#all that WOULD be fine. except. the assigned spouse thing does not make any more sense than it did originally

[unnonexistence]

do you ever start writing something and go "hmm this one element doesn't quite make sense, I should come up with a good explanation for it," so you start trying to come up with an explanation...

and then you black out and wake up 3 days later with extensive worldbuilding that has gone WAY OFF TRACK and STILL DOESNT EVEN MAKE THE ORIGINAL THING WORK

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays - Part 2

Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”

WC: 1.8k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), insecure and in-denial Spencer, light cursing, (tbh with all the shit that happens in CM they should be cussing way more)

Spencer doesn’t text you. But he’s tried.

First thing he got home, he tossed his bag aside and ripped off his blazer before he threw himself on the couch, digging through his pockets for his phone. Screw reading, taxes, dinner. There are more important things at stake here.

But he’s been sitting there for an hour, glaring at the empty text box with disdain, willing for words to appear.

No such luck.

Spencer writes essays and academic journals in an hour but formulating a simple text? He curses the universe for only making him academically gifted.

He runs a hand through his hair. Maybe he should call? No, you said text. And he doesn’t trust himself enough to have a verbal conversation with you. He will get tongue-tied.

Shit, what does he even say?

It’s not entirely his fault, alright? He’s never been put in a position like this before, except when he goes undercover. And even then everything is planned for him with little contribution on his part⎼he makes small edits to better fit the profiles but that’s about it. All he has to do is scan the file once and in seconds he has his fake identity, his fake backstory, and whatever fake details make up his fake life.

But this. This is different. He has to be brave because it’s you, and he has to chill out because this is supposed to be fake, he reminds himself. Both are tasks within themselves. And yeah, he’s a genius but as Albert Einstein once said, knowledge has its limits.

Shit, his thoughts are so jumbled he can’t even quote properly. This is all your fault.

You.

He still has to text you.

Spencer groans and flops on the couch, the phone clattering to the floor. He doesn’t bother, laying there until there’s an imprint of his butt in the cushions. He stares at the ceiling.

He remembers that you were the one to say yes. He hadn’t directly asked you but you agreed anyway, which means you are willing to spend time with him. Which means you like him (enough). Which means you are friends, and friends help friends out when they are in trouble.

Like needing a fake date.

He rolls onto his stomach, lips pursed as he stares over the edge of the couch. His phone glints in the lamp light.

Just friends helping each other out. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Spencer takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

He can do this.

⎼

He can’t do this.

“I’m so excited,” Next to Spencer, you nestle into the seat and adjust the fuzzy blanket over your lap, eyes gleaming. “It’ll be nice to see where you grew up.”

Spencer only offers you a tight smile. His eyes dart about as the other passengers settle in, switching seats and fiddling luggage into the overhead compartments. Some of them already requesting for airplane food. Who in their right mind actually wants airplane food?

Spencer really wants to be as excited as you, and he is; he finally gets to spend some time with you outside of work, without the rest of the team hovering (waiting for one of you to make a damn move). It’s almost nice.

If only he can enjoy himself.

His knee bounces nonstop. Against the armrest his fingers tap a rhythm matching the thrum of his heart. And his hair is even more wild having run his hands through it repeatedly before meeting up with you.

He isn’t used to this, being alone with you. Sure, you partner up at work, in cases⎼hell, you've even accompanied each other to a few events. But those were as friends.

Technically, you’re his date. His romantic partner.

Spencer’s never let himself delve deep into his fantasies; he’s imagined (more times than he’d like to admit) taking you on dates to your favorite places, you in his arms, him in your arms⎼you know, minus the imminent danger. All the sweet things that couples do. But they always seemed out of reach. So he’d cut them off, squash the ideas before they went any further. False hope only hurts if you give in.

But now you’re on a plane, rocking in your seat as you hum to yourself, genuinely thrilled at the prospect of seeing his hometown.

This is more than he’s ever imagined. He feels like his heart’s about to burst.

Someone needs to call the bomb squad, real quick.

“Reid.”

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?" You're looking at him, voice drenched in so much concern his stomach twists. He made you worry. He feels guilty.

“Yeah-uh-” He clears his throat, attempting a smile. It’s a sad parody of the real thing. ”I'm fine.“

You raise an eyebrow and scoff, "Okay, I think I know why you're being weird. At least, weirder than usual."

Spencer’s heart drops. He leans back as you lean across your shared armrest, catching the sympathy in your eyes. He stiffens, bracing himself for the rejection. He should have known sooner or later you’d notice his not-so-friendly affections towards you. Of course you did, he isn’t exactly subtle; all the lunches, the museum tours, the stars in his eyes when you wrestle down unsubs⎼

"You’re nervous about seeing your old classmates again."

⎼Or, he’s much better at hiding it than he thought.

Spencer can only watch in awe as you continue, “And it’s totally natural. I mean, I haven’t been to a reunion, but I’d feel weird too if I got to see my classmates after all these years. But have no fear, (Your Name) is here.” You cringe, suddenly abashed. “Unless I’m completely off the mark and now you regret bringing me along. Oh no, that’s it, isn’t? You’re uncomfortable with the whole couples act.”

Spencer shakes his head, and for the first time since take off, he chuckles, “What? No, I’m happy that you’re here. And I couldn't think of anyone better to play my partner.” A relieved smile from you and he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. He fiddles with his sleeve. “But yeah, you got me. I am nervous.”

Which isn’t exactly a lie. You're here, next to him. That's more than enough reason to be.

If he had to be honest, between you and organizing the trip, he almost forgot about the reunion. Then again, he never liked reflecting on his high school years. For obvious reasons.

But your perception is a bucket of ice water over his head. Now he’s wide awake.

You’re doing this because you’re friends. You just want to help.

Friendship never hurt so much.

“I didn’t mention it before, but I’m sure you’re aware I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school, being 6 years younger and all,” Spencer swallows the ache. You nod in understanding.

Bright, brown eyes meet yours. He bites his lip. “So, I appreciate you coming with me. It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”

A split second.

Spencer glances away as he says 'friend'. The word leaves such a bittersweet taste he has to hold back a grimace, look anywhere else but you. The word just doesn’t sit right with him.

If he hadn’t looked away, he would have caught the way your smile dropped.

You nearly forgot, though you’re on holiday, this is a mission of sorts. This isn’t about you or how you feel. This is about Spencer. You berate yourself, remembering you're not a teenager anymore; you're a fucking adult and mature adults don't squee at their coworkers.

No matter how cute and adorable they are.

“Of course,” You plaster on a smile and finger the edge of your blanket, unintentionally mirroring him. "Your welcome."

Spencer gives you that white-person smile you love so much. You have to bite back a laugh.

To distract yourself, you pull out your phone and open the Chess app, holding it out to him. "Now, how about that rematch?"

Spencer's face lights up like a Christmas tree.

And as you immerse yourselves into another close match, you feel your confidence grow with every move, chuckling as Reid grumbles about you cheating (you’re not, he’s just a sore loser). You’re an FBI agent, for fuck’s sake. You played spouse and romantic partners for weeks, months. A weekend is nothing.

You can manage playing pretend with a coworker. Just operate like this is any other undercover assignment.

You can pretend you’re in love with Spencer Reid. You can handle it.

You can handle it.

⎼

You can’t handle it.

As one would expect, it’s hard to not fall in love with Spencer Reid. Just as it’s hard not to show it.

It feels like only yesterday the lanky man quite literally stumbled his way into your world and you decided, ‘Him. I will protect him with my life.’ And while you’d totally do that for anyone on the team, with Reid, it hits different.

After you landed in Las Vegas, you had a couple hours to kill before the reunion started, and as the good friend and partner you are, you suggested he show you all the places he frequented when he was little. For research, of course. After all, you’re playing his partner, so the more you know the better.

It’s definitely not because you’re invested in his life. Because that would be unprofessional.

(The way he beamed at you was totally worth it though.)

Then one step in the direction of his favorite eatery and he slipped on a patch of ice. You caught him in time, but the way he looked at you, brown eyes wide and filled with awe, made you feel things you shouldn't feel for a coworker.

It only snowballed from there. Everything about him is just so… endearing.

But you’re at your limit.

Love and affection threatens to spill out of you. Your hands flex in your coat pockets, itching to grab Spencer’s pretty face. Even your chest aches from your heart having swollen twice its size. You feel like you’re about to explode.

This might be the most difficult mission you’ve ever worked.

But this is it, you realize as you stand in front of the closed auditorium doors. This is the final lap. Where everything you’ve practiced really matters. You just have to keep up the charade for a few hours, then you won’t have to struggle to fight back the hearts in your eyes.

Although, your clothes fit tighter than you remember and you’re trembling. Why the fuck are you trembling?

Next to you Spencer eyes the double doors, almost like he’s daunted by them.

Multi-colored lights filter into the dark hallway, silhouettes flickering and shifting from the crack under the door as cheery holiday music faintly streams from behind them, accompanied by shouts and laughter. From his old classmates. Who are most likely making jokes at his expense.

Spencer already wants to go home.

“Ready, Doc?” As if sensing his hesitation, you offer a smile and an arm to him. Your eyes gleam with resolve. It’s more than enough for the both of you.

You can do this.

A deep breath, he slips his arm into yours. “Yep.”

He can do this.

Together, you open the doors.

AN: 2/4?? 

note: don’t expect part 3 to come out as quick. it’ll contain panic/anxiety descriptions and id like to take my time to write it best :))) i hope you enjoyed the last bit of happiness for a while :))))

also i apologize that i havent gotten to all the requests!! the ones posted on my masterlist are the ones currently being dealt with, but i’ll get through them eventually thx for the patience :D

i remember seeing a post ab Hotch x Prentiss and I didn’t get it but watching CM over again 

i get it i so get it. when theyve both gone to each other’s homes? *tears up*

and my hate for seaver has been reinforced :)))))

[plaidbooks]

For my bingo — can I have the royal square with Knight!Mike x Knight!reader x Prince!Sonny

Please and thank you 🥰🥰

Once Upon A Time

A/N: You would request this! For those out of the loop, Karen and I talked about this a months or so ago via discord, and then she requested it so I'd write it. And I actually really liked it! I hope you do, too ❤

This covers the Royal square in @adarafaelbarba moodboard bingo!

Tags: talks of abduction, blood, broken bones, black eyes and bruises

Words: 2450

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​ @reading--mermaid @qvid-pro-qvo @averyhotchner @imalostredheadinablondeworld @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

Once upon a time, there was a young prince. From when he was a child, he was taught to treat everyone fairly, to have love and compassion for all. Because of this, the kingdom loved the prince, and he loved them all, too. But other kingdoms were not as loving.

When the prince turned fifteen, a group of mercenaries from the kingdom in the West attempted to assassinate the prince. A knight in training, no older than the prince was, saved his royal life. Ever since then, the two had been inseparable, and once old enough, the prince asked the knight to marry him.

Though the king was happy that his son was happily in love, he was not thrilled that his only son would not be able to give him heirs to take on the crown. For you see, the knight was a man, and neither could bear a child.

One day, the knight was called upon to escort the king to a neutral palace, to negotiate peace with the kingdom to the West. Worried for his princely husband, the knight went to an old friend and fellow knight. They had grown up together and had been close. He asked the other knight to please watch over his husband, to make sure he was safe. The knight accepted; being a knight of the kingdom meant protecting the crown with your life, regardless of it being a favor to an old friend.

The new knight spent many days and nights with the prince, protecting him from any that might do him harm. No such attacks occurred, but another problem arose; the prince and the knight fell in love. The prince still loved his husband, though, and he wasn’t sure what to do, while the knight was at a loss; she had only ever been in love once before, with the knight who she had trained with all her childhood…the same knight who was married to the prince.

The husband knight returned a few days later, and he could sense the tension between the two. They all agreed to sit and talk, and this is when they decided to follow their hearts. All three loved each other very much, and soon enough, the husbands married the knight, too. This had never been done in the kingdom before, but the king was all too happy to acquiesce; mostly because his son was happy, but also, he could now have heirs.

********************

You were out, patrolling the grounds in the early morning fog. A part of you wished to still be in bed, cuddling your husbands, but the call to arms was more important than your relaxation. Plus, you had a bad feeling about today.

Mike was called to duty the same time you were, leaving the prince to lay in bed alone. Your heart hurt, knowing how much Sonny loved to wrap around someone in bed, rather than sleep by himself. But all of this was to protect the crown, protect him. So, he would have to endure it.

Emissaries from the West were to arrive today, with further negotiations of peace, and tensions were high. Which was why the guard had every knight armed and ready, just in case.

Thankfully, the representatives only numbered six; two negotiators and four guards. You were able to relax your guard slightly, unworried. An attack now would mean an act of war, something you didn’t expect the West to commit to; your kingdom’s army far outnumbered the West’s. To start a war would be suicide. Though, you knew Prince Sonny worried about both you and Mike every day, afraid you’d die in battle.

You were just rounding the corner of the royal garden when the alarm was raised. Fear shot through you, and you ran as fast as you could in your armor, heading for the prince’s chambers. You, Mike, and twenty others were assigned to the prince, while the rest of the guard would head for the king and queen.

You flew up the staircase, then rushed to the hallway that led to Sonny’s room. But the sight in front of you made you pause. The two knights posted outside his chambers were slumped on the ground, blood pooling around them. Mike showed up behind you then, his face full of concern. With him by your side, you both headed for the slightly ajar door, heart in your throat.

Mike pushed into the room while you stooped to check the guards. Both were dead. Steeling yourself for the worst, you followed Mike inside. He was standing by the bed, his back to you, head down.

The room seemed untouched, except for the bed. Feathers from pillows and the covers were scattered, and the bedding was tossed to the floor. Holding your breath, you joined Mike, looking to the bed. A piece of parchment was left on the mattress, and there was a splash of blood on a pillow, but otherwise, there was no sign of the prince.

With shaking hands, you took the parchment, then read it aloud. “The only peace that can exist between us is for King Carisi to kneel to the West. If he does not kneel within a fortnight, then the prince will be slain.”

“They took him,” Mike muttered, voice a deadly quiet.

You blinked away your tears, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We must inform the king.”

He took one last, longing look at the bed, the blood staining the pillow, before he nodded and turned to leave the room.

*****************

You and Mike were both stunned when the king decided to send only the two of you to retrieve the prince. If you were caught, then the West may kill Sonny as revenge. But what was certain was that you and Mike would be killed on sight.

There wasn’t much time to think about the king’s decision, though, and neither of you would decline a chance to save your husband, anyways. Soon enough, you and Mike made your way to the Western kingdom, dressed in their clothes to better blend in. It was a long, two-day ride on your horses, stopping only in the dead of night to toss and turn on your bedrolls before continuing. You had left your armor at home; it was a dead giveaway for who you were. The only things you carried on your person in terms of weapons was daggers, hidden up sleeves. It left a bad taste in your mouth.

Knights were honorable; war was ugly, and the knights were the ones on the front lines, fighting for their kingdom. They were not the ones sneaking into places with blades hidden. But the West had played a dirty hand by distracting the king with such a small group of emissaries claiming peace, only to kidnap the prince. It was time to play dirty back.

****************

You and Mike took turns scouting out the royal prison. The rumors were that a prince from the East was imprisoned there. But rumors also claimed everything from “the prince came of his own accord” to “the prince was killed the day he arrived”. Afraid for your husband’s fate, you and Mike didn’t take long to come up with a plan.

Dressed as guards—complete with a sword on your hips—Mike led you into the belly of the prison. Judging by the state of the other inmates, all of which were beaten, starving, and shivering, you were afraid of what they had done to Sonny. But he had only been captured for three days—he couldn’t be that bad, could he?

There were guards posted in front of his cell when you found him. You and Mike quickly killed them; with the element of surprise, it was easy to take them out almost silently. Hoping that you had some time before more guards appeared, you unlocked the cell.

The commotion had caught Sonny’s attention, and he rolled over to see what was happening. When he recognized his spouses fighting for him, he propped himself up on an elbow. And once you had opened the door, a smile pulled across his face, albeit painfully.

“My knights,” he mumbled, trying to push himself to sitting.

You were there first, and you stooped to help him. “Sonny, my love, you need medical attention—”

“What happened to you?” Mike asked, that deathly quiet back in his voice. He squatted next to you, reaching out to cup Sonny’s face, turning him towards the light from the lantern behind you.

One of Sonny’s eyes was swollen shut, and bruises covered his face. Dried blood was under his nose, and his lip was split. It appeared as if his arm was broken, and he kept it tucked awkwardly to his side. There were slashes through the cloth that dared call itself a tunic, blood from cuts visible through it, some still actively bleeding. The most worrying thing, however, was how thin the prince had become in a few short days, dark circles under his eyes that could be bruises or lack of sleep.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, trying to give Mike a reassuring smile. Sonny hated violence, and he knew that Mike had a temper about him when it came to protecting Sonny.

But Mike’s face didn’t soften. “Who did this to you?” he asked, voice a whisper.

Sonny answered just as quietly, reaching up with his good hand to cover Mike’s. “Don’t. We must not tarry.”

“He’s right, Mike. We need to go, before we’re found out and executed,” you said, standing.

Mike clenched his jaw before straightening. He scooped Sonny’s frail body into his arms, and Sonny tried—and failed—to not grimace in pain. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Later; we must go now,” Sonny replied. You agreed, and you went first out of the cell, leading the men up and out of the prison.

*****************

The rescue of the prince was noticed just before you made it to the kingdom walls atop your horses. You told Mike to take Sonny and run while you drew your sword. There was still time before the guards at the exits tripled, and you knew you could take them…and if not, at least your husbands would be safe.

Both men were unhappy with your decision, but Mike was more interested in saving Sonny, so he followed your orders, the prince commanding he not leave you behind, his cries ignored. There were only three guards at the exit, and you went first, clashing with them all and giving Mike time to ride by. You vaguely heard Sonny’s screams as they went, calling Mike a coward for not helping you. But all that faded from your mind as you sparred with the guards.

You heard when the alarm went off, and you knew it was time to go. You cut one man down, injuring another, before you pulled yourself back onto your horse to gallop away. While mounting your horse, however, the lone guard still standing slashed out, cutting your back from shoulder to hip. You cried out, slumping onto your horse as it galloped, barely clinging to the reigns. The cut at the shoulder was deeper than the rest, since he hit you as you had moved forward, but you were still worried about what this meant for your life. You couldn’t move your left arm—the shoulder that was struck deep—but you hung on to your horse with your right.

Your horse didn’t slow until you were at a small overpass; the place you and Mike planned to meet and assess the rest of the trip home; your kingdom was a two-day trip away. Mike came out from under the overpass when you rode up, and his face filled with concern. He helped you off your horse, asking what had happened. You fell to your knees once you were on the ground, pain rocketing through your body.

“Shit, this is bad. Come on; get inside so I can bandage you up,” Mike said, helping you to stand. You shuffled on weak legs underneath the overpass.

Sonny sat up as he saw the state you were in. He was shirtless, most of his wounds either bandaged or cleaned, a half-eaten roll in his hand, his other arm still tucked to his side. “Are you okay, doll?” he asked as Mike laid you face down on his bedroll. They both eyed your back wearily.

“F—fine. A good night’s rest will heal me right up—”

“It’s bad, love,” Mike muttered. He quickly pulled out the meager amount of bandages he had left before he started to clean the wound.

Sonny’s face filled with worry. “Can you use bandages from me?” he asked, already knowing the answer. But still, he had to try.

“No, that would only lead to infection. We just have to hurry home,” Mike replied.

You winced as he washed you, even with his gentle touch. “We should leave tonight, then.”

“No; both you and Sonny need rest—”

“If we rest here, we may not get up again. Mike, sweetheart, we must get the prince home, before a war starts. And if my injury is as bad as you say it is, then all the more reason to head out now,” you reasoned.

Mike looked ready to argue, but Sonny said, “she’s right, Mike. I’m okay to ride. Why, after eating, I feel as strong as you.” He smiled softly, but Mike didn’t return it.

“Can you ride?” he asked you.

You nodded. “Of course.” You knew why he asked; Sonny, who had only ridden mild-mannered horses through the city during parades, could not ride alone. Mike would have to make sure he didn’t fall.

He gave you a skeptical look, and you tried to convey your conviction through your eyes. You still couldn’t move your left hand or arm, but you could ride one-handed. Finally, he sighed, “fine. Let me finish bandaging what I can, and then we move.”

After packing and forcing another roll of bread onto Sonny, Mike helped you mount your horse. Then, he lifted Sonny up onto his own horse, before settling in behind him.

“It’s a two-day ride back to the kingdom, but if we hurry and only stop to let the horses feed and drink, then we can make it in just over a day. But if either of you need to rest, you better speak up, understand? I will not let either of you die on this flight,” Mike warned.

Both you and Sonny agreed, and then you were off, heading for home with nothing but the moon to guide your way, hoping beyond hope that you weren’t being followed.

[wissbby]

"The hospital is a magical place.” - Akaashi Keiji

A couple of weeks ago I wasn’t doing great. I felt disconnected from my body and was mentally exhausted which brought me to one of my lowest points in life. The love of my life, also known as @dreamykou​, wrote me a lovely motivational description which brought me back to my senses. Since writing is almost always my way out, I decided to turn her words into this little fiction. Thank you, my love, for giving me the strength to pull through. I’ll literally never forget that message.   I didn’t proof read it so I’m sorry if there are mistakes in here! 

Date: the fifth of July, 2020 Warnings: fluff Word count: 2.4K

“Hi, Yuna.” Akaashi felt the white walls coming towards him, swallowing him whole. Even after coming here frequently, he never got used to the strong smell of chemicals. In a place like this, hygiene was the number one priority. Yet, he couldn’t get used to the smell.

“Oh,” Yuna smiled when she saw the person who the voice belonged to. “Hello there, Akaashi.” She immediately noticed the way he switched from breathing through his nose to breathing from his mouth. The fact her colleague’s spouse hated the smell of the hospital was known by the whole division.

“Is Y/n here?” The question was directed at Yuna, but Akaashi’s eyes were looking into the different corridors in the hope of seeing your angelic face again.

He had brought you flowers.  

The previous night wasn’t as great as Akaashi hoped. You had told him about this surgery months ago. It was a dangerous one and there was a slim chance of the boy getting out of the operation room alive.

He knew you had your heart in the right place. That’s why you were sulking all night about the little boy. You couldn’t sleep and Akaashi grew worried.

“You need sleep to function tomorrow, love.” You were sitting at the kitchen table, a book in front of you with a half-filled mug with coffee beside it.

“I know, I just can’t fall asleep. I could read about techniques to use tomo-“ Before you could read on about the different doctors who had performed the same surgery, a hand grabbed your wrist.

“No,” Akaashi had whispered out, stern but caring.

“Akaashi, do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be tomorrow? The chance of the kid dying in front of my eyes is bigger than him walking out alive.” Most of the time, you and Akaashi were on the same page about different topics. Akaashi was one of the few people with great understanding and patience. However, this was different. For the first time in years, there was understanding but no support for your choices.

“I know, love. That doesn’t change the fact you need sleep to function.” Somehow he finally managed to get your body into bed, at the very least. Nevertheless, you could not sink into the soft mattress, the stress and fear stuck to you.

With a sigh, Akaashi sat up and pulled you into his arms. You leaned against him, eyes drooped and covered by a thin layer of glossy tears.

"I'm scared, Akaashi," you confessed. Years into the relationship, it was still as surprising as ever if you would show your emotions to him. He always knew you could never easily show your emotions, let alone your weaknesses.

“I know you are.”

“What if I let him die? I don’t want him to die. He is young and has a whole life in front of him. I don’t want to be the one taking that away from him.” The words hit the man hard. He never expected you to blame yourself for something that would happen beyond your power.

“You’ll never be the one taking his life away. You’re there to help the kid. And yes, the chances are slim. However, that doesn’t change the fact you’re not and will never be the one who killed him if he actually does die. In fact, you’ll help him, even if he dies. You gave him and his family hope, a second chance of living if it all works out.”

Akaashi wanted to promise you that it was going to be just fine.

But he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t promise everything would be “just fine”.

If Akaashi promised you something, he would always fulfill his promise.

“Are those beautiful flowers for your beloved Y/n?” a light chuckle flew into the air.

“Ah,” Akaashi laughed, hand automatically crawling to the back of his neck to scratch it. “She just had a rough night, that’s all. I wanted to give her these flowers to tell her she has done something amazing, no matter the outcome.”

“That’s adorable. You guys literally make me want to get my own spouse and gag at the same time.”

“I guess you want to know where she is? Room 143, she was done but told me she went and stayed for a bit longer.” Yuna knew what the outcome of the surgery was and she couldn’t suppress the smirk that crawled up her face.

However, Akaashi being Akaashi, didn’t question it any further.

So, with the bouquet of flowers in his hand and sweat collectively coming together in the palm of his hands, he wandered through the empty, white corridors. 

⇜ “How do you like the smell of a hospital?” Akaashi’s eyebrows were knitted together, a questionable look taking over his features.

“I don’t know, I just do.” You chuckled lightly, swinging your arms back and forth, tilting your head slightly back to bask into the fresh ray of sunshine.

“The fact that isn’t even the weirdest thing about you scares me.”

“Oh, what is the weirdest thing about me, Keiji?” At the beginning of your relationship, Akaashi was very private. He kept a lot to himself and didn't share much. Later, he began to see that a relationship had to come from two sides. Not long after, you got to see all sides of your spouse.

“You told me you got a calm feeling every time you walk through the hospital. It freaks me out.” You would lie if you said you weren’t surprised by hearing him recall that. It had been a while back since you’d stated that. It only showed how much your love actually paid attention.

“What’s so scary about that?”

“I don’t know, Y/n. Maybe because hospitals are filled with death, blood and fatality.” In Akaashi's eyes, his statement seemed self-evident. Every day dozens of people died in the building and the white walls became terrifying as the night approached and no one walked through the corridors except for some of the staff.

“That indeed is true. However, hospitals are also filled with hope, life, love, laughter and stories. A hospital is a magical place, you just need to see it.” ⇝

“One thirty-nine, one forty, one forty-one, one forty-two.. one forty-three!” Akaashi whispered as his eyes passed the tiny signs with the numbers carved in them.

As he got closer to the small room, he noticed the door was left open just enough to fit half a body.

Room 143. Akaashi knew exactly whose room it was.

He was ready to prepare himself mentally for one of your breakdowns. He knew how much you cared for the little boy that you got assigned and was not ready to lose in the OR.

To confirm his expectation, he peeked into the room, heart siphoning an immense amount of blood through his veins.

When he didn’t see the scene that he had created in his head in front of him, he let out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding onto.

You were kneeled beside the hospital bed with the little kid laying underneath layers and layers of blankets. The boy’s nostrils flared, eyebrows high and rounded, eyes shot and a mouth wide open while a fit of laughter slipped right out.

Akaashi didn’t miss the way a warm smile crept up your lips and how the mother of the child held onto the father a little tighter while tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes.

And that’s when Akaashi realised what you meant. Hospitals could indeed be a magical place.

His eyes noticed your hand disappearing into the pocket of your white doctor’s coat. Your thumb and index finger had captured a white stick to present it to the little boy who had opened his eyes in the meantime.

“You’re actually not supposed to eat sweets,” you snickered. “But because you are my favourite, I’ll let it slide this one time!” With a playful smile painting your lips, you handed the red lollipop to your patient.

The boy had twinkling eyes and a tongue sweeping across his lips. He gratefully wrapped his tiny hand around the white stick.

It was late and time to end your twenty-eight-hour shift. You replaced the playful smile with a gentle and heart-warming one.

“Akaashi-sensei!” Once the kid noticed you were about to leave, he couldn’t help but crave one more thing. “Thank you.”

It was something simple, something everyone would expect to hear after helping another.

But this was different.

You had met him for the first time eight months ago. He was hard to get to talk because of his shyness. So, to say the least, a “thank you” coming from his mouth and not his parents’ was surprising.

Your smile grew bigger to the point it started to hurt. Ruffling his soft, brown locks was the very first time he didn’t shy away from your touch.

“You did great, Izumi-kun,” you complimented him. “Now, get some rest and save your lollipop for tomorrow. But don’t show my colleagues; you don’t want me to get in trouble, right?” Izumi shook his head violently after processing the last sentence. Chuckling, you turned to the parents that bowed forty-five degrees.

“Thank you so much for your help. We will forever be grateful for your work.”

You never liked the way people looked up to you for doing something that was simply your job.

Bowing just as respectfully, you spoke up, “It was no problem. I’m just as happy the operation went well as you are.” Making eye contact with two pair of eyes that stared right back at you with multiple emotions held inside of them, you felt yourself getting warm.

“I’ll be back in two days. The nurses will check up on him and make sure everything is going as planned during the time that I’m gone. If there’s anything I can do for you or Izumi-kun, I’m always there to answer your questions.”

Just as you were about to leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist. The source tried to pull you into its direction but there was no intensity to get you where he wanted.

With raised brows and wide eyes, you felt how two arms were wrapped around you securely. Looking down, you saw Izumi’s arms, that were full of needles that fed him the insulins he needed, wrapped around your waist.

The warmth of the boy swallowed you whole. And for the first time since twenty-eight hours, you felt a wave of relief washing over you.

A thin layer of salty tears stung your eyes as you returned the warmth.

It took the both of you a little bit to let go of one another.

“Have a good night, Izumi-kun.” With those words and a heart-warming smile plastered on your face, you left the room, eyes fixated on the white shoes that belonged to the hospital.

You stopped dead in your tracks after walking a bit further away from room 143. Everything sunk in deep and you finally had a moment to let your mind race and take its time to bring itself to ease by progressing everything that happened from the restless night to the moment you gave Izumi a lollipop.

Pushing your body against the white wall behind you and sliding down against it, gave you the peace you craved.

Quiet moments like these always hit the hardest. And it wasn’t much different today.

The tears started flowing over the edge of your bottom eyelid, all the stress, frustration and relief washing away with the salty droplets. The walls, the walls that hold you up, that make you strong in front of your patients collapsed right then and there. Second by second, you see them falling, the bricks smashing against the ground and dividing into millions of pieces right in front of you.

Salty drops travel along your cheeks, falling from your chin and entering the fabric of your white doctor’s coat. It was then that you realised there was an iota of blood on it. The bloodstain got watered down by the tears and expanded in its size, the dark red colour turning into a lighter shade.

“My love,” you heard your lover’s voice call out. Rubbing the salty fluid out of your eyes, you looked up to see if you weren’t hallucinating things due to being sleep deprived.

But you weren’t hallucinating, Akaashi really stood there.

You quickly stood up, bewildered by his sudden appearance.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes started watering again after seeing his eyes filled with warmth, worry and relief.

Akaashi took a few steps forward, handing you the bouquet he had bought you.  

“They are Gladioli. In Rome, gladioli were associated with gladiators. Some say that gladiators wore gladiolus corms around their necks during battles to help them win and protect them from death. Because of their association with gladiators, the gladiolus flower meaning is strength and integrity,” Akaashi rambled, nothing more than anxiety and love being projected into his irises.

He loved you so much, it hurt.

“You’ve been so strong and I’m so proud of you. You’re always there for everyone and ready to help. That’s one of the million reasons I love you.” Akaashi saw your emphasised pockets, plaintive, painful eyebrows, relaxed jaw, eyes that could barely stay open and a slightly drooped head. Despite your tired expression, he could feel the love radiating from you.

“Keiji,” you whispered out, tears now uncontrollably streaming down your face. You buried your face in the bouquet, shoulders shaking and sobs decorating the silence in the white corridors.

In next to no time, you felt two strong arms wrapping themselves around your waist. Akaashi’s heart shattered into pieces when he felt your body giving up on you, the exhaustion finally catching up on you.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Even though it was said like a question, it was nothing more than a warning demand, a reminder to show you he cared.

“Yes, yes please.”

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 7: A Spark of Electricity

Keith makes a new friend and discovers he’s been committing tax fraud his entire life completely unknowing 🤣

First  Previous  Next

Keith stirs. It hadn’t occurred to him that sharing a bed with Lance might be to his benefit, but he finds it better than being alone. He’s spent a few decaphoebs of his childhood alone already.  

Being alone as a kit does a lot of damage. It can make the kit skittish and paranoid. It impedes their ability to express themselves, both verbally and through body language. Especially body language. It leads to depression and antisocial behavior.

And it makes sleeping difficult. Kits are instinctively driven only to sleep when their older littermates or parents are around. It keeps them safe. As such, having a full-grown, larger Altean sleeping only a few dashes away does a lot for him.

It can’t repair what was done to him as a small kit crying on a cliff’s edge for his father to get up and climb back up to find him, but it helps.

Except now he's alone, curled up by himself beneath the warm blankets. Or is he alone? There's a static sound, a flash behind his eyelids, a curse. Keith opens his eyes.

A small girl, an Olkari, is fussing with a panel in the wall. Much like himself, Keith can't imagine that she's an adult. But when she turns around, she wasn’t exactly a child, either. More adolescent. But extremely small.

“Oh, great, you’re awake! Keith, right? That’s what Lance said you like to be called.” Seemingly benign.

“Who are you?” Keith asks, blinking sleep and tangled hair from his eyes.

“Pidge. I’m the resident tech expert around here. I’m modifying the lighting system so that you can adjust it from your datapad. There was a glitch, unfortunately, which Lance picked up earlier when he went to adjust it for you before he left. My fault. Happens to the best of us. I’d fix it the ‘normal’ way, but the Castle isn’t Olkari tech, so old-fashioned way it is! Besides, I don't mind it. I actually like doing it this way.”

Normal way? This is the normal way! Keith sits up. “I don’t have a datapad.”

Pidge holds up a piece of glass with a white border around it. “Now you do.” She tosses it onto the bed. “I’m almost done with this. Just give me a second. Then I’ll help you set it up. Can you read Altean?”

“No.” He can, but the girl doesn’t need to know that. Keith busies himself with tracing the embroidery on the duvet cover.

“You're a terrible liar, but that's your business. That’s fine. I can program the pad to translate everything into Galran for you. We can even go old school and use a handprint scanner to unlock it, if you want. Only you and Lance would be able to get into it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lance said that Hunk and I are to make you as happy and welcome as possible and since we’re friends, I’m happy to oblige.”

“We’re friends? Who’s Hunk?”

“Lance, Hunk, and I are friends.” Pidge pressed the sparking tool back to a wire. “You are... a potential friend. Lance says you seem alright.”

“I’m flattered,” Keith deadpans. Pidge laughs. She’s not... so bad. Nothing here, minus the people Lance calls ‘courtiers’, are too terrible. And the Altean food. That’s terrible too. Also the clothes.

There's a lot that's terrible.

“Be nice, and maybe I’ll make you a body modification so you can taste sweet things?”

“You can do that?” Pidge nods, replacing a panel in the wall, work seemingly complete. “But you’re... just a girl? Like, a very young girl.”

“Nonbinary, actually. But yes, I am quite young.” Pidge smiles, removing the magnifying lenses from their eyes.

“Oh. Sorry. I-” Keith had assumed that most species followed the laws of the Alteans. he'd assumed his species was unusual.

“No worries. Just try to remember for the future and we're all good.” Pidge gets up from the floor, coming to sit on the bed like it's their own. “So, you wanna turn that datapad on?” Keith sucks on his lip, ears wilting as he inspects the datapad for a button. “Here. Gimme.”

Keith hands the datapad to Pidge, blushing beneath his short facial fur. The Olkari shows him a small button on the side, turning it on and handing it back to him. They spend the next varga showing him how to use it, how to translate texts, how to access the castle’s documents. They even show him how to tap into video feeds they’ve set up to spy on the kings in Alfor’s laboratory, though they warn him that not everything that happens in there is alchemy. At least not in the traditional sense.

Apparently Coran likes to visit. Also? Gross.

After all of that, Keith finds himself just... chatting with the young Olkari. They poke him and prod him and shine a flashlight in his ears. They ask probing questions about his personal biology and what purpose such trimorphism might serve.

“Well, it used to be that child-bearing and care was more of a... communal thing? We didn’t always form the strong bonds with our mates that we do now. But since our trimorphism doesn’t hold any disadvantage, our biology hasn’t changed.”

“That. Is so cool.” Pidge fiddles with another panel in another wall while Keith makes note of which foods he likes from the sampler he’s just received for breakfast. “Keith?”

“Hm?” Keith looks up from a small bowl of deep green beans, licking the corner of his mouth. Pidge turns, absently playing with the end of his tail. They’re a cute little thing, Keith decides. Inquisitive. Benign. A kit, like himself.

“How old are you?”

“Just nineteen decaphobes. Turned nineteen a few movements ago.”

“So you’re just a pup. Like me.” Keith nods, gesturing for them to continue. “Why would Zarkon marry you off, then?”

“Didn’t like my dad. Different perspectives, I guess? My father wanted to focus more on internal growth; Zarkon wanted to focus on expansion. They had a falling out.” Keith twitches his tail, watching the inquisitive Olkari chase it with their honey-colored eyes. “It happens sometimes. Anyway, I think he wanted me gone. Bring back sad memories, I guess.”

“How did you end up with him anyway?”

Keith’s ear wilt, tail stilling. “My father... died. Zarkon sent me to live with a friend, Takashi. He's basically my littermate.”

There was so much more to it than that, but Keith didn’t want to talk about it. Pidge narrowed their eyes at him, and Keith knew they could tell he was hiding things. Finally, they nod.

“Well, at least Zarkon didn’t hold your father against you.”

“No, he didn’t. He hoped I would be happy here, I think. He worries about me.” Keith tucks his legs up to his chest. Pidge hums, reaching out to touch a tangled lock of Keith’s hair. They begin working the knots out of it.

“I’d worry too, if my child nephew was married off to the likes of Crown Prince Lancel. He’s got quite the reputation. Or did. Adam says everyone was astounded when he showed up to hold court today. Especially King Coran. King Alfor's heart probably stopped when he heard about it.”

“What does Lance normally do?” Keith latches onto the change of topic.

“Hm. Runs all over. Flirts. Goofs off. Goes hunting. Flirts some more. The people like him as a person, but they don’t care for him as their crown prince. Y’know, because a crown prince becomes a king, and a king needs to like, do stuff. Other than the local prostitutes.”

Keith grins just in time for the door to open for Lance himself, followed by Adam toting a stack of tablets.

“Okay... question one,” Lance mutters, nose stuck in his own datapad. “What the quiznak are taxes?” Adam sighs, exasperated.

Pidge gives Keith a significant look. “Do you want to laugh or shall I?”

“As his spouse, I claim that right.” Keith dissolves into quiet laughter, the Olkari following suit.

“Oh, great!” Lance vaults over the back of the couch with a comb. “You two are getting along. Pidge, Keith. Keith, Pidge-”

“We’ve already done that,” Pidge informs him.

“Excellent! Anyhoo, Keith, your hair is a mess. Come here.” Lance doesn’t wait for a response, instead taking one lock of Keith’s hair at a time, starting at the ends and working his way up.

"...Thanks. I'll- I'll get it cut. It's inconvenient like this."

"No, don't you dare. I need you to keep it." Adam looks like he might throttle Keith. "Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to endear you to these fops? The cuter and more harmless you look, the better."

"Gee, thanks," Keith grumbles. Pidge snickers, going through the pockets of Lance's... what is it with Altean clothes? Lance has pants, but then a skirt in the back? What's even the point of that? He also had a cape? Nevermind. Pidge searches in the pockets of his pants.

Keith allows Lance to do as he likes since the comb doesn't hurt. He occupies himself chatting amicably with Pidge, taking comfort in the blunt openness and bright enthusiasm that they exude. Lance joins in, braiding a red-and-gold ribbon into Keith’s hair. The seamsmaster has assigned Keith an aesthetic and run with it. But the braid looks pretty, so whatever.

If only the matching wardrobe were more comfortable.

Hair done, Keith climbs up into the loft, watching from above as Adam and Pidge team up to teach Lance about taxes. He likes Pidge. Likes how sweet Lance is with them, giving them bits of junk he’s found lying about, letting them sit in his lap and scan the soft scales on his face with some device. He yelps when they try to stroke them against the grain. Pidge, unaware that it would hurt, apologizes immediately. Lance just waves it off, the same way Pidge waved off Keith's misgendering earlier.

These people. They're so easy-going. Adam is a tight-ass, but he's definitely overworked and probably overtired. Lance and Pidge seem to take offense to little, brushing off accidental hurts like one might brush off a drop of rain. Keith likes them well enough, but he's content to do so from his loft, where he can't be disappointed if they don't like him back.

Instead, he listens. And learns. Apparently, taxes are an allotment of money taken from the citizens to fund the crown. Who knew?

Living in the woods like a wild animal is not taxable. Keith smirks, realizing that he's technically a life-long criminal.

Wait until Lance finds out.

[ofregiums]

all the world’s a stage, and HAL WAGNER is merely one of its players. the thirty-four year old hitman is called the broken ace by most that know him. loyal to no one, he’s certainly a force to be reckoned with, considering that he’s resourceful and magnetic. however, if you want to bring him down, i’ll have you know he’s detached and wayward. – played by robert pattinson

— THE BASICS

full name: henry zachariah wagner ii date of birth: may 28th, 1986 place of birth: verona age: thirty-four star sign: gemini reimagined: prince hal from the henriad tetralogy profession: hitman alma mater: not applicable ( dropped out )  faction loyalty: neutral alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: estp spoken languages: english ( native speaker ), french ( advanced ), spanish ( advanced ), mandarin ( intermediate ) talents: interrogations, hand to hand combat, weaponry, negotiations  mother’s name: mary wagner, estranged father’s name: henry wagner the first, estranged siblings, if any: thomas wagner ( deceased ), john wagner, blanche wagner, phillipa wagner  spouse: catherine lewis ( est. january 2008 - may 2009 ) height: 6′ hair colour: dirty blonde eye colour: blue

— BACKSTORY

born as the first child to a shipping mogul and well-beloved actress, hal was placed into a life of luxury and notoriety from the moment he took his first breath. yet, his status as the future heir to a business dynasty was marked with high expectations and strict demands to ensure he would be the perfect successor to wagner industries one day. these standards were enforced by his father. often times harsh and selective with his love, the man typically made a young hal vie for his attention. thankfully, he had his mother to combat any cruelty inflicted by his mother. she was his whole world.

hal was the oldest of five and grew up incredibly close to his siblings. no matter how much their father seemed to make them compete, they instead bonded together. hal had a particularly soft spot for his youngest sister pippa and the sibling closest in age to him, tommy.

at the age of eleven, hal’s mother had reached her breaking point when it came to his father. she promptly filed for divorce and requested sole custody of the children. henry the first refused to take the embarrassment lying down. he reminded mary relentlessly throughout the process that he had more power and money than she could ever imagine. sure, she could divorce him. but she would never get a hand on his legacy. after a nasty array of court battles, hal’s parents divorced but it only left his mother with very limited visitation rights in retaliation for her decision. soon enough, she disappeared as a presence in his life overall.

as he blossomed into a teenager, parties became his form of escape. he had his first snort of cocaine far too young ( and his first drink even younger ) and discovered that these substances gave him a release from his reality for a while. while his father only cared for image sake, hal’s siblings begged him to give up his new habits, absolutely worried by what he was doing to himself.

he was eighteen, on the cusp of graduating from high school, when everything changed forever. hal and tommy went for a drive. but after a couple of beers, it became clear that hal wasn’t the best candidate. concerned, tommy asked for them to pull over -- but hal insisted everything was totally fine. and in a cruel strike of fate, the evening became completely the opposite when he drifted into the opposing lane and made a split decision to swerve into a pole to avoid the head-on collision. panicked and delirious, hal quickly discovered that he got the longer end of the stick when he noticed tommy’s body folded in half in the passenger seat. a boy shy of his seventeenth birthday, his best friend. gone from this world.

after tommy’s funeral, things changed with hal’s dynamic with his siblings. they blamed him for their brother’s death. that much was clear. even when little pippa ( god, she was only eight. . . she didn’t deserve such grief ) insisted that they just needed time to heal, he knew deep down in his heart that things would never be the same. 

hal attended the university of verona. or as some liked to phrase it, hal’s father bought his way into university of verona. he’d never been a great student. intelligent, yes. but far too distracted and bored to actually do something with the smarts. he got through his university years with a party every night and paying some nerd to handle his assignments and essays. getting a business degree was only a formality anyways. he was still primed to take over the family business when his father saw fit.

during his senior year, hal met catherine. for once, someone looked at him and didn’t see all of his mistakes and failures. she laughed at his sardonic jokes. she smiled when he didn’t feel like doing so himself. was there any wonder that he fell head over heels in love with her ? but hal was a terrible partner. far too immature and hedonistic to actually be worth it. in a last ditch effort for catherine not to leave him, he proposed. she agreed, not wanting the relationship to end as much as he did, and the two eloped over night.

henry the first was absolutely livid. coming from a lower class background, catherine was definitely not his fist choice for hal’s wife. plus his recklessness was now on full spread in all the gossip columns ( eloped at 21 ? dear god. ). henry made his son choose: the family or catherine. hal didn’t hesitate to choose his wife. after all, his siblings despised him. he never wanted to take over the company. and now, he could be free from his father’s tyrannical reign. choosing catherine was the only option. after doing so, he promptly dropped out as a final fuck you to his father.

but as much as he loved catherine, he came to realize that he may have loved his freedom more. being tied down and expected to be better was a panic-inducing experience for hal. he wasn’t ready to grow up. that weighed on catherine and after only a year or so of marriage, she requested for the marriage to be annulled. erased as if it never existed.

as if that wasn’t more than enough to drive someone insane, hal received news from his mother that her health was declining.

hal was left with nothing by the age of 24. no wife. no family. no career or even a fucking degree. he floundered around aimlessly, spending nights in bars and eventually in the beds of strangers. one day, he happened to stumble upon a group one night. seemingly, hal just assumed that they were a pack of lads around his age that were enjoying their youth. but as he continued to hang with them more and more, he soon learned that their motives were far darker. they worked as a secret organization that offered an array of services to the shady underbelly of verona. theft, collections, even murder... you name it, they did it. it may have been enough information to horrify anyone else but for a listless hal, it was the excitement needed amongst the trepidation of trying to survive this world alone.

he started off with the most basic assignments. but it became quickly evident that hal had a oddly exceptional talent at compartmentalizing. after so much loss and pain and disappointment, he knew how to detach from everyone and everything without a blink of an eye. that made him a prime candidate to take on a more darker role in the organization -- killing. he relentlessly trained under older mercenaries and eventually was sent around town with assignments. it was never his place ( nor his desire ) to ask for the reasoning behind why he was taking the targets out. in a sick sense, he replaced self-indulgent vices with something far worse. a way to feel alive.

around the age of thirty, hal decided that he wanted out of the organization to work solo. requesting a leave came with a price -- a near death beating as a warning of what would be done to him if he ever exposed the secrets of the organization. it took him months to properly heal but once he did, he began to reach out to the clients that he had previously worked for. offered them a slightly better price than what they were paying and sworn discretion as per usual. after all, he didn’t need his former co-workers on his ass for stealing their business.

now hal walks these streets, alone and strangely work-oriented. though he occasionally has a haunted look in his eyes, he’s not particularly marred with the heavy darkness that some souls that roam verona carry. he simply does what he needs to do to survive and collect a paycheck at the end of the day. he promises zero loyalty to anyone, knowing that doing so means sacrificing a part of himself that died a long time ago. and while he is no longer the wild child that he was in his youth, if you need him. . . you can usually find him at the local bar.

[inactiive-shit]

The Bones of a Miracle

The Bones of a Miracle Masterlist || AO3 [[Next Chapter]]

Chapter 1: Just Doing What We’re Told

Summary: Roman Pyre is called upon to retrieve the missing Crown Prince by the rulers of Aerewadal, one of the strongest kindgoms in the world. He takes the job with the promise of more money than he could ever hope to spend and finally, at long last, peace. How hard could it be to find one Prince? Turns out, not that hard. But bringing him back and getting paid? That's another problem entirely.

Words: 5,250

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Roman had been resting after his latest mission, allowing his tailors to fix his clothes and his beauticians to work their magic on his wrecked hair and nails, and giving his body the much needed time to heal the bruises and cuts he’d gotten for his efforts.

All in all, Roman had very much been looking forward to having some down time. He’d had grand plans of gorging himself on whatever exotic fruits happened to coming in to the ports and attending lavish plays. Roman had even managed to secure enough time off to attend a masked ball at the end of the month, something that he rarely ever got the time to do.

But when the Queen requests your presence at the castle immediately, and instructs that you be ready for hard travel? You don’t delay.

Roman’s pack is filled with his clothes and food, money and the tools necessitated by the less...respected side of his profession. He has no idea what the monarchs might want with him or his skill set, but it’s best to come prepared, and they wanted whatever this was about dealt with quickly, so it would undoubtedly be better if he doesn’t have to come back home for his supplies.

Resisting the urge to curse under his breath from the pace they are traveling at, Roman leans forward in the carriage and gets the attention of the courier sent to retrieve him. The kid is young, barely more than fourteen if Roman were to hazard a guess. They have a nervous air about them, and Roman is sure this is their first assignment on their own, no mentor to give them a nudge in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, “the Queen’s message seemed pretty urgent. I could get to the castle quicker on my own.”

The kid, Ellie or El or Leo, looks down at their frantically tapping fingers and shrugs. Their gray shirt hangs loose on their body, billowing out around the much more snug black vest. “Their Majesties insisted that I escort you there, sir. The task they have for you is of the highest importance and they wish to ensure that you arrive safely as well as swiftly.”

“What is this task meant to be?” Roman asks, deciding against mentioning that he is more than capable of taking care of himself and he’s not sure what help in that regard this kid could give him, besides. The kid darts a look at him but looks away just as quickly; they know something, and they’re not allowed to say.

“Their Majesties did not deign to inform me, sir.”

“Say what you will,” Roman mutters. He leans his chin on his fist. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

The carriage is hot and even though the windows are open, barely any wind makes its way inside to air out the space. While he dislikes the heat, uncomfortable as it, Roman is just thankful that it’s not humid. Humidity makes his already kinky hair unbearably frizzy and he’s not sure he’d be able to handle another stint on the job while fighting to keep his hair out of the way, too.

Roman wonders, on the hours long journey, why the Queen and Monarch would have sent someone as young and untried as the courier before him. He’s high priority from the wording of the message alone, and he’s one of the best at what he does—perhaps the best, if one is looking only for human options, which the monarchs seem to be doing. But this kid is skinny as a skeleton and has the courage of a skittish street cat. Perhaps they make up for it in wit, but Roman is hard pressed to believe that they alone could make the difference in an ambush or duel.

Still, who is Roman to question royalty? They have enough information on him to put him to death without a trial and people would party in the streets for it. It’s a wonder, really, that they haven’t sent for him before now to take care of him and the threat he poses. It’s stranger still that they would want him for such an important and sensitive mission that he’s not even allowed to know what it is until they reach the castle. Then, a secret ‘mission’ would be the perfect excuse to send for him and have him walk willingly into his own execution.

Roman discreetly checks his bag for all of his things. It’s best to be prepared; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“Any siblings?” the courier suddenly asks, dragging Roman from his thoughts. His eyes flick over them.

“No,” he says. “I was the sole ruler of my kingdom, as a child. Rather liked it that way.” They snort indelicately.

“I imagine that would have been exciting,” they say. “I had twelve siblings growing up and I was younger than most of them. I never got to be the ruler of anything.”

Roman whistles appreciatively. “That must have been tough.”

“Nah. Not much more than anything else.” Their voice is soft and unobtrusive. They settle back onto the bench and adjust their skirt. It flares slightly and goes nearly to the tops of their boots, much sturdier and more well-worn than any other article of clothing they’re wearing. Being a servant trusted by the Queen herself should be a position well-paid enough that they’d be able to afford decent boots. This pair is scratched and scuffed, mud caking the soles. Roman has rarely had shoes in such bad condition, even when he spent months tracking down an on-the-run noble and had to do his own repairs.

The courier doesn’t seem much inclined to continue the conversation, and Roman is more than happy to rest. He stretches across his bench and shuts his eyes. It’s going to be a long trip in this heat.

It takes two days that feels more like four to get to the castle. They were forced to stay the night at an inn that Roman wouldn’t have slept at even before he made a name for himself here. It didn’t even have a toilet. There was a hole behind some bushes they were expected to use.

It is an experience that Roman is not looking to repeat.

The courier leads Roman in through the back. There’s no one around to see them except for mice and spiders. There’s not even a guard placed here. He hadn’t been expecting to enter the castle to the sound of raucous applause and a path of rose petals, but this is so far removed from even the other weirdness that Roman encounters on a daily basis that he’s almost taken aback.

His interest is piqued. Whatever the Queen wants him for, she doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Or to know that Roman is involved.

This is going to pay well. Roman can feel it.

“We wait here.” The courier comes to a stop near the doors. The room they’re in is big and has golden fixtures on the walls that contain brightly burning candles. There are other, floating lights and a few sconces emanating shades of blue and purple that Roman assumes are magically imbued. It doesn’t take the most skilled hand to form colored light, but it does take a regular upkeep. An easy way to infiltrate the castle, Roman notes. Give the right person food poisoning and show up in their place. Of course, you’d have to know the layout of the castle to do anything, but as long as he could find the throne room, he’d be able to orient himself. It’s just a matter of finding the-

All the colored lights flicker to searing white for a moment, and the courier moves forward and yanks open the door. Roman has to stoop slightly to follow them in. Though the kid is short enough to go through without trouble, the door can only be five and a half feet tall, if that, and while Roman isn't extraordinarily tall, he is taller than that. That means it’s probably a hidden servants’ entrance. And if they’re willing to show someone as dangerous as Roman a weakness like that...

“Your Majesties,” the courier says, bowing low. Roman does a quick survey of the room while the attention isn’t on him. Doors, curtains, tapestries, pillars, chairs. But something’s off. There’s something missing. Roman’s just not quite sure what it is.

Then it hits him: there are no guards.

“Elliott,” says the Queen. “Thank you for bringing him in one piece.” Roman schools his face so that it doesn’t show his shock; the kid is on a first-name basis with the Queen. They’re important here.

The Queen and her spouse swivel to look at Roman. He steps forward and bows gallantly.

“Roman Pyre. At your services, Majesties.”

“Mr. Pyre,” the Monarch says. They glance over his clothes. Roman doesn’t glower, though it’s a close thing. He had worn the best suit he had left after his last job, a dark red one with gold highlights and a dramatically flared cape. It wasn’t much, but they were lucky Roman hadn’t simply come in his night clothes with the way he was rushed from his own home.

“That is a fine suit, Mr. Pyre,” the Queen murmurs. She doesn’t look at his clothes, instead staring him in the face. Well. Two can play at that game.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He casts an obvious, critical eye over her own wardrobe: a golden gown with purple beading and lace. There’s the sheath of a dagger hidden within the purple lacing that goes up the front. “I would be more than happy to recommend the tailor to you.” The Queen stiffens in her seat. Behind her, in the place a guard would usually stand, Elliott’s eyes go wide with shock at the slight. Roman refuses to lower his head or wipe the pleasant smile off his face.

“Perhaps you should,” she says, but the words aren’t genuine. She stares at Roman. On either side, her courier and spouse do too. Roman stares back, weathering the silence patiently. He knows the power of forcing someone to talk first, and after all he’s been through, he’s not going to allow anyone that.

The minutes tick by, each slower than the last, as everyone silently demands someone else talk first. And then, blessedly, there is a knock at the main entrance, a pair of grand, gleaming doors that reach to twelve feet high. Elliott slips around the Queen’s chair without a word and goes to the doors. They look heavy enough that it would take a team to open them, but the slip of a child does it with ease. Enchanted, Roman thinks. While it’s not unusual for castles to be filled to the brim with charms and enchantments, it is certainly interesting to see who is permitted through them.

Roman doubts there’s a place in the castle that Elliott can’t go.

There’s a muffled conversation at the door and Elliott sticks an arm out, quickly receiving something from whoever is on the other side. They shut the door and rush back to the thrones, offering the Queen a scroll. Roman watches with interest as she reads it, her eyebrows drawing together just slightly.

She releases a sigh through her nose and passes the scroll to her spouse. They read it quickly. Unlike the Queen, they seem energized by its contents, leaning toward her once they finish and whispering. She hums at their words, and finally resigns herself to losing.

“Mr. Pyre,” she says. Roman bows his head. “As you may have gathered, this is not a social call. To be candid with you, I would rather have you thrown in the dungeon right this second to await your trial and, once you are found guilty of your innumerable crimes, both against this crown and foreign empires, sentence you to death than be forced to deal with you now. There have been many times, over the years, that I considered doing just that, to rid myself and my bloodline of your vexing behaviors. However.” The Queen pauses here. Roman stands tall, arms loose and knees ready. His posture is as relaxed as he can feasibly force it, and he takes stock of all of his supplies and exits. Of course, it isn’t the least bit surprising to hear that the Queen has considered killing him before. That is only to be expected. It is worrying that she is openly admitting it. That isn’t the kind of thing citizens like to hear about their rulers. That she is saying it means something.

“How-ev-er,” the Queen says again. She smiles at him. Roman fights the urge to shiver and bares his teeth back at her, “we haven’t had you arrested yet, despite all the evidence piling up. Do you know why that is?”

“I’m just too handsome for the chopping block?” Roman suggests.

The Queen ignores him. “We always knew we might have a need for you. And so we do. Of course, there are people in this world more skilled than you at your...profession. However, most of them are much less reputable than even you and tend to bring back their quarries in poor condition. So, as much as I would like to have you thrown in the dungeon to never again see the light of day...you’re the best option. Even if you are so Fae.” His cheeks flame as he clenches his hands into fists. He can feel it all the way to the points of his ears, knows that his eyes have taken on a red tinge, as they always do when someone feels the need to point out Roman’s past. He debates the merits, just for a moment, of pulling her own dagger on her and slitting her throat with it. There are no guards in the room to stop him.

Unfortunately, Roman has more self control than that.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to make me not assist you,” he says, carefully modulating his voice. The Queen smirks like she wants him to say no, to test her.

“We have compensation for your successful efforts,” cuts in the Monarch. They grab the Queen’s hand with theirs and lean toward Roman. “Enough that you’ll be living the rest of your days in comfort. Along with the reassurance that all of your crimes and misdeeds in the past will be forgiven with a royal pardon.”

“How much money?” Roman asks, down to business now because this is what he’s here for. Roman lives for the money that makes his life that much easier. The pardon is nice too, don’t get things misconstrued, but it won’t matter for long. He’ll go right back to his unsavory profession and begin racking up disdain and wanted posters again.

The sum they name is astronomical. Roman will never have to take another job again. His mouth dries at the thought. Maybe he won’t be on anymore wanted posters.

“What would you have me do?”

“Find our son,” the Monarch says, and when they say it, both rulers look like they’re begging.

Roman sits at a table in a separate room. It looks like some sort of private dining room—the kind that maybe only the Queen and Monarch dine in. Despite the Queen’s obvious distaste for him, much of the castle has been exposed to him. That’s a dangerous thing. Roman knows that they must be serious about this.

The Queen sits across from him, a file in her hands. The courier stands at her elbow, a few more documents held in their arms. Roman glances over the papers, curious. It’s not as much as it could be, but to find someone like the Prince, Roman is going to need all the help he can get.

The Prince is notorious for getting away from his guards to traipse through the kingdom without protection and has a bad habit of disappearing even within the castle, where no one can find him. He’s good at disappearing, and at not being found.

“Here.” The Monarch drops another stack of paper before Roman. He begins leafing through them as the Monarch takes their seat.

“Four days ago,” the Queen begins. Roman drops the papers back to look at her, “our son disappeared.”

“Disappeared how?” Roman asks. The Queen shares a look with the Monarch. There’s a moment of silence before the Queen answers.

“He left in the night, and we believe he was looking for something. We’ve not heard from him since.”

“You mean to tell me that your adult son voluntarily left for a reason you know and you want me to drag him back?” The glare the Queen shoots him is absolutely vicious. If Roman were any less accustomed to violence and hatred, he would quiver under that look.

“There are many kingdoms that would take great interest in knowing the Heir to Aerewadal is currently somewhere in the country, unprotected,” the Monarch says. They motion to the papers sitting on the table. The Queen passes the folder over. It’s filled with descriptions of countries, leaders, and independent parties that have a bone to pick with the Wedian family. Roman raises his eyebrows, impressed. He’s never seen that level of hatred, all laid out.

“Where is this quest meant to take him?”

“Through Wudour Forest,” the Queen says. “And should that not yield the results he wants, all the way to the Fae Lands in the east.” She pauses, as though waiting for some input from Roman. He stays quiet. “He doesn’t have the training to defend himself from such...attacks as he is likely to face there. He does not have magic, nor does he have appropriate training to deal with people as particular as the Fae.

“We believe he is going after this.” Another page falls in front of Roman. There’s a chest depicted, with swirling filigree and delicate latches. “It is said to contain the Book of Cuilezia, the most powerful spellbook in the world.”

“It’s a myth,” Roman says. He drags his eyes away from the drawing to examine the monarchs. “He does know that nothing like that exists, doesn’t he?”

“He’s going after it,” the Monarch says. They look over Roman. “Do you understand the gravity of this situation?” Roman nods once. “We believe that he’s heading straight for Wudour Forest. We’ve sent guards after him, but he’s talented at escaping detection.” They rub a hand down the side of their face. Roman can see the stress that this has caused them, and he winces. “These papers contain everything we know about the path there, how we think he’s likely to travel, and any other information we thought would be helpful. There’s a room set up for you here for tonight, so you can review the information, eat, and rest.”

“You’ll tomorrow morning,“ the Queen orders. “Get our son back.”

“You have my word, your Majesty.” Roman stands and bows deeply to them. The Queen waves a hand and Elliot steps forward to gather up the files.

They escort Roman to a distant room in the castle. The hall it’s in is vacant and dusty, like it hasn’t seen a good cleaning in years, but the room itself is in good condition. There’s a soft, squishy comforter on the most luxurious mattress Roman has ever felt. There’s a plethora of candelabras and sconces around the room that Elliott lights by hand. It leaves the room glowing brightly, in perfectly natural light. Roman feels almost at home.

“Breakfast will be sent for you in the morning,” they say. “You are expected to be off as soon as possible. The quicker you get back with the Prince, the better.” They turn to leave.

“How old are you?” Roman asks. Well, he blurts it. He’s curious about their station here. About what could get them in so close with the Queen.

Elliott turns to eye him. They must not think he has any unfavorable motivations because they eventually softly say, “Nineteen.” Roman chokes on air. Nineteen! They look like a child!

“You must have lived here a long time, then. To be so young and so trusted.”

“I know my way around,” Elliott says with a smile, which isn’t an answer. Roman sighs. “Sleep, sir. You’ll need it to find the Prince. He’s fast on his feet and knows a thing or two about covering up his trail.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman mutters. He hesitates, but Elliott is still waiting in his room so he figures asking a few more questions won’t be too out of line. “You wouldn’t be able to give me any other pointers about the Prince, would you? The more I know, the quicker I can find him.”

“He’s determined,” Elliott says. They pause, seeming to struggle for the words before continuing. “He has a goal, and not getting caught before he completes his task is likely part of it.”

“What’s his goal?” Roman prods.

“The chest containing the Book of Cuilezia,” Elliott says. Their eyes are sharp despite their voice remaining quiet and hesitant. “The Queen showed you a picture of it.”

“Of course,” Roman says, “and a noble goal it is. But there isn’t anything else he may be looking for? Something that, perhaps, he recently discovered and decided he wanted?”

“No,” Elliott says, voice dropping ever so slightly. There’s a silence. “Not that I’m aware of, sir. I’m not privy to all the goings-on of the castle.”

“I’m sure,” Roman mutters under his breath. “Do you know what led him to believe the chest is located in Wudour?”

“He believes the Fae have it,” Elliott says. “A merchant recently came through, bearing weapons of Fae and Elvish make. She swore that she saw the chest with some of the most advanced Fae Healers there are.”

“She didn’t say what she was doing in the company of such esteemed magic users, did she?”

“She neglected to mention that.” Roman snorts and shakes his head. The courier waits a moment. “If that’s all, I’ll leave you to your reading, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s all. You’ve been helpful,” Roman says. “Thank you.” They slip out the door. Roman collapses onto the bed and the stack of carefully clipped together papers bounces up beside him.

“This castle,” Roman says to the papers, “is full of the most gods awful liars I have ever seen.” The papers say nothing back and, groaning, Roman rolls to his stomach, gathers them close, and begins to read.

Roman is completely packed the next morning when his breakfast arrives. The servant says nothing to him, simply sets the tray on the desk and bows out of the room. Roman picks over the food; they’re obviously not too worried about feeding him anything of quality. The gray-ish mush is slimy and the roll is hard enough to make his teeth hurt.

Perhaps they’re trying to run him out of the castle so that he’ll get a quicker start. At least the apple he has is good, fresh and wormless. It’s not the worst food he’s ever been served.

Ten minutes later, a knock sounds at the door. Roman opens it to see the same servant as before.

“Are you ready to leave, sir?”

“But of course,” Roman says, slinging his pack over his shoulder and grinning. “Lead the way.”

Without another word, the servant turns and begins walking. Roman stays a few paces behind, taking in all the halls they passed. It would be good to know the palace’s layout in case he ever got a job that brought him within it.

If he did, he’d have to ransack the kitchen while he was at it and see what kind of delicacies they were withholding from him. He was sure the rulers didn’t eat like that, and he’s curious to see what they do have.

They come out into the misty gray morning. The sun still hasn’t fully risen yet, but the birds are just beginning to sing in the trees. It’s as beautiful as the music played by the Royal Orchestra at the Royals’ and Nobles’ birthdays. The only good thing about the rulers getting another year older is the music accompanying it.

The stables come up before them, and Roman takes a few quick steps to catch up to his guide. “Why are we going to the stables?”

“Their Majesty said to give you one of the fastest horses in the stable, Drukha, to aid you in your travels, sir.”

“How thoughtful,” Roman says. He steps up to the stall door the servant stops at and peers in. The horse staring back at him has a shimmering black-brown coat and stands at least sixteen hands. As soon as she sees him, she whinnies and rears back on her legs to stomp at him. Roman lurches back from the door just as the horse’s hooves make contact. The gates tremble.

“She’s a little skittish,” the servant says. Roman stands far back as the horse is calmed and then let out of the stall. He follows the horse back out of the stable and into the light. She’s already been tacked up.

“Are you sure this isn’t a hellsfoot?” Roman remarks. The horse’s eyes are rolling around her head like she’s been possessed and she stomps her hooves every time Roman gets too close. In the sun, her coat almost looks like liquid more than hair, which is the same texture that the creatures corrupted by magic have.

“There’s not been any dark magic done around the horses, sir.” Roman edges close enough to take the reins, and Drukha screams at him again. “She's likely on edge on account-a the fact you’re Fae.” Roman tightens his grip on the reins and flushes to the tips of his ears, but doesn’t say anything in response. “She’s fast, and strong. She’ll serve you well, sir. Just needs some time to acclimate.”

“Tell their Majesties thank you from me,” Roman says quietly. He manages to tie his pack to the horse without getting a chunk taken out of his leg and then hops on. The horse prances around for a moment, attempting to bite his legs, but Roman eventually gets her somewhat under control. With one last nod to the servant, he turns the horse and sets off.

The streets, once Roman enters them, are crowded. People mill around and carriages trundle through, slow to avoid the citizens walking out into the streets without a care in the world. It would be quicker if he could just walk, but he’d regret leaving Drukha behind once he got to the forest. As much as she may act like a hellsfoot in the meantime and cause more problems than not.

Though, she doesn't seem to be bothered by the crowd or noise of the market. Not easily spooked, then. She'd just have to get used to him and understand who would be calling the shots.

~~~~~

Logan watches passively as the man in the tree curses colorfully. The branch he's balanced precariously on is perhaps thirty feet off the ground and creaking dangerously. A fall from that height could kill him, though it likely won't. He'll undoubtedly be hurt if he doesn't come to his senses and make his way down from the tree, and Logan has a suspicion that the man won't come down if he's told to or not.

But Logan is perfectly content to watch and see where this leads. He has no stakes in the situation, so regardless of what the man does, Logan will be fine.

(Though, he was supposed to have been finished collecting his berries well over an hour ago, now. He's been watching the eclectic, bizarrely dressed man since he'd heard him crashing through the woods. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his actions beyond his apparent inability to keep a singular goal in mind for longer than ten minutes. His current excursion started as an attempt to get a higher vantage to figure out where he was, but he's been chasing a bird up the tree for the better part of fifteen minutes. The bird, for their part, seemed perturbed by the intruder and continually squawked at him to get down.)

Instead of coming down the tree, the man jumps from the branch he's on and barely manages to get his arms around another. With a deafening crack, the previous branch launches off the tree and comes crashing to the ground feet before Logan. The man just keeps dangling from the new branch, legs kicking wildly beneath, laughing. Logan watches him with rapt attention. He's never seen someone so absolutely unworried about death or injury, let alone this far into the woods and alone.

"Oh, shitty fucking dicks," the man says, and the branch he's holding on to lets out an ear-splitting shriek just before it falls off the tree.

And takes the man with it.

He doesn't make any noise upon impact with the ground and Logan wonders if, like with every other part of his appearance and general disposition, he's defied the odds and died.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who you are), upon closer inspection Logan can see that he's still very much breathing. His leg, however, should not be bending at the angle that it is, nor in the place that it is.

And while Logan will concede that, to some degree, all life is sacred and that senseless killing is generally a bad thing, he has to almost wish that the man had ended up dead. If he died, there would be nothing Logan could do about his unfortunate state. As it is, he is merely hurt and desperately in need of help. A broken leg in this forest at this time of day will eventually lead to death or at least further injury, and Logan cannot abide by such things in his forest.

Sighing, Logan secures his pack of berries and roots over his back and and drags the man up. He's heavy, someone who probably hasn't done much physical work in his life but has had enough access to food. Not a commoner, and that's especially evident with the way he's dressed. The clothes themselves don't match at all, almost as if someone simply had to wear what was there and couldn't create a cohesive outfit, the they're made out of expensive fabrics (not the most luxurious, like silk imported from a people somewhere to the north, but good quality nonetheless) that aren't manufactured with the wear-and-tear of the forest in mind.

He's likely some spoiled noble's son who ought to know better than to go gallivanting around the forest alone and ill-equipped. Logan has no love for the nobles, no matter their land, but perhaps he can make a copper or two from helping this man and buy something new for his cottage. He's been meaning to buy some new curtains with star patterns on them for some time.

Logan tosses the man over a shoulder and sets off for home. It's not too far of a walk, and the man isn't much of a burden to carry. And the leg, while it will take some time to heal, won't be too much work either. Maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe it will work out in Logan's favor.

Anyway, how much work can one person be?

[kwangjungmoon]

Relationships With Others

♞In general, how does your character treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your character’s treatment of them change depending on how well they know them, and if so, how?

Generally, Kwang is friendly. He is warm, and he is kind to others. He doesn’t like talking a lot, but he does like listening. Due to his past, he is rather muted and controlled around others. However, the closer they get to people the more expressive that he gets. 

♞Who is the most important person in your character’s life, and why?

Currently it’s Katarina. Most importantly, she was his wife, and he feels like he knows too little about the woman he spent so much time with. Second, he is attached to no one else.

♞Who is the person your character respects the most, and why?

The Dalai Lama as he has managed to get the closest to Nirvana on Earth.

♞Who are your character’s friends? Does your character have a best friend? Describe these people.

Kwang doesn’t have any close friends. He had distant friends in Interpol, but he no longer talks to any of them except Geneva Baillargeon. By far Geneva and Kwang had the closest relationship in Interpol. They actually communicated a lot, she had met his wife, and they had even gone on double dates. She had even named one of her children after him. She was a very important person in Kwang’s life. Often she was his only life line outside of an assignment he was in, and she was the voice of reason in very bad situations. Kwang knows that he owes his life to her. She calls him every month to make sure that he’s okay.

♞Does your character have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.

He considers himself very much still married to Katarina. Katarina was a firebrand who took nothing from anyone. She would fight anyone and anything to get what she wanted including Kwang. She didn’t need him. She just wanted him. When he was away, she was perfectly fine, but she did miss him a little. When he returned, she spent time with him, but she didn’t crowd him. She was the woman of his dreams.

♞Has your character ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

Kwang was madly, totally, and completely in love with Katarina. She was murdered by a criminal that Kwang had been tracking down in Interpol.

♞What does your character look for in a potential lover?

He is not looking for a potential lover right now. If he was though, he’d be looking for someone who understood what pain was like. He’d want someone who wouldn’t expect him to forget about Katarina, but someone who embraces that Kwang would have two lives. One before that person, and one with that person. He’d look for someone who could keep up with him, and someone who wouldn’t need him... but that they’d want him.

♞How close is your character to their family?

As they are dead, he isn’t close at all to his parents. Their graves are in South Korea.

♞Has your character started their own family? If so, describe them. If not, does your character want to? Why or why not?

He started a family with Katarina. She was pregnant when she was murdered.

♞Who would your character turn to if they were in desperate need of help?

The other police officers.

♞Does your character trust anyone to protect them? Who, and why?

He trusts his teammates on the field. He knows that he has to, because they need him to protect them too.

♞If your character died or went missing, who would miss them?

The people on his team from Interpol.

♞Who is the person your character despise the most, and why?

The man that killed his wife.

♞Does your character tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

It’s according to how important whatever the problem is to him. He tends to be passive about things thanks to his Buddhism, but if something is important to him, he will be up front and stand up for that think.

♞Does your character tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

Due to the nature of his job, Kwang certainly can take leadership rolls. He tends to prefer listening, but he will take leadership if he feels a vaccum.

♞Does your character like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?

He appreciates large groups of people for the intelligence reasons. It’s easy to get away with doing strange things in crowds like changing their clothes. He doesn’t like talking to a lot of people at the same time though, because he knows he’s missing details which could get him hurt.

♞Does your character care what others think of them?

For the most part, he is impartial. He knows human emotions are brief blips in the scale of memory, and that they tend to be a bit back and forth. However, he does worry if people start to distrust him. He doesn’t want to stand out like that.

[dragon-temeraire]

The Real You

Summary: Danny doesn’t have a crush on Stiles. No way.

Notes: Another one for @inell, who wanted Stiles/Danny and “be nice to your seat partner, they might just be your future spouse!” This is an AU where nothing supernatural happened in Beacon Hills. (On AO3)

Danny always hates the start of every school year. There’s a new schedule to learn, a new locker to find, and an influx of baby-faced freshman wandering around. There are also new teachers, new classes, and most importantly, new seating assignments.

He has to stifle a groan when he discovers that his desk-mate for English is none other than Stilinski. He’s weird and awkward, and only ever seems to hang out with his one dorky friend. Danny does not need him bringing down his reputation.

He also, Danny can’t help noticing, has long, long legs. He’s a little ashamed, but sometimes imagining those legs wrapped around his waist is the only thing that gets him through boring lacrosse practices.

Stiles might be undateable, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any positive attributes. Admittedly, his mouth is another key player in some of Danny’s daydreams.

He slides into his seat, and he’s just about to say something to Stiles, who’s sprawled out in his own chair, when the teacher begins to speak.

“Okay, everybody. I hope you’re in the right place. And be sure to be nice to your seat partner—they might just be your future spouse,” she says cheerfully.

Danny is just thinking about what an incredibly small-town outlook that is, when Stiles turns and actually winks at him.

Who the hell does he think he is?

 *

 Their English teacher, Ms. Morton, has them free-write in their notebooks every day, to get them “warmed up.” Danny thinks it’s kind of pointless, but it’s ten minutes of peace and quiet, so he goes with it.

He’s feeling a little low on inspiration, though, so he sneaks a peek over at what Stiles is writing. And he gets a bit distracted, because Stiles really does have nice hands. One of which is resting against his mouth as he scribbles in his journal.

His perfect, pink mouth, that he leaves hanging open so often.

Sometimes, Danny really regrets his keen observational skills.

He drags his gaze away, starts writing a story about meeting a handsome guy in a coffee shop, who has an intriguing line of freckles across one cheek.

 *

 He expected Lydia to be all over the new girl. What he didn’t expect was for Stiles’ goofy-puppy friend to be all over her, too.

Which means they all end up eating lunch together.

Awkwardly.

Somehow, when he’s trying not to watch Stiles drink his water obscenely, he gets roped into going bowling with everyone. It’s some kind of group date, and since they’re all paired up already, that leaves him with Stiles.

Great.

He’s about to say no, and bow out, but then he catches a glimpse of Stiles’ excited expression, and well. Danny’s not as nice as everyone thinks—it’s just that he usually keeps his thoughts to himself. And also, having an asshole friend like Jackson makes him look really great by comparison.

But he’s not a monster.

“Sure, I’ll be there,” he says. He pretends not to notice Stiles’ enthusiastic fist pump.

 *

 Jackson is, of course, taking the bowling way too seriously. Everything’s a competition with him, as Danny knows too well.

It is pretty entertaining, though. Because Scott is spending most of his time looking shyly at Allison, sending her these dopey little smiles, while Jackson just gets increasingly more aggressive.

And Lydia looks increasingly more put-upon.

What makes it even better, though, is Stiles. He keeps leaning in and making these snide little comments about how much sex Lydia is going to withhold, and for once he doesn’t sound like he’s in love with her.

Danny thought he had a good grasp of the nuance of sarcasm, having been friends with Jackson for so long.

But it turns out he was wrong.

Because Stiles—Stiles on another level.

He’s snappy and sharp and quick-witted, and god help him, he’s funny. Sometimes, Danny actually has to walk away, because he’s laughing so hard.

He always knew that Stiles was that weird kind of smart, with immaculate (if eclectic) book knowledge, and just enough street smarts to let him read people really well, sometimes nearly instantaneously.

And it’s actually pretty interesting, seeing the places Stiles’ mind will jump to, all the ideas he’ll connect, all the tangents he’ll go on. He finds himself listening intently, and realizes that, to his surprise, he’s actually enjoying himself.

 *

 Stiles might be fascinating, but he’s still a dork, Danny thinks consolingly to himself. There’s absolutely no reason for his tiny crush on Stiles to get any bigger. Not when he’s seen Stiles trip over his own feet three times today.

Except that Danny’s beginning to wonder if Stiles can read his mind. Because somehow he seems to have a direct line to exactly what Danny is into.

Stiles comes to school wearing a tight, short sleeve shirt, which reveals surprisingly muscular arms. Then, the next day, he shows up in a dark Henley that emphasizes the lean lines of his torso, and rides up enough for Danny to see a thin sliver of his hips.

He catches himself staring more than once.  

And he keeps touching his face really often, dragging those long, beautiful fingers across his lips. It’s really distracting.

Danny thinks he’s doing okay, though, until the day Stiles wears jeans so form-fitted, they almost look painted on. They give him a perfect view of Stiles’ (rather nice) ass, and his muscular thighs. It kind of makes Danny want to put his hands all over Stiles, makes him wonder what it would be like to have Stiles pressed up against him, to be kissing him—

Yeah, Danny totally has this crush under control.

Totally.

 *

 The worst part is, Danny can’t stop thinking about Stiles. And not even in his usual, mildly judgmental way. No, he’s thinking about what Stiles would look like if he smiled. Not a smirk or a grin—a real, genuine smile. He finds himself wondering what Stiles is thinking, what Stiles is doing.

And he knows it’s bad, because even Jackson, who’s dealing with relationship issues with Lydia, has noticed how distracted he is. It’s awful.

He knows Stiles is only in the popular group by virtue of his best friend, who finally got brave enough to ask out Allison, but still… Stiles is looking less and less undateable these days.

Danny is finding that he actually wants to spend more time with Stiles. They only have one class and lacrosse practice together, and he’s really starting to regret that.

So when Stiles says, “Hey, we’re all going to the diner after school, you want to come?” Danny barely hesitates.

He begins to second-guess himself, though, when he shows up and Stiles is the only one there. Was this just one of his schemes?

But as he approaches the table, Stiles says, “Allison and Scott are running late, they’re busy. But they’ll be here soon.”

Danny raises his eyebrows, sits down across from Stiles. “Oh? And are Jackson and Lydia busy too?”

“I don’t want to know,” Stiles says, making a dramatically disgusted face. “I don’t think Jackson would eat diner food anyway, but Lydia said she’d be here.”

“All right,” Danny says, nodding. If their friends are having sex in the backseats of their cars, that’s not Stiles’ fault. “You know, it’s not that Jackson hates diners. It’s just that he can’t eat very much fried food—it hurts his stomach.”

“Really?” Stiles says, looking like he’s been given a gift. “Good to know,” he adds in a low mutter, and Danny has to work hard to keep the smile off his face.

They end up trying little ice cream samplers while they wait for the others, and Danny has a lot of fun. Stiles sends him a few lingering looks throughout the night, but he doesn’t do anything else. Doesn’t even hint that he’s interested.

Danny pretends that he’s not disappointed.

 *

 “Stiles, what the fuck,” Jackson says irritably, as Stiles parades past him eating French fries for the third time that day.

Danny just laughs.

 *

 Ms. Morton tells them they have to write a creative story, at least three pages long, with their desk partner. It’s due next week.

“Writing buddies!” Stiles says excitedly, raising his fist. Danny doesn’t even hesitate to bump it with his own.

Stiles invites him over to his house to work on the story. He sprawls across this bed, scribbling determinedly in a notebook as they discuss ideas.

Danny sits in Stiles’ desk chair, and spins himself idly when he can’t think of anything for the plot. He tips his head back, and stares up at the Stormtrooper poster on Stiles’ ceiling as he takes another turn.

“I think they should kiss now,” Stiles says abruptly.

“You said that three paragraphs ago,” Danny says, looking over. “What is up with you and kissing?”

“It’s just nice,” Stiles says dreamily. “And I think there should be more of it in our story.”

Danny doesn’t respond right away, too busy wondering who exactly Stiles has been kissing. “Fine,” he says eventually. “They can kiss.”

Stiles looks up then, and Danny kind of expects some line about how they should be kissing, too. But he just says, “Awesome,” and “Don’t worry, I’ll make it good.”

Danny nods, feeling strange. The Sheriff isn’t home, likely won’t be for hours, but Stiles hasn’t made any mention of it. Hasn’t invited Danny to sit on the bed next to him, hasn’t suggested doing something fun, instead of homework.

Nothing.

He’s not used to being alone with someone, not without there being any innuendo, or any implications of what’s going to happen. Hell, even Jackson has propositioned him for sex before. So it’s weird that Stiles hasn’t made a single move at all.

He’d never admit it, but he’d actually gone to Lydia, and asked her if Stiles might be into him.

“Stiles has a crush on half the school,” Lydia had said, not looking up from her essay. “But yes, I’m quite sure he’s interested in you.”

Danny hadn’t bothered to ask how she knew. There was no point.

And Stiles was not exactly known for subtlety, so the fact that he hasn’t made his interest obvious is freaking Danny out.

So is the realization that, if Stiles did ask him out, Danny might not say no.

 *

 Stiles isn’t making any moves, but other people definitely are.

The winter dance is in two weeks, and Danny has already witnessed three people ask Stiles to go with them. He’s turned each of them down, but that’s not the point.

Stiles has been sitting at the popular table for months, has been a lot less impulsive and reckless, has been letting his buzz cut grow out, and has actually been getting to play first line during lacrosse games.

He isn’t undateable anymore, and it’s obvious that more than just Danny have noticed.

It’s making him a little nervous.

Danny had honestly expected Stiles to be mildly shunned, as usual, from all social events. He’d been expecting to have time to decide if he wanted to take Stiles to the dance, and then scoop him up at the last minute, if needed.

But now…

Stiles could say yes to someone at any moment. Danny is out of time to decide—and honestly, he already has.

He wants to go with Stiles. He really, really does.

He watches Stiles stroll across the classroom to their shared desk, and decides he’s going to do something.

Soon.

 *

 Danny’s not a smooth as people think—usually he’s the one being asked out, so he doesn’t have a lot of experience with doing the asking himself.

Still, he tries to play it cool.

“Hey, Stiles,” he says, after lingering in the locker room until almost everyone is gone. Stiles is somehow still not fully dressed, and staring at the muscles of his bare back throws Danny off a little.

“Danny!” Stiles says brightly, turning around. “What’s up?”

He has his shirt in his hands, Danny notices, but he still hasn’t put it on. And his athletic shorts are sitting rather low on his hips, so he has to work to keep his gaze fixed on Stiles’ face.

He considers asking something low-risk, like Are you going to the dance? or Have you said yes to anyone yet? Instead he comes right out and says, “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” It ends up sounding confident, and Danny breathes a little sigh of relief.

Stiles’ eyes narrow slightly, like he’s suspicious, but he just says, “Yeah, I do. You can pick me up at six.”

Danny quirks an eyebrow. “But the dance doesn’t start until seven-thirty.”

“I know,” Stiles says easily. “I figured we could go for burgers or something first.”

“Oh,” Danny says, and thinks like a date. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

And Stiles gives him a smile, just a little bit smug, like he knew exactly what Danny was thinking.

 *

 It doesn’t go like the movie cliché—Stiles answers the door instead of his dad, so he doesn’t get to come dramatically down the stairs.

Danny feels a little breathless anyway.

He keeps sneaking peeks on the drive to the diner, because Stiles looks better in a suit than he would have ever imagined. And when Stiles reaches over and fixes his tie, fingers gently brushing his neck, it sends a pleasant shiver through Danny.

He’s always liked the novelty of being incredibly overdressed in a casual place, and it’s amusing to think about how absurd they must look, ordering burgers and fries in their fancy clothes.

Stiles takes off his suit coat to eat, and seeing him there in just a thin dress shirt and tie is strangely appealing. Stiles slides his foot alongside Danny’s, a gentle pressure, but he’s concentrating too much on not getting food on his clothes to do anything else. Watching him lean over and take a careful, tiny bite of his burger is cute and amusing, so Danny doesn’t really mind.

And when he realizes Stiles is doing this because he wants to make sure he looks good for him, it sends a hot flush through Danny.

 *

 Despite his improved lacrosse playing, Stiles is still pretty clumsy. So Danny expected to have to coax him quite a bit, but he agrees to dance readily enough.

It’s a slow song, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate to step into his arms, hands settling warmly on Danny’s shoulders. He’s not trying to pressure Stiles in any way, but Danny finds his gaze continually returning to Stiles’ mouth as they slowly dance together. He just can’t quite help himself.

Stiles is as observant at ever, of course, and he catches Danny at it right away. His lips quirk up, just a little, before he leans in and kisses him, soft and a little shy.

Danny feels himself sway into it as he tugs Stiles closer, pressing them together. Now he understands why Stiles likes kissing so much. One of Stiles’ hands slides over to cradle the back of his neck, thumb stroking the short hairs there. It makes Danny feel warm all over.

Stiles breaks the kiss before it gets too intense, and rests his cheek against Danny’s as they turn.

“I knew I couldn’t ask you out,” he says quietly into Danny’s ear. “I knew that if I tried, you’d shoot me down without even thinking about it.”

“What?” Danny says, pulling back a little so he can see Stiles’ face.

He gives Danny a lopsided smile. “I knew I somehow had to get you to ask me, instead.” He looks down. “I did everything I could think of. I convinced Ms. Morton to make us seat partners. I went to the jungle a lot, trying to figure out how to dress and how to act, so I could catch your attention. I even asked Lydia for advice. And it worked, but now I feel like I tricked you—”

“Stiles,” Danny says firmly, keeping his hold on Stiles when he tries to step back. “That was the real you at the bowling alley that night, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says, looking amused in spite of himself. “I couldn’t fake that level of sarcasm.”

Danny grins. “Well, that’s the Stiles I had a crush on, even though I wouldn’t admit it. And yeah, you dressing better, and acting calmer, and actually getting off the bench made it easier to ask you out. But I liked you before that, okay?”

Stiles nods, but he still doesn’t look quite convinced.

“I don’t feel tricked,” Danny says. “And honestly, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. The dorky, awkward you.”

Stiles smiles so bright, Danny is pretty sure his heart skips a beat. And he can’t resist leaning in and kissing Stiles again.

And even when the music changes to a fast, upbeat song, they just stay in each other’s arms, slowly swaying together.

 *

 A few years later, when they’re nearly done with college, Stiles gets down on one knee. “Danny, will you marry me?” he asks, and then he fucking winks.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” Danny says, because he knows exactly what that is in reference to.

Then, of course, he says yes.

[almaruf-blog]

Significant Steps to Follow inside Getting a Casino Party Organization For Your Next Casino Fundraiser

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[serenagaywaterford]

27) s) "It seems obvious to me anyway that unless you’re in the Econo-class, you are not allowed to have sex with your spouse." In the book, it's clear that NOT all Commanders are assigned handmaids. Fertile couples have sex for procreation. In the series? Hm, don't Guardians and Angels have sex with their wives? Well, for reproduction, since sex for pleasure is a sin. For that reason, I'm guessing that ONLY infertile couples are not allowed to have sex. I remember that when Serena and Fred made

28) made out (in S1), he told her that they shouldn't (and yet). Plus, there's Serena's advice to Eden (yikes): "passion is fine within a marriage" or sth along these lines. Also, Commander Horace! Btw, don't get me started on that cringey scene where Serena offers him a bj, bc he can't get it up for the rape. Yuck. Or when he basically tells her that it's her fault that he's having an "affair" with June, bc Serena "brought lust into this household". Double yuck. t) "Bend and break" Nice take.

29) Totally agree. u) "We need a character like Janine to bring some levity, and an alternative view for the Handmaids. I love her. I want her to survive to the end and be happy." EXACTLY! Don't get me wrong, angst and dark/sinister stories are my passion. But there's got to be some humor here and there to break the monotony. v) "Speaking of other Handmaids, I also ADORE Alma" SAME. Oof, that scene where Lydia burns her hand... v) "Except I did REALLY like the one with little June at the Take

30) Back The Night rally with her mum." I love Holly. Well, I'm sure this has to do with her being a kickass feminist activist and trying to burst June's bubble. "Raise your daughter to be a feminist, she spends all her time waiting to be rescued by men.” Cheesy, but true. w) "I’d love some background into Rita, more than “My son died in the war”" She's my fav character in that hellhole. Her cynicism/sarcasm/humor really does it for me. I'd love to see more of her backstory, but alas.

--------

I prolly should have been clear. My bad! I was lumping Guardians/Eyes (and their wives) in with the Econoclass. Cos Eden was clearly an Econowife. But as with Horace, I guess they get promotions if they get their wives knocked up? Shrug. 

(Side question about Horace. I saw people praising him like “omg so good to have a commander that doesn’t enslave and rape Handmaids!” and all I could think was about Eden. Is there any indication his wife is not a child bride? Cos to me, that’s just as awful. I mean, there’s no indication she was a minor, but also all we’ve been shown is Guardians get child brides for doing good work. So, eek. Just cos he doesn’t have a Handmaid doesn’t mean he’s not icky. But it makes Fred jealous and uncomfortable no matter what so that’s nice.)

I count Commanders/Wives with no Handmaid as exceptions to the no fuck rule. Cos why wouldn’t they be encouraged to make lots and lots of little fascists? I too think it’s only “illegal” (or “sinful” or whatever they call it) for infertile couples as well. It was made clear to me that whether or not it’s written law, Fred very much believes that Commanders and allegedly infertile Wives should not have any relations whatsoever. No nookie for Serena. (Which, lbr, must be fucking awful too. She literally has no real human contact, even from her husband. And, yeah yeah yeah, she signed up for that and goes along with it. But it seems like a really simple thing that would drive a person crazy.) Meanwhile Fred gets to fuck, in his mind (rape, in reality) the Handmaid, and cheat on his wife with them. Or other enslaved prostitutes. Fred can get whatever he wants with no repercussions whereas Serena is basically blocked from real human relationships with anyone. (Partly her fault for the way she treats other people.) I think Fred likes it that way tbh. He gets to play sanctimonious boss of the house by keeping Serena isolated, and then blame all his weaknesses and gross failings as a human being on her. What a guy. 

I always found Serena so strange and interesting in that Eden grooming scene. Like, on the one hand she’s adhering 1000% to Gilead’s horrible bullshit. (I’m honestly very disturbed by Serena’s almost gleefulness about child brides.) But then on the other hand, she’s like, “Psst. Wanna hear some cool blasphemy? I gotta a good one for ya!” Song of Solomon is such an interesting choice to impart onto Eden who, despite studying the Bible, seems to have no idea about it. Which makes me think Gilead removes certain books from it and SOS would be a pretty important one to remove, imo. But that’s just a guess. It’s not beyond religions to pick and choose which parts of the Bible make it into THEIR version of it.

Honestly... Serena’s whole thing. It’s like, “Hey, get ready for some child rape but we quote God about it so it’s okay. Just to let you know, you can enjoy your rape too! Also, it’s not rape cos you’re married now and brainwashed.” It’s so... fundie Mormon-esque. (Amongst other religions, ofc.)

Janine is my sunshine. Without her, this show would be too much. Her one-liners are so important imo. I feel somewhat the same about Holly. She wasn’t a jokey character but it was refreshing to see actual feminist activists. (And I loved the backstory about the dynamic with June.) Alma... I want Alma to have more to do. I find her a really good character, even if she’s done so little, and the actress is great. 

Rita needs MORE. More of everything. I worry for her future tbh. And I don’t think the show seems very interested in telling her story in any detail, unfortunately.

PS. I loved that line too about being saved by men. It was sadly accurate but also really meta. Which is why I have hope that her eventual freedom/rescue comes from either herself or other women. I honestly don’t want Nick (or Luke) to have any large role in it at all, simply cos they’re men and I do not want the “damsel in distress needs her noble prince to save her” bullshit anymore. I want June to save herself, with the help of other women (Serena, Rita, Moira, Alma, Lydia, Brianna, whomever!). Hell, I want all the women to save each other (and hold each other accountable).

[lockedinapage-blog]

Satisfactory christmas present thoughts for a wife or girlfriend for 2017

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