#and seeing them leave for work in a hurry of silver morning light on freshly dyed hair and orange clothes and silver jewelry

[shrews-things]

I don't draw well enough for masterpieces but I do draw well enough to make hundreds of portraits of my love over the course of a lifetime and I think I can make peace with that

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, use of sex toys, cumplay, multiple orgasms, creampie, oral (f receiving) face riding/sitting, use of the words slut, cumdump/cumsleeve and degradation in an entirely consensual context, also they drink in this episode so it involves sex under the influence of alcohol, but once again entirely consensual, overstimulation, cumeating (it is a yoongi chapter after all)

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and everyone who submitted truths and/or dares. i apologise if yours didn’t get drawn, there were over eighty of them

DAY SEVENTEEN

Waking up on Wednesday is the calmest you’ve felt in a while. Even though it’s not the start of the week, it still feels fresh, and you slept far better last night than you did before elimination.

That being said, fate apparently gives you very limited time to breathe, because the second you open your bedroom door you get a fright that just about stops your heart.

Min Yoongi, fist falling awkwardly in the open space, blinks at you. “Good morning.”

“Jesus,” you curse, hand pressed to your sternum as your heart races beneath it, wordlessly stepping back to let him in.

Yoongi slips past you smoothly. “I know the resemblance is startling, but we have been living together for two weeks, Y/n. I’m hurt.”

You scoff as he makes himself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He shrugs, looking more casual than usual in a faded red tee and a pair of jeans rolled up at the ankles. His hair, newly mint, sticks up at odd angles like the first thing he’d done this morning was tip out of bed and come down to your door. It just makes him all the more endearing. “I have a proposition,” he announces vaguely, pulling out a sleek black object from his front pocket and resting it on the duvet beside him.

You narrow your eyes at the foreign object. Made of what must be matte silicon, there's the slightest hint of silver that circles an on-button at the base of it. Although it's not particularly long, it's wide and rounded, and it doesn't take much brainpower to work out where a toy like that might go.

Yoongi grins as your eyes rove over the toy. "Perhaps less of a proposition, and more of a challenge," he drawls slowly. A single graceful finger runs up and down the length of the black egg, keeping your gaze locked on it. "I'm gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, and if you can keep my cum inside you all day, I'll give you a reward. How does that sound?"

You suck in a breath, eyes flying up to his again. You're nodding before you even really process the implication of his words, but he's already quirking a finger to beckon you.

"Come sit," he commands breezily. He's already hard when you straddle him, your knees braced on the duvet and arms linking around his neck. Glancing up at you, you're taken by the honeyed way his eyes blink up at you with bemusement. "You're very obedient this morning," Yoongi quips, "is this why people like morning sex?"

You scoff, rolling your clothed core against him. "Hurry up and put your dick in me if you're going to, Min."

"Never mind, then," he sighs, but happily slips open his belt buckle with one hand, the other gripping the flesh of your thigh as he frees his cock from the confines of his jeans.

Still in a loose oversized sleep shirt and panties, it's easy enough for Yoongi to just tug the fabric over your core to one side, fingers sliding through your already-sodden folds.

"Didn't take much, did it, sweetheart?" he asks with a wry grin, and your cheeks heat, burying your face in the crook of his neck even as his deft fingers spread your wetness over you.

"Stop making fun of me," you whine, breath hitching when he slips a single finger deep inside you.

"Oh, but I'm not," he murmurs, voice just as languid as his pumping motions. "It's fucking hot."

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, Yoongi beginning to relax your muscles with a second finger, hooking and twisting and curling them in all the ways that make your legs weak.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" You can feel more than see Yoongi's smirk when you nod hastily, grinding against his fingers. "But it doesn't sound like it. Why can't I hear you, hm?"

A free hand presses lightly but firmly at your jaw, lifting your face away from him. You swallow down another moan as his thumb brushes just once over your sensitive clit.

Held up across from Yoongi, you can't avoid the way he frowns. "That won't do," he decides, before his fingers tug down your bottom lip. Without a single falter in his other hand fucking you, now three fingers in, Yoongi hooks his index and middle fingers behind your bottom teeth to keep your mouth open wide for him.

The next time he swipes your clit, you can't hold back the wanton groan that escapes. Yoongi's eyes positively light up at the sound as he fucks you harder, jostling you on his lap and making every little noise from your throat magnify.

When he eventually removes his sopping fingers from your core, you whine unabashedly at the absence. The heat that had built up, the beginnings of an orgasm, quickly dissipate.

“Patience,” Yoongi chastises in a voice thick with humour, before lining himself up at your entrance and swiftly pushing you down onto him.

You groan as he fills you, unable to stop the drool that’s begun to spill over onto his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind the messiness, however, using the leverage to keep you steady once he starts to fuck up into you.

Your hands fly from the back of his neck to his shoulders, stuttered cries punched out of you with every bounce. Certainly not the biggest member in the household, Yoongi did know how to use his cock to make you melt around him and he quickly makes your fingers and toes curl with pleasure.

Even as he maintains his dominance with the unspoken ease he always carries, it’s undeniable that he’s close with the way he beings to lose his composure. Whether it’s his freshly-dyed hair curling at his temples with the sweat of his exertion or the grunts that slipped past gritted teeth, you love those little glimpses of the animal that wrecked you last week.

When his pace stutters into a desperate jackhammer that leaves you breathless, you know it’s only a matter of time before he spills inside you. Close yourself, you slip a hand down seeking your clit for the needed stimulation to push you over the edge.

The second you feel a glimmer of hot pleasure, however, a hand snakes around your wrist and pulls it away. Your eyes widen, drool spilling messily down Yoongi’s other hand as you babble. “Ngo, ‘o, p’ease,” you slur out, “‘oongi, wan’ cum.”

Your whine gets louder as Yoongi responds to your complaints by slowing down to a deep grind, breathing heavily in his chest. “What are our rules, sweetheart? You have to keep my cum inside you all day to win your reward, don’t you? Now be a good girl and let me fill you up.”

Unlike you, Yoongi has clearly still retained that edge of orgasm, and it doesn’t take much before he’s shuddering with a groan, painting your insides white. Finally lifting his fingers off your bottom teeth, he pushes them further in your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean of your own saliva.

Wrapping your lips around them with a dissatisfied whine, you grind your hips fruitlessly against him as he slowly begins to soften. No hope of cumming this morning, you resign yourself to the challenge he’s set you and let him tip you gently onto the bed, standing himself at the edge still inside you.

You blink up at him, licking your swollen lips once he retracts his fingers from your mouth, picking up the small black egg you’d almost forgotten about. “Is it games?” you ask blearily, sniffling when he pulls out of you.

With one of your legs held up to keep you at a good angle, Yoongi starts to push the rounded vibe inside you, aided by your arousal and his own release. “Is what games?” he asks softly, an airy chuckle leaving his mouth when the toy slips inside you, making you moan at the pressure.

“The prompts,” you explain, clenching around the intrusion that’s plugged Yoongi’s cum inside you. “Work hard, play hard. Are they different games or something?”

Yoongi pauses. “I- I’m not sure if it’s beneficial for me to confirm or deny that,” he admits slowly, before clearing his throat and backing up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed. “Can you stand? I’m just about ready for breakfast. Nothing like a good orgasm to build my appetite.”

You send him a scowl as you stand on wobbly legs. “Now you’re just rubbing it in,” you accuse, “this reward better be something special.” Even as you adjust your panties back over you, you’re expecting the silicon egg to come out at any moment. As it is, you feel like you might go crazy before the day’s out.

The doctor makes no effort to hide his satisfaction, eyes shamelessly running over you as you squirm in place. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you today,” he announces lowly, buckling his jeans back up. “If you want your reward you better not take it out or get yourself off. Your pleasure belongs to me today, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir,” you mouth off sarcastically, even as the wetness between your thighs increases.

While Yoongi may have refused to confirm your theory about the prompts being games, it seems games are the theme of the day regardless.

By the time you get dressed - gingerly, like any wrong move would send the egg slipping out in a torrent of cum - and meet the others downstairs, you see the lounge has been cleared to make way for a misshapen pile of packaged snacks and a bowl full of slips of folded paper.

Taehyung, Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok are already surrounding the offering, cross-legged on the carpet. Yoongi, who’d come down before you, haunts the coffee machine. Just as you do a headcount and wonder where Jimin’s gotten to, the man himself approaches from the shadowy depths of the walk-in pantry, two bottles of wine held in one hand by their necks, and a six-pack of soju in the other.

Jimin jumps in surprise when he looks up to see Yoongi just in front of him, sending the older man a small smile. “Good morning.”

Yoongi eyes up the liquor suspiciously. “I suppose it must be.”

“Sejin dropped them off.”

“The bottles?”

“The games,” Jimin emphasises, pointing with a hand laden with bottles. “Jungkookie, Jin-hyung and I just thought we should make it more fun. Didn’t they tell you?”

Yoongi grumbles but doesn’t answer, cradling his coffee like it’s a lifeline and hobbling over to sit on one of the couches, pushed back to give more space.

Wary of your every step, you sit yourself down in a gap between Jungkook and Namjoon. The youngest perks up and turns to you, looking comfy yet stylish in a modern hanbok, black to make the red in his hair pop.

“It’s drunken truth or dare,” Jungkook declares, feet tapping the carpet in excitement. “Sejin said the audience wants more sexy games.”

Jin clicks his tongue. “He never said sexy.”

Jungkook doesn’t bat an eye, still grinning at you. “The ‘sexy’ was implied.”

“I’m sure it was,” you allow with a chuckle. It doesn’t take long for everyone to find their places, Jungkook turning to his other side and tugging on Yoongi’s trouser leg until he sits on the carpet with the rest of you.

Following the circle along, Jimin sits to Yoongi’s left, then Jin, Hoseok, Taehyung and finally back around to Namjoon who’s on your right.

“Alright, how is this supposed to work?” Yoongi asks reluctantly. “And how can I rig this to retain at least a modicum of my dignity?”

“Here’s the deal,” Hoseok announces, “we take turns picking truths or dares from the bowl. If you don’t want to do it, you take off a piece of clothing. Questions?”

Taehyung hesitantly lifts his hand, staring at the dom to his right. “What if we run out of clothes?” Though he’s moderately dressed in thick sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, Taehyung doesn’t really have any layers, and he’s already barefoot.

Hoseok shrugs. “Then you play the rest of the game naked, I guess. Stripping is the whole raison d'etre of slutty game nights. What part of that don’t you get?”

Taehyung pauses. “The raisin part.”

“He’s saying the whole point of games like these is stripping,” Jimin explains quickly, clapping once to get everyone’s attention. “Okay! Let’s start. I didn’t have hands free to bring glasses so unless someone else wants to help out, we’re drinking from the bottles. Who wants what?”

It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to be dished out. Taehyung and Hoseok both scamper around like children and end up mixing plain soju with Fanta or sprite, sipping at the fizzing mixture as they giggle away. Jimin is making his way through one of the two wine bottles himself, a pretty moscato rosé that matches the baby pink lip balm he’s wearing. Namjoon has the other bottle, though he pours a full glass in a sturdy-looking coffee mug and pawns the rest off back to the middle. Jungkook and you wordlessly split a flavoured soju, something sweet and fruity with the classic burn at the back of your throat, and Jin sticks with an original one, leaving Yoongi the only one without alcohol.

The man himself takes a long swill of coffee. “Someone better pick a dare then.” Making no effort to actually help himself, he waits for Hoseok to wiggle on his knees to the centre of the circle to grab the bowl, keeping it secure on his lap as he blindly roots around for a slip of paper.

His subconscious grin of excitement fades the second he picks one and reads it. “My fucking luck,” he curses, before changing his voice to a monotone drawl. “Allow Jimin to give you a makeover. If Jimin draws this, pick another member.” He glances up in pain. “Can I pick someone else anyway?”

“That’s not the dare, Hobi!” Jungkook protests in an excited squeal. “Are you gonna let him do it?”

Jimin remains perfectly poised, simply arching an eyebrow when Hoseok sends him an accusatory glare. Like he’s disappointed with the calm reaction from his rival, Hoseok huffs and silently tugs off a sock. “He’s not getting anywhere near my face,” the dom insists, “I just know he’d make me look ugly on purpose.”

“The only way I could do that is by using no makeup at all,” Jimin petulantly responds. “Anyway, now that you’ve contaminated the air with your bare foot, can we move on?”

Hoseok huffs, but thrusts the bowl to his right, handing it to Jin. The therapist sighs like the discourse personally drains him, then picks a slip from the top, opening it with one hand. Immediately, he breaks out into a pealing laugh, shoulders shaking as he slaps his knee with his free hand. “Do a cartwheel.”

“What the fuck?” Hoseok shrieks. “Why didn’t I get one like that?”

“Can you do a cartwheel, Hoseok?” Jin questions calmly.

Hoseok’s mouth gapes. “I- no.”

“I guess you were doomed to be one sock down either way, then,” Jin consoles. “I, on the other hand, made it onto my high school cheerleading team.” He steps away to a patch of open carpet. “Well; I was the reserve. I never actually did any games.”

That’s the only warning you get before Jin is launching his torso to the ground, legs flying up and flailing as his hands meet the ground. On landing, his feet come down awkwardly, sending him sprawling onto the back of the couch. “Fuck,” he gasps out, catching his balance, “that was way easier when I was small.”

Jin returns to his place with a smug smile, leaving the room in startled silence. “What? Next person.”

Jimin takes the bowl and pulls out a piece of paper before passing it to his right in front of Yoongi. “Alright, I have…” His eyes rake over, plush lips moving. “What do you hope you can do most before you have to leave the house? Uh… I’d like to try something for the first time.”

Taehyung pouts. “Isn’t that a bit boring, Min?”

Jimin shrugs. “I guess I’m on the other end of the spectrum to Namjoon-hyung. It’s hard to find anything I haven’t done before. I’ve been working for Bangasm for years, and doing porn for even longer. Eventually it feels like everything is the same. I’d like to have something completely new, that I can look back on as special.” He clears his throat loudly and nods his head at Yoongi. “Your turn.”

Yoongi places his now-empty coffee mug on the carpet in front of him, rooting around carelessly for a piece of white. His eyebrows lift past the overhanging swoop of mint. “What sex act have you done that you’ll never do again?” Taking a second to think, Yoongi pushes his tongue to the side of his cheek. “Mm, my best friend and I once experimented with each other just before high school graduation. We were both well over 18 by then, but going to a catholic all boys high school, we were pretty repressed and dumb about those kinda things. He tried to suck me off and threw up right on my dick.”

You cringe violently, the sips of soju you’d already drunk sitting sour in your stomach. “Fuck, that’s so gross, Yoongi. Did he like, say sorry?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Ah, not at the time. He started crying and I had to comfort him while I was still covered in- yeah, I’d honestly kinda blocked that out until this question reminded me. Fuck. Okay, next person, I need to re-forget about that.”

None of you can blame him once he reaches for a straight soju and takes a few deep gulps, throat bobbing.

Jungkook’s next in line, looking a little green in the face from Yoongi’s anecdote. “Right, okay, lemme-” With his eyes scrunched shut, he selects his slip of paper and opens it up. “Get the person to your left in the pool within the next minute.”

Yoongi, too preoccupied with chugging as much liquor as he reasonably can, doesn’t pay attention until he’s deftly snagged around the waist and thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder, the half-empty bottle splashing out onto the carpet.

“Hey! What do you think you’re- Jungkook, where are we going?”

Jungkook races out through the back door faster than any of you can keep up with, Taehyung and Hoseok jogging after him to watch from the doorway.

Even from your spot on the floor, you can hear an almighty shriek followed by a splash, and some watery yelling. By the time Yoongi stomps back in, drenched, Namjoon has some towels from the linen closet.

Without the usual sexual tension of a truth and dare game, Yoongi strips off his wet clothes and wraps himself grouchily in as many towels as possible, the final one over his head and tucked under his chin.

Looking like a drenched cat, Yoongi scowls and shivers. “Can I at least go upstairs and get into some dry clothes, or do I have to risk a second dunk?”

Jungkook shrugs airly, passing the bowl down the line. “The risk of me dunking you again is pretty low, hyung. But never zero.”

The plastic bowl now rests in front of you. You eye the folded slips inside warily, before picking one roughly in the middle of the pile. Unfolding the small rectangle, you let out a week laugh once your eyes scan the neatly handwritten words. “Trade shirts with the person on your right.”

“That’s you, Joonie.” You rake over Namjoon’s getup with a wary eye. Luckily, he’s wearing a forest green tee over some chunky camo pants. You think he’s probably going to be worse off than you having to put on your own thin sweater. “Let’s swap.”

Slipping it off, you shiver in the cold air and feel the hairs on your arms stand up on end. Ignoring the rapt eyes of the others, you chuck it into Namjoon’s lap and watch his stomach and biceps flex as he lifts his own shirt over his head.

The fabric is cotton, but feels so silken against your skin, still warm from his body heat. While the hem of his shirt pools in your lap, your sweater on him strains around his waist, a solid two or three inches above his waistband.

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at the corded body, thick chest and meaty forearms barely being restrained by the slightly fuzzy pastel yellow sweater. “Looking good, Joon,” you jibe, poking him right where the skin of his hips is exposed.

He winces, carding a hand through his grey-silver hair, now ruffled from the closet change. “I’m sorry if it gets stretched out of shape after this. Is it my go?” Without waiting for an answer, he shakes up the bowl and retrieves a piece of paper from the bunch. “Jin’s cooking or Yoongi’s cooking.”

The colour drains from Namjoon’s face at the two men staring him down impassively, one of them sitting poised with an expectant glare, the other shivering slightly through layers of damp towels, round face poking out of the terrycloth with a warning frown.

“Um… I-” Namjoon gulps, and begins to undo the strap on his watch, leaving his wrist bare and slightly pale. “Tae, you’re up.”

Even without either man receiving the victory, they both seem mollified, Yoongi taking the opportunity to gather the towels and rush upstairs quickly. A small wet patch is left on the carpet in his place, Jimin and Jungkook on either side laying some fresh towels on top to soak it up.

Before you even notice Taehyung getting a slip, he’s hooting in excitement, jumping up to stand. “Design an outfit for a member in the house with random clothing in the villa!” He eyes up the people in the circle before gasping. “Wait! No! I’ll go do Yoongi while he’s changing!”

Like an excited puppy, he’s off up the stairs, chasing after the doctor.

“Do we...wait for him?” Jungkook asks uncertainly. His chest jerks with a hiccup, having finished most of your shared bottle of soju.

Leaning forward with a shrug, you snag another bottle, cracking open the lid and taking a sip of the refreshing green apple taste. Not your favourite, but you were just tipsy enough to not care all that much.

As the rest of you mind your time waiting for the absent two to return, some of the others begin on the snacks. Although Jimin has passed halfway on his moscato, he seems perfectly composed as he and Jin share a packet of rice snacks. Jungkook nibbles on the ends of a handful of Pocky sticks, wobbling slightly on the spot. Hoseok’s face is bright red even though he’s just been sipping at his fizzy soju concoction, so he gets a bag of Doritos and begins crunching madly.

Namjoon is holding his mug of white wine in both hands, so he stays snackless, shifting and sneaking glances at the stairs. Still looking comically beefy in your fitted sweater and camo pants with a million pockets, part of you thinks perhaps he was put out that he wasn’t the one to get an opportunity to change clothes again into something that fit a little better.

It doesn’t take long for a frantic thud-thud-thud echo through the room as Taehyung comes bounding down the stairs. “And introducing…!” he shouts cheerily. “The newest dom of the Red Room, Min Yoongiiii!”

When Yoongi comes down, the reaction he was expecting probably wasn’t cooing, but you can’t help it. Taehyung has done well to pick out glossy leather pants, thick-soled black boots, a white shirt and even a leather harness around the top of his chest, all the things that spoke to a professional dom, but on Yoongi it just looks like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Hoseok, clearly the original owner of the clothes judging by his gobsmacked look of recognition, is far taller than Yoongi, so the shirt drowns his torso and the pants are rolled up at the ends. All in all, he looks so tiny and sweet, hair still damp and tangled, that you imagine the dom clothes just served to make him appear cuter in contrast.

He scowls as he sits down, plump bottom lip sticking out, and reaches for his near-empty bottle of soju with a huff. “I hate this game,” he declares before taking a swig.

“You have had bad luck, hyung,” Hoseok admits, “I’m sure it’ll turn. And speaking of turns; it’s mine now!”

As Hoseok begins digging around for his, taking a dramatically long time just to make everyone groan, your pocket vibrates. Reaching down to check your phone, you suck in a breath when you see the text from Yoongi. It displays a single arrow pointing up, followed by an unambiguous now.

You clear your throat just as Hoseok picks a slip. “I’m just going to the bathroom, you can keep going without me.”

Apparently not concerned about subtlety, Yoongi just stands up and follows, his eyes dark on you.

Hoseok lets out a wolf whistle that makes your cheeks heat, before apparently giving up and returning to the game. You manage to make it upstairs with little fanfare, but Yoongi’s hand snakes around your wrist and his body cages you against the wall in the upstairs hallway before you can make it to your room.

Your breath hitches as his eyes burn into you like twin furnaces. “Have you been a good girl for me?” he asks in a low voice, lip quirking when you nod. “Let me check.”

Your eyes widen. “Here?”

Yoongi jerks his chin towards the sturdy metal banister that runs across the edge of the landing to the top of the stairs. “Bend over, sweetheart.”

You obey before you even realise just how exposed this position makes you. Gripping onto the metal like a lifeline, your face and upper body are well in view of anyone that came into the entrance foyer downstairs. As Yoongi slips down your panties and jeans in one go, your core throbs around the plug. “Please, Yoongi,” you breathe without thinking.

He slips a finger inside you without warning, hooking around the top of the plug and slowly dragging it closer to your entrance.. “Please what?”

“I- ungh.” Your mind comes to a halt as your walls stretch, the plug slipping out into his palm with an obscene noise. You don’t have to feel empty for long, as you feel the blunt head of his cock replacing the silicon toy, reaching much further depths to keep his cum from this morning buried deep inside you. “Fuck.”

Yoongi chuckles, using one hand to steady himself on your hip as he begins to fuck you in earnest, hips smacking your ass. “Well, that wasn’t a very articulate answer,” he teases, “it’s only been a couple of hours and you’ve already become a dumb little cumdump, haven’t you?”

You gasp at his sudden degradation, but you can’t hide the way you clench around him, biting down harshly on your lip to muffle a moan.

“Fuck, you like that?” he curses with a satisfied growl, picking up the pace so that his every thrust jerks your hips forward against the banister. “Spread out in the middle of the hallway for anyone to see, just here to keep my cock and my cum warm?”

You shiver. “Y-yes, Yoongi, fuck me harder, gi-give me your cum, wan’ it!” Denied from an orgasm earlier in the day, it’s no surprise that your dignity drops away so soon, your mind morphing into a desperate organ that needs relief. Doing your best to fuck yourself back on him, you let out a whine. You’d lose your balance if you took a hand off the banner, and you both know it. Something in you doesn’t think Yoongi would do it for you, either, if this morning was anything to go off.

“Such a slut, sweetheart,” Yoongi pants out, but instead of the hard edge of degradation, his voice is honeyed with praise. “So fucking good for me, my little cocksleeve.”

Your eyes begin to prickle, so close yet so far from the orgasm that he deftly dangles in front of you. Uncaring of who could hear you downstairs, or the fact that Yoongi probably wouldn’t listen anyway, you start to mindlessly beg him, letting out a weak stuttered moan with every plunge inside you.

As expected, he just shushes you and tightens his grip on your waist, his pace picking up impossibly fast until he suddenly goes stiff and spills inside you, catching his breath. “That’s a good girl,” he gasps between gulps of air, “still so tight, mean Yoongi not letting you cum.”

You whimper as he slides out slowly, pressing a hand on the small of your back to keep your ass arched up as he slips the still-wet egg back inside. Your legs tremble and your core clenches in dissatisfaction at the second denial, but the pleased smile on his face as you keep two loads of cum inside you is enough to make your heart soar.

He hands you a tissue to wipe the slick off your thighs before lifting your jeans back up, and he cleans off his hand, using his mouth to suck away the creamy mix of your arousal and his cum that had gotten on it from the silicon egg. “Did so well, sweetheart,” he coos, “not much longer now.”

Yoongi ends up returning downstairs first again, if only to give you some time to lose the wobbliness in your knees, but by the time you sit back down, it’s clear a round or so must have gone by without you.

There’s a near-empty glass in the middle of the room, a layer of sludgy green around the sides and gathering at the bottom. Hoseok bears a disgusted frown, swishing lemonade in his puffed cheeks. Jungkook isn’t wearing any pants, Taehyung has lost another sock, and Jin has a stripe of wetness running up his cheek like someone’s licked him. Namjoon doesn’t meet his gaze.

Yoongi glances up and runs his eyes over you as you sit back down gingerly. “Good timing. Your turn, sweetheart.”

You let out a sigh, take a gulp of the closest open soju bottle near you - this one sickly sweet - and pick a piece of paper at random. “How long are we even going to- Oh. What is your ideal sexual scenario.” Your cheeks are on fire. “I- Surely I shouldn’t answer, though, because then you’ll all just do it to try and stay in the game.”

“If it’s your ideal scenario, wouldn’t you prefer to experience it multiple times?” Jin questions, his eyes burning with curiosity even as he keeps his expression neutral.

Jungkook shrugs, the motion lifting his shirt to reveal grey boxer briefs. He seems totally unbothered about his state of undress. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, either. If it helps, I’ll tell you mine.”

You narrow your eyes. “Seriously? Fine, you go first.”

He shrugs again, shaking his head so the strands of red fall away from his eyes. “I’m in a five-star hotel. They gave me like the President’s suite or something because I’m super rich and super important, and it has a whole bunch of video games. I enjoy room service and play video games for an hour, only I didn’t come alone. I have a bunch of hot people, like at least five, and they all wanna fuck me.” Like he’s telling a perfectly innocent yet incredibly interesting story, Jungkook gestures and speaks emphatically, the other members of the house listening in with a dumbfounded silence. “I definitely wanna fuck them too, you know, but I’m busy. Playing games and stuff. So they do everything they can to get my attention, until eventually either I take pity on them and wreck them, or one of them decides to shut the game off and make me pay for ignoring them. I guess ideal would be some of both. And then we all fuck, and I’m right in the middle because it’s all about me. The end.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Why does it sound like you’ve thought this through in great depth?”

“Because I have,” Jungkook answers simply. “Look, one time my friend and I got a fancy hotel room together and I thought it would be totally perfect if there were video games or something fun to do in the room, you know? And also I had a massive crush on her so my mind was also in the gutter and everything just came together.”

You blink. “Well… Okay, I don’t think mine will be so elaborate because I haven’t really… I don’t know. I guess mine would be renting a cabin or a chalet somewhere super remote for like a whole week with someone, knowing that we can basically have sex all day and all night without worrying about anything else.” Your cheeks flush, and you clear your throat awkwardly, staring at the fibres of the carpet.

“Sex retreat,” Jungkook summarises knowingly, “that’s a good one. Anyways, Namjoon’s turn again.”

Over the next few hours, the eight of you get consistently more tipsy, and eventually replace the alcohol with some steamed rice and leftover soup to sober up a bit. Taehyung had to do a blind taste test (apparently Hoseok’s elbow tasted like pork), Namjoon stripped off your stretched-out pink sweater to avoid answering a truth that made him blush so hard he wouldn’t even read it out, and Jimin theorised on who the biggest dick in the house was (guessing Jin, the eldest strutted around like a smug peacock for the rest of the night).

You’d gotten off decently lightly; answering a few questions about Sejin, music, and even Mango, then taking off your pants to avoid a dare that asked you to strip entirely. Though you wouldn’t admit it, you didn’t want to part with Namjoon’s shirt that soon.

Every time you managed to forget about the egg-shaped toy inside you, you’d laugh or change positions or reach forward for a drink and feel it shift inside you. You felt full in a way you’ve never really experienced before, and you couldn’t work out if you liked it or not. Another thing you couldn’t decide if you liked or not was the constant worry that your underwear would betray a dark patch or trail of cum that had escaped you, and the whole rooom would know exactly what Yoongi had done to you. The thought made your heart thud.

By the time Jin started to stack the dishwasher and Jimin - still the most sober one though he outdrunk most of you - cleans up the lounge, you feel equally tired and horny, desperate to get the reward that Yoongi’s been dangling in front of you.

He doesn’t even have to text you or command you; you quite happily trail him to his room like a needy pet, hoping your eyes convey your want.

“Can I help you?” Yoongi asks with a shit-eating grin, finally slipping out of the leather chest harness he’d been grumbling about all afternoon.

You narrow your eyebrows, feeling the toy shift inside you with every movement. “I think you can,” you pout.

His gaze glimmers with bemusement. “Come sit, sweetheart, let me make sure you’ve been good.”

He doesn’t even speak as he pushes lightly at your shoulder, guiding you to lie down on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. With his quiet demeanor of authority, much like you imagine he’d use in his clinic, he slides down your panties and parts your legs, humming in approval at what he sees. “You have been good. Keeping my cum warm for me, what a well-behaved slut you are.”

You suck in a breath at his words, tilting your hips up. “Yoongi, please.”

“I do want to give you your reward now,” he begins, and your heart sinks into your stomach at his reluctant tone. “Really, I do. But if you really want to please me, why don’t you let me fill you up one more time, hm?”

You have the rising urge to bite down hard on your knuckles, teeth grinding as you whine. “Yoongi,” you protest, but the need to please is too great to ignore. “Yeah, fuck me again, Yoongi. Please be quick, I want it.”

Yoongi laughs, a warm grumble in his chest. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve already milked me dry twice today. I won’t be lasting long.”

Quicker than your arousal-addled mind can really process, Yoongi is tugging the plug from you and driving his cock in in one smooth motion. You cry out, a hand flying out to latch onto his arm to ground you as you tighten around his intrusion. “Fuh-fuck, oh god,” you make out through a tensed jaw.

“Shh,” the doctor coos, “are you sensitive? Poor sweetheart, Yoongi’s been so mean not letting you cum, keeping you plugged up all day.”

Your eyes tear up as he jackhammers his hips into you, brute force to achieve a quick and desperate orgasm. Though you doubt he’ll let you cum, you’ve been aroused so much today that heat already curls thickly in your stomach. You can barely respond with no air left in your lungs, so you just garble wordlessly, clutching at him for dear life.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind your inability to hold a coherent conversation. As he mercilessly seeks out your wetness, he continues to spew filth with a grin exposing his teeth. “Gonna fill you up so well, huh? Fill you right up to the brim, you’ll be leaking for days. Taking this cock so well, sweetheart. Just like that, fuck. My perfect little cumdump, only been a day and you’re so well-behaved, yeah? Just drooling for it, look at you.”

You’re out of your mind, holding on to his words and the shared contact like they’re your only lifelines. When Yoongi lets out a guttural groan and comes inside you for the third time that day, you feel totally boneless, unable to do more than whine and shiver on the duvet.

Edged yet again, the only energy left in your body is singing out for an orgasm, and so when you feel his hand cupping your heat, you rock into it mindlessly, warranting a quick and stinging swat to your thigh.

“You’ve been so patient, sweetheart, don’t be greedy now,” Yoongi chastises. “I need you to move for me, okay, on your knees on the bed. Clench hard; I don’t want my cum going to waste on the bedsheets.”

You groan weakly but follow his instructions, bleary-eyed as you watch him walk around the other sie of his bed before getting up and lying down on his back, mint hair splayed out on the pillow. He grins at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Come on, then,” he lures, “take a seat.”

You moan out loud before you can even think to swallow it down. “Are you serious? Fuck, okay.” Feeling breathless but vibrating with excitement, you gingerly position yourself above his face, knees either side of his head. It takes a lot of energy to hold your walls tight together, but still his seed runs down your thighs.

He doesn’t seem to mind. Without a moment’s hesitation he mumbles, “let go, sweetheart,” and buries himself between your legs.

You cry out at the first swipe of his tongue, right over your entrance. Your muscles naturally flex, releasing more of him, but you remember his words and let yourself relax.

Yoongi laps up his own cum from you like it’s the sweetest nectar, driving his tongue sharp and deep inside you, then switching to broad, shallow strokes, before flicking the tip against your clit. Although you try to avoid squashing him, he hungrily grabs the flesh of your ass and tugs you down to meet him more fully, making you let out a broken moan and grip the headboard for support.

As he devours you, his hands encourage you to rock against his face, seeking out more pleasure. Whenever he dips his tongue lower to lick you clean, his nose rubs against your clit, and once enabled you can’t help but grind into the long-awaited stimulation, a constant stream of breathy sighs and hiccuped moans slipping from your lips.

The sensation of his cum leaving you is one that takes some getting used to, but it seems to go on forever, unbelievably wet against Yoongi’s face as he eats you out like a silver-tongued god. Your mind is filled with the visual of his eyes, clenched shut in focus, and the mental image of his cum filling your insides, an endless stream with how deep and full he’d fucked you today.

It’s no surprise that it takes you almost no time at all to reach that edge again, and you could cry in relief when, instead of edging you again, he pushes you over it with a sharp tongue, fingers digging into your ass as you rode it out on his face.

What does surprise you, however, is that once the pleasure turns to needling oversensitivity, and your muscles go lax, his grip only tightens, and his tongue just speeds up, ruthlessly pitching you long past the point of your orgasm.

“Yoongi, ah, ‘s too much!” you hiss, trying to wriggle away. Your knees are too wide to give you any leverage, however, and he lifts his forearms up and over your thighs, locking you against him.

You feel rather than hear the vibration of him grunting his response, but he doesn’t let up; not when you sob and writhe above him, not when you go totally silent, mind-blown at how the sensations are beginning to cycle around back to pleasure, and certainly not when a second orgasm is forced upon you, wracking through your body. More violent than the first one, you shudder against him and go slack against the headboard, moans weak and stuttered.

As your body continues to convulse and twitch with the aftermath of your back-to-back orgasms, Yoongi takes the wheel and gently maneuvers you to the side of his bed, head heavy on the pillow.

When he cleans you up, your pussy feels positively raw, and you hiss, locking your thighs around his hand and the damp facecloth he’d used. Mind hazy and floating, it seems like no time at all before he’s tucking the both of you under the covers, snagging you around the stomach and pulling you flush against his back.

Still in Namjoon’s soft shirt, you can nonetheless feel the heat radiating off Yoongi’s skin and his heart thudding in his chest. “Was that okay?” he asks, pressing a single soft kiss against the nape of your neck to punctuate his question.

“Fuck, more than okay,” you pant out.

You feel him smile against your skin. “I’m glad. Sleep well, sweetheart.”

You hum in response, getting yourself comfy, feeling secure in his hold. “Night, Yoon.”

[milkybonya]

sticky situation

warnings: food mentions

Pairing: office worker!Doyoung x neighbour/co-worker!(gender neutral)reader

word count: 1-2k ?

Summary: you have a crush on Doyoung, your neighbour who lives three floors above you, but you’re too shy to confront him, so you leave sticky notes on his door. Desperate to find out who’s been leaving notes on his door but not wanting to approach you in case you don’t want him to, Doyoung patiently waits until you step forward first. With the help of Jungwoo, your co-worker and best friend (who sadly has a one-sided crush on you), you’re able to get out of this sticky situation.

what i listened to while writing: We Still (Be With U) - Astro

[a/n]: the synopsis is long and this is a mess and the ending is in need of a part 2 but i had fun writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy -- this is not properly edited because i’m sleepy but wanted to post this asap so pls forgive me ily

When you first saw him at the office, you didn’t think much other than wow, this guy is kind of handsome. After that, you moved on and continued with your day. It was when you saw him moving into your complex when you started to think that maybe this was fate. 

The way he looked so neat at work with his hair parted comma style, his suit well-ironed and his watch glistening under the florescent lights perfectly contrasted with the way he looked when he moved in: hair a fluffy mess, baggy sweater sitting awkwardly on top of his sweatpants, mismatched socks peeking out of his sneakers.

He was so cute. He was so perfect. And you didn’t even know his name... until you read it from his office ID card but still... you had fallen for an almost-stranger and you were feeling helpless..

“You know those messages written in marker on the bathroom stalls? Do you ever just wonder who writes those?” your friend, Jungwoo, asked, bending down to sit in the chair across from you.

“Why?” you asked, sipping your drink through your reusable straw.

“There were just a bunch of those in the bathroom and it made me wonder... who brings a marker to the washroom and who writes those things?”

You felt like a lightbulb went off in your head, and it was probably visible in your expression.

“What’s up?” Jungwoo asked, being the one to take a sip from their drink this time.

“I’ve got an idea...”

Doyoung left the house each morning at 7:45am sharp. You knew this because you happened to be outside of your unit, watering some of your hanging plants in the morning when Doyoung would rush by with a quiet “excuse me”.

He returned home at around 6:30pm each evening. This routine would happen each day except for the weekends. On Saturdays he would go for an early morning run at 7am, and on Sundays, he wouldn’t leave the house until 5pm to go for another run.

You had his timetable memorized, which means you knew when to place the sticky notes on his door while avoiding being caught by him.

Did I mention that your plan was to place sticky notes on his door?

Your friend’s thoughts about bathroom stalls made you think that even if you couldn’t confess your feelings to Doyoung directly or even befriend him in any way because of how shy you were, you could at least leave messages on his door to brighten his day.

When you went home, you went through the stationary you had and picked out your favourite sticky notes and a pen that you would only use for this purpose.

“good evening! enjoy your evening run~” you wrote, since it was 4pm on a Sunday and you knew that he would soon leave for his run.

You quickly got up with the sticky note in your hand and crept up the stairs to the third floor where Doyoung lived. Looking left then right and confirming that no one could see you, you gently pressed the sticky note against his front door, rubbing it with your thumb to make sure it wouldn’t fall off.

Standing back to make sure it would be at his eye level, you then ran downstairs to your floor and peeked up through the space in-between the stairs. A few minutes later, the door to Doyoung’s unit opened and he stepped out, turning to close and lock the door behind him. He paused, though, reading your note on his door.

Looking around, he tried to find who had placed it there, but there was no one on his floor. So he gently removed it, folded it and placed it in his pocket, not wanting to lose it. When he started to jog down the stairs, you quickly opened the door to your own unit and went inside, not wanting to get caught. Through the peephole, you watched Doyoung run past with the trace of a smile on his face, and it made you happy.

You considered going up to place another sticky note on his door for him to see when he got back, but you thought that would be too much, so you decided to just leave it at that for today.

-

The next day, you rolled out of bed at seven and despite not being able to see clearly since your face was puffy, you walked to your desk to pick up your sticky notes and pen.

Thinking of what to write, you decided on a simple "have a nice day and a good start to the week!" except because you were so sleepy, you wrote 'day' as 'daay' and 'week' as 'weak' so the sticky note was a bit messy.

Not wanting Doyoung to think you couldn't spell or were too lazy to try again, you scrapped that note and rewrote it on another sheet.

Pulling on a hoodie, you quickly washed your face before stumbling upstairs to stick it on his door. You then managed to eat breakfast before it was 7:45am and you snuck outside to see Doyoung's reaction to the sticky note this time.

When he walked out, you fell back against the door seeing his neatly styled hair and his freshly ironed suit hanging off his frame. His skin was glowing under the early rays of the sun, and his smile when he looked at your note was enough to make you grasp at your fastly beating heart for dear life.

Again, he folded the note and placed it in his pocket before he rushed downstairs and you had to quickly enter your unit to avoid being caught.

-

At work, your manager asked you to take some documents down to the PR team. When your Jungwoo, who worked at the office with you, overhead this, he texted you.

[y/n]!!! Doyoung works for the PR team! use this chance to do something!

You had told your friend about your crush on Doyoung and boy were you grateful that you did.

Taking the documents from your manager, you walked out into the hallway and stopped there to think.

Did he like coffee? You'd never seen him leave with one in his hand when he left his house.. Maybe he bought one at work? Would it be okay for you to buy one and leave it at his desk?

You decided to text Jungwoo for help.

does Doyoung like coffee?? would it be ok if i got him some?

everyone in this crappy office likes coffee! it's the only way we can survive!

With that, you set off to the company café to buy a drink for Doyoung. Then, in the elevator on the way to his floor, you took out a pack of sticky notes which you had stashed in your pockets and a pen to write a message.

"do you like coffee? i hope you do.. enjoy this and have a good day!" you wrote, sticking it onto the side of the cup.

You stared at it in satisfaction before the silver elevator doors opened and you left to find the PR room. When you found it, you decided you were going to drop off Doyoung's coffee first, but there was just one problem.

You had no clue where his spot was. And Doyoung was nowhere to be seen.

And what would people think when they saw you drop off a coffee for him after asking where he sat? Would they think you're his s/o? Would they ask him about it? Just the thought of Doyoung being bothered by people asking questions because of your mistake made you--your phone vibrated in your pocket. You unlocked it to find an unread message from Jungwoo.

psst. he sits in front of the manager, on the manager's left side. ur welcome.

Thank heavens for sticky notes and best friends.

After finding the manager, which was easy just by the way they sat and the mood that everyone around them showed on their faces, you casually walked towards them while dropping Doyoung's coffee off on his desk and facing the sticky note side towards his computer so no one could see or read it.

Then you gave the manager the documents and got the hell out of there.

On your way out and in your hurry, you brushed shoulders against someone and immediately turned to apologize.

"It's okay," Doyoung said with a smile, continuing to walk off to his spot.

You had just brushed shoulders with Doyoung... Doyoung?!

You ran to the elevators before he would have any chance of discovering that you left the coffee at his desk.

-

Once he was at his desk, Doyoung sat down with a sigh, stretching out his limbs before sitting tall and straight again. His hands moved to his keyboard to begin typing, but froze after seeing a cup of coffee in front of him.

Had he told someone that he had been craving an Americano?

He didn't recall doing this.

Who had placed it there? He looked around but no one made any eye contact.

After asking the person working next to him about it, who said they had no clue, he just decided to drink it.

As he did, his fingers felt a piece of paper on the cup. Turning it around in his hand, he found a sticky note with a cheerful message written on it.

"do you like coffee? i hope you do.. enjoy this and have a good day!"

What was this familiar tone of writing? Could it be..

He pulled out the folded note from his pocket that had been on his front door that morning, unfolded it and held it next to the note on the cup.

The handwriting was a perfect match.

-

6pm, the time read. You moved your fingers faster against your keyboard. You only had half an hour before Doyoung would get home and you were still cooped up in the office. It had been your own fault -- you kept imagining what Doyoung's reaction to the coffee had been. Did he hate it and throw it out? Did it make him feel sick because he has a coffee allergy?

"[y/n]."

You hummed as you looked up from your desk to face Jungwoo.

"Go home. I'll finish up the rest of our task for the both of us," Jungwoo said with a small smile.

"Really?" you asked in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

"I owe you!" you replied, grabbing your coat before leaving the office.

"Big time," Jungwoo said.

-

6:25pm, you made it home. You were wet from the rain and dried off your hands so you could write the next note.

"how was your monday? i hope it was productive and not too tiring. enjoy a good rest!"

As you were about to peel it off, you noticed a bag of candy that you had left on your desk. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to leave one for Doyoung..

In the few minutes that you had left, you taped a candy to the note and left your unit in a rush to tape the note to Doyoung's door. You made it downstairs and into your unit just as Doyoung entered the complex and began to walk upstairs.

When he passed your unit, you quietly stepped out so you could see his reaction. He smiled immediately when he saw the familiar writing on his door, and turned the candy around in his hand before unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savoured the flavour, and your heart bursted into a million butterflies just watching him smile from above you.

He pocketed the note and looked around then down. He would've seen you if you hadn't been quick-witted and quickly hidden yourself.

"Whoever you are, if you're still nearby, I just wanted to say thank you.." Doyoung said quietly before opening the door to his unit. It beeped as it locked behind him.

-

Since that day, you left a note on Doyoung's door twice a day, even on weekends. Each time, Doyoung would pocket the note with a smile, and you were beginning to wonder what he did with them afterwards.

You started to leave little gifts for him along with the notes by taping flowers or candy to his door. Seeing his reaction made you happy, and the times he'd adorably walk up to the door with his eyes squeezed shut as he wondered if a new note would be awaiting to then open his eyes and grin as he saw it there... it all filled your days with so much happiness.

You were just an office worker before Doyoung, living every day like the rest. Now, you were so happy. Your secret admirer persona made you happy.. until you weren't so secret anymore.

Doyoung was desperate to find out who you were.

He had found himself getting excited from your notes, his heart fluttering as he traced the lettering with his fingers despite not having the slightest clue about who left these notes. He felt like he was pathetic for feeling this way.

Doyoung had figured out your routine and what times you would place the notes on his door, so he decided he would head out to work just a little earlier one morning. As he crept towards the metal railing across from his unit to peek down at the stairs, he saw you leave your unit and walk upstairs.

Did this mean you were the person leaving notes at his door? Or were you just coming upstairs for a different reason?

He purposely stomped around upstairs, making noise to see what your reaction would be. You froze in response, looked up to see the door to Doyoung's unit open, and fled back to your own unit.

Doyoung had a feeling that he had found you.

You waited for exactly ten minutes before deciding that it was safe to leave. Perhaps Doyoung just felt the need to get some air a little earlier this morning.

When you closed your door behind you, your hand brushed against a thing piece of paper that felt to the ground after you touched it. After you picked it up, you notice there was writing on it.

"have i found the source of my daily happiness? thank you for leaving notes for me.."

You were so in awe that you had to read it a few times over to understand that it was real. Your crush. Had called you 'the source of his daily happiness'. You. A source of happiness.

It made you so happy that you jumped up, stomping your feet against the ground. Doyoung, who was quietly watching from upstairs, smiled to himself seeing your reaction.

Don't worry, Doyoung still didn't know what you looked like. All he could see was the top of your head and your back, and he purposely kept it that way because he had a feeling you didn't want him to find out who you were. I mean, the anonymous sticky notes kind of gave that away.

But now he knew where your door was, and nothing could stop him from leaving notes for you, too.

Doyoung would always leave a note on your door before you left one on his. In the mornings, he'd sometimes even leave you sandwiches or snacks, writing that he'd had some extra breakfast foods lying around snd wanted to share some.

He was lying, though.

He'd gone out of his way, googling the most popular breakfast snacks and attempting to make the sandwich three times before he got it to look just right.

At work, the two of you never saw each other, and if you ever saw Doyoung walking towards you, you'd immediately hide out of sight. Doyoung still didn't know you worked in the same place as him. He only knew you as a neighbour, and you preferred it that way.

What if he'd think lowly of you when he discovered that you were still just an intern almost reaching the end of your internship and unsure if you would actually be hired? You couldn't risk it.

This sticky note situation continued on for weeks until your friend, Jungwoo, decided he'd had enough.

"[y/n], this needs to stop."

"What needs to stop?" you asked him, washing the dishes in your kitchen while Jungwoo sat on your couch.

"This secret admirer thing. It's been weeks and he clearly likes you."

"Clearly? Where? How?" you asked, throwing down the dish towel and turning around to face him.

"He's been leaving notes for you, too. He knows all your favourite snacks now and always buys them for you. Would just a friend do any of this?"

"Yeah, you," you said, sticking your tongue out at him.

"I also have a crush on you, you dummy, so I'd know how people with crushes on you act," Jungwoo muttered.

"What?" you asked, walking towards where he was sitting.

"Nothing. I said I've heard the rumours circulating around Doyoung and his coworkers that Doyoung likes someone and I'm pretty sure it's you," Jungwoo said, laying back and placing his hands behind his head.

"How are you so sure it's me?" you asked, sitting next to him.

"Because as I was grabbing coffee from the break room on their floor, I heard it all. One of Doyoung's coworkers was talking about how Doyoung has gone insane and has fallen for someone who sticks hand written notes on his door. He doesn't even know what this person looks like but he talks about them in the office during breaks all the time."

"You heard this? Actually?" you ask. You can feel the blood in your body rushing to your face as your heart pumps quickly. Doyoung... in love.. with you?

"I swear I heard this. I'm your friend, why would I lie?" Jungwoo pointed out, spitting out the word friend as though it was poison.

"So what do I do?"

"Set up a date and meet him!"

"Just...like that?"

"Yes."

"I can't," you sighed, burying your face in your hands.

"I haven't spoken to him. Just imagining it makes me want to hide under my bed... Me... speaking to Doyoung while on a date? Us looking at each other and..."

"[y/n]! Come on! You are going on a date with Doyoung and that's that. And I'll be here to help you."

You smiled at Jungwoo who smiled back, feeling a bittersweet ache in his heart.

-

The next morning, after reading Doyoung’s sticky note on your door which wished you a good day, you walked up to his unit with a special sticky note in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you stuck it to his door and rushed down. This time, you didn’t stand outside and wait to see his reaction. You headed in and pressed your back against the door.

Your heart was racing.

“i hope you also have a wonderful day, Doyoung! this day will come to an end soon, but there is still tomorrow~ would you like to spend your tomorrow with me? you can knock on my door whenever you’re ready. if you don’t knock, i’ll understand that you’re busy or didn’t want to come :)”

This note was scandalous in your mind, but Jungwoo insisted that you write it like that. To you, it sounded like you were cornering Doyoung into spending a day with you, because he’d pretty much be the bad guy if he said no to this.

Your stomach felt like a black hole, and slowly slid down to the floor. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you decided that you would call in sick. You did not want to go to work today.

Okay, let’s use this day to prepare for tomorrow. What are we even going to do? What will I wear?

Like the adorable soul you are, you searched google for the top places to take someone on a date near you. Some cool things showed up like museums, art galleries, but you decided that they wouldn’t be so good. In places like that, your focus would move to the art, and you wouldn’t want Doyoung to feel left out. So instead, you found a cute café.

Though your heart was already racing at the thought of talking to Doyoung face to face, you decided that was what you had to do. You have to get to know him. That’s what Jungwoo told you.

Next, you moved to the closet to pick out some clothes. Nothing too tight that would make you feel more anxious than you already were, but not something too casual. Once you found what you were looking for, you laid it out on your couch.

For the rest of the day, you binged romance dramas and movies in hopes that you would be inspired and learn a thing or too. Whether or not they’d work, you’d find out tomorrow.

Once Doyoung stepped out of his unit and reached for the familiar sticky note left on his door, he was preparing himself for another message of good luck, something short and sweet to give him energy to start his day with.

He was not expecting to be asked out on a date in such a cute way.

Despite the air being slightly frosty, he felt his face getting warm and he crouched down out of excitement. How was he going to work today knowing that he was going to meet you tomorrow? This wouldn’t work. He had to call in sick.

When Jungwoo found out that both you and Doyoung had called in sick that day, he knew that your plan was going to be a success.

-

Somehow, you made it to the next day. You had barely slept, your heart had been racing for the past 24 hours and you were not ready. 

Your phone vibrated.

[y/n], this is a once in a lifetime chance. even if it doesn’t go well, at least u will have gone on a date with Doyoung!!!

Jungwoo’s message was enough to get you out of bed and in the bathroom to wash up. You changed into your outfit for the day, got some breakfast in you and waited.

Waited.

This was the worst part.

Maybe you should have given Doyoung a time, but you didn’t want to bother him in case he was sleeping in on this Saturday morning. Just in case, even though you already knew his daily shedule.

Doyoung had not slept a wink last night either. He got up early and headed for a local flower shop to pick something up for you. He wasn’t even sure you liked flowers, but assumed you did, since you often taped flowers to your sticky notes when you left them on his door.

“May I ask what occasion this is for?” the worker asked Doyoung.

“Ah... a first date?” Doyoung croaked out shyly.

“Do you know this person or is it the first time?”

“I guess you could say... I know them.”

Doyoung laughed nervously.

Once he purchased the flowers, he happily walked to your shared complex and up to his unit where he made sure he looked okay, grabbed everything he needed, and then stepped outside.

This was it. 

He was going to see you for the first time. Finally he would be able to put a face to all of those cute sticky notes.

His legs were shaking as he walked downstairs to your floor and he almost dropped the flowers. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to your door and carefully knocked.

As soon as you heard those knocks, you jumped up and ran to the door. Then you waited a few seconds, not wanting to make it seem as though you were desperately waiting for him (even though you kind of were). 

Clearing your throat and standing up straight, you slowly opened the door.

You were kind of freaking out. Only kind of. Just a little bit.

This man had showed up to your doorstep with flowers in his hands. Your crush. Doyoung. Was at your door. With flowers in his hands.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Doyoung said, holding out the flowers to you.

“Nice... to meet you too. I’m [y/n],” you said, taking the flowers from him.

Doyoung nervously rubbed his palms against his thighs, looking around.

“I always wondered how you knew my name but I didn’t know yours,” he said with a laugh.

“Ah, we work in the same building! I’ve seen you with your ID card around your neck-”

Oh no. Did you just sound like a creep? 

You covered your mouth and quietly apologized, but Doyoung shook his head and grinned.

“Don’t apologize, I’m upset I didn’t notice you sooner! We work in the same company and I didn’t know? How disappointing... I’m glad I know now, though.”

Your heart melted more with each second that he was smiling. At you.

The two of you stood there quietly for a few moments, avoiding eye contact until Doyoung asked you what your plans for the day were.

“Hm? Oh! I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I was thinking we could go to a café, would that be okay?” you asked. Doyoung nodded.

“Let me put these flowers in my house so they won’t get ruined, give me one second,” you told him, quickly rushing inside to place them on your coffee table before rushing back.

“Let’s go!” Doyoung said cheerfully, letting you lead the way.

“It’s only a five-minute walk, so it shouldn’t be too far!” you said, walking down the steps to the main street.

“That sounds good! It’s nice to get some fresh air sinceI’m usually indoors,” Doyoung says.

“Same.”

“Right, since we both work in the office,” Doyoung said with a quiet laugh.

As you approached the café, you started to feel less and less nervous. Doyoung was able to keep the conversation flowing naturally, despite him also being anxious that he might mess things up. You learned that he was actually a person who liked liked to sleep in all the time but after being late to work several times and being scolded for it, he decided to set up a strict schedule for himself.

“Ah, here’s the café!” you said, pointing to the bright yellow and blue building.

“Wow, it’s so colourful,” Doyoung exclaimed, holding the door open for you.

When you stepped inside, the place was buzzing with people. It seemed like you’d found a hot spot.

“So do you always know where the good places are?” Doyoung asked, walking to the bright pink, glittery counter with you.

“No, I just happened to find this place!” you admitted.

Doyoung ordered a caramel coffee, which was apparently his favourite, with a mango dessert. After you also ordered, you found a cozy spot back in the corner of the café which wasn’t as loud.

The two of you talked for two hours there and time flew by. You learned about Doyoung’s love for singing, and as he practically serenaded you in that corner, you melted just like the whipped topping of your drink.

As he walked you home, Doyoung felt himself itching to hold your hand. It had only been the first date, but the two of you had clicked so well. He held himself back though, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. 

Once he had safely dropped you off at your unit, he practically flew up the steps with how giddy he was feeling. He decided that he would walk with you to work from now on, share his lunch breaks with you and get to know you better. Maybe you’d even join him on his weekend runs?

[saygeko]

𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Over 400 years ago The Fae Realm

"Do not move." Sayge chuckled at the scold while sitting on the polished floor. "I will cut your eyelashes if you continue blinking, close your eyes." The features of her aunt faded into the darkness as she finally closed them the way she was told to. The sharp sound was all she focused on, the scissors chopping off the extra length that had bothered her for the last few weeks, poking her eyes every time and blocking her sight. Sayge would brush the annoyance to her temples, not bothered by the untidy look it added to her appearance. The steady hands of her aunt Jioka told a different story. The disorderly of the locks were unacceptable, she had to get rid of the chaos and bring the straight line above her niece's deep ponds she had for eyes. The hold of the elder's breath showed the importance of the matter.

"Have you heard? Neave brought shame to her clan after running away up to the mountains." The younger Fae hummed in agreement, not forgetting the past order given to her, and not a muscle moved. "Silly girl. Her mother cried for the shine of one full moon night, the next sunrise, Neave disappeared from their books. Her name, shall no one mention again." Sayge lips pursed slightly, and the mental reprimand prevented her from any other reaction. 

The last piece of hair was cut, and the silver scissors withdrawn from her face. Jioka permitted her to open the eyes again, and Sayge kept them low. "Rise your gaze, child." The freshly cut fringe helping her to hide the secret her eyes could naively share and not give a chance to deny it after.

"I have said rise your eyes, Sayge." Jioka's voice went one tone higher. She was her father's younger sister, the second child, known for her neatness, her love for knives, and an impeccable perception, Jioka could read into anyone. Unsure, Sayge lifted her gaze but avoided Jioka's, this upsetting the latter. The loud noise of metal slammed against wood startled Sayge and the small birds drinking from the running water of her aunt's fountain. The Fae wished she could fly away with them. "Speak. Do you know something else about Neave's escape?" It felt like all air left Sayge's lungs at once, but a thin amount let her made a sound.

"I..."

Neave was the youngest child of her mother's third mate. The clan of Zasa. Born one season after Sayge, with a beautiful smile and the head lost in the clouds, with no real interest in cultivation and only using her magic for the simple reasons, a Fae who was closer to nature than anyone, or so she claimed to be. A child of the forest.

"Sayge! Here!" The younger Fae in the water waved her arm in the direction of where Sayge sat on the thick root of a tree. Not bothered to jump into the lake yet. The cool wind and the shade were enough to keep her from the heat of the spring day. 

"I will swim when I wish to, not when commanded." She heard the loud laugh of the girl in response to her turn down. A splash of water made it rain over her. That afternoon Sayge had planned to cultivate with her cousins who were ahead of her in their magic. Her desire to unlock stages of her magic she still couldn't, pulled her from bed every morning. Little time she left for distractions, and when she did (more often than she liked to admit,) she would rather spend it with someone else, not with the loud girl. 

"Sweetheart, the water is lovely. Who are you trying to trick? Uh? You cannot lie to me. You love water, just like fish do." Naeve smiled, the widest smile Sayge had seen in her life, even her back molars were visible to anyone who took a look. 

"The one tricking the other here is you. You dragged me to the lake, wishing to share a secret with me, and all I have heard is nonsense. Quick, share now, or let me go back." She spoke in annoyance and laid back on the greenish trunk. Naeve's insistence that morning as early as the sky had a hint of light blue convinced Sayge to skip her cultivation for half a day.

"Oh dear, you have no idea! Not even a clue! I am in love." She let out her feelings and extended her arms to the sides, allowing the water to get a hold of her weight, her bright smile never leaving her innocent face. "I met him up the mountains the other day." Turning her head to Sayge, she gifted the other one more smile. "Love. You know about it, right? I know you do." Naeve pushed slightly further, waiting for a confirmation from her friend.

Sayge knew what Naeve was trying to hint into, and she rolled her eyes, admitting to it or not, would not take her back home sooner. "Up the mountains? That is so far away from here. Is he not from—?" In an instant, she came to the realization, and Sayge's mouth opened in disbelief. "Naeve, who is this creature you have fallen in love with?"

"He is a Harpy." She shared with a shy smile while still keeping her eyes up to the clouds. "I've been seeing him. He says he loves me too. We would get high up his Chichibu Birch tree to take off and fly to the sky. His Chichibu tree is the only remaining one in the realm, in all realms." She sighed in content, only to speak again. "He whispers sweet words to my ear, and the touch of his feathers makes me tickle." As if all the laughter shared so far was not enough, Naeve shared one more. She lifted her head from the water and looked up at Sayge, who looked at her with worry. 

If her friend had got lost in the forest and mingled with other species, it was nothing of her business. Sayge thought she should give Naeve a word of reason, but she did not, to hear stories of love from others was not the way her clan expected her to grow. "Does the Harpy think this love is good for you?" She asked, not really interested in the answer, but if she said nothing and brushed it off, there was no way she could go back to her cousins.

"He said I should let nature speak to me. To allow the wind to talk and find an answer to our situation where I feel safe." Naeve shook her head, and her soak hair moved along. "So I wait, I wait until I see him again, and wait for the forest to give an answer to my plea."

Sayge sat up, her whole body facing the girl in the water, legs hanging from the elevated root, almost touching the lake with her toes. "An answer from the forest..." She repeated and took a long breath, air filling her chest and letting her mind concentrate. Hands holding tightly from the tree, she extended one of her legs, her foot touching the water, closing her eyes, and Sayge tried to deliver the way she was taught, but so far had not accomplished. 

Eyes open, and everything was the same, the girl in the water and the one on the tree, nothing had changed. Sayge had the bitter aftertaste of failure in her mouth. She knew she should not be losing her time there instead of practicing with her clan. This one more proof of it.

"Oh, Sayge! Sayge!" The shouting of her name called her back to the lake, taking her away from her thoughts. "It's a leaf! From the Chichibu Birch!" Sayge looked down to her feet and saw it, the glistering magic coming from her. From the tip of her toes. She did it.

Synchronicity had bloomed in her. The way flowers bloom on the hottest day of spring.

"This is it! My path was revealed to me by the forest, by nature itself!" She girl swam her way to Sayge, who still sat perplexed in the root of the tree. She pulled of Sayge's leg and made her fall into the lake. Finally, in the water. "Come, my dear friend! I must go back home to prepare and then meet my Harpy." Sayge's arm was pulled, so harshly, it took her a moment to realize the water was up to her waist. 

Naeve's words spoke about going back home, and Sayge heard no more. She had hoped to come back for the longest time, and the magic still warming up her body felt better than the sun hitting the crown of her head.

Jioka let go of a loud laugh, soon stopped by the back of her hand. "I do not know if to scold you or if to pat your cheek, child."

In between Sayge's eyebrows laid regret and accomplishment, and she had a hard time trying to choose which one to embrace. Her hard work paid off, but her first encounter with one of her clan's abilities was tainted with the fall of another. 

"My wish was to..." She had no words. No excuses. She wanted to go back to her cultivation from the moment she saw the lake, and her hurry made synchronicity and bad luck to hold hands.

"Naeve took a decision. The leaf could have been any other, but she already had her mind fixed." Jioka picked up the scissors from the wooden table by them and stood up to walk away. "Beliefs create realities, my child." She said as her figure disappeared in the hall, leaving Sayge by herself, sitting on the floor with the trimmed hair of her bangs scattered on her lap.

Only a few days had passed, but Sayge already missed Naeve's laugh.

Synchronicity is defined as the occurrence of meaningful coincidences that seem to have no cause; that is, the coincidences are acausal. Explains a relationship between two events which could not be explained by cause and effect.

Sayge is the cause and effect, perceived by the other as meaningful coincidences. Mere luck.

[angelwars11]

Title: Transparent, Translucent, and Opaque

Prompt: Opaque

Pairing: Waxer/Boil

Rating: G

Word count: 3k

“Heh heh. Hi daddy!!” She and hurries onto her feet, which causes her balance to become a bit unstable. “We are doing a science project!! Umm, papa, tell him! Tell him!” Waxer waves his hand over to the freshly carved wood table that Boil made for them a couple months ago. So beautiful still. Waxer thinks internally.

“Soooo~ As you can see here, we have a couple items. Today I wanted to teach our daughter the understanding of Opaque, translucence, and transparency!”

— 

It’s a nice day on the farm to spend some quality family time together. With lessons that need to be taught and learned, new things to be discovered, and a little fun game of Scavenger hunt is at play. What will little Numa learn today?

This story was written for a challenge presented by @thatkanragirl which is for all Clonecest shippers, where we will write drabbles in July. I was given a different set of prompts and pairings to go with them! If you would like to read other contributors’ work then you can press the tag below #clonecest in July. 

This is my first day’s contribution! (I am posting it on the second day because I didn’t get to edit it till this morning with the help of my amazing Beta-reader @blazesurrender​, love yah!) So, get some popcorn, grab a seat, press ‘keep reading’, and enjoy some wholesome fluffiness! 

P.S. you can press the tags ‘betawrites’ or ‘angelwrites’ at the bottom, and you can find my other prompts easily that way!!

Boil stares at the screen of his holo-pad, as he has been doing for the past several minutes. He just can’t figure out what to do next. He is, or was, trying to order family photos but ended up getting distracted by work and now he can’t seem to find his focus again. He sighs and leans back into his soft-cushioned chair. A gift from Waxer a year ago. 

Wow, I can’t believe this chair is actually that old already. Crazy. And that means that little Numa is going to turn…..nine?! Wow, she’s getting so— 

A loud metallic crash sounds from the kitchen. Boil jerks in startlement and shoots up in his seat. 

“Waxer?!” He starts to run towards the kitchen where his husband is. Boil comes thundering around the corner, blaster in his hands, and stops in the doorway at the surprising sight before him. Waxer is eagle-spread across the tiled floor. Pots, pans, and dishes surround him; the pots still twirl round and round till they come teetering to a stop. 

“Waxer?” Boil deadpans. Waxer blinks at him in shock. 

“Woah! Boil? What’s the blaster for?” He sits up and points at the blaster that’s loosening in Boil’s two hands. 

“Um, what do you think? I thought something was wrong!” Boil retorts.

Waxer stands up and makes his way over with a soft smile on his face as Boil continues, “I…I had to…to make sure you were okay. Am I not allowed to do that now?” Boil turns his head away in embarrassment and leans the blaster down on the floor against the spam on the pink door-frame. 

“Babe, of course you can. I appreciate your concern over me but I just dropped the pots and pans silly.” Waxer giggles. Boil rolls his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, ” He gestures to the mess on the floor. “And what are you up to? Making dinner or something?”

Waxer pecks him on the cheek. “Actually, no.“ 

The brown cabinets start to shift. The doors open and Boil glares at it. Numa tumbles out and into the mess of silver pots and bronze pans. She smiles up at them and sneezes at the dust she brought out with her. 

"Heh heh. Hi daddy!!” She squeals and hurries onto her feet, which causes her balance to become a bit unstable. “We are doing a science project!! Umm, papa, tell him! Tell him!" 

Waxer waves his hand over to the freshly carved wood table that Boil made for them a couple months ago. So beautiful still. Waxer thinks internally. "Sooo~ As you can see here, we have a couple items. Today I wanted to teach our daughter the understanding of Opaque, translucence, and transparency!" 

Boil hums. "Huh, I’m impressed. So explain to me what you guys are planning to do with all of these items.” He sits in one of the wooden booth seats. 

“Okay! Numa, explain to daddy what our plan of ‘fun fun’ is,” Waxer rests his hands on his hips. Boil notices that they are twitching ever so slightly. Heh, he’s so excited about this, isn’t he? “So when we look around the house all the time we see items made of different materials. Umm, items that can be organized by the way they work with light.”

Waxer giggles oh so cutely. “Yep! So materials that allow almost all light to pass through are called,” He gives Numa a cheeky look. Finish that sentence for me. 

“Transparent!!” She cheers. 

Waxer smiles brightly “Yes!”

Boil chuckles. Numa is truly his daughter. They get along so well. Numa is practically Waxer’s partner-in-crime. Whenever Waxer is up to something, Numa is by his side every step of the way; and the noblest thing she’s done is when Waxer and her are caught, she blames everything on herself and makes sure her papa did not get in trouble. 

Boil hates punishing Numa. He really does! Because she’s a good girl. Boil believes that he and Waxer are raiding her quite well, especially after she lost her father during the 2nd year of the war and Boil and Waxer stopped at nothing to find Numa; and when they did, it was a dream come true. 

I remember she was so frail still. Barely any muscle on her body. Poor thing. Almost starved to death from another camp she was forced into. Separated from her father, like last time, but this time she was placed on a completely different planet on the other side of the galaxy. Good thing we found her in time or she wouldn’t be here right now. 

“So, examples of transplant items are glass, water, and air. Those materials that allow some light to pass through them are called what Numa?” Again, Waxer looks straight at their daughter. Numa smirks slyly. “Trans…uhhh…trans-lunctent?" 

Waxer blinks at her silently. Numa chuckles nervously and her lips bend inwards to look silly. 

"Okay, close enough, ” Waxer waves dismissively. Boil grins at that. “But yeah. So that includes things like frosted glass and wax flimsi. And if any object does not allow any light to pass through it then it’s, ” — “Opaque!!!” Numa cheers. Boil blinks in confusion. 

Waxer gawks and squinted at her. “Wait! Hold on hold on, so you remember THAT but not TRANSLUCENT?!” He raises his hands straight up into the air. 

Numa laughs at her papa’s loud antics. “Yessss~" 

"But that’s a new word?” Waxer scratches his head. “They all are, papa.” Numa reminds him. “Yes yes. Well, anyways. Most objects are opaque and include things made of wood, stone, and metal…Boil, what’s wrong?” Waxer finally notices his expression full of confusion. 

“I’ve never heard of the word Opaque before is all." 

Waxer screeches. "Oh force! I am surrounded by a pair of uncultured swine!!" 

Numa and Boil both start to laugh. "Come on, babe. Keep going.” Boil tries to move this along a bit. 

“Right, anyways,” Waxer starts to say but Numa interrupts him one again, waving her hands about, a giant grin spread from ear to ear. 

“So first before we even sit down and actually do the science-y part of the objects, we have to look around the house for objects made out of wood (opaque), objects made out of clear glass (transparent), and frosted glass (translucent).”

Waxer placed a warm hand on her left shoulder. “In other words…” He smirks mischievously. Oh no. I know that look.

Numa climbs up Waxer’s body like the little athletic, bendy, flexible monkey she is, and sits on his right shoulder.

“SCAVENGER HUNT!!!” They both yell in unison. Like they planned this from the getgo. Boil sighs heavily. I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. How did I miss this mischief? I should’ve smelled it on em. They reek of it!

Boil facepalms himself. His right-hand wipes down the front of his face and then he’s yanked out of the chair and a list is slapped onto his chest. “Huh?” He stares at it and hovers it in front of him. 

“That’s your list! It’s blank, obviously, but you find things and put it under the category of transparent, trans-luctent, ” — “Translucent!!” Waxer screams from the living room. Numa rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out. “Whateverrrr~” She mumbles. 

Boil raises his hand and pats her head right in between her teal-colored lekku. Bright pink eyes gleam up at him. 

“And then Opaque, right?” Boil asks.

 "Yep!“ She smiles. 

Boil holds the piece of flimsi close to his side and starts to walk away. A lot of items are already on the table like wax flimsi, plastic wrap, Styrofoam plates, clear plastic lids, and colored plastic lids. That’s evidence enough of what Waxer was up to earlier in the kitchen, making all that racket. Kitchen items. So we have to do the hard work and find other things. Well, it wouldn’t be a scavenger hunt if we made it easy for ourselves. 

"Well, let’s get to work!” Boil shouts to Numa and disappears down the hallway to the bedroom first. 

… 

It’s been about 15 minutes and so far every room checks out. Boil found a couple transparent things like water; which he poured into a cup for him to use as a holder, and the glass table in the living room between the sofa and the holo-vid screen. Translucent things are hard to find and it seems they may already have all of those. 

But opaque items will be the easiest to find. It’s literally everything in their house! The furniture, Cardboard pieces, old books, etc. That’ll be easy peasy. No problem. Boil walks towards the closet and opens the door to see Waxer already inside of the small space. The light creeps across the carpeted floor till he snags at the heels of Waxer’s feet. He turns around and raises an eyebrow at his husband. 

“Hey. Whatcha doing?” He smiles. Wagging his finger back and forth at Boil’s suspicious body language. 

“Just looking at a handsome man before me who managed to snag my attention. Transfix me with his beauty.” Boil walks in a little further, his feet leave imprints in the soft padding of the carpet, and then he stands directly in front of Waxer’s face. 

“You always seem to know how to make Numa happy. I appreciate it. Really. I am always so busy, trying to get used to the war being over and everything. It just…I still haven’t gotten there yet like you have. My husband, who is always able to acclimate to any situation or any change.” Boil smiles at him. Waxer makes an ‘awww’ sound. 

“Darling, you are getting used to it. One day you’ll see that things are going to get much easier for you. And I hope it does. But don’t be fooled by my overly gleeful attitude. Heh. I am struggling a bit with settling in too.” Waxer admits. “I am not perfect. Nobody is.”

Boil nods. “Sure. Sure. But in my eyes, you’ll always be perfect to me,” His soft hand taps the side of Waxer’s warm skin, and Waxer leans into it. “Vor entye.” He thanks Boil. 

“Gar’re olarom.” Boil boops his nose. Waxer giggles before he dives down to the floor and bounces back up with two leather-backed books each. 

A red one, just for Boil. “Here you go.” Waxer hands it to him. And a Navy blue one for Waxer. “Now I think this Scavenger Hunt has gone on long enough. Let’s start this, in Numa’s words, 'science-y’ part finally." 

Boil chuckles and leaves the closet with Waxer close behind. 

… 

"You guys take forever! What were you doing in there?” Numa quirks one eyebrow up and rests her hands on her slender hips. Waxer makes a 'tut-tut’ sound and tosses, underhand, the blue book to her. Numa catches it with good reflexes. 

“Ah, books.” She smirks, disbelieving. “Okay, come on! I’ve been waiting for almost 4 minutes.”

They all settle down in the booth seats. 

“Alright you two, here’s the deal. Use your lists and the flashlights, say what happens to the light and write a diagram of what you observe. Got it?” Waxer grabs his pencil and smiles excitedly. 

“Got it, babe.” Boil smiles back lovingly. Waxer and he stare at each other for a couple seconds, reading each other, sending a clear message that their daughter wouldn’t understand until she’s older. But then—"I better not get any siblings from this.“ She whispers vehemently. 

Waxer and Boil snort. "Psh! You wish! Now be quiet and blind these babies with the power of…” Waxer pauses, for effect, “Light.” He turns on the flashlight. 

“Ewwww~ Stawwwppp~” Numa cringes and ignores her goofy papa. “I am ignoring you now. Ew." 

"You know you love me, baby girl.” Waxer smiles so hard that his eyes become little squints and two lines. Boil shakes his head in good-hearted humor. 

The three of them point their lights at different objects. For some items, the light just wouldn’t go through. Numa would shake her head every time that happens for her and she would write it down on the flimsi as opaque. Then on to the next item. 

The weirdest thing happened. Boil ran through every item like it was a ball game. He did not take his time. And Waxer studied every item liked he just completely fixated by the details on each individual thing. Boil scoffs. 

“Why are you doing all of that? We are just shining the light through them and taking notes, are we not?" 

"Yes yes! But this kind of procedure takes precision. If done wrong, the whole experiment could go up in flames!” Waxer turns the block of wood in his hands constantly. 

Boil lets out a hoot! “Ha! Yeahh, the way you are staring so intensely at it, it might as well go up in flames." 

Waxer glares at him. "Not funny!”

Numa’s eyes widen in wonder. They glow impossibly brighter at the new discovery and understanding of it all. She has three items lined up. One is transparent, the second is translucent, and the third is opaque. She is pointing the light’s warm ray at each item to make sense of it! 

“Wowww. I get it, papa!! Why didn’t I see it before?” She turns to smiles. 

“Because darling, you are just learning this now! Kids get to learn about this stuff and remember around the age of nine, so you are right on time.” Waxer looks so proud. Pride and happiness swim in his golden orbs. Boil stares, subtly, at the glow it reflects in them. 

“Thanks, papa. I loved this! I learned so much!” She gets up from her chair, runs around, and squeezes Waxer in a big tight hug. Waxer feels so loved right now. “You’re welcome, baby girl.” He breaths into her shoulder and closes his honeydew eyes for two seconds before gazing over at Boil. 

They share a smile with one another. 

“Now I think it’s time to put all this stuff away, review, pop quiz, ” — “Awwww.” Numa let’s go of him and stomps away. “Ah! Don’t 'awww’ me! You knew this was coming!” Waxer jabs his index finger at her. 

Boil snickers. “Yeah, you had to have known that was coming. Right?”

"Psh. No.” Numa scoffs.

“Then you suck.” Boil wiggles his eyebrows. Waxer cracks up laughing up a storm. He slaps his own thigh in amusement. 

“Uhhh, dad! Seriously!” Numa piles all the stuff she gathered and walks away. 

Waxer and Boil both chuckle and gather their things as well. 

… 

“Alright! First things first, what did you both learn?” Waxer crosses his arms over his chest teasingly when Boil stammers. “E-Excuse me, what?" 

"I didn’t stutter babe. What did you both learn?” Waxer repeats himself.

Numa snickers at Boil and places her two index fingers in both of her ears and turns them this way and that while sticking her tongue out. 

“Well, I learned that opaque means anything that can’t be seen through.” Boil twists his head around and grins with all teeth at their daughter. 

“Take that, ad'ika." 

Numa waves at him dismissively.

"Well, I learned something valuable today! Something that I think will make papa veryyy happy.” Numa teeters and tots back and forth on her heels. Her arms are behind her back. 

“And what’s that Numa?” Waxer questions. 

“Those items are made of different materials and every material reacts differently to light. Transparent objects allow most of all light to pass through them. Trans-lucent objects allow some light to pass through them. And opaque, like dad said, are objects that do not let light pass them at all!” Numa is on point. 

She’s a quick learner. She learns better when she does things a bit more hands-on. Just like Waxer. Boil inhales and exhales. He stares at Waxer and his spitting image. 

Waxer snaps his fingers and winks at her. “Spot on Numa!” He hugs her. “I am proud of you." 

"Thanks, Papa, ” She hugs him back. On cue, their Tooka cat, Melon, decides to poke its orange and white head around the corner to say hello. “Meow.” The three of them turn their heads and smile happily. 

“Hello, Melon!” Numa waves. 

“Should we go watch a movie? I can make dinner and then we can eat it on the sofa. Who’s down?” Waxer asks. 

Numa stomps one foot into the floor, yanks her right arm down, elbow pointing towards the floor, and then shoots it back up, pointing. “Yeahhhh!”

Boil forms a peace sign with his two hands. 

“You two are goofy! Come on, go ahead, and get showered and dressed while I make something simple; soup. Then we’ll find a holo-vid to watch!" 

Numa squeals and runs away. Teal lekku waving in the wind behind her. Boil runs after her. "Race you to the couch Numa!” He shouts. But before he left completely, he leans over and presses a wet kiss onto Waxer’s cheek before disappearing around the bend. 

Waxer smiles to himself, a light blush appears in the bridge of his nose. 

…

“Alright, you guys! Here’s the soup!” Waxer saunters back into the homey living room where the holo-vid is already set up with a nice movie Numa fell in love with a year ago. “Oooh! This one again! I love this one.” Waxer hands the small scarlet red bowl. Nice and ceramic. 

“Yep! Ooh, this looks delicious!” Numa sticks the wooden spoon into the red chili soup and starts to savor the spicy taste. Boil and Waxer curl up beside one another. 

Next to Numa is her purple Tooka doll. Dirty from all the many years left on it. Her beautiful rosé colored eyes stare in wonder and excitement, the light blue reflects in them. Boil watches in awe. 

“We did so well with her so far haven’t we? After the war, it’s been so hard for all three of us; I am just surprised that it’s just…look at how she turned up." 

Waxer smiled at him. "Yeah. She’s special alright. Our ad'ika. It’s crazy how fast she’s growing. It feels like only a month ago we found her again after the war ended." 

Distracted by the holo-film, Numa doesn’t notice her dads’ talking to one another softly and out of earshot.

 Boil leans against his strong shoulder. "And it’s only because I have my cyare here with me.” Boil glanced up at him. Waxer looked back. “Mm. Yes, you do. And I have you, cyar'ika.” They stare into each other’s twin golden eyes before they kiss one another on the lips. Soft. Affectionate and sweet. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” Boil whispers against his lips. Waxer’s eyes flick from left to right, searching his, reading him. “Bal Ni gar.” Waxer returns the endearing vow of love and then they lean their heads against one another once again. 

Sounds of speeders echo from the holo-film. All staticky and in the foreground. Waxer chuckles and closes his eyes for a moment. 

“We should adopt another kid though,” Boil suggests. He closes his eyes as well. 

More silence. 

After a long pause, Waxer blinks, “What did you just say?" 

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 23- Silver Fox

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 6235

Warnings: Some violence.

AN: Kinda long, kinda boring, not my favorite chapter 😅

22- Queen

...

Artemis runs a hand over the smooth wood of her throne, the very one Lagertha sat in and Aslaug before her. It was hard to even call it hers.

The wood was buffed to a shine and draped in fine fabrics and warm bear fur, enhancing its regal image. The night of their wedding went by in such a haze that she didn't pay much mind to her surroundings. It was loud then, full of merry making and fascinating stories. Now it was empty, quiet, and incredibly large. The thrones were slightly elevated, sure to remind those of their place.

The current Queen stands to face the authoritative seat, imagining the women who have sat there before her. She was born a commoner and it was a part of her that would never wash away, and she wondered if she was worthy of such a powerful seat. She stood a while longer, her fingertips brushing through the soft fur.

"It is meant for you to sit on, my love." Ivar's teasing voice resonated in the hall, and it was enough for her to snap away from her thoughts in favor of glancing at her husband, his eyes filled with mirth. He speaks through the leather curtain, sly as a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

"I know that." She huffs out, turning round with a swirl of her skirts. She plops down onto the throne to prove it.

"You are such a pensive woman," He says to her, limping over to place a kiss to her brow, "What plagues your mind at this hour, hmm?"

"The usual." She says, and Ivar raises a brow, already knowing what she meant. She was questioning her position, unconfident in her royal elevation. Despite her unassuredness, she did well to be studious in the running of a household and other queenly duties, but it was not enough for her. Ivar understood the lack of confidence, but as his wife, she had to push all that aside and reflect the image of a strong queen. He knew she would be.

Artemis smiled at him, but focused on the subtle movements in the hall. She was so intune with her thoughts that she barely noticed anyone else. A new fire was being stoked by a thrall, while the others hurried about with a task at hand. One dusted about, while another threw more wooden logs into the fire pit. Geirdis was to care with the feeding of the kittens and the mastiff, and the other two were to help Edda and the rest in the kitchens as well as setting up the table for the morning meal.

She was well acquainted with some of the thralls. Others were new and she was sure to remember all their names, to remember their jobs and to remember to thank them, always. The concept was strange, as slaves were never a part of her household back home.

"How may I ease your mind? Breakfast?" Ivar cuts into her thoughts, raising his eyebrows at her, "Those strawberries you like have been freshly harvested this morning." The mention of the strawberries had her up in an instant, grabbing Ivar's awaiting hand so that they may walk over to the large table set up completely with food and drink.

"I have another surprise for you," Ivar says, and it was almost enough for Artemis to crush the berry in her hand unforgivably.

"Another? Ivar must you spoil me so?" She had enough material items to last her more than a lifetime.

"Hush now," He teases, motioning at the thrall pouring his drink, "Tell Geirdis to bring the girl out." A few short moments later and Geirdis appears with Aria only steps behind her. The blond thrall stands behind her queen, and Artemis almost shoots out from her seat.

"I am at your service, my Queen." Aria's long red hair spills over her shoulders as she bows before Artemis. The Queen had confusion etched all over her face, turning to look at Ivar who bore his signature smirk.

"What is this?" She asks "I thought you were to leave with Jarl Erik? We've said our farewells only last night."

"I've purchased her," Ivar interjects, "You may keep her as your help or you may set her free. Do with her as you see fit." Artemis looks at him with sparkling eyes and he just laughs, holding a berry between his leather covered fingers.

"Ivar..." She couldn't express her happiness well enough, "This is wonderful news!" She stands immediately, careful not to trip over the hem of her dress, before enveloping the Irish girl in her arms.

"I would see you free, of course," Artemis says to her, "Your life is your own to command." The red head smiled, her green eyes glittering with such emotion.

"I would like to stay under your service, my Queen, if that is alright with you. I've nowhere to go, and I will dutifully earn my keep."

"Of course," The Queen smiles, "I will have Geirdis help settle you in." The young blonde thrall moves to Aria's side, ready for an awaiting task.

"I humbly thank you, my King," Aria bows to Ivar once again, to which he waves off lazily as he usually did.

"I did it for my wife." He simply says, waving both Geridis and Aria off, "Report to the Queen in the evening for further instruction." They bow, and Geirdis leads Aria to a vacant room further into the hall, a smile of excitement on her face.

Artemis watches them go, happy to have her friend back. She bounces on her heels excitedly, turning to glance at Ivar. He watches her, head resting on his hand. She grins, flinging herself onto him, embracing him tightly. She places repeated kisses upon his head and brow, and he closes his eyes, relishing her adoring kisses. He could get you to this adoration.

"Thank you, my love." She says to him with a content sigh. Ivar grips her around the waist bringing her comfortably to his lap so that he may give her proper kisses on her plush lips.

"Anything for you, baby bird."

"The Jarl didn't put up a fight?" She asks and Ivar snorts in response.

"I am King, and he is but a lowly Jarl from a different kingdom, he could not refuse me, nor did he deny the silver I had offered." Artemis hums in understanding, placing a jeweled hand upon his stubbly cheek.

"Perhaps I should thank him?"

"No need. Money speaks to him more than any grateful words."

"Forgive me, my King and Queen, for interrupting such a tender moment," Heahmund enters, his tone almost sarcastic, with Hvitserk in tow, "The petitioners will be arriving soon."

"Fix yourselves and eat breakfast."

The older Ragnarsson motions with his hands for them to separate, plopping down beside his younger brother. Ivar rolls his eyes but pats her bottom for her to move.

"Eat. We have a kingdom to run."

...

Ivar sits on his throne as if he were born for it. He was all confidence, regality emanating off his person. He was fit to be king. Artemis on the other hand was a timid creature, lacking the vivaciousness she had when still a slave. Ivar glances at her to make sure she is ready. Her coronet gleamed beautifully in the natural daylight. She was a vision, but apprehension lingered in her eyes.

One after the other they came, some to dispute minor things such as a stolen goat, or a lost sheep. Others wanted marriage approvals and dowries disputed. They were mostly petty squabbles. Such things were Ivar's least favorite duty as king. He loved conquest, he loved expansion, and most of all, he loved war. He was a product of violent times, but he reveled in it. Small talk and petty rivalries were a nuisance in his eyes.

Artemis seemed to have taken quite an interest in the matters of the people. Of course, she was mostly there due to the formal setting, and as Queen, she must be present for all formal functions. But in her mind, if she was to be a proper queen, then it was her responsibility to heed the common people's plight. She wanted to do good for the people that she ruled, and help Ivar as king to prosper the kingdom, not to be a useless puppet beside him.

Ivar settled each dispute easily enough. All those years beside his mother had taught him about the local politics, though he was clearly bored of it.

The grievances of the day were minimal, small matters easily solved. The day progressed uneventfully, and by midday, the Queen sat brooding before a loom, hands tangled in a mess of yarn.

"My Queen, the weft thread is too loose." Artemis sucks her teeth at the comment, scowling. The longer she stared at the threads, the more the pretty colors of blue and green appeared to be one congested mess of shades. She was about ready to throw the loom away.

"You must tighten it, like this," Geirdis instructs, her skilled hands going over the threads with accuracy, demonstrating her many years of experience.

"I can't do it."

"Of course you can, My Queen, it just takes time."

Artemis snorts, turning her gaze away from the loom and down towards the hem of her embroidered skirts. One of the kittens, the brown one she named Eros, latched his sharp little nails into the wool, attempting to climb up the height of her leg.

She coos, easily grabbing the tiny thing in her palm. Eros mewls, causing the other 3 to call out as well, and a soft symphony began in the quiet hall. Artemis didn't mind it, it was a pleasant distraction, but Geirdis was far too annoyed with the felines.

"Hush." She scolds them, grabbing the trouble maker Eros from Artemis's hands. She then scoops up the others. The second troublemaker was Aries of light colored hair, the calmest was Siggy, the darkest and the only one Ivar named, and the curious one was Icarus. Geirdis places them in the arms of a passing thrall. Heracles snores, laying obediently beside his mistress.

"I'm sorry, my Queen, but you'll never improve if there are distractions." Artemis sighs but nods in understanding, once again picking up the shuttle to continue her amateur work. Her weaving was an attempt at creating a blanket for the arriving cold weather. So far, it was futile.

But, she had expectations to meet and shoes to fill. There were lessons in weaving and mending, a task women were to dedicate countless hours to, and a task she utterly detested.

To her, the loom was an unavoidable contraption. Threaded into the wood were her clumsily woven flax threads, nothing in comparison to tapestries and fine clothing made by the skilled hands of the women in the royal household. Artemis left most of the weaving to Geirdis and the rest of the talented women.

Running the household was entirely different, but something Artemis was able to grasp better than weaving. She was to oversee the storages for grain and meat, food that had to last them for the winter months. The keys resting at her hip were a reminder of the control and command she had.

Ivar led several hunting parties, he and his men leaving with nothing but their arrows, and always returning with several rabbits and a deer or two. They would later be skinned, salted, dried, and stored away for later use.

The King was currently out on a hunt with Hvitserk and the rest of their hunting party, leaving Heahmund, Dafi, and the rest of the guards to watch over the Great Hall, and the entire estate.

"My mother was a talented weaver," Heahmund says to her, glancing at the front of the loom before walking to step behind Artemis to get a better look. He was not impressed. "You need much improvement."

"Well, how about you fetch your mother to teach me then, hm?" Artemis shoots back, earning a chuckle from the Saxon man. Geirdis fetches a pitcher of mead and a drinking horn. She fills it for Heahmund, and he takes it with a nod of thanks.

"I'm sure Geirdis has her hands full with you."

"The Queen has been no trouble." The blonde says, her tone absolute, as if warning Heahmund in his use of words. No one should ever be so familiar with nobility, especially the wife of Ivar the Boneless.

"She wields a hammer better than a loom." He says, a comment that not even Artemis could deny. The dark haired queen cracks a smile, but continues to work with the loom, slowly pulling the flax threads tightly.

"I can't hammer clothing into existence. I wish it were that easy."

"The loom is an important part of a woman's life, My Queen. When our death comes to take us, we are buried with our weaving tools and mending needles."

"And what? Are you meant to weave in Valhalla?" Heahmund snorts, raking a hand through his freshly cropped hair. Geirdis turns to him, her eyes revealing her irritation.

"It is our worth, and what makes us who we are." She mumbles out.

"Heahmund, shut up," Artemis scolds before he could say anything more, "Only the gods know why Ivar decided to keep you around." He raises a brow.

"Did you say 'the gods'?"

"Did I hesitate?" She counters back, eyes not leaving her work, though she had no idea what she was doing. Geirdis sits beside her queen, gently stopping her hands with her own to demonstrate the proper technique again. Every so often her honey eyes would drift to glance at Heahmund before finding their way back to the weaving.

"Do manners exist in Crete?" Heahmund mutters.

"Much more than in England, I'm sure."

Loud chatter and footsteps were heard, a cue for Dafi to open the hall doors to let the hunting party in. The hounds could be heard barking, and the smell of dead animal flesh suddenly filled the hall. The kitchen thralls immediately scattered in, helping to bring in the game.

Heracles barks upon the sight of Ivar and Hvitserk, immediately stomping towards them in glee.

"Wife, you must calm this beast." Ivar mutters, watching how the mastiff stood on its hind legs, his paws placed on Hvitserk's shoulders.

"He loves the lot of you." She replies, placing down her tools to formally greet her husband. She smiles at him. He was covered in dirt, no doubt from crawling about with his bow.

"And why does Heahmund wear such a face? Tired of watching women weave all day?" Hvitserk jokes, now roughhousing with Heracles.

"He should take a turn at it, seeing as he bickers like an old crone looking to hear village gossip." Artemis says, softly wiping the dirt from Ivar's flushed cheeks with the edges of her sleeves as he held her close to him. He looked exhausted.

"Have you all the time to stand here and pester me so?" Heahmund barks out with no real heat behind his words. He laughs walking forward to clasp Hvitserk's hand, then to bow to his king in the Saxon tradition.

"It is a fun past time, I dare say," Hvitserk smirks, "Now someone please get this dog off of me." Heahmund grabs Heracles by his silver collar, hauling him down.

"How fair's my wife on the loom?" Ivar addresses Geirdis who stood quietly in the back of all the commotion. With her hands clasped behind her back she dutifully responds.

"She will improve, in time, My King."

"She means I'm terrible." Artemis sighs, smiling up at Ivar like a child.

"She doesn't lie." Says Heahmund with a snort. Ivar sucks his teeth.

"Quit teasing. Now, if you will all excuse us," Ivar addresses the hall, "I'd like to rest with my wife."

"My love, I must see to the preparations of the meat before evening." Artemis whispers to him, successfully earning a frown from the king.

"Surely that can wait? My legs ache," He says back just as quietly, a twinkle forming in his blue eyes.

"What kind of Queen would I be then?" She smiles, pecking his lips quickly, "Geirdis will prepare our chambers for you. Once everything is stored I will come for you." Ivar smiles, placing a kiss to her brow.

"Very well, go be a Queen."

...

The sky was overcast, the sun's radiance blocked by gray clouds, preventing the warm rays from penetrating over Kattegat. The farmers scrambled to continue their harvest before winter came with its harsh grip, and the fishermen pushed their small boats into the sea for their morning catch.

Artemis sweeps through the bustling village, passing pleasantries with the people who greet her, some keeping a distance from the mastiff that trotted beside her. It had been a few weeks since the wedding and her ascension as queen. Things were much different, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The people held her in higher regards, of course, but life simply went on, for which she was grateful.

"Dafi?"

"Yes, my Queen?"

"Does it not bore you having to follow me? You're like a shadow," Artemis jokes to him, offering the young man a smile. It was plainly obvious why Aria admired him so.

Dafi only shrugs.

"I suppose it is rather silly when you look at it that way, my Queen. It is merely my duty to escort you, always."

"Yes, but does it bore you?" Dafi remains silent for a moment, not sure how to answer the question exactly.

"Come now," She smiles, "I've better humor than my husband."

"I assure you, my Queen, it is an honor to be by your side." Dafi cracks a smile. His usual stoic demeanor faltered for a moment, revealing a boyish smile under all that seriousness. He wasn't being honest, but she supposed it was alright, he seemed in good cheer and that was enough.

"Then I release you from your duties for the day, Dafi." His flaxen colored brows furrow at her words.

"But my Queen-"

"Go and spend your day the way you'd want to if I weren't a burden." She says nonchalantly, using the tips of her fingers to skim over Heracles's short fur.

"King Ivar will not be pleased once he is informed."

"Then be sure not to inform him, hm?" Dafi was not convinced. It has always been his duty to be her loyal shadow, as commanded by Ivar.

"Do you intend to escort yourself?"

"Of course not! I have my dog for the company." Heracles perks up to gaze at them both when he hears his name, his wrinkled face covered in drool.

"Your dog, my Queen?"

"Mhm. I'll just be with Master Hagen. Go about your day, Dafi." His features screamed skepticism, but he couldn't deny an order from the Queen.

"Very well, my Queen." She smiles, nodding him off before heading to Master Hagen's shop.

With the increase of trade, many have come to make a living in Kattegat. There was an influx of craftsmen, potters, weavers, bakers, and blacksmiths, many coming from the failing town of Hedeby. After Lagertha's death, the village was taken over by a series of Jarls, who only pushed the village back deeper into misery.

Once it was known that Kattegat's Queen was a blacksmith herself, many wanted to come and show off their work in the hope of gaining the King and Queen's favor, but an increase in forgers meant an increase in competition. Despite the growth in competition, Artemis still only chose to go to Master Hagen. She would honor Arvid's father.

Arvid's father was an ailing man, but the glint in his eye was that of a youthful man. He was intelligent, and quite a talented blacksmith, reminding Artemis of her own father at times, which made some visits difficult. His white beard was braided, and a silver bead was placed at its end. His fading tattoos were a reminder of his younger days, fighting in Ragnar Lothbrok's army.

Her mastiff bounded into the shop as if he owned it, sniffing about the things he has sniffed many times before as if they were new.

"My Queen, I was not expecting you." Master Hagen greets, his aging eyes following Artemis as she enters, removing her hood and shaking off the morning chill.

"This is no place for a queen." The old man nags, but already knew she came with purpose. Artemis snorts, removing her fur lined cloak and placing it aside.

"The title does not change anything." She moves towards the back, fetching a pair of gloves she favored for her work.

"Oh, but it changes everything." He chuckles, scratching at his beard, "A queen sits upon a throne and does not dirty her hands." He notices her usual guard was missing, but he says nothing about it.

"I was born a blacksmith, and I think that shall remain until the end of my days." The Queen says to him, "I would not be true to myself if I left such a life behind." Master Hagen smiles at her words, nodding in understanding.

"Very well, my Queen."

"And Arne?"

"Fetching more wood."

"Excellent," She smiles, "We've much work to do."

"Oh?" The older blacksmith raises his brows.

"I'm sure you have noticed the recent influx of villagers?" The old man nods.

"Many of them come with skill, Master Hagen, which means more competition for you." The old man frowns but listens attentively, "I suggest you take on at least two more apprentices, that way you may flourish."

"But my Queen," Master Hagen sighs, "I've not the strength to take on such a task. I am but an old man. Arvid was to oversee the shop, but he is making a name for himself in England. It would prove to be difficult."

"I will help you," Artemis smiles brightly, "And I'm sure many others will come looking for work. Your trade will increase, and you will be able to retire peacefully. I will see that you are well taken care of." The old man hesitates, mulling over the idea before nodding.

"Very well, I will do as you ask."

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Artemis decided to look after Arne's work, while Master Hagen dealt with a few customers that came for minor purchases.

Arne was a gifted young man, already showing talent in his trade. He was 16 years, beginning his training a few years prior before moving to Kattegat and finding a new master to teach him.

He was nervous around her, stuttering when she praised him, bending his head low in a timidness whenever she moved to instruct him. He'd never known a woman of high stature to dirty her hands as the freemen did. But he didn't know her full story.

Later in the day, a woman stops by, one Artemis was not familiar with. Her hair was so pale it appeared silver, and her eyes were slanted like a fox. She had a smile on her face as she greeted the Queen formally, extending the greeting to Master Hagen. She appeared to be searching for something, her eyes quickly scanning the entirety of the shop before her eyes landed back to the Queen. Artemis was bewildered but says nothing, thinking perhaps the woman needed to purchase something for her household.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Master Hagen asks her.

"Oh, not in particular. I was hoping to have a word with the Queen? Of course, if she has a moment to spare." Artemis nods, removing her gloves. She then glances at a hammer nearby, deciding to tie it onto her belt before instructing. She never made the mistake of leaving without it anymore as it proved useful. She instructs Arne to continue his work before smiling at the unknown woman, who peers at the hammer before stepping out into the busy streets.

"I'm afraid we haven't formally met?" Artemis says to the woman, tightening her rich cloak about her shoulders. The woman nods before answering.

"I meant no offense, Queen Artemis. My name is Dabria. I have just moved here from Hedeby."

"It is a pleasure, Dabria. Forgive me for being so bold, but if your family intends to remain in Kattegat, then you must all pledge your allegiances to King Ivar."

"I came alone, My Queen. I've no family." Artemis takes in her state of dress. She wore tightly fitted breeches, and a leather vest.

"You're a warrior." Artemis states, and Dabria nods.

"I wish to join the king's army, my Queen."

"Well, if your skills are noteworthy, then I'm sure he will not hesitate to accept you." They walked about Kattegat for a while, discussing the weather and the wealth of the town. Heracles trailed behind them, following his mistress loyally. Dabria speaks of her admiration of Kattegat, how lovely the trees must have looked in the summer months.

Kattegat was beautiful from this height, nothing at all from what Artemis remembered when she was a slave. There was something about the view of the mountains that calmed her, or at least, eased her mind just a bit. She understood Ivar's need to find solitude there. It was peaceful.

Both she and Dabria watched the scenery, and the silver haired woman breaks the silence.

"You seem like a humble woman, Queen Artemis, which makes this so much harder." Artemis turns to look at the woman, her brows furrowing.

"What are you talking about?" Dabria removes a dagger from the pocket of her breeches, unsheathing it to reveal a glittering blade. Artemis swallows thickly, her fingertips lightly skimming her own dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. A gift from Ivar, he told her to always keep it on her person. Looks like she'd be using it.

"Lagertha was an amazing woman," Dabria starts, surprised at how calm the Queen was. She expected a few tears by now, maybe an attempt to flee. She points her dagger towards her, "How could a woman untrained in the arts of battle be the cause of Lagertha's death?"

"I'd call it luck. The rest believe it was the gods who willed it. You may choose what you want to believe. Now what are your intentions with that dagger?"

Dabria smiles, slowly approaching Artemis with a grin.

"I intend to avenge Lagertha."

...

The Queen sniffles, wiping her face to rid herself of the angry tears with the back of her hand. Her eyebrows were arched angrily and her knuckles were white from gripping the hammer tightly. Her eyes were trained on the quiet scene before her.

Heracles laid beside her, his tongue lapping over his dark snout now covered in blood. His eyes were closed but his ears were entirely alert to the smallest of sounds.

She glances down at her hammer, using the hem of her torn dress to wipe the remnants of blood from its surface, grateful she followed her instincts.

The seer had been right in saying such hardships would surface, but so soon?

Dabria was clearly a supporter of Lagertha, a shieldmaiden bent on revenge. Despite her fox like features, she lacked the wit that foxes were known for.

Her dagger cut through Artemis's dress, slicing deeply into the soft skin of her shoulder. The Queen was lucky to have been quick in her own movements.

Artemis presses a hand tightly to her wound, hoping the pressure would alleviate the blood and pain that was blossoming now that the adrenaline had ceased.

She had hit the woman twice, once in the stomach and once to her face. The swing of the hammer was powerful enough to emit a sickening cracking sound from the woman's jaw, now dislocated. It had stunned the both of them, Artemis's eyes widening as she saw the woman drool and spit out significant amounts of blood. Her jaw was loose from its place.

The same feeling she felt at the war camp when beating the man's face was the same feeling she had at that very moment, and before she could lift her hammer to bring it down atop the woman's silver head, Heracles pounced, attacking viciously.

His teeth sank into her arm, the very one that held the dagger ready to attack, tackling her down. Then he went straight for her face, destroying her visage until it was nothing but a fleshy mess between his teeth. The beast growled over the warrior's dead body, before directing it towards an approaching figure, Dafi, who now held an unresponsive Artemis in his arms.

"My Queen," Dafi says to her, his blue eyes pleading with her, "Command your beast to stand down."

Artemis stared at the woman, face destroyed, body twisted in a way that reflected her dog's strength. She had not noticed that Dafi had found her, nor did she care. Moments ago she was fighting against this woman, and now, she drew in her last breathe. Heracles continued to growl, his protectiveness not dying down despite knowing Dafi very well. He slowly inched forward, ready to attack him with any sudden movement.

"My Queen," Dafi tries again, his eyes never leaving the angry creature before him. Artemis blinks, catching her breath before removing herself from Dafi's grip.

"Heracles," She commanded sternly, "Stop." The dog lets out one last growl before quieting, replacing angry noises with whining. He sits, staring up at her with large eyes, bloody snout and paws, awaiting the next command. Artemis says nothing. She spits at the fresh corpse.

Stupid woman.

She only armed herself with a dagger, perhaps not to attract unnecessary attention to herself. Or likely assuming Artemis lacked the strength and was but a weak woman. A weak woman would not have the strength that came from the many years of beating metal.

She walks down towards the path her feet wanted to go, if only to find a moments peace. Waving her hand to her large pup, he immediately follows her, leaving the guard stunned.

"My Queen!" He called after her, but she didn't stop. The commotion had spread to the rest of the village as the people came to crowd around the body of the dead woman to take a look, the ravens already feasting upon the bloody mess. The murmurs spread almost immediately, reaching the Great Hall.

Lagertha was dead, yet her spirit haunted Kattegat, Artemis realizes that. They wanted revenge. King Ivar so easily killed their queen, and so shall they with his. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, her ears picking up the sounds of boots crunching against the grass.

"My Queen," Dafi says cautiously, "King Ivar had appointed me to protect you, and I have failed." He keeps a distance from her, in case her dog decided that his presence was unwanted.

"I'm not dead." She says.

"But I should have been there-"

"Why do you blame yourself?" She asks him quietly, not bothering to look at him, "I sent you away, did i not?" She continued to press her hand against the flesh of her shoulder, blood now seeping through the fabric. It would not be wise to lose any more blood.

"I was not there to protect you."

"You could not have known."

"Artemis!" Hvitserk's familiar voice causes Heracles to bark. It echoed into the mountain ranges for all to hear, like a menacing threat that seemed to rattle over the entire land of Norway.

He pushes past Dafi, already noticing the wound on her shoulder.

"What happened?" Hvitserk asks breathlessly, removing her hand only to see blood. His eyes settle on her hammer, then on Heracles's bloody snout. He sighs, turning to look at Dafi with a glare.

"Is it not your responsibility to protect her? The king will be here any second and only the gods know what he'll do." That was Ivar's cue to enter, his chariot coming into view. His mare ran at full speed, and when he pulled the reins to stop, the chariot lurched forward at the velocity. There was a fire in his clear eyes, a rage that Artemis had not seen in quite some time.

He hopped off, his hands dragging him quickly towards Dafi, but before the guard could create his string of apologies, Ivar swipes an arm against his shins, causing Dafi to tumble hard to the ground, a dagger already placed dangerously against his throat before he could groan at the impact.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right now." Ivar says to him, his wild eyes shining with anger. His face was so close to Dafi's that the guard was speechless, expecting the blade to slice his throat.

"My king, I-"

"Do not bore me with excuses." Ivar hisses, the point of the blade piercing the delicate skin of Dafi's neck, blood already pooling at the punctured area.

"Ivar," Artemis calls out to him, pleading, "It was not his fault, it was mine. I sent him away. Do not hurt him." Ivar sucks his teeth, but his gaze never leaves the frightened man below him.

"He still had a duty to uphold. And he failed."

"Do not kill him." She stresses, her voice dark and stern, nothing like he's ever heard. It was enough for him to look over at her, her eyes hard and lips set in a line.

Ivar sucks his teeth again, flicking his wrist quickly and swiping his dagger with expert precision, slicing along Dafi's cheekbone and up towards his temple. The guard hisses but says nothing, as he knew without the Queen intervening, he would surely be dead by now.

"Fortune smiles down on you," Ivar spits out, "Her mercy is what keeps you alive. You are released from the duty of guarding the Queen. Now, get out of my sight." Dafi stood, eyes downcast in shame. He turns round and walks away from the party. It was the little mercy Ivar would show him.

"Bishop," Ivar's fiery eyes turn to the cropped haired man, "Take a few men with you and scout the area. Lagertha's supporters must be near, and wherever they are, surely my brothers are not far. Go." Heahmund nods, quickly glancing at Artemis before motioning to the other men to move out.

Artemis slumps against Hvitserk, head hanging low. She lowers herself on the dry grass, her wound aching. She felt tired. Ivar crawls over quickly, pushing Hvitserk away to grab hold of her. She keeps silent, not bothering to look at him, yet he places sweet kisses over her head, running a hand down the length of her hair as he's always done in comfort.

"You are a warrior, and don't even know it," He says to her softly, cradling her close.

"I'd hardly call myself that. I have the dog to thank." Her voice wavered as she found it difficult to speak. He places a hand to her thigh, the one he knew she strapped her dagger to. It was still there.

"You had no need for the dagger?"

"The hammer did its job."

"Mhm," Ivar hummed in agreement, "I saw the mess you made of her. Her body will be burned in the village square tonight for all to see. The people will know the strength of their Queen, and the consequences of treason." Artemis says nothing, her mind still going over the events of the day.

Hvitserk begins to silently tie a leather strip about the thick silver chain Heracles wore around his neck, leading the beast away with much struggle.

"Have the thralls feed him the rabbit meat he is so fond of. He deserves it." Ivar's tone was so gentle, it was hard to believe that moments ago he was nothing short from furious.

Hvitserk nods, pulling the beast away, and only when he was far enough, Ivar begins his soothing again.

"You're hurt, my love, I must get you to the healer at once." Artemis nods, slowly standing up with the help of her good arm, waiting for Ivar to quickly crawl over to his chariot. He waits for her to stand beside him then grips the reins, slapping them against the mare. The beast began to move at a moderate pace.

"This is what the seer meant," She says to him quietly, "This is what he meant by the hardships, the dark shadow that looms."

"And we will deal with it together," Ivar says, "There is nothing that will stand against us."

"Who had warned you?" Artemis asks suddenly.

"Arne, Hagen's apprentice. Said the old man was worried when you had not returned for a while. Arne searched for Dafi, and Dafi warned the other guards."

"You rid him of his post, but surely you won't humiliate him further?" She had that tone, the pleading one, Ivar could already detect it. She did have a much kinder heart then he.

"I will send him back to the lower ranks for a while, until I decide what to do with him."

"It was not his fault." Artemis repeats. Ivar nods.

"I know, my love."

They entered through all the bustling activity, and the people stared as they passed through, whispers of the Queen reaching them until they closed the doors of the Great Hall.

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @leilabeaux​ @jzr201​ @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @rastakami23 @ostra814​ @zumzum96​

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 9

Adva bounce from foot to foot as she led Geralt stall to stall. Surprisingly, Geralt had given her the list and let her haggle with all the market sellers and allowed her to load him up with supplies without so much as a groan. Despite her self-consciousness on her new outfit the former kitchen maiden felt liberated wandering the town in fully fitted clothes, and the fact her skirts didn’t get caught on the sharp piece of wood anymore or trip her up. Trousers were a strange thing to wear but felt liberating. Casting a look up at Geralt Adva could help but laugh as the colossus of a man willing carrying parcels and bundles.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Geralt question from behind the mountain of purchases.

‘I never thought I’d see a big scary Witcher carrying my packages.’ Adva laughed, hurrying ahead, giggling as Geralt head peaked out with a mock scowl.

Adva smiled as she handed the man the coin for the silver and added it to the bundle, ignored the stares and whispers that she heard as they made their way back through the village and down toward the riverbank.

‘Can you believe that he chose her….’

‘Filthy mutant.’

‘Why isn’t  she carring that. Man’s got to have her trained, gotta know ‘er place.’

‘Whore… but he is going to take ‘er down the creek, fuck her against a tree.’

‘They shouldn’t let him within 5 miles of the town.’

‘Look at what she is wearing?’

‘God that girls got a sexy arse…so has the Witcher.’

They made there way through town and toward the little dock outside of the town. It was a shack of decaying wood and wrecked wooded pier that Fisherman and merchants launched themselves from. The Witcher dumped the supplies on the floor by a large oak stump, resting on his knees he began to pull the various ingredient onto the stump and light a small fire from the twigs nearby. Settling down the other side of the budding fire Adva mirrored his pose and began helping him sort the ingredients.

‘Does it bother you?’ The question cut through the pleasant silence before she could even register it was her voice.

‘Does what?’ Great replied not to look up as he blew on the fire. Small streams of white smoke curled up before disappearing into nothing.

‘Them calling you things behind your back. Didn’t you hear them?’ Adva furrowed her brow as the man continued huffing into the twigs.

‘I am a Witcher…we hear everything. Don’t you mind.’

‘Course I do. But then again, what do I care what ignorant people think of me.’ Adva answered.

‘Hmmmm.’

‘I don’t think you’re a filthy mutant.’

‘How would you know. I did buy you. Snatch you away from all you ever known.’ Geralt growled, resting his gloved hands on his thighs, golden eyes staring intensely at her

‘You did. I was and am angry at you. But I don’t think you’re a bad person; you saved me when you could have let Tradi kill me and then kill him.’

‘Hmmm’

It was amazing how much a Geralt could convey with a simple hmm. Range from content to annoyed, angry to happy. Adva was confused. The mood of the Witcher wherever changing, on the road, he would bring her a freshly roasted rabbit or an extra blanket but with his next breath growl at her. She was almost beginning to think he cares for her; this stupid charade was enough to get her thinking that he cared for her safety, there was no other reason he would want her to pose as his wife. Maybe in the next town, she could pretend to be Jaskier wife and could avoid Geralt altogether.  

Shaking her head, Adva cast her eyes down fiddling with the strip of silver into powered fillings. Geralt looked over at her golden eyes burning into her as he watched she shave down the silvers and crushing them into a fine powder between two stones. Adva was a diligent worker, a bead of sweat started to form on her forehead, pants of hot breath puffed through her lips as she pounded heavily against the rock, with every hit her breast jiggled attractively in her blouse framed by the corset.  A straw curled escaped her mane of curls; he yearned to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

‘Ah fuck….I didn’t… fuck.’ Geralt scowled himself.

‘Could you tell me how to make the charges’ Adva smiled up weakly as she spooned the powder onto the leaves.

Wordlessly, Geralt measured the various ingredient into the leaf bundles and found Adva following his every move, replicating it with the other bundles. The work was methodical and measured, precise. They worked in focused silence, Geralt took all the bundles and forced them into wooded containers and cut the fuse. Adva followed his lead and began cutting the fuse from like pieces of wick

‘Here’ Geralt said softly covering his hand over hers to adjust the length of wick she was cutting to an inch longer. Adva eyes trailed up the man’s hand, up his arm to rest of the man’s face who was staring intensely at her. A wave of energy pulsed between them. It was the same feeling when they first met, the feeling that made her drunk and lightheaded. Now however it was more intense whenever he touched her a surge of electric forced its way through her, but even with the glove covering his hand, she could feel the force lash against her skin, building and building, reaching for something at the centre of her body. The stream next to the couple, stilled, no rolling waves of small animals causing ripples against the water. Just perfect stillness. Droplets of water rose from the surface of the water hanging in the sky like a diamond. Fish swirled in the large orbs of water, in the small droplets, some had flowers, water Lillies and brooklime stood ornamental in the drops of water.

Adva and Geralt hand-turned in sync to watcher the spectacle, it was beautiful. In the sky above the cloud received back, and the overwhelming heat shone down at them. The wind died in the air, leaving them with the perfect summer day weather. The energy buzzed excitingly between them, and a hum rung out in the girl's ear with deafening ferocity. Panicked, Adva snatched her had away violently panting hard. Geralt watched amazed as the droplets sunk back to the water soundlessly and the waves began to appear once again, the cloud rolling back into sight and the gentle wind picked up again.

‘What is hell is wrong with me!’ Adva screech looking down at her burning hand. ‘My power has never been this strong, with what happened this morning and now this…’ Adva begin to babble unintelligibly. ‘Maybe Tradi had the right idea…’ Adva paced the small patch next to the bank

Geralt stood and stilled the pacing girl with a hand resting on her shoulder. The hum was back but this time soft and gentle, soothing her as he looked up at the Witcher. An unfamiliar warm smile warmed his face as he looked at her tenderly, his lips parted several times but no words formed. There were concern and frustration in his eyes, but his actions were comforting to her, he didn’t reach for his sword or threaten her, just smiled at her. Stepping closer, his clothed hand slide to her hair, while he craned his face down. Adva watched frozen as he his face inched closer, eyelids slowly closing and thick lashed fluttered his skin again. Her eyes started to shut slowly, almost as if they were unable to tear themselves away from the sight in front of her when Geralt eyes flashed open, no longer the golden orbs but a deeper amber replaced them, like fiery lava but they didn’t rest on her; instead, they opened up to a cave mouth a little further down the bank.

‘Stay here, if I am not out in 5 minutes, run back to the town.’ Geralt gripped the curvy women arms and twisted her round to stand back against the stub as he pulled the charges from the floor and rushed toward the cave.

‘Geralt’ Adva called after him, but he had vanished from sight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

3 minutes. The white-haired man had been gone for 3 minutes. The longest three minute of her life. Chewing on her thumbnail, Adva paced. She had busied herself with clearing away their supplies which had consumed all of the minutes. The seconds past slowly as she watched the mouth of the cave.

‘Lady Adva’ a voice called pulling her away from the vigil of the cave.

‘Oh, Sir…If you are looking for Geralt, he has just gone into the caves.’

‘No…No I was looking for you actually.’

‘Me?’ Adva frown deeply as the man approach further.

‘Yes, I feel the need to discuss something with you. I fear for your safety.’

‘Safety?’  

‘You aren’t married to that Witcher are you? If he has stolen you away from your family, I can help you, little dove.’

Here was a chance to make her way back to Brightwater. All she had to do is open her mouth and plead for help from this man. She opened her mouth, but the running water caught her eyes. All her life, she had been forced to bend to other people will, to serve them like a usable tool to be thrown away or sold to the highest bidder. For the first time in her life, she felt powerful and free, the magic within her surged and flowed freely and even in the circumstance of how she ended up with Geralt she was… happy almost.

‘Of...Of course, he is…’ Adva started, but a mighty explosion blew out from the cave. The pale brown puff of dirt and dust rose from the cave and steadily filled the air.

‘Geralt! GERALT!!!’ Adva screeched as she rushed toward the opening to be firmly pulled away by Miska’s strong arms.

‘Adva stop…Stop. His gone…god knows if any of the creatures survived. Adva…Adva listen’ Miska shook Adva from her hysteric, his nails digging deep into her arms.

‘Get off your hurting me.’

‘It will be okay…come on…come with me.’ Adva tried to twist her way out his grasp.

A garbled sentence chocked out of his mouth as he let her arm slip out of his grasp. A hideous green creature emerged from the water, slimy and grim. Seaweed and sludgy slid of the body, or what you would call a body, a thick trunk of toxic green scales and webbed hands and feet. Gnashing teeth snapped against the air filling it with nightmarish shrieks. The beast sniffed the air homing of the thin bead of crimson leaking from the ten half-moon dents in her arms. A blood-curling scream filled the air as the lurched forward. Another and another emerged from water till half a dozen surround the couple.

Miska flinched back, foot catching in an upturned root, smashing himself unconscious on the stump of the tree. Fearful eyes watched as the creature inched forward, snarled and biting at the air as they moved. Flexing her fingers, Adva tried to calm her racing heart, with a deep breath, she contorted her hands and summoned a swirl of water towards the beasts. The monsters stopped, startled before a bellowed roar shook the ground, the creatures shook off the water and lunged once again toward her.

‘Miska…help please.’ Adva whimpered, fearing to take her eyes away from the creatures. The man groaned lightly before sinking into a deep unconsciousness.

Adva could feel the rancid breath against her skin. The smell was enough to make her retch, fishy like a 5-day old catch and the smell of decaying vegetation. A whimper escaped her mouth as all seemed lost. The hoard of creatures posed readied to attack, glistening claws to glinted murderously in the sun. The drowner took a deep sniff and stopped, tilting its head. The other copied and halted their movements and every so slightly edges back. A whine chorused throughout, as they scrambled back. Every now and again, one swiped forward with a barked forward. Adva dragged up another shot of water and latched it toward the cowardering downers, sending them back toward the opening of the cave.

The swish of a blade cut through the air. Unholy screams echoed across the walls as the sound of meat slamming against the stone with a wet smack. Out from the smoke, a bloodied and angry Witcher appeared from the dust, growling. The beast gave a war cry as they rushed at him, claws brandished. Adva was amazed as Geralt manoeuvred between the drowners, swishing his sword elegantly as he moved. His combat was an art, a dance of brutality and speed. When the dust had settled the carved-up bodies of the drowners lay on the floor, blood soaking into the ground.

‘You hurt?’ Geralt gruffly barked.

‘Let me phrase that again; your hurt’ Geralt snarled as he tore his gloves off with his teeth and ran his fingers over wounds.

The wound where merely scratches, nothing more than a trickle of blood split. Geralt inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply. The overpowering scent of Adva invaded his senses; it was a calming smell, but then the pungent smell of the treasurer, forces itself upon the Witcher’s nose. His scent was not unpleasant, a mix of old paper and musk, but it crawled its way over the women scent as if trying and failing to overpower hers.

Geralt released the women are and with dark eyes cast his eye over the landscape, his trained witches scene taking everything in and replaying the events in his head.

‘Coward of a man he touched you..’ Geralt steadily advanced on the unconscious man, flexing the sword provocatively.

‘Geralt stop…please.’ Adva stepped between the Witcher and the unconscious Miska,

It was a pathetic attempt, Geralt, if he wanted could push her across and skewer the treasure without any effort at all. Adva had her hands firm pushed up against his chest feeling the straining muscles, and the deep rumbled rolling within his chest. It was almost a primitive sound, a sound that scared her and thrilled her at the same time. A foreign feeling pooled at the bottom of her stomach and warmed her in places she didn’t even know she had.

‘Please…it doesn’t matter. Can we just leave.’ Adva looked up at Geralt who in turn gazed down at her. 

The Witcher was silent for a few moments as he repeatedly inhaled before resting his forehead against hers. Adva had to stop herself from gasping at the intimate position. Staring up, she watched as the Witches eye fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply.

‘I can smell you.’ He moaned, rubbing his forehead against her more, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her body.

‘Arghhh….’ A pained groan sounded from the ground cause Adva to jump away.

Geralt snarled at the man, sheathing his sword and hoisting him up to his lapels, shaking him roughly. With blood splattered against the face, the Witcher looked like death himself. Miska squirmed under the hold, his feet dangling a right two foot off the floor.

‘If you EVER touch her again. The only thing they are going to find off you if that pitiful cowardly cock nailed to the town square. Got it? GOT IT!’ Geralt threatened lowly.

‘I wasn’t… doing anything…’ Miska struggled in vain.

‘That why she has hand marks on her arm… You are going to pay my bounty, and we are going to leave at daybreak tomorrow, and if you so much as look in her direction again I am going to rip your stomach out through your nose… Now march. You are paying me in full.’ Geralt snapped, throwing the man to his feet.

So I have been on a roll, I am now up to chapter 11, who my beautiful beta is slowly proofreading. I will drip feed them down. I am very excited by chapter 12/13 😉 Things will start to pick up the pace when we get there

Once again please stay safe, I do hope you are all able to get the essentials and not put at too much risks!

Please please please leave a comment or a review! They mean the world to me.

[alyssamskii]

Breaking the Ice

Platonic Prinxiety (just your traditional “enemies to best friends” trope)

Warnings: None

Word count :1737 words

Summary: Figure skater/hockey player AU; Roman is a star hockey player and Virgil is a talented figure skater. They have always had this turmoil between them, but can that all change?

A/N: Ok so I had to write a creative writing piece for my first english paper. I saw this as a challenge to write my first fanfic. It is also kind of super descriptive because my professor said to keep the dialogue to a minimum, so I am sorry about that. I accept constructive criticism, so please dm me or comment anything if you want to!

Virgil Sanders opened the front door to be greeted by the brisk morning air. The start of a new season was ready to be tackled with no limitations holding him back. He was five foot nine with a raggedy purple fringe and deep brown eyes with black eyeliner smudged underneath. The teen hurried down the driveway with autumn leaves crunching beneath every step his black Converse took. He excitedly threw his purple backpack, covered in pins and patches, into the back seat of his black Jeep Wrangler.  After rolling his windows down and plugging in his phone to play some Mayday Parade, Virgil sped off to the rink for practice.

Immediately upon opening the metal double doors, Virgil was hit softly by a rush of cool air. Walking into the warm room of the rink to be greeted by familiar smiles and friendly faces was already making his day. He eagerly unzipped his bag and pulled out his pitch black skates with a new set of sharp purple Paramount blades attached. In the background, conversations between the other skaters could be heard, but he wasn’t paying attention enough to decipher them. The loud music playing in his single earbud was enough to take him away from the world, even if it were only for a moment. All he wanted was to hear his deep edges rip into the freshly cut ice as he shifted his weight from the inside and outside of his blade. Before that, Virgil would appreciate the smooth glide that he could flawlessly hold on the bright, pristine ice prior to the hockey teams that would soon come to dig and chop it up. He had nothing against the local hockey teams, but the disrespect they showed towards the rink staff, figure skaters, and even the ice itself was maddening. The holes they left were almost the sizes of baseballs, the ridges they cut so deep that simply gliding over them could no longer be an option, and the constant mouth guards left along the boards, still dripping soggily with warm saliva. The thought of the latter making him shudder with complete disgust.

Even with the cool chill radiating from the ice’s surface, Virgil was still fairly warm. Being a figure skater, you become almost immune to the cold and learn to never forget a jacket. The boy had forgotten only once and now arrives prepared wearing his trademark hoodie every practice, his favorite article of clothing in his closet. It was a black zip-up hoodie covered in purple and black plaid patches. The patches were scattered among the hoodie, lazily stitched on with white thread and on the front was his club’s logo, a storm cloud, embroidered with purple thread.

Eventually, the teen stopped by the boards to take a break, but that was when he felt eyes on him. He knew he wasn’t the only skater on that session, but the piercing stare he could feel, even with his back turned, was too much to let go. Virgil whipped around, stumbling over his skates as an old friend startled him. He didn’t even know if he could call Roman a friend because Roman Prince wasn’t a figure skater, he played center forward for the Sudro City Knights. The teen stood tall at six foot one and had neatly groomed mocha locks, his light brown eyes staring down the anxious boy. The cheap, damaged practice jersey he was wearing reeked of pure body odor from the weeks of wear without wash. After the couple seconds, which seemed like forever for poor Virgil, the taller boy leaned in close with a smug look plastered on his face.

“Hiya Dr Doom and Gloom.” Roman teased, leaning his stick up against the glass and sitting back onto the benches. “What is the purple ballerina going to dance to this year?  Hopefully another song from Beetlejuice the Musical! I do enjoy you looking even more edgy than usual.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, clearly not amused. “Oh, what a laugh Princey. Ya know, I would love to really see you try what I do.” The purple clad boy stated, folding his arms and leaning his chest against the boards. “I don’t even think you’re coordinated enough to do a two foot spin.” The stunned and anger-filled look that washed over Roman’s features gave him the exact answer he needed.

“Alright, that’s it mister Jack Smellington!” Roman rapidly stood up, grabbing his stick and towering over the smaller teen. “Meet me back here after hours and we’ll really see who the best is!”

“I’ll be back don’t you worry. As long as you don’t pull a Tonya Harding on me, I’ll be glad to show you how to really skate!” Virgil grabbed his now empty water bottle from the boards and skated away, shooting the star player a shit-eating grin. By the time he got off the ice and closed the heavy door behind him, the scratches of the rest of the team could be heard as they jumped the boards for practice. He quickly unlaced his skates, swiping the snow off of his blades and wiping off the excess water droplets with his old, black rag.

The skates were packed away as he walked out of those same metal double doors and climbed into his car. Before pulling away, Virgil checked his phone to see an unusual text: I’ll pick you up for our little match up later. You’re on my way to the rink, so be ready by 7 or I’m leaving without you. Shocked by the text, he closed his phone, rolling his windows down again and proceeding to play the rest of his Mayday Parade playlist on his drive home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Virgil was waiting for Roman to pull up, he pulled out his phone to play Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional while he scrolled through Tumblr. Right when he opened the app, the hockey player in his beat-up silver Chevy Cruze, blasting Brave New Girl by Britney Spears, rolled up into his driveway. Roman screamed before Virgil could even close his front door, “Get in loser, we’re going to the rink!”

          Virgil threw his backpack into the back seat and hesitantly hopped into the car. Although Roman played hockey, his car was fairly clean and his front seat had a very distinct smell compared to the back, where their skates were lazily thrown. The front of the car had a small hint of vanilla while the back seat had a scent of exactly what you can imagine, pure body odor from his balled-up practice jersey. The short drive to the rink felt like ages passed as the boy silently watched the scenery unfold outside of his window, laying his face in the palm of his hand. Upon stopping at a red light, he was startled out of his awkward, yet serene state he was in from a light nudge at his ribs. He looked over to find Roman kindly smiling at him, which was very unusual between the two.

          “Are you okay, Hot Topic? You’ve been pretty quiet the whole ride.” Virgil was stunned by the sudden change in Roman’s attitude. He was just insulting him early that same day. “I know we fight and all, but the least you can do is keep me a little company.” The smaller teen almost frowned, feeling a little bad for his actions. Maybe he genuinely wanted to change?

          He forced a small smile onto his normally brooding face, although the other could not see this with his attention on the road. “Yea I’m ok, don’t worry about it.”

          Upon arrival, they both grabbed their bags and walked into the rink, smiling at each other. Roman was wearing a white hoodie with a knight on it, his mascot, and black Adidas sweatpants with three white stripes straight down the sides. Virgil matched Roman, except he was wearing his traditional black and purple patchwork zip-up.  They stepped onto the ice and without a word Virgil set himself to work. He started at one end, gliding and connecting with the ice. With every bracket, twizzle, and step he took throughout his footwork, he let the ice take control. Each edge was deep, delicately ripping into the ice and sending him closer to the opposing side. Right before reaching the boards, he pushed into an outside mohawk, gaining speed as every crossover sounded through the rink. Roman was still standing at the door, astonished by the normally quiet and anxious boy. Lastly, Virgil was set, gliding on his back outside edge, and leaped into an axel, landing the one and a half revolution jump in a solid landing position. The teen flawlessly turned forward and slid into a sharp hockey stop, hitting Roman with a spray of cool snow. “So, can you top that Dr Do-The-Most?” Virgil looked up at him with a playful gleam in his eyes despite the antagonizing smirk that plagued his features. The taller teen was still in shock, but he eventually snapped out of it and smiled at the other.

“Now I see why you always made comments about out skating me. You truly are amazing Virgil!” The smirk never left the other’s face, the satisfaction from the statement only making it grow.

“You could always quit hockey. I know you may not want to and this is a bit of a stretch, but at least take this into consideration” Roman’s attention was gripped by the bold statement the smaller boy just made. “You’re pretty strong and you already know the basics of skating. You would make a great pair skater with some practice.” Virgil’s anxiety peaked and the other could tell. Now, he was not opposed to skating with Virgil, but hockey was his life. After a minute or two of silence, the taller teen lightly gripped the anxious boy’s shoulder, forcing his eyes off of the ice and into Roman’s. A steady gaze connected the two alone on the ice.

“Would you be my partner if I quit hockey?” Virgil was in complete shock, leading him to just rapidly nod his head and immediately wrap his arms around Roman, closing the gap between them. Their shared warmth made the cool air seem almost nonexistent.

He took back his statement from earlier about the taller boy. After years of fighting through high school, Virgil Sanders realized he definitely could call Roman Prince a friend.

[lunasilvermorny]

Future AU - Rowan and Luna in 2020 (Part 1)

Writing about Luna and Rowan was always my favorite part of the headcanon and now that I quit (at least for now) the game, I no longer have any reason to hold myself back from thinking about Future AU scenarios for these two.

(I didn’t mean to make Rowan such a snack, but... it is what it is.)

The year is 2020 (thank you title for revealing it already), it’s around February-March, Luna is 46 and Rowan is 47.

Hope you’ll like it!

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

“Doctor Silver, there’s someone here to see you.”

Luna thanked the nurse and went toward the oddly dressed man. He was two meters tall with a top hat that added at least 10 cm to his height, he wore a Hawaiian shirt with a yellow cardigan on top, baggy three quarter pants with black tights underneath and flowery pink shoes.

He straightened up his glasses and gave her a warm smile when he saw her heading his way.

“Hello there-“

“What are you doing here?” she dragged him to the side and gave him an annoyed look.

“Careful, my back.” He said and rubbed the muscles of his lower back.

“And what, in the name of god, are you wearing?” she ignored him and gestured at the unfitting combination of clothes.

“What, no good?” he was surprised. “My students told me top hats are all the rage.”

“Rowan.” She tried to remain calm. “Why are you here, mate?”

“This is a nice hospital-“

“Rowan.” She frowned.

“I’m glad to see you too, Rowan.” He did a bad imitation of her voice. “It’s been so long, how are you doing?”

“I’m working.” Luna reminded him.

“But you were taking a little tea break, weren’t you?”

“I had a three minutes break!” she said defensively. “I’ve been on call for 38 hours now, I think I deserve a bloody break.”

“38 hours?” he raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the chief physician?”

“We’re short on stuff these days.” She said. “So I took the load off my colleagues, since I can manage with little to no sleep.”

“Are you sure?” he looked at the bags under her eyes.

She nodded – “I’m fine.”

“Well, since you’re fine and also on a break,“ he gave her a teasing smile when she sighed. “How about a chat?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Hogwarts? It’s the middle of the school year.”

“Yes, but it’s also Saturday.”

“It is?” she looked exhausted when she checked her watch. “But I’ve been here since Tuesday.”

“Wow, you are tired, aren’t you?” he gave her a concerned look. “I don’t think I have ever seen you tired before.”

“What do you want, Rowan?!” she snapped at him, then immediately added- “Sorry about that.”

“I was wondering, this whole COVID-19-“

“Oh my god.” Luna rubbed her temples. “Are you seriously still hung up on that?”

“It’s just that you never explained exactly what it is and-“

“Rowan, read the fucking paper! This can’t be the only reason you’re here.”

“Well,” he gave her a guilty look. “There might be something else. You see-“

But before he finished the sentence, Luna was called back to the ER.

“I have to go, we’ll talk about it later.” She said and hurried down the corridor without saying goodbye.

“When? When are you done?” he called after her, but she disappeared behind the ER doors. “Yep, let’s talk later, shall we?” he murmured to himself and sat back on the bench next to the reception.

--

Luna looked out of the window; it was pitch black. She considered the possibility of sleeping in the on-call room again, but knew that if she stayed here, she wouldn’t be able to leave in the morning and she mustn’t neglect her duties as a healer. She took her car keys out of her pocket while exiting the ER, saying good night to the night-shift nurse and head toward the exit, when her eyes landed on her old friend, boringly staring at an old magazine, barely awake.

“What are you still doing here?” she said and automatically checked her watch. “Were you waiting here this whole time?”

“No, I went to the loo once or twice.” He said with a tired voice and let out a long yawn.

“Come on.” She helped him stand up and they both got out of the building into the parking lot. They walked slowly, but neither of them complained. They were too tired at this point to care.

When they got to Oliver Jr., her green 2006 Ford Fiesta, Rowan said – “We’re not really taking this muggle piece of junk, are we?”

“You can apparate if you want.” She said and got into the car, but Rowan followed her. She put on the safety belt and reminded him to do the same.

“Why? What could this piece of leather possibly do if we got into a truly dangerous situation?”

“I don’t want to be fined.” She said as she started the engine. “I couldn’t care less about their ridiculous rules.”

“Didn’t you have a repellent spell against muggles?”

“That was before I started living amongst them.” She said, making sure the mirrors are in check, but it was just an excuse to stall until her brain wakes up enough for her concentrate on driving. “My deal with the Ministry prohibits me from using any type of magic near muggles.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope.” She yawned one last time before she pressed her foot against the gas pedal and started driving. “I even had to get a driving license.”

“That is absurd.” Rowan shook his head. “What wizard in his right mind would agree to this?”

“The kind that wanted to be a doctor.” She wasn’t offended by what he said, she knew him well enough to know that he had no ill intention behind his words. “Now shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Since when?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Since I became the person that have to tend to the injured in these kind of accidents.”

“Wow, you’re taking this muggle stuff really seriously.” He almost sounded impressed.

“You might say that.” She gave him a tired smile and then looked back at the road. “So how have you been, Professor hot-shot? Your students are doing all right?”

“They are, thank you.” He said with pride. “I don’t want to take all the credit, but most of my students were basically illiterate before they entered to my classroom. Now, my 5th year students are at least an ‘E’ level, freshly ready for the OWLs.”

“You sound more like a mother than a teacher.” She teased.

“Well, you know how I am.” He nodded. “I have this brilliant student, she reminds me of you, doesn’t even have to put an effort, everything comes so easily to her and yet she still does her best. She said it’s because she wants to make me proud. My heart nearly melted.”

“Does she protect you from the bullies as well?” Luna chuckled.

“Don’t even let me start with these rotten apples.” He scrunched his nose. “Always thinking they’re the funniest, don’t care if they lose house point. Nasty little things.”

Luna stopped at a red light behind a large car with loud music blasting out of its windows.

“There is another student-“ but Luna wasn’t paying attention anymore. She saw the car started to move slowly toward the cross road, even though the light was still red.

“Hey.” She called then pressed the car horn, but whoever was in the car probably didn’t hear her. They were still moving in a slow enough pace, but if they keep going, someone might get hurt. “Hey!” she pressed the horn again, but to no avail. She opened the car door and ran toward the other car, knocking on the window to draw the driver’s attention.

Then, with a swift move, she pulled out her wand and brought the car to a stop.

Rowan looked confused. She said she wasn’t supposed to use magic, but it all became clear when Luna opened the door and an unconscious driver fell over her. Rowan hurried out of the car to assist her.

“Can you hear me, sir?” she said loudly when Rowan reached her. She pinched the Trapezius muscle near his neck, that caused the man to jerk and let out a loud grunt, then he slowly opened his eyes.

“Can I do anything to help?” Rowan asked, but Luna shook her head and got back to the muggle, that reeked of liquor.

Luna was about to check his pupils, when the man turned to the side and vomited violently. She used that opportunity to pull out a small device, that wasn’t familiar to Rowan, from her pocket and pressed it to her ear.

“I have to take care of it,” she said to Rowan, the device still pressed to her ear by her shoulder. “Can you get my car out of the way?” she threw her keys at him and went back to the barely conscious and very drunk driver.

Rowan somehow managed to move her car to the side of the road and waited, while Luna kept tending to the man. He knew it would’ve taken a fraction of the time if she only used magic, but since he’s a muggle, her hands were tied. He always knew she had patience, but he still found it impressive.

She helped the man into the backseat of his car, entered the driver’s seat and headed back toward the hospital.

Almost half an hour later, an owl appeared in the sky and just before it landed on the road, it changed form into Luna. She gave Rowan a frustrated look when she got inside the car, obviously in an even worst mood than before. She started the engine and let out a deep sigh before she went back to driving.

They drove in silence until they got out of the city and into the highway, when Luna finally said- “This drunken fucker, I hope he’ll choke on his own damn vomit.” Rowan remained silence while she kept ranting. “Can you believe that arsehole? Getting behind the wheel in his state. Almost as if he wanted to die or he was stupid enough to think that Jesus would drive for him.”

Rowan started to doze off and before he noticed, they already arrived at her house. Luna woke him up and they both slowly headed toward the small cottage. Rowan was too tired to comment on her new house, and after she quickly made the bed for him in the guest room, he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Luna went up the stairs, trying her best not to wake Mark up, and got into her bedroom.

Finally, she can sleep.

Twenty minutes later, her alarm went off. She barely managed to get out of bed into the shower and put on clean clothes, before she opened the window and flew out in her owl form to her shift in the wizards' hospital.

--

She got back home around 7 p.m. and was surprised to discover Rowan was still there, casually taking to Mark, who was in the midst of preparing supper.

“What are you still doing here?” she said while she picked an apple and took a bite out of it. “I thought you’d be back at Hogwarts by now, isn’t it a school-night?”

Rowan gave her an irritated look. “I came to see you for a reason, remember?”

“I know, mate, but I have a shift at the muggles’ hospital in an hour and I can really use some sleep.”

“Come on, mum.” Said Mark. “He told me he was waiting almost two days to have a proper chat with you. Can’t you give him five minutes?”

“Thank you, Mark.” Said Rowan. “If only I had this kind of influence on her. She always takes my time for granted-“

“I’m too tired for this.” She said and threw the remains of the apple in the bin. “Give me half an hour, alright?” but she left the room immediately after, not letting him a chance to say anything.

“So you’re staying for supper, then.” Mark gestured at the pots on the cooker.

“Seems like it.” Rowan shrugged.

[lirusstories]

No Place Like Home Chapter One: Breakfast Time! Edited and Re-Uploaded

A/N: Thank you to everyone who managed to read through it the first time around here is a hopefully better version.

(Word Count: 3,758)

        Liru finishes setting the food on the table just as the smell of Peach Blossoms and Honey fills her nose, the sound of someone entering the dining room causes her to turn and see freshly showered JJ already dressed for his day.

        “Good-morning Κούπες. I hope you slept well.” She greets as she meets him half-way with a soft kiss.

        “Good-morning our Ψυχή.” His 1920’s British-Irish voice is quiet as he speaks, sleep still lingering with it.

        “It’s pancakes, fruit and sausage for breakfast this morning, I set some honey and whipped cream aside for you.” His eyes light up as he peeks over to the table causing the women to giggle at his adorable reaction.

        “Go sit and eat. I know you need to go to the doctors soon besides I need to go get the others anyway.” He walks over to his spot, an eager skip in his step as she smiles at before leaving following the smell of Mint to Remus’ room humming to herself as she does. She gets to his room and opens the door to see him singing along to the same song she was just humming as he sews some beads that he definitely took from her onto a large piece of fabric.

“I take my pills and I’m happy all the time

I’m happy all the time

I’m happy all the time.”

        Liru looks it over and sees that he’s made a tapestry making what is currently their family as the soul-marks. She could see that the background of the tapestry is her own soulmark, the beads reflecting anything light that shines against them. She looks it over seeing that he was finishing up his own, a black and green crown with black octopus tentacles coming from it wielding a black and emerald green sword crossed with a silver morning star, a perfect replica of the one on the left of his lower back.

“I love my girl but she ain’t worth the price

she ain’t worth the price

no, she ain’t worth the price.”

        He moves away as he finishes sewing in the last bead looking over his handy work as it hangs from the ceiling.

        “So what do you think?” His voice nearly makes her jump and she quickly looks at him seeing that he’s staring at her with his red and green eyes, proud smile on his face making his mustache curve, reminding Liru of the Cheshire cat in a way.

        “It’s beautiful.” She says, unable to keep the slight awe out of her voice even if she wanted to. He left holes in it to fill in as they join our family although there are quite a few she doesn't recognize. He must have seen her eyeing those spots curiously because he speaks up again.

        “Yeah I don’t know either. It just felt right.” She raises an eyebrow at him while he just has a smile on his face.

        “Weirdo.” He lets out a dramatic gasp that she giggles at.

        “Why thank you for noticing.” His voice was just as dramatic as his gasp sending her into a little fit of giggles.

        “Breakfast is ready. It’s pancakes,” He lets out an excited squeal. “with fruit and sausage among various other toppings.” He jumps a bit and goes to bolt out the door.

        “Wait!” She says loudly, making him stop and pout looking at her.

        “What?”

        “Clothes.” She says gesturing to his naked form with a finger. He pouts more before snapping his fingers now wearing ripped black skinny jeans with a pale green tank top, a studded black leather jacket and three inch heeled combat boots.

        “There. Happy now?” He asks, still pouting.

        “Considering you are no longer flashing me and will not flash anyone else, yes I am. The fact that I’m pretty sure you’re commando, not so much.” He throws his head back laughing as he walks over and messing up her hair. She swats his hand away making him laugh more.

        “You know it!” He yells and goes to run to the dining room.

        “Don’t start a food fight either. JJ has a doctors appointment after breakfast.” He just rolls his eyes before speaking.

        “I don’t understand why he needs to go to a doctor to confirm he’s pregnant, he already knows he is.”

        “You know he enjoys the novelty of doing human things.” She reminds him, although she doubts he needs it.

        “Sounds like a waste of time to me.” He remarked, a small laugh in his voice as he began to walk.

        “He’s the master of time Green Bean, he has nothing but time.” He just laughs before running off to the dining room. She lets out a small snort at her brother's antics before going to get the others and along the way she runs into Emile already dressed for the day and walking to the dining room.

        “Heya mom.” he greets enthusiastically, obviously excited about something if the smell of French Toast radiating from him is anything to go by.

        “Hey sweetie, you going somewhere today?” She can’t help but ask as he bounces on the balls of his feet as his reddish purple hair bounces with him just barely falling above his gold ringed plum eyes that are shining with excitement.

        “Yep! I convinced the others to go shopping with me today in New York City.” He’s obviously excited as his skin reflects the light a bit in a swirl of pastel blue and pink.

        “Oh good! It’s about time you guys went out together. And if you need anything JJ, Remus and Remy will be there as well. Although I think it would be best if you just called, your brother JJ shouldn’t be doing anything stressful and Remus is too much of a wild card and draws too much attention.” He smiles widely at the news that more of them will be there having fun.

        “Finally, I’ve been trying to get them to do something other than hide in the castle.”

        “Manor.” She reminds him

        “At this size it might as well be a castle.” His voice is still as excited as before as he continues to bounce on the balls of his feet and it makes Liru smile seeing one of her kids so excited for the day.

        “Well breakfast is ready, it’s pancakes, fruit and sausage.” She tells him as she moves out of his way.

        “Delicious.” He beams as he continues his trek to the dining room while Liru resumes her search for the rest of her children and husbands. She knows three are close, Two husbands and a child if the smell of Leather, Pine Needles and Iced Caramel Coffee, Yancy, Anti and Remy, is anything to go by. She walks into one of the living rooms and hears the familiar sound of Steven Universe playing as she looks over and sees Remy asleep in a love seat while Anti was asleep on top of Yancy who was asleep with his arms wrapped around Anti while they were sprawled across a couch snoring softly.

        Liru walks over to Remy, grabbing his sunglasses from the side table and gently patting his cheek.

        “It’s time to wake up Cub, breakfast is ready.” He stirs slightly before relaxing again. She pat his cheek again and he stirs again before yawning, showing off his wolf like teeth before he opens his golden eyes blinking the sleep from them as he looks up at her.

        “Good-morning sweetheart.” Liru greets her child as he sits up, stretching with his honey brown tail stretching with him, his ears flattening against his head as he yawns before relaxing and the tail disappears and his ears turn into human ones that are covered by his honey brown hair. She hands him his glasses and he takes them with a quiet “Thank you,” before he puts them on. He takes a deep breath before making a ‘mmm’ sound.

        “Pancakes and sausage.” He says getting up stretching more and popping his back and neck a bit before grabbing his leather jacket and throwing it on, his outfit changing to a darker pair of jeans and black shirt that says ‘Move I’m Gay’.

        “And fruit.” She reminds him as he puts on his sneakers, hoping a little as he does so while not making a sound.

        “Just because it’s not in a pie or a drink doesn’t mean you aren’t eating it.” He groans a bit.

        “Beside I got you some Oregon Blackberries anyway.” He perks up at that.

        “So you better hurry before Remus gets it.” His lip purse in annoyance as he manages to get his other shoe on.

        “He knows I’m not afraid to shoot a bitch.” His tone is sassy with a little bit of sleep left over in his voice.

        “And you know that won’t do anything to him.”

        “It’s the message that counts Momma.” He reminds her, obviously remembering the time she threw someone out the window into a pool rather than concentrate. Granted she had been aiming for the concrete but the bastard disappeared after that so he was no longer a problem.

        “Just go and eat. You're going to be around a lot of people today so you need the energy.” He nods a bit before leaving to go to the dining room as she turns her attention to the still sleep Yancy and Anti on the couch. She walks over, turning off the T.V. as she does, before shaking them both lightly, keeping her voice soft as she does.

        “It’s time to wake up Loves.” They both groan as Yancy buries his face into Anti’s green hair while Anti buries his face into Yancy’s shirt.

        “Come one my Αγγελος Incarnation.” She says teasingly as Yancy’s deep purple eyes snap open, staring up at her annoyed at the pun while Anti bursts into a fit of giggles.

        “I want a divorce.” Yancy says in a deadpan voice sending Anti into even more giggles.

        “I get Anti. He knows a good pun when he hears one.” She giggles out, making Anti giggle harder as he looks up at them. His giggling subsides as he has a tired but happy smile on his face.

        “Mornin’ Dolls.” Yancy yawns out as she leans over giving Anti a deep kiss that he returns a bit sleepily.

        “Nice view.” Yancy says which causes her to reach a hand down and smack causing him to laugh while she pulls Anti deeper into the kiss who just seems to melt into it.

        “Alright, alright no makin’ out on me without me.” he says, making both her and Anti giggle as they pull away from each other. Yancy brings one hand up pulling Liru down to him and gives her a kiss. She gladly reciprocates it before he pulls away and gives a deep kiss that the green haired man gladly returns the kiss before they pull away, Yancy sitting up making Anti sit up as well.

        “It’s Pancakes,” Anti perks up excitedly, “fruit and sausage for breakfast.” Anti gets up quickly giving both Yancy and Liru quick cheek kisses before bolting out the room while yelling.

        “I’ll see you in a few!” And rushing towards the dining room leaving her and Yancy behind with our amusement. She looks at Yancy who is watching where Anti left fondly before looking over at her and she can see him trying to hide the sadness in his eyes, although the plants in the room were beginning to droop proving that something was wrong.

        “That memory again?" His eyes flicker to the floor before nodding a bit as he swallows harshly. She sighs and bends down pulling him into a hug which he quickly reciprocates.

        “You know I’m here when you need to talk to someone. We all are.” He nods slightly as he leans his head against her shoulder.

        “I know.” His voice is quiet, cracking just a bit.

        “I know it’s just…”

        “I know sweetheart, believe me I know.” She keeps her voice soft as he takes a shaky breath. He pulls away and wipes his eyes quickly obviously trying to hide the fact he was about to cry. She looks at him a bit sadly before he stands and she gives him a quick kiss.

        “Go eat Stripes, I need to get the others.” He laughs a little before asking,

        “Who’s left?”

        “Illi, Dark, Wil and all the kids minus Remy and Emile.” He laughs a bit more before giving her a peck on the cheek.

        “Good luck Doll. I’ll see you at breakfast.” he says before leaving the room. She looks around the room before singing softly,

“I take my pills and I’m happy all the time

I’m happy all the time

I’m happy all the time

I love my girl but she ain’t worth the price

she ain’t worth the price

no, she ain’t worth the price.”

        The plants in the room return to their normal perky state even if they are a bit bigger than before Yancy’s nightmare but they still stand tall again. She leaves the living area bouncing a little as she walks, humming the song again. She approaches the game room which is filled with the smells of Freshly Fallen Snow, Robbie, a Burning Candle, Yan, A Grassy field in the summer, Sammi, Dark Raspberry Chocolate, Kira, Spiced Rum, Oliva, and Freshly Cut Grass in the Spring, Jamie. 

        She can hear both Sammi and Yan shouting and the sound of the joy sticks hitting against the boundaries rather harshly. Sighing exasperatedly she enters the room to see Yan sitting on Kira’s lap, both of them playing just as violently as Sammi who is on the floor next to them shouting at the game. Looking at the T.V. Liru can see that they were playing Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. How they got Kira to play is beyond her.

        She looks over to the couches and sees Robbie draped over a love seat while reading a book, by the looks of it it’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Oliva and Jamie sitting on the couch with controllers in their hands as they both violently press buttons their tongues sticking out of the corner of their mouths as they focus on the game. She sighs again just as Yan lets out a victorious shout as the game flashes her character, Mewtwo, on the screen.

        “Well if you're quite done,” They all jump, heads snapping towards her from where she stands in the doorway. “it’s time for breakfast.” Sammi looks confused as she asks,

        “Wait. What time is it?” She groans rubbing the bridge of her nose before answering,

        “9:37 currently.” They all simultaneously make ‘Oh shit’ faces confirming the mother’s suspicions of them being up all night. She rubs my face in concern and annoyance.

        “You guys are lucky you don’t need to sleep often.” Sammi, Yan and Jamie grin sheepishly while Robbie, Oliva and Kira refuse to make eye contact. She sighs again, exasperated.

        “Come on you guys turn it off and get to breakfast.” Sammi gets up and turns the console and T.V. off as the others get up from their spots, Yan lets out a loud squeal as Kira, their wife, picks them up in a bridal carry, spinning a little eliciting a louder squeal from them.

        “Kira! Stop it, put me down!” Kira just lets out a small laugh as she stops spinning but doesn’t put them down. Liru moves out of the door as she quickly walks past with a quick “See you at breakfast!” while Yan just yells and protests to being held with no real fire. The others snicker and laugh at Yan’s fading, verbal pouting as they all shuffle out of the rooms giving me quick hugs that Liru gladly returns as they leave the room with variations “See you at breakfast, mom!”.

        She looks around the room one last time before sighing and with a wave of her hand the mess they left behind disappeared. She leaves and walks to Illinois’ room knowing he was probably examining one of the artifacts she kept in the basement. Sure enough, when she walks into his room, he’s passed out at his desk, a golden dagger with a diamond hilt that had been carved into a skeleton lays on his desk. A closer look at you could see that it had the name ‘Mori’.

        ‘Oh.’ He must have looked in her room. Mori is one of her reapers, she gave Liru her dagger to be able to contact her if need be. She gently shake his shoulder leaning over and whispering in his ear,

        “Time to wake up Simia, it’s time for breakfast.” He moans in protest as she gently pulls him back so he is sitting up.

        “Oh don’t whine at me, you know very well that you needed to sleep last night.” He groans opening his honey eyes as he pouts a little. She smiles softly in response.

        “Come on Simia, you need to get up and eat.” He yawns loudly and slowly gets up and she reaches over grabbing the dagger.

        “And,” She says, gently booping his nose. “don’t take my shit.” He looks confused before seeing the dagger in her hand and his face flushes a bright red.

        “S-Sorry Love.” He stutters out obviously embarrassed about getting caught.

        “It’s alright Simia, now get to breakfast. You said you were dragging Yancy to the museum today anyway.” She boops his nose again before giving him a quick kiss.

        “Alright then Sweetheart, I'll see you at breakfast.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek before walking out, yawning a little as he does and Liru smiles a little before looking down at the dagger. She frowns a bit frown a bit as I look it over noticing that even after ninety years, I could still smell the faint scent of Cold Bubble Gum Ice Cream on a summer’s day after 90 or so years. She grips it tightly remembering when she first gave it to Ethan, and remembering when she took it off his corpse.

        She feels a jolt of… something, she’s not sure what, rush over her and it nearly knocks her off her feet before she steadies herself. She looks down at the dagger before sending it to a small pocket dimension for the time being before leaving Illinois’ room and going towards Dark’s, knowing Wilford was there as well if the smell of Bubblegum Liquor with Dark’s Salt Water Taffy is anything to go by.

        Just as she approaches the room both Dark and Wilford exit, Wilford babbling away about something while Dark tries his best to not look amused. They both noticed Liru almost immediately with Dark smiling softly while Wilford visibly perks up more than he was.

        “Sugarplum!” Wilford shouts excitedly as he jogs over, Dark right behind him.

        “Good morning my Loves.” She greets them both with kisses and hugs which they both return.

        “Good morning My Dear.”

        “Mornin’ Sugarplum!”

        “Breakfast is ready, I was just coming to get you guys. It’s pancakes, sausage and fruit.”

        “That sounds-” Dark gets cut off by Wilford shouting.

        “Delicious!” She just laughs as Dark just sighs at Wil’s antics.

        “Yes it does, now let's go eat.” The three of them walk to the dining room getting there just as JJ is leaving. He sees the three of them and smiles brightly walking over quickly and Wilford scoops him up in a big hug thankfully not a tight one before setting him down beaming at him.

        “Mornin’ JJ!” The Pink mustached ‘man’ greeted happily.

        “Good-Morning Wil.” JJ greets back, a smile on his face.

        “Where are ya goin’?” Wilford asks, a confused look on his face. And before JJ could answer back a loud crash from the dining room catches our attention, quickly followed by Yan and Sammi shouting at each other, most likely over who got the most wins in their game. Dark sighs in annoyance besides her while Wilford just looks towards the doorway, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise, obviously not expecting them to start arguing about something like that this early. Thankfully though Anti and Yancy seem to quickly get it under control before they could throw anything else at each other.

        “You two should go and sit down before anymore fighting breaks out and there’s glass in the food.” I inform them, and they both nod in agreement, Wil letting out a small chuckle before he gives JJ a quick kiss on the cheek before walking into the dining room, a small skip in his step. Dark gives JJ a slight nod as he walks past him which JJ returns before he disappears into the dining room greeting the others as he does.

        She goes and pulls JJ close and enjoys the warm feeling his smile brings before though she can’t stop the chuckle that leaves her when he stands on his tiptoes to give her a kiss she gladly returns leaning down for him. She reaches up cupping his cheeks gently before they pull away a jovial smile on both of their faces.

        “I love you, My Κούπες.” Her voice is a soft but loving whisper as she tells him, enjoying watching his cheeks become a little pink as he smiles.

        “I love you too, Our Ψυχή.” His voice is just as soft and loving while he whispers back and a dopey grin spreads across her face at the words and it sends him into a small fit of laughter.

        “Be safe darling, make sure not to attract attention.”

        “Aren’t I always?” She snorts, he is absolutely not. He attempts to pout but his face quickly pulls into another smile as she fixes his slightly crooked bow-tie.

        “I will don’t worry.”

        “You know that's never gonna happen Dear.” He rolls his eyes playfully and jumps a little to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

        “Alright, I need to go or i’m gonna be late, bye Love.” 

        “Goodbye, I’ll see you later.” He gives her a slight wave as he leaves and she turns walking into the dining room where Liru sees Emile explaining to Kira why she doesn’t need to worry about clothes not fitting her while the others chat idly with each other, Yan and Sammi still shooting playfully challenging looks to each other from across the table. She smiles to herself as she goes and sits in her spot between Yan and Robbie thinking to herself.

        ‘Today is gonna be a good day.’

Translations:

Greek ones courtesy of @antis-gauge

Κούπες = Heart

Ψυχή = Soul

Simia = Monkey

Tip: The reason she calls Anti and Yancy Αγγελος Incarnation together is because She calls Anti, Άγγελος and Yancy’s soulmark on his romantic Soulmates is a Red Carnation.

Red carnation symbolizes love, pride and admiration.

She calls Illinois Simia/Monkey because he climbs everything.

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[cilldaracailin]

A Kind Of Magic

Thanks for all the lovely love. Here is the next part :)

16

“Never underestimate the lingering effects of a dash of spontaneous comfort.”

The first thing Taron did once Robyn left, was change out of his heavy jeans into a clean pair of shorts that Robyn had washed for him the previous day, the smell of fabric softener light and delicate. She had left his clothes folded neatly on one of the empty shelves in her closet, ready for when he needed them. He walked bare foot into the kitchen and next he made himself another cup of coffee and carefully sat in the corner of the couch.

“Hey Alexa, play Joni Mitchell.”

After a few seconds, the music started and Taron closed his eyes, inhaling the fresh scent of coffee, enjoying the cool breeze from the air conditioning. It was utter heaven for Taron, peace beyond explanation. It was very rare for him to have moments like this where he knew no one was going to interrupt him or call him to set or wake him after he fell asleep in the make-up chair. Even if Robyn had of been in the apartment with him, he knew he would still feel relaxed because she would let him be. Robyn never felt the need to fill the silence with conversation, happy to sit and read or listen to music or watch TV. She never pestered him, allowing him to rest and sleep. He still hadn’t quite figured out how she knew what he needed without question, how she was willing to share her home, life and everything with a stranger, a man she had only known for nine days without a single thought or question, including her bed.

“Though it is pretty big bed.” Said Taron to himself, thinking to last night how they had both slept soundly on their sides having lots of room to move if needed.

The conditions under how they met were extraordinary and Taron felt as if he had known Robyn for years, not days and he absolutely trusted her beyond a doubt, their friendship one he knew would be strongly bonded for life. He slowly sipped his coffee, in no rush to hurry, looking around Robyn’s apartment as he did so. Pictures and trinkets, he hadn’t noticed before were decorated around the place, on top of the piano and on the wall. He snuggled back into the cushions, a happy sigh leaving his lips. The time two weeks ago he was deep into filming, literally running around the set in New York, sweating buckets in his suit as he was fixed to a harness jumping over yellow taxi cabs. Now he lay with his feet up, drinking coffee in a homely apartment belonging to the woman who has saved his life. It still sent startling shivers down his spine when he thought about it but it was getting easier with every day and it became part of their conversation now too, both remembering something else that had happened in the 7/11, taking the time to talk it through with each other. Taron was happy to talk to Robyn about anything to do with the 7/11 because not only did it ease his fears, it subdued Robyn’s too and led to another peaceful night’s sleep for her.

Taron yawned and stretched a little, a little guilty for feeling far too comfortable. He finished his drink and stood up carefully, moving to the kitchen to wash the cup at the sink, leaving it to drip dry beside their clean breakfast dishes. He looked around the kitchen, obvious signs of his presence in Robyn’s home such as the coffee maker which she had insisted on leaving out for him as well as his tablets, phone charger and shirt on the island. A small smile filled his lips as he recalled eating from the same fork as Robyn last night as she sat on the island. It was an action of mischief that he thought was going to get him into trouble until Robyn played along delightfully. Shaking the images from his head, he moved out of the kitchen and towards the fish long fish tank that partially separated the eating and living areas.

“They are only goldfish.” Robyn had explained to him when he asked her about it. “I don’t have a great reputation with tropical fish. Kind of boiled the last ones I had so I just stick to cold water fish.”

Underneath the tank, her bookshelf, filled messily with a number of books of varying topics. A full collection of Terry Goodkind along with Lord of the Rings were worn and well read. Harry Potter looked even more so, Taron picking up a copy of the first book which was in Irish, only recognising it by the picture on the cover and inside words were written in pencil in English, Robyn finding the need to translate the Irish even though she spoke it. Another shelf was full of baking and cook books and on the very bottom shelf, bulky lever arch files took up the whole row. Taron pulled the first one out and opening it, was met with a results page in which Robyn was awarded ninety-eight percent for her work inside. He skimmed through the poly pockets, the information inside relating to Robyn’s job, realising he was looking at her college work, recognising her writing, coloured pages, drawings and pictures filling each page. He carefully put it back in its place and moved over to the piano.

He would love to be able to sit and play like Robyn could and had contemplated looking into taking lessons but he was just so busy he wouldn’t be able to full commit it. On top of the piano were a few picture frames, pictures of Robyn with various people smiling back at him. He recognised her mam in one and the man standing the other side, Taron figured was her dad. Another was Robyn and a brown and white dog in the snow, another Robyn sitting in a park with some girlfriends. Above the piano, she had four glass frames with her college certificate awards and wounded around the frames a string with little clothes pegs, instant photos hanging down decorating the wall, pictures of Robyn and her life along with stunning sunsets and dolphins. Seeing the frames of the instant photos, Taron wondered if she had her own camera or did it belong to her friends. He hoped she owned one and would be willing to snap a picture with him to add it to her wall and maybe snap another so he could keep it too.

Moving past the television he browsed her DVD’s. Even though Netflix and streaming became the norm, Robyn still held tight to her DVD’s and Taron wasn’t surprised to see a vast collection of musicals and out of pure interest moved to the ‘R’ section and smiled as he pulled out Rocketman. Carrying the DVD back to the kitchen he routed out a marker from the drawer that Robyn called her ‘bits and bobs’ drawer and quickly signed the front of it.

“‘Not too sure about the guy who played Elton’.” He wrote, the words he had said to Robyn in the 7/11 when the argument had started between her and Maggie. “‘Your rocketman, Taron.”

Grinning he replaced the marker and put the DVD back in its place and as his curiosity grew, he moved to the ‘b’ section and found Bohemian Rhapsody.

“Of course.” He laughed and walked back into the kitchen and took the marker from the drawer again. “‘Really? The sooner we have this Elton/Freddie sing off, the better…’” He wrote on the cover of the DVD.

He replaced the DVD and glanced over the titles again, his head titling when he got to the ‘w’ section, his fingers pulling out a copy of ‘We Will Rock You’.

“Kilcreen musical society presents, We Will Rock You, April 2018.” He read out, looking at the picture of the cast on the front. There in the middle was Robyn, her blonde hair crimped and styled in two messy high pony tails, the rest of her hair streaked pink and purple around her shoulders. As he held the slim box in his hands, Taron knew what was going to keep him occupied for the morning. He left the chosen DVD on the coffee table and wandered into the bedroom. Again, his belongings were scattered around the place, the jeans he had taken off thrown on the bed, one converse at the door, the other under the television, the bed unmade as they both rushed to get ready to leave earlier.

He wandered into the closet and chuckled. He vaguely remembered it when Robyn showed him around her house when he first arrived and there was some sort of organisation to the closet but now clothes were strewn everywhere. To his right there was a railing and hung very nearly were what Taron assumed were Robyn’s work clothes, trousers and blouses, shirts and an odd skirt ready to be used for the working day. To his left a section just for shoes, Robyn not lying when she said she was converse girl at heart. She owned many a pair of many colours along with some winters boots and flip flops. He could see two pairs of heels as well. An unusual shoe, caught his eyes, buried under the flip flop and he reached into pull it out, some sort of tap show in his hand, but he didn’t look the ones he had seen his friend Jamie wear, as there was a silver buckle tied through the laces. Then it clicked with him. An Irish dancing shoe. Digging a little deeper he pulled put two soft leather shoes, with criss-crossed laces from toe to ankle. Definitely Irish dancing shoes.

“More secrets Robyn?” He said to himself. He was going to have to ask her about these when she was home.

He turned around and behind him were shelves and cubby holes with her t-shirts, jeans and his freshly cleaned clothes and though he was tempted to look in the drawers underneath the cubbies, he stayed away.

He already knew the ins and outs of the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom and over to the white make up table in the corner of the room with the large oval mirror. Only now did he notice the jar with make-up brushes and few make-up products scattered across the table, not that he really recognised many of them. He still had yet to see Robyn wear any make up, something she didn’t really seem too bothered about.

He stood at the glass doors, looking out into the bright sunshine of the morning, the garden one of his favourite parts of Robyn’s home. His flat in London had no garden and although his home in Aberystwyth had a small garden, a larger one in his mam’s house, it didn’t have the comfortable seating that Robyn’s had and as she had an Alexa set up almost everywhere in her apartment, music could be heard in every room, even the garden.

Taron moved away from the hot windows and back into the living room, picking up the DVD from where he left. He had seen Robyn set up the DVD and was sure he could work it out and once he realised there wasn’t actually a DVD player, it took him a good five minutes to figure out that the disc went in to the side of the television.

“Alexa Stop.”

Shaking his head, he took up his favourite spot in the corner of the couch and thankfully the musical loaded itself so he wasn’t posed with the challenge of getting it started. Legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, Taron smiled as the recognisable sound of Freddie Mercury filled the air of the room as the amateur musical started.

Taron realised he was in big trouble with his sing off with Robyn, when on the DVD she sang that first note to Somebody to Love, the third song in the musical, pitch perfect with no band behind her. He found his mouth open at the end of the song, absolutely taken back with the power behind his host’s voice. She made it look effortless and easy and when the duet of Under Pressure started with the character Galileo, Taron was wondering what else he could offer her instead of a sing off.

He thoroughly enjoyed the production Robyn’s home town had put on, the whole cast nailing their roles perfectly, and found himself singing along quite a few times along the way. As the cast took their bows, he got to his feet and headed back to the DVD’s. If Robyn had one production she had been in, he was curious to see if there were more. He grinned as he pulled out Les Misérables and Into the Woods along with Hairspray and Jesus Christ Superstar.

He took out We Will Rock You from the television and slipped Les Misérables into the slot, the DVD loading itself. He walked into the kitchen and made another cup of coffee and as it brewed, carefully pulled his shirt back on, the air condition making the room a little too chilly. After adding two sugar cubes to his coffee, he carried it back to the couch and got comfortable again, the familiar music filling his ears.

Completely different to the comedic role of Scaramouche, Epionine was emotional and heartbroken and he was sure Robyn’s tears were real as she got to the pivotal moment in On My Own. He was again immediately impressed with the production and as the music for the second act began, his phone rang. He balanced his second cup of half-drunk coffee on the couch, but changed his mind and left it on the table and walked into the bedroom and routed through his jeans to his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Hey mam.”

“Taron, love. How are you?”

“I am good mam.”

“That’s what you always say and I have to get the truth from Robyn.”

Taron chuckled. “I am currently chilling on Robyn’s couch, drinking coffee in the air conditioning while watching Robyn on the TV in her musical societies production of Les Misérables. I am good Mam.”

“Taking your pain killers?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Eating?”

“Yes.”

“Sorted out your filming schedule?”

“Yep. Matthew rang me the other day. I will be back in New York at the start of November.”

“Taron, Christmas?”

“Don’t worry. I have the time off for Christmas at home and New Year’s too.”

“And how is Robyn?”

“She is doing really good. Gone to some really important meeting today for her work to help get funding to upgrade their garden.”

“And you will be coming home to me when?” Tina rapid fired the question’s Taron’s way but she heard her son sigh on the end of the phone. “Taron love, you do not have to explain anything to me. I am still desperate for that hug but I can hear such a change in your voice. You sound so much happier and more relaxed and I know Robyn is taking really good care of you.”

“She is.”

“And you better be taking care of her too Taron.”

“I am mam and I will be home.”

“When you are ready love. Not before.”

The conversation between mother and son continued for half an hour, another fifteen minutes with his sisters before Taron was able to start the musical again. He found himself wiping a lone tear from his eye as Eiponine and Marius had their last moment together, Taron completely engrossed in the show.

When the DVD finished, Taron’s stomach rumbled. Looking to his phone he saw it was well past three in the afternoon. Bringing his cup with him, he washed it out and added it to the mounting dishes on the sink. He popped two slices of bread into the toaster and took a plate from the press, a knife from the drawer and left them ready to use. He started to think about what he could make for them for dinner, Robyn not getting in until late that evening and knowing she was working through her lunch break today, she was bound to be hungry. He dried the dishes on the sink and packed them away while he waited for his toast, still thinking about dinner. The toast popped and he buttered it.

“That is the best butter in the world.” Robyn’s voice came to him. “It’s Kerrygold. Best butter ever.”

He smiled as he took a bite of the warm toast, the light snack hitting the spot perfectly. He was sure he had seen some sort of chicken in her freezer when he was routing the other day and once he had finished his toast, routed in the drawer and pulled out two plain chicken pieces and left them on a clean plate to start defrosting. He knew Robyn had some mozzarella in her fridge too.

“And potatoes.” He smiled. With dinner sorted in his mind, Taron moved back to the television and switched the DVD’s out, Hairspray his choice this time, needing something a little lighter, Robyn’s name cast as Amber Von Tussle. He felt extremely honoured and proud to be able to watch these DVD’s of Kilcreen’s past musicals from the last ten years, watching as the performances went from strength to strength, seeing a much younger Robyn in Hairspray. He stretched to reach for the DVD box, cringing as he stretched a little too far and looked at the year.

“Two thousand and eleven.”

Doing some calculations, Taron’s eyes looked to the screen to see a twenty-two-year-old Robyn, in what was probably her first lead role on stage. Just as he had to learn and grow with each movie he took on, so did Robyn and she had only bloomed in her stage presence and confidence. Taron thought he should have looked at the years on the DVD boxes before he started, working his way forward rather than backwards but it was nice to watch a younger Robyn, feeling it fair as she could easily watch the first Kingsman movie.

At five thirty Taron moved from his spot, a long yawn leaving his lips as he gently stretched, before making his way to the bathroom. Even though he had been by himself, he felt like Robyn had been with him the whole time as he watched her perform on stage.

Strolling back into the kitchen, he made a start on some food for them, defrosting the chicken in the microwave for a few minutes before he stuffed it with the cheese and rashers he had found in the fridge. He chopped up some potatoes into little cubes and flavouring them with some garlic and chilli, adding various vegetables to the roasting tin too, putting both the chicken and sides into the oven baking away at a low temperature.

He resumed the musical, sinking into the couch again curling his legs under him his time, worried that if he got too comfortable he would sleep and burn dinner, already feeling tired after lazing around all day.

He was putting two plates into the oven an hour later to warm them up, ready to serve dinner when Robyn arrived home.

“Hey Taron.” She called as she closed the front door.

“Hello, chicken!” Called Taron back, laughing when he heard her groan his name from the bedroom where she went to first once she was inside. “You hungry Robyn?” Taron turned to look for her when she didn’t reply, moving to the bedroom looking for her, walking back out to the kitchen when she wasn’t here.

“Robyn?”

“On the couch.” She replied.

Taron walked around the side of the couch and found her laying on her back, her pony tail hanging off the edge, still dressed in her blue trousers and white top now untucked from the waistband of her pants suit and she had taken her shoes off, the reason why he hadn’t heard her come back from the bedroom.

“Robyn? You ok?” He asked concerned at seeing her laying on her back, eyes closed, her left leg bent at the knee, her hands resting low on her stomach under her top, the tiniest silver of skin noticeable in the gap between her top and trousers.

“Yep I am good.”

“Are you sure?” Asked Taron as he sat on the poof beside the couch, moving it down so he was sitting opposite her side. She turned her head to look at him, those same green eyes now staring at her that had been a constant distraction for her all day. “You really don’t look like someone who had had a good day.”

“I got the funding.” She answered. “And…” She began as Taron started to congratulate her. “Valerie handed in her notice today. She leaves on Friday and…” She lifted her left hand to stop Taron from speaking. “I already have interviewed her replacement and she starts tomorrow to be trained in.”

She put her hand back down and turned away from Taron moving a little bit finding a comfortable position again.

“For someone who has had such an accomplished day, you don’t give off the happiness vibes.” Taron watched as Robyn moved again, her eyes creasing a little as she did so. “Congratulations by the way with the funding. I knew that pants suit would get you what you wanted.”

Robyn laughed gently. “Yep it was all the pants suit. Nothing to do with my years of experience, expertise and wonderful way with words.”

Taron chuckled along with her but his hand went to hers on top of her stomach, when she winced again. “Robyn seriously, what is wrong? I don’t think I have seen you sit this still by your own accord since I have met you.”

“So, you know that thing that happens to a woman once a month?” She turned to look at him, his face changing from understanding to sympathy, his hand gripping hers a little tighter. “Not something I am normally bothered by, but I think because I have been on the go for the last two weeks, sleep deprived and run down, my body just hates me at the moment.” She moved again on the couch, her left leg laying down, her right one bending. “I am just going to crash here for a few minutes.” She moved Taron’s hand up a little so her right hand was free to rub her lower stomach a little, his now resting on her rib cage. “It has been a day and half but a very good day all round.”

“Ahh shit Robyn. What I can do for you?” Asked Taron.

“Nothing at all. I just need fifteen minutes or so to lay here and do nothing and then I shall be right as rein.”

“Robyn surely there is something I can get for you?” He asked again, his previous experience of what Robyn was going through had him routing for heat pads, hot water bottles and chocolate, lots of chocolate.

“Taron, honestly, I am going to lay here with my eyes closed for a while. That’s all I need.” She could feel his thumb gently rubbing her side through her top. “I am so low maintenance, Taron, I don’t need anything but some time to sit still. I haven’t stopped all day. I promise.” She could see worry fixed in his eyes and his lips were turned down as a frown filled his features, the bruising on his face making him look even more worried. She lifted her right hand to his left cheek. “You are sweet for wanting to help but I doubly promise.” She took her hand away from his face and placed it back on her stomach under her top.

Taron was at a loss. He was used to being ordered around at times like this but Robyn was so different, happy to just have him sit beside her. He tried to think of something he could do for her.

“Give me two seconds.” He lifted his hand from her and standing up, walked into the kitchen and turned the oven down to the lowest setting, so the dinner he had made would finish cooking very slowly. He then walked back over the couch and stood at the edge. “Will you sit up for a minute?” He asked her, looking down to her while she opened her eyes to look up.

“Huh?”

“Can you sit up for me for a minute.”

“Taron I really just want to lay here for a little while.”

“I know that. You can still lay there but trust me.” Robyn winced as another small nuisance cramp bothered her but did as Taron asked, sitting up. She felt the couch sink a little as Taron sat down behind her. “Ok now lay back.” Taron picked up one of the softer of Robyn’s blue cushions and placed it on his lap, guided Robyn down so her head lay on it, her whole upper back, neck and head supported by his legs. “Now you can keep laying still.”

“Taron what…”

“Hey Alexa play Ludo Euvi…”

“Hey Alexa, play Ludovico Einaudi.” Corrected Robyn, smiling up to Taron as he tried his best to play her favourite piano music.

“Yeah it’s going to take me a long time to learn how to say that name. Now lay back, close your eyes and relax. Take your fifteen minutes or however long you need.”

Doing as Taron asked, Robyn relaxed right back into him, another sore twinge making her twist her hips a little until it passed. She absolutely knew this was her bodies way of creating payback for her for putting it through hell the last few days. Normally Robyn never experienced a rough of a time as she felt now when a woman had to go through that monthly period but her insides were churning with misery. Her day had been full of every possible positive outcome, everything falling into place until she was back in her office late afternoon and the torment started. She was so happy to get home to her couch, and just wade out the wave of grief but Taron had insisted on making her more comfortable and attempted to play music he knew she loved.

“Do you want to pull out your pony tail Robyn?” He asked. “Can’t be comfortable on the back of your head.”

“Yeah of course.” She lifted her head a little from the cushion and moved her hands to her head but Taron got there first and she felt him press the clip of her pearl and diamond slide open and gently fluff her hair out so it wasn’t tied up any more, before his hand dipped to the back of her neck gently kneading warm skin that his fingers touched. It felt wonderful for her hair to be free from the pony tail but even more so what Taron was gently doing as he applied light pressure to the base of her skull.

“Lay back down.” He instructed to her, Robyn doing as she was asked, her hands now resting on the waistband of her trousers. Taron placed his right hand on top of Robyn’s, his left on the crown of her head, fingers manipulating through her hair, making sure he kept the weight of the movements light. He moved to brush her hair away from her face, long strands sliding through his fingers, before coming back to her left temple and he softly ran his index and middle finger in circles on her skin, his strokes moving over her forehead back down to her left cheek. He immediately saw Robyn relax under his touch, and repeated the light caresses over and over, running his hand through her hair in between his attention to her face. At one point he left a feather light trail down her nose, just as he did when he was trying to get Robyn back to sleep and when she didn’t recoil with the new source of affection, Taron did it again, sure he felt her move her face the slightest bit closer to his hand. He swept his fingers down her nose again. “Have I told you that I like your freckles?” He said as he brushed her nose once more.

Robyn’s lips grew into a smile. “You might have mentioned it.” Keeping her eyes closed she tried to hide the delightful shiver that ran from the back of her neck and down her spine as once again Taron, almost lovingly scratched her head so wonderfully. She turned her right hand over and linked her fingers with his, the back of his hand now resting on her stomach.

Taron left hand now kindly ran across the top of her left shoulder. “Lots of freckles.”

Robyn grinned. “Kisses from the sun.” She opened her eyes and looked up to him, his green eyes warm. “It’s what I tell the children freckles are.”

“Kisses from the sun. Well the sun must really like you.” Laughed Taron as he tapped the tip of fingers on each one on her shoulder.

“They only come out in the sun Taron and as I have been in Florida for six months, there are quite a few.”

“I like them.” He said again. “Do you feel a little better now?” He asked, his left hand running through her hair again, before he stopped.

“Hmm give me five more minutes and I will let you know. Hair. Please.” She answered him using the exact same words he had when she was scratching his head. She felt his body move as he laughed but doing as she asked, Taron fingers resumed their light kneading. It was a perfect distraction from her insides as were still giving her a beating. Taron’s hand was cool on her warm skin as they linked fingers and she pulled their joined hands up a little so they were resting further up on her ribs rather than her stomach, the weight just a little uncomfortable for her at the moment.

“Robyn?”

“Hmm?”

“Is that your scar from your appendix?” Taron had watched as she moved their hands, revealing more skin to him and as he watched golden skin become more exposed, part of it was tarnished with a long thin scar which travelled under the waistband of her trousers.

“Pretty eh?” She felt Taron freeze under her and opening her eyes, she looked up to him. “Taron?”

“That’s what Frankie called you. Pretty.”

“Ah shit Taron, I didn’t even think. Wrong choice of word.” She lifted their linked hands and placed a quick kiss on the back of his.

“It’s ok. Just another memory I would rather forget.” He looked down to her, blue eyes staring up at him. “Nice scar though.”

“Yep another one to add to my ever-growing collection but it tells a story and you know I love to tell a good story.”

Taron found himself smiling as his left hand started to trace over her forehead again. “So, any better now?”

“You owe me two more minutes of hair playing.” Robyn snuggled a little into the cushion. “Then I will think about doing something more productive.”

“Our dinner is going to be ruined.” He commented.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah dinner Robyn. I made us some food.”

“You did?”

“Yeah I did. I knew you worked through your lunch break and had a lot of pressure on you today so I thought the least I could do was pull something together for us.” Taron scratched her head again. “And I had a very interesting day.”

“Doing what?”

“Snooping.” He answered tapping her nose, her lips lifting in a brilliant smile. “So, I have three questions for you.” Taron continued to play with her hair as he spoke. “One, do you Irish dance? Two, do you have an instant camera and if so, can we take a photo for your wall and three, Bohemian Rhapsody? You traitor!”

Robyn found herself laughing again. “First off that was four questions, not three. One, as a kid, yes Irish dancing but not anymore. Not for years and I just kept the shoes ‘cos we use them in work to show the kids. Two, yes I have an instant camera. Three of course we can take a picture for my wall and four, you know I adore Queen.”

“I also have another suggestion for our karaoke off.”

“Ok...”

“So maybe I could invite you to a movie premier or something instead.”

Robyn let go of his hand and sat up fast, Taron’s hand falling through her hair and turned so she could look directly at him, kneeling beside his legs. “You backing out Egerton? What else have you been snooping through?” She asked grinning widely at him.

“So, I might have found your DVD’s of the performances you were in with the musical society.”

Robyn grinned some more. “You afraid Taron that little old me might beat you in the sing off?”

“Yes. I know you will and can!” He turned so he could look at her. “So, want to take up my offer of attending a movie premier instead?”

“Absolutely not. I made that deal, which we shook on by the way, because I wanted to hear you sing, not because I wanted to win. I wanted to hear you sing because you have a beautiful voice.” She watched as he looked down at his hands. “Don’t even act shy about Taron. You practically sang Elton’s whole catalogue and you know you can sing and I have no interest in movie premiers. I would much rather sing a song with you. If you want, I will hold back when we eventually have our sing off. I will go easy on you!”

“Somehow I don’t think you will.”

“Probably not.” Robyn loved how she could make him blush. “Thanks Taron. Now I feel better.”

“Of course you do.” He replied sarcastically but his scowl didn’t last long as Robyn placed a kiss on his right cheek and it was so light, it didn’t even sting his sore skin.

“I am going to have a quick two-minute shower.” She stood up, still feeling a little achy but her mood had definitely been lifted and Taron’s thoughtful actions had helped a lot.

“You sure I can’t get you anything Robyn?”

“You have already done loads Taron. After dinner, we can take those instant photos. I have the camera but I have the instax printer too so we have the best of both worlds. We can take a picture on a phone and print it out.”

Taron’s eyes followed her as she walked around the couch and into the bedroom, letting a breath he didn’t know he was holding. What he did know was that every moment he got to spend with Robyn the more he wanted to spend with her. Robyn was so different, independent and strong but also had this softer side that she was slowly sharing with him.

He eased himself up from the couch and heard the shower going in the bathroom as he walked into the kitchen. He picked up a tea-towel and carefully took the plates from the top oven which had been heating and placed them on the island. Opening the main oven door, he took out the large dish with the chicken, potatoes and vegetables and placed it on the heat protector Robyn had so it wouldn’t burn the countertop. Pulling a large spoon from the jug behind the hob, he began to dish the dinner out onto the plates. Opening the fridge, he took out the bottle of iced tea he knew Robyn liked and filled two glasses with it. He set the breakfast bar up with the plates, two glasses and cutlery when Robyn walked out of the bedroom, in a black pair of shorts and long-sleeved blue top.

“That was a quick two minutes.”

“Told you I would be.” She walked past him and pulled open the drawer beside the cutlery one, taking out a packet of paracetamol and popped two out.

“I could have gotten those for you Robyn.” He said.

“Yeah I know but I am just used to doing all these things for myself.” She walked back over to him. “This looks delicious. Again, I commend you cooking skills Taron.”

“So maybe can I cook you a three-course meal instead of having a sing off?”

“Uh-uh.” She took a drink from one of the glasses. “Nope.”

“Yeah didn’t think so.” He took a seat on one of the stools

“Plus, I am the baking queen of this developing relationship.” Robyn took the seat beside him.

“Three course meal out. I shall keep thinking.” Taron was ready to change the subject of their conversation. “So, you got the funding and a new staff member in one day?” He asked.

“Valerie has gotten a new job as a personal assistant for manager for some company in Dublin. Best career change for her. She can potter around pretending she is a big shot in her high heels, shorts skirts and sun glasses.”

“Meow!”

Robyn laughed. “She just doesn’t have the passion to work with children. You need to have a certain temperament and personality and she just wasn’t suited to the job. I get to have her exit meeting on Friday.”

“An exit meeting?”

“Hmm where you get to talk to the employee about their work and experience with the company.”

“You are going to slaughter her, aren’t you?”

“As much as I would love too, I won’t. I still haven’t forgiven her for what she said about you and me in the office but no, I will be very nice and Emma will be there as well because to be fair, I have only known her a week.”

“I don’t think I will ever do anything that will piss you off Robyn. I don’t want an exit meeting”

Robyn grinned. “I have a feeling we won’t ever need an exit meeting Taron. We are going to be in each other’s company for a very long time.”

[pippastrelle]

“A Not-So-Simple Story in Deapriffe”

I’m posting the first 3 chapters of my WIP book! I’d love it if anyone could give it a read.

It is the story of a factory worker in a city that has spent decades under the thumb of a gang, as well as the daughter of the gang’s boss. When their perfectly typical days lead to their lives colliding, they are left with an opportunity to fight back once and for all.

This is a project with taking a bad bad film and making it good. DM me with the original film and if you’re correct, I’ll do a free drawing of whatever character you want!

CHAPTER ONE | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

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Chapter One: A Not-So-Unusual Morning

[4k words]

Deapriffe was a city that knew when to die. It was just past nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning and the lines of freshly-opened shops around Lord Way were shuttered. The contents of one deli’s food delivery lay half-scattered across the damp pavement. Bars had locked over every home’s door. Windows hid behind plates of steel and wood. On the roads, every car had careened to the side, their engines cut and their drivers huddled under the dashboards. The blue sky was crisp and pals, yet shadows dirtied every corner. The lampposts were unlit, the shops’ neon signs had dulled, and the billboard stretching over the face of the area’s central high-rise glowed black.

Above the usual litter skittering in the breeze, a distinct rattling chimed through the wide, barren roads and through every thin residential alleyway. Tucked around the corner from the main road, in front of a line of terraced flat buildings, was a skinny, pink-coated parent, called Mx. Jenkins by most. They wrestled with the bars on their front door. Their shopping bags lay half-a-street behind them in a gutter.

The last person to get inside Mx. Jenkins’ flat building had, in their hurry, slammed the iron gate shut onto the padlock, bending it around the bars. Even as Mx. Jenkins wormed their trembling fingers into the gap, they couldn’t wrench it free. Tears stung their eyes. Their breathing becoming harder and harder to steady, they gritted their teeth and gave a great tug on the bars. The hinges screeched. Mx. Jenkins slapped a hand over their shriek and leapt back against the brick. Their eyes darted. They watched. They waited. Then, they edged back to their jammed gate once more. The rattling began again and, a road over, a woman followed it closer: a burly, well-suited woman, known in her line of work as ‘Thresher’.

Thresher’s black and white suit cut a clean line through the vast, emptied roads: its signature pattern only one of the reasons she and the rest of her organisation had earnt the name ‘Sharks’, as well as where Thresher had acquired hers. She reached the corner behind Mx. Jenkins and her tread slowed. Her thick silver watch and encrusted cufflinks glinted in the chance light while a large fist steadied the gun holster on her belt. She peered around the corner as their back was turned to her, their eyes boring into the broken padlock as their fingers wriggled around the metal. Thresher didn’t waste time.

She darted out from past the corner, rushing them. Mx. Jenkins snapped around at the footsteps. They couldn’t scream before Thresher clamped her broad hand over their mouth and grabbed their arm to drag them against the wall. Mx. Jenkin’s elbow snapped back, yet it hit a wall of fat and muscle. They bucked away. They cried out. Still, they remained muffled and immovable in Thresher’s grip. Thresher glanced around, gritting her teeth.

“Ssh! Ssh! Don’t worry! Don’t worry!” she told them, her voice hushed, high, and quick. “You’ve got to calm down or you’re going to be caught. The other Shark’s just on Lord Way.”

Mx. Jenkin’s faltered for one half-second. Then, they kicked back at Thresher with their boot’s heel. Wincing, she kept her hands pressed around their arm and mouth as she turned them around. Their eyes bulged, quivering at her. She attempted a comforting smile.

“No need to worry! I’m going to get you out of here. But it’s really important you don’t run or scream. Please! We can’t risk the other Shark finding you. We’ll…” Thresher’s eyes landed on the padlock. “Oh! I can get you inside. Quick! I’ll shoot the lock off. Don’t run. Just- Just cover your ears. You’ll be fine in a moment!”

Thresher released her hand from Mx. Jenkin’s mouth and, mercifully, they did not make a sound. Rather, their face had gone completely slack, all attempts at comprehension failing.

Thresher spared a glance at the main road. She kept hold of their arm. It took more effort to do with one hand but she took out her pistol, cocked it, and aimed. Mx. Jenkins slapped their hands over their ears just in time. Thresher blasted the padlock off the shutter. The gunshot cracked through every inch of the emptied road as the bullet splintered the lock and doorframe. Mx. Jenkins leapt back, barely kept on their shaking legs by Thresher. Thresher ripped the barred gate open off the door and hauled them up to the door’s keypad.

“Go! Go! You can get a new lock later,” she whispered, her voice pitching. “We’re leaving soon anyway. You’ve got to be safer next time! You can’t trust I’ll be there to save you.”

Mx. Jenkins fumbled with the code. The second the keypad blinked green, Thresher shoved them through their flat door.

“THRESHER!”

Thresher threw the gate closed after Mx. Jenkins. She darted away from the flat and holstered her pistol. Now, it was one out of a hundred.

“THRESHER, COME ON, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”

She allowed herself a single sigh. “FINLEY?” she called back, deeper.

A large young man appeared on the junction at the end of the pavement: Thresher’s twin brother. Finley Vaughan scowled and rolled his eyes, a bag from Regent’s Wine hiked over his shoulder. He wore the same style of suit as Thresher: the colours as crisp as the tailoring with distinct white panels running down the blazer’s front. Even though Thresher and Finley weren’t identical, with matching suits, matching bulk, and their father’s prominent nose, she was a clear reflection of her brother. Although, a reflection as seen through a puddle: more squashed, with splashes of freckles, and with muddier hair.

Finley marched down the pavement. “Thanks for ditching me at the shop. What were you doing, leaving me like that?”

Thresher shrugged. “You and Mum always complain about the wine I pick.”

“That’s because you always go for the cheap crap!”

“So, you know why I ditched you.”

He smacked her in the back of the head.

“I heard a gunshot. Who’d you see?” Finley said, looking around and grinning.

“Don’t get excited. I was just bored. Doing some target practice.” Thresher waved her hand at a random florist’s down the road. Its mottled green and pink hanging sign creaked, unlit, above the door. “I missed.”

“Of course you did. Try aiming for that car over there. Maybe then you’ll hit it,” he said.

As Thresher looked for the car in question, Finley grabbed his own gun and fired.

“AH!” Thresher didn’t get to cover her ears. Even after over twenty years surrounded by them, she could only get so used to gunshots going off unprompted right in front of her. She rapped the heel of her palm against her ear, trying to get the high whining to go away. Meanwhile, Finley squinted at the florist’s.

“Did I get it?”

She glanced up. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Finley went to load his gun a second time but Thresher pulled his hand down. “Come on. Mum’s going to be pissed if we waste bullets,” she said.

“The only person she’s getting pissed off at is you, Dolphin,” he replied, matter-of-factly. He slotted his gun back onto his belt then grabbed the back of Thresher’s blazer, dragging her with him to their pick-up point.

“GRRK-! Finley!” Thresher turned her choking into a laugh as she tried to ease herself out of her brother’s grip.

Finley returned the challenge: his smile the warning all younger siblings knew. Even with one hand holding the wine bag, he wrangled his thick arm around Thresher’s neck and got her stumbling around at his chest level.

“Hey, we can get Mum some flowers,” he said. “Maybe that’ll make her forget you made us late.”

He stepped towards the florist’s shuttered doors and Thresher wrenched herself out of his hold, cutting across him towards the florist’s. She grabbed a bouquet from the display outside and thrust them at Finley before he made it a third step nearer.

“Mum loves lilies!”

Her imploring eyes grated against Finley’s. The mirth in his expression melted. “You’re lucky we’re late…”

He resumed a fast pace down the road. Thresher stopped first to neaten her suit. Then, when she followed, she kept herself just behind.

CCTV cameras watched the two Sharks leave, just as they had watched them arrive. Thresher and Finley piled into a shining white car waiting for them on the main road and any remaining traffic parted for them as they started away, out of the shadow of Lord Way’s billboard.

Perched atop every street corner, the cameras in the area whirred inside their bowls of reinforced glass, searching the streets a final time. The roads remained empty. So, the billboard flickered and an advert for spring fashion blew up the high-rise’s face, dousing the roads in bright blues, greens, yellows, and pinks. The time blinked back into its typical place at the bottom-right corner. A thin news crawl appeared next to it.

SHARK SIGHTING: 2 GUNSHOTS – 1 ATTACK – 0 CASUALTIES.

The screen’s light dawned onto Lord Way. Drivers poked their heads out past the dashboards. They glanced around before pulling themselves back into their seats. Down every road, engines sputtered to a start and the clattering of opening window shutters and squeaking barred gates joined them. Cautious whispers began to return to the streets, then with gossip, then with complaints as Deapriffe’s people rushed back to their schedules.

From his third-floor flat window, Ahmed Al-Faisal watched the rabble reform and his easy smile returned to him. He sat back against the wall, cross-legged on his bed as he finished off his cereal. He supposed it was about time he leave for his work at nine.

Much to the withering stare of his partner Kalyani, Ahmed considered his morning routine an art. In less than ten minutes, he’d changed into his day clothes, neatened his hair and beard, pulled on his prosthetic right foot, collected both his black pride ring and work lanyard, and waltzed out of his flat building’s lift onto the pavement outside. His taped-up headphones blasting, he bobbed along his way to the local bus stop.

Even with the delays on everyone’s face and tongue, the usual sights remained. The morning breeze was cool against Ahmed’s face. Roadside puddles caught the sun whenever it peeked out from behind the clouds. Vivid adverts relit in the shop windows to invite the fresh stream of customers trickling inside from the main pavement. Meanwhile, the ever-present flock of pigeons waddled around all of their feet. As a multiracial person with a distinct gait from his prosthetic foot, Ahmed could rely on catching a few eyes on his way and he liked to count the number of smiles the crowd shot him back. He considered it a personal victory when he got one from a bodyguard shadowing a brisk businesswoman. Ahmed stopped once to pop inside a nearby coffee shop and, after he had the breakfast bagged and in hand, he jumped onto the bus for his commute proper to the factory on Deapriffe’s edge.

Clarke’s Motors was small for a car factory. Still, the main factory still stretched out across an expanse of trees several football pitches big, with the employee car park in front and a test track behind. The air was thick with the smell of grinding metal and oil – the same smell had stuck to Ahmed’s hair and clothes for as long as he could remember. Lines of buildings with peaked roofs packed between a ring of tall, brick offices and steel windows. Every window and door around the back of the offices remained locked, as they had been for years – the brick around them only just supported by scaffolding. Nonetheless, it had succeeded over two decades of steady business in Deapriffe: a feat the Sharks didn’t allow everyone.

The workers’ entrance around the side opened with an electronic lock. Ahmed pulled a playful grimace as he took his key card from his lanyard, anticipating the angry red timestamp. Instead, the automatic door opened with a simple click. A knowing smirk travelled up his face. Kalyani had signed him in already.

Everyone had left the men’s changing room by the time Ahmed arrived so he didn’t waste much time there. He hopped into the break room in the uniform navy t-shirt and cargo trousers with the springy shoes still in his hand, bumping into one other person: a round-faced, bespectacled woman called Debora. The break room was a lounge cluttered with sunken sofas and noise from the assembly shop on the other side of the thick door. The appliances on the kitchenette rattled a permanent tune for the lounge.

Debora turned from the kitchenette’s sink, her hands black with spilled oil. Her thick eyebrows gave her a near cartoon image of surprise before she burst into laughter. “God, Ahmed! Did you just get here?”

Ahmed raised his loaded hands in his defence. “This time, I have an excuse!” He dropped the shoes and coffee shop bag onto one of the sofas. “My whole area was shut down this morning for a Shark sighting.”

Debora’s eyes shot wide. “What!?”

“It was just a trip into town. No-one got hurt,” Ahmed assured her. “’Round my area, they’re pretty common.”

Debora edged back to the sink. Shaking her head, she knocked the tap on with her elbow. “You’ve got to wonder what on earth the world is coming to…You know, the kids gave Marcus and me a heart attack the other week. They left the entrance to our cellar escape wide open!” She scrubbed her hands with an increasing fervour. “We keep telling them it’s for emergencies only, but you try stop a six- and an eight-year-old from playing with a trapdoor.”

“You’ve got a good area, don’t forget,” Ahmed said, leaning to catch Debora’s averted eye. “You’ve had, like, zero Shark sightings total. You’re not near any major shops. It’s not like the Sharks have any reason to go near you. Heck, Kalyani and I are in the centre and even we’ve never–”

The door to the assembly shop slammed open. Debora jumped. Two security guards walked in: the two most notorious security guards in the whole factory.

Barry and Ari – a pair who rhymed their names at random – worked for the boss Clarke directly. They demonstrated the one downside of a company renowned for never having a Shark attack: the security guards had nothing to do. Barry and Ari had the builds of people who’d long since given up on rugby. They wore the standard button-up shirts, protective vests, and heavy belts of the company’s security guards, but neither had bothered with half the required equipment and both had left enough buttons open to expose their casual shirts underneath. Barry, a shorter, blonder man, twirled his baton around, glancing around with bored eyes while Ari, his features dark and cutting, strutted into the main room.

“What’s the all the chatter about?” Ari asked.

Barry leant back against the doorframe, smirking. “Sharks, right?”

Debora glued her eyes to the floor.

“Reminds me of a story…” Ari pulled a face of exaggerated recollection. “You guys all hear about Woodville? A suburb on the east side of Deapriffe? Whole place, completely shot-up, not even three months ago. Could’ve been payback against one. Most are betting it was just target practice.”

Ahmed laughed. The light roll of his eyes drew the attention away from Debora’s shudder. “Everyone’s got a friend who’s got a cousin who’s got a Shark story. I swear I haven’t met anyone who’s actually seen them.” Ahmed looked past Ari and raised a shoe at Debora. “I’ll join you guys in assembly in a minute. This won’t take me long.”

Debora nodded hurriedly. Flashing him a look torn both ways between gratitude and concern, she scrambled past Barry out of the break room. He stepped out of the doorframe to let her pass. Ari started forwards too, strolling closer to Ahmed to stop with his heavy boot on Ahmed’s bare prosthetic foot.

“Easy, easy,” Ahmed said, keeping his tone amicable as he tried to ease his creaking foot out from under Ari’s.

“Why? It’s not like you can feel it.”

“True, but I’d hate to have to go bugging Clarke for a new one.”

Barry sneered. “Clarke’s not here.”

“What?” Ahmed looked up from his laces. “Where’d he go without you two?”

“None of your business,” Barry snapped.

Ari crossed his arms, glaring down at Ahmed. “’Bout time you got here, Al-Faisal. If you keep coming in at a time like this, the company’s going to have to do something about it.”

Ahmed met the glare with his unflappable smile. “Haven’t technically been late yet,” he said. He grabbed his coffee shop bag and got to his feet. “But you’re right. It’s time for me to get to it. Have a good day, guys. Give your feet some rest sometime.” He slipped around Ari and entered the assembly shop proper.

The first thing that hit anyone who visited was the wall of noise: a floor of machines grinding, heavy metal clanking into place, buzzers keeping everything on track, and the chatter of navy-clad workers pushing the whole system along. Wire fencing partitioned the shop, separating stations from stations and humans from machines while rattling furiously under the din. Rising higher still then were the rows of scaffolding. Workers manned the suspended hydraulics from whatever weren’t supporting the crumbling brick at the back of the factory.

Ahmed waved through the fencing at his passing crewmates. When he’d been younger, he’d waved to the mechanical arms making car parts too, the fluidity of their movements convincing him they were alive. That day, one of the human colleagues Ahmed passed was a spiky-haired young man in the conveyance team. He ferried parts from area to area with a pair of large, turquoise headphones locked over his ears, which had earnt him the uncreative nickname of ‘Headphone Guy’.

“Good morning so far?” Ahmed signed.

Headphone Guy’s face flicked with surprise at seeing Ahmed. Then, he mimed a gun against his head and played dead against his trolley. A nearby woman frowned at the sight. She followed Headphone Guy’s eyeline to Ahmed and jabbed her hand back at the assembly line. “HEY, AHMED! READY TO TAKE THIS LOAD OFF ME?” she hollered.

Ahmed laughed – a loud, hearty laugh that boomed through even the clamour; no-one at the factory could have worked there without recognising it. “ONE SEC! GOTTA SEE KALYANI!” He raised the coffee shop bag and waited for the woman to give the conceding jerk of her head before starting towards the company offices.

Ahmed entered a grand foyer through a large, reinforced door that joined the offices to the factory. The doorframe masterfully cut off all the assembly shop’s noise. It transported him into a more elegant world. The ceilings, windows, and doors around him all stretched high while the hanging lights and artwork glowed in warm colours, complementing the elaborate woven carpet and the wooden panelling. Ahmed swung the coffee shop bag behind his back and crossed the empty foyer towards the cosier secretary’s office opposite, poking his head inside with a, “Gooood morning!”

Sitting at the polished desk, as detailed by the brass nameplate by her computer, was Kalyani Venkayya. She was a small, fat Telugu woman who had grown up around the same community as Ahmed’s dad. She had short hair and her lavender shirt cut perfectly smart as always but she’d pulled her legs up onto her chair while she worked. She almost fell off in her hurry to correct herself. She straightened as if sticking an iron rod down her back and slapped on a welcoming smile before she finally recognised Ahmed on the threshold.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She sank into her chair. She set the motheaten jumper in her hand to the side. Kalyani preferred buying her clothes from the men’s sections of shops and she’d readjusted all of them herself. On her breaks or in the absence of any phone calls or meetings to arrange, she usually carried on with whatever extra sewing she, Ahmed, or their neighbours had. “So! You avoided Ari and Barry!”

“Not avoided, but not beat up by! Thanks to you.” Ahmed reached over her desk to give her a one-armed hug.

Kalyani returned it but her face fell in exasperation. “I’m begging you. If you’re late again tomorrow, they’re not going to listen to what the official sign-in sheet says.”

“Yep, I got that impression.” Ahmed gave a melodramatic sigh. “And on today of all days when there was an actual Shark sighting outside our road.”

Kalyani nodded. She kept a sideways glance up at him. “Yes. I’m sure that would been quite the issue for the enby who was sleeping until eight forty.”

“Eh, I’ll give you that.” Ahmed reclined against her desk. “But I got my eight hours sleep! And I’ll end up doing the same amount of work as everyone else anyway so I don’t see the point in stressing about it. Plus…” He flashed her a grin and took the coffee shop bag out from under her desk. “It gave me time to get you breakfast!”

Kalyani’s face lit up. “Pain au chocolat?”

“Your favourite.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much! That’s…” She turned away. Suddenly, the trees outside the window had become very important.

“Got something to tell me?” Ahmed asked in an innocent, sing-song voice.

Kalyani met his eyes and pressed a hand to her heart. “Ahmed, I’ve been in deep, romantic love with you since the moment we met.”

He laughed. He prodded her in the shoulder, rising a smile from her as well. “Fine, keep your secrets!”

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence around Clarke’s Motors for Ahmed and Kalyani to pronounce their undying, romantic love for each other, particularly whenever one of them wanted to change the topic. Early in their relationship, most people had assumed they were serious. That had led to a few colleagues approaching Ahmed with grave faces as they informed him Kalyani had kissed a man in the conveyance team, to which Ahmed had responded cheerily with the guy’s name, as well as what he and Kalyani had had for breakfast the next morning. Neither Ahmed nor Kalyani blamed people for assuming they were dating; it was an easy mistake to make, just like thinking Ahmed was a man, but a mistake all the same.

Ahmed recognised that most people didn’t know what it meant but the black pride ring on his middle finger was his way of expressing he was asexual – he wasn’t physically attracted to anyone of any gender. Kalyani’s pride ring, meanwhile, was white for her aromantic – she’d had to realise later in life that romantic relationships weren’t supposed to be entirely performative and that most people genuinely wanted one. She and Ahmed wanted different things in that department. Still, they’d lived together as life partners for three years and they didn’t intend on breaking apart.

“How about this?” Kalyani said. “I made sure I have breakfast tomorrow and you come into work early with me.”

“Perfect! We can have breakfast together.”

“Yeah.” Her face glowed. She tapped her fingers against the coffee shop bag. “Thanks for getting this for me. You’re the best. Now, get working before you get us both fired.”

Ahmed laughed. Kalyani pretended to bat him away from her desk. “Kalyani, there’s no way Clarke’s gonna fire me. I grew up here! And trust me, the only way he’d ever fire you is if he wanted this place to go under.” He glanced back at her as he drifted towards the door. “Do you know where he’s gone? He left without Ari or Barry.”

Kalyani frowned. She consulted her computer. “Hm…It looks like I can’t tell you, sorry. It’s not down as a company matter. Maybe he thought he didn’t need them.”

“Good point…I guess he doesn’t go home with them.”

Kalayni’s eyes widened as an email popped up on her screen. “Oh! Got to get back to it!”

“Alright. See you! Love you!” Ahmed called as he left.

“Love you too.” Even Kalyani couldn’t hide her smile beneath the chiding look as she shooed him away.

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Chapter Two | Chapter Three

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (12/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Fic is rated explicit, this chapter 4.5k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

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Chapter 12

The sun was in his eyes. He could feel the heat, he could see it through his eyelids, and David rolled over to the other side of the bed where the smooth pillow was cool, where shadows lay. He risked cracking an eye open.

Where was Patrick?

Where was here?

David sat up, looking around at a small, attractively furnished studio apartment. It was difficult to focus on any one thing, but he felt a sense of home here, a sense of safety, although perhaps that was due to the respectable thread count of the sheets under his palms. Standing up, he moved over to a tasteful shelving unit along one wall, where neatly folded stacks of blue pullovers were nestled in one of the nooks, and dark-wash denim jeans were stacked in another.

A shelf near the top caught his eye. There was his Balenciaga sweatshirt and his Rick Owens tunic and that Givenchy flame print shirt that he’d bought on a whim and then never worn because it didn’t match his monochrome aesthetic. He spun around and, spotting a cedar chest at the foot of the bed, opened it to find more of his knitwear. Did he live here? It seemed like he lived here. Or at least slept here a lot.

On the other hand, there was a guitar and a couple of baseball bats propped up in one corner, and those didn’t seem like items that should be in any home that David lived in or even slept in a lot.

Then suddenly David was in the bathroom and it was more of the same, his skin care products lined up in a neat row on a shelf. He chanced a look at himself in the mirror and now he was ready for the day, his hair perfectly coiffed, his face dewy and freshly shaved, and now he was dressed in that Balenciaga sweatshirt. Touching his temple and ensuring that his hair was perfect, he nodded at his reflection and left the bathroom. His bag was waiting for him on one of the kitchen chairs, the bag where he stashed his wallet and his journal and a change of clothes in case he wanted them and files that he might want to look at from work (what work?). Picking up the bag, he opened the door to the apartment and walked through it and…

and a bell chimed

and he was in a store. It had a sand and stone aesthetic, exactly how he would have designed a store if he’d ever designed such a thing, which he hadn’t. It was subtle and understated and perfect, even down to the stained glass hung on the back wall. The store smelled fantastic, like scented candles and cologne, and he wanted to roll around in this place and live in it forever.

“Hey,” someone said, a hand on his waist and a kiss on his cheek and here was Patrick, already moving away toward the cash register. He was so solid, Patrick, his biceps visible under his sensible Oxford shirt, his gait not graceful — it was the gait of someone with stocky legs, someone who played baseball and hockey and did not care if the term ‘graceful’ was ever ascribed to him. The short hair on the back of his head caught David’s attention. It was the haircut of a dad who lived in the suburbs and drove his kids to soccer practice and grilled steaks in the backyard. It wasn’t the haircut of a man who fucked David until he couldn’t see straight, except that it was.

David’s hands were trembling, and he looked down at them. Silver rings shimmered, and then suddenly, in front of his very eyes, they turned to gold. Four golden rings, was that the way the song went? Four golden rings, all the better to marry you with, he thought, and then he shivered.

Customers moved around him, plucking items off of the shelves, touching things in a way that he was certain he would find annoying if this store belonged to him. He wanted to scream at them to get out so that he could enjoy this wonderful, calming place in peace.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Patrick said, and David looked up, because he needed to give this man all of his attention.

“What were you thinking?” David asked, desperate to know.

“I was thinking, what if the wedding reception is sort of like a… block party? We could ask the town council if they could close off the street out here,” Patrick said, gesturing to the front of the store, “between here and the café, and we could set up tables and lights and make it a whole… thing.”

“The wedding reception?” David asked, his ears buzzing.

Patrick grinned and came out from behind the register, approaching him with a sexy confidence, a comfort level that David had never seen before from him. “I know it wouldn’t be completely consistent with the things on your moodboard, but it would be within our budget, and we could make it romantic.” Then Patrick kissed him easily, like he’d done it hundreds of times before.

“Yeah,” David said faintly.

“Yeah?” Patrick grinned, looking very pleased. “Okay, I’ll talk to your mom about it.”

Patrick was going to talk to his mother. David felt like he needed to warn him not to do that, except Patrick seemed unconcerned, like it would be a simple thing for him to do, so David didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” Patrick said, and it was weird because hadn’t he just arrived? Wasn’t it still morning? But then David’s stomach growled and he did need to eat, so he left the store as Patrick had told him to.

Opening the front door, the bell rang again, and he didn’t know where to go except his feet took him to the right, stepping across the street toward another building, this one with ‘Café Tropical’ on a sign out front. David almost laughed as he crossed the street, because there was nothing tropical about this place. David had visited a lot of tropical places in his life and this was just about the least tropical place he’d ever been. He stepped up onto the wooden patio out front, where tables were set up but no one sat, and then walked through the doors.

The restaurant was empty, it was desolate, there might have even been cobwebs in the corners, but his feet took him to a booth in the back and that’s where his parents sat, monstrous menus open in front of them on the cheap tabletop.

“You shouldn’t be here,” David said to them, even as he knew it wasn’t true. It was where they’d sat hundreds of times, in this very booth. His father would order meatloaf if it was Tuesday and his mother would order a fruit cup or perhaps a salad, and their eyes would meet across the booth, the love they shared in spite of everything so fucking obvious — in spite of the poverty and the hardships and the close quarters, they still loved each other more than reason.

What poverty?

“How’s the store, dear?” his mother asked.

“Thriving,” David answered, because that was what he always said except that was never what he said, nothing he’d ever been in charge of had ever thrived. He couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive. He couldn’t keep a pair of earbuds alive; he’d always forget them in a pocket of his pants and then leave them to be laundered, and half the time they’d be stolen or just washed, and… what was he talking about again?

“And how’s the wedding planning, going?” his mother continued. She wore the green wig that he’d always loved and didn’t think she wore often enough. It made her look fresh and young and vibrant, the way she should always be, forever.

“I don’t… it’s good.” He didn’t know, really, but apparently there was going to be a block party after Patrick married him, and if that wasn’t both the most excruciatingly awful and the most gloriously romantic thing he had ever heard of, then David didn’t know anything about anything.

“We’re so proud of you, son,” his father said, and okay: this was a dream. He probably should have figured it out before now, the way time was dilating, the way space was dilating, the way Patrick looked at him and touched him and talked to him like he loved him, like spending the rest of their lives together was a given. Like it was easy. Like it was real.

His father’s eyes were bottomless, they were his own eyes, they were wells of feeling that never in his whole life had he noticed before. David felt tears coming unbidden, because the pride in his father’s eyes shone out like a beacon, and it wasn’t fair that this wasn’t really his life. He wanted all of this: the store and his parents looking at him and at each other with kind, caring eyes. And Patrick. He wanted Patrick, especially — this happy, confident Patrick who knew that they belonged together the way you’d know a fundamental physical constant of the universe.

“Hey, will you tell Alexis to hurry up? We’re going to order without her if she doesn’t get here soon,” his father said, and David almost doubled over, almost fell on the floor, because Alexis wouldn’t be coming. Alexis was dead. He might be dreaming, and perhaps he didn’t know where he was or why, but he knew that much. He knew his sister was dead.

“I’ll tell her,” he heard himself saying, and he was walking back toward the kitchen — he tried to stop himself from moving because that didn’t seem right, he shouldn’t be going that way. He saw his hand come out in front of him and push through the swinging door,

and he was in the office of the terrible motel.

Stevie sat behind the desk, staring at the computer.

She was painfully beautiful, with her flannel and her baggy t-shirt underneath and her jeans from the clearance rack from Target — beautiful nonetheless, with her raven hair and pale, perfect skin. He loved her and he’d also had sex with her and those two things weren’t really connected, not with her.

Wait, no. That wasn’t what happened. He’d just met her yesterday. They’d shared a joint and then later a bottle of wine and a pizza with Patrick. She was Patrick’s friend, not David’s friend.

He frowned and shook his head. This dream was getting more and more disorienting.

“You think this is just a dream,” she said, staring straight into the heart of him, and he almost collapsed under the weight of it.

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m not the oracle of this piece, you know. Intoning riddles for you to puzzle out.” She moved out from behind the desk and walked over to where he stood and then she shoved him, kind of hard actually, and he stumbled back a few steps.

“This is what your life was supposed to be, idiot. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh; it’s not your fault that it didn’t end up this way. It’s…” — she waved her hand around in frustration — “fate or some bullshit. I don’t know. The fact is, you never came here with your family and Patrick was alone, and Alexis… I mean, you know what happened. I don’t have to tell you.”

David shook his head. He knew.

“So it may not be your fault, but you may be the only one who can solve it, so… we’re doomed, I guess is what I’m saying.”

“That’s insulting,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. She’s in your room. Go see her.”

David didn’t know what she meant by his room except he totally did know. Of course he knew. It was room seven, the one with the two single beds and the broken door to the adjoining room that Patrick was asleep in (that his parents belonged in). He left the office and he walked the familiar path to the (his) room. He probably could have told someone how many steps there were between the office and that door, he’d walked it often enough (he’d never walked it).

The door opened and there she was, sitting at her little desk, the one she’d set up as a home office with her framed diploma and with Buzzfeed’s most motivational quotes for girlbosses under thirty.

“Ugh, David, what are you doing here? Did you forget you moved in with Patrick?” She was being annoying and mean and he wanted to hug her and never, ever let go.

“I just…” He felt tears pressing behind his eyes. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

She stood up and narrowed her eyes at him. “I mean, I’m very busy if that’s what you’re asking, between organizing Mom’s soap opera convention appearances and planning your wedding and with the third annual Singles Week coming up, there’s a lot going on in my life right now.” Her hands flopped around as she ticked off each item, her eyes flashing with intelligence and pride.

“I know,” he said, although he didn’t know (he did). “Alexis, don’t ever get on a yacht again, okay?”

She laughed. “Not much chance of that. What are you talking about?”

He stumbled forward then, pulling her into a hug. Her hair smelled lovely and floral, different than it used to but still lovely. David ignored her protesting squeak and kept hugging her, arms wrapped tightly around her thin frame.

“Did you and Patrick have a fight? Because it’s just wedding stress; he loves you and you know he loves you.”

“We didn’t have a fight,” David said, pulling back and taking in Alexis’ perfect face. “I love you.”

“Ew, David,” Alexis said, but she was smiling, and she finally hugged him back. “I love you, too.”

“I miss you,” he said, tears flowing freely now.

Alexis laughed again. “Okay, what is with you right now? You and Patrick live, like, two miles away. Although I know some of the houses he’s been looking at for you two are a little farther.” She brought her hand around and booped him on the nose. “We’re still going to see plenty of each other.”

“I want all of this,” David gasped. “You here, and Mom and Dad, and Stevie, and Patrick, and the store… how do I get all of this? How do I get you back?”

When Alexis spoke, the quality of her voice had changed, almost like another entity was speaking through her. “This is a singular path, David Rose. Not easily won. So easily lost.” She touched his cheek gently. “A sacrifice will be required of you.”

And then he woke up.

“David? You okay?” It was Patrick. Not the Patrick from the dream. The Patrick who was only with him right now because Alexis had died. She wasn’t next door sitting at a desk and being competent; she was in the ground.

“I…” He reached up to his face and wiped away tears. “I had a weird dream.”

“Yeah, me too. Also, I’m freezing.” Patrick got up, and David watched in the predawn light as he put on his pajamas before getting back under the covers and pulling David into his arms. “More nightmares?”

Replaying the dream in his mind, David shook his head. He felt the need to remember all of it, the store and his parents in the café and Alexis in the motel and the fact that Patrick was going to marry him. And Stevie, what had she said? That part was fuzzy. “No, not really a nightmare,” he said, pressing a kiss against Patrick’s temple.

~*~

“This is a much nicer town than Schitt’s Creek,” David commented as they drove through the middle of downtown Oak Grove.

“And not a heterosexual prison?” Patrick asked with a grin.

“Well, it may be that, but it also has a cute little indie bookstore,” David said, pointing. “Ooh, and that looks like a good coffee place; is it good?”

“I guess it’s good. We used to have open mic nights there when I was in high school.”

“Ew, never mind.” The contorted grimace on David’s face made Patrick laugh.

“Listen, I should warn you, I just moved everything into my new apartment a week ago, so things are not fully unpacked yet.”

“Hmm.” David picked an M&M out of the bag of trail mix Patrick had bought at the airport yesterday and popped it in his mouth. “How bad is it?”

“I mean, there’s furniture and the kitchen is usable. But a lot of stuff is still in boxes.”

“Do you have a bed?”

Patrick turned and gave David his best sexy smirk. “Yes, I have a bed.”

“How’s the water pressure in your shower?” David asked.

“Better than at Stevie’s motel, I can assure you.”

“That is a bar so low that I can’t even see it, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” He picked out another M&M. The bag was mostly peanuts and raisins now, Patrick couldn’t help but notice. “I could even… help you unpack.”

“You’d help me unpack?”

“Sure, if it’s something like books. Or maybe clothes, although that would probably just make me sad about your wardrobe. Not… sports paraphernalia.”

“What makes you think I have sports paraphernalia?” Patrick asked, amused.

“The night we met at that bar, didn’t you say you played baseball recreationally?”

Patrick was impressed David remembered that. “I did. I promise not to make you handle my…” He tried and failed to suppress a giggle. “... bat and balls.”

“Okay, no,” David said, digging through the bag for the last of the chocolate. “We’re not doing that.”

Patrick laughed some more.

~*~

Patrick texted his parents as soon as he and David were at the apartment, telling them he was back in town. They knew that he’d gone to New York for David’s sister’s funeral, and Patrick hadn’t forgotten that he’d used the phrase ‘love at first sight’ to them when he told them about David that morning in their kitchen. At the time, he had no reason to expect their lives would ever intersect. Now David was in his apartment, opening boxes and generally making things more of a mess than they’d been when they arrived. But it was fine, it was good. It was just the man that he’d spent two months fixating on after the most revelatory sexual experience of his life, here in his home, scraped raw by grief over his sister and somehow still wanting him for some reason that Patrick couldn’t fathom. It was a lot to wrap his head around, and he didn’t even know how to begin to explain to his parents what was going on. Thus his text to them: back home safely. He’d explain David’s presence to them at some point. Or he wouldn’t: he didn’t know how long David was planning on staying — maybe a few days, maybe a week. Perhaps once David had surfaced from the sadness he was currently submerged in, he’d come to his senses and realize that Patrick held no interest for him. David would leave town, and Patrick’s parents would never be the wiser.

There was a knock on the door.

Or, he thought, faced with them standing on his doorstep, they would meet David, like, right now.

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”

His mother held out the casserole dish she was carrying. “We figured you were still unpacking, and after all that traveling, might want some home-cooked food.”

“Thanks,” he said and then realized he was still blocking the doorway. “Come in, come in,” he said, taking the casserole just as David stood up from the sofa, making his presence obvious.

“Uhhh, David, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is David Rose.” He gave David a wincing shrug, trying to communicate that he hadn’t expected them to be here and that he was sorry for any awkwardness that was about to occur.

“Mr. and Mrs. Brewer, hello,” David said, holding out his hand to shake theirs in turn. His voice was softer, like he was trying to be smaller and less obtrusive in this confined space with Patrick’s parents. Like he was trying to be on his best behavior and make a good impression.

His parents smiled and greeted David, but Patrick could see the wheels turning as they processed that this was the man who Patrick had cheated on Rachel with, as they wondered what his presence here meant.

“I’m so sorry about your sister, David,” his mother said, and Patrick was grateful that he had at least explained that much to them before he got on a plane.

���Thank you,” David replied.

“Should I…” Patrick held the casserole up.

“Thirty minutes at 350,” his mother said. Patrick went quickly into the kitchen and set the oven to preheat, trying to return quickly before David was stuck making too much awkward small talk.

“Sorry about us popping in unannounced. Patrick didn’t tell us he had company,” Clint said with a glance back at Patrick. “How long are you in town for, David?”

“Umm, I’m not sure exactly?” he said, ending his statement as if it were a question. He did that a lot and Patrick was already used to it, but having his parents here made him notice everything about David anew: his weird fuzzy sweater and his jeans with rips in the knees and his overly expressive hand gestures. “A few days, I guess, but then I need to get back to my parents.”

“He, uh, wanted to get out of New York for a little while,” Patrick explained.

“It just isn’t the healthiest place for me to be… at the moment,” David said.

“And I want you to stay here as long as you need to,” Patrick said, no longer talking to his parents. He didn’t want to keep David here if he had responsibilities at home, but he also didn’t want him to leave if being away from New York was helping.

David paused, his mouth half-open like he didn’t know how to respond, or didn’t know how to respond in front of Patrick’s parents.

“Anyway, our plans are fluid,” Patrick said, hoping that put an end to the subject, while David turned back to the box he had been unpacking onto the floor, perhaps to give his hands something to do.

Patrick’s parents offered to help with the unpacking, and before Patrick knew it David and his father had teamed up to shelve books and his mother was arranging framed pictures on his desk. By the time they were sitting down to eat dinner, David and Marcy were engaged in a very in depth discussion of the plot and characters on Downton Abbey, a conversation that Patrick and his father could not contribute to. Patrick had never imagined David, or any man he might end up dating, could exist on the same plane of existence as his parents like this, and it unlocked something inside his chest to watch David chatting amiably with his mother, or instructing his father on the “correct” way to organize a book collection.

Strangely, it brought to mind part of the detailed dream he’d had last night. It was evening in this part of the dream, and he’d found himself seated at Café Tropical, two tables pushed together to accommodate everyone: The entire Rose family including Alexis, Stevie, himself, and even the mayor and his wife of all people, laughing and eating dinner together. He’d talked to Johnny Rose about the Blue Jays and he’d talked to Moira about the merits of Jesus Christ Superstar versus Godspell, and all the while David was resting a hand on his shoulder or picking his hand up off the table to thread their fingers together. At one point when Patrick had made a particularly strong point to Moira, David had leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and said to the table, “My fiance doesn’t fully appreciate Andrew Lloyd Webber’s early period, but I guess I’ll marry him anyway.” Everyone had laughed, and when Patrick had turned to him in surprise, had received a smiling kiss on the lips from David.

As he was carrying dishes from the table into the kitchen after they’d eaten, Patrick’s mother followed and put a hand on his arm.

“David’s very nice,” she said softly.

Patrick felt his breath hitch. “Yeah.”

“And very handsome.”

He laughed nervously. If only he’d realized as a teenager that he and his mother both found men attractive, they certainly could have had some interesting conversations. “Yeah.”

“So, is… boyfriends the right term?”

Patrick winced, scratching behind his ear. “We haven’t labeled it. It’s still pretty new.”

“And you’re being… safe?”

“Mom. I’m thirty years old.” He felt his cheeks heat up as images of the previous night flashed in his brain.

“Yes, I know, but if all of this is new to you—”

“Yes, okay, we’re being safe, so please can we never talk about this ever again?” he whispered.

She patted him on the arm, seemingly more amused by his discomfort than anything else. “Okay, dear.”

They reentered the main room. “Patrick, did you know David has sat right behind home plate at Yankee Stadium before?” his dad said.

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you knew what home plate was.”

“Okay, don’t get excited — I was there because I was dating the team’s physical therapist. I didn’t actually watch the game,” David said with distaste.

“That makes sense,” Patrick said with a grin, picking up the remaining dirty plates.

His parents left not long after dinner was cleaned up, and as Patrick closed the apartment door, he watched David go back over to the bookshelf to rearrange a few books that his father must have shelved incorrectly.

“Thanks for helping to keep my parents entertained,” Patrick said.

David shrugged, looking self-conscious. “Your parents are very nice.”

Unable to resist touching him any longer, Patrick approached David and rested his hands on his hips. “So are you.”

David’s face went through a contortion that Patrick was starting to learn was the way he processed compliments. “No one’s ever called me nice before.”

Leaning in, Patrick kissed him. “You’re nice to me.”

David snorted, blinking his eyes a few times. “Mostly in bed.”

Patrick shook his head. “Yes, but also other times.”

“Can I be nice to you in bed, though?” David said before kissing him back.

Smiling against David’s mouth, Patrick nodded before pulling him toward the bedroom. “Yeah.”

Chapter 13

[inyournightmares97]

My Youth (Chapter 1)

Broken and miserable, Park Jinyoung returns to his hometown to learn that no matter how hard he falls, there are still people who think he’s a hero.

Warnings: Angst, slow build, maybe some language. (Please don’t ask when I’ll update. Wait until the series is finished to read if you’re impatient.)

Word Count: 3k+

(Please check my Masterlist for the Prologue and read that first! (I can’t put in links because tumblr)

You sat at your desk and slowly flipped open the newspaper. GOT Tech set to acquire its major competitors, the paper read. High growth rates predicted for the rising tech giant! The lady at the newspaper stall had handed it to you earlier that morning with a big smile. Part of you wanted to tell her to stop caring so much about Jinyoung’s successes and that he probably didn’t even remember the ahjumma he used to buy comics from. But you’d never been very good at saying what you felt. You had simply smiled and taken the newspaper from her.

She would learn her lesson eventually.

“Miss? Miss, I’ve finished these sums,” a soft voice informed you from behind your newspaper.  

You lowered the newspaper and smiled at the young boy who stood in front of your desk, holding out his notebook to you. Kim Ki-woo was six years old and the smartest boy in your first grade class. It had barely been ten minutes since you’d sent the kids off to their desks to complete the sums, but he had finished them already. You smiled at him.

“Are you sure you’ve done all of them, Ki-woo?”

The boy nodded eagerly, his dark hair bouncing up and down in the mushroom cut that his mother insisted on making him wear. You folded up the newspaper and then gestured for Ki-woo to sit on the small chair next to your desk. “All right, let’s see how you’ve done then. What color pen shall I correct Ki-woo’s work with today? Blue? Purple?”

Ki-woo pointed shyly at the colored pens on your desk. “Green, Miss.”

“Green it is,” you agreed with a smile, before you began to look at the little addition sums that he’d done neatly in his book. Only one sum was wrong, simply because he’d forgotten to carry over a number. You pointed it out to him and his face fell. “You forgot to carry over the one here, Ki-woo.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “So I don’t get a star?”

“How about I give you a small star?” you offered, reaching for the box on your desk where you kept your sticker packets. You pulled out a little packet of small silver stars while another girl came bounding over to your desk. She watched you put the little star in Ki-woo’s notebook and beamed.

“I bet I can get a big star, Ki-woo!” she teased.

You frowned at her as you handed Ki-woo his notebook back. “Let’s be nice, Jangmi. Ki-woo worked hard and did well.”

“Sorry, Miss.”

The bell rang loudly before you could say anything else and the students all rushed to their feet happily. You grinned as you watched them hurry to pack their bags and run out of the classroom. “All right, everyone! Those of you who couldn’t finish the sums today can work on them tomorrow! Everyone go home safely, now! Look both ways when you cross the street! Bye-bye!”

The children ignored you completely and ran out of the classroom in a rush. You sighed and waited for them all to leave before you began to pack up your own belongings. Sometimes you stayed late at school to plan your lessons and correct homework but today you were exhausted. There was a huge PTA fundraiser coming up next week and you were expected to help plan the event in addition to making posters for the whole thing. You had just tucked the newspaper into your bag when your phone rang.

Mrs. Park, the caller ID read. You smiled and answered the phone.

“Mrs. Park! I was just about to call you. How did you read my mind?” you asked the older woman pleasantly. Mrs. Park called you often these days, and you’d been planning to ask for her help with the fundraiser. Her delicious cookies always sold out in seconds and made the most money. You heard her laugh; a sudden, delighted little laugh that the woman rarely ever shared.

“Is that so, dear? Oh, I have something wonderful to tell you!” she chirped.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Did you finally find that lemon pie recipe you were looking for? Because I have an excellent use for it-”

“No, no, no, it’s much better than that! Isn’t school over for the day? Can you come by my house right now?” Mrs. Park asked you eagerly. You blinked in surprise and then glanced at the clock. She wanted you to come over? It was just a little past three. You had to make some calls and posters for the fundraiser but you supposed a brief chat with the older woman couldn’t hurt.

“All right, Mrs. Park. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“Lovely, dear. Do hurry!”

You smiled and hung up, wondering what had made the woman so excited. Perhaps Mr. Park had gotten his test results back from the hospital. The older man’s health hadn’t been doing too well lately, and the doctors were concerned that he might have developed some heart problems. You had gone with him to the hospital last week. Mrs. Park had been extremely worried. You smiled as you quickly exited the school building and hurried towards the Parks’ home. They were the closest thing you had to parents, you supposed. It was natural that they relied on you sometimes.

The light at the crossing was red so you waited for it patiently. You had crossed this road every day during your childhood. After your Father died in a car accident you had been terrified of traffic and crossing roads.

“Who even holds hands while they cross the road?” Jinyoung teased as he reached for your hand and grasped it tightly. Some of the other kids made fun of you both for holding hands. Jinyoung turned pink whenever someone commented on it, but still kept a firm grip on your hand. “We’re too old for things like that. I won’t do this forever. Come on, the light turned green. Let’s go.”

You blushed and followed him, grateful that no matter what anyone else said or even what he himself said, Jinyoung never let go of your hand.

Seven-year old Jinyoung had been much more mature than you’d given him credit for. He would often say one thing and do another, but he always knew where to draw the line with his teasing. You smiled to yourself as you watched the light turn green.

It was absurd how something as foolish as a pedestrian light still carried memories of Jinyoung in this town.

You crossed the road quickly and found yourself in the Parks’ driveway. The wonderful smell of freshly baked cookies wafted out from the kitchen window and you smiled. It must be a special occasion if Mrs. Park was baking cookies. You rang the doorbell briefly and waited.

“That was quick!” Mrs. Park beamed at you as she opened the door. Her face was flushed pink and she was glowing, almost like a bride on her wedding day. You wondered what could have made the older, wrinkled woman suddenly look ten years younger. “Come in dear, come in! I have the most wonderful surprise for you! You’ll never believe who just dropped in!”

You smiled and stepped inside, pausing to take off your shoes in the doorway. There was another pair of shoes there and you paused. Expensive and leather, most probably male. Old Mr. Park rarely used any footwear other than his worn-out sandals since his retirement. But these shoes looked like they belonged to a young man. A stylish, rich young man. Who could Mrs. Park have possibly-

No. It can’t be.

Your stomach turned over as the realization hit you like a truck. The delighted glow on Mrs. Park’s face. The shoes. The expensive leather bag that was lying in the entrance to the living room as though thrown there haphazardly.

Park Jinyoung had finally come home.

--

You had thought that you would have more time.

Perhaps if you’d received some warning that you were about to come face-to-face with your long-lost childhood best friend then you would have prepared yourself. You would have thought of a few things to say, maybe a few questions to ask him. At the very least, you would have gathered your thoughts and reminded yourself to be on your best behaviour for old Mrs. Park’s sake. Your tendency to replay different possible scenarios over and over in your head had always served you well, since it meant that you were rarely caught off-guard.

Except for now. Now, when you were met with the sight of Park Jinyoung sitting on the couch.

You hadn’t played this scenario out yet. You were completely unprepared.

“Jinyoung-ie! Look who I invited over! Do you remember how much you both cried when Jinyoung left for Seoul?” Mrs. Park cooed fondly. “Oh it was such a beautiful friendship! I’m sure you both must have missed each other so much!”

Her words sounded distant. You couldn’t think of anything, you simply froze in the doorway. The sight of Jinyoung was too much to drink in. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and revealing his toned forearms. Jinyoung’s dark hair brushed his forehead softly and his back was straight in a perfect posture; one that conveyed confidence and pride. His dark, familiar eyes met yours and you froze.

What should you say? Should you simply say hi? Should you reach out and hug the friend you hadn’t seen in years? Should you smile at him? Should you ask him where he had been all this time and clap him on the back, or should you simply shake his hand and let the awkwardness continue?

A million possibilities flickered through your mind. A million different ways that the impending encounter before you could go.

But in the end, Jinyoung made the decision for you.

“Mom,” Jinyoung said, his voice deeper than you remembered but still somehow soft. There was a sharp tone to it. The hint of acidity told you even before he spoke that he was about to break your heart. “Mom, I told you not to tell anyone that I was here. How could you go announcing it to the townspeople within seconds?” Jinyoung demanded.

Mrs. Park looked shocked. “Well… yes dear, I know you said that. But I thought… I mean, she’s your friend so I thought you would want me to tell her, at least! She’s been comforting me while you were gone for so long, Jinyoung-ie, we’ve both been worried about you…”

You swallowed hard.

Was that how it was? You were just one of the townspeople now? Whatever small hope you had clung onto that Park Jinyoung was still your friend had vanished. What had you been thinking? If he had cared even the slightest bit for you then he would have called, or sent at least an email or a text. But Park Jinyoung had done none of those things.

To Jinyoung, you were just a vague memory from his past.

One that he evidently didn’t care much for.

“I can leave if you’d like,” you managed to say calmly. If there was one thing you’d learnt in the decade that Jinyoung had been gone, it was to maintain your dignity. You never overstayed your welcome. You had spent enough of your life feeling unwanted.  

Mrs. Park gasped at your suggestion. “Of course not! Jinyoung’s only tired from the long journey! He had to take a train all the way here and you know how exhausting those things are. I’ll just bring out some tea and you’ll feel much more relaxed, Jinyoung. Why don’t you both sit down and catch up?”

Mrs. Park gently pushed you towards the couch and gave you an encouraging smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Your legs felt like jelly but you slowly walked over to sit down across from Jinyoung. His eyebrows were furrowed and he blinked in mild irritation. The expression made his handsome face detestable.

“I don’t want rumors spreading about me being here,” he told you bluntly. “So kindly keep it quiet. I only came home to see my mother.”

You felt dizzy. Even if you had had the chance to go over this scenario in your mind, you doubted that you could have predicted these words to be the first words Jinyoung said to you. You narrowed your eyes at him. The man who sat in front of you was not your childhood friend Jinyoung-ie. He was Park Jinyoung, a perfect stranger.

You intended to treat him as one.

“Rumours spreading about you making a visit to your hometown?” you asked coolly. You sat back against the couch while trying to hide your trembling hands. “Hardly sounds like the scandal of the year. What sort of paper would want to print that?”

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because I’m not a celebrity?” you wondered.  

Jinyoung didn’t respond. He simply turned his face away from you and looked towards the window as though he was bored. The silence was rude and uncomfortable. You couldn’t help but take the opportunity to let your eyes feast on the man before you. Jinyoung had only become more handsome in the last decade. His sharp jawline was covered in a light stubble and his plump lips were pressed together tightly. The magazines had done nothing for him; he looked like a model in real life as well.

But his hands were trembling.

You had to do a double take to make sure that you’d seen correctly. Jinyoung’s eyes were casually staring out of the window and his shoulders were relaxed. His entire posture screamed arrogance and distinterest. But his hands, placed casually in his lap, were trembling.

Trembling hands. Weakness. Fear.

But… but Park Jinyoung feared nothing.

Except failure, you reminded yourself. For as long as you’d known him, Jinyoung’s biggest fear had always been failure. His thirst for success and victory had always been accompanied by a crippling terror of being anything less than the best. Park Jinyoung had to come out on top. He avoided failure like a wild deer sprinting from a lion. Gracefully, yes. Successfully, almost always.

Yet it was a sprint that was unmistakably motivated by fear.

“I hope you like the lemon tea!” Mrs. Park gushed as she entered the living room with a tray and three steaming cups of her delicious lemon tea. The rich, tangy fragrance filled the room instantly. She set the tray on the table and you spotted a plate of freshly baked cookies on them as well. “Go on; help yourselves! I remember you both used to come here and beg me to make this lemon tea while you were studying in high school!”

You reached for a cup gratefully, but Jinyoung had frozen. His hands were still trembling but now he was staring at the tea and the cookies in silence. Mrs. Park placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“Jinyoung, dear, are you okay?” she asked softly.

Jinyoung looked up and his dark eyes were suddenly misty. You stared at him in shock. Were those… tears? What was it? Was it the smell of his mother’s tea and cookies? Had they perhaps evoked some memories in him? Perhaps Jinyoung wasn’t as cold and uncaring as you first imagined.

“I, uh… I think I’ll take this tea to my room. I’d like to get some sleep,” he said hoarsely. You watched him closely as he grabbed one of the mugs of tea and took the entire tray of cookies. “Please don’t disturb me for a while.”  

Mrs. Park blinked. “All… all right, Jinyoung, dear. You do that.”

He disappeared up the stairs and you were left alone with Mrs. Park, who looked at you apologetically. “I’m so sorry. He must be more tired than I thought. Why don’t you stay and have the tea-”

“That’s all right. Mrs. Park,” you reassured her kindly. You felt a sudden urge to run from this place, to get out of this house. It had felt like home to you all these years but it wasn’t. It wasn’t really your home. This was Jinyoung’s home. Whether he wanted it or not, it would always be his home and not yours. You placed a comforting hand on the older woman’s. “I’ll be back soon, Mrs. Park. I have some work to do for the PTA meeting coming up this weekend.”

She smiled at you. “Thank you-”

“Not at all. I’m sure you want to take care of Jinyoung now that he’s finally home. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” She gave you a wide smile and you could see the happiness and relief in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so glad that he’s finally home.”

You smiled at her and nodded. Of course she would be. A mother could wait decades for her son and still love him no matter what. But you had never been as kind-hearted as Mrs. Park. You couldn’t wait here forever and welcome Jinyoung back with open arms no matter how much he hurt you. You wouldn’t.

As you left the Parks’ house and walked towards your apartment, hot tears welled in your eyes. The pavement under your feet was blurry. Why were your hands trembling, why did you want to sit down and cry? Why was the brief appearance of a man from your childhood enough to make your entire body tremble?

Perhaps, deep down, just like Mrs. Park and old Mr. Kang and the lady from the newspaper stall, even you had carried a small hope that someday Jinyoung would come back.

You paused in the middle of the sidewalk, took a deep breath and then reached inside of you to find where that tiny little hope had been resting in your heart. That tiny little hope that your best friend still cared about you. That tiny little hope that Jinyoung would embrace you with open arms. That tiny little hope that there was a good, justified reason why Park Jinyoung had cut you off all these years. That tiny little hope that had made today’s encounter so painful.

You carefully drew that tiny little hope out and then you killed it.

And as you continued your walk, you felt that much lighter.

---

[alloveroliver]

Oliver x MC “On One Side Of The Multiverse”

Fluff; Oliver Knight

First Kiss

WC: 1,832

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

His walls shattered for her like broken glass. The initial epicenter fissuring around his facade until the final blow, a kiss on the cheek, left him defenseless.  She noticed his natural curiosity spike the longer they spent together. His questions were becoming less cheeky and more humbly quizzical. 

When it came to him asking her out on a proper date, Alice was floored. Of course, this didn’t exactly come out of nowhere, but the actuality of the situation made her heart flutter endlessly. He stood tall next to her until she nodded wearing a massive smile on her face.

His shoulders relaxed, digging a note out of the breast pocket in his jacket. Alice took the small folded paper in her hands and watched him bid her a good night, leaving her on the steps of the black army headquarters. In her room, she would see that the little note contained the plans for their date he would arrange entirely.

To be ready by 8 pm wearing something warm, have eaten only a snack after lunch so they could partake in a full course meal together, and to be herself.

The last part made her roll her eyes with a broad smile. Oliver was never this cheesy but maybe he had some jokes up his sleeve that he’d allow her to see now that their confessions were out of the way.

The night of the date, Alice wore the warmest dress and leggings she could find. Her coat was white with flecks of silvers sewn throughout the hem. Her pulse quickened after hearing the light knock on the door. She adjusted her jacket, opening the threshold to greet Oliver in the hall.

“Hey!” She smiled up at him, grabbing her purse while he stood quietly.

“You look like a frosted snowflake.” His words held no weight of an insult.

The attire she wore was entirely too warm to be inside for much longer. She pushed herself out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Is that a compliment?”

“I love confections” His stoic face hinted at a smile.

Oliver’s jest perked up her lips in a sly grin. She stepped towards the front door, and he followed, catching up with her within a few broad steps.

“What do you have planned for tonight?” She inquired, unconsciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to allow the events to unfold as we go along. Like a surprise.” His words were calmly executed.

Alice wondered if his tone of voice was an indicator of how nervous he was. Oliver was typically great at wearing masks to keep people out; maybe he didn’t want to allude to how flustered he was.

The outside air cooled her warm cheeks as he opened the door for her. The wind whistled through the trees, blowing particles of snow up into the air. Oliver walked ahead of her quietly, guiding her towards an odd carriage.

“What’s all this?” She gestured to the horse attached to a small sleigh.

Oliver handed the man in the driver's box a tip then turned towards Alice. The horse was decked out in winter gear and bells hanging from its straps. The driver wore a thick black coat and prepped the reins with a few tugs.

“It’s a sleigh ride. Have you never seen one before?” He smirked, knowing full well she had.

“It looks gorgeous.” She eyed the woodwork on the backboard.

Intricate details were carved into the dark cherry wood, spirals and twists littering the railing. A few flakes of snow landed in between some of the cracks, getting stuck by the whooshing wind.

Inside was a thick red seat, large enough for two people to sit comfortably. An oversized wool blanket decorated in green plaid was folded on the far side of the bench, and a thick pillow was propped up as a backrest. Oliver’s hand gently ghosted over her lower back, guiding her towards the step.

“Hurry now, young lady, I don’t want to waste any more time.” He took her palm into his, kissing the back of her knuckles gently. His eyes held a hint of mischievousness as he squeezed her fingers.

Oliver then held out that hand for her to grab if needed as she took a step into the sleigh. A deep blush settled over her features, her skin seemingly unaware of the freezing temperatures outside. Alice’s heart set a steady beat in her ears, drowning out the whistling winds.

The wood creaked under his added weight behind her while she veered towards the far side of the cushion. Once they were both seated, he tilted his head towards the driver who then gave Oliver an affirmative nod.

The horse began to walk, jarring Alice in her state of unreadiness. “Woah,” She laughed, leaning her body against Oliver for support, or desired closeness, not bothering to think on it further.

“The snow is supposed to pick up soon.” His deep smokey eyes caught hers, reaching over her lap for the wool blanket.

He didn’t seem to allow the blush on her cheeks to let up of even a moment, brushing her arm when he plucked the blanket. Alice cursed her burning red ears but tried to will herself to relax. This was a date after all, and they both were vulnerable to one another, so it was ridiculous to try to hide her emotions now.

He unfolded the blanket and set it over their laps. Alice lifted the rough fabric to her chin, not realizing how cold she had gotten in the short time they spent outside. The horse-drawn sleigh took them down a scenic route around the Central Quarters under the sparkling night sky.

Oliver’s arm nudged her by accident, or so she thought until his hand rested on her knee below the covers. There went her body temperature again, almost rising to the point of throwing the blanket off completely.

“There,” He pointed with his other hand to the right of the horse. “It’s starting. It’s only supposed to snow lightly until morning. So we don’t have to worry about the roads being treacherous.”

His hand squeezed her knee when she leaned over his lap to look at the freshly falling flurries. ‘Damn him.’ She thought inwardly. Oliver used every advantage to get her closer to him, and every time she fell for it.

The driver took them straight into the path of the snowflakes, littering the cart with icy dots. They settled into her hair and rested on Oliver’s cheek.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled, moving her hand to rest on top of his on her knee.

Oliver noticed her movement at once and twisted his hand around to catch her palm in his. She jerked her head to look at him, but the smooth-move was impressive. He grinned looking off to the side towards the wayward flurries, as his fingers gently interlocked with hers.

The clouds moved quickly in the sky, exposing the crescent moon and its gentle light. The cold night air blew the soft snow over their heads, glittering anew in the moonlight.

“This is starting to look ethereal.” She mumbled, squeezing the back of his hand.

With the silvery moonlight shining down on the white snow under the starry sky, it was almost unreal. Alice shivered unwillingly, concerning Oliver.

“Are you too cold?” He let go of her hand, wrapping his arm behind her back landing a palm on her waist. “Here, you can steal my heat.”

His chin rested atop her head holding her close. Her head leaned against his chest with a sigh. Alice felt Oliver’s muscles move into a smile, tugging the blanket further up her chin.

“Thanks,” She tried to smile, but her teeth chattered instead. “I should be fine in a moment.” Alice shrugged, moving her arm to wrap around him in a hug.

Her face slipped down, and her ear pressed just below his collarbone. The sound of his heart racing away in his chest made her eyes go wide. He seemed so cool-headed all evening, unaffected by her. Why was his heart galloping away faster than the horse that drew their carriage?

She nuzzled his chest, and Oliver let out a grumble. “Why are you rubbing on me?” He tisked, holding her firmer so she wouldn't wiggle as much.

“‘Cuz you’re warm.” She smiled, wondering if he was blushing as hard as she imagined he was.

Oliver’s warmth began transferring to her in their embrace. A different heat sprang up like a well inside her chest, and Alice couldn’t pinpoint the feeling for a moment until it clicked.

“I feel safe with you.” She blurted out once her mind reached a conclusion.

His body went stiff. “You do?” Oliver’s voice was a mix of disbelief and hope.  

Her heart ached at his tone of voice. Had no one ever told him that before? Alice lifted her head from his chest to meet his eyes, cool air cutting through the small distance between them.

“I do. I'm being honest.”

He didn’t open his mouth to argue with her, nor did his eyes waver from her gaze. His hand lifted to her cheek, encasing her skin with his warm palm. With a glint in his eye, he smiled suddenly.

“You’re blushing.” He commented, running his thumb over her cheekbone.

“Oh, Am I?” Her lips parted, revealing the feeling of his soft skin on hers.

Oliver held her face still, staring at her for a long moment in silence. He studied her features up close, all the way from her eyebrows down to the dip below her lips. His hand moved, swiping the swell of her bottom lip.

She watched a single snowflake waft between them in an airy fashion, before tossing around in a circle then gently landing in the center of her lips. Oliver’s eyes caught fire, letting out one ragged breath before ultimately pressing his mouth to hers eagerly.

The kiss wasn’t idle, his jaw worked as he kissed her passionately. Alice kept up with the movements of his lips, drinking in the moment for as long as she could. His hand calmly moved down her face to the back of her neck, holding her to him.

She couldn’t remember the last time a kiss felt this good. Never had someone made her feel so special in just a few short moments as Oliver did. He made the kiss seem like it was all for her, pouring every bit of care into each minute detail as he metaphorically swept her off her feet.

This was their first kiss to shared between them, and tonight, Oliver would make sure this wasn't the last. Stealing a kiss during dinner, and walking her back through the barracks to send her off to bed after a dizzying goodbye kiss. He left her lips with a small peck to remember him by as if it were a silent promise of more to come.

.

.

.

Thank you @lonelyshepherds for the request!

OLIVER KISSES ARE MY KRYPTONITE!!!!! Also, the title refers to how I cannon this is real in some corner of the multiverse. Cuz I am sad he isn’t real... 

ML // KOFI // AO3

𝔸𝕊ℍ - 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕆𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣

[mzargentum]

The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter XV | Hellion

Chapter XIV | Chapter XV | Chapter XVI

Word Count: 4,047

Warnings: Physical violence, abusive sexual situations, murder, gore.

A/N: The italics indicate the flashbacks to events in the last two previous chapters.

The birds.

They chirped with sweet joy as the sun had taken its place in the blue skies above.

Not a care in the world.

No worries, or fears.

Dion couldn’t hear them in his office, but that is what he imagined.

After all, that’s what birds would normally do on a day like today.

All he heard was the screech of his chair from under his desk upon the wooden floors.

“Now then...”.

Mammon rose his gaze toward Ulldor as he took his seat in the chair.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Dion’s gaze lowered back toward the floor before they darted to the empty spot on the couch next to him.

The ash from his ravishing redhead’s cigarette still in the ashtray on the end table from the night before.

The beginning of the end.

12:15 am.

Twisting the lock to Dion’s office door, Birdie stood facing the mahogany in silence.

Her hand lazily placed atop the handle.

She didn’t want to turn toward the man behind her.

The man that nearly blew her brains to out of her skull all over the fine plush sofa she was just sitting upon.

This wasn't the first time he ever pulled his gun on her.

Hey...it was part of the business.

But this time...

This time...it actually hurt.

To be apart of this world...to have this profession...you had to be on top of your game. You were either the user or the used.

Birdie was not the user...she was the bottom. Daddy’s safe net.

Keep him whole, keep his organization afloat, keep him on top.

And Dion loved her for that...but he couldn’t love her too much...or let her forget that the bottom was still his bitch.

Birdie hadn’t forgotten.

But it wasn't uncommon for a bottom bitch to want more.

Birdie’s ticket to more was Dion committing to his love, but seeing his greed get in the way...nothing hurt the bottom bitch more than to be thrown back to the slums.

And that’s what he wanted now...because of that silver headed brat.

“How would Alcercapt be the footnote”, Birdie started as she continued to face the door, “if the Pythoness is that Chancellor’s prize?”

“We can work around that, my dear”.

Removing his tie, he turned toward his redhead maiden, basking in the view of her fine physique in her green corset, and the perfect circumference of her rear.

“Have you any doubt?”, the man asked, his voice taking a light sensual tone.

“No”, the woman answered sternly merely trying not to anger him, to which Dion seemed very well aware, but didn’t really mind in this particular moment.

“You sound like you’re just saying that...did I upset my beautiful bird?”, Dion’s voice full of lust and false remorse.

Birdie didn’t respond. She could hear the soles of his dress shoes against the wooden floors as he approached her, followed by the unbuckling of his belt.

Birdie still remained firm. Never even turning to view the aroused man behind her.

Dion had known for years how to get around Birdie’s defenses. She wasn’t as susceptible to following his direct orders all the time, but her general devotion to him helped him look past that...though he still would end up getting what he wanted either way.

“I asked you a question, my pet”, the man rose the woman’s dress gripping onto her bare ass with enough force to cause Birdie’s muscles to tense.

“Y’know I don’t like when you point that thing at me...”, Birdie softly spoke.

“I know, my dear...”, the man sighed. Biting his lip as he rubbed himself upon the redhead’s rear end. “But my beautiful bird has to understand one thing”.

Clasping his hand over her mouth quickly before her wail could escape her lungs, Dion hissed into Birdie’s ear. “I’m in charge...”.

2:57 am.

Birdie was far too dazed to care about the puddle of saliva that was collecting at her bare knees.

The lack of oxygen making her eyes nearly burst from her skull.

Every solitary fiber of her throat ravaged to Dion’s sadistic pleasure. Every tear from her eye only increasing his urgency and his pace prolonging her dizziness and pain.

His groans of delight as his grip upon her beautiful strawberry peach locks tightened accelerating Birdie’s distress...but that’s how he liked it.

That was his favorite view of her.

On her knees, at his mercy, like the bitch she was.

Yes...Birdie was his bitch. Like Muerlin was going to be his bitch.

Birdie was his love. Muerlin was his power.

Love was submissive to power.

The thought of Muerlin...in his grasp like this...making the Chancellor green with envy...watching his come undone as he unfolded his precious prize before him like the bitch he would soon make her...

...filled Birdies tender throat to maximum capacity before shoving her the floor to take in the view of his damsel in distress.

He adored seeing her at her worst.

Naked. Bruised. Vulnerable. Her disheveled hair. Her bloodshot eyes. The tears drenching her bright pink freckled cheeks, her lips dripping with his excess essence she wasn’t able to keep down. Her bosom bouncing as she gasped heavily for air.....the fear in her eyes...knowing that he could do it again.

It drove him mad.

But once was enough for his bird of paradise.

He looked toward the clock on his mantle.

3:10 am.

“You may go now. Hurry before the girls see you like this”, he instructed coldly, returning to his desk lightning a cigarette.

A few moments passed before the exasperated Birdie stood from the floor, her entire body aching. Every hole burning viciously with soreness.

Refusing to look at her ravager, Birdie follows her instruction, picking up her clothes before slowly leaving the room.

Leaving Dion staring at the crackling fire, anxiously awaiting his soon rise to power.

“Hmph”, Ulldor lightly chuckled at Dion’s story.

“Sounds like you had a good night”.

Mammon didn’t respond.

“It’s such a shame she had to suddenly leave us...she sounded like a pleasant ‘bird’”, Ulldor teased much to Dion’s dismay.

Noticing Dion’s fist beginning to tense...

“Now, now...you cannot be angry at me for this”.

“Dion’s gaze retuned to the empty cushion next to the ashtray.

“I did not tell you to kill her”.

6:23 am.

“I see”.

Dion still firmly planted in his chair responded over his telephone. The fire still providing the only sound within the room.

“I can assure the Chancellor he has nothing less than my undying devotion and loyalty”.

He takes a sip of his drink, his grasp upon the cup tightening.

“Of course, this is just a mere hiccup. Some roach trying to smear my good name into the mud”.

His stare intense toward the fire.

“Yes, it will be dealt with”.

A twitch of his brow.

“...understood. Well, I shall see you soon, then...au revoir”.

Dion placed the phone back to it’s rightful position, taking a final slow, graceful swig of his drink before abruptly hurling his glass into the flames before him.

Inhaling deeply to regain his calm, he picked up the phone once more placing it upon his ear, pushing one single button that read “Line 1″.

After a pause...

“Birdie...my love, good morning”, his sweet, gentlemanly tone floating through the line. “I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to drop by my office in 10? I would love to have a word with that beautiful face of yours”.

A small smile stretched against his face.

“Thank you, my dear”.

After 10 minutes, on the dot, a now freshly pressed and radiant Birdie waltzed in to a Dion now fully dressed, bathed and fragranced. His usual dapper rapport. Perched on the edge of his desk, his arms folded.

Birdie, still lightly fumed from her session with him merely some hours before, offered a kind smile nonetheless only to be greeted by a cold stare.

“Mornin’, baby”, Birdie chirped in the most lighthearted tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Shut the door, please”, he firmly commanded. Though a light anxiousness rose into the woman’s core, she obeyed.

Once she returned her gaze toward the man, he was gesturing her to come closer with his finger. She obeyed.

The anxiety rising in her gut was only slightly halted once he lifted a new glass toward her face. “Make daddy a drink, will you sweets?”

The woman merely answered with a light nod before taking the glass in hand and pouring the rich brown liquid, enough for about a shot.

“Somethin’ the matter, baby?”, the woman asking, deep concern in her voice as she handed him the glass.

To which Dion immediately proceeded to down his shot before shattering the glass against the woman’s head, slicing her flesh and she tumbled to the floor.

A light shrill echoed throughout the room.

Birdie left crawling on the floor in shock from this sudden attack, begins to uncontrollably weep as her attacker approaches her, as calm and collective as ever, slowly removing his belt.

“You tell me, my little bird?”, he sighed as his stood above her.

Birdie still left attempting to crawl away as she noticed the man wrapping his belt around his fist.

“Dion...baby...please”, Birdie whimpered as he continued to approach her.

“General Caligo Ulldor just called me”, Mammon began to explain. “Apparently...he had been fed intel of the Pythoness being here”.

Birdie began to turn her gaze to view him.

“As well...as my plans to make her my bitch!”, Dion shouted before slamming his leather belt down on Birdie’s thigh.

A pained shriek escaping her lungs.

“Now...”, Dion continued, “...as I recall...the only two people in this world that knew of this were you...and I. So question is...”.

Mammon flips Birdie on her back with his foot.

“...how did Ulldor find out...?”

“Baby, I swear I didn’-”.

“Take off your clothes”, Dion cut the woman off, his tone forceful and harsh.

“Baby, please, I wouldn’t-”.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, love”, Dion’s light tone frightening the woman before she obeyed. 

Not leaving her spot on the floor, she stripped herself down in front of her attacker, his eyes only fixated on her body. Not once on her eyes.

“You know...one thing he actually informed me off during our little talk was...that whomever tipped him off sent him a tape...”, Dion continued explaining. “And somehow...they were stupid enough to leave their initials on the tape”, Mammon chuckled lightly.

Birdie remained silent. Her fear racing through her entire body.

“S.R.”, Dion shook his head. “Oh...Strelitzia Reginae....”.

Birdie’s eyes widened.

“...My Bird of Paradise”.

“Dion, baby, pleas-AUGH!!!”, her screamed echoed through the walls as Dion furiously wailed on the tormented woman with his belt.

Leaving welts upon bruises he left mere hours before.

Not giving any attention to how loud the crashes upon her flesh were mixed with her pained wails as he viciously scolds her.

“I GIVE YOU FOOD!!!”

The girls in the other rooms crying in sadness and fear as they listened to their beloved Birdie’s shrieks.

“I GIVE YOU A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!!!”

Blood began to spill from her bruises as Mammon continued his assault.

“I GIVE YOU MY LOVE!!!”

His rage boiling his very core.

“AND THIS HOW YOU REPAY ME!!!”

The cracks of the belt sharp against Birdie’s tender flesh.

“WITH BETRAYAL!!!! LIES!!! DISLOYALTY!!!!”

Finally, he ceased his attack...his arm growing tired. He panted heavily as he took in the view of his exhausted redhead.

Naked, beaten and bruised...bloodied...afraid...

He bit his lip as his pants began to tighten against his growing erection.

“Y’know...”, Dion’s calm demeanor returning, “it’s so inconvenient...when during a punishment...you become the most beautiful”.

Birdie didn’t speak. Merely sobbed in fear.

“Turn over”, the man instructed softly.

Knowing she was far too weak to do so herself, Mammon planted a solid kick to her ribcage coaxing her to do so.

His steel toed shoe sending a heavy cry from her lungs as it cracked her bones.

Once on her stomach, Dion made quick work of his zipper before straddling her to where the base of her ass rested against his clothed thighs.

Her bitter sobs filling Mammon with adrenaline as he vigorously slapped the woman’s bare tender rear with his solid member.

If Dion had proven anything this day, it was his complete disregard for the intense pain coursing through Birdie’s body as he intruding into her ass with such fervor, her bloodcurdling screams merely sent him into an unholy sadistic delight.

The slapping flesh and tormented howls of their beloved Birdie burrowed into the girls’ fragile hearts.

Knowing there was nothing they could do that wouldn’t result in them receiving punishment themselves other than sitting silently and hope that Dion would show sympathy toward his personal favorite and not hurt her too badly.

As unlikely as that seemed.

20 minutes of this made it certain.

Dion was enjoying this far too much to decide to go easy now.

This was not love. This was power.

He basked in his dominance over his bottom bitch as he tore her insides apart.

Ripping pure flesh like it meant nothing.

For in this moment, she meant nothing.

She was nothing.

Nothing but his tool to use as he saw fit.

This is what it felt like to be the man that owned the Pythoness.

All were beneath him. Even his love.

As the power consumed him, mixed with the collection of tears upon the floor and the screams erupting from those rose red lips, Dion beamed in his euphoria pulling away to watch his essence seep from Birdie’s swollen rectum.

As he returned to his stance, marveling in his masterpiece, he became perplexed. Unnerved.

Her porcelain body coated in black, blue and red. Trembling in fear and pain. Each movement intensifying the pain. Unable to move. Paralyzed.

Broken.

He wanted to ruin her. Ruin his view of her. His girls’ view of her. Turn her into a worthless bitch unworthy of fucking.

But after all of that...he realized...

....this was the Birdie he loved most.

He wanted to hate her, but hating her into oblivion only made him desire her more...he couldn’t shake it...

...and it infuriated him.

“You fuckin’ whore...”, he hissed to the broken woman on his floor. “YOU FUCKIN’ WHORE!!!”, he shouted as he clutched onto a wad of her silky strawberry locks.

A sharp shriek filling the room.

“This is the price you will pay...”, Mammon growled into her ear before he proceeded to drag her out of his office.

The slam of the door against the wall startling the girls as they began pouring into the hallway to witness their beloved Birdie.

Naked, bloodied and clawing at Dion’s hand and wrist as he dragged her about the manor. 

Pleading for her life while protesting her innocence knowing deep down there was not a thing her girls could and would do to aid her without possibly suffering the same fate.

Her screams sending the girls into sobbing messes as they helplessly watched the once ravishing redhead be dragged down the south hall.

It didn’t take long for Birdie realize where they were as they made their way through the corridors.

She had never came to this side of the manor.

She only ever instructed Galahd to come this way when she needed some Imperial trash taken out.

There were no doors down this hall. Merely steel plates for walls and a single row of lights.

The plush color palette of the rest of the manor slowly becoming further and further away.

The closer they got to their destination, Birdie could hear the hisses, snarls and growls.

Once they passed the hatch where Galahd would dump the trash, Birdie’s panic reached 100%. Her screams and clawing more desperate.

The sounds growing louder and louder to the point that Birdie knew they were just in front of the door.

“WAIT, please!”, Birdie cried so heavily, “you don’t have to do this....I swear it wasn’t me! I’m not S.R.!!”

For the first time, Dion actually decided to listen.

“Who is it then?”, his voice monotoned, yet clearly hoping she would give him an answer.

“I don’t know”, she admitted in shame.

With a light sigh, Dion released the battered woman. Gently lifting her to her feet in front of him.

Carefully caressing her bare body as he stared deeply into her sweet eyes.

“My Birdie...my beam of light”.

In this moment...Birdie, for the first time in all their years, felt Dion’s love as he placed a tender kiss upon her crimson lips.

There was no intrusion of his tongue...just affection.

Placing his forehead against hers and his palm against her heart, Birdie could see the tears wielding in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my love...”, the man whispered.

“I forgive y-”.

A solid push against Birdie’s chest released a gasp from her lungs as she tripped backward into a black abyss.

“No, WAIT!”, Birdie screamed reaching toward the man before her, but with one swift slide of the door and twist of the lock, she was trapped.

Her screams and pounding against the titanium door were futile as Dion placed the hand he pushed her with upon the cold metal. 

“Goodbye, my beautiful bird...”, he whispered against the blockade savoring his final moments with the love of his life. “You will live on in the Pythoness”.

In the abyss, a sudden hiss sliced through Birdie’s pounding and screaming followed by a low growl.

Her eyes soon adjusted to the dark as she slowly turned to see what lurked behind her, trembling in terror as she noticed an endless horde of bright yellow eyes and razor sharp teeth.

It didn’t take any time at all for the bloodcurdling shrieks to erupt from behind the door as well as the sound of tearing flesh and crushing bones as the swarm of albinogins feasted on their helpless prey.

But as quickly as the screaming started, was just about how long it took for them to cease only leaving the sound of the feast.

And with the ceased screams, were Dion’s tears as he fixed his attire and hair before turning his heel toward the opposite direction of the hallway.

Burying his precious bird...and his memory of their love.

Or so he thought...

8:31 am.

Dion continued to stare at the cushion next to him.

He thought he could forget her...thought he could toss her to the wolves and feel nothing, but the pain he felt was far greater than anything he felt...

...and Ulldor was enjoying this far more than he could bare.

“Honestly, Mammon”, Ulldor scoffed. “This barbaric profession of yours...you cannot hope to truly find love. Let alone keep it”, he chuckled at Dion’s despair. “Why, a man of your standing falling for a simple whore, did you believe to ride into the sunset on a white pony and build a life together? Pathetic...”.

As Dion began to reach for his pistol growing fed up with Ulldor’s cross words...

“Now, now”, a charmingly slimy voice sliced through the tension. Upon viewing the source actually increased the tension. 

“That will be more than enough bloodshed for today”, Ardyn let himself in.

“C..Chancellor Izunia”, Dion’s voice shook as he removed his hand from his pistol.

“General Ulldor, would you mind not rattling Mr. Mammon? He has just suffered a terrible loss”, Ardyn asked with false remorse that almost sounded like teasing.

“Hmph”, Ulldor stands from the desk making his way out the door leaving the Chancellor with the somber Dion on the couch.

“My, my...”, Ardyn chuckles before casually taking his spot upon the front of Dion’s desk. “What a day you’ve had”.

“Yes...it’s been...eventful”, Dion attempted to recollect his normal gentlemanly demeanor.

“First, you were accused of stealing my Muerlin from under my nose by an anonymous tipper, then your prize whore is fed to the pets. Of course, you did the last thing on your own accord”, the man smirked.

“Yes...Birdie was...my dearest love, but such ridiculous accusations cannot go unaddressed”, Dion spot lightheartedly. “It had to be done, I’m afraid”.

“That is true”, Ardyn seemingly agreed.

“Unless...”, his tone lowering to a low growl, “...you do have my Muerlin”, the Chancellor’s glare locked upon the timid man on the couch. “For which I am not fully convinced that S.R. lied of your intent”.

The finely pressed man began to sweat over his thin mustache.

“I assure you, Chancellor Izunia”, the man fibbed, “what Birdie told you...it was all lies”.

“I’m honestly not so sure that your precious bird was even the culprit here, Mr. Mammon”, Ardyn stood from his seat heading toward the door.

Dion confused by his comment.

“You see...I know how these establishments work, Mr. Mammon”, the Chancellor chuckled. “The loyalty of these simple whores is...juvenile, to say the least. But the bond between a man and his prime...that...is not a loyalty easily shaken”.

“Well...I did always say that Birdie wasn’t like any other whore”, Dion sighed.

“Maybe so...but I cannot imagine someone of her standing could make such an amateur mistake at ratting herself out”, Ardyn continued. “Especially, having to have known the consequences. A prime whore has to be mindful of these thing”.

“What’re you insinuating?”, Dion curiously asked the Chancellor.

“That someone intelligent enough to keep an unholy place like this afloat, wouldn’t test such an idiotic stunt for mere fortune...I believe you were made by someone much more clever...someone that knew you would be so confident in their trust...or fear of you that you would never suspect”, the slimy Chancellor grinned at the befuddled man. “...yet someone so vengeful...that they would go that extra mile...just to see you hurt”.

Dion had nothing to say. He couldn’t think of anyone that could’ve possibly wanted Birdie dead that badly...he felt vulnerable at the mere thought of his mind being warped by such manipulation.

It made him sick.

“Also...if I may ask, what time did you and Birdie start last night?”

“Not long after midnight...until a little after 3”, Dion answered suspiciously.

“Interesting...how impressive for a mere bottom whore to have recorded and delivered such an elaborate message at 1:30 am. While being played with by her master...”, Ardyn lightly hissed.

Dion’s eyes now saucers.

“...where is my Muerlin, Mr. Mammon?”

9:02 am.

Dion escorted the Chancellor to the room he assigned to her on the second floor.

After knocking upon the door and receiving no answer, Dion noticed the door was already unlocked.

Shoving the door open, Dion was paralyzed by the sight before him.

The room was bare.

Completely.

The bed was made, everything was in its rightful spot.

As if not a single soul had been in here.

“GALAHD!!!”, Dion called out to his servant whom he assigned to watch her.

No answer.

“GALAHD!!!”, he called once more, exiting the room and looking down the halls.

Still no answer.

Knowing how sneaky she was, Dion turned back into the room to see if she had slipped past him somehow.

No one.

“...no...”, Dion mumbled under his shaky breath. “...this can’t be...that little bitch...”.

“Pardon me, Mr. Mammon...”, Ardyn calmly interrupted his panic, only to make it worse as his eyes glowed a bright yellow. “...but who is Galahd...?”

The next morning...

“Alright...”, Muerlin’s voice echoed throughout the cavern.

“The Empire will be here in 30 minutes and I only need about 10 to get out of here before they show”. 

Muerlin’s back toward the caverns exit.

“So you’re going to spend the next 20 telling me who you really are...”, Muerlin instructs are she slowly lifts her hand, sparks twinkling between her fingers, “...before I tear you in half”.

The girl before her only releasing a light sigh in light vexation of her defeat, her milky grey gaze rising to Muerlin’s teal orbs.

“Fair enough”.

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