

[aramis-dagaz-imaginarium]

A loud metallic clanking echoed throughout the ship, the second time Farrin heard in as many hours.  The first time was when the pirates had boarded her aether liner, but she had no idea who was responsible this time around.  Judging by the reaction on the pirates keeping her and the rest of the passengers hostage in the ship’s lounge, they had no idea either.

A blur of motion from the lounge’s hatch and a soft tink on the ground caught her senses, and she immediately realized what was about to happen.  She turned away from the hatch, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and pressing her hands to her ears.

BLAM!

Though it was only an explosion of light and noise, Farrin could feel the blast of sound hit her like a punch to her back, leaving her feeling a little disoriented.  She was still in much better shape than the rest of the pirates and hostages, who were reeling from the sudden assault on their senses, and saw three figures—Firarsians, judging by their tails—rush into the room.

They were all dressed in dark uniforms and wore masks resembling dragon skulls with red pinpoints of light in their black eyes.  The first one in wielded a sword and swiftly rushed the closest pirate, cutting him down before he even knew what was going on.  The second had much longer hair and carried a caster pistol in one hand, pausing only to level it at the pirate near the opposite wall and fire off two quick shots.  The third was different from the other two, being a few inches shorter and wearing a short hooded cape.  They carried no weapons, but the speed with which they downed a pirate with their fists told Farrin that they didn’t need any.

Her assessment of the situation was interrupted when pirate next to her, apparently not as fazed as his fellows, hauled her to her feet and held her in front of him, intent on using her as a shield.  Farrin reacted instantly, jabbing her elbow into his abdomen and following up by slamming the back of her head into his face.  She was about to throw her captor to the ground when she saw the shortest of the three reach out, grab at the air, and then yank back hard.  Suddenly Farrin felt herself…falling.  Not towards the ground, but towards the masked assailant.

“Glade!  Catch!” they cried out, stepping aside to let Farrin fly past and deliver a powerful strike against the pirate also hurtling towards them.  The masked warrior with the sword caught her with their free arm, slowing her velocity and directing her towards the long-haired pistoleer.

“Tyll, over to you!” they called as they let go.  The pistoleer caught her easily, arresting her movement by letting her fall into a dip, as though they were dancing and not in the middle of vicious battle against aether pirates.  The brow of their mask raised in surprise as they took note of her elven features.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” they said, looking up to fire off a couple of shots before setting her down gently on the floor.  “Please stay down, this should be over soon.”

A quick look confirmed that the masked fighters did indeed have the upper hand and were about to subdue the few remaining pirates, who had recovered enough to put up a panicked resistance.  Farrin caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see two more pirates rush out of one of the state rooms they had been looting towards the unprotected backs of the unarmed fighter and the swordsman.

Farrin pointed at the farthest pirate and shouted an arcane phrase.  Three bolts of magical energy shot out from her finger and streaked towards him, slamming into his side with enough force to knock him off his feet.  She then scooped up a blade from one of the fallen pirates and leapt into a run towards the remaining attacker, trying not to get her legs tangled in the dress of her servant’s uniform.  She brought up her weapon just in time to block the pirate’s slash at the swordsman’s back.  With practiced ease, she swung her blade around her opponent’s and struck him in the head with the sharpened false edge, drawing blood and causing him to stagger back reflexively.  By this point, the masked swordsman realized what was going on and spun around, plunging the tip of their sword into the pirate and letting him slide off to the ground.  The swordsman glanced over at her, their animated skull mask grinning as they gave her a quick salute with their sword.

There was a few heartbeats as stillness descended on the room, broken only by the groans and cries of the still partially blinded and deafened hostages.  “This room is clear!” the unarmed fighter called out in a somewhat high-pitched and nasally voice.  “To the bridge!”

As quickly as they entered, the three masked warriors filed out.  The pistoleer paused at the door to look at Farrin, who was still holding the sword she liberated.  “Ma’am, if you could please watch over them and keep them calm?  Thank you,” he said and then closed the hatch shut.

Farrin glanced around at the ruined lounge, now full of dead and dying pirates and bewildered and horrified but otherwise unharmed passengers.  What a mess…

What a mess.  Keras reached her hands under her mask and rubbed wearily at her face.  Captain Azumvig of the soon to be defunct Strick Skull Gang was proving to be most difficult in explaining himself, and he seemed to have hired a mage to secure his ship’s data node since the last time she crossed paths with him.  It will take days to decrypt it, and no doubt whomever is pulling his strings will notice his absence.  She can only hope that the good captain was just his usual contrarian self and not on the orders of someone else, in which case they were undoubtedly playing right into their hands.

She groaned in frustration.  She hated being so paranoid, but it kept them alive this long, so she wasn’t about to stop heeding its counsel.

“Hey Ker—I mean, Archon,” she heard Byssina say from the bridge’s hatch, “one of the passengers wishes to speak with you.”

Keras groaned again.  “No doubt to threaten to sue me for not saving them the moment the pirates attacked or because their finest suit got a bit rumpled,” she muttered.  She took a few calming breaths, straightened her mask, and adjusted her position in the captain’s chair into what she hoped was an imperious pose.  As much as she appreciated the simple menace of a chair made from thick, tarnished plates of metal with large, spiked rivets, the fact remained that Captain Azumvig was much taller than her and thus made her short stature appear all the smaller.  Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, though having the bound and gagged form of Captain Azumvig act as a makeshift footstool more than made up for that.  Having your foes literally beneath your feet helped others take you seriously.

“Send them in,” Keras stated in as imperious a tone as she could muster.

Byssina escorted an elven woman dressed in a servant’s uniform onto the bridge.  The elf stopped a respectful distance away and bowed with practiced grace.

“Ah, the elven woman from the lounge,” Tyllium said from Keras’s left.  “I was hoping we would be able to see you again.”

“Indeed,” Keras commented and turned her attention back to her supplicant.  “Now then, who are you and what do you want of me?”

“My name is Farrin, Archon,” she replied in a professional tone.  “I wish to offer you my services as thanks for rescuing me.”

The bridge was silent for a moment save for the noisy ventilation fans.  Keras hadn’t expected anyone to really thank her for rescuing them from pirates, let alone asking to join her crew.  “Well,” she started, but struggled to find further words for a few heartbeats.  “What special skills do you have to offer?”

“I can offer many services as a domestic servant and personal valet,” Farrin answered easily, no doubt reciting a well-rehearsed speech.  “I can cook, clean, manage other household employees, and care for children of any age, though I will admit that tutoring is not my strong suit.”

“All that in addition to being skilled with both sword and spell,” Glade said.

“A maid and spellsword,” Keras remarked, “a rather unusual combination of skills.”

Glade laughed.  “Like you have any room to talk,” she teased.

Keras couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “Quiet, Archon talking,” she muttered, though she had to admit she had a point.

“It is true, Archon,” Farrin continued.  “I was a mercenary and adventurer for a little over 30 years, but then the market dried up and I sought employment in other fields.”

“Really now?  30 years is a respectable career length for a merc.”  Keras rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “Of course, this does raise the question why you want to work for us.  And don’t give me that ‘repayment for the rescue’ shtick, most serons would have second thoughts about joining up with a group that looks like us.  What are your real reasons?”

“Quite simple, Archon,” Farrin replied.  “First, you attacked only the pirates and went out of your way to prevent civilian casualties.  Even if rescuing us was not your objective, it shows that you have a some kind of moral code.  Second, you did not even bother to ask for a reward or even attempt to rob the passengers in turn, further demonstrating that you are honorable.  Third, the way you four treat each other shows that you are not a mere group of thugs in a coercive hierarchy.”  A smirk appeared on her face.  “If I may be so honest, Archon, after working as an adventurer and then a domestic servant for as long as I have, I’ve learned how to read people, and I’ve worked for far more unpleasant serons than a bunch of pirate hunters wearing masks, many of whom are otherwise considered ‘respectable’.  Besides, I haven’t been paid yet for this voyage and feel no compunction jumping ship for a group who seem like they would be more interesting or pleasant to work for.”

“No doubt eager to see some proper action after so long, I’ll wager,” Glade said.

“I believe that goes without saying,” Farrin replied.

“Well, I’m sold.”

“As am I,” Tyllium added.

“She has my vote, too,” Byssina concurred.

Keras glanced at her compatriots, then back at Farrin.  Finally, she sighed, feeling too tired to argue.  “Okay, welcome aboard,” she said.  “Of course, should you betray us, blah blah blah, we’ll kill you and so on.  Just because we’re honorable doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to deal with you accordingly.”

“Understood, Archon, and thank you,” Farrin said, bowing again.

“And enough with the bowing and subservient crap, you’re starting to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Farrin grinned.  “Suits me just fine, boss.”

Keras waved her away.  “Byss, help her get her things.  I want to detach from this rust bucket as soon as possible.”

“Right away, Archon!” Byssina said and saluted cheerfully.  As the two of them left the bridge, Byssina leaned over to Farrin.  “What size breastplate do you wear, by chance?”

“I prefer brigandine, myself.  Much more my style,” Farrin replied.

Even from beneath her mask, Byssina’s expression visibly lit up.  “Oh, we’re going to get along splendidly.”

Keras sighed and rubbed her eyes underneath her mask.  “So much for our fearsome reputation,” she muttered.  She stood up, using the prone form of her prisoner as a stepping stool and eliciting a pained groan.

“Now then, Captain Azumvig,” she said, “just what kind of poetic fate shall we inflict upon you?”

((Farrin belongs to @extremely-nervess​, who generously let me include the spellsword elf maid in this drabble.  Hope I did the character justice.))

[jaredsnapshots]

Life Thru a Lens||Jaricio

Tagging: @beniciomotta​ Where: Hotel Lobby -> Cafe When: March 16, 2019 What: Jared and Benicio literally bump into each other and decide to get to know each other

Jared kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the hotel, his hair windswept from skating around town. San Francisco had surprised him with a ton of different places to explore, and he was excited to see them all. However, if someone was looking closely enough, they would see a small bashful smile, the same one he'd been wearing since he'd seen Benicio's answer his fan question. It wasn't often he was complemented, let alone like that. He was so distracted that he didn't realize that other people were walking around him. He bumped hard into someone, breaking him out of his daze. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't pay attention-" 

Benicio was heading out to lunch. He didn’t know where his friends were so figured he’d just go out and grab something quickly. He was dressed casually, his usual crop top and thick 80s style blue jeans, having showered after a dance rehearsal that morning. He was staring down at his phone though as he walked through the lobby, not paying attention until he ran right into someone. He gasped, hands moving to grab the boy’s shoulders out of instinct, blinking as he stepped back and grinned softly, “Hey, Hey no worries, gorgeous boy. I wasn’t either. So sorry, too!”

Jared had reached out and caught the other's elbows on reflex. His eyes widened slightly as he realized who it was, his face turning bright red. He laughed nervously, his smile shy as he shook his head. "It's no problem at all. You all good?"

Benicio grinned softly, his eyes warm as he looked at the boy. “Yeah, you?” He asked, rubbing his shoulder in a friendly action. “You’re Jared. The Spider-Man photographer”

Jared smiled back, nodding before ducking his head with a laugh. "Yeah-yeah I'm fine. And yes that's me. Never a nickname I thought would stick, but here we are. And you're Benicio, yeah? I pronounced it correctly, right?"

Benicio chuckled, before nodding with a happy grin, “You certainly did, sweetheart. It’s great to officially meet you.” He held out a hand then, eyes sparkling.

"Oh good, I'm horrible with names sometimes, I'm glad I got it right," he rambled, glancing down at the other's hand, grabbing it and shaking it. "It's great to officially meet you too," he said with a crooked smile. "Um, also, thanks for-for what you said, in response to that question. It's not every day someone goes outside their three for a special mention, nor every day anyone thinks I'm cute," he joked, stumbling over his words slightly, still not having let go of Benicio's hand.

Benicio’s grin softened, eyes warm as he listened to him speak, tilting his head at first in confusion before catching on and laughing happily. “Oh! You’re entirely welcome, gorgeous boy.  And surely that can’t be true? Don’t you have a doting girlfriend?”

Jared's smile fell for a moment as he saw the confusion but he sighed in relief quickly afterwards. He laughed, shaking his head. "Ah, no- no girlfriend. Between the traveling and the general lack of interest, I'm very single," he chuckled, before noticing he still had a grasp on the other's hand. He let go gently, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry," he laughed softly.

Benicio chuckled and nodded, “I feel that,” he replied, before glancing down at their hands still clasped, grinning a little as the boy finally let go. “But I can hardly imagine there’s a lack of interest, darling?”

Jared shrugged softly. "No idea. I was...typically something of a loner in high school," he admitted. "I had a small group of friends, but never really managed to get outside of that. Then, right out of high school, I couldn't stay in one place," he rambled quietly. "Who knows, maybe it's just not for me," he said, smiling tightly.

Benicio smiled just softly as he spoke, before straightening up and tilting his head, “Hey- I was literally just heading out for lunch? Are you hungry? Maybe we could continue talking over food?”

Jared smiled slightly, nodding his head. "You sure? I don't want to impose, if you were meeting anyone...?" he trailed off, his own awkward and inefficient way of asking if Benicio was seeing anyone.

“No! I was literally gonna go sit on my own because I couldn’t find anyone. I’d love the company,” he grinned softly again, hoping the boy would take him up on his offer. He was cute, and he knew making friends with photographers was always a good move if you wanted a portfolio. Not that that was the only reason he wanted to have lunch with Jared. The guy was sweet.

Jared's grin widened as he nodded again. "Then by all means, yeah, I'd love to," he said, pulling his board up and sliding it behind him through the arms of his backpack. He wasn't quite sure what it was about the other boy, but he was excited to spend time with him. Maybe it was because he was one of the more unique people of the tour, but Jared was intrigued. He was eager to find out more about him. "So, you made the post about the Castro district, right? Have you gotten a chance to check it out?"

Benicio clapped his hands together and grinned, “Yay! Fabulous. Let’s go. I was heading to this cafe place I found online, is that okay?” He started walking then, glancing back at him, “I am. And not properly yet. I think a few of us are going out tonight!”

"Yeah, that's fine," he murmured, smiling warmly as he watched the excitement pour from the other boy. He followed after him, quickening his pace briefly to fall in step with him. "Nice, it sounds like a good time. I was thinking about heading over there this afternoon. There's too many colors over there for me to not go take pictures."

“Oh, of course!” Benicio replied,  glancing at him as they walked together. “I bet you could get some amazing shots there.” It didn’t take them long to arrive at the cafe and sit down at a table, Beni ordering himself a water to drink before he started glancing over the menu. “So, how’d you end up with Cordella?”

Jared nodded in agreement, opening the door to the cafe for both of them and following Benicio inside. He ordered the same as he looked at the other boy. "Sheer luck, honestly. I'd been doing some freelance for a magazine, and they had an in at Cordella; heard they were looking for photographers. The whole, reality tv part threw me off for a minute, but it's an incredible opportunity. I'd have been an idiot to turn it down," he said, thanking the waiter for the water and ordering a sandwich. "How about you? What brought you here?"

Benicio nodded with a soft grin still, taking a sip of his water, “That sounds awesome. And me? I was dancing professionally beforehand, but mainly doing work as a choreographer for shows back home in Vegas. Then I heard Lia Lopez was looking for backup dancers for the tour and that the entire thing would involve a reality show, I was sold. Went in for the auditions and managed to get it. So, here I am.”

Jared's brow shot up as he grinned. "Here you are. Damn, that's incredible. What's it like, living in Vegas?"

Benicio chuckled, “It’s wonderful. Tacky as hell, neon lights, a party every night. I already miss it.” 

Jared smiled and nodded. "That sounds about right. I visited briefly as I made my way out here. It was amazing, definitely a place I'd like to go back to."

Benicio grinned and nodded too, “If you’re ever around after the tour just hit me up. I can get you free cirque de soleil tickets. I know people.”

Jared’s eyes widened as his face split into a grin. “I will definitely take you up on that, that’s the dream. And likewise, if you’re ever in New York, I can hook you up with Broadway tickets...for some shows anyway.”

Benicio raised his eyebrows at that, grinning, “No way, really? That’d be awesome. I love most Broadway so definitely!”

Jared smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it’d be no problem. I’ve done a lot of promo shots for a few of the theaters, it has its perks.” He took a sip of his water and sat back against. “So, what’s your story? Before Cordella, I mean.”

Benicio grinned softer, “That’s awesome,” he said, pausing a moment as they both ordered their food, before turning his attention back to the other. “In what sense? I mean- I grew up in Vegas, I always wanted to dance. My papà didn’t love it, but he wasn’t awful honestly. We were just never close.”

Jared chuckled softly, nodding. “It is something of a vague question,” he said quietly. “Did he have other plans or just...not a fan?”

“Just not a fan, really. But he was alright because he adored my sister. She was a regular daddy’s girl, so took up most of his attention,” he explained, “which granted me time to take dance classes and acrobatics and gymnastics.”

Jared kept his eyes trained on him, his gaze soft as he listened. “I feel that,” he murmured quietly, before smiling. “So what got you into dance and gymnastics, and everything?”

“Seeing the performers in Vegas, on Fremont street. There was this group of female performers. Dancers but also skilled in acrobatics. I used to go to every show and watch wide eyed. They were incredible.”

Jared’s smile grew as he listened, nodding along. “It sounds it, I can definitely see why you’d be inspired.”

Benicio smiled warmly and nodded, “What about you? What got you into photography?”

Jared smiled back, finding himself a little more drawn to the other’s smile than he ever thought he’d be. “Pure happenstance, I think. When I was five, my parents got me a little like instant camera. It wasn’t a lot, I think the film roll only had like 24 pictures worth on it, but I loved it instantly. Obviously, being five, I wasn’t an artistic genius or anything, though I knew how to take a damn good picture of the corner of a coffee table,” he grinned, chuckling softly. “But it just grew with me, and I explored more, got daring with it, and here we are.”

Benicio grinned wider at that, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands as he watched the other talk. There was nothing he loved more than seeing someone talk about their passion. “That’s really cute. And really great how it grew into your passion and your career. You’re obviously very talented. I was meaning to ask if you’d got any pictures of me, or if not, to let me know if you do.”

Jared ducked his head bashfully as he grinned to himself. He perked up though as he heard the last part, nodding his head. I’ve got a few, actually, yeah. I have them, actually, if you want to see them,” he said pointing to his backpack.

Benicio perked up ever more at that, eyebrows raising, “You do? Oh my gosh, I’d love to see them!”

Jared smiled earnestly. “Yeah? Yeah, okay, um, give me a second.” He turned to open his bag, pulling out his laptop and opening it up. “There’s a few that are unedited, but...” he trailed off, clicking through his files to bring up Beni’s folder, before grinning proudly. “Hopefully there’s something in there you like and can use,” he finished, turning the computer around to the other boy. It was mostly performance shots from the shows, but the end of the roll held quite a few candid shots from backstage and their shared tour bus.

Benicio quickly pulled his chair closer to the others, biting his bottom lip as he waited patiently before peering closer at the laptop. His lips parted then as he gasped softly, smiling almost shyly, “Oh my god, these are incredible, Jared-“

Jared watched him with a sheepish smile. It was his favorite part of his job, showing the people the photos he had taken of them. This was new though, a certain nervous energy washed through him. Whether it be because he was getting his first feedback on his work from the tour, or the subject in front of him. His eyes drifted back to the computer, watching as he moved through the photos. “Well, you’re incredible, so it translates well,” he murmured before he could realize what he was saying.

Benicio glanced up at him at that, a happy grin tugging st his lips at he raised his eyebrows again. “You think I’m incredible?”

Jared blinked at the question, the realization washing over him instantly. He chuckled nervously, a hand running over his face as he nodded. “I mean, I’m only just now getting to know you, but...I mean yeah. You’re an incredible dancer, you move with a passion that’s kind of insane; electric. And then, I don’t know, the way you interact with other people, and just are. Like, that smile there,” he pointed out, his face beet red as he couldn’t stop himself from rambling. “There’s a certain life there, it’s...incredible,” he finished, hiding his head in his hand.

Benicio blinked at that, not having expected any of that to come out his mouth, his cheeks flushing just slightly. He ducked his head before glancing back up at him, a shy grin tugging at his lips but clearly flattered. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said something so nice about me,” he said with a soft chuckle, reaching out to pull the boy’s hand away from his face.

Jared groaned but smiled softly, letting the other move his hand as he shook his head. "I'm sure that's not true," he murmured. "Sorry, I do try to keep the 'you're incredibly talk' to at least 24 hours after I meet a person," he joked quietly, glancing back at the computer.

Benicio squeezed his hand before dropping it gently, eyes warm, "It is. And I'm not complaining, you're really sweet, Jared."

"Then no one's been paying attention, and for that I'm sorry," he murmured, smiling at him and reaching over to continue moving through the pictures. "And I have my moments, thankfully."

Benicio grinned, his eyes sparkling as he kept his eyes on the boy a little longer than necessary, before glancing back at the photos. "Can I post any of these on my instagram?" he asked then, "With credit of course."

Jared nodded, stopping on a picture and sliding it back to Benicio. "Yeah, any ones you want, they're yours," he grinned happily, leaning on his elbow on the table.

“You’re amazing,” Benicio said, leaning forward to look at the photos. “You manage to capture so much. I don’t get it.”

Jared chuckled softly, eyes trailing back to the other to watch him. He shifted quietly, reaching to pull a smaller camera out of his bag, one that was good and compact enough to go on small little adventures with. He held it up to his face, taking a moment to frame the shot just right and leaning back when needed. He quietly took the picture, a small snap sounding before he lowered it again. “There’s so much to see,” he finally responded, setting the camera down on the table. “I’ve always seen the world a certain way. I just strive to let others see things and others as I do.”

Benicio didn't notice whatsoever, completely immersed in the different photos on the laptop screen. He glanced back eventually, grinning softly as he nodded, "That's pretty incredible."

Jared smiled back at him, shrugging softly. "It's the not worst job I could have," he teased softly, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his finger gently across the table as he continued to watch him. Yeah, not a bad job at all.

[thosewhoruleegypt]

For Love of Pharaoh and King (Chapter 4)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!   Characters/Ships: Puzzleshippin/Blindshipping (Atem/Yugi); Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou Bakura); Atem, Yugi, Thief King Bakura, Ryou Bakura     Rating: M (WARNINGS for steamy fade-to-black moments, mentions of past abuse, very brief mention of dub-con in a flashback, and talk of contemplated suicide) Length: Chapter 4 / 4; 4000 words 

Summary:

Yugi Mutou enjoys wearing decorative chains—for both their aesthetic appeal and their irony, considering his recent transition from slave to Betrothed of Pharaoh Atem.

Ryou Bakura, meanwhile, appears to serve both his Pharaoh and exiled Thief King. But neither the Thief King nor his servant counted on the involvement of the Royal Husband-to-be in their plans.

Part One of the Those Who Rule Egypt series. Can be read separately.

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter – Next Chapter Part II of the series begins here~ 

AU side-story (alternate backstory for the Thief King) begins here~ 

Chapter 4: The Pharaoh 

“Bakura!” 

The first thing Yugi heard was a voice calling out a name—Ryou’s voice, it seemed, calling out his own surname. 

“Bakura! Bakura!” 

No, not his own name—someone else’s name. Someone else was called “Bakura.” 

Yugi forced his eyes open; struggled to inhale and immediately fell to a coughing jag as he choked on dust and debris. He struggled to push himself up, the pain more intense than even what he had experienced as a slave. Still, with the memory of overcoming such obstacles in the past, his mind triumphed over his badly bruised matter. He succeeded, at least, in getting to his elbows, then looked toward Ryou’s voice.  

Ryou’s streaming eyes met his, huge and desperate. His hands were tangled in the tattered clothes of the Thief King, who lay unmoving among the rubble.   

“Yugi…” Ryou moaned—begged. “He won’t wake up, Yugi…! What do I do, what do I do?!”  

Yugi dragged himself forward, feeling one of his legs twist unnaturally beneath him. He wondered, objectively, if it was broken or only dislocated. 

“Ryou…” 

“He won’t wake up!” Ryou repeated, his hands knotting more insistently in the Thief King’s robes. “I can’t find his pulse, Yugi!” 

Yugi felt a cold shiver run through him as he dragged himself over to where Ryou and the Thief King lay. When he was near enough, he reached, almost unthinkingly, to the shackle around his left wrist—to another hidden compartment, and another card. 

“Trap: Miracle’s… Wake…” he whispered—his voice, otherwise, seemed to have gone missing. 

Ryou’s breathing hitched, and he snatched the card. Then he paused; seemed to check the reaction, and held it back out. “What if Atem needs it…?” 

Yugi shook his head. “I… I can feel Atem… nearby. He’s not… He has a pulse, still.” 

Ryou drew a shuddering breath, then nodded. He stretched out toward Yugi; paused, hesitant, and Yugi closed the gap to embrace him. They held one another tightly for a moment, then Ryou drew back. He pressed the card to the unmoving chest of the Thief King and whispered, “Trap, activate: Miracle’s Wake.” 

There was a soft glow—magenta, among the omnipresent violet of the Shadow Realm—and the card dissolved into Thief King Bakura’s chest. The man drew a deep, shuddering breath; his eyes snapped open, and a moment later he began to cough and wheeze and curse weakly.  

“Bakura!” Ryou clung to his chest, even as Yugi scooted backwards. “Gods, Bakura, thank the gods!” 

“Ryou…” the Thief King rasped, looping one arm weakly around the smaller man. He closed his eyes. “Ryou… no, not the gods… thank you, Ryou…”  

Yugi felt himself smile, then looked up at the crunch of feet through the debris. “Pharaoh!”  

Pharaoh Atem didn’t look at him. His clothes had been torn further, and he was bleeding somewhat severely from scrapes along his arms and exposed chest, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. “Just a moment, Yugi,” he said, striding toward the two thieves. Ryou lowered his body defensively over the Thief King’s; Bakura could only watch with tragic, resigned eyes.  

“Well, Pharaoh, it comes to this…” the Thief King murmured, making some feeble attempt to brush Ryou away. “You’ve won, it seems. Do your worst. Just do be sure to kill me, this time, or I may be forced to do it myself.” 

Atem nodded, drawing a dagger from a sheath hidden among the decorative belts slung across his hips. “One way or the other, this will end your suffering, you miserable—” 

“Atem!” 

The Pharaoh faltered; turned, and met Yugi’s imploring gaze. “Yugi?” 

“Isn’t it enough, Atem?” Yugi asked, and Atem’s eyes widened. 

“What are you saying, Yugi?” 

“I’m saying it’s enough.” 

“Do you honestly think they would show us the same mercy you’re suggesting I show them?” Atem asked, his thoughts dripping disgust and suspicion. 

“I honestly think that I would do exactly the same thing for you that Ryou is doing for Bakura. And that you would do the same for me that Bakura is trying to do for Ryou.” 

Atem drew physically back, looking stung. "Yugi...” 

"If our positions were reversed, Atem. This would play out just the same. I’d bet my life on that.” 

Atem scowled, then looked back at Ryou and Bakura. The Thief King had closed his eyes again, both his arms wrapped around the servant boy. 

“What are you waiting for, Pharaoh?” Bakura rasped, unaware of the silent conversation. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve? You’ve killed me once before, haven’t you? Can’t do it with your own hands, this time?”  

Atem’s grip on his dagger tightened, and Ryou lowered his eyes. “I didn’t kill you,” the Pharaoh spat. “Besides the fact that calling yourself the King of Thieves was your own choice, and the consequences should be yours to face, you’ve never felt the despair of true death. You always thought you could get to me, that your time would come again. You… seduced this boy, here,” with an angry gesture to Ryou, “into doing your bidding, to that end! You destroyed him in some sick attempt to resurrect yourself, and worse—you somehow presented that warped connection as love.”  

When Ryou drew a breath, Bakura gave him a gentle squeeze to silence him. The Thief King chuckled weakly, eyes still closed, as Ryou looked questioningly at him. 

“I told Ryou to go to the palace, to seek work there… yes. Why did I do that?”   

“To lay the groundwork for your attack,” Atem said. “Your revenge.”

“I did it so he’d be safe!” Bakura’s voice rose, then immediately dropped again. He tightened his grip on Ryou, keeping his eyes shut. “I never thought in a thousand years he’d actually come back to get me.” 

“You…?” Ryou whispered, and Bakura shook his head. 

“Listen, Pharaoh. Those in my line of work don’t have many friends. You, you get all the adoration. You get the praise and the accolades. And if you can tell me with a straight face that I had a fair shot at the type of life you have, you’re an even better liar than I am. I’m not that deluded, and I have made my choices. So all I ended up with, in this whole shitty world, were some worthless jewels and this priceless kid right here. That’s it. When you took my jewels away, he was the only one who stuck with me. He was willing to destroy himself to stay with me. So I made up a story. I lied. I’m good at that. I said I had a plan, and that all I needed was for him to infiltrate the palace.”  

At last Bakura opened his eyes, as nothing more than slits. He continued: “I holed up and got ready to die. I didn’t think he could possibly love me, the way he said he did. I thought that, once he realized he could live comfortably in the palace, under your care, Pharaoh, he would forget about me. So I got ready to die. For five months I tried to scrape together the courage to just end it already, telling myself that he wouldn’t come back, that he shouldn’t come back, and that he’d be safe. 

“But then he proved me wrong.” Bakura closed his eyes again; gripped Ryou, who had begun to cry quietly. “He came back to me, Pharaoh. And I thought maybe he could love me that much, after all, and if he loved me that damn much… then I could do anything. Even keep living. Even bring you down. Even be worthy of loving him back.”  

For a beat, there was only silence and soft sounds of Ryou’s sobbing. Then Atem scoffed; curled his lip, and said, “Nice story. Did you think it all up on the spot, or have you rehearsed that speech?”  

“Atem…” Yugi objected, and the Pharaoh rounded on him. 

“You don’t believe all that, do you?” he demanded, and Yugi gave a small shrug. 

“I think you do, too. I can feel your thoughts.” 

Indignation made Atem’s face flush, and he turned back to where the Thief King lay. “I don’t. I don’t believe a word of it.”  

“I’m a great liar, Pharaoh, but at least I never lie to myself,” Bakura said, with a slight curling of his lips. 

Atem bristled, but didn’t move one way or the other. Instead he shifted, uncertain, from foot to foot; flicked his dagger back and forth. “I don’t believe you…” he muttered again, and then looked at Yugi. 

“Atem… help me up, please? My leg is hurt.” 

The Pharaoh’s scowl deepened, but he sheathed his dagger and obeyed. Yugi was fairly sure the injury was only a bad sprain or pull, since the limb could support some amount of weight without giving out. Ryou watched the pair of them carefully. 

“… You hurt my Yugi. And you destroyed my palace,” Atem growled at last, and Bakura shook his head slightly.  

“Your palace is fine, Pharaoh. What happens in the Shadow Realm pretty much stays in the Shadow Realm. That doesn’t go for us, of course—any damage done to us transfers over quite literally.”  

Atem scowled, but only scooped Yugi up more totally into his arms. “Fine. Get us out of here. Then we’ll see how I feel about you.” 

Bakura’s smile widened, although his eyes remained closed. “As my Pharaoh commands.” 

The violet light swelled to encompass the four humans, then faded out until it vanished; around them, the palace halls appeared in their rightful colors, and unmarred by the collapse. Atem glanced around and, seeming satisfied, nodded. A moment later, a group of palace folk came pounding around the corner.  

“Pharaoh!” 

“Pharaoh Atem!” 

“Lord Yugi!” 

“It’s fine…” Atem called out, to soothe them. With a glance at Ryou and Bakura, he asked, “Have the Shadow Fires been dealt with?” 

“They were put out some time ago, Pharaoh, but when you didn’t reappear…” One of the magicians came forward. “Pharaoh, we feared the worst. Are you and the Lord Yugi truly alright?” 

“We’re scratched up,” Atem said, with a hint of exasperation. “But we’re fine.” Again he looked down at the two on the floor; Ryou was exchanging strange looks with the other servants, who knew him well. “Have these two taken down to the dungeon. Make sure they’re given medical care, but lock them up with every bolt and chain we have.” 

Bakura chuckled, startling several servants who had approached. “The merciful Pharaoh… the legends don’t do his generosity justice.”  

Atem pointedly ignored him, addressing one of the servants. “Have my healers meet me in my chamber. Yugi’s injured his leg.”  

As the woman hurried off with a word of assent, Yugi gave Ryou an encouraging smile; Ryou repaid it with a more nervous one, and his grip on Bakura tightened. 

Atem looked up at the ceiling, an exasperated sigh leaving him before he said, “Put the two of them in the same cell. They’ll be less likely to try anything, then.” 

As the servants muttered understanding, Ryou’s smile eased. “Thank you, Pharaoh,” he said, and Atem’s lip curled. 

“None of this is for your sake, so don’t thank me for anything.” 

“Thank you, Pharaoh,” Bakura mimicked cattily. 

Atem bristled. But he was in the presence of palace-folk, now, and kept his composure. He did, however, indulge in saying, “Put some extra chains on that one. Shackle him. I don’t want him able to move about more freely than a shuffle.”  

The servants nodded willingly, then hurried off to do their Pharaoh’s bidding. Ryou and Bakura were taken away—Ryou on his own feet, and Bakura carried—while Atem made his dignified way up toward his chamber with Yugi in his arms. 

“That was a nice touch, letting them share a cell,” Yugi said, stretching his neck up to nuzzle Atem’s cheek. 

“I meant what I said,” Atem retorted. “They’re less likely to get up to anything if they’re together. I’m not foolish enough to try to keep them separate.” 

“You did a very good thing, Pharaoh.” And Yugi kissed his cheek.  

“Only because I can’t tolerate disappointing you,” was Atem’s frosty reply. “I’d just as soon have slit that Thief King’s filthy throat.”  

“And Ryou, too?” 

“Ryou…” Atem began agitatedly, and then seemed uncertain of what else to say. 

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Yugi chided, kissing Atem’s cheek again. The Pharaoh didn’t soften, but he kept his peace until they arrived in his chamber. There the healers saw to both their wounds—to Atem’s lacerations and to Yugi’s badly torn hip. Atem was annoyed that they couldn’t take a bath—as it would wash off the salve slathered across his wounds—but managed to stop complaining by the time they were cuddled together in the warm, soft bed. 

“… I love you, Yugi.” 

“I know. I love you, too.”  

“All I want is to protect you. If this turns out to be a mistake—” 

“It’s not a mistake,” Yugi said gently, and kissed Atem on the lips.  

The Pharaoh murmured some incoherent response, returning the affection. Then Atem was on top of Yugi, mumbling, “Is this okay?” while being very careful of Yugi’s injured leg.  

“This is fine,” Yugi replied, wrapping his good leg around Atem’s waist. “This is perfect.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Pharaoh.” 

… … …  

“Yugi!” 

Yugi smiled as Ryou approached the bars; Yugi crouched down outside the cell, and Ryou mirrored him. Yugi glanced at the shadowy figure sitting near the back of the cell, on the bed, but didn’t focus on it and addressed Ryou directly. “How are you doing? Are your injuries healing well?”  

“They are!” Ryou replied. “Thank you! And yours?”  

“Good as new,” Yugi said, setting down the tray he carried and pushing it beneath the barred door. “I heard that Pharaoh ordered you guys kept on standard prisoner rations, but that’s just him pouting. I think it’s pretty ridiculous.” 

“Yugi…” Ryou picked up the bottle of wine sitting beside the food, his cheerful smile turning tender. “This is… Thank you, Lord Yugi…” 

“I can see why little Ryou’s so fond of you,” came a deeper voice, and Yugi looked up to see that the Thief King had materialized, soundlessly, just behind Ryou. Though imposing in physical appearance, his posture and attitude were relaxed. He stooped down when Ryou held up the bottle of wine. “An eastern import!” he exclaimed. “I’m impressed! The little Pharaoh’s getting more adventurous!”  

Yugi noted the telling lack of chains on the Thief King’s person, despite Atem’s blustery orders when they had first arrived back from the Shadow Realm. Similarly, despite the supposedly austere rations, the bed looked unusually large and comfortable for a prison cell, and there was even a private bathing chamber off one side of the room. Prison cells were very rarely used for long-term holding, but this one had obviously been outfitted otherwise.  

Ryou reached through the bars and grasped Yugi’s hands, drawing his attention. “Thank you, Yugi. You’re a great friend.” 

“I hope he’ll agree to let you out, soon,” Yugi said, and jumped when Bakura laughed heartily. The Thief King reached through the bars; nudged Yugi in the shoulder with a fist, and Yugi was surprised by how light the touch was.   

“You’re a little fool, eh?” Bakura laughed again—an unexpectedly warm sound. “Clearly Pharaoh isn’t going to let us out any time soon, and clearly he shouldn’t.” The Thief King flashed a toothy grin. “Just because we’re on neutral enough terms right now doesn’t mean it wouldn’t delight me to strip him of the title of ‘Pharaoh.’”  

“But not kill him!” Yugi chirped, and Ryou sniggered.  

Bakura blinked. “What?” 

“You just said, ‘strip him of the title of Pharaoh,’ but didn’t say a word about killing him,” Yugi explained. “Or me, for that matter! That’s progress, see?”  

The Thief King chuckled; shook his head, and sat more comfortably down. “If you want to see it like that, go right ahead. I’d break that Pharaoh’s graceful little neck first chance I got, with pleasure. But as far as killing you is concerned? It’s bad etiquette to kill someone who feeds you.” As if to demonstrate his point, Bakura picked up a slice of melon from the tray and took a bite, heedless of the juice that drizzled down his chin. 

Ryou leaned over to wipe at his mouth with one sleeve. “Don’t be sloppy,” he chided, and the Thief King laughed.  

“But it’s so much fun to get all dirty…”  

Ryou blushed, but didn’t bite. “Table manners,” he chided. “It may be the dungeons, but you’re still in the palace. And we’re in the presence of Lord Yugi.”  

“I’m still not ‘Lord Yugi,’” Yugi said patiently. 

The Thief King grinned; asked, “That bothers you? To be called ‘Lord?’” 

“I mean, Ryou is my friend,” Yugi tried to explain, and the Thief King chuckled.   

“Ryou’s practically my husband and he still calls me ‘King’ all the time. And I love that about him.”   

Ryou’s eyes lit with humor. “Practically your what? I’ve never gotten a proper proposal from you, Bakura.” 

The Thief King’s eyebrows arched. “Really? How terribly neglectful of me…” With a flourish, he produced a lapis lazuli scarab ring, and Ryou gave a surprised gasp. “Marry me, Ryou?”  

“Where in the gods did you get that?” Ryou demanded, even as Yugi looked down in astonishment at his hands. The lapis lazuli ring—selected somewhat carelessly from the jewelry box on his vanity, that morning—was indeed missing. Ryou looked over; caught Yugi staring at his hands, realized what had happened, and chided, “Give it back, Thief King.” 

“That’s okay…” Yugi murmured, even as Bakura held it back out through the bars. “I have way too many to ever wear, anyhow…” 

Bakura grinned, closing his hand around the jewelry again. “I’m not called the Thief King for no good reason, pharaoh-ling.”  

“Please. You gave yourself that title,” Ryou said, but tolerated it when Bakura took his hand and slipped the ring onto his finger. “Kauket… so embarrassing…” 

The Thief King laughed—something he seemed to do quite a lot, Yugi noted with appreciation. “I’m serious, though, Ryou. Let’s get properly married once the Pharaoh lets us loose, what’d you say?” And he kissed the back of Ryou’s hand. 

“Yes…” Ryou breathed, and Yugi applauded dutifully as Bakura looked around for a suitable stone to break the neck of the wine bottle. When he found one, he hefted it experimentally in his palm, then cracked the ceramic with practiced precision. 

“Have a drink with us?” the Thief King asked, offering the bottle. Yugi took a polite sip before passing it back through the bars. 

“When is your wedding happening, Yugi?” Ryou asked. 

“In spring,” Yugi replied. “Pharaoh is still trying to navigate a few foreign rulers who are supposed to attend, too, with their availability and travel-time. The whole thing is a little too political for my taste, but I suppose that’s the nature of marrying a pharaoh.”  

“Eyy, why don’t you stab the bastard one night? Then you’ll be pharaoh yourself,” Bakura asked, and Yugi couldn’t tell from his grin if he was serious or not. “I’d back you a hundred percent, and so’d little Ryou.”  

“Don’t tease, Bakura…” Ryou murmured.  

“I’m not teasing!” the Thief King exclaimed. “I’m as serious as I am in love with you!”  

“Don’t tease…” Ryou repeated crossly.  

Bakura picked up a sweet from the tray; held it beneath Ryou’s nose. “Sorry, love. Forgive me?” 

Ryou regarded him for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, then opened his mouth obligingly. Bakura slipped the treat inside, then turned to Yugi while Ryou was momentarily gagged by the fluffy cream pastry.  

“I owe you, really, for saving him. I’ve never seen much need to repay my own life debts, but I’ll suffer being in your debt for saving Ryou’s life. One unconditional favor, little pharaoh-ling; anything. Call it in any time.” 

Yugi lowered his head slightly. “Thank you. I do realize what that’s worth.”  

“He’s a smart one, Ryou!” Bakura said, nudging Ryou—who, still happily preoccupied with the cream-puff, only nodded. “Easier to take you seriously when you’re not all strung with chains,” he added to Yugi, who shrugged. “Does the Pharaoh like that type of thing?”  

“I’m sure he does. And I’m quite fond of them, too. It makes other people squirm, which is fun.” 

“I like you, kid,” Bakura said. “In another lifetime, we might’ve been good friends, you and I!”  

“Why not this lifetime?” Yugi asked honestly, and the Thief King softened.  

“We’ll just have to wait and see about this lifetime.” 

… … …  

“You smell like thief and you taste like wine,” Atem observed, pulling back from the kiss. Yugi’s arms wrapped around his neck kept him from going far, though. 

“Tell me, Pharaoh, what does ‘thief’ smell like?” 

“It’s that murky, dirty, untrustworthy smell shared by vagabonds. It abounds in places like taverns and dungeons,” Atem growled. “You need a bath.”  

“I would much rather make the scent rub off on you, Pharaoh.” 

Atem sucked in a breath as Yugi’s hips ground up into his, closing his eyes as he fought to keep his focus. “I don’t want you going down to the dungeon, Yugi.” 

“Why pick now to try to scold me, Pharaoh? Your sense of timing is poor, at best.”  

“Because you smell like thief, and I can’t get that cursed Thief King out of my mind because of it.” 

“That doesn’t seem to be affecting your performance. Should I be jealous, if you’re only thinking about King Bakura right now?” 

Atem nearly got out of bed at that, but Yugi clung to him. Atem couldn’t quite get free, and so let himself be physically dragged back under the blankets. After wrestling him down, Yugi crawled up to lie on Atem’s bare back, effectively pinning him down. 

“Ryou is still my friend, Pharaoh. Friends visit friends when they’re locked up in dungeons.” 

“It isn’t Ryou I’m worried about…” Atem muttered, his voice muffled by the mattress. 

“Worried that that dashing Thief King will seduce me, then? I’m for you only, my Pharaoh, forever.” 

Atem sat up at that; Yugi looped his arms around the Pharaoh’s neck, so that Atem was virtually choked when he straightened fully. Together, in a somewhat disorganized heap, they both flopped backwards on the bed.  

“Can’t you be serious for two minutes, Yugi? This is serious. I’m being serious.” 

“Hard to be serious when we’re both naked, Pharaoh.” 

“Yugi…” 

“We did a good thing, so stop pouting about it.”  

“And where did your scarab ring get to, exactly?” 

“Bakura swiped it. Gave it to Ryou.” 

“See?” 

“He offered to give it back, though.”  

“After he stole it!” 

“He is the Thief King, Pharaoh.” 

“And since when is it acceptable for a King and a Pharaoh to exist, simultaneously, in the same kingdom? How is that reconcilable in any way?”   

“It’s not like ‘Thief King’ is an official political title,” Yugi said reasonably. “Bakura made it up himself.”  

“One of us is going to kill the other, eventually. This just isn’t sustainable.” 

“Stop being so melodramatic.” Yugi climbed atop the Pharaoh; stared somewhat plaintively down, when Atem avoided his gaze. “You’re above this sort of squabbling, aren’t you?” 

“Try me,” the Pharaoh huffed. 

“I’m more important than all this petty argument, aren’t I?” 

That got Atem to glance up, at least. “You’re the most important thing in the world, to me.” 

“Then forget about the Thief King and Ryou and politics and the whole cursed kingdom and just pay attention to me, for a while,” Yugi appealed, and then kissed his Pharaoh. He gave the kiss every scrap of concentration and passion he could muster, and when he drew back Atem’s face was somewhat blank. 

“You are making it very hard to pay attention to anything else, that’s for sure…”   

Yugi grinned. “Good.” And he kissed the Pharaoh again.  

Atem wrapped his arms obligingly around Yugi’s narrow shoulders as their impatient hips met and locked together. It was impossible, then, for either of them to think of anything besides the warm glow that swelled between their two bodies, growing to envelope them before pitching them both, violently and tenderly, into something resembling true ecstasy.  

When Atem and Yugi lay, side by side and hopelessly short of breath, Atem managed to say, “If it made you happy, Yugi, I’d lie down in the mud and call myself a stinking thief. I’d give up my throne a thousand times.”  

“That’s going a bit far,” Yugi said, with a faint chuckle. “I rather like the perks of your throne, Pharaoh.”  

“Then every perk of my throne is yours to enjoy. And I’ll suffer the filthy thieves in my basement. Without a word of complaint, too.”  

“That’s just the afterglow talking, and we both know it.”  

“Then let’s be quiet and enjoy it while it lasts, shall we?” Atem asked, pulling Yugi close and holding him. And Yugi did as the Pharaoh commanded, snuggling into Atem’s chest with only a contented sigh.