#and pasted them onto a different sheet of paper

[creekschaoscorner]

theonny?

Theonny!

[is-the-sky-blue]

OVERWHELMED: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Fluff, satosugu x reader, reader is called mom, papa satoru, dad suguru

You were overwhelmed.

The warm steam from the pot below you wafted up to your face, the obnoxious low rumble of the range hood sucking up the air as to not let your smoke alarm go off, yet again. The curry bubbled and you stirred the mixture of carrots and potatoes, leisurely. "Mom," it was a troubled call, you turned, facing the long haired child perched in a chair at the table behind you, her brown eyes glassy as she stared at the textbook in front of her.

You were quick to lower the heat, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before settling it down on the handles, placing the glass lid atop the stainless steel before shuffling over to her, fluffy socks adorned with a strawberry pattern, given to you as a little surprise from an ordinary grocery run, protecting your feet from the cool tile. "Tsumiki honey, what's wrong," you coo, taking a seat in the chair next to her, the girl's lips pouted in frustration as she pinched her brows.

"I dunno how to do this," she points, pencil led prodding at the textbook pages scrawled in graphite, loitered with jokes and absurd comments that your dear girl would never do, knowing that this, probably twelfth generation textbook's drawings, were presents from students past. It was a math question, simple algebra that she was only introduced to yesterday in class, and your ever keen student was quick to do her homework on Saturday as to not stress out tomorrow, as her Papa promised to take them all out on a fun day trip.

"Let me take a look," you murmur gently, offering a smile to try and quell her irritation as you stared at the notebook pages, neat handwriting full of numbers interrupted as she tried to answer question 6c, smudges of pencil rubbed away by eraser staining the paper and you reevaluate the problem, carefully repeating it onto the sheet. "This one is quite tough," you nod, hoping to show that her struggle was valid, "but basically you have to-" you start, ready to walk her through the steps to find an answer when yet another call drew your attention away.

"Mom!" this time it was a wail.

"Just a second baby," you pat the girl's hair, "I'll be right back," you promise, getting up from the cushioned seat to step towards the living room, crying children hidden behind the couch, as the open concept layout usually allowed you to see all your kids at once.

You spot the two twins, eyes glassy as Mimiko held a doll tight in her grasp, body shifted away from her sister as Nanako crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, tearful glare directed towards the former.

"What's wrong," you murmur, sore muscles slightly protesting as you pulled into a crouch assessing the situation. Your usually two well behaved girls who generally got along with one another were fighting for the nth time today. They were having a rough time, both irritated, grumpy and getting on each other's nerves consistently on this somber Saturday

"Mimiko won't share," Nanako cries, rubbing harshly at her puffy cheeks as salt rivers stain her face, falling in large droplets. You are quick to tenderly grasp her hands, careful touches wiping away the dew. You turn to face Mimiko, knuckles turning pale with the death drip she had on the pink haired doll.

"You two have loads of dolls though," you try to reason, plucking up a different toy, presenting it to the red faced girl.

"But I want that one," she sobs, hiccupping and you tried not to sigh too loud.

"Mimiko," you call, the child pursing her lips as she turned her body away in defiance.

"I want a turn," she huffs when you don't retract your scolding gaze, "Nanako's been playin all day wif her," she shakes the pink haired toy, glittery strands catching light and you don't know what to do. Nanako was crying because Mimiko had stolen the toy, and you knew the girl had been politely asking all day just to be denied.

It wasn't right that she took it, you know that, but it also wasn't right that Nanako hasn't been sharing. You didn't want to just take the doll away completely, even if a nagging voice said that a mere threat wouldn't hurt, but the high percentage that it'd leave both girls' crying already gave you a headache.

They were just tired. Bad dreams plaguing them last night, preventing them from sleep, they needed a nap but wouldn't settle down for one, not even after being cradled and read to. No matter how many picture books you pulled out, or if you just tucked them into their beds, neither agreed to your plan and now it was too late, settling for a nap now would only result in the inability to rest when it was actually bed time.

You bit your lip, their lack of sleep also resulting in your lack of sleep, achy limbs tired as you shut your heavy fatigue ridden eye lids as bawling tears continued to drip, "Nana-" you were about to start only to be interrupted yet again.

"Mom," it was raspy this time and you heed the call, facing a sleepy Megumi, his face florid as sweat beaded on his forehead, duvet you wrapped him in trailing along the hardwood floors as he pulled it onto his shoulders. His spiky hair was slightly matted, eyes a little red, nose running. 

"Megumi" you coo, your sick boy padding to walk into your arms, falling into your embrace eagerly as he nuzzled into your neck, his cold nose making you slightly cringe as he burned up in your grasp, fever overheating his tiny figure.

"m'sorry," he begins and you don't want to question what happened as you wrapped the blanket tighter around his little form, "I missed the bucket," he confessed, his fingers timidly grabbing at your sleeve, toying with the fabric and you knew what he meant, the little stomach bug beating up his organs had made you gift him a plastic container for all his vomit. "I didn't mean too," his voice wavers, you could feel your shirt begin to grow damp but all you could do was hold him tighter.

"It's okay," you try to keep the irritation ebbing away at you from your tone.

"Mom."

"Mom."

"Mom."

"Mom."

They all needed you, tears falling down fast as different anxieties permeated your house, home full of grief as they each battled with different problems. Tsumiki struggling with her homework, Mimiko and Nanako bickering yet again over something trivial but huge in their little world, while Megumi tried to fight off a sickness but was currently losing, and you trying to grapple every thing, your sanity quickly slipping as their sadness poured into you, the tired little smiles you kept up slowly fading away as you could feel your own anxieties claw up your throat.

All your children were crying, frustrated wails, and you were barely keeping it together, clutching your son tightly as you tried not to fall into a pit of tears yourself.

You were overwhelmed.

Overloaded with tasks and duties, you had to help Tsumiki finish her school work, settle this doll dilemma, clean up the little mess Megumi made and still finish up dinner. Your list was all consuming, trying to drown you as your house shook, trembled.

Your family was having a rough day.

Everyone was troubled and you-

You couldn't do it all.

You barely registered it, chaos consuming your leaden muscles as you did your best to organize your frantic thoughts, but when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder the tension in your chest, weighing down on you eased. "Let us handle it from here love," a sweet murmur, his dark hair was messy, result of a tough day at work but he was quick to roll up his sleeves, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, soothing your berating mind and you could only nod, brain refusing to process an argument as he turned to the two twins.

"C'mere Megumi," your white haired counterpart now next to you, reaching out for the duvet coddled boy who merely nuzzled further into your grasp at the call and you can't help but keep him close, quicksand sinking limbs finding their way to cuddle him even further.

"It's okay Toru," your voice is laced with a slow molasses, tired dribbles as you mumble, blinking your stinging eyes, retreating tears falling back from your waterline, "can you just," and you bite your tongue, feeling a strange quiver form in your throat as an inexplicable lump formed, but he's cupping your face, squishing the fat of your cheek with his easy going toothy grin, pink lips parting to let an ever loving smile shine affectionately at your drained visage.

"Can do!" and he's popping to his feet, knowing your sentence without your words, upbeat aura exterminating the lingering gloom that held heavy in a foggy cloud from the ceiling. His call of Tsumiki's name is kind before he's taking the seat next to her, getting to work and slowly your growing checklist of tasks melted, shredding into tiny little strips as they rips apart the paper, taking a chunk to handle by themselves.

Your knees audibly crack as you stand, his warm cheek in the cove of your neck as he put up no fight to slump in your hold. "Let's get you a bath, yeah Gumi," you hum, body gently rocking as you pad down the hallway and towards the bathroom, light flickering on with a warm glow to paint the white tiles.

"M'sorry," he's murmuring again as you set him down, guilt ridden eyes swathed with remorse as you slowly began to fill the tub, squirting out some of the soap from a half-empty bottle of bubble bath, watching as white foam slowly floated to the surface, "I-I'll do better," he sniffles.

"You don't need to be sorry baby," you brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away, heat emanating from the slick sweat of his skin, dampening your fingertips as you gingerly peel the blanket off his body, pang of pity hitting your heart as he shuddered, "you didn't do it on purpose," you hum, "and all you need to do for me is drink lots of water, get tons of rest and get back to your strong and healthy self, okay my Gumi bear," you smile, watching the boy cringe at your little nickname.

"Don't call me that," he whines, voice nasally as you help him take off his clothes before settling him inside the water filled tub.

"Why not," you tease, turning off the tap but he could only puff out his chest, no reason coming to mind as he submerged his body into the water, steam slowly relieving his congested pathways.

"I- It's embarrassing," he tries and you coo with a sly little smile. 

"Are you embarrassed of me," you purse your lips in faux pain.

"That's not what I said," he rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps his back against the porcelain, defeated.

"Mhm I see how it is," you sigh dramatically, snickering at his pout before you lean to boop his nose. "Will you be okay on your own," you ask the boy, observing as he picked up a cloud of soap and squashed it between his palms.

"Mhm," he nodded and you grin, giving him an affectionate rustle of the hair before grabbing the slightly soiled clothing, lingering smell of vomit and sweat clinging to the fabric of his pajamas as you stepped outside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a smidge as you padded towards Megumi's bedroom, the door wide open, readying yourself to untuck his bedsheets only to find his mattress already bare.

"It's in the wash," he murmured against the shell of your ear and you lean into his warmth, resting your head on Suguru's lowered shoulder, "do you need me to take that too," and his hands are quick to take the clothing from your grasp.

You simply shut your eyes for a moment, listening to his breathing, "thank you," you hum out when you blink open, whirling around on your toes to face him.

"It's no problem baby," and he's pressing yet another calming kiss to your forehead, easing the worries that had begun to clamber up your chest, "you should go take a break, I can finish giving Megumi a bath," he murmurs against your skin but you shake your head as he pulls away.

"No, I can do it," you affirmed, the worried look in his gaze doing little to force your hand, "I want to do it," you reiterated and his shoulder's slumped as he acquiesced, letting you have your way yet again.

"If you say so," he's sighing, "but let me know if you need anything, alright, you've already done a lot today, don't push yourself pretty," and he's kissing your cheek this time, flashing you an understanding smile but you are quick to peck at grinning lips, withdrawing much too early for his liking.

"I won't," you reassure, patting his arm, urging him to go and he chuckles, retreating back to the laundry room as you go to grab another set of pajamas for Megumi to wear.

Your heart felt a little lighter, the happy sounds of an understanding Tsumuki echoing down the hallway before she was sharing a high-five with Satoru, a resounding, elating smack reverberating as you take a small peek down the hall, her once pinched brows no longer furrowed with stress as your white haired partner thoroughly explained the topic in a way she could understand, patiently answering all her questions and kindly nudging her along the right path whenever she made a mistake. The sight had you smiling, there were no tears, no yelling, the image much unlike your childhood, her ability to even ask for help showing you that you must be doing something right, after all you didn't want her to face the same struggle you had when it came for asking your parents for any kind of assistance.

Turning back to the bathroom you nudge the door ajar with your hip, spotting your little spiky haired boy with a rubber duck in his hand, pushing it along the water and he's quick to stare at you, meeting your gaze as you plop the fresh clothing onto the counter. "Mom," he calls and the word no longer burdened you with such despair as it had moments ago, of course you loved your title, the very words being attached to you giving you an indescribably joy as your little found family discovered comfort in you as a mother figure, but you couldn't deny that a few moments ago the very call of that label had you broiling with stress.

"Yes love," you hum, quick to pull the stool over, sitting near the edge as Megumi glanced up at you, bubbles staining his fingertips.

"Will Papa still take me on the trip tomorrow," he sniffles, dry eyes blinking up at you with worry.

"Of course he will Gumi," you reach a hand out, petting his hair before cupping his warm face between your palms.

"W-What happens if I don't feel good tomorrow too," he whimpers, eyes going glassy as his lips pull into a pout and you could feel a little tremor shake your heart, small fracture nicking away at it as you pressed a tender kiss to his scalp.

"Then we'll reschedule it baby, okay," you murmur, staring into his heartbroken gaze, "it'll be alright."

"But I don't wanna ruin it," he mumbles so quietly, guilt ebbing away.

"Honey you won't ruin anything," you assure, "no one is leaving you behind, and no one will be sad if we can't go tomorrow, besides it wouldn't be fun if you weren't there." 

"Promise."

"I promise my love," and you interlock your pinky with his, rubbing away a stray tear that managed to fall, "now how about we get you dressed and back to bed," you offer, a gentle smile accompanying your words and he grins, nodding.

You were quick, drying the boy before pulling the dog themed shirt on his head, helping his arms through the fabric before tugging it down. "Cozy," you muse, fingers lightly tying the drawstrings of his fuzzy pants.

"Mhm," he hums, fast to find solace in your embrace as you carefully adjust him to settle on your hip, standing up. You survey the bathroom, empty tub still slightly foamy along the edges, drain covered in bubbles that you didn't focus on, preoccupied with dressing the sickly boy, the blanket he had dragged around, abandoned on the floor, crumpled in a corner, the floor slightly imprinted with wet footsteps.

You purse your lips, rubbing small circles onto his back as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, dark hair tickling the skin but you pay no mind, occupied with your disinterest on cleaning the space, you had left a slight mess.

Shutting your eyes you sighed, maybe you could just pretend it wasn't there for a moment, you tried to offer yourself, turning to head towards Megumi's bedroom only to spot that his bed was still bare and you were soon painfully aware that both pairs of bedsheets you had used for his bed were now soiled and in the wash, the first set vomited upon in the morning when he had felt the brunt of his ailment clawing at his stomach.

You could feel irritation clamber up your limbs, leaving an unsettling itch in your bones as you push your weight onto your toes before rocking back onto your heels, uncertainty bubbling beneath your skin as your frazzled brain wracked for a solution. "He can sleep in our room for a little while," and the bubbles faded into nothing, heat of the element reduced to zero in an instant as your unsettled waters no longer even simmered.

His hand is on Megumi's forehead, checking the little boy's temperature while the other lay relaxed on your hip, leaving an assuring squeeze, "do you want me to take you Megs," Satoru offers, knowing full well he'd be denied, and rejected he was, the boy merely clinging to you tighter with a pout.

"It's fine Toru," you hum, his hands slightly fixing your hair before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Alrighty then," he snickers, and you barely have to turn your head to know he and Megumi were sticking their tongues out at each other, "I'll go clean up the washroom then," and he shifts his focus to you.

"No that's alright, you should go rela-"

"I should be saying that to you pretty," he quirks a grin, cutting you off, "now go on," and he's shooing you away, hands on your shoulders before lightly ushering you out, "let me work," he tsks, opening the door, letting you walk into your shared bedroom before quickly scampering off with a cartoony whistled song.

You can't fight off your smile before shuffling towards the messily made bed, the rumple of sheets a painful reminder of your inability to focus this morning, waking up to sobs, the idea of making the bed no longer at the forefront of your brain, and it still wasn't. You collapse onto the mattress, lightly tackling Megumi beneath your body.

"Get off me," he giggles, squirming, fists pushing at your shoulders.

"What, you don't want my love," you gasp dramatically, peppering kisses over his face until he's shoving you away, hoarse voice laughing as he wriggles, crawling towards the head of the bed but you grab his ankle, "don't make me fight you," you tease, pulling him back, his happy little shriek of, 'let me go,' making you grin before you lift him into your arms, wrapping around him tight before squeezing him, planting one last firm peck to his cheek, his happy face lessening all your lingering unease before pulling the both of you beneath the covers.

"You're silly mom," he's snickering.

"Oh really," you laugh, resting his head upon the pillow, laying on your side as he puts his hand onto your face, pudgy fingers squeezing at your cheek, contorting your facial expressions, "I think you're pretty silly," you muse, reaching out to smush his face, his lips puckering as you forced him to look like a fish.

"Nuh uh," he huffs pulling away from your grasp before using both his hands to try and force your face the same way, and he's giggling.

"Nuh uh," you mock, "what do you mean nuh uh," you tease lightly tickling at his sides.

"Nuh uh," he shrieks again, squirming before burrowing into your embrace, putting an end to your attack as he cuddled close and you couldn't help but reciprocate. "Mom," he's calling again.

"Yes," you coo, running your fingers through his hair.

"Can we go see a T-rex." 

"Hmm," you raise a brow, "where'd that come from," you ask, slightly perturbed by his out of the blue question.

"Yuji told me at school that his papa took him to see T-rex bones."

"Oh, is that so," you coo, rhythmically patting his back, "we can go to the museum and see dinosaurs together when you're all better."

"With Tsumiki and Mimiko and Nanako."

"Of course, we'll take Tsumiki, Mimiko, Nanako, Dad and Papa," you grin, "so make sure to get lots of sleep and drink lots of water, okay."

"Okay," he's murmuring and despite his prior burst of energy his eyes were closing.

"Goodnight," your kiss his scalp, gently rocking his body and even though he drifted off you continued to lay there, weary limbs finally relaxing.

"Wake up love," you don't even remember falling asleep.

You blink your eyes open, "You need to eat." 

"Hmm," you groan as you stirred, staring at both their figures and you suddenly realize your arm's no longer hold the weight of a child, "where'd Megumi go."

"Asleep in his own room," Suguru coos, helping you sit up, thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

"What time is it," you ask eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the digital clock on the bedside table. 

"9:30ish," Satoru grins, taking a seat next to you, "the kids are already in bed."

"Why didn't you wake me up," you yawn, leaning your weight onto Satoru, "I could've helped."

"You've already done so much today," Suguru sighs and you hum into his touch, "wanted to let you rest."

"M'sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"Why are you apologizing love, we are the ones who should say sorry," and Suguru is settling down onto your other side.

"We left you home alone to take care of all of them, it must've been tiring," Satoru is holding your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

"You had to go to work, it's fine."

"Regardless," Suguru tacks on, "but you did a good job today," he praises and you find yourself melting, lip wobbling.

"No I didn't," and a surge of sadness washes over you, your emotions taking over, "y-you came home and everyone was crying, I was going to cry too, and, and I didn't know what to do."

"That's okay my love," and Suguru is pulling you into his arms, "you did your best."

"But still."

"Baby it's hard looking after four kids by yourself, you did amazing, it was just a rough day," and Satoru is kissing your forehead, "we should've come home earlier but even without us you did great."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"You did handle it."

"I got overwhelmed."

"And that's okay," Suguru assures once more, "it's a lot of work and it's normal to feel that way, that's why we're here, okay baby, it's not your job to look after all of them on your own, we're a team, you can depend on us," he continues, soothing your anxieties, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

"My pretty girl had a long day," Satoru coos, lightly pinching your cheek, cracking a coy smile, "let's go eat yeah, I'll warm dinner up again," he grins, reaching for you, carefully picking you up. 

"I can walk," you protest, your arms snaking around his neck as he slid his arms beneath your bottom.

"And I can carry you," he sing songs, padding towards the door while Suguru quietly shushes him.

You were overwhelmed but Satoru and Suguru were quick to help you out.

[kometqh]

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂..

Captain Rex x F!Reader x Fives

Pt. 2 Every night, without fail, you wake up crying, heaving as you realise the monsters of your nightmares have been long left behind on the battlefields you fought on alongside your beloved Clone Troopers, the 501st Legion. Every night, without fail, you note down all your thoughts and feelings onto paper, into your beloved Diary that your Jedi Master has given to you as a gift. What happens when the Captain and Trooper of the 501st get their hands on your prized possession? Word Count: 2845 Warnings: Very much unedited, most definitely not lore-accurate as I have just begun to watch Clone Wars. A/N: A spur-of-the-moment kind of fic, it will be a two parter story :) It does say Female reader as that is what I had in mind, however there are no pronouns or descriptions used that allude to the reader being female!

Your body shot straight up, sweat rolling down the side of your temple, shoulders heaving up and down rapidly through heavy breaths. You wearily scanned the area, the room you found yourself in, your bedroom, hidden under a blanketed darkness. You could vaguely make out the different shapes of objects in your room; the steel wardrobe, the desk seated in a faraway corner, the tall frame of the door. The small line of light that peaked through provided some comfort, some more visibly.

A shaky hand reached for the night light beside your temporary bed - a silver steel, upright lamp that provided a bright, white light. It didn't provide much comfort as hard white light flooded the room, but it was enough to convince you that the terrors in your dreams weren't physically present in your waking days. 

Heaving a slow, heavy sigh, you slid back down into the pale comfort of your sheets, hugging a pillow to your body. 

As you laid there, light still on, eyes shut, you were engulfed in the sound of deafening silence. You could almost hear the light buzzing of the mechanical structures of the ship, ringing in your ears. 

You sighed again, turning your body to face the door. The light from the outside tickled at your eyelids, forcing them to flutter open. With a groan, you shoved your nose deeper into the soft material of your pillow, beginning to count down, hoping that, the mental image of numerous General's jumping up and down like innocent sheep, would lull you back to sleep soon enough.

Mini Skywalker's, Plo Koon's and Obi Wan Kenobi's cluttered your mind, hopping over a tall fence as you silently counted, 'One.. Two.. Three' and so on. It was definitely interesting image to think of, but in the meantime, it did little to stop your body from tossing and turning, heaving and sighing, twisting in your sheets.

With another, heavy sigh, you reached into your bedside draw, pulling out a small notebook and pen. You flipped it to the most recent page, jotting down the date and time, a small curse leaving your lips as you noticed the time; 01:25. 

You were going to become a zombie at this rate.

Nethertheless, you began spilling words onto the page, the crease between your brows easing as time passed, the fast pace of your heartbeat steadying with each word that slipped past the boundaries of your mind.

By the time sleep had finally pulled you into it's clutches, your mind could tell the ship was leaving hyperspace, and approaching a new atmosphere, your diary and pen abandoned at your side, left open on the most recent page yet again.

You awoke when the ship had landed; merely five hours later. The metal hit the ground with a thud, successfully forcing your eyes open. You laid there for a long while, ears twitching as you listened to the distant sounds of clone troopers wandering the hallways, accompanied by loud chatter and laughter. 

Those moments, those peaceful moments, where your men could take a moment to relax and unravel were your favourite. You fought hard to keep every single one alive, the guilt chipping away at your sturdy resolve, discipline and beliefs in the Jedi rules. 

You had broken one of the most important rules from the very beginning; it was forbidden to form attachments. How could you abide by such a cruel rule, when you were stationed with the same men for the last three years, getting to know them, living with them, laughing and sharing meals? To you, such a rule shouldn't exist. You could tell many other Jedi also disagreed with it - Anakin Skywalker being one amongst many. Even Obi Wan Kenobi, whose rebellious personality did very little to hide his affections for a certain Mandalorian Senator..

Taking in a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room. 

A warm glow peaked through the tightly shut curtains, warming your skin in a gentle embrace. Even though your eyes burned with exhaustion, you had willed yourself to get up. It was already 07:00, your men were definitely up and ready for their mission briefing. 

Though they'd have to wait a little longer, you supposed.

This was meant to be an easy, diplomatic mission centred around a Neutral planet. You and your troops, the 501st, would be ensuring the citizens' safety, and potentially discussing joining the Democratic Republic. 

After spending some time getting ready, you left your quarters, silently stalking through the hallways, a distant rumble of the canteen ringing in your ears. The closer you got, the more shouts and lively conversations you could hear. 

All of those men shared the same exact voice, but the small differences in speech patterns, accents, tone and volume, were enough for you to be able to distinguish between your squadron without even seeing any of their faces.

Tugging your robes closer to your body, you entered the canteen, heading straight for the food buffet. It was going to be a simple mission - grab some toast, some water, and escape before anyone could notice you. 

And simple it would of been, if it wasn't for a certain Captain's sharp eyes and enhanced instincts; as if an alarm went off in his head anytime you appeared within his vicinity. 

In no time, you felt his warm breath fan over the back of your neck, his chest close enough for you to feel the coolness radiating off his body armour.

"Good morning, Captain." You spoke softly, a hint of tiredness still laced within your voice as you blinked slowly, placing a piece of toast on your tray.

"G'morning General," His voice came out a rolling, warm rumble, directly by your ear as Rex leaned over you, "What are you having for breakfast?" He asked, his honey-brown eyes scanning over your food tray. 

"Nuffin special, Captain, just a plain toast and water, how 'bout you?" You asked, moving away from the queue and to an empty table. You looked to Rex, noticing the corners of his lips tugging upwards, the sight warming your closed-off heart. You desperately wanted to cradle the side of his face in your palm, to soothe over the lines that wedged themselves between his eyebrows, noticing his exhaustion still showing even after a decent night's sleep.

"I've already had my breakfast with Fives and Echo, woke up quite early actually." He spoke softly, a chuckle escaping his lips as his palm rested on the small of your back, leading you to your seat.

Confusion took over your body as you sat down, bringing the toast up to your lips, taking a bite. "So, why are you here then, Captain?" You asked through a mouthful, eyeing him up and down, confusion clear as day across your face. 

At that, his face hardened into one he wore often during meetings and battles, an uncertain heaviness clouding his eyes. His fists clenched atop his lap, his lips pulling into a thin line. He wished to discuss the mission with you; hoping to lessen the number of men needed. Though he wasn't sure how willing you'd be to give your men a small vacation, he still wanted to attempt to provide his brothers with some respite. 

What kind of Captain would he be if he didn't consider his soldiers' health?

"Actually- I wanted to discuss the mission with you, General," He paused, breaking eye contact as his gaze dropped to his lap, then scaled back up to focus on the ice-blue, steel table separating the two of you, "I was thinking-"

"Thinking too much isn't good for you Rex, you've got enough lines on your forehead already." You joked, interrupting the clearly tense Captain. As you eyed him up and down with a soft smile, his shoulders visibly relaxed, the thin line his lips had become turning into the softest of smiles, his cheeks puffing up into marshmallows over the stretch. 

"W-Well, I was wondering if you could allow my men to take this time to rest." He stated, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he eyed you from underneath a curtain of lashes. He was using his best puppy eyes, knowing very well what effect those had on you.

You blinked once, then twice, your eyes widening owlishly as you stared at Rex.

Was he.. Trying to woo you?

You sat just the smallest bit straighter, your shoulders stiffening as you begged the Maker for Rex to not pick up on the sudden stiffiness that clutched onto your body with a steel grip.

Why was he making things so much harder for you?

"R-Rex.. I'm not sure I-" You started, your stomach dropping as he released a defeated sigh.

"I know General, I know.. It's just that, after the last mission, we're all still quite exhausted." He spoke, his gaze unwavering as he leaned closer to you, his scent invading your nostrils. He smelled of the Canteen's breakfast, a faint scent of aftershave lingering over him. Had he shaved already? You never got to see more than a hint of stubble on his jaw and chin, before it was gone with the wind; like it never even existed.

That's why you were grateful for Fives; that man's goatee could never disappoint. You were sure a beard of some sorts would suit Rex so well - it wasn't too difficult to imagine with his brother around, serving as an example. 

What would it feel like to feel the short hairs underneath your fingers? To feel the smooth skin of his cheek under your palm? The soft plushness of his lips against yours-

"General?" He interrupted your fleeting thoughts, a glint of hope shining in his eyes as you shook your head lightly. 

It was the defeated, gentle sigh that gave you away. 

If it were anyone else, Rex would never dare to ask such a question. But with you- with you, his men felt most comfortable, most safe. They respected you, and could feel you returning that respect every time you'd prioritise their lives over yours, telling them to retreat, to find cover as you had a handle on every situation, on every battle. You never abandoned them.

"Fine.. But I'll need at least one of you to accompany me." You paused, quirking a brow at the Captain, conveying your seriousness in just one look. "And I'll need the men to be on guard, okay? We can't risk being caught off guard if anything were to happen." You finally finished, your toast long forgotten, cooling down in the chilled canteen, as Rex graced you with the gentlest of smiles, his gaze softening the longer he listened to you.

He knew he could count on you, and he would prove to you that this wasn't a mistake. That it wouldn't be. 

Clearing his throat, Rex stood up from his seat, rounding the table to you. 

"Thank you General, I can assure you that the squadron will be ready for any and every circumstance, and I will personally escort you to the meetings. You have my word." He spoke, reaching his hand out for yours. Confusedly, you extended your hand into his grasp, a hint of pink dusting your cheeks as he pressed a swift kiss to your knuckles.

"R-Re- Uhm, Captain," You stuttered and paused, clearing your throat as you prayed for the blush to go away, "There is no need to thank me." You insisted, slowly getting up from your seat. His gaze followed you, tracing over your body with an unknown emotion hiding behind his thick lashes.

"Thank you General, now if you'll excuse me, I'll go inform the others that haven't heard." He stated, bidding you a goodbye, cheers following soon after as Rex lifted a hand, signing a thumbs up to some of his men behind you. Your gaze followed his form as you watched him exit the canteen, his head turning to look back at you one last time before the doors slid shut behind him. 

"What the hell was that.." You whispered, continuing your breakfast as your thoughts ran at tens of miles an hour, a blush permanently settled on your cheeks.

-

"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea?" Fives asked as he adjusted his helmet, following Rex as they made their way to your quarters.

"Yes yes, I'm sure. She should be in here anyway." Rex stated, waving his brother's concerns off as they rounded the corner, your bedroom doors coming into sight. "Besides, she said we should meet her at her quarters before we depart." He insisted, coming to a stop by your doors.

Raising his fisted hand, Rex knocked on your doors three times before backing away, waiting for a response. 

As a moment turned into a minute, and a minute turned into three, Rex knocked again, this time calling out your title. "General? Are you in there?" He asked, his voice raised in uncertainty. When he received no reply once again, he shook his head.

"I don't think she's in there." He turned to Fives, feet ready to start moving again as his brain racked over any other locations on the ship that you frequented. Fives looked at Rex, quirking a curious brow at him, though his helmet covered any and all expressions he shot in his brother's way.

"Maybe we should go in? Who knows, maybe the General got herself stuck in the refresher." He quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as Fives made his way over to your door. Pressing a button, the doors swiftly opened before him. 

Walking over to the doors of your refresher, Rex followed after Fives, taking his helmet off, unable to, unwilling to, stop his eyes from wondering all over your room, taking note of the lack of personalised decorations in your bedroom. There was a desk, numerous multi-coloured folders stacked neatly on top of it, a small lamp next to them.

He looked over your wardrobe, his fingers itching to pull it open, to see what other articles of clothing you owned apart from your Jedi robes.

As Fives knocked at the refresher doors, his helmet at his side, Rex inched closer to your bed, noticing a small notebook hidden just beside your pillow, still open on the most recent page. His fingers reached over for it, eyes scanning over the yellow-coloured pages, gloved hands gliding over the leathery spine of the small book. 

"Oooh, what's that?"

Before Rex could react, the book was snatched from his grasp, his head snapping upwards to see Fives flipping through the pages, turning and closing the book, only to gasp. That had Rex's ears almost twitching, a curious brow quirked up. 

"What? What is it Fives?" Rex asked, standing next to his brother. 

The silence that followed made him uneasy, and leaning his head closer, he looked to the book, his lips gaping open.

"Do you see what I see?" Fives inquired, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned his head to Rex. All that Rex could do was nod in stunned silence.

"Y/n's Personal Diary.." Fives whispered aloud, eyes scanning over the firsts page.

A lump built up in Rex's throat, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides as Fives read over the words you had messily written in your diary, his heart thumping as he recounted each memory, a soft smile tugging at both brothers' lips as they could feel every emotion you had spilled out onto the pages.

Though they quickly scrambled to hide the small book behind their backs, interrupted by the sound of your bedroom doors sliding open.

A scream left your lips as your gaze landed on the two armoured men, heart racing wildly at the unexpected scare. Their gazes didn't linger on you for too long, a faint pink ghosting over their cheeks as they looked anywhere but you.

"H-Hi General, we tried knocking but-" Rex begun, unsure of how to explain why he and his brother were snooping around your quarters.

"We were worried that you got stuck in the refresher when we heard no answer, so we wanted to make sure you were safe and ready for our trip." Fives finished Rex's sentence, casting his brother and Captain a side glance, his lips stretched into an awkward, innocent grin on his face. 

"R-Right.. Sorry, General, it won't happen again."

"That's quite alright, I'm actually flattered you men were worried about me," You spoke softly, hand covering your mouth as you giggled at their explanation, your heart warming at the thought that the two cared so much for your well-being. Though you wouldn't let yourself show just how much that thought made you blush. "Now come on, we've got meetings to go to." You exclaimed, waving the two men over as you made your way out into the hall.

Giving each other a knowing glance, Rex and Fives followed, quietly telling one another to hide the diary. Rex nudged Fives with his elbow, now too far gone to quietly and innocently return the book to its original place.

"Just shove it into your bag.." Rex hissed out through thin lips, rushing after you as he cast his brother one last glance, making sure the diary was stored safely in one of their backpacks. 

[zgvlt]

hearts held out of harms way ace trappola x reader x deuce spade (polycule)

commissioned by: shopkeep !!!

summary: in which (1) ace, a nobleman, desperately wants to be more than just the earl you and deuce serve; (2) deuce, a knight, doesn't how to get not just one but two people to fall in love with him; and (3) you, a fairy, try to push ace and deuce together while ignoring your own feelings for them

tags: gender neutral reader (only you is used), sfw, fluff, knight x nobility x fairy, commoner x nobility, poly relationship, getting together fic, 8.3k+ words, not beta read, completed (division by "chapters" = just a stylistic choice)

The young Lord Ace Trappola was a nobleman people found difficulty understanding. The new earl—and how new he truly was; how unexpected, too—was many things all at once and, depending on who was asked, they would all have something different to say in regards to the gentleman.

For instance, some would say he was no gentleman at all—some being a past love, who claimed she had never really felt his love for her at all. It was not too uncommon for nobles to abandon their old partner one way or another, but it did dishearten those in society seeking to become his marriage candidate.

Others, specifically his old schoolmates from the academy, would call him clever and cheery but a little too carefree, so much so that they were surprised he had been declared not just the heir, but had taken hold of the position the moment he left his youth. Was it the truth, that he was that kind of character? Yes, though it did give way to less than savory questions regarding his inexperience and capabilities.

Finally, though said noble would not know until later how the rumor had been birthed, it was said that he was a man who had deceived everyone magnificently into thinking he was who he presented himself to the public. As to who or what he truly was, nobody could quite agree. There were those that argued he was the manipulative sort, perhaps one who dabbled in illegal magic, for how else could he ascend to his position so quickly? There were those, too, who had proposed that perhaps their household had something to hide, that the young Trappola was simply a dutiful son to his father.

A small, terribly small group, however, would argue that the truth behind Ace Trappola was that he…

“Good morning My Lord!” Ace looked up from his desk, immediately abandoning his work. It’s not that he’s particularly excited or anything, but he sure does think that his two faithful attendants are far more fun than any scroll or sheet of paper could be.

Former delinquent turned knight, his right-hand man Deuce Spade had a serious look on his face despite the jolly greeting. Beside him was you, his right-hand’s right-hand, a fairy who greeted him in a calm but elegant manner. The juxtaposition between his two aides had surprised him once-upon-a-time, but he’d come to realize that they were far better suited to each other than he had initially realized.

“Lock the doors, then be at ease,” he ordered. Though he did not care much for appearing particularly prim or proper, the idea of being walked in on while he conversed with his two companions did not appeal to him either.

“Slacking again, Lord Trappola?” You peered over his shoulder, reading the documents he had atop his table. “Household affairs? New knightings? Isn’t that mere child’s play for you? You could very likely finish all of those in one go.”

“If I accomplish all of it in one sitting, they will think it a sign to pile more work for me the day after,” he explained, as though it were common sense. “It’s better to slack off a little bit sometimes. I understand I’m quite capable, but I detest people who push all their work onto others.”

“There, there. You can let your worries out with me,” you laughed at him, fingers combing through his unkempt hair as you did so. It was an action he always distinguished from his father and brother, who would purposefully ruffle it, or Deuce, who accidentally chopped a portion off with his sword. 

He used to think it was out of pity, once, or some kind of disapproval, the way you could bicker and banter with Deuce but hesitated to do the same with him. However, nowadays it was easy to tell that it was your way of empathizing with him. That good-naturedness of yours was probably why Deuce clung to you, too. “Let’s have you spar with Deuce so you can catch a break.”

“Exactly what I was thinking! Can you read minds or something? You know I don’t know much about fairies.”

“You just so happen to be an open book, Deuce. If I had come to possess that kind of ability, though…” Ace knew you were merely being humorous, an attempt at getting a laugh out of him and a way to tease Deuce, but he did shiver the slightest bit as you laughed ominously. Just what would you do given that kind of power? “Though not quite fairy, I have heard of a fae that can see people’s dreams… Or was it manipulate? I can’t quite recall.” 

“If someone were to see my dreams…” Deuce blanched, and Ace found himself curious by the reaction. By the looks of it, you were curious, too. Ace’s dreams tended to be the nonsensical sort—that or he could never remember them at all save for a detail or two, like how you or Deuce or even some old schoolmates from the academy would simply appear. 

“Now that you mention it, I do remember you sleep talking.” You looked away from Deuce and back to him, fingers still weaving through his hair. “There was a night, when Deuce and I were still wanderers, where…”

Cruel, Ace thought to himself, smiling, the good-natured fairy could tease the poor knight again and again. 

“You truly are incapable of not embarrassing me at every opportunity, especially in front of our liege,” the blue haired man huffed, though he hardly seemed frustrated. On the contrary, his gaze had gone through a fiery change, as though engaged in a new competition. “If we are to compare sleeping habits, then yours–”

“Are not as worse, I am certain.” In truth, Ace was unsure if you were being truthful, but that aside–

“Oho, feel free to argue and spill your deepest secrets in front of me~ Although…” he feigned a sigh, “did the two of you forget my presence? Or that I know nothing of either of your sleeping patterns?” Or that it was considered inappropriate to so much as discuss nighttime activities, no matter how innocent? Ace could not say he was against it, however, having always been less… traditional, he supposed.

At his words, neither you nor Deuce had the decency to be embarrassed, though the latter made a genuine attempt at appearing to be. Clearly he had done a good job of keeping things as casual and comfortable as possible, even with the imbalance of power. That he could not erase, but at the very least he would feel much better if it could be ignored.

“Ahem, so are you up for it, Ace? The sparring? It could be good practice for the upcoming tournament.” Deuce had been leaning against the door as he said it, but he jolted up as he’d come to realize his informality. “Or, uh, Lord Ace? No, should it be Lord Trappola?”

Never mind. Perhaps some work still needed to be done, after all.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace said quickly, hoping to elucidate the matter. The previous topic had not been forgotten, but perhaps he would be able to bring the matter up at a different time. “It’s just the three of us right now. Isn’t it exhausting being so formal all the time?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Deuce replied, “although I have a feeling I’ll call you the wrong thing in public.”

“Mhm, it’s the same for me, which is why I’m avoiding forgoing the title,” you sighed, “we’d cause quite the scandal if we so much as fumble–”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter!” Ace snorted, “What do they care? You’re my people, so if they have a problem with how I let the two of you address me, then they should bring it up with the Earl of Trappola himself!”

For the most part, he had been serious with his proclamation—the formalities were starting to get to him, and he’d prefer to maintain Deuce’s casualness with him; has been meaning to convert you into dropping the titles, too. However, the way Deuce blinked up at him and the way you began clapping made it feel as though he had put on some performance instead, a rare show of his nobility.

“Our Lord… is a noble too, after all,” Deuce said with disbelief—Ace thought it to be feigned, though a small part of him wondered if it was genuine. You followed suit with a slow nod of your head. 

“We made the right choice of pledging our loyalty to him after all.”

“Hah?” Ace scratched his head, inevitably messing with what you had worked to fix. “Seriously, would the me of the past have guessed the two outsiders I brought into my estate would become the bane of my existence?”

He had said as much, though he knew—and he knew that his two attendants knew, too—that no regrets had been brought in with said decision.

Deuce Spade enjoyed the life he was currently living.

It was a stark contrast to the life he possessed back home, his troublesome ways before he stowed away on that boat, before he crossed paths with you in that forest, before the two of you somehow wound up in the Trappola estate.

It was a tough life and he had ways to go before he could show his face to his mother, but it was a life he could finally be proud of, a life that was his.

Which was why he trained intensively and persistently, the need to prove his resolve not simply to the world, but to the people who he cherished in that world—the parent who awaited his letters every week, whom he lived for, and the two he swore to protect, whom he would lay down his life for… 

But he knew you would be angered to hear such a bold statement, and the noble he was guarding would ask how he grew to become so serious, so he supposed he would have to keep his perspective a secret.

He thanked the Queen and whatever deities there were up there that you could not read minds, or see dreams for that matter. How troubling would it have been for him if you knew how his affections had grown for you and for–

“Oh, is that for Ace?” 

Though he supposed you already knew of that, thus he only had his feelings for you being leaked to be worried about. Not that he was not worried about his feelings for Ace being made known—both, both were cause of worry. The mere idea of him being fond of two people should have been troubling, what more that one was his close companion and the other his liege?!

“Ace? Is that right?” he said with a stifled chuckle, “Were you not the one who wanted to address him properly?”

“What could you possibly mean? I could never! Well, if you pretend you did not hear my informality, that is.” Stepping closer and fully entering his quarters, you peered over his shoulder, eyeing the soft fabric carefully. You prodded a finger at the handkerchief, tracing his attempt at embroidery. “You have gotten better! The heart is cute.”

“Only in the front. You should see how badly I fumbled the back,” he said, showing you the messy stitching himself. Still, he knew progress was progress, and he gleamed at you having taken notice of his hard work. “Whoever could have guessed that years of watching my mother stitch my clothes back together would be of use for this very reason?”

“I’m sure she would be proud to see your work so far.” 

Genuine. That was always something he enjoyed about you—genuine in your actions, genuine in your words. Thinking about it, it was somewhat humorous that he had come to like Ace Trappola too despite his selective dishonesty. He supposed, at the end of the day, it had to do with his honed ability to detect those with immoral intentions, the inherent lack of such within the two of you.

Surrounded by people who were good to him, he often found himself thinking he could finally be on the right path—the path of becoming someone good for his mother.

“It might be nice to have one sent to her as well, though not yet,” Deuce replied sheepishly, “even though I worked hard on this one, it seems practice is still needed on my end.” 

“I believe in you. What is a needle if not a small sword? What are stitches if not… hmm… different techniques using the needle, just as stances and movements are to battle?” Even you seemed unsure about the last analogy. Nevertheless, it had made Deuce laugh, your intentions in uplifting his spirits effective as always.

“More like things you must get after a battle,” he retorted, shaking his head. “Given the topic, it should be appropriate to ask… How’s your progress?”

“Progress with…?”

“Your token!” he reminded, finding you silly for forgetting. “You’ve chosen to craft an amulet, right?”

“I did say that, yes. It seemed fitting given magic is my specialty, even though handkerchiefs and ribbons seem to be the norm in society these days. I’ve yet to review the rules, though, so perhaps no spells can be imbued yet,” you sighed, “So should I give something, an amulet or some kind of  charm would be good.”

By now, he could say he knew you rather well, and he knew that while you did your best to be truthful with him, you did not exactly shy away from allowing people to interpret your words differently. Sometimes, you seem to want to be misunderstood. 

It’s just too bad that he caught and understood your choice of wording.

“What do you mean by should you?  Did we not agree we were both giving Ace something?”

You shrugged. “Would it not be better if, oh, perhaps you were the only one to give him a gift?”

“But we both care for him as our liege and as his… friends? Companions? Whatever the appropriate term may be, we are that to him and he is that to us. Certainly he would appreciate getting something from you?” he reasoned, an attempt at convincing you to continue as planned.

“Yes, but you like him. I am able to give him a token at some other time surely, but for now… I don’t see how my giving him anything will aid in my mission to help you convey your feelings–oh don’t look at me like that, fine, your appreciation for him.”

He huffed out your name, willing to argue with you about the situation if he really needed to, but after staring you down the best he could whilst looking up at you, you eventually relented, as though carrying a soft spot for him, or for Ace. 

Likelihood was that it was both.

“I will consider it, but don’t mention anything. In any case, since I’m banned from competing due to the humans-only stipulation, hmph, I’ll give you a token. Since you’ll be competing for the both of us.”

Deuce finally smiled. He would still try to make sure you handed Ace one as well, but for now he would pretend to be satisfied with his small victory.

“If–When I win, I’ll make sure Ace knows it’ll be on both of our behalves.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling as well. “Have I ever told you I was thankful? That you are always trying to include me in things, even with matters in regards to Ace? Even when I’m not actually one of his knights?”

It’s because I like you too, you foolish fairy! 

“Because you are our resident fairy and perhaps the best magic user in the estate,” he proclaimed. Always the first to tease you, always the first to praise you.

“Well if you put it that way,” you chuckled, “and since you are being so terribly kind to me today, I’ll put in the effort to defend you should the young lord throw a fit about his own knight beating him in the tournament… and of course, I shall comfort you should you throw a fit should you lose to him.”

“So win or lose, it will be a lose-lose situation. Absolutely wonderful!” He had only been joking, truly, but you gave him a slight nudge at the comment. 

“Just do your best regardless!” 

You laughed, a warmth not unlike the sunlight peeking from the woodlands the day he first met you. 

“Besides, you have a goal when you win, don’t you?” 

Momentarily bashful, determination soon replaced it. Fears and anxieties aside, Deuce knew that should he win, the adrenaline would certainly convince him to profess his adoration and devotion to their earl and, unbeknownst to you, their fairy.

“A confession.”

“Oh, for sure, but that should only be the first step!” you encouraged, always the first to aid him in his lofty ambitions. “Have you considered marriage? Or a grand trip to another nation? I heard the Sunset Savanna is lovely this time of year.”

He snorted, “Perhaps nobility move faster than us commoners, but I find a proposal would be too sudden even for human standards. However… A trip does sound nice.”

“Does it not? Ah, but should you go about one in the future, I’ll lock you both out of the manor if you fail to bring me a souvenir.”

“I cannot speak for Ace, but… Oh, I might as well—Ace will certainly lock you out of the manor should you refuse to come with us!” 

“You shall be there to help me back inside.”

“Wrong! As a matter of fact, I will be present to drag you in the carriage with us.” He was being quite serious, but you laughed at his apparent persistence. 

“All three of us stuck in a carriage, perhaps even a boat or two, for weeks,” you were groaning with feigned displeasure, but when you told him it’d likely be good fun, he could tell even you couldn’t lie to yourself there, that you enjoyed their company as much as he, and to speak for someone else, and Ace did.

But as much as he enjoyed having you around, he also knew that with you being in his room, any more progress for the day was pretty much impossible. Ace’s aside, he’s going to have a hard time starting on your handkerchief anytime soon if you’re going to remain a frequent visitor.

Ace knew he carried a certain attitude about the work assigned to him. He knew, despite the loyalty of those in his estate, his detractors would call him all sorts of insults, deprecate him and his character, see him as nothing more than a young man who cared not for aged tradition and stiff nobility, and had no ability to command and control his territory. 

Ability aside, he simply never cared to accomplish them immediately as opposed to pacing them according to his tastes. 

Thus, he would do as he wished, just as his ancestors would’ve before him. After all, would his family have become, and stayed for that matter, nobles if they had continued to abide by what was expected? 

If anything, would it not be expected of him to differ from the rest of them? A smart person would, he believed.

Which was why he found himself in the markets again, not bothering to put on any sort of disguise. He grew up visiting the nearby towns anyway, with some of the vendors having practically raised him since childhood, so really, what was the point?

“I’m still not convinced this is the best idea,” Deuce sighed, following him a little too far for his liking, “not that my opinion should matter. What you say goes, Lord Ace!”

“You have gotten comfortable enough with me to complain about the tasks I give you, but not comfortable enough to walk a centimeter closer or call me by my given name alone,” Ace teased, putting on a show of scolding his knight. “Your perception of what is more egregious between the three astounds me.”

“It is one thing for you to be alright with it, it is another for the prying ears to be. If it were only up to me, I would talk quite informally to you, too.” Ace need not question who too was referring to, for there was only one other person in the estate Deuce relied on to the extent of comfort: you.

“And I’ve let you change the subject… Really, what will happen if an assassin, or someone who wants to cause you harm, comes across you in broad daylight?”

“Then you’ll deal with them! Although… I may be able to protect myself better than you, hmm?” he laughed, shaking his head at the slight irritation Deuce attempted to hide. He could not get back at him now, but Ace was sure Deuce would attempt to do so the next time they were on the training grounds. “And perhaps I wished to change the subject of our conversation.”

“To?”

“You, perhaps. Our one and only fairy as well, possibly.” 

Except, despite his wording, he was positively assured of his choices. Discussing the two of them—well, the three of you, was always a difficult affair when you were around, and Ace is not dense enough to not detect your affection and yet avoidance of him, the scheming nature you seem to possess and yet hold back in front of him but fully show towards Deuce.

He never needed a companion during his trips out, sometimes preferred not to have one, so perhaps his invitation carried impure intentions. 

Deuce stiffened and though he tried to pass it off as a simple response to his surroundings, Ace knew better. What could have rendered such a reaction? Was it a secret you, or him, or the both of you together, were hiding? Was it something he ought not to know but would undoubtedly weed out right this second?

“What could you possibly want to know?” his knight inquired, seemingly nervous around him. How uncharacteristic. 

“A few things. For starters… There’s something wrong.”

“With what?”

Your name left Ace’s lips. Even to his ears it sounded a bit awkward, like he knew how to say it but barely uttered it outside of his head, at least compared to how Deuce would say it—undoubtedly familiar with you in a way he, too, wanted to be. It’s only then that Ace realized his hypocrisy… or, if hypocrisy was too strong a description, then the humor with the two of you.

His insistence at being just Ace and not Earl Ace or Lord Trappola, yet his persistence in calling you their fairy, their magician. 

Maybe it’s the need to remind himself that you’re one of his people, too, without having to commit to actually saying it. Maybe it’s his way of letting you know of your presence in his life, considering you always seemed so insistent on downplaying your importance to him and, if his eyes are working as clearly as he thinks, to Deuce as well.

Really, did you think he played favorites? Because he did, obviously, but the plurality implied he certainly had more than one! For such a scheming being, were you not oddly dense?

“I see…” Deuce muttered. With a hint of embarrassment, Ace figured the knight actually understood, if not completely then partially, his troubles when it came to you. “What could I… Is there any way for me to help?”

Cute. He’d rather gouge his eyes out than admit he thinks it unironically, but he still remembers the rascal that appeared in front of his manor, all roughed up with a scary but determined look on his face. Seeing Deuce be so thoughtful and kind when it comes to both him and you is just plain nice—the heavens know the world needs more people like that around him… and in noble society in general, but he’d rather not share with them.

“Help?”

“With, you know… I could give you advice, or–”

Ace sighed. Speaking of dense… Is there even a good way to say, ‘If the two of you haven’t noticed, I have a severe, desperate need to infiltrate and be a part of whatever it is the two of you have’ without being perceived as rude, or worse, a complete nutter.

Not being able to think of anything, he reluctantly changed the subject.

“Let’s go look around the market. Help the local economy! Purchase a few things for ourselves.”

The man next to him narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Ace genuinely worried that Deuce realized everything. Sure, he mocked the two of you in his head for not understanding him, but he certainly was not ready to reveal anything! Especially without any assurance from either involved party!

The knight did not utter another word for a while, simply guiding him through the stalls, prattling about things you enjoyed. Alongside him, the earl absorbed every piece of information, all the while watching whatever it was the Deuce’s eyes landed on for more than a few seconds.

Ace, whether he was aware of it or not, harbored feelings for you, Deuce was sure of it. He had his assumptions beforehand, mostly due to his increasing number of delusions of all three of you. In any case, there was no doubt in his mind now—he was not alone in harboring feelings for you.

On one hand, he could not blame Ace. You were, for all intents and purposes, his first friend, a cherished friend, thus he understood how the earl could fall for you. If anything, he’s going as far as applauding the choice. If anyone deserves love and adoration, of course it should be you! 

On the other hand, he’s reminded of his own troubles. If Ace is troubled with getting you to be more comfortable and closer to him, Deuce is troubled with getting not one, but two people to miraculously like him in the same manner he does. Meanwhile, Deuce can’t even tell if you like either one of them that way! It’s just a mess, truthfully, one he cannot speak of lest all three of you end up in a scandal, so he can do nothing but keep quiet…

Alright, perhaps that was not entirely true. There was something he could do.

“That’s a nice color,” Deuce commented. He can’t really differentiate the stones when they’re all round and smoothed out so he’s not sure if you’re holding a jasper or a carnelian (names he knows only because you had a knack for buying all sorts of stones) or something else entirely, but it’s this blend of orange and red and he knew it was chosen for a reason.

You smiled at him fondly, knowingly, “I’m not surprised you like the color. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re already aware of what I think.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop with the teasing.” You abide by your word, dropping your stare so you could focus on the task at hand—creating an amulet for Ace. “It can’t be helped that I cannot resist either one of you.”

“Then don’t! Did either of us ever imply that you should do as such?” he huffed, “I know for certain that Ace—”

“That I would what, exactly?”

As though caught in the midst of an immoral act, Deuce scrambled to hide everything as quickly as possible for you, shoving the stone in the nearest box he could open. Meanwhile, you were left to face Ace, who made no show of being even the slightest bit apologetic for his intrusion.

“Aren’t nobles meant to have perfect etiquette?” Were you smiling? Yes. Did you look amused? Not particularly. “I’m always happy to see you, Ace, but I can’t say for certain that I appreciate your storming in my quarters without so much as a knock on the door.”

“You don’t look particularly happy right now.” Ace, by contrast, looked particularly happy at your slip up, and Deuce would do his part in not calling you out on it… until Ace left, of course.

But the earl seemed to have no intentions of doing so any time soon, propping himself up against the now-shut door. 

“I’m perfectly happy, for sure,” you insisted, and though your face was not betraying it, Deuce thought you truly meant it. “But what are you doing here? You’ve never visited my room before.”

“I meant to look for Deuce to see if he wanted to train–”

You and Deuce locked eyes instantly. You’re trying not to make your change in expression too noticeable, but Deuce has observed you far too many times to not notice. It’s incredibly evident that it embarrassed him, almost, that you could be so happy for him because of something so very simple. 

It was a childish sort of glee, which might have been why he accepted it so readily. He never had the chance to experience that sort of situation and he’s not too sure you have either, having a laugh with someone over some puppy love. 

“He’s certainly free to do so,” you supplied, “if you want to, you’re free to take him off my hands right now.”

“Ah, but I’ve changed my mind. We train every day, so we should have a change of pace, should we not? Perhaps the tavern that opened the week prior?” 

“Hmm, should you really be forgoing training? The current victor of the tournament, the young Rosehearts, will be competing, too.” you interjected. It’s not an outright rejection of a suggestion, but Ace should have prepared a better excuse if this was his plan all along, thought Deuce. Still, he was currently his liege’s number one supporter—more time spent with the both of you? He could not see it as anything but a positive for all parties involved. 

“Oh please! What’s one day spent with my two companions instead of training until sundown?” Ace snorted, “And it was different last year! This year, my victory against the young duke is certain.”

“To be sure,” Deuce replied immediately, half out of belief and half out of solidarity of having lost to the same man. Next to him, you nodded your head slowly.

“Then if you’re certain…” What you said about not being able to resist Ace and Deuce must have been true, your reluctance at heading out visibly fading. This time, it’s Ace and Deuce who exchanged a knowing glance, and the same, childish feeling bubbled up within him again.

It’s not quite the trip to the other nation you mentioned to him, but it’s a delightful start, is it not?

“Then the both of you better get changed!” Ace grinned boyishly, “Or don’t! Regardless, I’ll have the carriage prepared by five!”

“Wait a moment, shouldn’t we be calling the carriage for you?!” you exclaimed, but the earl had already left your quarters. “Good riddance. Deuce, could I have the amulet I was working on back? We have some time before we need to leave and… I have the sinking suspicion he won’t leave us alone before the next few days.”

“Definitely. To both statements.” Remembering where he had placed it, he opened up the wooden box to retrieve the stone, only to be distracted by an already completed amulet—a nice blue that reminded him awfully of… ah. 

“Deuce? The amulet?” you asked again, shaking him out of his reverie.

“Here.” If you notice anything odd about his expression you do not speak of it, allowing him to leave your room peacefully to ready himself for the awaited excursion.

“I told Deuce I would comfort him should he lose to you… I can’t say I expected this turn of events instead.”

Perhaps Ace should have trained more. 

In his defense, he did not think Riddle Rosehearts would have done that well in the tournament considering there were no horses to ride on this season. His athleticism was never the best either during their days at the academy, so even if his swings were passable, his stamina should have run out quickly enough. And yet…

“But next year surely, my liege,” you comforted him, wiping the sweat off of him with a white handkerchief, uncaring of the fact that the both of you were in public or, perhaps, knowing everyone’s eyes would be on the ongoing match rather than the two of you. Even though Ace prided himself of being the (self-designated) mature person amongst the three of you, he did not say no to the opportunity of receiving your attention and affection. 

“Besides, not all hope is lost. We can still have the winner come from our house.”

Our house. Ace gleamed at your words. Of course. The ideal situation would have been to face off against his knight, but as much as he wanted to be the winner, Deuce being the victor would have been just as much of a joyous affair for the Trappola Earldom.

“If our Deucey wins, he’ll never let me forget it,” he sighed.

“But it would be worth it, having someone to avenge you, wouldn’t it?” Seemingly having deemed him presentable enough, your hands returned to your lap, handkerchief in tow. It's only then that Ace realizes it.

“Deuce gave you one too,” he said, more amused than anything. “What’d he sew for you?”

You didn't respond but you did smile, so it was likely something meaningful to you. If you were happy, then Deuce must have done a good job at choosing something for you, just as he chose something that well-suited him.

“He did not have to. I’m not competing in this tournament, so…” Again, Ace thought, you were smiling, so what did it matter if Deuce did not have to. Could people not act based on wants, now?

“And yet you’re using it, just as you’re wearing the tassel I gave you.” He grinned, fingers flicking the fringes the color you loved most, allegedly. If Deuce gave him the right information. You liked it enough to keep it on you, at least. “The tassel I did not have to get you.”

“It’s nice. They’re both nice gifts,” you murmured, and even though you’re no longer meeting his gaze he can still tell that you’re being honest. A part of him will attribute it to his amazing observation skills, but another, far warmer part of him knows it’s because he’s gotten to know you better. 

The two of you are already by his side, closer than before, and yet it is still not enough.

“What design did Deuce sew for your handkerchief?”

“Don’t pretend like you do not know.” For he knew for a fact that Deuce must have shared it with you, or at the very least failed to hide it from you (just as he failed to hide his tokens from Deuce).

“Then what do you think of it?”

He brought it out of his breast pocket, having tucked it in there before his matches began. 

“The hearts are differing in sizes. You can tell there were loose threads he tried cutting as much as possible without ruining the whole work. Still, there are hearts, the symbol of Trappola.” The symbol of Deuce’s dedication and loyalty. 

“It’s… I suppose it’s—” You threw him a look, and Ace reluctantly gave in, “—It is good. Give me a break! Nobles tend to have a hard time being honest, you know! If you think I’m bad, you ought to see the rest of them!”

You laughed, “I know, I know. I won’t tell. You should do it by yourself, after all.”

“Only if he wins,” he said, grinning.

“So I’ll tell him for you if he loses?” 

“A menace, you are,” he muttered, “I’ll tell him you thought he would lose, then.”

You no longer respond to his taunt, eyes now stuck to the grounds, clearly waiting for a certain blue-haired knight to appear before everyone’s very eyes, but your hands are moving, reaching into one of your pockets as though searching for something.

“I meant to give you something as well,” you said, pulling out two amulets. The stones are different in color, different in shape, but the similar craftsmanship all lead to one creator—you. “I’m aware these types of tokens tend to be given out before the matches, for good luck of course, but I’ve gone and imbued magic so I couldn’t take the risk of disqualification, and thus…”

You’re explaining. Overexplaining, really, in Ace’s humble opinion, every possible meaning you could think of—the importance of the stone’s color, the stone itself, what rune’s been inlaid and what spells you’ve enchanted it with. It’s detailed and clearly an overly complicated process and yes, he cannot deny that his heart is not unaffected by the gesture, but looking at the clearly matching amulets just makes him laugh.

He snatches the red one out of your waiting  hand, knowing what was clearly meant for him. His heart had just calmed down and yet it is full again.

So he might have been dense too, but at least he was the first to figure it out. That is a victory in and of itself, one he is never going to forget and let go of. Ever.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing!” He’s thumbing the amulet within his palm, invigorated despite his loss earlier. Even with the magic, he doubts it’s the stone’s doing. “Just thinking of how entertaining things will be from here on out.”

“Because of the match?”

“Sure,” Ace laughed, “because of the match.”

“I still got further into the competition than you,” Deuce argued, nursing his own injuries with one hand and… holding onto your amulet with the other hand. The injured hand. He justified it by saying it was because the amulet had healing properties, as you said, but he was just busy admiring it and thinking of a way to combine it with his (Ace’s) tassel to make a combined good luck charm of some sort.

“Second place is still the first place loser, Loosey-Deucey” mocked Ace, though not out of ill-intent. He knows malice is not at all there by the way he patted him on the back after his duel, the way he beamed at his progress, the way he promised to train harder with him so either one of them could take the young duke down. It’s the sincerity before everything else that makes him take everything he says with a grain of salt.

You seemed to understand all the same, simply allowing the two to go at it with each other since they were unable to do so officially. 

“It does not matter. I would have won if it was a competition of fists over swords,” Deuce laughed, “it’s just a shame. There was something I wanted to do if I won, but since I lost, I don’t have it in me to proceed.”

“Pray tell, what could that possibly be, dear Deuce?” 

He stared the earl down, shaking his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. You can find out when I win next year, my liege.”

“Is that so?” Ace asked, quirked eyebrow, almost as if he interpreted his personal oath as a challenge to beat. “And if I win instead of you, will you not go about completing this quest of yours?”

Beside him, you stood up.

“Perhaps I should set off—”

“Absolutely not!” Ace interjected just as Deuce reached out to stop you from moving, hand grasping your arm. There’s a momentary confusion—he knows why he stopped you from moving, you and your assumptions on this and that occurring between him and Ace and you wanting to step away from it, but Ace stopping you is…

“Hold on, should I leave?”

“What, no! Nobody’s leaving! I’m not getting up from here either! Are the two of you truly oblivious or are you playing oblivious?” Ace groaned, scrunching up his nose in distress. “Why is being the smartest person in the room such a difficult affair?”

“Rude,” Deuce muttered, before quickly inquiring, “but to what are you referring to?”

Instead of words, Ace made an odd motion with his hands, some triangular gesture that was clearly meant to speak louder than words. 

Deuce wants to laugh because it’s an amusing action for a nobleman to be making but humorously, it works well in getting Deuce to understand. It was to be expected, considering he spent much of his time thinking of this exact scenario (albeit, a setting more romantic than the manor’s medical ward, but he’s not in a position to be fussy about the details). He’s trying to catch your eye immediately, but compared to him, you just seem… confused.

Not confused in the sense that you did not understand what Ace was referring to—there was no subtlety in his implications—but more so a general confusion over what was happening.

“I know about Deuce’s feelings, quite obviously, and I was more than certain that his feelings for you had a chance of being reciprocated, so my being here…”

Deuce cannot help himself anymore, and it appears neither can Ace as they both erupt into laughter of chaos and disbelief. Who or what they are laughing at is not a question—it is everything, and then themselves for their own, self-induced stupidity and suffering. 

“I get that it might not have been obvious with me, but with Deuce?” Ace exclaimed, astounded at how you failed to realize the knight’s affections. “He could not have made it any more obvious if he tried!”

“Sorry? It’s quite difficult to determine gratefulness versus love versus love…

“And let’s not be a hypocrite as I could say the same for you, my lord! I thought Deuce was plenty obvious about his feelings, and yet, if I am right in regards to the timing of this affair, you’ve just realized it recently,” you huffed, “we are one in the same.”

Deuce stops laughing. Why did it feel like the two of you were blaming him for your respective lack of analytical skills?!

“As long as we agree that’s not my fault! If I was incredibly obvious, as the two of you would put it, the two of you are anything but.” But with Deuce’s insistence, the two of you turn to look at him as though he had grown a second head.

“What? No! We could make an argument for Ace as I was only mostly sure that your feelings for him were reciprocated, but I hardly made any effort to conceal my own.”

“Agreed. It was as clear as day to the point that I thought the two of you had already gotten into a relationship,” laughed Ace, probably the most honest he was going to be for the rest of the day, “and without me! I was quite offended at the thought of being excluded.”

“Like we could ever leave you be, my lord,” you replied, half a joke but fully the truth. “What would have become of us without you in the first place?”

“Like you would ever let us leave you be,” Deuce quipped, having finally absorbed the situation. If it was an accurate assessment, Ace had no plans of letting them know, merely grinning in response. “What would become of you had we not arrived at your estate?”

“Well there would be far less rumors about me, for one.” Still, the Earl Trappola will remain himself, the need to appear as though he had the upper hand when they all knew the feelings shared between them were of equal measure. Still, with a singular gesture, the two of them walk towards their liege—amulet clanging against his remaining armor, tassels swaying with your very steps. 

“But who cares about that, right?” Deuce replied, knowing it would be what Ace wished to hear—after all, he’d been pretty apparent about it since day one. As they neared him, Ace pulled them closer, making sure the both of them sat on either side of him. 

Then, Deuce heard the door lock. Ace and Deuce both turned to you, the obvious culprit, and you merely shrugged. “I know we’re not supposed to care, but let’s not cause a scandal today of all days! Who knows how many prying eyes there are in the estate!”

“Too many. Don’t be surprised if a strongly worded, but supportive, letter from either father or my brother arrives at our doorstep tomorrow morning,” Ace snorted, “Just hope it’s not some distant relative. I’m sure there are some spies prowling in our manor as we speak.”

“There won’t be any if we deal with them!” Deuce declared, “We’ll protect your dignity, my lord!”

You nod in agreement just as Ace smiles. “I’ll hold you two to that!”

There are other things Deuce wants to declare, to ask and to question. He wants to know what they are now, what will change between the three of them, and what will be of them in the future. He wants to ask and yet it doesn’t feel quite right, not now, perhaps because he already knows, and what he knows is not mere fantasy but reality.

Dear Madam,  Good day to you. I hope you do not mind if I skip the formalities. Until this fairy learns how to send letters with magic alone, the cost of these letters will unfortunately be priced according to how many sheets of paper we use up. In any case, Deuce must have updated you about everything that has happened in his letters. He must have also mentioned that the earl and I will be sending you letters to ask for your permission or blessing or whatever word it had been that the earl had used. In truth, we had been mostly joking regarding that. Ace—the earl—does not believe that the process of seeing one another requires permission from one’s parents, he is far from traditional, but we had come to the agreement to push through with the letters first due to the unusual state of our relationship—that being that we are all seeing one another, with one party not being human and another one being the noble we serve. Foremost, we agreed to send our letters out of respect for you, as we’ve long known what you mean to our knight, and what he means to you, his mother. As previously mentioned, I believe Deuce has told you much of our household affairs and much of his life, but I believe you would appreciate knowing how we see him. I am certain you know that your son spends much of his time training to become a splendid knight, and I am sure you would be happy to know that, day by day, he arrives closer to his goal. It would only make sense considering his sparring partner is none other than our competitive lord as well (and tell not the earl, too, but after keeping track of their victories and defeats, Deuce may have a lead on the tally). His skills are not which I wish to share the most, however. Ace and I have learned from Deuce about his past, we’ve known for some time now. Constant is his worry, just as constant is his change. His warmth and the good of his heart has become more evident than ever, and should Deuce not come to see you soon, we will be the ones to present him to you. (A mere jest. If it were Ace, he would find a way to bring you to the earldom.) That is all I can say for now. With your approval, madam, I hope we could become close correspondents. I would love to tell you more about Deuce, Ace, and myself, as well as know more about you yourself. Faithfully yours, 

Ace’s arm wraps against your shoulder just as you’re signing the letter off with your name, loudly talking your ear off about how he just won against Deuce (as expected, he tells you). It’s a tie now, though you know you won’t correct the tally you mentioned in your letter. 

Deuce, meanwhile, chalks it all up to luck, some sleight of hand the earl must have pulled, and swears he’ll beat him tomorrow. You want to tell Deuce to try twice as hard, just so you won’t tell his mother a lie. Instead, you joke that they both need to try harder else you come out as next year’s victor. 

They’re shouting now, mostly about how you’ve finally picked up their competitive spirit, about how you’re challenging them, about how they won’t go easy on you and about how you shouldn’t go easy on them. It’s a whole lot of noise one after another but, unsurprisingly, it fits your very idea of a peaceful day.

“You’re smiling. Is that your way of saying you’re confident you’ll beat us?” You stare at Ace for a moment, wondering if you’ll lie, before shaking your head.

“Not at all. I’m just happy.”

You don’t play it for laughs or take it back, finding comfort in the fact that you can leave the truth just as that. 

“What has made you so softhearted, huh?” You know you’ve got them when Ace can only scratch his neck and Deuce can only cover his ears, perhaps knowing it would match the hue of his liege’s hair. “As long as you're happy, then.”

It’s a rare moment of silence in the estate, and while you know one of the three of you will break it soon enough, you appreciate it while it lasts. You think to yourself, even the quiet can be peaceful, too. Peace is, and yet beyond, the volume of one’s chatter, the clashing of their swords; the quietness of their breaths and the unheard beat of their hearts. 

Beyond sound, peace is a place, a place you have found with them.

end notes | masterlist

[ 1 ] Decided to just leave the details about Reader’s tassel (from Ace) and handkerchief (from Deuce) blank, mostly since I didn’t feel too comfortable assigning something for them.

[ 2 ] As per my research, “In the Regency period (1811 - 1820) it was very expensive to send a letter. The cost of postage could be as much as a day's wages for a working man”. Of course, Deuce and the Reader have Ace to pay for the letter since they’re all sending it together (and I am not going for historical accuracy, lol), but I figured they’d still be conscious to cut to the chase to write as much as possible per sheet of paper.

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2023

May 22nd Prompt: Hunger

Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve wakes up slowly, rolls over to look at his alarm clock, then bursts out of bed in a rush of limbs and sheets and curses.

3:42 blinks back at him. Sometime during the night the power had gone out, and Steve knows it is well past 9, when he was supposed to be opening at Family Video. He pulls on his jeans and a clean shirt, stuffs his feet in his shoes, runs a brush through his hair, and grabs his vest on his way out the door, sparing half a glance at his kitchen, but not having time to eat.

If it comes down to it, he thinks, there’s always the candy.

He gets to Family Video in record time, breathing out a sigh of relief when he yanks on the door to find it still locked. That means he’s the first one there. Keith might notice when he goes back through times this week to figure out pay, but Steve’s hopeful he’s gotten away with it this time.

He clocks in, computer reading 10:01 (an entire hour late, whoops), and takes a breath as he looks around the store. Robin’s scheduled to come in at three, meaning he has five hours alone.

No one comes in for the first hour. Steve finishes logging returns and winding back the tapes.

Halfway through the second hour, the bell above the door jingles, and Steve raises his voice from where he’s putting away tapes. “Welcome to Family Video!”

“Either you’re hiding or you’ve officially started haunting this place,” a voice calls back, and Steve laughs as he walks out of the aisle.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Hiya, Stevie.” He grins. “Tell me if this is too forward? But I noticed the power went out last night and figured if I know you as well as I do, you slept in and missed breakfast.” He hands Steve a brown paper bag, creased nicely at the top.

“Lifesaver,” Steve gasps, opening the bag. Three muffins. He sniffs them, then groans. “You’re perfect, holy shit, thank you.” Banana nut, his favorite. His heart skips an odd beat, then again when he realizes Eddie’s blushing, pulling a piece of hair across his face.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie says quietly, chuckling slightly. “I guess I was right?”

“Yeah, I woke up, like, half an hour after my shift had started, immediately panicked, and got here as fast as I could. I don’t need another write-up.”

Eddie nods, a smirk crawling onto his face. “How about waiving the fees for your favorite customer?”

Steve makes a show of looking around. “Dustin’s here?”

Eddie just laughs. “I can’t even be mad at that one.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, eyes wide, adorably serious. Steve tries to school his face accordingly, but he can’t really feel his face. “I’m hungry.”

Steve thinks about it. “I am too,” he decides, then thinks some more. “Is there pizza left over?”

Eddie shrugs, looks at the blunt in his hand, then shrugs again, taking another drag. “Chips?”

“I have chips,” Steve agrees, grabbing for the blunt. “C’mon, share.”

Eddie hands it over. “Steve,” he says again, “I’m a genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees.

“We should watch a movie.”

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes. “With snacks?”

“Yeah. Yeah, with snacks, c’mon, help me, help me!” He pulls Steve up, laughing when Steve does.

“Eddie,” Steve says. It’s his turn to be serious. “What if we call Argyle? And Jon?”

“And they can bring pizza,” Eddie breathes. “Stevie, I think you’re the genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees again. “I’ll call. You get snacks. And movie.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie laughs, resting his head against the wall. “There’s no way.”

“I swear! That’s exactly what she said! And then she tried to blame me, like it isn’t all automated.” Steve huffs a breath.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have way more patience than I do, man.”

“That’s not true. We have different types. I could never sit like you do, painting your figurines.”

Eddie snorts. “I zone out and wake up four hours later. I don’t think that counts as patience.” He sighs. “As fun as this has been, Steve, I’ve gotta go get ready for my shift. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. What time does your shift start?”

“Six.”

“That… Eds, that’s in twenty minutes.”

“No? I’m looking at a clock right here. It’s 4:40 right now. I’ve got an hour twenty.”

“Eds,” Steve says, sounding pained. “Daylight savings.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes. “Shit, shit, shit, you’re right, shit, fuck, okay, I’ve gotta go, love you, bye!”

He hangs up before Steve can say anything else, stuffing his feet in his shoes and grabbing his keys before racing out.

He’s halfway to work before he realizes he’s hungry. He lays his head on his steering wheel at a red light, breathes. “Just five hours,” he tells himself. “I can make it five hours.”

Half an hour in, he’s not so sure. His hands aren’t as steady as they should be, but he hides it from his coworkers, takes another few deep breaths, and tries to trick himself by drinking more water.

Ten minutes later, a familiar maroon Beemer pulls up. Eddie’s heart thuds in his chest as he goes out to meet Steve.

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve grins. “I think I got caught by all the lights possible.” He grabs something from the passenger seat. A brown paper bag.

“You didn’t,” Eddie breathes.

“I did,” Steve admits. “I hope turkey’s okay.”

“Turkey’s fantastic,” Eddie promises. “Freakin’ food for the gods, when I’m this hungry.” He opens the bag. A sandwich, a small bag of chips, an apple. He laughs. “Jesus wept, Steve, I brought you three little muffins!”

“Yeah, and I meant it when I called you a lifesaver.” He tilts his head. “I’m curious about something, though. If you meant it.”

Eddie pauses with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Meant what?”

“Gotta go, love you, bye.”

“Oh.” Nausea makes its presence known. He brings the sandwich down. “Steve, I-”

Steve’s fingers land on his forearm. “The truth, Eds. Please.” He’s whispering, eyes big and hopeful, and Eddie feels some of that same hope filling him.

“Yeah,” he whispers back.

Steve grins again, steps back. “I’m picking you up tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, watches as Steve drives away.

“Hi,” Eddie says breathlessly, opening the door before Steve could knock.

“Hi.” Steve chuckles. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

Eddie bites his lip, slides into the passenger seat. “Dinner? I’m starving.”

Steve grins at him as he puts the car in gear. “Me too.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Almighty TATTRPGFT, I ask you what is a good fantasy ttrpg thats like a smidgen simpler than/tighter than dnd thats flexible and has individual character progression thats cool? (I am so damn tired of dnd and after I finish my lancer campaign I'm gonna try to run a fantasy thing thats about world hopping since my brain cant stick with just one world... I wanted to run OSR stuff but most of my players want to keep their characters longer than a couple sessions)

THEME: World-hopping Fantasy Games

Hello there, so I’ve got some world-hopping games for you that I consider all much simpler than D&D, although the way they cater to your players’ wants may vary. Now I’m personally biased towards Forged-in-the-Dark games if your characters want to hold onto their characters and explore all of their mechanical and narrative details, but I’m also hoping that folks will see this ask and suggest more fantasy games that give you cool character abilities - maybe you can even mesh some regular fantasy games with something else on this list!

Portal Rats, by Tore Nielsen.

Portal Rats is a stand-alone fantasy tabletop rpg, based on the Black Hack rules. 

There is an unlimited wealth of worlds out there. Some are embodiments of ideals, some the product of a god's fevered will, and some who seem to have congealed from pure potential. In Portal Rats you can visit all of them. 

The core mechanic of Portal Rats is a roll-below test, using a d20 against an attribute on your character sheet. You have six attributes that should remind your players of D&D, although the backgrounds of your characters are less about your race and more about what you did in the past. The rules of the game look to be pretty concise, with much of the 58-page book being different character options and character classes. You level up when you finish a mission or quest, which results in more hit points, and higher attributes.

This game is probably close to what you as a GM are looking for: it’s an OSR mindset, with very little that allows the players to hold onto their characters if a roll goes badly. That being said, if your players are attached to their characters, they might be able to bring out emotional and narrative elements regardless of the system. Therefore, even if you pick up something that is more similar to OSR, they’ll find ways to role-play.

Vergence, by Small Cool Games.

Within the multiverse are a few places of great power called Vergences. They are ruled by families bred for the ability to open portals between worlds.

You play a member of one of these empowered bloodlines. Your birthright gives you the capacity to travel across infinite dimensions and manipulate reality.

But you’ll need to deal with conflicts involving your own powerful and manipulative family, secret conspiracies, mystical enemies, moldering gods, terrifying monsters, ancient artifacts, and existential threats with the potential to affect all the worlds of the Umbra. And possibly your annoying little sister…

Vergence is a Forged-in-the-Dark game that really amps up your character’s powers and broadens the stakes to a cosmic scale. Vergence is a much looser interpretation of Blades, taking away much of the bookkeeping found in the vice and heat mechanics that punish typical Blades’ characters. You also level up as a group, rather than individually, which I understand might not be what your playgroup is looking for, but your characters are still uniquely powered individuals with special abilities.

1400 Planes, by Unknown Dungeon.

1400 Planes is lo-fi hi-fantasy. 

The multiverse roils with boundless existence. For many, the infinite planes of creation drift past at an immeasurable distance, their alien secrets perpetually out of reach. However those who break their mortal shackles and cross that liminal space, wander such exotic spheres on an eternal pilgrimage.

1400 Planes is a stand-alone table-top RPG. The rules are short and easy to learn and the whole game can fit on a single sheet of paper.  It can be played using just the rules provided, or combined with other entries in the 1400 series to expand the world and provide more character and game options.

24XX games feel very slim and small, but I think they can provide the base for something bigger that caters to your group. They can also be combined with other games that use the same rule-set very easily, which you could use to provide interesting level-ups for characters. 24XX games are also usually pretty cheap, so you’re not going to break the bank picking up a few to play around with.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost. 

A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

This isn’t a game in itself - it’s a campaign framework - but it gives you the opportunity to cobble together a bunch of different games while still giving your players a structure upon which they can scaffold their character’s growth and personalities. I’m currently running this across a huge number of different games with a co-GM and my home group: so far we’ve played Household, The Wildsea, Sundered Isles, and The Great Soul Train Robbery!

Sig, City of Blades, by Genesis of Legend Publishing.

Sig is the nexus of the multiverse, where eternal planes and infinite primes meet. It’s a rough home for cutters and bashers, hungry for coin and glory. It’s a city of gods, demons, and stranger things which lurk. It’s a place where opposites meet, trading knives and kisses in equal measure.

The Silent Regent once ruled over the city with a bladed fist. Now her throne sits empty and the criminal factions battle for control. They dispatch crews of Freebooters, clever and bold, to further their schemes. This is where you come in.

In Sig: City of Blades, you will play the Freebooters in service to once of the mighty city factions. Your faction depends on you to perform vital missions to seize territory and coin from their rivals. This is a game about clever spies, renegade sorcerers and reckless smugglers. You are the best of the best and the worst of the worst.

If you are familiar with Planescape, I’ve heard that Sig: City of Blades gives off the same vibes, at least when it comes to setting. Rules-wise, it’s Forged in the Dark. It looks like in this game, the multiverse comes to you; as scoundrels in a city at the centre of these dimensions, there are plenty of ways for you to get rich in some kind of way that counts. If your group is up to play scoundrels and thieves, you might be interested in Sig: City of Blades.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition, by Gallant Knight Games.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition is powered by the TinyD6 engine, with streamlined mechanics that utilize only one to three single six-sided dice on every action, characters that can be written on a 3x5 notecard, and easy to understand and teach rules, Tiny Dungeon 2e is great for all groups, ages, and experience levels!

Tiny Dungeon feels like a very boiled-down version of a classic fantasy game; heritages that give you starting abilities, traits that are reminiscent of character classes, and a turn economy that structures combat to make sure everyone gets the same amount of time to do things. You use d6’s to roll, with 1d6 being the worst pool (rolling with a disadvantage) and 3d6 being the best (rolling with an ability or advantage). The game is meant to be mod-able, with optional rules and various micro-settings meant to get your inspiration flowing. The best part about so many different micro-settings that all use the same rules is that you can absolutely jump from one setting to another!

Fantasy Recommendations from The Past

Fantasy, With Tools

Echoes of D&D

Non-Western Fantasy

Non-Gritty Low Fantasy

Fuck Wizards of the Coast

I’d also ask myself if Slugblaster could be hacked to be about fantasy adventurers jumping into various dimensions, rather than teenagers hoverboarding across space and time. It certainly has plenty of pieces that allow your characters to dig into personal issues - the Trouble mechanic really lets you digest the kinds of things your character might have to neglect in order to go adventuring! You can read more about it in my Dimensional Travel recommendation post.

[reallygroovyninja]

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities. 

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances." 

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child. 

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood. 

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data. 

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way." 

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life. 

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again. 

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table. 

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile. 

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider. 

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading. 

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective. 

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it. 

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."  

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke. 

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?" 

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen." 

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option." 

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms." 

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you." 

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently. 

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart. 

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart. 

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation. 

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making. 

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child. 

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring. 

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community. 

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing. 

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child. 

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead. 

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices. 

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement. 

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes. 

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey. 

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood. 

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time. 

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation. 

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had. 

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks. 

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions. 

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal. 

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency. 

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke. 

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery? 

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child. 

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment. 

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home. 

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her. 

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable. 

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away. 

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting. 

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance. 

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor. 

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness. 

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices. 

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels. 

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters. 

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like. 

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression. 

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody. 

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple. 

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child. 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering. 

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone. 

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor. 

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three." 

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected." 

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process." 

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball." 

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there." 

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path." 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process." 

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally. 

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother. 

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child. 

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke. 

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha. 

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams? 

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage. 

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.  

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it. 

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end. 

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are." 

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?" 

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke." 

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?" 

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words. 

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward." 

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently." 

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible." 

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help." 

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her. 

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face. 

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves. 

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation. 

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable. 

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring. 

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way. 

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze. 

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension. 

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement. 

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her. 

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground. 

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?" 

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets." 

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features. 

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests. 

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?" 

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture." 

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself." 

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me." 

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead. 

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them. 

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met." 

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke. 

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties." 

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?" 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change." 

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered." 

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready." 

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey. 

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice. 

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood. 

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well. 

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows." 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles. 

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement. 

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings." 

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention. 

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service. 

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you." 

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings." 

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring. 

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting. 

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure. 

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings. 

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern. 

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best." 

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing. 

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing." 

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?" 

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate." 

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure." 

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached." 

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. 

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here." 

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in. 

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path. 

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter. 

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg. 

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting. 

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward. 

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. 

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself. 

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay. 

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future. 

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come. 

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room. 

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn. 

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time. 

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished. 

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired. 

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead. 

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation. 

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior. 

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?" 

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved." 

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines. 

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze. 

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile. 

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?" 

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt. 

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them. 

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion. 

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision. 

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way." 

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together. 

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?" 

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?" 

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?" 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on." 

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly." 

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society. 

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured. 

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation. 

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue. 

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too." 

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience." 

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words. 

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them. 

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language. 

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace. 

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly. 

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness. 

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound. 

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa. 

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered. 

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again. 

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own. 

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them. 

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke. 

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy. 

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world. 

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her. 

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed. 

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her. 

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe. 

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust. 

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.  

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else. 

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach. 

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable. 

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words. 

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm. 

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement. 

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion. 

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way. 

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch. 

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together. 

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care. 

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways. 

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations. 

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.  

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence. 

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment. 

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible. 

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace. 

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed. 

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?" 

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue. 

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful. 

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal. 

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience. 

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way. 

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart. 

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey. 

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure. 

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care. 

[archonsoflove]

His love language | part 1

featuring: alhaitham, zhongli, kaveh x gender neutral! reader

{words of affirmation}

Alhaitham is a quiet soul. Late nights are spent with parchment paper illuminated by warm candlelight. And in these quiet moments he finds himself writing letters to you. Your travels to Fontaine for research have left him noticing your absence, carving a space hollow in his heart until your return. 

I can never say it enough, but I adore you, and wish you the safest of travels. Come back to me in one piece. The letter he gave to you before your departure two days prior.

I find myself thinking of you more often once the sun sets. Busy days give way to night, and my mind is no longer filled with work, but of you, and wondering what sights you are seeing without me beside you. This is what he writes this particular evening.

He seals the letter with a wax seal, intricate lettering on the front addressed to the nation across the mountains. If he could write a million more poems, prose and letters, he would, knowing you would read every single one of them. 

•

{quality time}

Evenings with Zhongli are spent walking through the Harbour. Lanterns spill golden light onto your faces, and whenever he catches your eye, his breath hitches, words leaving him completely. 

After years of experiencing and feeling, he is certain you are the love he had been searching for all this time. 

He speaks of legends long gone, and old friends from decades past. And if you could, you would listen to him for as long as he is able to weave stories into being. 

Tea in the mornings is brewed to perfection. You wake to Zhongli puttering in the kitchen, the fresh smell of mint and honey in the air rousing you from sleep. Silk sheets brush against naked skin as you sit down – at his stubborn request – to try his tediously perfected blend. 

The sun leaking through a window leaves him entranced, and he can not help but kiss you tenderly, sweet tea on your lips and between tongues. Peaceful mornings like these, where you both have all the time in the world to bask in each other’s presence is what you love most.  

•

{giving gifts}

Kaveh is sincere and giving to a fault. Silver bracelets, spices and light novels brought home from international projects are the least of your worries now. Returning from a project in the desert with a small desert fox bundled up in Kaveh’s cloak tells you all you need to know. 

This time, his gift is very different and very much alive.

“I know you said we weren’t ready to adopt, but maybe, just maybe….” Kaveh steps cautiously into the living room, handing the bundle over to you tentatively. “Maybe we can keep this little one?”

“Oh, Kaveh…” you sigh in both awe and exasperation. The little bundle wriggles in your grasp and a small head pops out. Tan ears flop out first, before a pointy black nose is nuzzling against your hand. 

“A fox!” You couldn’t contain the smile fighting against your scowl. “Kaveh…how did you even catch this one?”

Kaveh gives you a relieved laugh, a light flush high on his cheekbones. “They followed me home from the desert. I think they lost their mother. I simply couldn’t leave them there!”

“They?” your eyes widen. “There are more?”

Later that evening, Alhaitham knocks on your door, a box in hand. Sure enough there are two more foxes. It seemed your family of two was now five, and you couldn’t help but think that it was just the perfect number.

-------- 》 Part 2

MASTERLIST

[ashmouthbooks]

what kind of man doesn't & better than your best by menocchio, also known as 'road boys' (or it was when it was being posted and I was reading!).

I decided to continue down the design path I took with Tucked!, printing titles directly onto book cloth and using single-colour endpapers. My second project was actually bootstrapping, but I messed up that binding so much I didn't want to share it at first - one day I might cut the text block out of the case, re-do the case and case it in again, to fix all the problems I had. I do console myself with the fact my colour and cover paper choices were on point, at least. check out the mad 80s/90s energy of this, I'm in love. (I'm pretty sure I had a tracksuit in the early 90s in those exact colours.)

what kind of man doesn't and better than your best are a series so I wanted them to match. I chose yellow/orange as the colours for wkomd because of how when I started reading it, the image seared into my mind was that of a hot and golden California sun. for btyb I went with a dark green and blue because it's a kk3 rewrite, and I associate it very strongly with bonsai so I wanted a more down-to-earth colour palette for it. as it happened I had Dubletta (same brand bookcloth as for Tucked!) in those colours so it was an easy choice.

specs and process photos under cut

bootstrapping

Typeset in Charter. Printed on 100gsm 100% recycled eco-craft oatmeal paper and bound in seafoam blue bookcloth of dubious origin (possibly Windsor, a tissue-backed rayon) and paper from designed by Kelly Hyatt 2019 and sold by LAGOM DESIGN, over 2mm boards with Daler-Rowney Canford Fuchsia 150gsm as ends. 254 pages

what kind of man doesn't

Typeset in Charter. Printed on 80gsm 100% recycled Context Natural 80 paper and bound in Dubletta Yellow Orange 3272, a woven cotton on acid-free paper backing, over 2mm boards with Daler-Rowney Canford Buttercup 150gsm as ends. 360 pages

better than your best

Typeset in Charter. Printed on 80gsm 100% recycled Context Natural 80 paper and bound in Dubletta Duck Egg Blue 3267, a woven cotton on acid-free paper backing, over 2mm boards with Daler-Rowney Canford Sky Blue 150gsm as ends. 744 pages

so many things went wrong with the bootstrapping binding, starting with...my printer deciding to do an adjustment thing and me forgetting about this, so when I put in the carefully cut and measured book cloth sheet in, it printed...like this:

I should've recognised it for the Omen it was.

I redid it, and then between measuring and cutting the boards for the case and casing in, the textblock swelled (or I measured wrong?) which meant the textblock was pressing against the insides of the hinges, making them look bulky and gross instead of crisp and square. and also, the cover paper I used didn't take the moisture from the PVA well AT ALL so it instantly wrinkled and could not be smoothed out hard as I tried, so the cover is just. wrinkled now. I also somehow managed to lay it down askew so the cover paper is not parallel (notice the overlap differences between the bottom and top of the front cover).

as if that wasn't enough, the logo on the spine is off centre too! sheesh. not to mention the endpapers! I somehow missed an edge curling over and so it...glued in place like this. and the corresponding corner has a starch paste stain now.

I was so mad about it all that when I put it in to press, I faced it away from me. think about what you did, asshole

in beautiful contrast, almost* nothing went wrong with wkomd and btyb!

*I accidentally glued the spine piece down to wkomd incorrectly so I had to reprint that book cloth and cut a new spine piece. I tried to gently cut the spine piece off the original book cloth to see if I could re-use the book cloth, but I just cut through the cloth and also left a layer of board on it in places so, no, lol. I did salvage the back and front parts of the cloth to use in other projects and only discarded the spine piece. it could've been a lot worse.

[redninjaoutfit]

i want to understand: why ship tad and peanut?

I've been gathering my thoughts on this topic for such a long time because I have so so many but its so hard to articulate them sometimes. THEY ARE SO NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART YOUR HONOUR MY ANGSTY SONS

More under the cut cause it's gonna be a whole lot of words

For starters, I just enjoy the enemies to lovers trope in general. I think seeing someone else's flaws to the point of considering them annemesis and still managing to move past that and fall in love with them down the line is very poetic. Having to battle through hate, one of the most misguided and complex emotion one can feel towards other people and coming out victorious, conquering the concept you have of someone and replacing it with an image so dissimilar to how you perceived them before... I get a lil kick out of it. It takes incredible maturity and willingness to cooperate on both sides of the relationship to move past hard feelings, to find common ground and build something substantial and amiable on that very ground. The former enemies actively heal and grow as people alongside one another, it's a very beautiful concept.

HATE AND LOVE ARE NOT TWO SIDES OF A SPECTRUM!! They're standing next to each other, separated only by a thin sheet of paper which is so easy to rip through once you move past the issues which divide you.

For Tad and Peanut, the obvious and unavoidable source of conflict is their allegiance to their respective cliques. The Preps and Greasers are supposed to despise one another out of principle which they very much do. Consequently, as of the events of the game, neither have any possibility to openly display their many compatible characteristics around one another. Hence why the animosity festers.

When I talk about the many compatible characteristics of Tad and Peanut I mean MANY. SO MANY. You might notice I did not say similar as I don't find they are carbon copies of one another, their lives are very different, however, their very cores slot with each other perfectly. It all falls into place.

Peanut, as I'm sure everyone already knows, has a painfully and one-sidedly dependent relationship with Johnny who is assumed to have saved him in some way, judging by the contents of his character quotes. He's fiercely loyal to his leader to the point where it's overwhelming and he actively fears disappointing Johnny in any capacity (not aided by the fact that he's implied to have feelings for Lola). Not to mention, as a second in command, he's got big shoes to fill, shoes he doesn't deem himself good enough to fill. Though he seems content with being trapped in Johnny's shadow he does show a sense of longing for freedom and a deep self-consciousness about his abilities.

Tad on the other hand is not second in command, quite the opposite, he's at a disadvantageous position in his clique with his newcomer status. Yet the expectations he has to meet at the forceful request of his father are just as if not more ambitious than Peanut's. With how prominently Mr Spencer's abuse towards his son altered his character and mindset, Tad is thus trapped in the role of the usurper, exactly what he feels (and knows) his clique-mates see him as. His opinion of the topic is largely apathetic though the apathy seems forced and learned.

His destiny as his father's extension has been set in stone, as has Peanut's servitude to Johnny. Neither feel they can do anything about it.

Both deem themselves worthless and void of purpose when they are not of use, not going along with whatever demands have been put onto them. They convince themselves (Peanut moreso than Tad) that their prison is a comfortable one, that the end goal of their struggle will be satisfactory yet know deep down all they want is freedom.

In this way they are very compatible, enough that they see a bit of themselves in the other which is part of the reason their bad blood runs so deep, especially on Tad's part. They see the collars hanging heavy around their necks and tug on them in hopes the other won't notice the perpetrator's own. It's easier to depersonalize yourself from your own issues than to face them head on.

I can definitely see them snapping on one eventful occasion - a supernova of unspoken emotions ready to surface - their reconciliation would not be a serene, drawn out ordeal of slow acquiescence. They fire each other up to the point of accidentally creating a spark which leads to a flame. A common flame between them in whose glow and light they can finally see each other's true colours, which will not burn them like it usually does but rather provide warmth, much needed after the long years spent in their cold, oppressive jail cells.

They would be like two dogs chained to a tree and left for dead tasting food again and rediscovering the comfort of a plush pillow - striving to maintain the warmth of mutual understanding conceived on that very day and would no doubt cultivate it to the best of their inexperienced ability. They both know by then the other is a novice in terms of... well, everything when it comes to being appreciated.

They rediscover love together and that's why I think they are so very beautiful and compatible as a pair!!

THAT'S IT... UM SORRY FOR RAMBLING AND THIS BEING MUSHY AS ALL HELL THEY JUST MAKE ME SOB AND WISH FOR THEM TO HAVE A BETTER LIFE. THE POTENTIAL IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS IMMENSE AND I WILL NOT BE SILENCED ABOUT IT. THEY CAN HEAL EACH OTHER LIKE NOONE ELSE CAN!!!

[beevean]

If NFCV were a well written show, I would praise the design of N!Hector's Styrian uniform, and what it conveys.

N!Hector's original uniform is a simplified version of Hector's, but due to them being very different characters, the details don't fit him.

Every detail of this uniform conveys something precise. The armor on his chest and boots make him look combat-prepared, as well as the arm guard and the single glove on the hand he uses to wield weapons. He wears dark colors and a general bat motif to tie him to Dracula. Then, there is the sash, a bright spot of red that breaks his dark palette: not only that is Isaac's color, tying the two together, but it can be seen as symbolizing Hector's brash, emotional personality. He's not a "true" Blue Oni like his appearance would suggest, after all. A nice visual cue.

The sash was kept on N!Hector, and for some reason, it was made a very important part of his design. While N!Isaac also has it, suggesting at first that it's part of their not-uniform, N!Hector is nevertheless seen with it in the past:

No matter what, he has to wear that bright spot of red.

Why so? N!Hector has very little of Hector's personality. He certainly isn't nowhere near as belligerent as our Hector in CoD. But more than the blues, more than the bat motif, he has to be associated with the sash.

The Devil Forgemaster uniform ill fits N!Hector as a character: he's not a fighter, he's not combat ready, N!Isaac wears a completely different and even darker uniform which makes N!Hector look only messy. However, I'm willing to salvage the sash for this reason:

While being naive, Hector is stoic in the face of hardships that befall him. Lenore found it nice that even "beaten down a dozen different ways," Hector doesn't give up on himself.

It was... terribly, awfully, incompetently conveyed, but there is a kernel of truth in Lenore's manipulation here. N!Hector has the spine and moral compass of a wet sheet of paper, but he doesn't cry or wallow in misery, and there have been very rare times where he fought back. In S2, while N!Dracula and N!Isaac were so close to dropping the R-slur on him, N!Hector was working with Carmilla behind their backs to pursue his goal: sure, he was being manipulated by her, but he was the one who decided N!Dracula wasn't good for him and he would rather save himself. And, of course, his background is that he set his own parents on fire as revenge for their abuse, and he accepted to put humanity into pens as more or less punishment for how he was treated.

Again. Too inconsistent to be seen as an intended character trait. But very generously, one can see N!Hector as being smarter and more willing to fight back than people assume of him. And it can be seen in the choice of him wearing a red sash ever since he was a child.

All of this preamble to finally reach his Styrian uniform in S4:

That is a very nice, elegant uniform, that keeps the original silhouette (look at the pointy shoulders) but removes all the clutter that doesn't fit N!Hector. He has two gloves! He looks protected, but also looks like a smith, not a knight!

But notice the palette.

He's black, with dashes of blue and silver. Silver? Well, Styria's livery is black with white trim. It fits, but silver doesn't quite stand out like gold did.

He also lacks any sort of red on him now.

Red is a bold color that represents strength and vigor, and for how nice his uniform looks, N!Hector is still supposed to be a slave - or worse, a pet. He's meant to look meek, demure, blending in. Professional, but lacking any sort of personality: the role N!Hector was tricked and beaten into. A subtle humiliation in his comfy living conditions.

Which, of course, works to the advantage of someone who is once again plotting behind his jailer's backs :) N!Hector still holds onto that splash of red inside him.

... But I'm putting way too much thought into this. We all know how rushed and slapdashed S4 was, and how N!Hector at the end of the day has zero personality and his plan wasn't even for himself, and how the writing refuses to remember how N!Hector was abused into slavery. The idea was that N!Hector is stronger than he seems, but the reality of the writing is that he's a weak-willed victim who did everything in his power to crawl back to the people who hurt him.

Let's be honest: we all know the real reason he wears blue and black without red now.

In S3, Lenore wore a full black dress with blue trim and white fur, which was meant to make him look like a "winter princess" or a "princess in mourning", but really didn't fit her at all, much like her character is basically three concepts stitched together. For S4, she changes into a quite cute blue and black dress that better goes with the idea of her being a melancholic princess.

You don't need a master in cinematography to get the Symbolism™. Lenore is N!Hector's only characterization, after all.

(funnily enough I could also point out N!Isaac dressing in bright blue in S4. But it's a completely different symbolism, for him: get it, he has found peace.)

[imekitty]

Danny finds his clone in the Fenton Works lab.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

-----

It couldn't be true—

It couldn't be true—

It couldn't it couldn't it couldn't be—

Danny denied it over and over like a mantra, a broken record stuck in a painful loop as he flew home as fast as he could.

Because he didn't want to believe any of it. Vlad had to be lying. His parents wouldn't do that to him. His mom wouldn't do that to him.

But all the clues, the scattered bits and pieces that were at first perplexing and nonsensical were now falling into place.

Don't you know what they've done to us? To you?

His ultimate enemy's words had no meaning for him before but now they all rushed back into his head making such terrifying sense.

And then a second ultimate enemy, a number tattooed on his upper arm just like all the dead clones in that graveyard.

I was created to be used and then destroyed. To live a short time before she killed me.

She. She.

He did not want to believe that she could be his mother.

It had to be a lie. He would go home and down into the lab and there would be no clone there. He was sure of it.

He wanted to be sure of it.

Danny phased through the walls of Fenton Works and maintained his ghost form as he searched for his parents. He found them upstairs in their room with the door shut, their voices muffled as they spoke about something. Danny stood outside a moment before floating away, past Jazz's door and down the stairs, down to the basement. Taking the long way instead of just phasing through the floor because he was stalling, afraid of what he might find once he reached the lab.

The lab was dark. Danny switched on a light and went down the stairs, one step at a time, slowly, slowly, holding his breath.

God, he didn't want to keep going. He wanted to go back up to his room and hide under his covers.

But he gripped the stair rail and continued his descent, down into whatever hell was waiting for him.

He froze when he saw what was belted to the main examination table.

No, not what. Who was on the table.

Unmoving. Sleeping. Or perhaps unconscious.

Danny approached the table to get a better look, but even from a distance, he recognized that thick dark hair, the point of that nose, the curve of that neck, the jut of those eyebrows.

He had seen them in photographs. In mirrors. Every day for over sixteen years.

"Oh, my God," he breathed out, not even realizing he had been holding his breath.

He braced himself against the table, leaning and hanging his head, on the edge of hyperventilating. Gathering courage, he looked up again and studied the clone. On his back with his arms down by his sides, dressed in a hospital gown, wrists and ankles strapped to the table with anti-ghost belts pulled tight. No cuts or incisions, no signs of trauma. It appeared the experimentation had not yet begun for this clone.

A flash of memory. The second incarnation of his ultimate enemy pulled down his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of the number 26.

Danny shakily lifted the right sleeve of the clone's hospital gown. The number 26 was tattooed in black on the clone's upper arm.

One day you will see me again. I won't look like this, but you'll know it's me when you see this number. And then you'll understand.

Yes. Danny understood now. The past version of his second dark enemy looked very different indeed.

A small metal side table stood nearby, holding tools and a clipboard. Danny picked up the clipboard and leafed through the sheets of paper clipped to it. Notes written in his mother's handwriting, details and instructions for what was to be done with Clone 26.

Flay the skin away from the arm in one piece if possible so it can be restitched on, will see how quickly and how well it is able to reattach and heal—

Danny dropped the clipboard, which clattered back onto the metal side table. He covered his mouth and turned back to look at the sleeping clone, so peaceful and unaware of the horrors planned for him. No white hair, no ghostly complexion. His skin was warm and pink with blood, his lashes dark on his closed eyes.

His mother was planning on destroying him knowing full well he was her son.

She wasn't even going to pretend he was just a ghost.

Danny stood there. Motionless. Staring. Hell stared back at him.

An involuntary shudder jarred the return of his senses. His parents were probably going to come down soon.

He made a decision in just a split second and knew he had to act quickly. No time to think or consider his options.

He loosened each belt holding the clone to the table and lifted him, one arm supporting his back, the other beneath his knees. The clone did not wake as Danny jumped into the air and phased through the ceiling, up and up to his bedroom. He laid the clone on his bed and pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of his dresser drawers. He removed the hospital gown and redressed the clone in his own clothes, stepping back when he was done, watching as the clone continued sleeping supine on his bed, on top of the covers.

God, the clone really did look exactly like him.

He heard shuffling noises from his parents' bedroom down the hall. Still holding the clone's hospital gown in his hands, he dropped through the floor, all the way back down into the basement lab. He changed into his human form and quickly stripped out of his clothes, phasing all of them off and tossing them out of sight. He then slipped on the hospital gown, shivering in the frigid, sterile lab air.

He imagined all of the clones that had been here. That had died here.

Such a frightening place to wake up in.

He climbed onto the lab table and placed the four belt restraints around his wrists and ankles, loose enough that he could easily slip out of them. He then lay back on the cold metal surface and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to control the erratic tremors seizing his whole body.

Then he waited. And listened.

His heart began racing when he heard the basement door open.

Part 24

[eriquin]

The Prophetic D&D Game

I'm going to try something new and post bits on tumblr instead of straight to ao3. We'll see how far I get. Tagging @2btheanswertothequestion because she was interested.

Now with Part 2

“All right, Hellfire club, listen up. I’ve got a new campaign for you,” Eddie said as he swept into the room. He’d arrived late and looked harried.

“Yeah, duh,” Gareth said. “We spent all of last week making characters for your Cult of Vecna run.”

“No, not that.” Eddie shoved at the character sheets in front of them all. “Put those away, this is something different.”

“What the hell?” Jeff asked. “If we’re not playing Cult of Vecna then why did you give Grant so much shit on Monday about missing it?”

“Bup-bup-bup!” Eddie said, putting one hand in front of Jeff’s face as the other dropped a lumpy canvas bag onto the table. “I didn’t know on Monday what I know now. He’s still a dipshit for missing Hellfire but that just means he doesn’t get to participate in my newest bout of brilliance.”

The three youngest Hellfire members glanced at each other nervously. “Uh, what’s going on?” Dustin asked cautiously. “What are we playing instead?”

Eddie straightened up and drew a folder from his bag. “Gentlemen! I have been struck by inspiration. This new run came to me in a dream, and I spent the past two days developing it—”

“This is why you skipped?” Gareth crossed his arms. “Dude, you’re going to fail again!”

Eddie gasped with dramatic offense and clasped his hand to his heart. “Just for that, Gareth, you pick your character last!” 

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Oh, you made the characters, too? Christ, you’re such a dictator.” 

“No more backtalk from you,” Eddie said. He flailed in Gareth’s direction with the folder but didn’t hit him. He sighed and grabbed the edge of his throne to pull it closer to the table. “And I didn’t make all the details of the characters. I just started them out. You can pick what they look like and all that jazz.” He opened the folder and took out a stack of papers to pass around.

Mike, sitting just to his left, took the stack from him. “Joe the human fighter? With a spiked club for a weapon? Huh. His charisma’s awful high, isn’t it?” 

“Just share them with the group, Wheeler,” Eddie said. “I’m going to make you all roll to see who picks first, except for Gare-bear here because he’s judgemental.” 

Mike put the stack in the middle of the table and they each picked up a character to read over. The group was quiet for a minute as they read through the pages. Lucas spoke up first. “So what kind of story is it?” he asked.

“I’m glad you asked, Sinclair,” Eddie said. He stood up and started to circle the table. “A terrible tragedy has rocked your little castle town. There’s been a grisly murder, and there’s something almost ritualistic about it. The guards have someone they suspect, but this group of intrepid adventures has information about what really happened. They know that the guards won’t believe them, and they have to act fast if they want to prevent more deaths.”

“So, it’s a murder mystery?” Dustin asked. “That sounds awesome.”

Eddie grinned down at him as he stretched his arms out over the backs of Lucas and Jeff’s chairs. “It is, and it isn’t. There’s definitely something sinister and supernatural afoot.” 

“Wait. Half of these characters are chicks,” Mike said with a sneer. 

“As is half of the population, Wheeler,” Eddie said. He looked completely unimpressed with Mike’s attitude. “What’s your point?”

“There’s only three guys to pick from, and there’s five of us. Do you really expect us to play as girls?” 

Eddie gave him another deadpan look before turning to Gareth. “Gare-bear, you’re no longer picking last. Wheeler is.” 

“Hey!” Mike yelled.

“Ha!” Gareth pointed at him and grinned. “I will admit that this sounds intriguing. You haven’t answered the question about how long we’ll be playing this, though.” 

Eddie scratched his head as he walked back to his throne. “I think it’s probably only a session or two? Depends on what you guys do with it.” He steepled his fingers and peered at his players. “So, are you all in?”

There were some shrugs and a round of silent communication around the table. “I still want to play Cult of Vecna,” Jeff said, “but I didn’t really want to start it without Grant. So yeah, I’m in.” 

“I love murder mysteries, so I’m definitely in,” Dustin said. 

Lucas nodded enthusiastically while Mike let out a very put-upon sigh and threw up his hands as he conceded that it sounded okay. True to form, Eddie made each of them roll to see who went first for picking a character. He snatched up Mike’s die before it landed and tutted at him. “I wasn’t kidding about you picking last, Wheeler.” 

“Aww, come on,” Mike said. “I don’t want to play a girl.”

Lucas had rolled the highest number. He shook his head at Mike. “To be honest, I don’t want to see Mike play a girl either,” he said. “It would probably be offensive.” 

“Point made, Sinclair,” Eddie said. “Who are you picking?”

Lucas grinned and reached across the table for one of the character sheets. “Sadie the thief,” he said. 

“Really? Not going to be a fighter this time?” Dustin asked. 

“Nah, Sadie looked cool. Kind of reminds me of someone, you know?” He picked up the character sheet and set it in front of him. 

“Dusty-buns!” Eddie said cheerfully.

“One time,” Dustin muttered. “You heard my mom call me that one time...”

“You’re up next. Who are you picking?” 

“I’m gonna go for the thief,” Dustin said. “Gaten the halfling. He sounds cool.” 

“I thought you’d like him,” Eddie said. He stood up and leaned over the table to watch as Jeff flipped through the four remaining characters. “What are you thinking, Jeffster?”

Jeff hummed to himself. “It’s an investigation, right? I think I’ll go with Caleb. It says he’s a junior member of the town guard... Could be useful.” 

“Excellent choice, Jeffinald. How about you, Gare-bear? We are down to three options.”

Gareth stood up so he could take a better look at the three remaining character sheets. “Did you write one up for Grant, too? Even though he wouldn’t be here?”

“No, these are just the ones I needed for the story,” Eddie said. “I actually have a seventh PC that will be introduced later in the story, if you all make it that far. If Grant wants, he can join us.” 

“Fascinating,” Gareth said. “What do you think, all? Should I pick the fighter and make Mike speak in a falsetto for the rest of the campaign?” 

Dustin rolled his eyes. “He’s going to be insufferable if you do.” 

“Hey, I’m right here!” Mike said. 

“Yeah, and he’s already insufferable,” Lucas added.

“You guys are just—”

“Well just for that!” Gareth said loudly, slapping his hand down on the table. The freshmen jumped in place. He grinned at their reaction. “I, frankly, have no problem playing a lady. I will be Maya, the lovely magic user. Both her and Natalia seem more interesting than the fighter.” He slid the last two character sheets across the table to Mike.

Everyone turned to watch him evaluate the options. “Wait, Natalia’s an elven cleric? I thought elves couldn’t be clerics.”

“DM’s discretion,” Eddie said. “A lot of those class and ability restrictions are a load of crap. Do we really think elves aren’t in tune with the gods? That’s just dumb.”

“Yeah, you know we have some house rules,” Jeff said. 

Mike as he read the sheets some more. “Wait, these two used to be married?” 

“Engaged,” Eddie said. “Separated because Natalia was too devoted to her career. But maybe there’s something to be rekindled there?” 

Mike let out a noise of disgust. “Ugh, I don’t want to play any romance in D&D. Come on.” He sighed and picked up both character sheets. “What happens to the one I don’t pick? Do they still appear in the story?”

“Yeah, they’ll be an NPC. I’ll voice them and everything.” Eddie smirked. “So make good choices, because you’ll be dealing with the repercussions either way.” 

Back and forth, Mike’s eyes darted between the two characters. “I can’t decide!” he whined. “They’re both good fighters. Natalia is smarter and has spells, but Joe is stronger and has cooler gear.”

“Jesus, just pick so we can get playing,” Dustin muttered. He was already filling in description details for his character. 

Jeff rapped his knuckles on the table to get Mike’s attention. “If you really can’t pick, just flip a coin.”

“Okay, fine!” Mike said, throwing his hands in the air. He picked up his twenty-sided die and tapped the character sheet for Natalia. “High,” he said. Then he tapped the one for Joe. “Low.” He rolled.

It landed on an eight.

“And through the power of random probability, Mike Wheeler will not be questioning his gender identity tonight,” Eddie said as Mike handed him back Natalia’s character sheet. 

“Oh, this means we have no healer,” Gareth said with a frown. “Well, at least Mike’s fighter is a front-liner and will probably die first.” 

“And mine,” Jeff said. “I’m a fighter, too.”

“You have higher dex,” Gareth said. “Get a bow, stand behind Joe the brutal over there, and let him take the hits.” 

“So are we ready to play?” Dustin asked, sounding impatient. 

“Almost, almost,” Eddie said with a broad smile that generally meant he had something planned. “Everyone familiar with their characters? Generally happy with them? Or at least comfortable?” He got a round of nodding heads and noises of agreement. His smile turned a little bit wicked as he said, “Great. Here are the real character sheets, and all their secrets. It’ll be up to you if you want to share them.”

[cinnamon-stheater]

Nightcord World Link Cards Overview!!☆

I’n kinda late! No, I’m really late. But I only saw one person that noticed a key visual in Mizuki’s card so I must overview.

Kanade!! She looks like a goddess! The big picture is beautiful but the thing about sekai cards is that they always have the tiny details - the buttons down her shirt are the phases of the moon, and on her chest, it might be a necklace or something, but there are roman numerals which I’m assuming is 25 (side note: they all have it!!) She (and the others) also have a lil clock necklace thing but Im stupid and dont know how to read time so someone else can tell me what time that is. I’m assuming it’s 25:00 or 1:00, but idk. Kanade is sitting in the middle of a clock, there’s sheet music flying around, and there’s light coming from the bubbles, which are rising up around her.. a high contrast to-

Mafuyu’s card! Instead of the bubbles rising, Mafuyu’s bubbles are in a flurry of panic, much like her inner self. I saw someone on Reddit say that there are so many bubbles because it represents Mafuyu’s inability to clearly view her inner self, so we can’t view her very well. She has a pained and desperate expression on her face like she’s diving for something - a detail which can relate to her untrained card, where she’s picking things up from the lake. She’s clutching her heart. And. That’s all. Onto Ena!!

Ena!! The calmest card in the set, which is why it’s also my least favorite (IM SRY ENA!!!) In terms of mental self she’s definitely the best-off Nightcord character, something definitely taken accounted for in her card. Behind her is darkness, with papers scattered across the floor. The papers show different drawings and sketches, which are all left behind in the darkness. I believe this is because she’s finally figured out what to do with herself, and now she’s leaving her years of pain and suffering behind in those drawings and reaching the light. She can draw something beautiful again- the flowers in the frame, the very frame she has her hand on - those same flowers were in her self-portrait On this Blank Canvas, I Paint card. The other two drawings are of the empty sekai, something she’s found that kept her going even through that dark hallway. Love you Enaaaa ♡ proud of you☆

Last but not least Mizuki, my favorite card in the game! The first thing I wanted to point out is WHY ARE THEY SINKING??? SEGA PLS LET THEM BACK UP PLS PLS PLS

That note aside, hehe! Surface facts: They’re sinking away from the light, and they’re reaching up for it, though not whole-heartedly, as their fingers are curled and their other arm is tucked beneath their legs. They almost seem really tired. Like the other three cards, they have bubbles! Unlike the other three cards, their past untrained cards are in the bubbles - namely their And Now, I Wear This Ribbon card, their Secret Distance card, and their We Escape to Survive card.

Another lil something that ties into their first unit card, Uncompromising Obsession, is that the Mizuki and the Mizuki in the reflection is different. Mizuki in UO is smiling while UO reflection Mizuki is sad, that sad expression almost perfectly mimicking world link Mizuki. Meanwhile world link reflection Mizuki’s eyes are closed, contrasting to actual world link Mizuki, whose eyes are open. I’m guessing this is because in UO, Mizuki is smiling while their reflection is sad. Now, the real Mizuki is underwater, the place of sadness, while above the water, the once-smiling part of them is sleeping.

Maybe I’m looking too much into things? Idk I don’t proofread a lot I’m too lazyy so sorry if I messed up Mizuki’s pronouns! I tried to use they/them but I use she/her a lot by accident when it comes to these types of situations. I’ll try to be more careful! Hope you liked my overview though hehe

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Watching on the News

Season Two Episode Three

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4226 

Series Masterlist

Summary: Spencer and Emily go undercover in a situation that quickly turns dangerous. The reader is forced to watch events unfold from back home. 

Notes: I’m going to be going back and forth between moments from the actual episode and from the reader’s experience, so hopefully it won’t feel too jumpy. Also, I think I’ve decided to make the reader a criminal psychologist (or whoever does research and interviews into past crimes to help study new ones. They’ve done it on the show)  but I don’t know everything about the job, so please don’t come after me for inaccuracies. 

Warnings: Violence, depiction of a cult, mentions of SA (episode context), mild sexual content (just at the beginning) 

-

For your last day in London, the two of you read A Study in Scarlet in St. James Park, thus beginning a new series for the two of you to continue back home. It would give you something to hang onto from the trip, as Spencer had said. 

You couldn’t help the feeling of dread filling your chest as Spencer looked over the flight details at the desk. Your bags were packed and your tickets sat in front of Spence. It was over. 

Time to go back to the wonderful world of hunting killers, interviewing psychopaths, and blood on your hands. 

“Our flight is in the afternoon, so we should have plenty of time to get through security and everything,” Spencer said, eyes glued to the papers in his hand. He was all set and ready to get back, it almost made you angry. 

You were not letting go of the escape so easily. 

“Hey Spence.” You slipped your nightgown over your head. 

“I know we had some issues last time, but this time we should be all good to go.” 

You drew back the comforter, leaving only the very thin sheet covering you. “Spence.” 

“We should be back in D.C. at approximately-”

“Spencer.” Your seductive tone mixed with aggressive frustration. 

“What?” He turned his chair around and froze. His wide eyes started on your starkly covered body before quickly flicking up to your face. 

You raised a brow. “Put the papers down, honey.” 

“O-okay,” he squeaked and practically threw them aside, scrambling to join you.

-

This plane ride felt different from the others. Maybe it was because it was his first one back in the BAU jet, but he couldn't help but feel a slight sense of melancholy. Just two days ago, he was tangled up with you in London and now he was going to investigate a statutory rape allegation in a cult in Colorado. 

Welcome back, Reid. 

“You look like you’re a thousand miles away,” Prentiss teased from her seat across from him. 

He gave her a small smile. “I guess my head is still on vacation a little.”

“I don’t blame you,” she laughed. “A romantic getaway, a bottle of good wine, good books, great hotel… I don’t know if I’d be able to tear myself away.” 

“There was certainly some last minute celebrating,” he said, smirking. 

She raised a brow. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

The two agents laughed for a moment before letting themselves focus on the case at hand. 

You, safe and sound on the ground, were trying to busy yourself with catching up on files. After everything that happened, you were afraid your application for licensure would be held up, but your boss, Sonia, said that everything should be on track. 

She was still skeptical of sending you out for studies and interviews and had put your specific study on hold. 

Sonia thought filicide was a little too close of a topic for you, especially now. So you were stuck on expert witness duty. Since your research institute was federally funded, you also worked as a federal prosecutor’s lackey for when they wanted a defendant assessed. It wasn’t that you minded the work, but you hated court rooms. You always had. Taking the stand against your mother didn’t exactly give you a good start with the court system. 

Your eyes- tired from the countless documents you’d read all morning- were saved by your buzzing phone. 

“Hey, Aaron.” 

Your brother laughed at your sleepy tone. “Still a little jetlagged, huh?” 

“That and I’ve got court duty for the foreseeable future,” you huffed. You glowered at the sound of his relieved sigh. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” 

“Being an expert witness is a very important job,” he said defensively. “And it also means I won’t have to think about you being in locked rooms with murderers, alone, any time soon, so I’m sorry if I’m a little glad.” He chuckled. 

You sighed. He was right. Damnit. 

“Anyway, I’m better than Spence probably is right now. We’d barely even unpacked when you gave him the assignment. Where is it again? Colorado?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I know, but I’m nosy.” 

He laughed. “He’ll be back soon.” Something about the dead air between you changed and you could feel his seriousness even before he spoke. “How are you feeling? Now that you’re back.” 

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you said. “Really. I think getting away was exactly what we needed. Thank you for suggesting it and giving Spence the time off.” 

“I just want to make sure that you’re adjusting okay-”

“We were gone for a week, not a decade,” you scoffed. “Seriously, there’s no adjustment. I’m fine. How about you? How are you feeling?” Two could play the game of incessant worrying. After all, you weren’t next to a car that exploded. 

He sighed. “Y/N, I’m fine. I’ve been cleared to fly and the headaches have all but stopped.” 

“And I’m sure that’s all because of your taking things easy, right?” You snarked. Using work to avoid your problems was a trait the two of you had perfected. Suddenly, the files in front of you seemed like a happy distraction. “Actually, I have to go. I have so many cases to look through.” 

Aaron sighed. “Alright, I’ll let you go then. We should grab lunch sometime this week. You can tell me all about your trip.” 

You bit the cap of your pen. “Well… not all about the trip.”

“Y/N, please,” your brother groaned. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Happy to hang up on a lighter mood, you said your goodbyes and he got back to work. You answered another call coming in. Colorado number. “Hello?” 

“Hey, my phone died, but I wanted to let you know we got in okay,” the other voice said. “Oh, this is Spencer, by the way.” 

You laughed. “I know what your voice sounds like, Spence.” 

“What if someone was calling and imitating me to get you to trust them with your personal information?” He teased. Emily raised a brow at him and shook her head. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind, Dr. Reid. Next time you call, you’d better be ready with some convincing statistics so I know it’s you.” 

“Okay, um…” He thought for a moment. “American’s collectively receive around 2.4 billion spam calls a day. Which is why you should make sure it’s me.” 

“Right, because you definitely sound like a robot, I get it now.” 

“Hey,” he pouted. Nancy and Prentiss were both looking at him now. “Okay, I have to go. I’ll call when I can. I love you.” 

“Love you too, Spence. Bye.” 

Spencer handed the phone back to Nancy. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I didn’t want her to worry.” She just smiled and nodded. He turned to Emily, who still shook her head. “What?” 

She snickered. “You two are such dorks.” 

-

The elevator couldn't move fast enough. The floor numbers ticked by, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound over your heart. 

As you stormed into the bullpen, Morgan was the first to see you. His welcoming smile was quickly replaced by concern, reading your expression. 

“Turn on the TV,” you said. 

JJ appeared beside you, phone at her ear and remote in her hand. The compound came onto the screen and you knew by the looks on their faces that you were right. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yelled. 

Aaron rushed out of his office, brows drawing together when he saw you. “Y/N, what are you-”

“Tell me that’s not him,” you cried. “Tell me they aren’t in there.” 

His eyes shifted to the screen and his jaw tensed. “You can’t be here.” 

“What happened? Where are they?”

“Everyone get ready to leave,” he ordered, not even looking at you anymore. 

“Aaron!” You screamed. “Is Spencer okay? What is going on?” 

Fiery eyes snapped back to your face. “Go. Home. Y/N.” You knew that the urgency of his voice was out of panic, not of anger, but you couldn’t move. You were frozen in place, as if your blood had been replaced by frigid, stinging ice. 

You turned your head back to the TV. 

“Though no one knows for sure how many people are inside,” the newscaster said, “It is believed at least three of the child service members are still trapped within the compound.” 

You couldn’t hear anything after that. 

Emily and Spencer were trapped- assuming they were still alive. State police had already been killed. 

“Oh God,” you put a hand over your mouth to silence the cries threatening to escape. Just three days ago, he was reading Sherlock Holmes to you in the park and now he could be…

“Y/N,” JJ said softly. She put a hand on your shoulder to usher you towards the door. “Hotch is right. You need to go home so we can go figure all of this out.” 

“What if they’re-” you couldn’t say it. “I was supposed to get coffee with Emily this week. Spencer and I’s anniversary is in a few weeks. We were going to- God, I sound so stupid. They’re in a gunfight and I’m worried about coffee.” 

Derek joined the two of you, his go-bag in hand. “Maybe I should give you a ride home.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be fine. You guys need to get going.” 

“Y/N, you aren’t thinking straight-”

“I said I’m fine, Morgan,” you snapped. You’d never used his last name like that before. It made you sound like your brother. You turned your desperate gaze back to JJ. 

She gave you a helpless attempt of a reassuring nod. “I’ll update you as much as I can, okay?” But even you knew, there wasn’t much she could say to you. 

You’d never wished to be part of the team before but now, just the chance of having more information, made you yearn to be getting on that plane. 

You weren’t the only one in the dark. 

Reid and Prentiss stood in the tunnel amongst the women and children who didn’t understand that they’re entire way of life was coming to an end. Reid watched their faces while Prentiss kept her eyes on the men with the guns. 

Nancy was dead. She was shot by one of the state police during the gunfight. Spencer caught a glimpse of Cyrus’ men carrying her body into one of the other rooms. Emily put a hand on his arm. 

“We’re going to be okay.” 

He frowned. “I know. They’ll start negotiations soon.” One of the men eyed him and he tried to remain as calm as possible, but not too calm. Reid and Prentiss may not have known about the raid, but now they had to convince these people that they had nothing to do with it.

The only thing keeping him together was the thought of you watching on the news. The media must have gotten a hold of the situation by now and it wouldn’t take you long to connect the dots. He wished he could just have one phone call, one word to let you know that he and Emily were okay. As long as he could hold through to get back to you, everything would turn out okay. 

He didn’t want to think about what could happen if Cyrus found out who they really were. 

Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor. Exodus 20:16 

-

He shouldn’t have felt relieved. A woman who reached out for their help was dead. But a wave of reluctant relief washed over the whole team when Cryus said the name Nancy Lunde. 

Prentiss and Reid were alive- given that Cyrus was telling the truth. 

Hotch ran a hand down his face. Rossi prepared to take in food with bugs hidden so they could listen to the group’s activity. He also planned to check and see that the women, children, and their team members were okay. 

Morgan walked over. “Hotch, this is gonna be all over the news.” 

“I know.” 

“Y/N is going to be watching.”

The supervisory agent’s expression remained the same. “I know.” 

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think it’s a good idea to tell her anything?”

“I can’t give out information to someone who has nothing to do with this operation.” 

“Nothing to do with it?” Morgan exclaimed. “You have to know this is killing her right now. Maybe we could just-”

“We cannot jeopardize this,” he said firmly. Hotch’s eyes softened as he pictured your face from this morning. “Even if it means Y/N has to wait.” 

He understood Morgan’s concerns. For the past few months, you’d been trying to get control of your life back and now this? But they couldn’t break protocol, lest the wrong information fall into the wrong hands. They couldn't risk it. 

Still, he couldn’t help but want to comfort that scared girl he knew was crying out somewhere inside of you. 

Back in D.C. you went into work to distract yourself, but you were glued to the television in the lounge, awaiting any sort of news regarding the stand off at the compound. Sonia brought you a cup of coffee and sat on the sofa across from you. 

“You look awful for someone who just came off vacation.” 

You checked your watch and sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. I haven’t done anything today. I just… I have to keep watching.” 

The newscaster returned, still standing over the compound like a dog finding buried bones. 

“Is that that Colorado thing?” Sonia asked. 

You gulped and nodded. You listened to the journalist and felt your heart stop. Sonia put a hand on yours. 

“What is it?” 

“Son of a bitch,” you exclaimed, running a hand down your face. 

“What?” 

“This idiot just told them that there’s an FBI agent inside with them.” Hot tears pooled in your eyes, the burden of not-knowing weighing heavily in your features. Sonia made the connection. 

She laid a hand on her chest. “Oh Lord.” 

You stood up, body shaking from the agonizing mix of grief and rage rushing through you. Your breathing turned shallow and stinging and your hand wrapped around your throat as if you could soothe the burning cries from the outside. 

If those people in the compound had access to the news, then Spencer and Emily were as good as dead. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

-

Spencer stared at his hands. Prentiss sat across from him as they both waited. Something was wrong. 

Cyrus stormed in, followed by another one of his men with a large gun. “Which one of you is it?” He asked. 

They both looked at him blankly. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” 

Prentiss’ mouth fell open, her eyes darting over to Reid. 

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spence asked. He hoped the nerves in his tone would sound more like fear than panic. 

Cyrus’ glare honed in on the young agent’s face. “God will forgive me for what I must do.” He took the gun in his hand, cocked it, and aimed it right at Reid’s forehead. 

Spence kept his body calm while his heart raced beyond comprehension. “I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“One of you does,” Cyrus said. “Who is it?” 

Emily watched the thoughts behind Spencer’s eyes. Wondering what he would miss if he died now. What would happen to you? To his mom? If Cyrus killed him, what would he do to her? 

She thought of you and what this would do to you- if you survived it. With the fragile state everyone knew you were in, Emily wondered how much longer you could pretend to be fine. And if something happened to Reid… 

Most of all she thought of the sweet, brilliant agent staring down death in front of her. This man she’d grown to love over the years of working together. 

Her friend. 

She spoke without hesitation. “It’s me.” 

A tense silence fell over them. 

Cyrus lowered the gun. Spencer stared at her in fearful disbelief. 

The cult leader grabbed her by the hair and she cried out. Without a word, Spencer was forced to watch Cyrus drag Emily out, with only her reassuring glance to say their possible goodbyes. 

-

It was hours before he saw her again. Cyrus gathered everyone in the chapel. 

Her face was bloodied and bruised and the minute he laid eyes on her, he felt every blow as if it had been dealt to him. It made every lie he told, every sympathy he faked, cut his tongue like a knife. 

Emily felt his big, puppy dog eyes on her face and kept her voice level. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked. 

It should have been him. He should have said something, told Cyrus that he lied and she didn’t know anything. Maybe he would have just shot him. When he was staring down that gun, all he could think was how scared he was and if he would ever see you again and what would happen to his mom. 

He didn’t say anything and his friend got hurt. 

Both agents could sense something was coming. Cyrus was too calm. He negotiated a surrender at noon and told the others to make sure the press was there. 

This was his final stand. 

Outside, the other members of the team prepared for a raid. 

Aaron stood, watching the compound with a darkness hanging over him. He couldn’t help but feel the sinking claws of failure and guilt weighing into this shoulders. His team was in danger and he put them there. 

The sound of Prentiss’ breaking voice repeating the same phrase would haunt him. 

“I can take it.” 

She reminded him of you. Your willingness to take whatever punishment life dealt you and refusing to ask for help. Emily took every punch because she wouldn’t give up on the women and children still in there. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw Dave approach him. 

“I know I can’t go in there,” he sighed. His attachment to the agents inside extended beyond their professional relationships and he couldn’t let that risk the rescue. 

Dave nodded. “I’m going.” 

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid, I…” He turned to the other agent. “I don’t know.” 

“You’re not alone.”

Hotch held his phone in his hands, your contact pulled up. “I don’t know if I’d have the heart to tell her. She’s been through so much already and this would-”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that,” Dave assured him. “We’re going to go in there and get them back. The only phone call you’ll have to make is to tell her that Prentiss and Reid are okay.” 

Hotch put his phone back in his pocket. “I hope you’re right.” 

-

He was running out of time. Cyrus had the remote in hand. They had guns pointed at his friends outside. The women and children should be getting out now, but if he wanted any chance of surviving this, he had to try and talk the leader down. Spence did the only thing he could think of. 

Use their belief. 

“Jeremiah 29:11 ‘I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to bring you hope and a future,” he said. “Is blowing yourself up part of the prosperous future God wants?” 

Cyrus stormed across the chapel to him, holding his gun to Spencer’s chest. “You think you know the word better than I?” 

“No. I’m just demonstrating that you can use the Bible to manipulate anything.”

“Matthew 10:24,” Cyrus started. “‘Do not suppose that I have come to the Earth to bring peace. I did not come to bring peace but a sword.’”

He took the butt of his gun and swung it into Spencer’s stomach. 

“The devil knows how to read, too.” Charles’ words and Tobias’ voice echoed in his head while the pain shot up his torso. 

He doubled over. 

Cyrus stared down at him. “You cannot convert my brothers.”

He hit him again, the ache spreading until he couldn’t stay on his feet anymore. Spencer collapsed in front of Cyrus and looked up at the man holding the means of his death. Was this it? Either shot by a crazed leader or blown to bits in his final message to the world. 

He never got to introduce you to his mom. 

Cyrus held the remote- the means of their destruction- in his hand like it was the means of his redemption. 

“No one had to follow,” he mused. “God could have stopped me.” 

Two men burst through the chapel door, the first shooting Cyrus’ follower and Morgan firing into Cyrus’ chest. The man crumpled to the ground, dropping the remote beside him. 

Reid sat up. “He just did.” 

Across the country and two hours in the future, you waited. 

The television screen lit up the dark living room. You sat on the couch, knees to your chest, arms around your legs and eyes red and watering from staring at the TV light.

When the explosion overtook your vision, you’d cried all of the tears you had. You didn’t even have the energy to scream. Instead, a hoarse, choking cry tore through your aching throat. 

Who was still inside? Did anyone make it out? 

You sunk off the couch and onto the floor. 

They were in there. 

Everyone you loved up in flames. 

Spencer.

Emily.

Aaron. 

Derek.

Dave.

Six lost all over again. 

A shaking hand reached to turn off the TV, leaving you in darkness. 

-

The plane, though quiet, had Spencer’s head screaming. One question haunted him over and over again.

If he couldn’t protect Emily from Cyrus, how was he supposed to protect you from yourself? 

He pretended to bury himself in a book, but his mind wouldn’t let him process any of the words. He didn’t notice Prentiss sit across from him until she spoke. 

“Hey.”

He mouthed ‘Hi’ but nothing came out. He didn’t know what else to do, so he returned his gaze to the book, too pained to see the bruises on her face. 

Prentiss put her hands on his and lowered them, forcing him to look at her. “I need you to listen to me,” she spoke softly and firmly all at once, like a big sister comforting a little boy. “What Cyrus did to me was not your fault. It was my decision and I would do it again.” Her tone lightened. “Do you hear me?” 

He managed a small, confirming smile, even if he was still having a hard time convincing himself. 

Her thumb soothingly rubbed the back of his hand. “Thank you.” The two settled into their seats and he continued reading. Emily’s eyes widened with a concerning thought. “Have you called Y/N?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Reid, the raid and the explosion were all over the news,” she said. “Does Y/N even know we’re alive?” 

He scrambled for his cell. “Someone had to have called her… right?” Prentiss shrugged, anxiously awaiting the call. He dialed your number. 

It rang three times before you picked up. 

“You’re okay,” you said breathlessly. 

“I’m so sorry- I should have called sooner, but everything has been so crazy and they made me get checked out by the paramedics because I almost blew up- but you already knew that. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing and make sure that you were okay,” he rambled. 

You laughed, but he could tell there wasn’t any humor in your voice. “It’s okay, Spence. JJ called me and filled me in already. I figured you would call when you could.” 

He glanced up at Prentiss and mouthed ‘JJ told her.’ “Okay, I’m glad someone kept you updated. Everything has been… well, I’ll tell you when I get back I guess.” He exhaled, the memories of panic and fear of never seeing you again starting to be replaced by thoughts of holding you and falling asleep beside you. “I can’t wait to get home.”

A smile teased the corner of your lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“You should get some sleep,” he said. In D.C. it was almost the time you usually woke up for work, but he knew that you probably hadn’t slept at all since the story first hit the news. He always worried when you didn’t take care of yourself. 

“Only if you promise to get some rest on the plane,” you replied. 

“Okay, I will.” Just hearing your teasing tone made his heart feel lighter. You sounded like your usual self. Maybe he didn’t need to be so worried. You were always the stronger one. “I love you and I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too, Spencer. Goodnight.” 

You set your phone down on the smooth wooden surface. You wrapped your fingers around your glass and poured the remaining bronze liquid down your throat. Your chest warmed. This was a familiar burn. A welcome relief. 

Emptying the glass, you set it back on the bar and ordered another drink.

-

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02

[hsdiaries]

chapter five

4.3k words

Fifth chapter of eight count.

The morning after with her felt like I was in a different dimension of my life. We fixed her bed with new sheets, I rolled my eyes as she insisted that we fix the bed completely. I let her know I never did, that I found it pointless before jumping in and messing up the neatly made up bed we had just spent twenty minutes arranging. She eventually jumped in too, her laughter mixing with mine as we wrinkled the covers and knocked down some pillows. Her body shifted towards mine, lips brushing mine gently before pressing a kiss onto them. 

We went to a small bakery for breakfast that I came to every once in a while, making sure it was in the opposite direction of Birmingham’s. She was too nosy when it came to my so-called job there and I wanted to avoid it at all cost. Our breakfast was spent sharing two different pastries as she couldn’t make up her mind and cups of coffee each. She surprised me then, insisting I get a key to her apartment so that I could let myself in while she was at work. It was strange to me, knowing her less than a week but feeling like I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

We walked to a local hardware store after, quickly making a key before heading back to her place. She was talkative the entire time, almost as if she never had someone to express all her thoughts too. I learned she liked to snack on white cheddar popcorn, always had a bowl ready to quickly reach into. We attempted to play blackjack on her coffee table, but ended up building paper houses out of the cards. Some two stories, others single story homes.

“I always wanted an entire loft like building for myself. I make enough to probably get something like that…but now the space would seem too empty and big for just me,” she smiled, starting to add a third story to one carefully.

“I’d follow you there too, we could call it the house of broken hearts,” I bit my lip, a soft peach blush on her cheeks.

“What makes you think I have a broken heart?” She said softly, eyes locked on mine.

“It’s a hunch, if everything else of you, is as similar to me as the things we’ve shared, I’d say we share a broken heart too,” I shrugged and she nodded, looking down to her paper houses.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, bashful, maybe you’re right.”

—

I hadn’t seen her today since she placed a kiss on my cheek before leaving for work. She had done this the past two mornings before work and each time I wished I could pull her against me; hold her there the rest of the day. I had been sleeping on the couch as well these past two nights, trying to keep some decency in our newly formed friendship. I didn’t want her to think she was just a sexual fixture in my life, I wanted her to know I was able to make this more than just that.

Packing up my gym bag with everything I needed for tonight’s fight made me jittery. It was both my ego and nerves trying to take over my mind. I needed to win this fight to make bills for the next month, I also needed the win to not feel like the weak bastard my father thought I was. 

Throwing my shoes in my bag, I looked around the apartment making sure I didn’t leave a mess. I didn’t want Emilia to come home from work stressed out and cleaning. Once I made sure everything was in order, I threw my bag over my shoulder and made my way out, locking the door behind me. 

My body moved toward the elevator but my feet stopped me, eyes glancing over to my apartment door. I licked my lips as they went dry, wondering if he was okay. We had heard his drunken movements at night as we settled, but I hadn’t been back. I bought clothes with some of the extra money Brad had given, knowing if my father needed groceries, he would sober up enough to get himself bread, cheese and more beer.

I closed my eyes, shaking my head continuing my way off of this floor and to the lobby. When I got to the bottom, Richard whistled, catching my attention instantly.

“Rich! Good day!” I smiled, gripping on tighter to my bag, walking over to him as his eyes narrowed, “Or not good day?”

“She’s special, Harry. She’s smart, responsible, and incredibly kind. Her heart is too big for her own good,” he said sternly, eyes burning into mine.

“I know that. I see it. She’s been good to me with no real reason to be,” I said, watching as his eyes trailed to my gym bag.

“She know about that?” His chin pointing in its direction.

“No. I don’t want her involved in that. You know it’s probably best she doesn’t get involved in it,” I swallowed, until eventually he gave a soft nod.

“I know you’re a good kid, Harry. She is too. I just don’t want broken hearts all over my lobby floor,” he raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t help but chuckle nodding my head.

“I don’t have enough heart left for that. I’m afraid she’d leave a black hole and nothing else,” I raised both eyebrows before turning on my heels, “Bye Rich.”

I pushed my way through the apartment doors, quickly heading towards Birmingham’s. Brad and I had done so much work for tonight’s fight, I knew I could take him down in one round easily, two if I wanted to make a show out of it. I would have my title back from this dumbass and that was all that truly concerned me.

As I finally walked in the doors of Birmingham’s I was greeted by Jacob and Brad hanging at the bar.

“Well, well, well it’s our champ! You ready to knock him the fuck out tonight?” Jacob quipped, Brad laughing.

“Fuck yeah. Get him out of this bar for at least a month,” I snickered making Jacob roll his eyes.

“Don’t exactly appreciate you scaring away paying customers,” he tilted his head at me and I sat next to Brad.

“I bring in about half of the people on fight nights, I can chase away one,” I shot back, Brad pointing at me with her drink.

“His point is valid lad,” Jacob narrowed his eyes, tuning to grab a small glass, filling it with some cherries and handing it to me. I smiled, glancing down at my usual, normally topped off with some cold Coca Cola if it wasn’t a fight night. I grabbed a cherry, popping it off the stem with my teeth.

“Yeah, well, you better not start sucking then. They’ll stop coming around if all you do is lose their money. Even today, most bets on the table are in favor of you winning,” Jacob said, sliding over his bet log. I glanced over it quickly, looking at how much I would make from the entry fee alone if I won.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t losing anymore. Not in my nature,” I winked, eating another cherry.

“So, did you finally grow the balls to tell your girl about tonight?” Brad elbowed my arm, my eyes narrowing at him.

“She’s not my girl…not like that anyway. I don’t want her involved in this world. She’s too good for this, trust me. Plus, the legality of it all, I’m sure it would mess with her job,” I ran my fingers through my hair, twisting the strands and pulling at them tightly.

“You gotta tell her eventually. What’s she going to think when you come home with a couple bruises tonight or those stitches opened up again?” Brad shot back.

“I’ll deal with it when I get there. Right now, she doesn’t need this, so let’s just drop it,” I said, biting two cherries at once, “Let’s talk schedule, what are the fights looking like tonight?”

Jacob, flipped around the bet book, looking for the schedule running his finger down the order of events, “We have two fights before you, you go on at 12, near closing time. Best spot.”

“Perfect, Hopefully Louis’ ass can stay sober enough to stand through it, if not, Brad you’ll be the stand in manager and coach,” we both nodded at each other.

“We got this, bruv, winners,” Brad patted my back as we got lost in conversation.

“God, just one more hour,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes from how tired I was. Today had been long, no major losses in the ward, just pain and struggle. Jo didn’t look any happier with today, but we held on to the knowledge that tomorrow was our last shift before a four day break. 

“Watch it be the hour from hell. You know I could use a drink tonight. I wanna go home, get dolled up, look sexy as fuck and well - get fucked,” she smirked and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My thighs clench slightly at the thought of having Harry in my bed tonight. He had been so respectful since the first time we slept together, but I wanted nothing more than to hear him call me pretty girl in my ear.

I bit my lip, running my tongue against it, “Let’s do that! Let’s go home, get dolled up, you can meet me at my place and we can go to Birmingham’s and get drunk. You can meet Harry, he’s working tonight!” I smiled brightly, like the idea of having someone important to introduce.

“I can meet the man that has my best friend on a whole different planet? Sign me up. Plus, Jacob always gives me free drinks!” She shimmed her shoulders, winking at me. I laugh, shaking my head as I close up some files, turning to the computer to log information in, “So he’s just been there this week? And hasn’t try to put a move on you at all?”

“Well..,” I sucked my lower lip in between my teeth and giggled, my eyes glancing over at her. I cleared my throat and whispered so only she could hear, “we hooked up the first morning after he stayed over. We just got caught up in the moment, but since then, nothing has happened. I think he’s trying to be respectful, because we kiss and touch. Just hasn’t been sexual.”

Jo’s jaw dropped, she took hold of my arm, rolling her chair over closer to mine, “You got laid and didn’t share. You know I live through these moments, it’s why we share!”

“I honestly thought you would be upset at me! You told me to be careful, and here I am, having him in my apartment and fucking him!” I exclaimed quietly, making her laugh. 

“Did you use a condom?” She said, my eyes widening as she hit my head softly with a file, “That’s not being careful!”

Scrunching my nose, I giggled, “I took care of things, I just - God Jo, it was so fucking hot. I didn’t want him to stop. I needed him to just keep touching me.”

I breathed out, Jo stomping her feet playfully on the ground, hugging me close to her, squealing out “God, I love sex.”

Bursting into laughter, I smacked her arm until she finally freed me, “He’s friends with Jacob you know? We could have a double date!” 

“Jacob and I don’t do double dates. We fuck. That’s where that ends, but, for you, I guess,” Jo said rolling her eyes, even though deep down I knew she wanted nothing more than to make it more than just casual sex. 

“You’re so generous,” I smirked, shaking my head a bit, “Okay, so it’s set then, Birmingham’s after work. We will wash off the day, get cute and get drunk.” 

She watched me as I clapped my hands in excitement, laughing and pushed back to her area of the desk and continuing her work.

— 

I smoothed on a layer of a mauvey lipstick on top of my favorite brown liner, blotting my lips against each other; my signature peach blush on my cheeks. Jo was five minutes away, we would pregame with some shot for courage before heading to Birmingham’s. It was silly, needing liquid courage, as if Harry hadn’t made my home his - but he was always so quiet about work. Secretive almost, not embarrassed, just…secretive. A knock on my door snapped me out of thoughts and I quickly closed my lipstick, moving to open the door for Jo. 

“I bring Don Julio and Patron. Options!” She exclaimed, bringing in her scent of cherry vanilla with her, dressed in a black jumpsuit that hugged her just right.

“Patron is the only option!” I snatched the bottle from her, quickly making my way over to the kitchen. I pulled out shot glasses and quickly served us shots.

“So did you tell Harry we were coming? I told Jacob we would be stopping by,” she smiled as we clinked the shot glasses and down them quickly. I scrunched my face at the burn of the tequila, shaking my head.

“No. I figured I would surprise him looking like this,” I winked, twirling to show off my loose gold satin dress, and dainty strappy heels.

“You know what, it’ll be the best surprise of his life, and I won’t blame you if you sneak him away,” she smacked my ass before serving another shot.

“Oh hush, alright, I made us sandwiches, two more shots and then we are out!” I said, gliding over to my fridge and pulling out the two sandwiches I had made us earlier. She reached over and began eating as we chatted about what our days off would consist of. We agreed to go shopping the day after tomorrow just in case tonight ended with both of us with me in our beds.

Once our sandwiches were done we took our final shot then quickly grabbed our purses and headed out. I was thankful Birmingham’s wasn't too far off, both because of the cold and also because the shots were starting to course through me. I was as nervous at the thought of surprising Harry, but excited all at the same time.

We pushed through the bar door, Jo squinting her eyes until she spotted Jacob and squealing, “Sugar!” She loosened her grip on my running towards the bar, Jacob rounding the corner and smiling at her.

“Baby face, look at you,” Jacob smirked at her, drinking her up as I approached the bar sitting next to where Jo stood. Jacob’s eyes landed on me, “Hey E, how’s the night going?”

“Good, in need of a good ranch water with a extra twist,” I winked and he chuckled.

“Alrighty and you Jo?” 

“Tequila. Straight,” she smirked and I couldn’t help but snicker at my best friend’s straightforwardness.

He chuckled and nodded, my eyes rolling as Jo took her seat, “Alright, coming right up. Make sure to keep the freaks away until I get back.”

I saluted at him, before biting my lip and tapping my fingers on the bar top. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander around, trying to spot the unruly hair that I loved tangling my fingers in.

“You see him?” Jo said, her voice snapping me in her direction.

“No. I mean, I see a bar back, but it’s not him. Maybe he got off already? But..he said he would be home late. So - I don’t actually know.”

She nodded as Jacob made his way back, placing our drinks in front of us, “Here you go, I gotta work the bar, I’ll be back.”

“Wait sugar! Question, where is Harry?” Jo said confidently, my cheeks flushing. 

I watched as Jacob’s brows furrowed, looking around quickly then back at us. He crossed his arms in front of his body, leaning forward on the bar, “How do you both know about that?”

Jo and I quickly glanced at each other then back at Jacob, “Know about what?” I said, tilting my head.

“Harry, the boxing…that’s what you're asking about right?” He said, eyes narrowed, but before I had a chance to speak, Jo spoke quickly.

“Obviously, we just didn’t get the full details,” she smiled, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.

“Alright, normally there is a twenty dollar buy in, but I’ll swing it for you both. Take your drink, these tickets and head down that back door marked employee entrance. You’ll reach the stairs, you’ll hear the crowd, just follow the noise. He already started so, hurry, I’m sure he’s going to be done with that pus quickly.”

My mind tried to wrap around everything Jacob had just said, Jo’s hand wrapping around my arm and pulling me up. I followed her in a daze, drinking in hand as we followed Jacob’s directions. As we approached the stairs and made our way down, I could hear what sounded like a crowd, cheering and booing. Voices overlapping more than just those at a bar. 

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyeline fell on a boxing rink, surrounded by drunken men and a couple of women. In the rink was a tall slim blonde, ducking to avoid punches coming from a curly haired brunette. My curly hair brunette, Harry. My hand quickly came to my mouth, seeing Harry throw a punch and miss, followed by a quick punch to his stitched up eyebrow.

Harry lost his balance slightly, moving back until he found his footing, moving so quickly none of us including the other boxer expected it. He threw three quick blows, before they both moved into a hug, the makeshift referee approaching to seperate them.

“Uhm? This is a unique bar back?” Jo yelled into my ear, my face turning towards her brows furrowed.

“I can’t believe he lied,” I shot back.

“Hey, maybe he had a reason,” Jo quickly said as I shook my head.

“This is so stupid, beyond dang—…” I was interrupted by the crowd's screams and yells, the bell indicating the fight had ended ringing in my ears. Harry’s arm was held up by the referee, two other men running up and hugging him, lifting him up on their shoulders.

“I gotta go,” I said quickly, moving through the crowd to the ring, trying to find Harry in the haze of things. I could see the top of his head, his dimples imprinted on his cheeks coming into view. I swallowed, pressing my lips tightly together before finally calling out to him, “Harry.”

I saw his shoulders tense, his face turning to glance over his shoulder before completely turning around. Confusion seemed to be his primary expression before it softened into his sweet smile. His sweet smile that I needed to go away and not distract from the anger I felt in my chest.

“Emilia…what are you doing here?” He said, almost hesitant to step towards me.

“Thought I was going to surprise you at work, maybe hang out after you were off,” I chewed on my lip.

“Did you…do you see the entire fight?” He said softly, his hands moving to his hair, he was nervous, it was obvious.

“Caught the end it seems…so this is what you do? This is your job?” I said sternly, straight to the point.

He studied my face, my eyes not leaving his as he did, “Yeah. This is how I get my money. It usually covers rent and the bills, plus some savings.”

I bit my lip, shaking my head, “Do you know how dangerous this is?”

His face pulled back slightly, “What?”

“Yes, there is no proper medical team, your wound is open again which can be dangerous on its own, not to mention completely illegal. This is so stupid, Harry. And you lied to me.”

“Of course I did! Look how you’re reacting! Fucking shaming me, for trying to make a living the only way I know how,” he scoffed, biting his lip and shaking his head.

“This isn’t the only way! There are so many other ways to make a living, to get a good—…”

“….a good what?! Job? Job that understands my father is a drunk who will make me miss work more than days I can physically attend? That will pay me in one day what I can make here in one night. Not all of us are privileged, Emilia!” He growled at me, eyebrows knitting together, arms crossing in front of my body.

“Excuse me?” 

“Privileged. Things handed to them if you need a clearer definition,” he smirked, arrogantly chuckling under his breath.

“Things have not been handed to me! I have worked hard for every bit of the life I have!” I yelled, finding myself moving closer to his face, trying to match his towering height, not letting him make me feel small.

“Yeah? Nothing at all? And when you went to school? Did daddy pay for that? Or the government because you lost your father in service?” He shot back, words stinging like a dagger straight to my heart. I felt myself shrivel back down to small, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to fall.

I back away slowly, chewing on my inner cheek and lip, “Fuck you, Harry.”

He moved to close the distance between us, face so close our noses lined up, “You already did,” he smirked, looking from one eye to the other before walking around me and leaving me in the wake of a crowd I didn’t realize had stayed behind to watch the argument.

Looking around desperately, I felt Jo rush into me, arms wrapping tightly around my body, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

I pushed past her quickly, cursing myself under my breath for handling everything the way I had. I felt cornered, attacked, I reacted the way I normally would with my father - only making bile crawl up my throat. I reached the small changing area for the boxer, pushing to the sink in the back, allowing my entire body weight to rest on my hands as I held on.

A hand gripped at my shoulder, my eyes peeking up in the mirror to see Jacob. I shook my head and looked down at the sink, “What’s up?”

“First…I didn’t realize that was her. She knew of you, so I just sent her down. I thought it was part of the plan to come see you,” Jacob said, Brad and the guys obviously having informed him. 

Or Emilia herself.

“It doesn’t even fucking matter, I just met her, don’t mean shit,” I said, further amount of bile forming, clearing my throat to make it go away.

Jacob nodded small, “And secondly…Percy Maddox was here tonight. Saw you fight. He’s waiting for you upstairs, made me empty a booth out for you. A meeting with Percy Maddox is a big deal, Harry. He doesn’t come to Birmingham’s often.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose before standing up and rolling my shoulders back, “Where’s Lou and Brad?”

“Already buying him a round.” Jacob said, my tongue licking my dry lips as I nodded.

“Right, just gotta clean up.”

—

Looking around, I spotted the boys sitting at the back booth, Lou calling me over with his hand. I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at my curls as I walked over. As I turned the corner to sit next to Lou, I took in the great Percy Maddox - heart instantly dropping into my stomach.

He was well dressed, almost too overdressed for a bar like Birmingham’s. Shiny gold watch on his wrist, matching the chain around his neck. He smiled, taking me in as he sipped his drink, thumb coming up to wipe at his lips.

“Harry Styles. Did you know everyone in mainstream boxing has heard about you already? Some up and coming boxer, illegally making his name in a bar - sounds like the story of a legend,” he shrugged, making me laugh a bit.

“I wasn’t aware of my impact. This just pays the bills,” I said shortly, not really sure how I wanted this meeting to go.

“You could be paying the bills and more, with my help obviously. PR, best matches, traveling the world, strong team behind you.” 

“I already have the best team, these two have obviously gotten me noticed by the likes of you. Which obviously means something impactful,” I said, glancing over to Lou and Brad, nervous smiles on their faces.

This moment meant everything to Brad, I knew it. I didn’t want to sabotage anything for him, but I needed it to be known they were my team. Even dumbass, Lou.

“You make valid points, Harry, and I wouldn’t remove them from your side. It’s obvious this came from the work of three not just one. I’ve had many boxers come under my wing with a team, and we’ve managed.” 

“So you want me on your team?” I said carefully.

“I want you to show me you deserve to be on my team. Two weeks. I pick the opponent, you prep for it, come ready, show me you can be a Maddox Management boxer,” Percy proposed, our eyes steady on each other.

“And when I prove I am?” I countered making him laugh.

“Contracts will be drawn up, for the three of you,” he took a long sip of his drink, my hand moving to tangle into my curls.

Licking my lips I nodded, “Alright. Lou give him your number and set everything up. If you’ll excuse me, my pops needs my assistance tonight. Good night.” 

I stood up, holding my hand out to him which he took and we shook. 

“Looking forward to seeing you on my ring,” he winked, my head nodding a bit before turning and walking away.