#and I feel like I did NOT get enough enthusiasm for my gift!!! I slaved over that thing! I was kinda hoping for a little bit more than

[this-is-private-go-away]

.

[tennessoui]

for obikin, maybe pretending to hate each other au? (sth where their ages are a little closer, perhaps, so obi-wan can be intensely petty and not feel the need to Set an Example)

45. (Pretending To) Hate Each Other (raised as Sith!Anakin, salty!Padawan Obi-Wan)(1.6k)

Obi-Wan turns away from the training stalles with a barely suppressed sneer. Anakin, as he is to be called, has defeated his opponents. His fellow Padawans. Darth Vader has become a Padawan and everyone is just fine with it.

Obi-Wan marches out into the halls, not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he must get away from the smirk on Anakin’s face as he had lowered his training saber to his opponent’s neck. Does no one but Obi-Wan remember how just months ago Vader’s saber had been pressed against his neck and it hadn’t been a training exercise? Does no one remember the atrocities Anakin had committed, the sentients Anakin had killed?

And yet Obi-Wan’s master seems infinitely fascinated by the boy. And yet Obi-Wan, it seems, cannot step out of his own room without finding this Anakin underfoot, either taking tea with his Master, or dolefully skulking around the doorway of Obi-Wan’s quarters. What draws the boy, he has no lasting idea.

They’re approximately the same age, he supposes, although Obi-Wan has a few years at least on Anakin--it’s clearer to see now that Anakin has stopped wearing his helmet and armor into battle, now that the lines of his face are not hardened by scowls and snarls. Really, he’s a boy. His medical chart puts him at eighteen, making him four years Obi-Wan’s junior.

And, he supposes, Qui-Gon was the one to find Anakin wounded on the battlefield, the one to insist they treat the Sith, heal him, and give him shelter. But Obi-Wan was the one who had found the slave chip embedded between his ribcage, the one who had alerted the Council to its presence, so it could be used to find the boy’s master, to capture him or kill him, to end the war.

But surely, whatever small part Obi-Wan had played in the war’s conclusion, the Force should have known better than to repay him by gifting him with the care and keeping of a Sith Lord, Chosen One or not.

Although Obi-Wan can admit, even if only to himself, that it’s worse when Vader latches onto anyone else in the Temple. His master is too starry-eyed by his ideas of Vader’s midichlorians, his destiny as the Chosen One, to see the boy in front of him now.

And anyone younger than Vader is too easily swayed by his looks, his charm, his disgustingly transparent eagerness to know about the Temple, about the Jedi way of life.

Obi-Wan knows this. He’s fought a Sith at 20, fended it off after it dealt a nearly fatal blow to his Master. They cannot be reasoned with. Vader cannot be reasoned with.

Anakin exists only as a figment of their imaginations, their desire to have the Chosen One fly under the Jedi colors. He is not real, not anymore.

Gradually, Obi-Wan finds himself making his way up the stairs of the Jedi Temple. Of all the spots to hide--to sulk, as his Master would say--the rooftop is the one least likely to be checked. It is one of Obi-Wan’s favorite areas in the entire building.

But he had not thought to check for stragglers before arriving at his destination, had thought the thunderstorms of his own Force presence would keep others at bay. He hadn’t yet figured Vader into his calculations, hadn’t remembered the propensity Vader had for showing up right when Obi-Wan least wanted him to.

“You left,” Vader--Anakin--whoever accuses, as Obi-Wan sits down on the rooftop. The wind howls around them. Obi-Wan has the distinct thought that they’ve lived through this before, that last time Vader had cornered him on a rooftop, he had threatened to take a piece of his body home to his Master. Now, Vader is standing in his home.

Obi-Wan takes a very deep breath and banishes those sorts of thoughts. Anakin, he reminds himself. Anakin.

And just as importantly, the chip. There had been a chip. Not controlling Va--Anakin’s thoughts, but certainly controlling his actions. What he would do to survive is no different from what Obi-Wan had done to survive; they had just been on opposite sides of the war.

Is Obi-Wan weak for not being able to move past that? For not being able to greet the boy--the man--Anakin with open arms into the folds of his family?

“I did,” Obi-Wan replies, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the city skyline.

Anakin steps closer. “Why?”

He turns to face him, takes in his sweaty appearance and messy tunics. He must have been looking for Obi-Wan’s reaction. He must have seen the exact moment Obi-Wan had turned, must have scrambled to cloth himself as he followed after.

“Why does it matter?” He asks instead of answering, always instead of answering.

“Because I wanted you to watch,” Vader says.

“I’ve seen you kill Padawans before,” Obi-Wan turns away and stands up until he can lean against the high protective walls of the roof. “I wasn’t impressed.”

Vader feels frustrated in the Force. No. Anakin.

Anakin. “It was a training exercise.”

“Now,” Obi-Wan points out. “Or do you mean then?”

“Would you hate me if I said both?” “I hate you now, Vader.” The other boy’s Force signature withdraws, flinching away from Obi-Wan’s ire. He hears him sit down. He’d rather throw him off the roof.

But: “Don’t call me that,” the boy pleads quietly. “I know I can’t--that I don’t--” he cuts himself off and grows quiet.

Obi-Wan would say something to break the silence, but he doesn’t want to engage the boy if he doesn’t have to. If he closes his eyes, he can feel and see the Force raging around them, violently buffering them as it demands some sort of denouement.

The boy inhales and stands again, stepping forward hesitantly until he’s a scant foot away from Obi-Wan. “My mom always told me she thought for ages about my name. That it had come to her in a dream after I was already a month old, that it was bad luck to have waited for so long to name me because infants on Tatooine can die as quickly as their mothers.

“And then I...I couldn’t use it or hear it or speak it for so long that I think I almost forgot it, almost lost it to Sidious and...and Vader. So even if you hate me, and I know you should hate me, I know I’ve never done anything to you that cancels out the bad I’ve done to you, but. Please don’t call me that. I think it would have made her sad."

Obi-Wan works his jaw as he stares off into the city. He doesn’t think V--Anakin has ever said so many words to him. If he gives in now, he’d be just as bad as the other padawans who had welcomed Anakin in amongst them because of his big eyes and soft lips and earnest enthusiasm.

Anakin seems to take his silence as permission to continue, which it isn’t. “And I know I’m not. That I can’t be--won’t ever be a Padawan, or a Jedi Knight, that. That I’ll never wear a braid or anything. I’m not--I don’t want another Master. I never want another Master.”

Obi-Wan turns his head just enough to look at Anakin. He’s spent an awfully long amount of time hanging around Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s quarters if he doesn’t want a Master. But...what he’s saying makes sense, and, more importantly than that, soothes the furious emotions in Obi-Wan’s chest enough that he can speak. “Then I can’t understand why.” Why you’re here, why you won’t leave me alone, why you chose to follow me if you’re not trying to dispose of me and take my Master for yours.

Anakin sighs, leaning his head on his hands as he looks out at the city. Obi-Wan finds himself annoyed with that as well, even though he’d just been doing the same thing. Now he can’t tear his eyes away from Anakin’s profile.

“You’re warm in the Force,” Anakin says eventually. “I think maybe I spent too long in space, because I’m always cold. Except when I’m around you. You burn. You always have. I used to think that maybe--it was hatred or disgust at me, when I met you in battle, and you were an inferno. But you burn when you’re on creche duty too. A different kind of fire, but still so warm. It’s just your soul. It’s just who you are.”

Obi-Wan blinks open-mouthed at him. He’s never considered the thought that Vader--Anakin--had been trailing after him for anything other than easy access to his Master. Now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say.

There’s a part of him that still doesn’t understand what Anakin wants to get out of his tenancy at the Temple, a part that whispers that the Sith can’t be trusted, no matter how blue they can make their eyes look. But the Jedi part of Obi-Wan is bigger.

The Jedi part of Obi-Wan tells him to extend his hand just enough to brush against Anakin’s exposed wrist. It’s a point of vulnerability the boy doesn’t shy away from.

“Would you…” he asks slowly, forcing the words out of his tight throat. “Like to meditate with me?”

Anakin looks astonished, then hopeful, then disappointed, then dejected. “I’m no good at meditating,” he says, scuffing the point of his shoe on the ground. “It wasn’t a huge part of my...former Master’s curriculum, and the Force is just so loud in my head that it’s hard to do anything but react.”

He looks up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes, biting his lip as if he’s afraid that he’ll be turned away for this.

Instead, Obi-Wan turns fully to face him and latches onto his flesh hand. “There are some things, I’ve found,” he murmurs, leading them away from the edge of the roof before pulling Anakin down to sit cross-legged in front of him, “that are much easier done with someone else. Done together.”

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, June 7

Buffy: New semester, new classes. (She and Tara begin to walk out into the hallway) Whole new vistas of knowledge to be confused and intimidated by. Tara: I think this one's gonna be kind of fun. Greek Art's gonna touch on so many things -- mythology, history, philosophy... Buffy: The professor spit too much when he talked. It was like being at Sea World. "The first five rows will get wet." Tara: That was just, you know, um, enthusiasm. Buffy: It seemed very much like saliva. Tara: We'll sit farther back next time.

~~Buffy Season 5 Episode #89: "Triangle"~~

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[sugardaddytonystark]

Release Life’s Rapture (part 3)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Jacobus, his champion gladiator.

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader word count: 2038

masterlist

x picture by @264jana x

That night, you dream of making love to Sol, god of the sun. His hair is as brown as the earth, eyes deep and blue as the dawning sky. His skin is bronzed from the sun to which he so lovingly attends, and in return for his diligence, his entire body is encircled in a halo of everlasting golden light.

You and your god are lain upon a large tanned hide, abed a field of green grass, deepened to a dim blue-green in the dark night. Sol looms above you, a single point of light against an otherwise black sky. He is bare as you, and where the god touches you, your flesh burns, his hands too hot for a mere mortal to withstand, his mouth too scalding. But there’s always a price for pleasure, and a night with a being as divine as he is worth the pain in exchange. 

So you wrap your thighs tight around the god’s hips as he thrusts into you, unrelentless, his cock thick and heavy inside of your aching cunt. He’s filling you up, stretching you full, making you feel a burning so different from the fevered warmth of his skin against your own. Your back arches as you seek out more contact, your heated, human flesh so fragile against the sun god’s searing skin. 

Your lover has your wrists above your head, one of his wide, rough palms holding them in place. The other is gripping your jaw, turning your face away from his so that he may nose at your throat and cheek and ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine and when Sol speaks, words like whispers so deep and low, you can’t make out their meaning, but delight in the sounds all the same. 

Your cries reach out into the deep, empty, endless night. The noise echo back into your ears and you feel blissfully alone - detached from the world and your existence, everything narrowed down to you and your god and this familiar but indescribable thing coiling in your stomach. 

Your breath catches as you feel Sol’s pace quicken, his hands tightening around your wrists and jaw. He bites down against the curve of your neck and hot tears spill down your cheeks as you feel him find his release inside of you. 

You sob and shake, you ache and burn. Sol whispers your name back into your mouth, guiding you closer and closer and closer with his hands and his cock and his words. You feel him around you, inside you, urging you on, but when you finally reach your peak, it’s not the god’s name that you call out in prayer.

 Blessed night has settled into another day, your god forced to return to the sky once more to fulfill his duty, leaving you with mere memories of his blazing touch. But, as a remembrance, he sends sunlight streaming through your open window, stroking your body and keeping you warm and satiated until the time may come for the god to descend upon you once again.

You long to stay abed, to wait for that moment when night falls so that you may once again greet your lover with open arms and open legs. You want to once again lose yourself to dreams - a much more appealing prospect than this waking nightmare. Even half asleep, you feel the sudden sting of freshly remembered heartbreak. 

You’re grateful for your god - the divine Sol who saw you hurting and granted you solace from your pain. Hair like the earth, you remember, like the soil from whence life springs. Rich brown and lush and soft beneath your fingers. His body built like it was made for toil, strong and deliberately fashioned. And his eyes – blue like the sky. Like the sea.

Unfortunately, your companion, Octavia, does not allow you to dwell in fantasy. She’s no longer beside you in bed, always early to rise and greet the day before the sun has had a chance to ascend. 

“You’re awake,” she says, more a command than a question.

“Yes. And I had the most wonderful dream,” you tell her, giving up all thoughts of returning to slumber as you stretch out along the bed, arms up and back arched. “I fucked a god. He set my body aflame and then I turned to ash in his hands.”

“And this was a good dream?” Octavia asks, incredulous.

You sigh. “It was magnificent.”

You sit up in bed as you recall your dream, rubbing your wrists, sore from where your lover pinned you down in his blistering grasp. Octavia reaches out and grabs your wrists in her own hand, looking it over, and when you look down at it as well, you see bruises instead of burns. The marks of someone other than your god upon you.

“Better to suffer a lover forged from dreams,” Octavia says, releasing your wrist, “than one based in cruel reality.”

“One and the same,” you reply softly. Because you’re no fool. You know the being who visits your dream is both god and man, one image of the other. “Why do you think Jacobus so cruel?” you continue, louder this time. “Do you think he’s always been that way?” 

“I think that you should remove him from your thoughts,” Octavia tells you as she returns, holding a cream length of fine fabric for your stola. “Would it please you to wear this today?”

“He is well removed,” you tell her in reply, and Octavia scoffs. 

You pinch the fabric between your fingers, considering. The color is too bland to convey how you feel this morning. You need something deeper, and more rich. “I have something blue, do I not? Like… like the sky right at the height of the sun’s ascent. Something like that?”

Octavia raises an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

 After you groom and dress, you find yourself on the villa balcony, where Alexander and Ophelia are eating their morning meal. On the table before them is a modest spread of cheese and bread and fruit. In their hands are ever-present cups of wine. Behind the pair, a slave cools them off with a large fan made of feathers as they lounge upon their cushioned chaises. 

The heat is almost overwhelming, even in the mid-morning when the sun has yet to reach its peak. Already, a thin sheen of sweat has gathered on your skin. Already, you can feel the fevered weight of existence heavy on your shoulders. 

The heat and the drought has been a source of discontentment for all in Capua, the shortage of water drying out even the most well-attended bath and turning once-fertile soil into dust. Below the balcony, the gladiators are kicking up the dust and the sand with every movement, the sun baking the grains into a hard-packed floor for the men to move around upon. It crumbles underfoot and sends clouds of earth into the air, covering the men and all things else lowly enough to get in its way.

But this is all commonplace to you now. The crash of wooden sword against wooden shield, of dull-tipped spear and trident, of pain and triumph, have all come to be familiar sounds to you and this morning fares no differently. The men have no doubt been at it for hours already, waking early to begin their training, breaking for their morning meal, then back at it once more before you were even out of bed. 

You chance a look down at the men, and your eyes are immediately drawn toward Jacobus, brandishing two swords against another gladiator with sword and shield. His usual demeanor is darkened, his ferocity obvious by tenfold today, and you can’t help but believe that you are the cause. 

You wonder if the gladiator sought companionship last night after you were so viciously turned away. You never sent anyone in your stead, as he requested, not able to bear the thought of another giving him the pleasure that you so desperately wish you could give. Did Jacobus blame you for soiling the night of such a celebrated victory? Will he ever forgive you your desire and your deceit? 

The champion looks up toward the balcony, blue eyes ablaze, and you avert your gaze by busying yourself with choosing just the right bunch of grapes from a serving tray held up to you by one of Alexander’s slaves. 

“The men are of a poor form today,” you muse, attempting to steady your heart as you pluck a grape off of its stem. You place the fruit in your mouth and find the courage to look back down onto the training ground. With both relief and disappointment, you find that Jacobus has once again resumed his training. 

“Wine and whores do have a way of dulling the senses,” Alexander replies. “Which reminds me, how did the champion enjoy his gift?”

You give your godfather a false smile, already weary of the reminder of the night passed. “She was well received,” you answer, not missing the way Octavia looks at you out of the corner of your eye. “Who would not enjoy such a remarkable tribute?”

Before Alexander can respond, the snap of a whip resonates through the training ground and up onto the balcony, drawing the attention of those upon it. You take a step closer and both Alexander and Ophelia stand to get a better look at what is transpiring down below. 

“Attend!” Doctore bellows, voice carrying through the air. The men halt their training and turn their attention to Fury, the Doctore – trainer – of Alexander’s ludus. “Forget everything you learned outside these walls. For that is the world of men. We are more! We are gladiators!”

The men cheer, a great roar rising up to where you stand that nearly forces you back in its enthusiasm. Your hands grip the banister to keep you steady, listening intently  as if Doctore was speaking to you and not the gladiators in his charge. 

“Study. Train. Bleed!” Doctore continues. “And one day your name will be legend, spoken in hushed whispers of fear and awe. As the city speaks of Jacobus, the Champion of Capua!”

More cheers as the gladiator stands distinguished among his brothers. In your chest, you feel a swell of pride. But also, irritation. You’ll have no solace from your pain here and you will not waste your day grieving over what should have been. You feign disinterest while taking a bite of cheese.

“But his legend was not birthed in the arena,” Doctore says. “It was given life here, in this ludus. Under the sting of my whip! Attack!”

The men go at it again with a renewed vigor, grunting and howling, wooden swords clashing with dull but resonating thuds. How easily these men are worked into a fervor! And how easily your passion swells likewise. This business of gladiators is a sordid thing, but you would be false to say that there is no art in it. Surely, anyone who watches someone such as Jacobus move could see the skill and cleverness in every gesture.

“Doctore, attend,” Alexander calls to Doctore, then turns to kiss Ophelia’s temple. “We are off to market.”

His words pique your interest. You feel as though you will go mad if you stay stuck in the villa all day with nothing to entertain you save the sounds of the gladiators training. Besides, you think you should buy something new for the reception for the Vulcanalia. This will be the first time in ages that you will be able to socialize with people other than your godfather and his wife, and you plan to make the most of it.

"Godfather, allow me to accompany you,” you say. “Weeks in Capua and I have yet to go to market!"

Alexander considers you for a moment and then nods his head, giving you the approval that you need. Your smile must be infectious because the otherwise somber man’s lips upturn slightly as he notes your excitement. 

“Let us away, then,” Alexander says to you, then turns and heads inside the villa, you following close behind. 

[azaisya]

no art for this week bc its been crazy so have 1.7k of alternate ending/sequel to Sleeping Awake (my de-aged shen jiu fic). This was where I was going with the original before I decided I wanted to focus more on the qijiu, so some of the stuff in the beginning is repeated. If I was writing a sequel (which I probably won’t), then this would probably be how it started.

“Take one of my robes?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice small. 

Shen Qingqiu hesitated, his awareness of how underdressed he was going to war with the instinct to refuse anything from Yue Qingyuan. He’d spent the last however-many-decades violently exploding every time Yue Qingyuan gave him a gift. He’d assumed they’d been given out of pity or obligation, expensive baubles to cover up the dirt of Shen Jiu’s past. 

But—

He really was very underdressed. This robe was one of the outfits he’d worn to sneak out to the Warm Red Pavilion, back when he’d been a lesser disciple and in need of subterfuge to get off his Peak. 

Wordlessly, Shen Qingqiu picked up Yue Qingyuan’s outer robe from where they’d carelessly dumped it the night before and slid it over his arms. It was a little too big and he chafed at wearing another person’s colors, but the look on Yue Qingyuan’s face was worth it. 

With a sarcastic wave, Shen Qingqiu turned on his heel and strode from his room.

The robe was a little less worth it when Yue Qingyuan’s head disciple dropped a teapot in shock when she saw him. 

He ignored her. She was the overly candid girl who’d intercepted him and Luo Binghe yesterday, but that didn’t surprise him. Yue Qingyuan was too soft with his disciples, and she was clever. Of course she would be outspoken. 

At the thought of Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu grimaced. He’d specifically ordered that the beast wasn’t to be fed all weekend. Ning Yingying had probably ignored that and brought him food anyways, charmed as she was by Luo Binghe’s pretty, pitiable face. 

He should lock him in the woodshed for another week, just for that. 

The thought made him falter, and he spared a moment to be intensely grateful that nobody was around to see him trip on nothing. 

He’d always told himself that he was nothing like Qiu Jianluo. That he’d only ever beaten boys who deserved it, that they should be grateful that he hadn’t done worse. 

He’d never touched any of them, after all, no matter what the rumors said about him. 

But his younger self hadn’t even needed to think before equating Luo Binghe’s shizun with Qiu Jianluo. 

That was another revelation, Shen Qingqiu supposed, to add on to all the others he was having. He didn’t like that one very much. It wasn’t earth-shatteringly surprising in the way that Yue Qingyuan’s apparently unconditional devotion was. 

Perhaps that said something about him. 

He didn’t like that very much either. 

He was still turning the matter over in his mind when he arrived at Qing Jing Peak’s familiar landscape. It was late enough in the day that his disciples should already be at their lessons, and they would survive a few more hours without him. 

The bamboo house was almost exactly as he’d left it, but somebody had made his bed and moved the black and silver fan—Yue Qingyuan’s latest gift—onto a table. It was a deceptively plain thing, despite the value of its skeleton. Shen Qingqiu suspected that the painting—bamboo and distant birds—had been done by Yue Qingyuan himself. It had the hesitant, detailed brushwork of somebody unused to painting but had tried their best anyways. 

It was the most sentimental gift that Yue Qingyuan had ever given him. His other gifts were impersonal things worth exorbitant amounts of money that suit Shen Qingqiu’s carefully cultivated image. 

Shen Qingqiu would’ve thrown them away, if there wasn’t some part of him that balked at wasting that much money. Mostly, they just languished in the backs of drawers or vanished into boxes. He’d thrown some of the more egregious pieces into Yue Qingyuan’s face. 

The fan was different, though. He could see the time that Yue Qingyuan had spent on it, could see the care and emotion poured into every brush stroke. 

It’d broken him. 

With a sigh, Shen Qingqiu shrugged off the borrowed robe and, after a beat, laid it out on his bed. His own clothes were more complex. His younger self would have despaired at all the finicky ties and complicated layers, but Shen Qingqiu managed with ease. 

With each layer he pulled on, the more that strange, nervous energy in his chest settled. It was as if something inside of him had been knocked off-kilter by his qi deviation and then shoved even further askew by the discovery that Yue Qingyuan had returned for him and the sudden realization that he’d come far too close to the line that Qiu Jianluo had drawn. 

The clothes made him feel more like himself. A doubtful boon, given the scum that he was. 

He turned to leave again but then hesitated, eyes lingering on his bed. Yue Qingyuan’s robes were a streak of shadow across the green sheets. 

He’d been so afraid, when he’d woken up the morning before. 

He wondered if Qiu Haitang was still alive. He hoped she was. He hoped she was happy. 

Was that fucked up?

Maybe.

Setting his jaw, Shen Qingqiu snatched the closest fan—Yue Qingyuan’s fan, the one that had started this all—and swept from the room. He made his way towards the woodshed with a calm, steady stride, the black and silver fan held loosely in his hand. 

He could see the distant shapes of his disciples running around the mountain, tiny blobs of white and green. A sudden anxiety struck him, so sharply that the fan creaked as his grip tightened around it. 

What if Luo Binghe had told them?

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t imagine how his disciples—the children of wealthy lords and poor farmers alike—would look at him if they learned that he was nothing more than a worthless slave. 

A couple of his disciples—the quicker ones, talking cheerfully while their peers tried to finish their laps around the peak—noticed him and ran over. Shen Qingqiu panicked and opened his fan with a flick of his wrist, raising it over his face. 

“Shizun!” the short-haired girl—Lin Xieran—called, as uncomplicatedly delighted to see him as ever. Neither of them looked alarmed or disgusted. If anything, they seemed a little more cheerful than usual to see him, although they were well trained enough to bow instead of run up him and cling. 

Shen Qingqiu rewarded them both with gentle pats on the head. If his hand trembled, none of them mentioned it. 

Luo Binghe, he thought, that off-kilter uncertainty creeping back into his chest, What game are you playing?

Well. He would find out soon enough. Voice as smooth as ever, Shen Qingqiu asked, “Where is your Ming-shixiong?”

The shorter one—a round-faced boy named Sun Tiandou who looked younger than he was—wrinkled his nose. “Ming-shixiong is still running with everybody else.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded imperiously. That was good. Ming Fan had been raised by respectable parents on a comfortable estate, and so he was prone to panicking over even the most minor of injuries. If he’d gone out to run willingly without his shizun’s prompting, then he couldn’t be terribly injured. “Good. And—” The beast died in his tongue. 

Had Qiu Jianluo called him a beast? He couldn’t remember. 

“—and Luo Binghe?”

Sun Tiandou’s expression tilted uncomfortably, but Lin Xieran’s lip curled at the name. “Oh,” she said, waving a hand flippantly, “He’s still in the woodshed.”

Shen Qingqiu idly poked at his newfound disgust with himself and discovered that it didn’t extend far enough to compel him to scold Xieran for her coldness. “Very good,” he said instead, “You’ve both done well today.” 

Their expressions turned instantly starstruck, and Shen Qingqiu continued down the path towards the woodshed. 

To his displeasure, there was a figure sitting against the woodshed’s door. He would’ve thought it was Luo Binghe if it weren’t for the bright orange of Ning Yingying’s favorite hair ribbons. She spotted him and leaped to her feet, waving her arm with the enthusiasm of a child who’d never been punished before. 

Shen Qingqiu flicked his fan open and waved it gently at his face. “What are you do—” All his breath left him in a rush as Ning Yingying threw herself at him, hands flying around his waist. 

Shen Qingqiu sighed and waited for her to let go. She did quickly enough, dancing back a couple steps and grinning up at him. “Shizun!” 

He examined her over the edge of his fan, tracing the shape of her bright brown eyes and her round face. He wondered if she really did look like Qiu Haitang, or if his mind had just seen a bright girl with gentle smiles and made the connection for him. “What is Yingying doing here?”

Ning Yingying’s expressions turned as sly as it ever went. Mostly she just ducked her head and scuffed her feet. “Yingying is, um—” She looked around, spotted the dirty dishes lying where she’d been sitting earlier, and hastily said, “Cleaning! Yingying is cleaning.”

Shen Qingqiu raised one eyebrow and didn’t bother replying. 

Ning Yingying fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “And, um, waiting for Shizun!” She looked up, lips curling into a hopeful smile. “This one is glad that Shizun is feeling better!”

Fear beat another staccato rhythm against Shen Qingqiu’s spine, a desperate rattling of what did Luo Binghe say. He revealed none of it on his face. “Did Yingying bring food to Luo Binghe during his punishment?”

Ning Yingying visibly drooped. “He’s so small, Shizun—”

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth and then shut it, feeling suddenly tired. The rebuke on the tip of his tongue faded, and he just sighed. “Take the plates back to the kitchens.” 

Ning Yingying peeked up at him, hope lighting her eyes. “Yes, Shizun!” She ran to grab the plates and then scuttled back, eyes wide. “Shizun isn’t going to punish A-Luo, right? He didn’t ask me to bring the food.”

Any other day, and Shen Qingqiu’s temper would have flared at the familiar address. Instead, he just said sharply, “I’ve warned you to keep your distance from him, Yingying. Do as I say.” 

Ning Yingying nodded. “Yes, Shizun.” 

Liar. He didn’t call her on it, though. “Go.” 

She sketched a bow, shallower than she should’ve, and dashed off. But that was alright, because she was his favorite and she knew it.

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hello! I love your work and stuff, so I’ll just leave this here for now. Take your time btw! So anyways, Josuke with s/o who gets really down and is in need of cuddles? You can inspire it off of Golden Days by Panic! At the Disco. Josuke just reminding there s/o of happy thoughts and stuff! Please and thank you, have a lovely day! ^^

Golden Days. - Josuke Higashikata.

Helloo and sorry if this took way too long! CwC I do have an excuse: I’ve only recently started JJBA pt.4 so it was kinda hard for me to exaclty understand Josuke and be talh about him as accurately as possible! Anyway, this was fun and made me notice way more things about him so thank you very much for requesting him! I love P!ATD so your request was spot on. I hope it will meet your expectations. Enjoy! x

Ps: thank you for your compliments and I hope you’ll have a wonderful day too! xx

Neutral reader x Josuke

Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Diamond is Unbreakable 

SFW

Trigger warning: references to panic attacks, minor references to paranoia 

Words count: 1484

Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content!

Please feel free to reblog or leave a comment :) help me support my art (it’s free!),

© bearing in mind everything I post/write is my intellectual property so please don’t steal/copy and paste and post it as yours.

It wasn’t unusual for you to lose yourself inside your own mind. Sometimes you would just zone out and wonder by the corridors of the labyrinth inside your head, falling into an infinite spiral of overthinking which wasn’t easy to escape. It was complicated to keep your paranoia under control; there were times in which you just couldn’t stop obsessing over a minor inconvenient happened to you, overthinking it enough to make it seem bigger than it really was, becoming anxious and hypervigilant as a consequence. And you hated it – you hated how your mind was able to control you in such a tricky way; you felt as if you were your own slave. Once crisis were over and you finally regained your so called ‘lucidity’ other emotions would take control of you; you’d start feeling stupid for making yourself go through all that suffering for something so silly, making you enter a loop of self denigration and severe self judgement. At times it would just be too much.

However, you were lucky enough to have Josuke by your side. The two of you had been together for some months and somehow he was perfectly able to save you from your own self. He always managed to put a smile on your face – he knew how to make you happy. Not that he was something that he had to plan ahead; it was just so natural for you to feel better whenever he was around. His smile, the way he managed to be so naïve yet so smart and mature at the same time just always enabled you to relax and feel better. His simple presence was enough to make you feel protected from both the outside world and the terrifying world that lived in your head.

Josuke never quite understood what really happened inside your mind whenever you’d have a crisis, and he learnt with time that the best thing he could do was simply listening to you. You were sure your thought process looked so indecipherable and nonsense to him, but he never pointed out. He would always be so supportive and would try his best to understand how you felt and your point of view – the last thing he wanted was to make you feel worse. He never judged you and he would always try to convince you that you should never feel ashamed of the way you felt. He was the first person to make you feel as if every little complicated emotion you felt was valid and wasn’t something that made you crazy, and you were just eternally glad to have him by your side.

Since the two of you started dating, you made some progress. Crisis became less usual and (most of the times) less intense than before, and with Josuke’s help, you were able to manage them better. His company had a major influence on you and on your overall state of mind, making your heart feel less heavy and filling your mind with wonderful memories – almost as if every moment you shared together somehow redecorated your mind, making it a bit less threatening and less uncomfortable than before.

However, this didn’t mean that crisis completely disappeared. You were playing videogames together in his living room when something just seemed to click in your mind. Although the enthusiasm shown by your boyfriend while playing, you just felt as if something just shut down. All of a sudden, you didn’t want to play anymore and felt as if you didn’t have any strength to push the buttons of your controller. That sensation led you to feel ungrateful and worthless. You started to think about how you ruined a perfect afternoon which your boyfriend was clearly enjoying, remembering all of the occasion something similar had happened. You thought he deserved way better than someone who’s broken and, like a hurricane, manages to destroy everything around them. These thoughts started to become louder and louder in your mind, as if a voice screamed at you about how you’d always stop Josuke from being happy. You tried your best to ignore it but you could only focus on how guilty you felt towards your boyfriend, and before realising it, tears started streaming down your face. Your cheeks became red as you ran your fingers through your air, starting to breathe heavily.

Josuke immediately noticed something was wrong, and he carelessly threw the controller away from him, turning to his side so he could face you.

He was visibly worried, yet he gently smiled at you as he delicately pulled you into his arms, kissing the top of your head. ‘Hey, hey..’ he said quietly, caressing your hair. 

‘What’s wrong?’

He questioned, looking at you while rubbing the tears off your face with his thumb. A small moment of silence settled down between you two. ‘It’s okay, I’m here. Breathe with me, mh?’ he whispered gently. He took your hands in his and, looking at you, he helped you normalising the pace of your breath. You followed the movement of his strong shoulders as he breathed, slowly relaxing yourself.  

‘I’m sorry. I always do this. I ruin every moment we get to spend together. You deserve better.’ 

You sniffed, hiding your face in his chest – not being able to bear any type of eye contact. ‘Hey! I thought I was the funny one!’ he said jokingly, leaving a cute kiss on the tip of your nose. You smiled weakly, shaking your head in disagreement. ‘You make me so happy. And in this regard.. I want you to see something!’ 

He continued, standing up from the couch and going to his bedroom. A few minutes later, when he came back to you, he was holding a little box in his hands.

You looked at him in confusion, while he goofily smiled at you, blushing. He sat next to you, putting his arms around your body and letting your back rest on his chest. He took advantage of this position to leave a kiss on your cheek. ‘Open it!’ he said, raising his tone in excitement.

You held the little square box in your hands for a bit, observing it. It was made of rough wood, probably crafted by hand by your lover. On the top of it, a writing made with a red marker pen said ‘Golden Days’. You opened the box only to reveal a pile of Polaroids of you, Josuke and some of your friends, taken in particular days of which you had a wonderful memory of – you could vividly remember the happy and how light-hearted you felt in those days. As you leafed through the pictures, Josuke would happily start talking about the day they represented.

‘Do you remember this day? We were on my uncle’s yacht!’ 

He said, pointing at a picture you were holding in your hand.

‘How can I forget? The air was sauna hot and you complained all day about how the temperature was ruining your hair!’ You said laughing, as your boyfriend started to tickle your waist. ‘HEY!’ he screamed. ‘My hair is a serious issue and you know it!’ he continued, as he tickled you more as if he was trying to punish you. He knew you couldn’t resist it and soon enough your laugh filled the room, followed by his. When he finally stopped, Josuke looked at you for a few seconds before showering you with kisses while you tried your best to keep looking at the polaroids without getting too distracted.

‘I didn’t know you had this box!’ you said, feeling way better than you did minutes before. 

‘I had it for a while, and decided you needed one of this too.’ he answered seriously, while moving your hair from your face.  ‘If I’m not there, I want you to have something for when you feel as if the light begins to fade.’ He continued, leaving a soft kiss on your temple.

After hearing those words, you couldn’t help but smile. He had his own, simple way to make you happy – and he never failed at it. Somehow, he was capable to make your heart and your mind to feel completely at peace, gifting you of special moments when things weren’t so complicated. You turned around to face Josuke, putting your hands on his chest and leaning on him for a kiss. As you did so, he smiled too, letting one of his hand gently running up and down your back. 

‘Thanks.’ you whispered as you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. In response, Josuke let out a tender laugh. 

‘I love you, (Y/N). This is the least I can do.’ he replied, never stopping from cuddling you.

The two of you remained like this for a while, enjoying each other’s attentions and delicate touch.

[the-werdna]

Title: Robcina Week Day 5 - Day of Devotion

Description: Lucina wanted to make the perfect gift for Robin to celebrate the first Day of Devotion they'd spend as a couple. Making homemade chocolates seemed like the perfect idea. With a recipe and ingredients in hand, she set about making this plan a reality. After all, it didn't seem like it would be that hard.

Words: 2118

Lucina coughed, waving her hands frantically to blow away the smoke spewing from the pot she had been slaving over for most of the day. The acrid fumes reached her nostrils, confirming without a doubt it had been another failure.

Why? Why did it burn this time?  Lucina wondered, gazing into the pot at the burned mess that was the chocolates she had been attempting to melt. I thought I followed the recipe exactly, but I can't even get past the first step…

She sighed, feeling like failure once more for the dozenth time that day.

Today was the Day of Devotion, a holiday celebrated throughout all of the Outrealms in honor of love. In particular it was a day for couples to show their appreciation for each other, often through gifts of flowers and chocolate. That later which was why Lucina had found herself in the camp's kitchen the entire morning, desperately trying to turn the ingredients she'd bought into chocolates fit to be a gift for the man she loved above all else.

Maybe I should just purchase some instead. I am certain that is what most everyone has done, she considered, but quickly abandoned the idea. This was the first Day of Devotion she and Robin would share together, so she wanted it to be special. What better way, then, was there to make it special than to gift something she'd made herself?

At that moment she heard the rustle of canvas as the tent flap was yanks open, hurried footsteps announcing the arrival of a newcomer into the kitchen. She didn't even have to turn to see who before the excited voice called out, one she could not help but recognize.

"What smells good but also burny?" chimed Morgan, skipping past her and around the counter to stand at the opposite side.

"Morgan, I was-" Lucina started to tell her daughter. Her words faltered however when Morgan stuck her whole hand into the pot, shoveling the still molten, blackened chocolate into her mouth,

"Just as I thought! Chocolate! And lots of burned bits! Also, ow! Hot" Morgan quickly lapped up the remaining chocolate from her fingers as it started to burn her, only to then start panting like a dog. Evidently, her efforts only managed to start burning the inside of her mouth.

"Holfff ommff" she slurred, rushing over to a nearby bucket of water. Before Lucina could stop her, the girl tipped it up to her mouth, dumping most of it's contents over herself even as she drank down several large, loud gulps.

"Um, Morgan? Are you…" Lucina tried to ask, her words failing her at the bewildering display.

"Ahhh," Morgan sighed contentedly, tossing the now empty bucket aside. "Much better." she grinned, seemingly taking no notice of the fact is was soaking wet from head to toe at this point,

"I…" Lucina could only stare and blink, finding herself at a loss for how she should respond to her daughter. Not that it was an unusual occurrence. Morgan's oddity had become a fact she was well used to by this point, even if each new manner that oddness manifested would, without fail, catch her off guard.

"Anyways, what's the occasion? Making chocolate for 'Dee Oh Dee' Day to give to father?" Morgan asked.

This statement more than confused Lucina, causing her to stare and arch an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what is this 'Dee Oh Dee' you speak… oh, right" Lucina blushed, embarrassed to only then get what her daughter was saying. She had been referring to the holiday by the acronym of it's name.

But wait, wouldn't that mean she called it "Day of Devotion Day", Lucina wondered. She thought to ask, but thought better of it. Best to just answer her daughter's question rather than delve down what would certainly be a rabbit hole of an entirely different sort.

Better not to consider much how her daughter's mind worked.

"Yes, I had hoped to… But as you can see I have not had much success," Lucina admitted, hanging her head sadly. "I can't even manage to melt the chocolate without burning it beyond salvage. I fear if I don't remedy the mistake soon, I will have nothing to show for my efforts."

"Hmmmmm," Morgan returned to the stove, rubbing her chin vigorously as she stared intently at the pot. "Well, for starters you should fill the pot with water instead. Then you put the chocolate in a smaller pot or ceramic bowl and place that over top. That way the steam heats it up more slowly, and you can easily remove the bowl whenever it gets too hot," Morgan said, abruptly spinning to look face her with an expression of extreme pride.

Again Lucina could only stare, this time in astonishment. "Morgan, since when did you know so much about cooking? This is the first time I've heard you speak as such on this matter."

"Oh, that! I've been having Noire teach me how to bake! It's actually really fun!" Morgan answered, weaving her hands behind her head and grinning proudly. "Plus with that newfound power, I can make dessert for myself whenever I want! I'm now unstoppable!"

Lucina's mood has begun to lift at the start of Morgan's explanation, only to abruptly plummet at the last part, replaced by a flat, stern look only a mother could give. "Morgan… you're not allowed to only eat sweets. You still have to eat your vegetables."

"Nuh uh, I'm unstoppable now, remember!" Morgan argued. "Fear me! I have become death, baker and devourer of cake!"

"Just because you can doesn't mean you will," Lucina warned, crossing her arms. "Give me one reason why I should let you?" And why must I even have this discussion? Gods, Morgan… can you at least try to act your age on occasion? she thought to herself

"Because if you don't then I won't help you make those chocolates for father in time!" Morgan countered sticking out her tongue. "I mean, if we got started now we could get them finished in no time!"

"Wait… you really believe there is still time?" Lucina asked, an ember of hope returning to her.

"Of course. I'll show you what to do! Trust me, it's easy once you know how!" Morgan said, hopping up and down excitedly. Without waiting for an answer she began sprinting around the kitchen, snatching up vessels and utensils for them to use.

"Alright, alright, I see you are quite committed then," Lucina said, unable to help herself but laugh at her daughter's enthusiasm. Certainly, her energy could do wonder to lift the spirits of those around her, especially in times like this. "However, we will still need to have a talk about your eating habits when we are done."

"Awwww, for real?!" Morgan complained.

. . . . .

"Alright, there he is" Morgan hissed, far too loudly to be a whisper. Lucina felt her daughter give her a shove from behind, causing her to stagger and nearly trip.

"Morgan!" she whispered back, making no move to approach her husband. From behind the row of tents they could see Robin making his way down the dusty road as he returned to camp from the nearby town, a bag held in one hand.

Lucina righted herself, clutching the wrapped box containing the chocolates she and Morgan had made, carefully not to drop or otherwise harm them. To do so now, after all their hard work would be the truest of shames.

"Go! Go! Kiss! Kiss! Go! Go!" Morgan urged, giving her another shove.

"Morgan, please. You do not need to-" Lucina started to argue.

"No time! He's here! I'll be rooting for you!" Morgan gave a final shove, this time even more forceful than before, pushing Lucina straight out into the open…

… and nearly crashing head first into her husband. There was a yelp of surprise and for an instant Lucina was certain she'd trip. But an arm shot out, gripping her hand even as she grabbed onto his shoulder, managing to remain on her feet.

"Lucina?" Robin asked, helping her right herself. "I'd say this is a surprise, but that would be cliché… if truthful, at least in this manner," he laughed, stepping back.

"Yes, I'm… I'm so sorry if I startled you, Robin. It was not my intention, but… well… Morgan…" she shot a glance back to Morgan, who wasn't as well hidden as she likely imagined she was behind the tents. For one thing the messy mop of her blue hair was just barely visible as she peeked over the top to peer back at them.

"Ah, right. That certainly explains things," Robin said, following her gaze to notice their daughter as well. His attention then turned to the box Lucina was holding. It certainly was hard to miss, wrapping in shiny blue paper and tied in a large red bow. "I take it that it's for me?" he asked.

"Oh, um… yes!" Lucina said, flustered as she gave a bow of her head and offered the box to him.

Taking it gingerly, Robin unwrapped the bow, opening up the container to reveal the chocolates she and Morgan had spent so much time crafting.

"I made them myself… well, with some help from Morgan in the end. I spent the entire morning in the effort. So I hope… I hope they are pleasing enough," she explained as Robin looked into the box. Truth be told Lucina was very proud how they turned out, nearly perfectly round and uniform in size, but each decorated with white chocolate in the pattern of a different flower.

"Honestly, Lucina, you really didn't need to go through so much effort merely for my sake. I would have been happy with anything. I don't quite believe I am deserving of this," Robin told her, his gold-brown eyes shimmering ever so slightly as he gazed back at her. It was a testament to just how touched he was by the gift.

Then he took out one of the chocolates and plopped it into his mouth, smiling as he chewed. "They're really good, Lucina. Better than anything I could have made… though I suppose that's a poor compliment considering that's not a particularly high bar," he added, chuckling at his own reputation for possessing truly dismal cooking ability.

"I'm glad you liked them," Lucina said. She fidgeted with her sleeve, tugging on it and looking around fervently. There were too many people around, Morgan included, to make her feel comfortable to show the more open gestures of affection she so desperately wished to partake in.

"Oh, I almost forgot. It's not something I made myself, but I got you these," Robin said, reaching into the bag he was holding. It was beaucette of flowers: red and pink roses mixed with the white flowers of the same type Robin had given her on the day he had confessed his feelings for her.

"Sorry that it's nothing elaborate, but I wanted to get you something all the same. I am afraid when compared to your gift, my own has come up short…" he said guiltily.

"No, it's quite alright. They are lovely, Robin," Lucina assured him Taking the flowers in hand she hesitated a moment, again reminded about how public the place they were in was. No, that was no excuse. She could find the courage for one kiss.

Sucking in a deep breath Lucina stepped forward, pressing her lips into his. His mouth tasted sweet from the chocolate. Then she pulled away, blushing. "Thank you. For thinking of me."

"Heh, and you as well," Robin replied. He chuckled nervously, trying to hide his own embarrassment. "But is this really the place for this. We're out in the open.

Lucina inclined her head, conceding to this point. "Shall we go then? To somewhere a certain someone won't be watching us?" Lucina asked, eyes glancing back to where Morgan was failing to remain hidden. "You know, for perhaps an, um… repeat performance of that kiss," Lucina blushed at this

Robin smiled at this, catching her meaning even if he blushed even more fiercely, torn between joy and embarrassment. "Ah… erm, right. Of course," he hooked his arm around here's the two of them turning to face the camp and the direction of their tend. "Let's go then."

With that, arm in arm, they started into camp… for about three steps before Robin abruptly yanked both of them back. The ground before them caved in, revealing a ten-foot deep pit that had laid hidden but a moment before.

"Nice try, kiddo!" Robin called out to Morgan's hiding place.

"Awwwwwww," groaned Morgan, her disappointment at her trap failing truly unmeasurable.

[superprincesspea]

Chapter 7: Irresistible

Temptation is the Devil’s work

Masterlist

Rollo was more of an arrogant fool than Edithe first thought. But if he would teach her how to fight then so be it. She would not resist such an opportunity especially since it was one she had always longed for. Her father might have given her a small dagger but learning how to sword fight like her brother was always out of the question no matter how many times she asked.

Now, with the heathen gone, Edithe could allow herself to smile. Happily grabbing a broom and helping Haedde who was already sweeping away the dust and cobwebs which coated every inch of his wretched house.

“It is nice to see you in better spirits now, my Lady.”

“Hm,” Edithe laughed. “If you teach me how to speak like these heathens and he teaches me how to fight like them then I can feel freedom is already within my grasp.”

“Please don’t say these things,” Haedde sighed. “I’m trying to help you and believe me, you should not do so much to displease him.”

“Pleasing that heathen is not my concern and I hope it never will be.”

“Don’t be so careless, child. Do you want to be a slave? Or be taken by another man who would not be so gentle?”

“Gentle?” Edithe mocked, “he’s a barbarian. Last night he took off all of his clothes and forced me to lay in the bed with him.”

Haedde dropped her broom and hurried towards Edithe, cradling her tightly in a mother's embrace. “I did not know,” she soothed, stroking Edithe’s hair. “I promise the first time is always the worst. It will get better but if he is too coarse with you then there are remedies to help you heal.”

“No. No... he didn’t do... that .” From the way Haedde was holding her, and for the simple fact that she was a slave, Edithe felt almost ashamed to admit the truth of last night. “He only… held me.”

She released Edithe from her embrace, frowning, “nothing more?”

“No, but-”

Haedde held up her hand, “then he is gentle and treating you kindly, Lady, and you should not complain.”

Edithe straightened her spine, there was no shame in wanting her freedom and she could not allow this old woman to cloud her judgement. “I cannot say why he has not harmed me yet but he will. It is only a matter of time. I saw the way he looked when he killed my brother, he enjoyed it. He is brutal and takes pleasure in hurting people.”

“Yes, he’s a warrior but these Northmen are good to their wives. They live as equals here and you have a chance of being a free woman. You should not squander it for stubborn pride.”

“These people are godless, Haedde. I will not have you defending them to me and accusing me of pride.”

“Please, forgive me, Lady Edithe. I just do not wish you to be ignorant of the luxuries you have here,” Haedde held onto her arms affectionately, her face filled with concern. “You will not be the first woman to marry a man she does not care for. Let him put his babes in you and you will find love and happiness with them. There is nothing more loving than a child no matter who its father is.”

Edithe smiled weakly. Just like last night, it was clear Haedde was too afraid to even consider freedom and any conversation on the matter would only end in circles. But Kattegat contained other Saxon slaves and even the priest she had seen the morning after the raid. Surely one of them would want a chance of freedom with her. If not, she would find a way to do it alone.

She was only glad she’d stopped herself from attacking Rollo in the night. Though it was difficult to resist hitting him with the hammer, her sensible side had been right and biding her time had brought her greater opportunity. Now she had a chance to prepare herself properly and, though she did not want to give him any credit, it seemed perhaps Rollo was not going to force himself on her just yet.

When the house was more orderly Haedde spent the afternoon teaching Edithe Norse and by the time she left, Rollo still hadn’t returned.

Feeling frustrated, she found herself idling by the window at the back of the house. Quietly watching the empty street while her fingernail slowly eroded a path in the wattle and daub.

When Rollo had set out this morning she’d assumed he would return quickly to begin their lessons. But it had been hours. What if he’d already forgotten about their pact? What if she’d spent the whole day excited at the prospect of learning to fight and he’d not given it a second thought?

Then the front door opened and she rushed towards it, prepared to give him hell if he had changed his mind. But it was not Rollo. It was Ragnar.

Her heart thundered in her chest and, for the first time, she wished Rollo was here.

“What do you want?” she asked, cautiously edging her way around the fire so it stood between them.

Ragnar smirked, before perching on the end of a chair like a cat ready to pounce. “I noticed my brother did not bring you to the feast yesterday. I wanted to see that you are well.”

The hammer on the table rested under her fingertips if she should need it. “Well, now that you have seen, you can go.”

He chuckled, settling more easily into his chair, letting the room fill with his presence as they silently studied each other.

“Rollo will be back soon,” she said, no longer able to stand the tension.

“No, he won’t. I asked him to go on an errand and it will take him most of the day.”

Danger prickled over her skin like fire. “No matter, Haedde will be back before long and I-”

“Haedde belongs to me. She only comes here with my permission.” Ragnar stood now, stepping around the fire until they were only inches apart. He was much shorter in stature than Rollo, so his bright blue eyes were more level with hers and she dared not look away from them.

“Rollo thinks I want to steal you from him. He doesn't trust me.”

Edithe didn’t trust him either. It was Ragnar who had led the raid on her people making him the only man she hated more than Rollo.

“Would you like to be stolen from him?”

“Not by you. Ragnar ,” she said his name with disgust but his eyes lit up with mischief.

“Loyalty is good,” he smiled. “You will be a good wife to my brother.”

Edithe was confused. Was this some sort of test? Because if it was, he was asking the wrong questions. “I would rather marry a pig than a heathen Viking.”

Ragnar laughed. “I can see why he has chosen you, Lady. You are fierce and my brother needs a strong hand to keep him in check. You will do this well I think.”

He picked up a handful of dried cranberries off the table and threw one of them in the air, catching it in his mouth as he backtracked towards the door.

“You’re leaving?” she questioned, feeling surprised. Was that all? She had feared this man and he’d done nothing but take a handful of fruit.

“Yes, I wish you no harm Lady Edithe and maybe one day you will have a chance to tell my brother that I would never take what is rightfully his,” he looked at his handful of stolen fruit and laughed.

Unlike with Rollo, Edithe could tell Ragnar exactly what she thought and it was difficult to hold back. “Tell him yourself, I’m not your messenger and I won’t be staying around to marry your heathen brother. He’s teaching me how to fight and when he does I will have vengeance for my family.”

Ragnar laughed again, “spoken like a true Viking.”

He left, leaving the door wide open so she slammed it behind him, hating him more now than ever before. His laughter boiled her temper but one day it would work in her favour, these heathens would underestimate her and she would use it to her advantage.

When Rollo finally returned it was dark outside and before she had a chance of saying anything, he smiled and presented her with a freshly painted shield.

It was striped black and white and much lighter in her hands than the ones on the wall, as if it had been made for her. Deep down Edithe knew she should not accept such a precious gift but she couldn’t resist. Having a shield of her own delighted her. But she did not thank him or allow a smile to touch her lips. He deserved none of her happiness.

Next he showed her a wooden sword, and she looked at the weapon with far less enthusiasm. “What is this ?”

He chuckled, saying something she didn’t understand before flipping it over, so the hilt was towards her reach.

Edithe took the sword unhappily. It was more like a child’s toy than a weapon and certainly not what she had in mind for her escape.  

Unperturbed, Rollo moved to the fire and lifted the lid on the broth Haedde had prepared, taking a spoon and testing it before serving himself a bowl.

“When will you teach me how to fight?” Edithe said impatiently, trying out the words Haedde had taught her.

Hearing her speak in his native tongue made him smile, and he replied happily in words she did not fully understand. Haedde had taught her a few phrases, but it was not enough to understand a language.

“I want to go outside,” she told him and he smiled even broader. It reminded her of the way he had smiled on the longboat, the same deep crinkles lighting up his face. But of course, he was happy. His belly was filled with food, and he was home with a warm fire and a woman he had trapped under his control. Why should the heathen not smile?

Hate tempted her into doing something reckless, but she swallowed it down while he pointed to the window and said a single word, his hand arching through the air like the sun rising. Then he said the word again.

“Dawn,” Edithe repeated. But it occurred to her that before morning there would be night and when the food was finished there was little else to do but ready for it.

Rollo removed his tunic and boots, stretching his long limbs and rolling his shoulders until they crackled.

Edithe remained seated, her throat dry and her palms sweaty.

In the firelight, the markings on his chest and abdomen seemed to spring to life or maybe it was just the way his muscles moved under taut skin.

‘He killed your brother, he is the devil,’ she told herself, tending her hatred just as Rollo tended the fire.

The way his bare toes wriggled against the straw floor seemed a stark contrast to how she imagined the devil would behave but that did not mean he was not evil. Evil had many faces and she would not allow herself to be seduced by it.

“Edithe,” he said, holding out his hand to ease her from the chair.

She ignored his offer, standing on her own before moving to make herself comfortable on one of the benches.

Strangely he almost seemed offended at her reaction but, she would not spend another night in his bed. Last night she had allowed it simply for the chance of killing him, but now she was forming better plans.

“Edithe,” he said again, his tone more commanding now as he held out his hand.

“Goodnight heathen,” she told him before settling herself down and rolling onto her side, so she was facing the wall.

His hands grabbing her were not a surprise and he threw her on the bed with little care, smiling as he kicked the door closed.

“I hate you,” she said and his smile did not fade.

He began unbuckling his belt, watching her, waiting for her to react but she would not give him what he wanted. She lay on the far edge of the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. Last night in the dark, she had seen enough of his heathen body and cared not to see it again.

Or, maybe just a little peek? It had been so dark, and she had never seen a man's body before. She chanced a look, but he was already moving around the bed, and her opportunity was gone. But her only disappointment was in herself.

What would her mother think? What would the Lord think? All her life, she had been taught to remain modest and to keep her eyes only for her husband. Of course, that had been easy with no opportunity to look. Being in Kattegat would be a test of her faith and unlike the heathen priest, she would not be swayed from a righteous path.

She said a silent prayer and Rollo flopped on the bed beside her.

Tensing she expected him to wrap her in his arms but he lay still, his breathing slow and steady. She was facing away from him so could not see if he was sleeping but eventually the tension left her shoulders and her own eyes grew heavy.

Edithe would not say she felt safe. But at least with Rollo beside her, no other Viking would stand a chance of harming her. So there was some safety to be had in Rollo’s bed. How long it would last she could not say. But for now she could look forward to dawn and her first lesson in single combat.

Authors Note: I’ve noticed a few people liking and interacting with this story over the past couple of weeks. I just wanted to let you guys know I’ve posted more chapters. In fact, I just posted chapter 21 over on ao3, wattpad and ff. So if you’re enjoyed it, you should go read over there. My username is the same so its really easy to find and subscribe for updates.  

[minetteenfers]

Marichat May Day 4: Birthday!

Marinette stood on her balcony peering up at the stars with a warm smile. She held her phone in her hand and zoned out on the sky. She heard footsteps land behind her and she jumped, nearly dropping her phone.

“Sorry, Purrincess.” Chat awkwardly smirked and rubbed the back of his neck. “I- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no it’s fine. Happy Birthday, kitty!” Marinette ran at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He touched her sides with widened eyes and parted lips. She snuggled her cheek against his chest and sighed. He warmly smiled and wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the sweet and delicate scent of baked goods.  “Thank you, Marinette.” Sadness took him under at her words and at her enthusiasm for such a pointless day.

Marinette felt him tremble and she pulled away from him, holding him by his biceps. “What’s wrong? How was your birthday?”

Chat closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he hung his head. “What’s the point in celebrating a birthday if your father doesn’t care?” He shrugged and peered off to the side with a depressed expression. His lips curled down at the corners and tears dusted his long lashes. “What’s the point when your father gets you the same lame pen every year?” His gaze flashed up to Marinette’s. “It just shows how much he doesn’t care about me. Doesn’t care enough to know what I’m into or what has been going on in my life outside of the fashion shows and the millions of recreational activities he has me slaving away at for his own enjoyment and freedom from seeing my face.”  Chat caught his breath and Marinette took one of her hands from his biceps and touched beneath his chin.

She brought his gaze to hers with a warm smile. “Because that father doesn’t see what the whole world sees. A superhero that is capable of changing the bad into the good. Raising the forgotten from the ashes. Spreading love and comfort to the weak. His father doesn’t see the broken boy that is on my balcony every night. Afraid to go home. The runaway.” She ran her hand along his jaw and into his hair, causing him to purr. “You deserve all of the birthday wishes life can give you. You deserve the love of your father and I can’t give you that for your birthday, but….”

Chat was suddenly yanked towards her trap door. She flung it open and hopped down onto her bed.  Marinette peered up at him with a warm smile and giggled as she waved her hand. “C’mon, Kitty!”

Chat swallowed hard and dropped down onto her bed once she had moved out of the way. Marinette walked down her staircase and he followed her. He wasn’t sure where she was leading him, but he really didn’t think he had much of a choice. The girl would just grab his clawed hand and take him there, regardless.

He was confused as she lead him through her room and straight to her door. “Where are you taking me? What about your parents?” Chat began to panic as she flung the door open and walked down the main staircase.

“Don’t worry about it.” Marinette giggled as she grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her. “They love when you visit. You know that, silly kitty.”

Chat took a big breath and let it out as he was lead to the kitchen. It was dark and there were no lights on. He peered around him and tried to see if there was anything different about the room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He shrugged and leaned against the arm of the couch, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Marinette walked up to him and unfolded his arms. “You need to keep walking, kitty.” She grabbed them and pulled him through the front door and lead him down the long staircase.

“I don’t see what the point of this is, Marinette. I could have just taken you down here if it was wh-” Chat stopped in his tracks as she opened the bakery’s doors.

“SURPRISE!” Tom and Sabine shouted and sprang out from behind a massive three tiered cake that was red with black spots on the bottom layer, black with green paw prints on the second, and a swirled layer of black, red, and green on the top one. Two figures, Ladybug and Chat Noir, made from modeling chocolate stood on the very top with a model of la tour Eiffel behind them.  

“I-” Chat’s eyes shook as tears filled them. “I-”

“What he means is thank you.” Marinette giggled as she took his arm in hers and pat his forearm.

“Yes, thank you so much.” Chat looked over the plates of passion fruit macarons, chocolate chip cookies, croissants, chouquettes, soda, and a steaming quiche sat in a decorative pie dish. It felt more like home than his actual one. Her parents were kind and loving. Everything he could have dreamed of.

Presents sat off to the side on a long banquet table and Marinette watched a smile slowly grow on his saddened face.

“You can open gifts first, if you like.” Sabine warmly smiled as Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “Bon Anniversaire, Chat Noir.” She softly spoke and Chat peered over his shoulder with silent tears of happiness.

Chat peered at Marinette and she closed her eyes with a smile. She nodded and he gasped as he ran over to open them.

He grabbed the biggest one that was wrapped in black with green paw prints. Chat pulled the card from the top and read it. “Bon Anniversaire to the most CLAW-tastic cool Chat in town, Kitty.” He peered up at Marinette and warmly smiled at her with a blush. “Merci, Marinette.”

“De rien, Chaton.” Marinette warmly smiled as she watched him open the gift with his claws like a cat scratching a couch. She hid a giggle behind her hand and her parents laughed along with her.

He opened the box and pulled out the newest fighting game and two controllers. They were hand painted and sealed. Chat looked over at her with tears in his eyes as he peered down to see one was Chat Noir themed and the other was Ladybug themed. “You never know if she’ll show up to play games with you. She might. There’s a couple more things in there too.”

Chat began to quickly dig further into the box, finding a black shirt with neon green short sleeves and collar. The material was soft and cotton. He pressed it to his cheek, feeling how soft it was. “You made this?”

“Mm-hm. I did. There’s one more thing in there, Chaton.” Marinette smiled as he took out a black mask that was identical to his. “I took some cotton fabric and put quilting batting between them and sewed it all together to make that with black ribbon. So, you can be more comfortable on the nights you visit us.”

“We just wanted to let you know… that you always have a home here.” Tom chimed in as Chat peered over his shoulder at her parents. His heart warmed and he suddenly felt loved. Last time he felt this loved, his mother was around making sure that he had the best birthday he could.

“Merci. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Chat sighed as he hugged the presents from Marinette.

“You still have more to open, you know.” Marinette giggled and Chat suddenly jumped and set the stuff down on the table.

He opened the next gift and pulled out a DVD of his favorite anime, along with some plushies. “No… You didn’t! How’d you?”

“Marinette told us.” Sabine smiled at him as he got super excited about it all.

“This is- it’s so expensive and hard to get a hold of. You didn’t have to-” Chat tried to argue and Sabine shook her head.

“It was nothing, Chat.” Sabine smiled and Tom agreed with her.

“Let me repay you.” Chat went to reach into his pocket, but Tom held up his hand.

“Trust us. We wanted to give you something that was special to you.” Tom smiled and watched him relax with a warm smile.

“You’re all so nice to me.” Chat sniffed as the tears finally fell from his eyes. He continued to open gifts until he had more than he had ever gotten before. “This is too much. I feel so-” Words escaped him and Sabine walked over to give him a big hug.

“Nothing is too much for the hero of Paris, love. You do so much for the world. For our Marinette.” Sabine whispered in his ear as she hugged him and he broke down on her shoulder.

Marinette tapped him on the shoulder and Sabine let him go. She walked to the table of food while Tom and Sabine grabbed plates for the quiche. “J’ai une surprise pour tu, but… you have to wait until after dinner and dessert.”

“Je ne pense pas que je peux gérer plus.” Chat wiped his clawed fingers beneath his eyes and Marinette smiled up at him.

“You can handle one more surprise, Chaton.” Marinette smiled at him and they walked over to eat dinner.

They all laughed and talked over dinner and dessert. Chat’s heart felt fuller than ever and he quickly fell in love with Marinette and her family.

Once dinner was done, Marinette lead Chat upstairs to her room. She brought the mask and shirt with her.  Chat peered around her room with a raised eyebrow and she slipped the mask over his head and adjusted it around his eyes. “Detransform kitty.” She held the shirt out to him and watched him close his eyes. She shielded her face and turned away with her forearm over her eyes.

“You can look now, Purrincess.” Chat spoke as he watched her turn around to see her sparkling sapphire eyes as they caught the light in her bedroom.

She played with the hem of the shirt with a warm smile. “It fits purrfectly.” She giggled at her pun and he chuckled behind his hand. “Be right back.” Marinette walked over to her chest and pulled out a present. “I got something for the boy behind the mask.”

“Marinette…” Chat worried his bottom lip as she held out the wrapped gift.

“What? We can’t just celebrate the most PAW-some hero of Paris. It’s not just his birthday.” Marinette smiled as he took the gift from her.

“Merci. Your family is so kind and you all have such a big heart. I don’t know how I can repay you.” Chat felt tears burn his eyes, once again.

“By opening that gift, Adrien.” Marinette warmly smiled at him and he smirked at her.

“D’accord... You already gave me such amazing things though.” He rolled his eyes and slowly unwrapped it, finding a cardboard box inside. He opened the box and stumbled back against her chaise lounge, falling onto it with his hand over his mouth. Tears fell from his eyes and silent sobs sprang from his chest. “Mar-”

“It’s okay. I know.” She sat down beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

Chat sniffed and took the gift from the box. “I-” His words escaped him as he gasped for air. It was too much. Way too much.

Marinette peered down at the framed photo of his mother from her only film, Solitude. Emilie peered from beneath her umbrella at him and along the corner was her signature and a little note.

To the love of my life and my beautiful son. I will always love you. Remember, that even on the days it rains... The sun will eventually shine through.

All of my love,

Your wife and maman

“How?” Chat clutched the framed photo in his trembling hand.

“I may have asked your father for a favor…” Marinette worried her bottom lip and smiled at him.

“Marinette.” Chat cried and wrapped his arms around her. “Merci beaucoup, Marinette.”

She hugged him and ran her fingers through his hair. “Anything for the nicest and strongest boy I know. Now, how about we play that new fighting game. Bet I can win.”

“Oh, in your dreams…” Chat let her go and became competitive, causing her to giggle.

“We’ll see, hot stuff.” Marinette laughed and challenged him back.

“You’re on!” Chat quickly ran to grab the game and controllers from downstairs, bringing them back up to her.

“Best two out of three.” Marinette smirked and sat in front of her monitor, putting the game in.

Chat nodded as they picked their characters. By the end of it, Marinette had let him win.

“I know you let me win, but thank you nonetheless.” Chat laughed and Marinette shrugged.

“You don’t have proof.” Marinette giggled and stuck her tongue out at him.

He caught her chin and leaned in to kiss her. “Oh, but I think I can get you to confess.”

She gasped and blushed at his words and he leaned in closer to capture her lips with his own soft ones.

He broke the kiss and her lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. “Bon Anniversaire, Adrien.”

“Merci, Marinette.” Chat sighed as he smiled at her and ran his hand along her cheek with admiration.

@marichatmay

Song I wrote to (I made this AMV,haha Shameless plug.):

[aishissaart]

Quarantine made me read this book- GONE WITH THE WIND BY Margaret Mitchell.

And here's my review

(which clearly nobody asked for but eh)~

It takes guts to make your main character spoiled, selfish, and stupid, someone without any redeeming qualities, and write an epic novel about her. But it works for two reasons. First of all you wait for justice to fall its merciless blow with one of the most recognized lines in cinema ("frankly my dear, I don't give a damn"), but you end with a broken and somewhat repentant character and you can't be pitiless. Secondly, if you were going to parallel the beautiful, affluent, lazy, spirited South being conquered by the intellectual, industrious North, what better way to do that than with characters who embody those characteristics? You come to feel a level of sadness that the South and Scarlett lost their war and hope that they will rebuild.

I enjoyed the picture of pre-war South outside of what you learn in history class approved by the nation that won the war. If the South had won, we would have an entirely different picture painted. A story of lush lands and prosperity abounding with chivalry and gentility by a (too) passionate people. If you visit the South today, you can see that all these generations later the wounds of the war and the regret at losing the way of life are still fresh. But if it had not been the civil war, it would have been by other means that the lazy sprawled out way of life would have been conquered by our efficient, compact, modern lives.

I enjoyed the picture of plantations that did not abuse slaves to the extent that you read about in many memoirs. There was still a disrespect in that they viewed "darkies" as ignorant and childish and worthy of being owned, but there were those who cared for those in their trust. And the North who came down riling up the lowest of the slaves to flip the oppression did not want any contact with a race they feared. Prejudice takes many faces. Slavery is such an important part of American history, but I don't know that I agree with the format in which it is taught (at least the way it was taught to me). We take young, tolerant children and feed them stories of racism and abuse and then tell them the world is naturally prejudice (that they are prejudice) so don't be. White children start feeling awkward and aware and black children start feeling mistreated and aware. We manage to teach children about Indian and Holocaust history without the same enthusiasm to end racism by breeding racism. There has to be a better way. But I digress.

I also enjoyed Mitchell showing the volatile formula in which the KKK was aroused, that it wasn't just a disdain for free darkies but a need to protect their women and children from the rash anger now imposed on them through this new regime. Not that there are any redeeming qualities in the KKK, or even the Southern rash justice by pistol shot to curb wounded pride, but it was interesting to learn the wider circumstances in which it arose. The entire picture of the Southern perspective from the hierarchy of slaves to the disdain of the reconstruction was enlightening. The post-war difficulties, that sometimes it's harder to survive than die, were some of my favorite epiphanies of the story. What everyone in the South went through, both white and black, after everything was deconstructed and they didn't know how to rebuild. It wasn't just about freeing slaves but about rebuilding an entire way of life and sometimes change, even good change, can be this scary and destructive.

My one complaint about the book was at times the description was lengthy. I'd get a grasp for the emotions of Scarlett that are supposed to describe the emotions of all Southerners or the description of the land at Tara as a representation of the rich red soil all Southerners love and then Mitchell would go on for paragraphs or pages rehashing that feeling to pull the most emotion out of you. It worked, but sometimes I think she could have done so in fewer words.

I view Scarlett as a representation of the South in which she loved. She did not care from whence the wealth came or believed that it would ever end. Because she was rich and important, she would conquer. As the Yankees attempted to rebuild the South, fresh in their embitterment at a war they did not want to fight, you can both see their reasoning and feel for the Southerners who were licked and then stomped on in their attempts to gain back of their life. You see that in Scarlett. On one hand you don't pity her and think she needs a lesson in poverty and on the other hand you want her to survive. Either she can lie down and cling to her old ways or she can debase herself and rebuild. Survival, not morality, is her strongest drive.

Oh Scarlett. We all know people like her. People who unscrupulously use their womanly charms to get ahead and carry a deep disdain for those bound by concepts of kindness, morals, or intelligence and most especially for those who see them for what they are instead of being manipulated. People who care for nobody but themselves and who find enjoyment in life not in what they have, but in conquering the unattainable that is only desirable because it is out of reach. I loved how Mitchell showed Scarlett's decline from a religious albeit not believing girl who allowed her rationalization and avoidance to carry her from one sin to the next of intensifying degree. An excellent portrait of the degradation of character.

Initially I thought she was the only character who wasn't growing, actually digressing. But by the end she does grow up. In no regard is this greater than in her eventual desire to be a mother. Turning from her ravenous post-war desire to survive to her acceptance of life and the people around her as the way they are, eventually Scarlett grows into the person she was meant to be. As did the South. Prideful and resentful, eventually they had to accept that they lost the war and take what was given them and try to make it work.

Scarlett realizes that Melanie is not the weak, cowardly girl she always assumed but the most courageous character in the book and one who gets her means by influence and persuasion instead of Scarlett's uncivil ways. It is Melly, not Scarlett, who could get anything she desires and her heart is not her weakness but her greatest strength. Finally Scarlett values the importance of love and sees that it does not make one weak but deep to possess it. OK, I won't go that far. She's not intelligent enough to analyze love, but she grows up enough to fall for it anyway, to realize she needs people.

She sees Ashley not as the strong, honorable character she had always esteemed but the weakest and least honorable character in the book. Anyone who would tease another woman with confessions of love just so he could keep her heart and devotion at arm's length is not truly honoring his marriage vows. The greatest gift he could give his wife was the knowledge that he loved her. And we all know that like any pretty toy, once Scarlett had taken him, she would have discarded him. The debasing knowledge that he is not fit for a rougher way of life doesn't endear him. For all his intelligence, he could have picked himself up by the bootstraps and made something of himself if he wanted to survive. He is a representation of the Old South that had to die but many couldn't let go of, even today. That's the sadness of the loss of the Southern way, still longing for the past instead of moving forward.

Then we come to Rhett, the only character with the ability to conquer Scarlett, who was quite the devil. Just like the ladies in old Atlanta I found myself at times entranced by his charms, but often I did not like or trust him. I was often torn about the way he constantly encouraged Scarlett to fall another wrung on her morality ladder and mocked her emotions, mocked all of Southern civility. What annoyed me most about him was that he showed love by coddling his wife and child until they were spoiled, dependent, but not grateful, and this was his idea of being a good father and husband. And yet I sympathized with him and was often amused by him. More than anything I enjoyed his intelligence as a way for Mitchell to introduce the Yankee viewpoint, using his sarcasm as satire. I loved the whole discussion of his not being a gentleman and her no lady.

More than anything I saw his slow conquering of Scarlett's heart as a parallel to the slow enveloping of the South by the North until they realized they were dependent on their conquerors but could still maintain their fierce spirit, a marriage of North and South. The fact that she could never fully understand him shows the divide between to two philosophies. But does the South lose in this blending? Can't they adopt the intellectual ways of the North and still maintain their civility? Just like Ashley, they would rather have dreamt and remembered than changed.

The characters in the book are so vivid that like or dislike you cannot get them out of your head. There are no more vibrant characters in the history of literature that Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler. There is a reason this book is a classic. Everyone should read it at least once in their life to appreciate the civil war and understand the sadness and loss that enveloped the country.

[echo-bleu]

Clubbing (in the library)

This is a gift for @nearly-conscious (who I can’t see to tag) for their birthday. Their prompt was Hermione/Padma, crushing over common interests.

I haven't written in this fandom since I was seventeen, and I'm not a big shipper, but it was a lot of fun to write. I hope you like it!

Happy Birthday! :)

Title: Clubbing (in the library)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Words: 2178

Summary: “I thought you would be there.” “Where else would I be?” Padma shrugs. It's nine-thirty, and all the other students have already left the building for the night, but Padma likes nothing more than having the library for herself. “I don't know,” Hermione smirks. “Clubbing?” “Yeah, that sounds like me."

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Padma Patil

Also on AO3 and FFnet.

--

“I thought you would be there.”

Padma looks up from her homework. Hermione drops into the chair next to her, her book bag making a thud as it hits the floor. She's wearing jeans and a comfortable sweater rather than robes, and she looks vaguely tired, like she just spent the whole day studying. It's probably the case, Padma reflect. Mid-terms are just around the corner, and trying to complete two completely different degrees must be exhausting.

It came as a surprise to almost no-one when Hermione, once her NEWTs over, couldn't choose between the high level Muggle university course she was offered and magical studies. The Wizarding university, to which Padma now also belongs, is small and less structured than its Muggle counterparts, so it's fairly easy for Hermione to follow all her courses without needing a Time Turner, but it's still at least twice the workload.

“Where else would I be?” Padma shrugs. It's nine-thirty, and all the other students have already left the building for the night, but Padma likes nothing more than having the library for herself.

“I don't know,” Hermione smirks. “Clubbing?”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” Padma groans.

Over the years of being the two most bookish students of their year at Hogwarts, they've become casual friends, although Hermione always had too much of an exclusive relationship with Harry and Ron to be close to anyone else. Padma, after her twin sister started to become interested in very little else than boys, make-up and Divination, spent most of her time in the Library, usually on her own. Oh, she was never friendless and she still has frequent contact with all the Ravenclaws and most of the Hufflepuffs of her year and the year above, but she hasn't had a best friend since Parvati stopped filling the role. She loves her sister, but they're not confidants anymore.

But since the day she and Hermione first put foot in the university building four months ago and recognized that they didn't know anyone but each other, they've gotten closer. They usually study together in the evening, for one thing. Hermione doesn't have a boyfriend to go home to since she and Ron split up on the first day of term−something about different plans for the future−and Padma has no particular wish to step back into the drama that is her parent's house too quickly, most nights.

“Can I join you?”

“In what, my very energetic clubbing? Sure,” Padma smiles.

“Thanks. Midterms are coming way to fast. All this studying is going to kill me.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

Hermione blinks Padma with a very endearing look of naked surprise. The banter is coming almost naturally, but it's something they've never done before.

“Not at two in the morning on a Sunday,” Hermione answers. “Otherwise...okay. I do. It's just so interesting!”

“Our courses or the Muggles ones?”

“Both! The history of the Wizarding World is fascinating, but it's incredible how much social theory we're just missing out on. The Muggles have studied it all! Race, gender, oppression, intersection, it's all right there and we just ignore it.”

Padma shrugs. “Does it make them better?”

“Yes! No! Uh−” Hermione blushes. Padma laughs. She loves to see Hermione flustered.

“Yes or no?” she pushes.

“It's complicated!” Hermione exclaims, apparently out of words. “Some things are better, like, you know, slavery is outlawed in the Muggle world.”

“We don't keep slaves,” Padma frowns, her thoughts going straight to her ancestors enslaved by the East India Company. She's learned that history early on, the one she's never going to be taught about in college. The English wizards and Muggles working side by side to colonize India and abuse its inhabitants.

“What about the Elves?”

“They're not slaves!”

“Aren't they?”

Padma comes up with a vague memory of Hermione's fifth year crusade to free the House Elves. It seemed like madness, at the time.

“They don't get paid,” Hermione continues. “They punish themselves for things so mundane as being late or failing a task!”

Padma tilts her head. “Okay, you're right, they don't get paid. But where did you read that Elves punish themselves?”

“I saw them do it! The Malfoys'−” Hermione stops herself. “Never mind.”

“My parents' Elves are treated like they're part of the family,” Padma says. “They would never accept any money, but they have a day off a week, and they seem happy with their situation.”

“I guess I haven't seen many elves, and maybe they didn't have good masters. The Hogwarts Elves seem happy too. But still, masters. Coming from a Muggle background, it's...very odd. Outdated, I guess.”

“I never thought of them as slaves,” Padma says.

“That's what I mean when I say we need to bridge the gap between the Muggles and our world. They have so much to teach us, if only we were willing to listen. And we could bring them a lot, even without going into magic.”

She launches into a tirade of all that the magical community could do for Muggles, which seems to include, in no distinguishable order, better garbage disposal, gay marriage rights, library index cards and a non-capitalist economy. Padma is lost in the references to Muggle law and technology within the first minute, but she nods in all the right places, admiring Hermione's enthusiasm. This girl could change the world, she thinks.

It's funny, because it could be argued that she already has. But looking at her, it seems obvious that Hermione's prime was not the year she spent on the run under a tent with her two best friends, or the spells she threw at Death Eaters during the battle of Hogwarts. Her prime will be in many years, when she accomplishes all she strives for and cuts the ribbon in front of a brand new school for Muggle and Magical studies. Padma can see it in her mind's eye, a strangely attractive older Hermione with a pair of scissors in hand, a wide smile on her face, waving at her.

Why is she imagining herself looking back and laughing in pride, two steps behind among the school's new teachers?

“Do you have books that need to stay here?” she asks suddenly, taking advantage of Hermione needing to breathe between two rapid-fire sentences.

Hermione opens her mouth, frowns, and closes it again. She looks down at the pile of books peeking out of her bag. “No, they're already checked out,” she says. “I did that before coming to find you.”

“Good,” Padma says. “'Cause I want to get out of here.”

Hermione deflates. “Alright,” she says. “The Library's about to close anyway. I...I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Padma stares at her for a second, agape at the misunderstanding. “No, I mean we should get out of here together,” she says. “To...somewhere else.”

She hasn't thought this through. She can't invite Hermione home, not with her parents there and her younger siblings−Parvati is probably spending the night at Lavender's again. She curses that family tradition forbids her from getting her own place. It's not that her parents lack the money, but a young woman living on her own is just not done.

“Clubbing?” Hermione offers with a smile, looking relieved.

Padma snorts. “Clubbing sounds right,” she says.

“I do have an apartment,” Hermione hesitates. “If you wanted to−”

“Are you inviting me to your place?”

Hermione bites her lip. “Sure. It's not big, but it's quiet.”

“Sounds good. Let's go.”

Padma is very curious about Hermione's apartment. She follows her friend outside the library to the Apparition point, where Hermione offers her arm.

“I can give you coordinates if you prefer,” she says, “but I'm pretty good at Side-Along.”

Padma smiles. Since nearly all adult wizards and witches have their own license, Side-Along Apparition is considered quite intimate, unless you do it with children. She could be reading this wrong, because Hermione isn't very easy to read on the best day, but she's now fairly sure the hints she's been dropping have been received loud and clear.

Hermione's grin when Padma takes her arm is like a confirmation. The trip is nearly instantaneous, from London to Oxford, and smoother than most Side-Along Padma has been on as a child.

They land into the entrance corridor of a one-room apartment. It's warm and cozy in a bookworm kind of way, one wall lined with a giant bookshelf and another with a large desk. The sofa bed is swarming with pillows and comforters, looking more like a nest than a bed. It looks exactly like Hermione, and Padma is impressed that she's managed to create that feeling in just four months.

“It's nice,” she says. “I like what you've done with it. I could live here.”

Hermione blushes again. “It's comfortable,” she says.

She kicks off her shoes and drops onto the nest-bed, so Padma imitates her. She stays far enough to give Hermione some personal space, hoping secretly that that space will shrink as they get comfortable. It doesn't have to be tonight, she promises herself. But then, sitting on her friend's bed at ten in the evening on a weekday, the opportunity seems perfect.

“How is it going on the Muggle side?” she asks. “We're close to campus, right?”

“Yes. The university is very old, older than ours. It's weird to have to hide when I'm doing magic, but it's been fine so far.”

“And the studies?”

“I'm missing a lot of Muggle references and stuff that Muggles learn in school. I'm doing my best to catch up but...for once I'm not at the top of my class.”

“What? Hermione, a mediocre student?” Padma asks in mock-shock.

“Most of the students here were the best of their year in high school too. That or they come from old money.”

“So you've finally met your match.”

Hermione laughs. “Something like that. So, why choose History and Anthropology? I can't imagine that's what your parents wanted for you.”

“No. They wanted me to become a doctor, or at least some kind of well-paid job with a high social standing. But Parvati threw them off even further by going into an Apprenticeship with a seer, so I got off easily. The way they figure it, I'll marry straight out of university and stop working to raise kids. They don't see what kind of worthy job I could do with those subjects.”

“My parents don't really understand magic at all,” Hermione says, “so they were relieved when I chose to pursue a Muggle degree as well. Relieved enough that they didn't care what subject it was in.”

“But why did you choose it?”

“Hey, I asked you first!”

“Okay. So, Binns was horrible, but I like learning about history. I'd bring library books to his classes and read them under the table.”

“Me too!” Hermione exclaims. “But who didn't?”

“Anyone who wasn't in Ravenclaw beside you?” Padma jokes.

“Um, I guess I wasn't really aware of other people,” Hermione admits sheepishly. “I'm a real dork, aren't I?”

“A very adorable one,” Padma says without thinking. She didn't mean to say it out loud, but Hermione blushes in the most delicious way.

“Anyway,” Padma continues, “I think...I've always been in between two cultures. I was born here, but my parents never even learned English. They just use translation spells whenever they need to, but mostly they only have Indian friends. Home is like...like we were in India, but in downtown London. You look out the windows, London. You look inside, Mumbai. I had an Indian tutor and an Indian maid and I played with Indian kids. Sometimes it feels like I'm not English at all.”

“So you wanted to learn more about English history?”

“That, and I'm fascinated by how different cultures see the world in a whole other way. We're all human, and yet−”

“I know! I felt like such an outsider when I first came to Hogwarts. Wizards have this whole culture and traditions that no one ever tells us about! We have to figure it out on our own, and honestly I'm surprised there aren't more Muggleborn students who drop out. It's so confusing!”

“Do you still feel like an outsider now?”

“No. Not much, anyway. I still miss things, but I've grown with magic in my life for years now, and I've read everything I can on Wizarding culture. Now I want to branch out.”

“Into Muggle culture?”

“Yes, because it's what I was born to and that's where I feel out of place now. But also other magical cultures. You know, different countries, people, species even…

“Maybe we could go together to Mumbai some day. I could show you some things.”

Hermione smiles. “Maybe we could,” she says slowly, biting her lip nervously.

Padma can't take any more hesitation. She bends closer and kisses her. It's sweet, though awkward and uncertain.

“That okay?” she asks, pulling away slightly to look at Hermione's reaction.

“Yeah, it's okay,” Hermione nods. “Very okay.”

“Should we do it again?”

Hermione doesn't answer and just pulls her closer.

[odysseywritings]

Mark’s Magic Man

Wanting solitude after an argument with Joan refusing a drum solo for a new song, Mark practiced with his set outside despite the chilling air of the evening. He looked at the wizard on the van’s side, and used that as inspiration for an atmospheric sound, with plodding bass drums mixed with fast tapping of the cymbal. His warmth was provided by his rapid yet controlled beats, with his constant moving pumping his blood despite the swirling sounds of breeze. The air made him go faster to counter the force, but he realized he was not feeling colder even when the whistling sounds continued.

He stopped his drumming to look around and saw light blue tails swirling around the sky above him. His mouth was agape as he saw the forces dance to the van and covering up the wizard. The wind-like tails pushed themselves against the painting until they vanished from Mark’s sight. There was abrupt silence that made Mark watch the painting without turning away or blinking.

The eyes of the wizard moved. Steadily his limbs raised themselves up and away from the van. His whole body was freed from the vehicle and he levitated with his cloak and beard flowing. His arms still raised, he pointed at Mark with a long, crinkled finger and glared at him.

“Young bard,” his voice boomed with a baritone echo. “I must thank you for releasing me from this confined prison. For decades, I have been forced to be a trophy for fools who lack hygiene. Even as a painting, I was cursed with all my senses. But now that my curse has been lifted, no more will I be a slave to this ancient carriage!”

Mark’s expression instantly brightened, and his toothy smile was accompanied by different thoughts.

“Does that mean you’ll grant me 3 wishes,” Mark prodded with enthusiasm.

“Even better than that!” The wizard floated into the front seat of the van and proceeded to drive off.

Mark’s face lowered gradually as the wizard laughed mirthfully in the distance. The van’s silhouette and the wizard’s laugher were dwindling until a sudden stop. After some silence and a moment of waiting, the wizard floated over to Mark.

“The machine has… run out of fuel,” the wizard stammered. “So, I am currently stuck here. No hard feelings?”

Mark stared at the wizard’s forced grin and simply shrugged.

“Fine by me,” Mark chimed in. “Why can’t you just teleport yourself someplace?”

“It takes a lot of magic to make these spells, lad. I can’t use them brazenly in an unknown world!”

“But you’re using magic right now to float up and down.”

The wizard glanced down, and his face changed to one of concern. “I- I don’t know how to stop that.” His shoulders drooped in response.

“So how did I free you in the first place?”

“My fine ward, your music gave my magic a necessary breath. I myself do not know of this modern instrument, but its qualities are of a supernatural origin that has been around for eons. And now you wield this immense gift, young…”

“Mark.”

“Young Markus. You and whoever else possesses these tools must be careful of their ability to affect spirits in the material world.”

Mark looked at his drumsticks with admiration and awe. He proceeded to wave them around like wands in a fantasy movie.

“So, when do I make spells like you,” Mark asked.

“Damn your fool’s mind, Markus! These are not toys for any occasion. They are to be used when your mind compels it! The more harmony it creates, the finer the benefits. But the discord that you create will result in dire consequences.”

“Okay. ‘Don’t be a crappy drummer.’ Got it.”

The wizard frowned at him. “Close enough. Get some rest, lad. You appear to need it.” He floated to the inside of the van, bumping his head on the frame along the way. He ducked his head next time around while rubbing his forehead.

Mark’s face remained with a placid expression and he sat down again to drum, yet this time with a mellower rhythm to accompany the sunset.

[kirachama]

more than fake (saeran x reader)

summary: in order to get out of a mixer with your friends on valentine’s you tell them that you actually have a date when you don’t. their enthusiasm prompts you to set up a fake date with saeran. well, at least it’s supposed to be fake... right?

rating: 10+ (warning: it’s long. like. 10k long. why did this happen?)

notes: so this is my (extremely late) valentine’s gift for @twofacedhero for @mysmesecretvalentines‘s event. @twofacedhero‘s been following me for a while so I wanted to do something really nice and it kind of... spiraled out of control which is why it’s so late. i’m not used to writing things this long... ahahaha... anyway, i really do hope you enjoy, dear! thank you so much for your patience following me for so long! T_T i hope you had a good start of the semester!

> link to ao3 <

“You know what’s coming up?”

You gulp, but refrain from answering. Seeing as it’s Heeji, your resident boy crazy romantic, who’s talking she can only mean one thing: Valentine’s Day. You knew it was coming soon. How could you not? It seems like every shop you’ve gone to has some sort of display up, adorn with a variety of flowers, stuffed toys and, of course, chocolate. But it feels like you just celebrated New Years and now it’s almost Valentine’s Day? If it’s going to be like this, summer is going to be on you before you know it.

“Valentine’s Day guys!” she exclaims when no one says anything, her voice a mixture of excitement and frustration. “And since none of us are dating anyone you know what that means, right!? We are drinking!”

“Should we organize another mixer?” another friend, Jieun, suggests. “Just because none of us are dating anyone doesn’t mean that we can’t find anyone.”

Heeji slaps her on the back. “That is a great idea, Jieun! I’ll leave it to you to find us some cuties!”

Everyone else around the table starts cheering and chatting happily about the possibility of meeting someone and it turning to something more. However, you’re nowhere near as excited as they are at the thought of a mixer. You’re not against going out drinking with just your friends, but going to a mixer is not ideal. You haven’t really told them about your secret crush on Saeran yet. But going to a mixer feeling the way you do doesn’t seem fair. Not to you, and not to any person who might be interested in you at that mixer.

“Um…” you squeak and everyone’s eyes are on you. You take a deep breath, “I… can’t go.”

“Whaaat?” Heeji whines loudly. “Why not?”

“I…” you try to think of something to say. There isn’t much you can say to keep Heeji from dragging you to that mixer, but you need to think of something, so you say the first thing that comes to mind. “Actually, the truth is… I have a date!”

Everyone at the table stares at you silently. Do they not believe you? Is it because you’re just saying that now? They all glance amongst themselves before Jieun takes it upon herself to say what everyone must be thinking. “You… Have a date?”

“I-I do!” you answer firmly, there’s no going back now that you’ve said it.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Heeji nearly squeals and grabs you by the hands excitedly, her eyes practically sparkling.

“I was… embarrassed…” you mumble, unable to look her in the eye.

“Oh, you know there’s no need for that!” Jieun interjects encouragingly. “I’m so happy for you though! Don’t worry about coming to the mixer, okay?”

“Ah… Are you sure?” The whole point of your lie was to get you out of this, but seeing your friends so excited over this fake date is tugging hard on your sense of guilt.

“Of course! We don’t want to get in the way of your hot date! Make sure you send us pictures, okay?”

Despite the sinking feeling in your stomach, you nod. Now that it’s gone this far, you have to see this lie through to the end.

That means you need to find a date.

When you get home from meeting up with your friends, Saeran’s in the kitchen eating some ice cream. This is perfect. If you're going to be going on a fake date, you'd much rather it be with him than anyone else. But before you can go on a date with him you’ve got to ask first. “Hey Saeran?”

“Mm?” he responds as he takes a bite.

“…a-are you free on Wednesday?” you stammer, feeling a sudden wave of nerves taking over you. Even though this isn’t supposed to be a real date just asking him is scary enough.

“…yeah, why?”

“Um, well, I was hoping you could maybe do me a favor…”

Saeran puts down his spoon and eyes you curiously. It’s not too often you come around asking for favors, especially from him. When he doesn’t say anything, you realize that he wants you to elaborate before he agrees to help you out. Which seems fair enough.

“So, uh,” you pause for a second to gather up your courage. “ I.. I was… I waswonderingifyoucouldgooutonadatewithme!”

The words come out in more of a flurry than you intend for them to. Saeran looks utterly confused though, meaning you’ll have to ask again. You take a deep breath and speak again, this time a little more slowly. “I was… wondering if you could go on a date with me on Wednesday.”

“…isn’t that Valentine’s Day?”

You nod slowly, feeling a heat slowly encroaching on your face. Truthfully, you’re a bit surprised that he knows, but then again his brother and his fiancee, the most lovey dovey couple that you know, have probably been talking about it.

He stares wordlessly at you, but you see a pink flush rise in his cheeks. Then he looks away, from you and stutters out, “…w-why?”

“Oh… um…” you laugh a bit from embarrassment. You might as well tell him. “Truth is… my friends wanted to go to a mixer that day, but I don’t really want to go, so I told them I was going on a date…”

Saeran doesn’t say anything and you peek over at him. The blush he had going on is now gone, replaced with a moderately annoyed look. After a moment he says, in a rather abrasive tone, “…so you only want to go on a date so you don’t have to go to this mixer?”

If you were going to be perfectly honest, you’d actually like to go on a legitimate date with him. But… you can’t bring yourself to say it, so all you can do is nod.

“…no,” Saeran answers with a sense of finality and stands, empty bowl in hand. He walks over to the sink and begins to wash it instead of just leaving it for someone else.

You sigh, your heart sinking from the rejection. It would have been too easy, too perfect if Saeran had said yes. You’re not sure if you’d been counting on him saying yes, but you don’t really want to ask anyone else… You’ve made your bed, though, so now you’ve got to lie in it. If Saeran won’t go on this date with you that just means you’ve got to find someone else. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone and start to mumble to yourself, “…maybe I’ll ask Zen… or Yoosung… one of them might say yes.”

“What.”

You nearly jump, surprised that Saeran is still in the kitchen. He’s giving you a dirty look that’s a mixture of anger and disbelief. Under the harsh scrutiny, you start to explain yourself,“S-since you said no, I thought I’d maybe ask someone else…”

He continues to glare at you, “…why do you need to go on a date with someone so badly?”

“Because I told my friends I was!” you answer. Maybe it would have been better to not lie to them in the first place… But you can only imagine how mad… or how hurt they’ll be if they find out you lied to get out of the mixer. “…they asked for pictures, so I can’t just say that I went on a date… I need some kind of proof.”

“Mmm…” Saeran’s expression changes as he seems to be mulling something over. Could he be… reconsidering? You don’t really want to get your hopes up in case he’s not, but if he is… After some internal debate, he finally grumbles “…Fine. I’ll do it.”

“R-really?” you can’t help but stare at him. Just a bit ago he seemed very against the idea. And now he’s agreeing? What brought the sudden change of heart? “You sure?”

“…yeah,” he replies, albeit a bit gruffly. You’re just about to cheer but he raises his hand to stop you. It seems him doing this for you comes with conditions. But that’s okay, you figured something like that. “…you need to give me chocolate.”

You blink. Chocolate? That’s all he wants? You’d thought that he’d maybe demand something more of you. Slave for a day or something like that… But then again, Saeran’s got a bit of a sweet tooth and Valentine’s chocolates are pretty darn good. You always like to buy them when they’re discounted after Valentine’s is over. “Okay, I’ll get you some chocolates.”

“No,” Saeran crosses his arms and gives you a smug look. You do not like where this seems to be going. “I want homemade chocolate.”

All the color drains from your face. Homemade chocolate? He can’t be serious, can he? “Saeran, you know as well as I do that I can’t cook to save my life. It’d be better for all of us if I just bought chocolate.”

Saeran merely shrugs. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest even though he really should. It’s his own health that’s at stake here. “Homemade chocolate or no date.”

You groan, “…it’s your grave that you’re digging.”

He shrugs again and heads back toward his room, “It can’t be that hard. It’s just chocolate.”

You let out a heavy sigh. That’s what he thinks.

“Ugh…” you grumble quietly as you scroll through recipes on your phone in the living room.

Whenever you think of Valentine’s chocolate, the image of a bunch of different bite sized chocolates encased in a giant heart shaped box comes to mind. However, after a simple web search it appears that homemade valentine’s chocolate extends to more than just candies. It includes cookies, cakes, brownies… almost the entire dessert spectrum. You reach up to rub your temple. This too complicated. Why did he have to ask for something homemade? It really would have been so much easier to buy something.

“Whatcha doin’~” Saeyoung’s voice calls from behind and you turn your head to see him peering over your shoulder, looking at your phone.

“I’m… trying to find a good recipe for a Valentine chocolate…” you answer sulkily.

“Oh?” he circles around the couch and plops down on the other end. Saeyoung shoots you a playful grin. “Who’re you making it for~?”

You give him a flat stare. The look on his face makes it obvious that he knows the answer. He seems to realize too, because he laughs, and says, “I think anything he’d like anything you make.”

You glance back at your phone, eyeing the various pictures of desserts on the screen. He’s right, though, Saeran would like any one of these. Your main concern is whether or not you can make them so that they’re safe for human consumption. Maybe you can, if you stick to just one recipe… But they all seem so good. It’s hard to pick. You groan, “Buying something would be definitely easier.”

“Then why don’t you?” his grin suddenly turns mischievous. “You know, I-”

“I am not buying your brother one of your shady products,” you cut him off before he says anything more. You vaguely remember him talking about making some special candy product for Valentine’s that may or may not involve kimchi chocolate. There’s no way in hell you’re giving Saeran one of those. He’d hate you forever! “Besides, he wants something homemade.”

“Ohh~ Is that so~” Saeyoung’s tone gives you the feeling that he knows something that you don’t. But he always seems to give off that kind of aura. “You know, you could just buy something and say it’s homemade.”

You frown. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it, but you don’t want to lie to Saeran. Even if that means subjecting him to your abysmal cooking. You’ll just have to try your hardest.

“You want to make him something, don’t you~? Is it because you really li-” you promptly cut Saeyoung off, by whacking him the face with a pillow. But just because he didn’t finish the sentence doesn’t mean you don’t know what he was going to say. You feel your entire face heat up from embarrassment..

“I-Is your fiancee making you something too?” you decide to try and change the subject.

Saeyoung shoots you a mocking glance, but still answers your question. “That’s right~ She said it’d have PhD. Pepper in it too~”

You blink. A soda flavored chocolate? That sounds kind of interesting. Maybe she’ll have leftovers for you to try.

“Oh!” Saeyoung exclaims, as if he’s just realized something. “Why don’t you ask her for help? I’m sure she’d be more than willing, especially if you tell her it’s for Saeran!”

That’s actually a good idea. You’ll have to make sure to ask her next time you see her.

Knock, knock, knock.

You roll over on your bed and grab your phone off the side table to check the time. It’s only nine in the morning. You can afford to sleep a little longer. If you don’t answer, maybe whoever it is at the door will leave you alone for now and come back later. You pull the covers over your head and close your eyes again, hoping that you can get back to sleep soon.

Knockknockknock.

The person at your door knocks again, this time with a little more urgency. You consider trying to ignore them still, but then they knock a third time, and you finally relent, reluctantly raising from your bed to answer the door. On the other side is Saeyoung’s fiancee, grinning cheerfully at you.

“Good morning!” she chirps.

“…morning…” you respond sleepily. “…what’s up?”

She shoots you a knowing grin and leans closer to whisper, “So~ A little birdy told me that you needed some help making Valentine’s chocolate for Saeran, is that right?”

You nod slowly.

The young woman claps her hands together excitedly. “Great! I’m planning on going to the store and grabbing stuff to make Saeyoung’s cupcakes today, so if you’d like you’re welcome to come with!”

It’d be a good idea to go with her. If you do, she might be able to help give you some ideas on what to make Saeran. Plus, it helps that she’s the best cook in the house, so she can give you some pointers so you don’t accidentally poison Saeran. You give her a nod and her smile widens.

“I was going to leave in about twenty minutes, so that gives you time to get ready!” the young woman chortles happily before skipping off.

You shut your door so you can change. As you’re grabbing something to wear it occurs to you  that you’ll have to think of an outfit to wear on your ‘date’ with Saeran. Of course, you could just not since it’s not a real ‘date’ but part of you also wants to look decent. Plus, you have to send pictures to your friends, so it’d be best to look as cute as you can, right?

But you can worry about that later, your primary concern is the chocolate. You toss on something decent, grab your phone and wallet and leave your room  to go to the bathroom so you can fix your hair and brush your teeth. Just as you’re about to reach out and open the bathroom door, it opens, revealing Saeran. You step aside so that he can move past and he comments, “Are you guys are going to make the chocolates today?”

“…um, maybe. I know we’re going shopping for the stuff for sure today.”

He gives you a smile and you’re not sure if he’s actually means it or if he’s just mocking you, “I look forward to it.”

“I’ll… do my best,” you respond a bit gruffly, heading into the bathroom. God, you hope Saeyoung’s fiance can help you make something edible. If he’s mocking you, that’ll teach him and if he’s not… well, he’ll be happy, which is good too.  A win-win situation. You quickly get ready and head out to the living room where Saeyoung’s fiancee awaits.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yep.”

At that moment, Saeyoung bounds out of the foyer, twirling a set of keys on his fingers, “Then let’s go~”

The three of you head to the garage and hop into Saeyoung’s largest and least conspicuous looking car. The ride to the store is rather short due to Saeyoung’s speedy driving so you don't really have time to look up any potential recipes. He drops the two of you off, saying he’ll be back in about an hour or so before speeding off.

You follow Saeyoung’s fiancee into the store, quickly stepping aside to grab a cart to deposit your purchases before returning to her. She walks briskly through the store like a woman on a mission, grabbing things for cupcakes like flour, eggs and…. Potato chips?

“Are we getting some snacks for Saeyoung too?” you wonder aloud. She grabbed Saeyoung’s favorite flavor so maybe he wanted her to pick some up while you guys were here.

“Oh! No, actually,” she giggles. “I thought it’d be cool to top Saeyoung���s cupcakes with chocolate covered potato chips!”

You’re not sure how to feel about ‘chocolate covered potato chips.’ On the one hand it sounds absolutely weird (and right up Saeyoung’s alley) and on the other, the mix of salty and sweet sounds kind of appealing. It’s something you’d have to try to decide if it’s something you’d like or not.

“But enough of what I’m planning, what do you want to do?”

“I… still have no clue,” you admit with a sigh. “I was hoping to find some inspiration at the store.”

“Hmm, I see~” she hums thoughtfully. “Well… do you want to try baking something? You don’t have to make cupcakes like I am. You could try cookies or brownies.”

You can’t help but make a face. There’s something about baking that’s even more terrifying than regular cooking is to you. People have told you that you can get away with fudging measurements and times with cooking, but not baking. Apparently, baking is an exact science where you could mess the entire thing up if you don’t follow the directions to the letter.

Saeyoung’s fiancee laughs, “I’ll take that as a no, then. There are other things you can make that don’t involve an oven.”

“…yeah, but they’ll probably involve the stove,” you grumble.

“If it didn’t it wouldn’t really count as homemade…”

“Good point,” you sigh. “So what kinds of things could I make…?”

“Hm…” she taps a finger to her lips as she thinks. “Well, there’s fudge, truffles… You could probably also do chocolate covered strawberries- that’d be super easy!”

That they would be. You know they sell microwavable kits for chocolate dipped fruit too, so you wouldn’t even have to use the stove. But something about it seems… cheap. It’s a strange feeling. You want to do something easy, but at the same time, you really want to wow Saeran despite the limits of your own capabilities. Either way, you make note of it- you can do it if the other two suggestions don’t pan out.

You pull out your phone and do a quick web search for fudge recipes. That looks simple enough too. It seems you can flavors other than just plain chocolate too. It’d be a little more work, but it seems doable. You open another window in your phone’s browser and search for truffles. The initial result gives you mushrooms so you try again, this time specifying that you’re looking for chocolate truffles. The search results you get this time look far more favorable, but damn those look fancy, far fancier than the fudge or chocolate covered strawberries. One result boasts a list of seventeen easy recipes so you check that. Skimming through the first recipe, you find that it’s kind of similar to the fudge recipe but more effort is required since you’re shaping it too. You scroll through the other recipes, trying to decide if it’s worth the extra effort for these truffles when one particular image catches your eye. That looks kind of like…

“Well, did you find something?” Saeyoung’s fiancee asks, noticing that you’ve been quiet for a while.

“..yeah,” a smile starts to slowly form on your face. It might be a bit hard, but you just might be able to pull it off. And if you can, you just know it’ll be totally worth to see Saeran’s amazed face when he gets what you have planned. “…I think I did.”

When you and Saeyoung’s fiancee get home from the store, none other than Saeran is waiting for the two of you in the kitchen. You have a sneaking suspicion that he wants to get a sneak peek at whatever chocolate surprise you have planned for him. But as soon you get all the groceries in the kitchen Saeyoung's fiancee shooes both twins out the kitchen so you can put the classified goods away. It seems that while Saeyoung knows that his Valentine’s chocolate has PhD Pepper in it, he doesn’t much else about it. And obviously, his fiancee wants to keep it that way.

Once everything is all put away, you head back toward your room since the chocolate making will all be happening tomorrow when both boys are out of the house. Saeran, after getting kicked out of the living room, seems to have settled himself on the living room couch, busying himself with a botany encyclopaedia. Just as you’re about to pass him, he closes the book and looks up at you, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask something about our… date,” he hesitates on that last word, looking flustered as he says it.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Saeran doesn’t respond right away and after a moment he slowly says, “What were you planning on doing?”

“….to be honest, I haven’t really thought about it,” you admit shamefully.

“…why not? Since this was your idea, don’t you think you should be the one thinking up the plans?” Saeran complains snarkily.

“Well, I’ve been a bit preoccupied since someone requested I make them homemade chocolates,” you bite back. “Trying to make sure that I don’t kill you, you know.”

Saeran frowns, but doesn’t give you a smartass retort. Sounds like you win this one. You sigh and plop down on the couch next to him, “…why don’t we think up something together? It’ll be better that way, don’t you think?”

When Saeran perks up a little you can’t help but wonder if maybe this is what he wanted all along. It makes sense for him to want to have some input on what you do, he probably doesn’t want to be dragged around doing just stuff you want to do when he was already so reluctant to go on this date. You snicker a little and ask, “…do you already have something in mind?”

He blushes, making it obvious that you hit the nail on the head. Does that mean he’s actually been thinking about this date? Maybe, despite his outward reluctance, he’s actually been looking forward to this? Your heart starts to race a little at the thought of it, but you shake your head a tiny bit. You need to focus, and you don’t want to let yourself get disappointed if you turn out to be wrong.

Saeran pouts a bit, but reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. He unlocks it and brings up a window before extending it in your direction, “…maybe we can do this?”

You gingerly take his phone so you can examine what he’s showing you more closely. It seems to be a webpage for a restaurant that’s doing a special promotion for Valentine’s Day. You skim through the details but it seems they’re offering an exclusive three course dinner. Once you see the dessert that’s part of this dinner you immediately understand why Saeran wants to go here. It’s a specially handcrafted ice cream and cake dessert that looks almost too pretty to eat.

“I think that’s fine,” you say, handing Saeran his phone.

His eyes light up, but he still asks to confirm, “…you’re sure?”

“Of course! I mean, you’re doing me a favor by going on this date in the first place,” you reason, then, after a second, you hastily add. “Plus the dinner looks really good, especially the dessert.”

“…yeah…”

“So, we’ll do that then!” you grin, glad that you now have a solid plan for the date. “…oh, but it looks like we need reservations. I guess I should call…”

“I’ll do it,” Saeran says a little suddenly.

“Oh, really? Thanks!” You’re glad that he’s decided to take that on since it’s one less thing to worry about, though it seems strange for him to volunteer so readily.  “…is there anything else you want to do?”

Saeran’s expression turns contemplative. He seems to have something on his mind, and you wait for him to voice what it might be. But instead he says, “…no, it’s not a real date, so it’s not necessary to do more than that.”

Is it just you or does he sound a bit… disappointed? He really seemed like he was thinking of something, but apparently not. You mask your own sense of disappointment behind a smile, “…that’s right, huh… I just wanted to know just in case….”

You laugh a little, but it feels a bit forced. Hopefully, Saeran can’t tell. You rise to your feet and say, “Now that we know what to do, we’re pretty much set, right? …well, I still have to make the chocolates, but we’re doing that tomorrow so. Uh.”

God, this feels so awkward now. You don’t know what to say. “I’ll… I’ll try to make sure they’re edible!”

Saeran nods a little and you rush back to your room. Once you get there, you shut the door and lean against it. It’s supposed to be a fake date, so you don’t know why you’re getting one little thing like that get you all riled up. Is it because he showed some interest in it? Because he had an idea? Did that give you hope?

Did you want this fake date to be something more?

When you think about it, the answer to all of these questions is yes. You want him to be interested. You want to have hope. You want this date to be something more than fake. You want all that because you have feelings for him.

Maybe the need for a fake date prompted you to actually ask him, but you didn’t need to tell him it was fake. You could have just said that you wanted to go on a date. Who knows? He might have said yes.

Feeling frustrated, you hold your head in your hands. All you can do now is hope it goes well. Maybe if it does, it can spark something more…

The day has finally come. It’s finally Valentine’s Day. Saeran told you that your reservation at the restaurant was for 5PM, and, despite yourself, you spend pretty much the entire afternoon rifling through your entire wardrobe to find something suitable to wear. You definitely don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard, but you also don’t want to look like you don’t give a damn about this date.

Because you do! But you don’t. It’s kind of confusing whenever you try to think of your expectations concerning this date, so you try not to.

“I think this looks okay…” you mutter, looking over your chosen outfit for what feels like the millionth time. What you ended up choosing isn’t the cutest thing you own, but you could probably count it somewhere in your top three outfits. Maybe you should try on one of the other ones just in case.

A sudden knocking on your door causes you to nearly jump and you scramble to grab your phone. You knew the time was getting close but you didn’t realize it was already 4:30! The person at the door knocks again and you answer, “Yes?”

After a minute, the door opens and Saeyoung’s fiancee peeks in, “I-I don’t mean to rush, but are you almost ready?”

“Uh, yeah!” You wonder if maybe Saeran sent her to check on you. If he’s already ready, you don’t want to keep him waiting any longer, but… “Hey, quick question, is what I’m wearing okay?”

She gives you an inquisitive glance and steps into your room to get a better look at your outfit. Her face lights up instantly, and she nearly squeals, “You look absolutely adorable! Saeran’s gonna love it!”

“Ah… I don’t know about that… It’s a fake date, after all.” But despite that, you still find yourself blushing at the compliment.

“Fake or not, it’s still a date,” she chides while wagging a finger at you. “And who knows, maybe it’ll become real along the way.”

Something about her expression makes it seem like she knows something you don’t. The look reminds you of the one Saeyoung gave you a couple days back. You have the feeling you know what they’re hinting at but it’s better not to hope.

“I… guess,” you sigh.

“Now, none of that!” Saeyoung’s fiancee scolds you as she forcefully bops you on the nose. “He’s waiting for you, you know?”

“Tell him I’ll be out there in a minute.”

Saeyoung’s fiancee nods before leaving the room. Once she’s gone, you grab the delicately wrapped box filled with the chocolates you made for Saeran and stare at it. You figured your room was a safer place to store them just in case Saeran tried to sneak a taste. Luckily, all your hard work managed to yield something edible. According to Saeyoung’s fiancee (since you were far too nervous to try them yourself), they even taste good. Part of you doubts her words, thinking maybe she was just being nice, but another part thinks she’d tell you if they were bad, you doubt she’d intentionally poison her soon to be brother in law.

A loud shout from the living room reminds you that you’re on a time crunch and you jam the box into a gift bag and hurry into the living room. As you approach, you can hear Saeyoung and his fiancee trying to soothe Saeran as he gripes about you taking so long to get ready. But as soon as you enter the room, all conversation seems to cease.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you apologize, feeling a bit nervous since everyone’s eyes are on you. “We won’t be late, will we?”

When Saeran doesn’t answer right away, you turn your attention toward him. He’s staring right at you, but he seems to be in a daze for some reason.

“…Saeran?”

“Huh?” he seems to snap out of it. “…it’s not too far, we should be fine.”

You let out a relieved sigh. It’d suck if you missed the reservation, especially if it was because you took too long to get ready. Saeran waves you over toward him so you can leave, and you realize that he actually put some effort into his appearance for this date. His normally unruly hair has been combed down a bit, and he’s decked out in a suit, tie, blazer and all. It makes you kind of wish you’d actually gone with your number one outfit.

“Uh…” you debate whether or not you should actually say something or not. Saeran glances questioningly down at you, and you gulp. Might as well. “You look… good.”

Saeran’s eyes widen and he averts his gaze, an obvious blush spreading across his cheeks. “…you…too.”

That, in turn, causes you to turn red. You weren’t expecting that. “I… I’ll give you the chocolates after dinner. Don’t want you ruining your appetite.”

Saeran looks a bit nonplussed that he has to wait, but doesn’t voice any complaints.

The two of you stand there, somewhat awkwardly, for a moment, before Saeyoung strides over, draping an arm around both yours and Saeran’s shoulders. “Now kids, you go out there and have a good time, but don’t stay out too late~”

Saeran swats at his brother, but Saeyoung evades the attack, giggling as he flees to safely behind his fiancee. Clearly annoyed,  Saeran shoots a glare in Saeyoung’s direction before ushering you toward the garage. When you get there, he grabs a set of keys off the wall before leading you to one of Saeyoung��s cars, hitting the remote to unlock it as you get close.

“Wait a sec!” you exclaim, stepping around Saeran, putting yourself between him and the car, “We’re taking one of your brother’s cars?”

“Yeah. So?”

You’re just surprised is all. Saeyoung treats his cars as if they’re his babies. But then again, if his ‘precious little brother’ asked to drive one you can’t really see Saeyoung turning him down. “Wait, can you even drive?”

Saeran clicks his tongue, “Of course. Did you think my brother was going to drive us around?”

If you’re going to be honest, yes. You laugh a bit nervously instead of answering and Saeran lets out an exasperated sigh. He steps past you once more and around to the passenger side of the car. Wait. Didn’t he just say he was driving? You’re about to ask when he opens the door and motions for you to take a seat. Stunned by the sudden gentlemanly gesture, you merely gawk at him. After a moment, Saeran clears his throat, and you hurriedly sit. “Th-thanks…”

Saeran shuts the door as soon as you’re in the seat and moves to the driver’s side. He slides into his seat and puts the key in the ignition,  turning the car on. Then, Saeran takes a deep breath before he pulls out if the parking spot.

The ride to the restaurant teaches you two things: one, Saeran indeed knows how to drive and two, it had to be Saeyoung who taught him. No other sane person would drive like that and live to tell the tale. Because of that, Saeran manages to get the both of you to the restaurant a couple minutes before the reservation time.

Just like he did when you left he comes around and opens the car door for you, this time extending a hand to help you out. Hesitantly, you take his hand and set the chocolates down on the seat. You immediately note how sweaty his hand feels. Is he nervous? Or something else? He gently tugs you out of the car and leads you to the restaurant, his hand still firmly holding onto yours.

Inside, the restaurant is packed with at least a dozen other couples obviously waiting to get a seat. Saeran merely walks past them and up to the hostess, who greets him with a smile.

“I have a reservation at five for two,” he tells her smoothly.

“Your name?” the hostess asks automatically.

“Saeran Choi.”

She stares at him for a moment before looking down at the computer in front of her and after a second says, “It’ll be just a moment, sir.”

Saeran nods and steps away off to the side. You follow after, stopping so you’re standing side by side. The notification sound from your phone goes off and you reach into your bag to pull it out. Of course, it’s a text from Heeji.

hope ur date is going well! Don’t forget the pics u promised!

Shit! That’s right! You said you’d take pics for them, didn’t you? Since the two of you are still waiting to be seated, it might be a good time to take a quick picture. The lighting in the lobby is relatively bright, so the picture should come out fairly well. “Hey Saeran?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you mind if we take a selfie real quick?” you ask, clapping your hands together to plead with him.

“…why?”

“To commemorate our date, of course!” you exclaim, then add, as an afterthought. . “…also because my friends are asking.”

Saeran gives you a deadpan look, ordinarily that would mean no, but you can’t let that deter you. Part of the reason you’re on this date in the first place is because you need visual evidence. You give him the good old puppy dog eyes, hoping that maybe you’ll be able to sway him, “Come on, please? Just one little picture?”

It doesn’t seem like Saeran’s going to relent, so you start to think of ways to possibly barter with him. But to your surprise, he gives in rather easily, “…okay, fine.”

You let out a small cheer and open the camera app on your phone. It’s set to the rear-facing camera, so you have to switch to the front-facing one. Once that’s set, you scooch closer to Saeran and angle the camera so that the both of you are visible. You raise your free hand and make a little finger heart with your thumb and index finger. Then you nudge Saeran with your elbow, “Hey, you do it too!”

“… why?”

“It’s cute, don’t you think?”

“I… guess.” But despite his reluctant tone,  Saeran still raises a hand, mimicking the gesture. You adjust the camera a little more before giving him more instructions, “Great! Now smile!”

You beam widely, then hit the shutter button in the side of your phone a second later. The screen flashes and you hear a click, meaning the picture’s been taken. You relax from your pose to check the picture you’ve taken. Unfortunately, Saeran isn’t sporting the huge grin you’d been aiming for, but there is a faint smile on his face. You like it. It’s very…  Saeran.

He peeks over your shoulder look at the picture and after a second asks in a confused tone, “You’re not gonna ask to take another one?”

“Nope!” you chirp, attaching the photo to a text you’re sending to Heeji. “I actually think this one came out pretty nice!”

“Even if I’m not smiling like an idiot?”

“Yep.” You hit the send button . “This suits your personality better.”

Saeran turns red and looks away from you. “…will you send me a copy of that picture too?”

You blink. Now it’s your turn to be confused. “Why?”

He turns even more red, “I… just… it’d be just useful is all!”

“For… what?”

“I-in case I need to tell someone I have a girlfriend or something!” he nearly spits at you. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to you, Saeran doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to make up a girlfriend for any reason. But none the less, you send him a copy of the picture.

The hostess calls for the two of you and you walk back up to the desk. You notice a few of the others waiting to be seated give the two of you envious stares. Most of them were there before you, so you can only guess they didn’t have a reservation and are stuck waiting until either someone doesn’t show or if someone leaves early. You can only imagine how long the wait must be.

The hostess grabs a couple menus and leads you to wherever you’ll be sitting. She asks a couple standard questions like how’s your night been and if it’s your first time at the restaurant which Saeran answers. You kind of thought it when you got here but now that you’re walking through the restaurant, you realize that this place is really fancy. When you get to the table, the hostess pulls out one of the chairs for you, and you sit as she moves around the table and pulls out the other for Saeran. Then she hands you both the menu and reaches for the napkin on the table. With a graceful wave of her arm, she undoes it and places it neatly on your lap, then does the same for Saeran. Yep. This place is totally fancy.

“Narae will be your server today,” the hostess informs you. “She’ll be over in just a moment.”

Both you and Saeran nod before looking back at the menu. You recognize it as the special Valentine’s menu that Saeran showed you a couple days ago. At the time, you’d only really paid attention to the dessert since you figured that’s what he wanted to come here for, but the appetizer and entree choices look really good too…

A young woman, who you assume is your server walks up to the table, “Hi guys, I’m Narae and I’ll be your server for the night. Can I start you guys off with some drinks? Some wine perhaps?”

“Just water is fine for me,” you answer. You don’t really feel like drinking right now.

She looks at Saeran who says, “Water for me too.”

“Would you guys like some Perrier? Or is just regular water alright?”

“Uh… just regular water is okay.”

“Alright!” She bobs her head up and down cheerfully. “And are you guys ready to order or do you still need a couple minutes?”

“A couple more minutes, please.”

“Okay! I’ll get your waters and put your appetizer in the meantime! ” The waitress reaches over and takes the two wine glasses off the table since you and Saeran won’t be having any need of them.  When she’s gone you redirect your attention to the menus, trying to decide on an entree. Luckily, the entree choices for this special Valentine’s menu is limited to just two, but…

“The steak and the ravioli both sound really good…” you lament, unable to choose.  “…which one are you gonna order, Saeran?”

“Mmm… Dunno…” he responds, eyebrows scrunched as he examines the menu himself. If anything he’s probably more focused on the dessert than the main course so he may not really care either way…

“… hey, I’ve got an idea!” you exclaim suddenly. Saeran gives you an inquisitive look and you explain.  “Why don’t you order one entree and I’ll order the other and we can try both!”

Saeran just stares at you blankly. Was that a bad idea? Was it too… couple-y? You raise your hands, ready to take back what you’ve said, but before you can, Saeran nods a bit, “…yeah… That’s fine.”

“Awesome!” you cheer, glad to have solved that problem. Is it just you or has Saeran been more amicable since you left the house? You would have figured he'd be a lot more reluctant to agree with you on anything given the situation. But this entire time he's been... nice. Like he's trying to be a good date, despite the situation.

As if on cue, your server reappears by your table, she pours water in your glasses from a pitcher and asks, “Are you guys ready to order?”

“Yes!” you look back down at the menu even though there’s no need to since you know what you want. “Can I get the pasta and he’ll have the steak?”

“Of course!” The waitress smiles, apparently committing the orders to memory. “How would you like your steak, sir?”

Saeran looks up and answers after a beat, “Medium rare.”

“Excellent! I’ll go put those in right away! The first course should be coming up soon!”

“Okay, thank you!” you smile, and the waitress bows a bit, taking the menus from both you and Saeran before walking off.

When she’s gone you glance over at Saeran, who’s just sitting there quietly. It’ll be awkward if you both just sit here silently the entire meal, so until the appetizer comes, you’ve got to try and think of something to talk about.

“So, this place is really fancy!” you say, looking around at the interior. “How’d you hear about it?”

“A famous pastry chef works here,” he explains. “I saw a special about her on TV.”

“Ohhhh.” That makes sense, despite how good the other courses are, the both of you are really here for the dessert. “Is that why it’s so busy here?”

“Maybe.”

“Then it’s really good we were able to get a reservation on such short notice!” With all those couples that had been waiting, you have the feeling that maybe the restaurant starts taking reservations for Valentine’s at least a couple months in advance. A triumphant smirk slowly spreads across Saeran’s face. You stare at him, confused why he’s got that look on his face. Then it clicks. He did something, didn’t he? You shoot him a suspicious glare and lean closer so that no one nearby can hear you. “Did you do something?!”

Saeran gives a noncommittal shrug, which, to you, is the same as admitting guilt.

You groan, “Saeran. Didn’t you see all those people waiting? You can’t just ha-”

“Wait a second,” he raises a hand to cut you off. “I didn’t hack anything.”

You throw him a pointed stare. “Really?”

He gives you a pouty glare before looking away. “…the day you asked to go on this date I called about a reservation.”

You blink. That means he’d been thinking about coming here before you even discussed it? You’d realized he’d must have wanted to since he so readily suggested it, but you didn’t think he’d actually been thinking of it since the very beginning… Maybe that’s why he’d been so eager to make the reservation instead of letting you do it.

“They were full, obviously,” he continues, grumbling as he goes. “But I called everyday to ask if anyone had cancelled. Eventually someone did and they gave me that person’s slot.”

When he’s done, he looks away from you, blushing once more. Finally, you ask, “…did you really want to come here that badly?”

He nods, still refusing to look at you.

“I… see… I’m sorry for accusing you of using… unsavory methods to get this reservation,” you bow your head down. He must have been really happy when he’d scored that reservation. The dessert here must really be out of this world if he called everyday trying to get a reservation.

One of the waitstaff comes over to your table with a tray, and you figure that must be the appetizer. You’ve maybe been here around ten minutes, so you're a bit surprised it's come out so quickly. Then again since there’s only one appetizer the kitchen is probably cranking it out, especially since it’s such a busy night. The waiter places a bowl of soup in front of the both of you with a cheerful “enjoy!” before walking away.

You look down at the soup, the menu said it was some kind of bisque. It looks kind of creamy. You pick up your spoon and slowly bring it to your mouth to take a small taste. Luckily, it’s not so hot that you can’t eat it… and in fact, it’s really good! You quickly finish off the bowl of soup and find that Saeran has done the same.

Almost as soon as you’re done eating the soup, the entrees arrive. You’re so glad that you suggested that you both of them since they look absolutely delicious. You pick up your fork and examine the ravioli. They’re a bit big to eat in one bite, so you’ll have to use the knife. To be honest, since you use chopsticks to eat most of the time you've only used a knife a handful of times. Since it’s pasta, your fork should be enough to cut it, right? You look up at Saeran to see how he’s doing and find he’s actually pretty good with a fork and knife. Noticing that you’re staring, Saeran looks up at you, “What is it?”

“Oh, just admiring your skills,” you reply honestly.

He smirks at you, “Do you want me to cut your pasta for you?”

“I-I’m fine!” you squeak and Saeran laughs. He looks down at the piece he’s just cut and spears it with his fork before raising it up and holding it toward you like he’s trying to feed you. You stare at the steak and then back up at Saeran. He’s not really….

“Come on, you said you wanted to try it, right?” he tells you in a teasing tone, but despite that his eyes look oddly earnest. Wait a second. This was supposed to be a fake date, wasn’t it? But doing something like this… it makes it feel so real. You’d figured he’d just cut a piece and put it on your plate and you’d do the same… “Well…?”

Either way, you shouldn’t leave him hanging. Shyly, you lean forward and tentatively eat the steak off his fork. As soon as it’s in your mouth you pull back to your seat, and chew the steak slowly. You’re far too embarrassed over what just transpired to even register the taste of the steak and you don’t want to ask for another piece.

“What about mine?”

You redirect your attention toward Saeran, and he’s giving you a shit-eating grin. That little…He’s totally teasing you! Well, two can play at that game. You raise your fork, cut one of the raviolis on the plate in half and thrust it toward his face. In a sickeningly sweet voice you say, “Say ‘ahh,’ sweetie~”

This time it’s Saeran’s turn to stare at the food being presented to him. He turns bright red as he contemplates what to do. After a moment, he lurches forward and eats the ravioli in the same manner as you did just moments before. You smile and ask, “So, how does it taste?”

“…it’s good,” he utters quietly, looking adequately flustered after you tossed that attempt to tease you right back in his face.

You grin victoriously and pick up the other half of the ravioli on the plate and take a bite. He’s right. It is good. The both of you finish off your respective entrees without exchanging another bite with one another. When you’re done, someone comes by quickly and clears the plates off the table. Now it's time for the thing that you’ve both come here for: the dessert.

A couple minutes later, your waitress comes by with a plate and what looks like a metal ladle. When she sets the plate down, the thing on the plate isn’t the dessert Saeran showed you online. Instead, a shiny, bright red, heart shaped candy-like thing is taking up most of the entire plate. You look up at the waitress in confusion, but she gives you a playful smile. She pulls a lighter out of her pocket and ignites it under the ladle, waving it back and forth, heating it, or whatever is in it, up. After a minute or so, she puts the lighter back in her pocket and pours the contents of the ladle over the candy heart. The liquid in the ladle drizzles down the sides of the heart, melting the candy away. You gasp softly when the cake that you’d been expecting is revealed beneath the candy heart. The waitress chuckles at your reaction and places a pair of spoons down for you and Saeran.

“Please enjoy, guys!”

When she’s gone you look up at Saeran, wide eyed, “That was really cool! Did you… know that was going to happen?”

He slowly nods.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Would have ruined the fun,” he chuckles, picking up his spoon.

You grab yours and reach to take a scoop of the cake. To be honest, you’re a bit hesitant. It really is too pretty to eat, but you know if you don’t make your claims now, Saeran will just eat it all. When you take a bite, you realize that it tastes every bit as good as it looks. Between the two of you, you finish the cake in record time. Once you’re done, the waitress comes by once more, check in hand.

“How was it, guys?” she asks, setting the check down on the table.

“It was good!” you respond happily. “Thanks so much!”

She laughs a little, “Well, glad to hear you enjoyed it! I’ll be back for the check in a few!”

The waitress walks off, and you reach for the check but Saeran swipes it out of your grasp. “Hey!”

“What?” his voice is all nonchalant. If anything, you should at least pay for dinner since you were the one who invited him at all.

“Let me pay,” you tell him firmly.

“No.”

“But why? I’m the one who invited you!”

Saeran shifts a bit, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. “‘Cause I said so.”

“But!” you cry in protest.

He pulls out a few bills and stuffs them in the folder. “No.”

“At least let me pay half or something,” you try to reason with him, reaching out to try and grab the bill from him, but his arms are too long and you can’t grab it. He quickly waves the waitress over, and she comes by, moving so she can take the bill without you getting too close to it.

“Do you need change, sir?”

“No, you can keep the change.”

“Thank you so much, sir! I hope the two of you have a good rest of the night!”

“Thanks! You too!” you smile, before throwing another glare at Saeran. There was no need for him to pay for dinner, or at least all of it. He merely ignores you and rises from his seat with you following suit. The two of you head out of the restaurant and back toward the car. Once again, he opens the door for you, and this time you sit without hesitation, grabbing the bag of chocolates off the seat before you settle down.

As Saeran moves to the driver’s side, you remember that you didn’t make any plans beyond dinner, so unless you think of something spur of the moment this (fake) date is pretty much over. You can’t help but feel a bit disappointed at the thought. It’s been a little bit awkward at times, but it’s also been kind of fun, and you’re… not really ready to let go of that yet.

Saeran sits down and starts the car and you contemplate whether or not you should say something or not. The worst he could possibly say is no, but that refusal also could imply a more profound rejection. But it’s better to have tried than not, right? You take a deep breath.

“Hey, Saeran?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you…” you falter for a second, before taking another deep breath. “…I think there’s a ferris wheel nearby, right? Do you wanna… maybe go?”

Saeran thinks for a moment, then he says, in a slow voice, “…it might be crowded too… couples like that kind of thing, don’t they?”

He’s got a point. It is Valentine’s Day after all. There will probably be a pretty long line. You sigh, but it can’t be helped. “…I… I guess we should just head back then! I’ll give you your chocolates when we get home!”

Saeran briefly gives you an odd look, before shifting the car into reverse. He pulls out of the parking lot silently, his face scrunched up like he's thinking hard about something. When he turns onto the street you realize he’s driving away from Saeyoung’s house, but not toward the ferris wheel.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“You’ll see,” is the only answer you get out of him meaning you’ll just have to wait.

As he drives, you reach into your purse to check your phone. Apparently, Heeji showed that picture you sent her to your other friends, because some of them texted you too. All of them are really supportive, which is really nice, though you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt since this was supposed to be a fake date, but… you glance at Saeran, who’s focused on the road before him. It certainly doesn’t really feel that fake, but you can’t get your hopes up either.

“Hey.”

You look at Saeran, confused. “What?”

“Close your eyes for a minute.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Just do it!” Saeran insists, then adds. “…please?”

“O…kay…” you agree and close your eyes. You can feel Saeran turn the car, and the he begins to slow before coming to a complete stop. “…can I open them now?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”

You hear the door open and shut on his side, then a moment later, your door opens. You reach for your seatbelt and undo it before tentatively reaching for Saeran’s hand. When you find it, he gently tugs you out of the car.

“Oh, bring the chocolate too,” he instructs.

You nod and hold onto the bag. Once you’re out of the car Saeran shuts the door behind you and leads you somewhere. You can hear a distant chatter, so wherever he’s taken you has people, but it doesn’t seem that… populated? But it is a bit of a walk. You shiver a little from the cold. The sweater you’re wearing isn’t doing a good job of keeping you warm, but made to look cute, not functional. Saeran suddenly stops walking, and you nearly bump into him.

“Saeran?” The uncertainty in your voice is evident.

“Just a second.” He lets go of your hand, taking away the small source of warmth you had. You hear a rustling sound and then you feel something warm drop on your shoulders. Is that Saeran’s blazer? He put his jacket over you to keep you warm? The pitter-patter of your heart begins to accelerate. That’s just… not fair.. This isn't a real date… But he just keeps doing things that make you question how fake it really is. You almost open your eyes, but Saeran puts his hand over your eyes. “Wait a little bit longer, we’re almost there.”

“…okay, but are you gonna be okay? Aren’t you cold?”

“…I’m fine,” Saeran replies, grasping your hand once more, this time a little tighter. He pulls you so that you’re closer to him, and that heart rate of yours just jumps through the roof. This is really too much…

You walk a little further, turning every now and then, but eventually Saeran stops moving. Have you arrived at your destination? You’re still not sure where you are. But it smells kind of… floral? No… But something like that… Kind of outdoorsy. Are you at a park or something? You wait for Saeran to give you the okay to open your eyes, though, just in case.

“Go ahead and open your eyes.”

Slowly, you do as he says. The first thing you see is an assortment of bright pink, red and white lights strung up on all of trees. It looks almost like a Christmas display. You look around and it seems you were kind of right- wherever he brought you has all sorts of flowers and other various plants all over, but it seems a bit excessive for a park. “A garden?”

Saeran nods.

“It’s so pretty…” you take a few steps forward to take in the lights. You didn’t know that there were places that did light displays for Valentine’s Day too… It’s really nice. There are a bunch of other couples walking around but the garden is so large that it doesn’t feel crowded at all. “Thanks for bringing me here, Saeran!”

He gives you a tiny smile and approaches you again, ushering you to follow him. Saeran leads you down another, much smaller pathway until you reach a bench. Then he sits down and motions for you to sit down next to him. When you do so, he holds out his hand and you figure he must want those chocolates now. Hesitantly, you hand him the bag. Saeran takes it from you and reaches in, pulling out the box.

“You went all out on the wrapping, huh,” Saeran comments, gently touching the perfectly tied ribbon.

You laugh, albeit a little nervously, “Yeah… I actually had a lot of fun wrapping it up all nice and pretty! Doesn’t account for taste, though…”

“Mmm.” Saeran pulls at the ribbon and you watch with bated breath as he lifts the cover off of the box. You breathe a tiny sigh of relief when you find that all nine of your little truffles didn’t get messed up at all during their time in the box, though you did try to make sure to wrap them well. “These are…?”

“They’re chocolate truffles!” you begin to explain. “I ended up making a bunch of different ones since I wasn’t sure which you’d like best. There’s a strawberry one, a mint chocolate one, a brownie one… when I was looking at pictures of them, they kind of reminded me of scoops of ice cream, so i thought it’d be a good idea… Though I don’t know… Maybe I went kind of overboard making so many different kinds…I do hope you like them though…”

While you’re rambling, Saeran moves his hand so that it’s hovering over the different truffles as if he’s thinking of which one to eat first. He finally chooses one and gingerly picks it up with his thumb and forefinger. Then, he looks at you, “Hey, open up.”

“Wha-” Saeran stuffs the truffle in your mouth while you’re speaking, forcing you to eat it. This taste… it must be the cookie dough truffle. You have to admit that it’s actually pretty good. This is probably the first time you can say that you’ve made something edible. And not just edible, it even tastes good too! Feeling proud of yourself, you can’t help but grin as you swallow. It’s probably not the healthiest thing to be able to make, but at least it’s something.

“So how was it?” Saeran inquires with a serious look. “Was it good? I’m not gonna die if I eat one, right?”

You laugh again, this time more earnestly, “It was good! You’ll be fine if you eat one! But that was the only cookie dough truffle in the box…”

“Oh…” Saeran looks down at the box, then back up at you. “It’s fine.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

He nods, then he stops moving, hesitation flickering in his eyes. Just as you’re about to ask, he leans down closer to you, closing his eyes as he approaches. He softly presses his lips against yours in a  chaste kiss. Then, after a moment he pulls back, his eyes fluttering back open. He offers you a hazy smile, “…you’re right. It was good.”

You open your mouth and try to say something but no words come out. Did he… He totally did… He just kissed you! You feel all the air in your body escape you and you sag back against the bench. Saeran kissed you. And he said it was good…

While you sit there, stunned over the kiss, he picks up another one of the truffles and pops it in his mouth. You snap back to reality, waiting to see what he says about it. Then you can ask him about that kiss.

“…this is pretty good,” he remarks, grabbing another and eating it. You’re relieved to see that he likes the chocolates that you worked so hard on, but now your focus is elsewhere.

“Saeran, why did you kiss me just now?” you demand, getting straight to the point.

He stops munching on the truffles to look at you, “…isn’t it obvious?”

Your face feels warm and you look away, feeling a bit embarrassed, “But wasn’t this supposed to be a fake date?”

“…maybe to you,” he answers in a meaningful tone, causing you to look back at him. “But it’s been real to me this whole time.”

“…what…?”

His expression grows more exasperated, “…do I really have to write it out in crayon for you?”

“I… uh… yes.” At this point there are some rather obvious conclusions that you can draw, but you’d much rather hear him say it so that there’s no doubt. Saeran sighs, and draws closer once more.

“…will you make me these truffles again next year? Not as a someone asking for a favor, but as my girlfriend?” he asks, looking you directly in the eyes.

“…yes,” you nod your head up and down vigorously.

He grins at your response and leans in for one more chocolate flavored kiss.

[argyle-s]

THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME CHAPTER 18/38

Rating: Mature

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Everyone Attends The CatCo Supergirl Issue Release Gala, Including a Few Uninvited Guests.

ETA:  I'm so sorry, I forgot to include a note about this.  Penelope Wayne is the Creation of @unpretty.  If you like Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, or any DC character, you owe it to yourself to check out her work.

Thanks to @ifourmindbeso for her great work as a beta. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Chapter 18 –  The Dance of Diplomacy

Kara smiled as Kal touched down on the balcony of the hotel suite CatCo had rented for their use. She’d picked up the keys early that morning as Kara Danvers and gone to the room just long enough to unlock the balcony. She’d arrived a second time, carrying outfits for herself and Kal about two hours before Kal was set to arrive, and spent the time showering, fixing her hair and doing her makeup with the help of a DEO agent who was cross trained as a cosmetologist and aesthetician. She didn’t really ask why they had agents with that particular type of cross training any more than she asked why they had bullet proof evening gowns.

“Hey, Cous’,” Kal said as he landed. “Nice dress.”

Kara smiled. The dress was based on her mother’s robes. She’d taken the basic design, a blue ankle-length gown with a mantle that came down roughly to her elbows, and had Konex remove everything from the shoulder up, creating an off-the-shoulder gown that was still reflective of Kryptonian styling, even if it were far more daring than anything that would have ever been worn back in Argo City. She’d kept the gold belt, and instead of the simple embossing of the house crest her mother’s robes had carried, she’d added the raised red and gold from her normal costume. She’d also added a red drape which connected along a three-inch seam at the upper edge of the back of the dress, and at the wrists, giving the impression of both a cape, and of wings. With her arms down, the bottom edge of the drape hung even with the hem of her gown. She boots she wore under the dress were blue, instead of her customary red.

“Thanks,” she said. “Your outfit is hung in the bedroom.”

He frowned. “You don’t want me to wear the suit?”

Kara shook her head. “We’re here as the ambassadors of our people tonight. We’re not going down dressed for war.”

“I don’t really think of the suit that way,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I don’t think of mine that way either. But we do wear them when we fight and tonight is about diplomacy.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Make sure you wear the kryptonite shield,” she said.

He gave her a sharp look, but finally just nodded and headed into the other room. He came out a moment later wearing the outfit she’d designed for him. It was based on her father’s Science Guild uniform. An asymmetrical jacket that opened down the right-hand side, with a smaller version of the House of El Coat of Arms Kal wore on his suit emblazoned on the chest. She’d topped it with a red cape, with round gold medallions fixed to the upper corners, and a braided gold cord running between them. She’d gotten the design for the cape from herself. At least, from Kara Zor-El of Earth 46, who’d been dubbed Powergirl by that world’s Cat Grant.

The effect was fantastic. It made him look like a prince out of some Earth fairytale. Dashing, handsome. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling the pride swell in her chest. Her baby cousin looked, for the first time in her memory, like the leader of his people he should have been, had their world not been murdered.

“Do I look okay?” he asked.

Kara nodded. “You look like your father,” she said. She stepped forward, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I know I’ve never told you this before, Kal, but they would be so proud if they could see you.”

“You think so?” he asked, and she could hear the rare moment of hesitation and doubt in his voice.

“I know it,” she said, and there was no doubt in her voice. “They weren’t perfect people, your parents or mine, but they would have been so very, very proud of the man you’ve become. Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I’m proud of you as well.”

He smiled, and if it was a little watery, she pretended not to notice. “Thank you, Kara.”

She nodded. “I need you to follow my lead tonight Kal. I know that goes against the grain, but what’s happening here is important. It matters for so many reasons and I promise you, I’ll explain them all in time, but please, trust me tonight?”

“Of course,” he said. “Though I’ve got to admit, inviting Jason might not have been your best idea.”

Kara laughed. “I invited Damian too,” she said.

“Are you trying to start an interplanetary incident?” Kal asked.

“Bruce promised to keep them in line,” Kara said.

An alarmed look spread over Kal’s face. “We should probably get downstairs, right now.”

Kara smiled as they entered the ballroom. The original launch gala for the Supergirl issue had been, all things considered, a tacky affair. No matter how much she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to plan around the inherent tackiness of the hostesses Supergirl outfits. This time was different. This time, she’d worked to make everything as elegant as possible. The servant’s guild robes did bring a minor twinge of guilt, simply because being older and wiser, she could look at Kryptonian culture without the rose-colored glasses she’d worn in the past and recognize that the servant’s guild were little better than slaves. It was momentary though, because she was too swept away in the décor, which would not have been out of place in Argo City, and the music, which was one of Lara’s favorite pieces.

“Your mother loved this song,” she whispered to Kal as she noticed people start to turn to look at them.

“She did?” Kal asked.

Kara nodded slightly, her next words coming in Kryptonian, to avoid anyone listening in. “She would sing it to you, while she was pregnant. I used to sit next to her and she’d let me put my hand on her stomach so I could feel you kick. She’d sing this song and it would calm you down.”

“I had no idea,” Kal said.

She turned and looked at him and could see the watery look in his eyes again, so she reached down and gripped his hand. “/.uchahvia ,kahl,ehl,/” she said. He squeezed her hand tightly.

“/.Nahkluv/” he answered in his own, heavily accented Kryptonian.

She looked around the room and smiled when she saw Cat and Kaldur’ahm among the crowd, all of whom were looking at them, except for a handful of people she picked up as either DEO, Secret Service, or private bodyguards.

A small grin tugged at her lips at the way Alex and Maggie stood together. Winn was close to them and James and Lois were by his side. The three of them had obviously been talking.

“This is why I don’t do these,” Kal said.

“You’re the heir of nearly half of the great houses of Krypton, Kal, including the House of El. You need to get used to it,” she said. Before he could reply, she released his hand and stepped forward, giving a formal bow, in the Kryptonian style. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer a whisper. Instead, she pitched it to carry through the room.

“On behalf of the House of El, we thank you for your invitation here, tonight. We come in peace, under the banner of Concord, seeking the gift of hospitality and sanctuary, and offering our service as champions and protectors to your people and your world in return. May Father Rao light our way, guard our steps, and reveal that we are, as always, stronger together than we are apart and remind us that we are never whole when we are alone.”

The room was silent for a moment, but then the applause began, and Kara’s eyes followed the sound, spotting President Marsdin. She was standing next to Senator Miranda Crane and Senator Clancy Shoemaker. President Marsdin was the first one to clap, but Kara watched as Senator Shoemaker joined her. His enthusiasm was clear, and she wasn’t surprised. He had offices in Metropolis and knew Kal fairly well, both as Superman and as Clark Kent. Crane was a lot slower to join in. She did, because when the President of the United State clapped, you did too, but she looked like she was sucking a lemon the whole time. Her and Sam Lane both. Pretty soon, the whole room was clapping, except for Maxwell Lord, and she wondered how the hell he even got here, because she knew he wasn’t on the approved guest list.

She waited until the applause died down before she started towards the President, moving slowly so the Secret Service agents shadowing President Marsdin had plenty of time to see her coming.

“Supergirl,” President Marsdin said, before turning and nodding to Kal, “Superman.”

Kara smiled, and held out her hand, “Madame President,” she said.

“Please,” President Marsdin said, “Call me Olivia.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t” Kara said. “Not when I can’t extend you the same courtesy.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Oliva replied. “I understand, and I insist.”

Kara laughed. “Okay, Olivia.”

“For someone who’s only been in the public eye for three weeks, you’ve made quite a splash,” President Marsdin said.

“Yes she has,” Cat said from somewhere behind Kara. Kara turned around, a smile on her face.

“Ms. Grant,” she said. “No Kara this evening?”

“No,” Cat said. “This is Jacob,” she said, gesturing to Kaldur’ahm. “Kiera’s off doing… whatever it is Millennials do on a Friday night.” Cat stepped around Kara. “Hello, Olivia,” she said.

Kara watched the interaction closely. It was pleasant enough, on the surface, but she could tell there was an undercurrent she was missing.

“Oh?” President Marsdin asked. “That’s a shame. My assistant swore she’d book me interviews with every single reporter at Fox News if I didn’t tell Kara she said hello.”

Kara laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t be much of a Superhero if I let that happen,” she said. “I’m supposed to meet with her on Monday regarding a community outreach project. Perhaps I could pass the message along?”

“Thank you,” President Marsdin said.

“Of course,” Kara said.

“Now I’m being rude,” President Marsdin said. “This is Senator Shoemaker from New York, and Senator Crane from California.”

Kara turned and bowed. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Shoemaker said. “You cousin has been nothing but a blessing to Metropolis, and the whole world, really. I see you’re following in his footsteps.”

“I hope so, Senator” Kara said. “This world and its people have given me so much and I want nothing more than to give back.”

“Well,” Crane said, “perhaps you should have started by not arriving here illegally.”

“Miranda,” President Marsdin said in a warning tone.

“No, it’s okay,” Kara said, holding her hand up to forestall any further response from the President. “She has a valid point. After all, I did, technically, arrive as an undocumented immigrant. Of course, I was unconscious, and my ship’s navigation system were damaged at the time. But even if I had been awake, what could I have done? I knew nothing of Earth. If I’d walked into an Immigration and Naturalization Office and requested refugee status, what do you think would have happened? I can only see two possible outcomes. Either they thought I was crazy, and I ended up some place like Arkham, or they believed me, and I ended up in the custody of someone like Simon Tycho, or Mr. Lord over there. After a few days at their tender mercies, Senator Crane, you would have created the very thing you fear. A powerful alien with every reason to hate and fear humans.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you are a threat?” Crane asked.

“I’m saying that the policies you espouse could have made me a threat, Senator. My cousin hid me away to protect me from people who would fear me or hurt me or try to use me to their own advantage. People who wouldn’t care that I was a little girl who’d just watched her mother, father, aunts and uncles, and everything she cared about die right in front of her eyes. And I’m not the only one who’s arrived here like that, Senator. Contrary to popular belief, Earth’s not so special that every alien in the Galaxy is rushing to get here. Most of us are refugees, stranded here with no way back home, or in my case, no home to go back to, or in Kal’s case, stranded here so early in life this is the only home they’ve ever known. A few were even born here.”

“The people who took my cousin in, as well as the people who helped my cousin hide me may have violated the letter of the law, Senator Crane, but they and people like them are the best examples of humanity. People who are willing to give succor and refuge to those who are lost, alone and most in need of kindness. The President’s Alien Amnesty Act, the one you so vehemently oppose, creates a framework in which they can do so legally. It provides a way that the aliens you fear can join society and become people who contribute to and protect it, instead of outsiders who violate your laws out of sheer necessity in order to survive.”

“Well put,” Senator Shoemaker said, cutting Crane off before she could speak again.

“Agreed,” President Marsdin said.

“You know,” Kal said, “sometimes I forget that your mother was one of the most highly ranked Adjudicators on Krypton. Then I hear you say something like that.”

Kara grinned. “Oh, you should have listened to me lay out an argument as to why there should be chocolate pecan pie for Thanksgiving,” she said. She turned back and directed a mock whisper towards President Marsdin. “One year there was a powerpoint presentation.”

President Marsdin laughed. “I’m more of a sweet potato pie woman myself, but I’ll keep that in mind for when you visit the White House, which I hope will be a bit more often than your cousin does.”

Kara nodded her head. “We’ll have to see. National City has been keeping me busy, and I hope that I’ll eventually be able to expand my contributions beyond the City in the same way my cousin has.”

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” President Marsdin said.

“I hope so,” Kara said. “Did you have a chance to read the new issue of CatCo Magazine?” she asked.

President Marsdin nodded. “I did. Another reason I wanted to thank Ms. Danvers. She had a copy couriered to the White House yesterday afternoon.”

“What did you think?” Kara asked.

“I thought Cat’s writing was brilliant, as always,” President Marsdin replied. “I also think you did your fellow aliens an enormous favor. Your words might be the very push we need to get the Alien Amnesty Act out of committee and onto the floor of both the House and the Senate.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kara said, before turning back to Senator Crane. “Perhaps, Senator, before you pass judgement on us, you could allow me to introduce you to some of the aliens you rail against. Give us the chance to show that we’re not really so different.”

“I doubt you’ll have much luck with that,” Crane said. “But next time I’m in town, I’ll make some time in my schedule.”

“A fair hearing is all I’m asking Senator,” Kara said. She turned back to President Marsdin. “I hope you’ll excuse me, Olivia, but there are a number of people here I’d like to speak with before they decide that it’s safe to skip out.”

“Of course,” President Marsdin said, “but see me again before you vanish for the evening yourself.”

The next hour was a blur. Kara had never been especially good at schmoozing, though her time spent as Cat Grant’s assistant in both timelines had given her a lot of pointers and her time spent leading the defense of Earth in the wake of Clark and J’onn’s deaths had taught her a few lessons that applied on the field of politics as well as the field of battle. Even so, the night was hard. She had to measure every word, listen carefully to the information Konex was feeding her through the modified DEO ear piece she was wearing and at the same time, avoid anything that could link her back to Kara Danvers. It was a challenge to say the least, but by the end of the hour, she’d talked to most of the guests who she thought could be persuaded to help their cause, had Kal talk to the ones she thought would respond better to him than her, and avoided Maxwell Lord, Simon Tycho and General Lane like the plague.

She made a note to find out how Lord and Tycho had gotten invitations in the first place, because she had specifically excluded both of them from the guest list. Which meant someone had gone behind her back and added them, or they’d somehow gotten in without invitations. Either way, someone was going to get an earful. Maybe even lose their job.

But first, she needed food. Her metabolism was running high with all the stress and it had been at least two hours since she ate, so she was making her way towards the buffet line, smiling and shaking the odd hand here and there, all the while keeping an eye on the crowd, hoping to see the one person she’d added to the guest list who hadn’t shown up.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asked, making Kara jump slightly. She turned, smiling as she saw Lois.

“Yeah,” Kara said. “I don’t think she’s coming though. It was a bit of a long shot.”

“I can’t imagine who’d turn down the girl of the hour,” Lois said.

Kara smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “You’d be surprised.”

“One superhero not enough for you Lois?” Cat said, and Kara turned, spotting her approaching. Kaldur’ahm was following closely behind, carrying a plate piled high with Pot Stickers, which was only one of two non-Kryptonian dishes on the menu. She winced, because her stomach growled at the smell, but getting away from Cat and Lois was going to take time.

Except Cat turned and took the plate from Kaldur’ahm and passed it over to Kara.

“I thought you might like some food,” Cat said. “Kiera told me you were fond of these.”

Which was a bald-faced lie, but not one she could call Cat on, so instead she took the plate, and the small stack of napkins Cat passed her with it and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, as she used her heat vision to quickly rewarm the dumplings before taking one and popping it in her mouth. The moan she made was only slightly obscene, but when she looked up, she saw two indulgent smiles directed her way.

“It’s a little like watching a puppy eat a treat,” Lois said.

“Mmmm. I’d made the same connection myself,” Cat replied.

“Hey!” Kara said. “I’m standing right here.”

“I take it yours is the same way?” Cat asked, completely ignoring her.

“Not with Pot Stickers,” Lois said, “but Superman ate two entire trays of the Swedish meatballs about ten minutes ago. I’m pretty sure you could have used the sounds he was making to score a porn film.”

Kara grumbled as she popped another pot sticker in her mouth, then pointedly turned and walked towards the bar, where Winn was sitting, nursing a beer.

“Do you mind if I sit?” she asked.

Winn shook his head, his eyes never leaving something out in the middle of the room. Kara took the seat next to him, and smiled at the bar tender. “Could I get a Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri please?”

The bartender nodded and turned to fix her drink as Kara downed another pot sticker.

“Who’s that following Cat around?” Winn asked.

“That’s her new assistant,” Kara said. “She introduced him as Jacob, but I’m pretty sure his name is Jackson Hyde.”

Winn sighed and turned towards her. “With my luck, he’s probably got a girlfriend.”

Kara shrugged, then swallowed the pot sticker she was chewing on. “I’m Supergirl, by the way. But you probably knew that.”

Winn stared at her for a moment before it clicked that they’d never officially met before. “Yes,” he said. “I did. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… um.”

Kara laughed as she turned to accept her drink from the bar tender. “It’s okay. He is kind of cute, you know, if you’re into unreasonably handsome men who look like they’re cut from marble by the divine light of Rao itself.”

Winn smiled. “No, I can’t imagine anyone who’d be into that,” he said. “I’m Winn Schott, by the way. I’m Cat Grant’s computer nerd. At least until Monday. Then I’m Kara Danvers’ computer nerd.”

“A pleasure,” she said, turning back to her plate. She made short work of the rest of the pot stickers and went through two more Daiquiris before she turned back to Winn. “Mr. Schott, would you do me the pleasure of a dance?”

Winn smiled and stood up, offering his arm. “I would be delighted,” he said.

She took his arm, and allowed him to lead the way. He took her hand once they reached the dance floor and led her through a couple of songs. For the first time that night, she felt the stress start to melt away. It felt good to be dancing with Winn again. He had always been good for her. He made her laugh and despite a bit of awkwardness after he’d kissed her in the original timeline, he’d been her best friend, right up until Indigo had killed him. Something she wasn’t going to let happen this time. The songs were all Kryptonian, the music structured, rhythmic and good for dancing. Some Kryptonian music did dabble in some odd timing, but she didn’t really think, when she’d selected the play list, that the political leaders of Earth were ready for the Kryptonian equivalent of German Death Metal.

“Excuse me,” a deep bass voice said. One Kara would recognize anywhere. She turned slightly, smiling at the solidly built man standing in front of her. Six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle, and a jaw line you could cut glass with. Bruce Wayne was hard to mistake. “Mind if I cut in?”

Winn, Rao love him, turned to her, the question written on his face. Kara smiled and nodded.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said.

“Any time,” Winn said, before stepping back.

Kara turned to Bruce. “Mr. Wayne,” she said.

“You know who I am?” he asked with a smile as he offered her his hand.

“I may not have been born on this planet Mr. Wayne, but I have read a few of its newspapers, and seen more than a handful of its news broadcasts.”

“Oh. I suppose my reputation precedes me then?”

Kara had to work to suppress a giggle at that. “Somewhat, but I prefer to make my own judgements about people.”

“And what judgements are you making about me?”

“That you’re a better dancer than I expected,” she said, then leaned up and whispered in his ear, “and that you have at least a dozen ceramic batarangs hidden on your person.”

He shrugged as she pulled back. “Better safe than sorry,” he said.

Kara grinned as he led them through a complicated turn. “What did you want to speak to me about?” she asked.

“Can’t a man simply want to dance with a lovely young lady?” he asked.

“Yes, though you’re rather notorious for keeping your hands off *young* ladies,” Kara said.

“Well, I may be a debauched billionaire playboy, but dating someone the same age as one of my children does seem a bit gauche.”

Kara laughed. “Considering the oldest of the boys you’ve adopted is only ten years younger than you, I imagine that limits the dating pool a bit.”

“Just a bit.”

“I could also point out that I’m technically fourteen years older than you, so your age restriction wouldn’t apply.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Bruce said, “I’d be inclined to think you were trying to seduce me.”

Kara smiled up at him. “I’m definitely not, but I am enjoying the horrified faces your youngest is making,” she said as she slipped a hand into the handkerchief pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a small listening device. She crushed it between her thumb and forefinger, smiling as she saw Damien wince and claw at the ear piece with a pained look on his face. She turned back to Bruce. “Now, what did you want to say to me?”

Bruce turned and glared at Damian for a moment, then turned back to Kara. “I just wanted to assure you that the Alien Amnesty Act has the full support of both Wayne Enterprises, and the Wayne Foundations.”

“Thank you, Bruce. That means a lot to me. Now if you could just teach your son to respect boundaries,” she said.

“I’m trying,” Bruce said with a sigh, “it’s hard getting around the things his mother taught him.”

Kara winced. “Okay, not something I intended to bring up.”

Bruce shrugged as he led her through another turn. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How’s the cow?”

“Expensive,” Bruce said. “I preferred it when Dick, Jason and Tim were bringing home stray dogs, cats, turtles and the odd duck.”

Kara raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Bruce was the one who brought home the duck. “How is Penelope?” she asked.

“Why does everyone know the duck’s name?” Bruce asked.

“I’m pretty sure it was the Forbes interview,” Kara replied.

“That was an excellent interview,” Bruce said.

“It was definitely memorable,” Kara replied. She tilted her head slightly as a voice caught her attention, and in an instant, she was focused on what it was saying as her eyes scanned the room, and spotted Maxwell Lord talking to Cat.

“Excuse me, Bruce,” she said. “Duty calls.”

Without waiting for his reply, she started across the room, moving as fast as she could without using her powers, her attention focused entirely on the conversation between Max and Cat.

“You look ravishing, as always,” he said.

“And you look like someone who crashed a party you weren’t invited to,” Cat replied.

Kara smiled.

“Oh, that,” Max said. “I just called the correspondence office at Catco and asked why my invitation hadn’t arrived. They assured me it was an oversight and had one printed and couriered over.”

“Mmmm… I’ll have to fire whoever fell for that trick,” Cat said.

“Cat, you wound me,” Max said.

“Oh, when I wound you, Max, you’ll know it,” Cat said. “Your stock will be hemorrhaging value.”

Max laughed. “You over estimate how much the public cares about my little indiscretions, as long as I keep giving them new electronic doodads and gizmos to keep them occupied.” He held out his hand. “Are we dancing?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kara said as she stepped through the last bit of the crowd separating her from Cat and Max. “Ms. Grant promised me the next dance.”

Max turned to her, smile still fixed on his face. “Did she now?”

Kara smiled back at him, a smile made all the brighter by imagining setting the product in his hair on fire with her heat vision. She held her hand out to Cat, and Cat took it firmly, drawing Kara after her as she started towards the dance floor.

“Sorry, Max, looks like I have a better offer,” Cat said.

Kara followed Cat as she led them out onto the dance floor, smiling as Cat took the lead and starting guiding her through a waltz.

“Coming to my rescue, Supergirl?” Cat asked.

“Always, Ms. Grant,” Kara replied.

“Oh,” Cat said. “Charming, but you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kara did her best not to react to the sting of those words, because she remembered very clearly the day she hadn’t been able to save Cat. Instead she took a deep breath, and forced herself to smile.

“The city needs you,” she said. “The whole world needs you. Probably more than they need me.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Cat said. “I mean, I know I’m magnificent, of course…”

“And so modest,” Kara replied.

“I prefer honesty to modesty,” Cat replied.

“Well, as it happens, I agree. You are magnificent,” Kara said. “You are also inspirational, Ms. Grant. You see the world as it is, but you also see it as it could be and not a lot of people can do that.”

Cat turned her head, looking away slightly. “I’ve already put your face on the cover of a Magazine. I think we’re a bit past flattery.”

“It’s not flattery, Ms. Grant. You’ve been one of my heroes for a long time. The way you…” Kara stopped dancing as a new song started. She hadn’t even remembered adding this particular song to the play list. But she wasn’t about to miss it. She looked at Cat and smiled.

“May I lead?” she asked.

Cat nodded, shifting her hands, letting Kara take the lead. She was surprised when Kara pulled her closer, her hand slipping around behind Cat’s back, and Kara started leading her through a much slower, and more intimate dance.

“It’s been years since I’ve heard this song,” she said as she led them through a turn.

“Old favorite?” Cat asked, gasping a moment later when Kara dipped her, before pulling her back up, and moving through a lifted turn.

“Very old,” Kara said. “This song was composed by Erok-El as a wedding gift to his wife Milia almost ten thousand years ago.” She led Cat through another turn, before pulling her close, and leading her through four back steps, then another turn. “Erok was the founder of our house,” she said, “and this is the first song all newlywed couples in my house dance to.” She closed her eyes, pulling Cat in close and dipping her again. She smiled as she lifted Cat out of the dip. She opened her eyes and gasped slightly, as she found herself staring into Cat’s eyes, getting a look she didn’t quite understand, but one she found herself wanting to drown in.

She wasn’t sure how long it took her to realize they’d stopped dancing, or that the song had changed, but when she did, she felt the blush creeping up her neck, felt painfully aware of every place she was touching Cat, and of how close her lips were to Cat’s. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to let go, making sure Cat was steady on her feet before she backed up a step.

“I should… um…”

Cat nodded, “Yes,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Kara didn’t say anything else, not to Cat, but she kicked herself the whole time as she walked away from her.

Kara seriously considered skipping out on the rest of the party and heading over to Darla’s for enough Aldebaran Rub to put her in a coma. She’d stayed away from the place for the past year, afraid of leading the DEO to the place at a time when their only response would have been to raid it and arrest all the aliens. Unfortunately, that meant she’d been cut off from the only place in the city that served Kryptonian-strength booze. The problem was, no matter how much she needed a good, stiff drink, she couldn’t really bail on the party, so instead, she headed for the bar, and ordered a glass of Ardbeg 10 Year. Something she’d made sure the bar company added to their usual stock in case Lena Luthor accepted the invitation that had been sent. She’s just accepted the drink from the bar tender when she heard one of the least welcome voices she could think of.

“I didn’t think alcohol affected your kind,” Sam Lane said.

Kara took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before she turned to face him. “It doesn’t,” she said. “Not the way you mean. But the taste has a pleasant association. One that helps calm my nerves.”

“Nervous about something?” he asked.

“Not a huge fan of playing politics,” Kara said.

He snorted and waved his left hand towards the room. “But all this is your doing,” he said.

“I said I wasn’t a fan, General and I’m not. I’m more comfortable out there, helping people, or protecting them. Politics was my mother’s arena. I was supposed to be a scientist.”

Lane made a dismissive noise. “What you are is a threat. Trying to convince people that aliens are perfectly safe. Tell me, how many more like you are out there hiding while you try to make it safe for them to reveal themselves?”

Kara raised her glass and downed the Scotch in one go, not taking time to relish the taste like she normally would have. She sat the glass down on the bar and focused her attention on Lane. “Maybe we should trade. I’ll tell you how many aliens are on Earth, and you tell me how many butchers you’ve got working in hidden labs, dissecting people who are no threat to you or anyone else.”

She saw him flinch, and knew the accusation had hit home. She could have driven the point further with a few more words, but she didn’t want to give any clues that she knew anything more about Cadmus than she could have learned from Clark.

“A word of advice, General. It’s not too late for you to be a decent human being. I think Lois would even forgive you. You should take the chance while you still have it, because sooner or later you won’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a whole list of people I actually want to talk to.”

Before he could say anything else, Kara turned and walked away, already focused on what she was about to do.

She approached James and Lucy, where they were dancing, plastering a smile on her face that would convince anyone except Alex that she was having a wonderful time.

“Excuse me,” she said.

James and Lucy both stopped, and looked at her.

“Hey, Supergirl,” James said, the question obvious in her voice.

“Hey,” she said. “Mind if I cut in?”

James frowned a little. “Um, I…” He turned to Lucy, and Kara had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing at the disgusted look on Lucy’s face.

Lucy shook her head slightly, “No,” she said, “it’s okay.” She stepped back away from James.

Kara smiled a little wider. “Thanks,” she said to James as she stepped between the two of them. Then she turned and took a surprised Lucy’s hand. “I’ve been wanting to dance with you all evening.”

Lucy, looking slightly dazed, placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder as Kara started to dance. They were a good minute into the first song before Lucy said anything, but when she did speak, there was a smile on her face.

“This isn’t what I thought you meant,” she said.

“I know,” Kara said.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Honestly?”

“Please,” Lucy said.

“I got enough of your and James’ break-up story from my cousin that I knew how you’d react, and I wanted to see the look on your face,” Kara said. “Though, I would give up my spare cape to have seen the look on James’ face.”

Lucy laughed. “Oh, that would have definitely been worth the trade,” she said. “Though I have to wonder why you cared enough about James to talk to your cousin about who he’s dating.”

Kara gave a small shrug as she led Lucy through a turn. “Just family chit-chat,” she said. “How’s Metropolis? How are your friends doing? Seeing anyone? Has the dog fetched any cars lately?”

Lucy gave her a look. “Superman doesn’t have a dog.”

Kara just smiled.

“What about you?” Lucy asked.

“I love dogs, but I’m more of a cat person really,” she said. “Sadly, my apartment building has a very strict no pets policy.”

Lucy started laughing so hard for a moment Kara was worried about she’d broken the woman.

“I’m sorry, I just… The mental image…” By the time Lucy had stopped laughing more than a few people were staring at them, including Lucy’s dad. “You’re not what I expected, at all,” she said.

“Is that a good thing?” Kara asked.

Lucy nodded. “It is,” she said. “Your cousin is a little bit full of himself, to be honest.”

Kara glanced over at Kal, and had to fight not to giggle at the wounded look on his face. “I think he heard you,” she said.

Lucy shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’d rather not lie to you,” Kara said. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t like that very much.”

“I… No. I wouldn’t like that at all,” Lucy said.

“It’s necessary sometimes,” Kara said. “Lying, I mean.”

“It’s never necessary,” Lucy replied, and Kara could feel the heat in her tone.

“I wish it wasn’t,” Kara said, “but sometime, when we’re somewhere more private, ask me why my foster sister had to grow up without a father.”

“What makes you think we’re ever going to be somewhere private?” Lucy asked, challenge in her voice.

Kara grinned. “Maybe I’m still hoping to get your phone number,” she said.

It took a second, but Kara saw the exact moment Lucy made the connection. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. Kara had to physically carry her through the next turn in the dance before her feet started moving again.

“Why?” Lucy finally asked.

“Because I trust you,” Kara said.

“You don’t even know me,” Lucy replied.

“Trust is a choice,” Kara said. “We can make that choice based on hope or we can make it based on fear. Someone I care for a very great deal once told me that hope is stronger than fear. I chose to believe she’s right. So I’m trusting you. In part, because James is my friend and as much as I might get a kick out of flirting with you in front of him, I don’t want to be what comes between the two of you. Not the way my cousin did. But also because everyone I’ve talked to about you has told me how amazing you are. How you’re smart and funny and fun to be around. How loyal you are, how kind. I want to be your friend. James or no James, I think you’re someone worthwhile.”

Lucy was giving her a look she couldn’t quite make out and Kara was about to ask what was wrong when she heard it. The sound of someone coming in for a landing. She looked up and saw that Kal had noticed as well.

“Excuse me,” she said. She let go of Lucy and started towards the door, using her X-ray vision to peel away the walls and confirm what she already knew.

Non was outside.

“Let me handle this, Kal,” she said as she slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress and touched a button on the small remote she was carrying. Holographic Concord Glyphs appeared on every wall, with a giant one floating in the center of the room.

“Kara,” Kal said.

“/.zha ,kahl,ehl, ;duahzu khuhp w voiehd,/” she said, her tone unyielding. She reached up and touched her ear piece. “Alex, I need you near the President. Non’s here.” She didn’t check to see if Alex was moving. She didn’t have to. She knew her sister and her sister would do exactly what she needed her to.

The crowd had picked up on the fact that something was going on at the door and were starting to back away when Non walked in.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said.

“A parlay, protected by Concord Law,” Kara said. “You do remember the law, don’t you?”

“You dare to speak to me of the Law, you pretentious child?” Non asked. “You come here, wearing an imitation of your mother’s robes-“

“My mother’s been dead for thirty-seven years, Non,” Kara said.

“And the Galaxy’s a better place without her,” Non shot back. “If not for her interference, we might have saved Krypton.”

Kara shook her head. “Why don’t you ask your Coluan friend about that? While you’re at it, ask her what triggered the runaway reaction in the core.”

“I don’t need to ask,” Non said. “Arrogance. Greed. The hubris of the members of the Council. The same hubris I see in these small creatures that infest this planet.”

“That sounds an awful lot like the pot calling the kettle black,” President Marsdin said from somewhere behind Kara.

Kara turned around, only to find President Marsdin standing in front of the rest of the crowd, J’onn, Alex, Maggie, Kal, and a pair of very annoyed-looking secret service agents beside her. Of course, Cat Grant wasn’t more than two steps behind President Marsdin, with Lois and Kaldur’ahm on either side of her. Diana, Bruce, and Bruce’s entire team were all positioned with clear lines of fire, and all of them looked perfectly ready to throw down. Even James, Winn, Lucy and General Lane were all there.

“Oh, this *is* amusing,” Non said. Kara turned back around to face him. “You’re their leader, aren’t you? President Olivia Marsdin, isn’t it? Tell me, what’s it like, being an insect, watching as gods quibble over your fate?”

“I wouldn’t know. All I see is a small man posturing in a situation where he’s powerless,” President Marsdin said.

“Brave words,” Non said. “I wonder how brave-“

Kara picked it up a split second before Non, the sound of three people coming in for a landing, and smiled.

“You were saying something about ‘brave words’…” Kara said.

“I would rather hear an explanation as to why one of my Lieutenants has violated my orders,” Astra said as she stepped through the entry way, followed by Mur and Gor.

“I came here-“ Non started to say, but Astra cut himself off.

“You came here because your pride is wounded,” Astra said. “You were bested before by Alura and your pride has never recovered from it. Now her daughter has thwarted your intentions and you seek to humiliate her and undermine what she is attempting to accomplish out of spite. Worse, you chose to do it here and now, after I gave specific orders that our people would not interfere with her parlay. Some might even interpret what you’ve done as an attack on a meeting conducted under the Glyph of Concord.” Astra took a step towards him. “I cannot allow this to go unanswered,” she said.

“What’s it to be, then, my dear wife?” Non asked. “Will you give me over to these savages, to be locked away in one of their cages?”

“No,” Astra said. “You are still Kryptonian, so you will receive a Kryptonian punishment. /.chadi suzh zehtiaro vahsah rraop w dovrrosh vo/”

Kara shuddered. Much as she disliked Non, she had to stop herself from stepping in. Five days in absolute darkness was… She closed her eyes, trying to push down memories of the Phantom Zone.

“You would condemn me to that for-“

“You disobeyed an order,” Astra snapped. Kara opened her eyes to watch her aunt. “You very nearly violated a Concord. Were we not standing under that very same Concord Glyph,” She took a step towards Non, “I would remind you how I earned the rank of General.”

Non stepped back, his whole body language changing, becoming submissive. If Kara didn’t know better, she would have sworn he actually got smaller, but there was fear in his eyes.

“Take him,” Astra said, and Mur and Gor stepped forward, grabbing Non by the arms. Astra turned towards Kara. “I am sorry. One of my people was injured. While I attended to her, Non used the distraction to slip away. I hope it will not cause any undue difficulty.”

Kara knew she had to be careful with the crowd listening to every word and she really wanted to ask Alex, or maybe Cat, for advice on how to spin it, but that wasn’t possible and only one thing really came to mind. “I doubt this is the first time these people have seen a family squabble played out in public. Be well, General Astra. May Rao light your way.” Kara ignored the murmurs that went through the crowd behind her.

“And yours, Little One. We will speak again soon,” Astra said.

“A moment, please,” President Marsdin said.

Astra turned to look at her and before she could say anything, Kara spoke. “This is President Olivia Marsdin. She’s one of this world’s most powerful leaders and she has been a friend to our people.”

“Of course,” Astra said, giving Kara a small nod. “What do you ask of me, President Olivia?”

President Marsdin stepped forward. “I can see that you have matters to attend to, General, but if you could spare me perhaps five or ten minutes of your time for a word in private?”

Astra glanced over to Kara and Kara gave a small nod.

Astra turned to Mur and Gor. “Take him. Place him in one of the Shadow Cells. Five days. Tell Fendra to continue as we’d discussed. I will follow soon.”

Mur and Gor lead Non outside, as Astra turned back to President Marsdin. Marsdin turned to Cat. “Is there somewhere more private we can go?”

Alex answered. “We have another ballroom set up next door, Madam President. I think the space would work.”

President Marsdin nodded. “Please,” she said, indicating Alex should lead the way. “General, Supergirl, Superman, if you would.”

Alex turned and started towards the ballroom they’d set up earlier as part of the evacuation route. Supergirl took a moment to give Maggie a glance and motion for her to follow before heading towards the ballroom herself. She turned around as everyone else filed through the door, unsurprised at who was following. Cat Grant was right behind her, and Kaldur’ahm just a step behind Cat, but in front of Maxwell Lord, Sam Lane, and Simon Tycho.

“Not this time, Miss Grant,” Kara said.

“Are you telling me I have to miss the most interesting part of my own party?” Cat replied.

Kara smiled. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “But we’ll talk again soon.” She looked over to Kaldur’ahm. “Why don’t you take her over and introduce her to Mr. Wayne and Ms. Prince?” She saw the small nod of understanding from Kaldur’ahm at her implicit instructions to keep Cat close to Bruce and Diana.

“Well, Cat,” Max said as he started around her. “Better luck next-”

Max stopped talking when he walked right into Kara’s hand, which stopped him dead in his tracks, and unless Kara missed her guess, actually knocked the wind out of him.

“Not you,” she said. “/.nim zhadif rraop w :bezhgam/” Kara turned to Simon Tycho. “You can turn right around as well.”

“Now just a minute,” General Lane said. “You don’t get to make those decisions.”

“General Lane,” President Marsdin said from behind Kara, “why don’t you take your friends and go get a drink. We won’t be needing you for this meeting.”

Kara smiled at General Lane, getting a glare in return, but Lord, Tycho and Lane all seemed to realize there was no point arguing the matter, and turned around to walk away. She did notice the smug grin Cat gave her before turning around and letting Kaldur’ahm lead her away.

“Now,” President Marsdin said, “Who’s this?”

Kara turned around to find President Marsdin staring at Maggie. “This is Detective Maggie Sawyer, NCPD. She’s one of the leading experts we have on alien refugees.”

“Really,” President Marsdin said. She motioned towards the doors of the ballroom where Astra, Alex, J’onn, and Kal had already disappeared. “By all means.”

Maggie went inside, and President Marsdin and her Secret Service detail followed, leaving Kara to bring up the rear. She closed the doors behind them, locked it, and tripped the anti-eavesdropping devices they’d attached earlier.

“We’re clear,” Kara said as she turned around to face the small crowd.

“Thank you, Supergirl,” President Marsdin said.

“No problem,” Kara replied.

President Marsdin turned to Astra. “You’re Supergirl’s aunt?”

“Yes,” Astra said.

“I’m guessing based on what I just saw, you’re the leader of the Fort Rozz prisoners.”

“Very astute,” Astra said. “I suppose I should not be surprised by that, but given your predecessor…”

President Marsdin let out a small laugh. “Not one of my country’s finest moments, admittedly.”

“He was very much like the leaders who governed Krypton at the end. Small, short sighted, unwilling to believe evidence of the disaster rushing towards us all.”

“She’s referring to Climate change and the resulting ecological collapse,” Kara said.

“Yes,” Astra said. “Your world faces an end less spectacular than Krypton’s, but no less real.”

“You’re an environmentalist?” President Marsdin asked.

“Yes,” Astra said.

“How did you end up in Fort Rozz?” President Marsdin asked.

“Our world was dying. Appeals to our leaders did nothing and time was running out. I devised a method I believed would allow us to save our world. It was horrible, but I believed it to be less horrible than watching thirty billion souls be immolated. Unfortunately, while we were working to implement my plan, someone was killed. There were fifty of us, in total. Kara’s mother captured me and my capture led to the capture of the twenty-nine others. The rest died trying to escape. We were sentenced to life in Fort Rozz for our crimes.”

“But now you’re here,” President Marsdin said.

“Now we’re here,” Astra said, calmly.

“I’ve been talking to Aunt Astra for weeks, Olivia,” Kara said. “Trying to get her to surrender to the DEO so we can integrate them.”

“They’re criminals,” Olivia said.

“Yes,” Kara said.

“Eco-terrorists is the term you would use,” Astra said. “Our world was dying and we committed crimes trying to stop it. For those crimes, we were sentenced to life in prison.”

“What crimes?” President Marsdin asked.

“Murder,” Astra said. “We killed a guard during a raid.”

“*Non* killed a guard,” Kara said.

“It doesn’t matter whose hand held the weapon, Little One,” Astra said. “I was the leader. Her death was my responsibility.” Astra turned back to President Marsdin. “I will not apologize, nor ask forgiveness for what I did on Krypton. I thought we could have stopped the destruction of our world, prevent the deaths of thirty billion souls, including a girl I loved like a daughter. I swore an oath, much like the one you did. ‘All enemies, foreign or domestic’. Is that not how your oath goes?”

“It is,” President Marsdin said.

“Our own council was leading us down the path to destruction. I took the best of my people, the brightest, the ones who would follow me anywhere, and I tried to save my world.”

“What happened?” President Marsdin asked.

“She was betrayed,” Kara said. “I didn’t know what was going on. No one told me. All I knew was that everyone I loved was scared, speaking in whispers that stopped when I came into the room and my aunt, my best friend, was gone. When my mother suggested I send a signal to her, I…” Kara closed her eyes. “I didn’t know what my mother was planning. I didn’t find out for years afterwards what she’d done.” She took a deep breath and looked at Astra. “I would never have turned on the beacon.”

“It doesn’t matter, Little One,” Astra said. “In the end, you saved my life. If I hadn’t been on Fort Rozz, I would have died on Krypton.”

“You couldn’t have stopped the destruction of your planet?” President Marsdin asked.

“No,” Astra said. She turned to look at President Marsdin. “Kara showed me the proof, just recently. We always believed that we were responsible for our own end, but-“

“The Coluans conspired against us,” Kara said, cutting Astra off. President Marsdin turned towards her, missing the frown on Astra’s face. “They’re a race of what you would call artificial intelligences. Data constructs capable of taking a physical form when they wish. Immensely intelligent and incredibly strong. We hired the Brainiac Clan to administer our digital infrastructure. Brainiac One, the being Kal has fought several times, ran the Kandor network. He stole the entire city, along with its people. Suspended forever in time and compressed into a pocket dimension as some kind of sick museum. We caught Brainiac Eight. She tried to shut down our defensive network so Czarian mercenaries could kill us all. It was Brainiac Twelve that killed us. He altered the specifications for our mining machines, made small changes to surveys and proposed mining routes. Tricked us into causing, then accelerating the chain reaction in the core of our world.”

“Your people were murdered?” President Marsdin asked.

Kara frowned. “We’re not guiltless,” she said. “The Brainiacs just turned our greed against us, held the knife while we pushed it in. If the disaster had really been natural, Astra might have been able to stop it, or Kal’s father. But with the Brainiacs helping it along, our world was doomed long before anyone even realized it.”

President Marsdin turned back to Astra. “And you and your followers survived because you were in an off-world prison?”

“Yes,” Astra said.

“And what have you been doing on Earth the last eleven years?” President Marsdin asked.

“We’ve been planning to use the technology we were going to deploy on Krypton here,” Astra said. “I saw what you were doing to this world, the way you were destroying yourselves. I could not stand it.”

“Something’s changed, though,” President Marsdin said.

“My niece,” Astra said. “She’s convinced me to surrender to your DEO. There was a fight when I announced the decision. That’s how one of my other Lieutenants was injured, and why Non decided to seek out my niece.”

“And this technology?”

“I will destroy it,” Astra said. “My niece has convinced me it’s far too dangerous to ever allow it to be used.”

“What do you expect, when you surrender?” President Marsdin asked.

“My niece said she’d try to persuade your DEO to allow me to pay for my crimes with service to your world. She’s grown a great deal, but I suspect she over estimates the generosity of your people. I expect to stand for the crimes my people have committed on my orders. I expect to spend the rest of my life in a cage. As long as I am allowed to see my niece from time to time, I will be content with that fate. But I will not order my people to surrender to you if mean to cage them as well. Aside from my husband, most of them have committed no crime, save those carried out on my orders, and I will not allow them to pay for my sins a second time.”

The room was silent for a long time. Seconds stretched into one minute, then two as Astra and President Marsdin stared at each other. Finally, President Marsdin looked over at Kal.

“Superman, what’s your opinion?” she asked.

“Honestly, Madam President, I’m the wrong person to ask,” Kal said. “I only know Astra from the records my father sent along with me. I’m inclined to accept Supergirl’s judgement on this one.”

She turned to Hank. “Director Henshaw?”

“I’m with Kal on this one, Madam President. Ask Supergirl.”

She turned to Kara. “You understand the magnitude of the decision I’m making here,” she said. “One of you is so powerful it’s terrifying. There are thirty of them.”

Kara looked up at her Aunt for a moment. “I’m sorry, Aunt Astra,” she said, before turning back to President Marsdin. “Olivia, I can’t recommend allowing the release of all of them. Non is a murderer and more, I believe he may still be conspiring with Brainiac Eight. I don’t trust him. I believe he belongs in a cell. But the rest of them… If Astra vouches for them, if she orders them to follow our laws, I believe it would be safe to allow them their freedom. The crimes they committed both here and on Krypton were meant to save lives, not take them. They are soldiers. Honorable men and women, who spent more than two decades paying for what they’ve done and who can never, ever go home again. Please, give them a chance.”

President Marsdin took a deep breath, and turned to Kara.

“You have a way to contact her?” she asked.

Kara nodded. “Yes.”

Marsdin turned to Astra “Give me few days. A week at most,” she said. “When Supergirl contacts you, surrender to Director Henshaw. You and your people will be treated fairly.”

“And Non?” she asked.

“He will be comfortable, and well treated.”

Astra nodded, and turned to Kara. “I understand,” she said. “And you’re right.”

Kara walked forward and wrapped her arms around Astra, hugging her tightly. “/.ukiemodh w rraop , eh ,astruh,/”

“/.ukiem w rrip , eh shed kir/” Astra said. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

Kara squeezed her tighter. “I’d rather you be proud of me,” she said.

“I am,” Astra replied. “I am so very, very proud of you, Little One.” She pulled back, breaking the hug. “I have to go. Things are still unstable.”

Kara nodded.

Astra turned to Kal. “Take care of her for me.”

“Of course,” Kal said.

“He’ll have to get in line for the job,” Kara said. “This is Alex,” she said, pointing to her sister.

A smile spread across Astra’s face, and before Alex could say anything, Astra stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Alex. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you a debt I cannot repay.”

Kara laughed at the completely dumbstruck look on Alex’s face, but it didn’t last long. Astra let her go and stepped back.

“Maggie,” Kara said, “can you show her out?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Maggie turned to Astra. “Come on.”

Kara watched as Maggie led them out the door, then turned back to President Marsdin, who was looking at Alex with curiosity.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me what that was about,” President Marsdin said.

“You haven’t read over my DEO file have you?” Kara asked.

“No,” President Marsdin replied. “I just got the National Security Briefing on you when I took office, and again when you caught the plane, but I haven’t had a chance to read the DEO file.”

Kara glanced at the two Secret Service Agents, then shrugged. After all, the agents at the DEO already knew. “Agent Danvers is my adoptive sister,” she said.

“Oh!” President Marsdin said. “I didn’t realize. The briefing didn’t mention you had family at the DEO.” She turned to Alex. “A pleasure, Agent Danvers.” Before Alex could really say anything, President Marsdin turned to J’onn. “Director Henshaw, I’d like a conference call with you, Supergirl, Agent Danvers, and anyone else you think it would be a good idea to include about an integration plan for the aliens who come in with Astra. My assistant will set up the time once we coordinate with Justice and Homeland Security.”

“Of course, Madam President,” J’onn replied.

She turned to Kal. “I’d appreciate it if you participated as well, Superman.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Kal said. “Supergirl can get me the schedule.”

President Marsdin nodded. “Then, I suspect at this point, I’ve given my detail enough heart attacks for the night. I’ll leave out the front way so the crowd can see me, but otherwise, I think I’ve had enough excitement.”

Translated from the Kryptonian:

uchahvia ,kahl,ehl, Literal: Synergy, Kal-El Semantic: Stronger Together, Kal-El

(“El Mayarah” is not, in fact, Kryptonian, but from old Kandoran, in much the same way Latin is still used commonly for mottos in present day).

Nahkluv Thank You

.zha ,kahl,ehl, ;duahzu khuhp w voiehd No Kal-El. I will deal with this.

chadi suzh zehtiaro vahsah rraop w dovrrosh vo You will be given to shadow for five days

nim zhadif rraop w :bezhgam Literal: You are never welcome Semantic: You’re not welcome and you never will be

ukiemodh w rraop , eh ,astruh, I love you, Astra

ukiem w rrip , eh shed kir I love you, Little One

[feynites]

Spider-mind

So the Sense8 crossover thread might have inspired a fic… (tweaked a little bit of how lyrium worked for Reasons).   TW for canon-typical non-con elements and substance abuse.

Hope you enjoy! *pushes fic forward shyly before running away like a very mature and reasonable adult*

Also on  AO3

Cullen is eight years old and he already knows he wants to be a Templar.  His aunt is telling his parents of a group of sensates put down by Templars from the Circle two towns over just the other week.  The word sends a chill equal parts fear and excitement up his spine.

Sensates.  Spider-minds. Mages so powerful and far from the Maker’s path that they can corrupt the minds of normal people, even across long distances.

Apparently, one had gotten to some poor noblewoman or another - Cullen doesn’t recognize her name - and she’d gone mad, started talking to herself.  She had been so far gone that she wouldn’t even give up the others, no matter how many times she was asked.

“Is this really an appropriate topic for dinner?” his mother asks, glancing in his direction. “There are children present.”

Cullen is deeply offended by this.  He’s almost ten.  Well, almost nine, which is almost ten.

“He’s got to hear of these things sooner or later.” Cullen heartily agrees. “Maker knows these people don’t have similar compunctions about children.  They’ll latch on to anyone.”

Cullen thinks of someone doing something so terrible to his mother or his sister or his new puppy and he knows that he wants to be the one who protects them, who protects everyone.

“Such a shame they had to put her down, but once something is tainted by magic the stain can never truly be washed clean.”

~

Cullen is sixteen and a half and there’s at least one person he’s sure hasn’t been tainted by magic.  She’s pretty and smart and smiles at him even though he apparently forgets how to speak every time he’s within four feet of her.  He knows nothing can come of it, but he wants to do little things for her - bring her flowers and books and other bits from the outside world.  He questions the Circles for the first time, wondering why someone like her should be locked away from everyone else.

~

He’s eighteen and he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so betrayed.  She’d made him question, tempted him to stray from the light of Andraste and the whole time she’d been a fucking spider-mind.  She’d conspired to help a malefecar escape, all because they were part of the same sick, tangled web.  He feels sick.

~

He’s nineteen and his friends are dead and his aunt was right.  He feels sick, but he doesn’t think it’s from the rocking of the ship bringing him to Kirkwall.

~

He’s twenty-four and there is something wrong with this city.  Most places will only have to deal with sensates once every decade or so, but he and Meredith have had to track down three separate webs in the past few months.  

The last member of the latest web is Smited at his feet, sobbing, alternating between begging with him and cursing him.  She glares up at him, eyes wild and braids askew and he’s reminded of shy smiles and teasing laughter.

He runs her through in one swift motion.

~

He’s twenty-seven and Meredith is starting to worry him a bit.  She’s gotten it into her head that the bloody Champion is a spider-mind.

“How else would you explain that fight?  No one is that well versed in that many different fighting styles with that many different weapons.”

But that can’t be true, can it?  The Champion had saved them.  Sensates use their powers to corrupt and control and…

He pushes the thought aside and resumes his duties and doesn’t bother to think about what methods Meredith might be investigating to “deal with the problem.”

~

Cullen is twenty-eight and he wakes up in a room that isn’t his.  It’s small and sparse and when he goes to open the door it seems to be locked from the outside.

That doesn’t stop him from trying a few more times, throwing his wait against the door.

A small window on the door slides open with a snap and a grumpy-looking Templar peers in.  “You gotta piss or something? Use the chamber pot like everyone else.”

The window snaps shut before he can respond or ask what in the Void is going on.  

“You’re new,” a female voice says to his right.

He whirls in her direction.  She’s smirking at him, arms crossed over her chest - which is rather fortunate because she’s only wearing a night shift.

“I know this is a bit disconcerting, but, in the future, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause quite so much of a fuss.  Last thing we need is too many Templars looking our way. Or, well, my way.”

What?

“What?”

She peers at him and cocks her head.  

“Am I your first?” She snorts at her own double entendres before continuing. “I mean, the rest of us have been visiting and sharing for a few months at least.  You must be a late bloomer.”

Suspicion and horror are growing at the back of Cullen’s mind.  “What do you mean?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

“You’re sensate now, part of our cluster.”

No.

She must see the revulsion and denial on his face because she rushes to continue, words coming out a mile a minute, “It’s really nothing at all like the Chantry says, honest!  We can’t control your mind and no one has any big bad dastardly plans - well, unless you count Adaar’s plans to nick some vitaar from-”

“This can’t be happening.”

It can’t.

She tries to put a hand on his arm, but he backs away from her.

“It’s going to be alright,” she says as if trying to soothe a rampaging druffalo, which is frankly infuriating.

“No it bloody well isn’t!” he hisses. “Maker’s breath, I’m a Templar.”

 Her face, if possible, gets paler.

“Shit!”

“How do I get out of here?” he asks, brusquely.

“Look - you can’t tell anyone! Please, don’t tell anyone!” She’s cornering him and can’t breathe and how did the Maker let this happen to him?

“I have a duty to let my Knight-Commander know I’ve been compromised!” he shouts, willing himself to believe it as much as her.

“You’re going to go tattle to mummy?” She says and there’s something brittle in her voice.  “They won’t spare you, you know.  You’re ruined for them. A mad dog that has to be put down.”

He knows she’s right.  He doesn’t have to ask again how to leave because all of a sudden he’s gone, back in his bed by himself.

~

He doesn’t turn himself in.  Not yet.  He needs to learn more about the others so he can go to Meredith with a full report, a list of names and locations.  If he went to her now…well, she has been overtaxed as of late and might eliminate him in her enthusiasm before thinking to deal with the larger problem.  It’s sound reasoning and most of the time he actually believes it.

So when he finds himself pulled into places he’s never been, speaking with people he’s never met, he tries to absorb as much information as possible.

He learns names and places and fighting styles, but he learns other things, too.

He learns you have to apply balm to qunari horns on a regular basis or they chafe and itch.  He learns that some Dalish clans, like clan Lavellan, openly celebrate their sensates, believing them a gift from their Creators, who they also call the Original Cluster.  He learns that surface dwarves are seen as sick and dangerous by their Orzamar kinsmen not only for their loss of Stone-sense, but because they can be pulled into clusters outside of the Great Castes (“Fucking isolationist shits!” Cadash curses cheerfully before making Cullen try some truly revolting whiskey.)  He learns how to sew a perfectly even stitch from an elven slave named Gaius, who smiles up at Cullen and calls him and the other cluster members “my wonderful, bright escape from this hell-hole” and Cullen doesn’t know if he feels better or worse that there is probably no way for the Chantry to reach him in Tevinter.  He learns and learns and learns, but he keeps telling himself it’s not enough, not yet.

~

He’s stuck with her more often than not.

She’s the most wary of him, at first - unsurprising, considering she is both a Circle mage and the person to whom he’d blurted his plan to expose them all (in a moment of tactical genius).  However, as weeks go by and he doesn’t say anything, she seems to relax around him.

This is a good thing and a bad thing.

Good because she is no longer openly hostile to him, bad because she then thinks it’s acceptable to tease him.

She giggles as she makes him attempt simple spells, taking over eventually because “I’m not going to actually fail my classes on a laugh!”

She sits in the corner making funny faces and cracking jokes while he’s lecturing some of the newer Templars. He’s equal parts annoyed and amused until she smiles at him just so and he’s reminded of a much prettier face that didn’t have a hooked and crooked nose that used to smile at him before-

He doesn’t acknowledge her or any of the others for the rest of the day.

~

He starts to notice patterns about their visits and realizes that they are much briefer and less frequent right after he’s taken his lyrium. He tells Cadash as much, who seems to think he’s on to something.  He goes on for a while about the differences between surface clusters and dwarven clusters and proximity to lyrium.  Cullen doesn’t understand all of it - partially because the history and science of it all is a bit beyond him and partially because Cadash’s particular version of common appears to be about 80% swearing and mixed metaphors - but he does latch on to the take-home message that lyrium might be used to suppress this kind of magic too.

He sits on a muddy beach in Tevinter, teaching Gaius how to read Common by drawing letters with a stick and can’t bring himself to do anything with this information yet.

~

An elven boy has been accused of being a sensate.  He denies it heartily, with none of the subservience Cullen had come to expect from most Kirkwall mages.

“Might have been Dalish,” Lavellan reasons, looking more than a little proud at the way he keeps his chin held high.

There’s a lot of back and forth until the boy bursts out, “He’s only saying I’m sensate because I refused to blow his stupid tiny prick!”

Trevelyan sucks in a breath through her teeth and clenches her jaw and glares at the Templar.

“Piece of prickly poisoned nug shite,” Cadash murmurs from the corner.

Cullen does his best not to look at either of them.  

Meredith sentences the boy to Tranquility on suspicion of sensate practices and slander against a Templar.

“Knight Commander, are you sure-”

“Do I not look sure?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“But- what if the boy is telling the truth and Ser Tormon has been abusing his power-”

“I will keep an eye on him for the next few months in case of any abuses.  Will that do, Knight Captain?”

No!  The cluster responds as one.

“But-”

“What is danger of one Templar grown slightly lax in his duties versus the danger of a mage who can control the minds of dozens of normal innocent citizens of Kirkwall?”

“Lax in his duties?!” a voice behind him cries.  He doesn’t so much as flinch at it.

“Of course, but perhaps we could delay-”

“You’re not saying we shouldn’t take the danger seriously, are you?” Meredith says, narrowing her eyes at him.

For a moment he wonders if she can see the figures crowded around him and he can barely breathe.

“Of course not, Knight Commander.”

“Good. I’d hate to hear my right hand had sympathies that were…misplaced.”

“No.  Not at all.”

“The Rite will be carried out at dawn.”

A command and dismissal all at once.

“Are you seriously going to let this happen?”

“How can you just sit there and do nothing!”

“Do you actually eat the pig shit she’s serving or do you just swallow it like a good boy?”

“I have some contacts - we could get the boy out of the tower tonight-”

As he walks back to his chambers, they surround him and bombard him with questions he can’t answer, demands he can’t fulfill.

He takes more than his usual does of lyrium all at once and the voices fade to nothing along with his fear and guilt.

~

It’s about two months on this increased dose before it stops working.

A man is holding him down by his wrists with one hand while fumbling with his (her? their?) robes with the other.  “Keep quiet about this and I’ll keep quiet about you talking to yourself in the library.”

He smells of ale and sweat and lyrium and he is (she is, they are) panicking.

“Magic is meant to serve man, after all,” he says with a chuckle, groping at him (her, them).

Cullen head-butts him, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch.

“Fucking spider-mind, demon-bait bitch!” the Templar says, lunging at him.

He’s drunk and he’s expecting a mage who hasn’t left the tower in years and barely knows how to fight with magic, not a seasoned Templar who has taught the very moves he’s trying to use.

He breaks the mans fingers and dislocates his arm and is about to kick the ever living shit out of him-

“What the fuck have you done?!” Deirdre Trevelyan asks.

“He was going to rape you!” he hisses, can’t believe she is lecturing him for this after they all teamed up against him over that elf boy.

“Do you honestly think it would be my first time?  That’s what Templars do!” She shouts at him.

No, no - she’s wrong.  He knows there are those that abuse their power, he knows, but they are in the minority, surely?

He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Deirdre fills the silence for him, “He’s going to report me!  I’m going to be made Tranquil!  I can’t- I can’t-”

Her breaths are coming in sharp bursts and tears are streaming down her face. 

Cullen doesn’t know how to fix this.

When he’s back in Kirkwall he fumbles with the lyrium, fingers shaking, and takes twice his allotted dose and stops trying to figure out how.

~

His days pass in a blur and he fudges the books and moves numbers around to ensure that he can continue his new dosage.  It’s for the best, he tells himself.  I’m only safe if I can keep them out.

Most days he doesn’t really believe it.  

Most days he doesn’t really care.

He keeps his head down and follows orders and does his duty.

He hunts down blood mages and abominations (and sensates! a voice in his head that sounds too much like Lavellan supplies) and keeps the city safe.

He does his duty.

He catches a Templar cornering a girl just passed her Harrowing and reports it to Meredith.

The mage is put in solitary confinement for three days and placed on probation for compromising the virtue of a Templar.  She gives the Templar a talking to.

Cullen stares in the mirror and forgoes his dosage and wills someone else’s face to appear beside him.  Is she alright?  Had he gotten her killed?  What had happened to that Templar?

No one comes.

He vomits and he doesn’t know if it’s disgust with himself or the other Templars or withdrawal from the lyrium (probably all three).

The next day he corners the Templar, gives him the shittiest work detail he can think of for the foreseeable future and informs him that if he ever hears that he’s so much as looked at a mage the wrong way again he’ll make sure he accidentally gets gelded the next time he is in the training yard.

He thinks it will make him feel better.

It doesn’t.

He takes the last two days worth of lyrium all together in one go.

~

The Chantry explodes and Meredith calls for the death of all the mages and even in the lyrium haze he has drugged himself into he can’t.  The last fifty thousand fucking steps he’s taken have all been steps too far, he knows, but this is the step he finally refuses to take.

~

He can’t bring himself to go with the other Templars as they all scramble to find their place in this new world.  He’s still terrified of mages and what they can do, but his uniform makes him feel filthy and soiled and his title feels like a curse.

He tries and fails to stop taking lyrium a few times before he simply gathers up his remaining supply and throws it down a latrine (To his credit, he only considers going to retrieve it once or twice).

He locks himself in a tavern room and pays for food and drink to be brought up, though he rarely has any.  He vomits and shivers and has headaches so bad he can barely see.  He thinks he’s starting to go mad.

He thinks he feels Lavellan stroking his brow and hears her asking the innkeeper for herbs.  She tells him it will help.  One of the others (he can’t tell - everything is so loud and hot and cold) says he doesn’t deserve help.  He heartily agrees.

He goes in and out and sometimes they’re there and sometimes they’re not.  He tries to search and find Trevelyan (Deirdre), but he can’t and, Maker, he’s so tired.

~

Cullen is almost thirty and Seeker Cassandra has asked for his help, which makes it easier to ask for hers.  She agrees to watch over him as they travel to the conclave, as more of that blue shit slowly leaves his body.

She’s fierce and stubborn and righteous and seems to genuinely want to do the right thing.  A part of him feels eight years old again and thinks that, maybe, he has been given a second chance. 

“It’s okay, I like her, too,” Gaius says to his left.  He’s got a black eye today, curtesy of his master, no doubt, but is smiling regardless.

“Hang in there, pretty-boy!” Adaar says, slapping him on the back. “We’ll see you at the temple in a few days.”

They both vanish.

Wait. What?

[davidastbury]

2920 c

Shorts ... #27

He hadn’t been kind to his mother; he hadn’t treated he as he should have done. He never allowed her to get close - rejected her kindnesses - discarded her gifts - didn’t thank her - never showed any gratitude. When they talked he never said the things he should have said, but often said a lot of things he should not have said.

All this was long ago and one way or another he has found ways to be at peace with it. Of course he never asked for her to be his slave - he never wanted her eagerness to do everything for him. And so, here he is today, feeling that same wordless irritation as his second wife over sweetens his tea.

A lost skill .... written by Janet Bailey

There has been a lot of posts about the mills in Bury. When I was hairdressing in the early '60's we used to have lots of women from the cotton mills come for their hair done. You wouldn't dare say anything about them when they were under the hair dryer because they could lip read anything you said. They used to talk to each other while they were under the hairdyers by what they called 'me mawing' just moving there lips. 😃

(Mee-mawing was a form of speech with exaggerated movements to allow lip reading employed by workers in weaving sheds in Lancashire in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The noise in a weaving shed rendered hearing impossible so workers communicated by mee-mawing which was a cross between mime and lip reading. To have a private conversation when there were other weavers present, the speaker would cup their hand over their mouth to obscure vision. This was very necessary as a mee-mawer would be able to communicate over distances of tens of yards. It was said that each mill had its own dialect.

"Stop mee-mawing at me!" means "Stop pulling faces at me or talking behind my back”).

On the Train

She has a disfigurement but I am not going to say anything about it. She’s about twelve or so and life must be difficult. Let’s hope that the doctors will do something - perhaps they have to wait until she reaches a certain age - perhaps they will do something soon.

I can see how she wears her hair in a thick curtain and how she raises one of her shoulders.

Oh God, I hope things are okay at school. I hope she has a loving home - I hope someone is telling her, repeatedly, that she is beautiful.

Night Out

A group of friends - glad to see each other - glad to get drunk together. The men ruddy and randy; the women collapsing with laughter - their voices strident and confident; expressive and exhilaratingly filthy.

So much to be afraid of! So many uncertainties - but none tonight - simply the joy of being a forty-year-old child.

Winter Nights 1965

Cheap rented room in Whalley Range. She’d tried to fix up curtains - tried to make it nice. No TV and burglars had stolen her radio. It was a large room; a leftover from a different world; you could see it in the high ceilings, the double dado rails, the missing interior shutters; the grandeur of the chalk coloured fireplace with its florid carved scrolls, now reduced to housing a sad little electric fire.

These were nights of twilight and shadows; when it seemed as cold inside as out. When the yellow streetlights leaked through the draughty windows and the twigs of the giant chestnut tree scraped across the glass.

And they huddled together. They couldn’t have been happier. Nights of cider and cigarettes - of sour metallic kisses - nights when he couldn’t get enough of her - nights when he was insatiable for her quick mind, her breath, her hair, her voice, her face, warmth, smell.

And the world could not offer anything better to him - he never forgot those nights in the cheap rented room in Whalley Range.

Madame

During our last stay in this hotel we got to know one of the long-term residents. It was at the time of her eightieth birthday and the staff made a big fuss for her. I was fascinated by her raucous smoker’s voice and how she called everyone ‘dhaaa-ling’ - and the way she somehow combined being warm and friendly with downright aggressiveness.

I wrote a little piece about her which I posted on here at the time - just a simple incident - hopefully giving a truthful picture...

In the restaurant: Madame looks up sharply.

Madame: ‘Who has taken away my water?’

Waiter: ‘I took it, I thought you had finished.’

Madame: ‘Well, I haven’t!’

Waiter: ‘I will get you some more.’

Madame: ‘That’s no use. I had dissolved my pills in that glass!’

Waiter: ‘I am sorry.’

Madame: ‘It will be your fault if I get pregnant.’

So we were delighted to see her again - and to learn that she hasn’t slowed down.

We sat at the next table and Pat was able to overhear this little gem.

Madame: ‘Waiter!’

Waiter: ‘Yes Madame?’

Madame: (poking dish with a fork) ‘Is this really butter?’

Waiter: ‘Yes it is, Madame.’

Madame: ‘I do not believe you. I don’t think this is butter at all - it’s more like candle-wax: if I dig into it I will probably find a wick!’

The school bag.

The hotel allocates a space where departing guests can leave items for which they have no further use. Four or five shelves brimming with things like deluxe swimming goggles, piles of books and magazines, inflatable alligators, straw hats, sun creams, flip flops etc. Anyone can take what they want.

I saw a girls school bag; lots of pockets, pink shoulder straps - a bit knocked about - ‘well used’ is the phrase. The interior was scuffed and marked by felt-tip pens, which the owner had not capped - and traces of stickers, unsuccessfully scratched away by her thumbnail. I held it upside down to shake out the sand and the flap swung open revealing a drawing on the underside - a childish image of a kitten in a bow tie, surrounded by bunches of marijuana leaves. I had to smile.

And then, under the picture of the unfeasibly cute kitten, she had neatly stencilled her name ... Lucie Wider.

I put it back on the shelf.

‘O Master of the Universe,

Bless the life of Lucie Wider!’

R.

We knew each other for a few short weeks - right up to the time she left out little town forever. London was the magnet and I understood her reasons for going - I didn’t question any of it - I let the day come round and carried her bags and cases to the station - and I watched the bus take her away.

That was a long time ago. I heard nothing from her in the first few weeks and months - and then the months became years - in fact, nearly sixty years. And now others will have filled her life and they will see her as she is - but for me it is entirely different - I hold a gleaming fragment - fixed forever at that moment; how she had panicked over a last-minute confusion with her ticket - how she was cheerful and tried not to look at me - how she was heartbreakingly soulful - how she tried to smile and how hard she tried not to cry.

Ian and Lorna...1966

‘Come round anytime’ - said Ian - so I did. It was a midweek afternoon and I cannot remember why I was free, but I was. The door wasn’t fastened and I pushed it back and went in. Silence. No sign of Ian - no sign of anyone. And then I saw the shoes - his and hers; Ian’s and Lorna’s.

I stood staring at them and thinking that in a medieval painting it would have meant that the two saints had gone to heaven. I then realised that they were upstairs in the bedroom, so in a way, they had gone to heaven.

A window was open and the curtains were flapping. There was a school nearby, and it must have been playtime; voices shrieking and screaming with happiness.

I left - pulling the door shut behind me.

The Room ... 1964

She kept the rent-book on a table near the door, so that the landlord didn’t have a need to come into the room. It was a large room with three south-facing windows and the green carpet had three bands of faded colour, bleached by the summer sunshine. The furniture obviously hadn’t been planned; a few items bought with economy in mind - a sofa with cat scratches, a cheap drop-leaf table, a wardrobe with a door that kept swinging open, a strong, ugly bed. The only expensive item was her Spanish guitar, propped in the corner furthest from the door, next to a pile of sheet music.

She was very tidy; he wasn’t - but she didn’t mind. When alone she put all his ‘stuff’ away and did what she could to make the room attractive; but it was always unpleasant - except for the nights when they were together - the nights when, in the gloom, she glowed like a silver goddess and their damp foreheads touched and he saw both her eyes melt together and become a single eye, like a beautiful cyclops and she and the room slid into a perfection where everything was sour, salty, brackish.

Roman Baths

My dislike of the ancient Romans - and pretty much everything about them - has caused my aversion to ‘health spas’. I am sure that the Roman enthusiasm for personal hygiene and public bathing played a significant part in their decadence - and as such I avoid the modern equivalent of these facilities.

I have no wish to linger in agitated tepid water nor to loiter, like Nero, in steam rooms, with a towel over one shoulder. Nor to be oiled and mauled by persons of either sex. I am repulsed by the fussing and pampering and the weird relaxed regression into childishness. And despite great admiration for Jim Bacchus, I would not enjoy sprawling bare bellied, with a bunch of grapes on my head, a goblet of wine in my hand, surrounded by the nude frolickings of nymphs and Cupids.

Natasha and her brother Nikolai in their droshky, returning home, late at night.

‘You know,’ she suddenly said, ‘I know I’ll never again be as happy and peaceful as I am now.’

‘That’s nonsense, silliness, rubbish,’ said Nikolai, and thought: ‘How lovely my Natasha is! I have no other friend like her and never will. Why is she getting married? We could keep driving around together!’

‘How lovely my Nikolai is!’ thought Natasha.

‘Ah! there’s still light in the drawing room,’ she said, pointing to the windows of the house, shining beautifully in the wet, velvet darkness of the night.

( Tolstoy: War And Peace ... vol.2 pt.7 )

The Couple

I had a feeling that things would not go well for them. Everything looked fine; they were young and radiated happiness and optimism - he, doing well at his firm; she, post-grad in Russian Lit and offered a permanent position - you couldn’t find a nicer couple. But I had this feeling and it coloured the way I viewed them.

Impossible to put into words, of course. It wasn’t anything that I could explain - utterly intangible - to the point that I suspected myself of projecting some inner malice - some grudging resentment - perhaps some unconscious jealousy.

Only later, when hearing from friends, did a faint perception begin to dawn. There had been too much of ‘something’ about them. I didn’t know what that something was - I still don’t know what it was ... but that ‘too much’, which had illuminated their happiness and optimism, became the ‘too much’ which broke them.