#anything else is a free game surprise how ONE intends to show him the light about himself

[seiwas]

hello sel!!! hru doing??

The ask game is super fun! How about Gojo + vindictive.

I hope u hv had a lovely day 🫶

zuro anon

zuro anon hello!! thanks for sending in a prompt!! i'm doing good 🥺 spending this lil vacay at home, mostly 🥺 and happy to be back writing 🥺 i hope you have the loveliest weekend 💗

contains: non-canon, childhood enemies to lovers (ish), (modern) arranged marriage, reader wears a braid and dresses

gojo + vindictive

you hate gojo satoru. you have ever since you were 5.

he's a bully―a real cocky one at that, with no regard or remorse for how his actions affect those around him.

on the day before your 6th birthday, right as your parents gathered together for the annual countdown, he gobbled up the entire plate of your favorite milk cakes before you could even take a bite. this marked the start, the beginning of a vengeance stewing inside of you.

at the age of 8, when you first learned how to do your own braids, he would tug at them, pull them free and unravel all your hard work for the past hour. you used to chase him for it, yell "satoru!" with all the strength your little lungs could muster and he would merely laugh and run faster.

the name "satoru," you've learned, must be synonymous with "sabotage," because it's all he's ever done. he threw the flower geto suguru handpicked for you straight to the ground, and purposely splashed gutter water all over the white dress you intended to wear on your first date.

not to mention, he's always rubbed in the fact that he's better than you, at everything―dangled all his accomplishments in front of you as if he knew they were just centimeters out of reach.

gojo satoru is solely responsible for tainting your childhood memories a miserable cerulean blue.

so, when your parents sit you down one day and tell you that you'll have to marry him, you feel transported in that moment, to each and every instance gojo has ever wronged you. it flips through your mind like a montage of flashbacks in a movie.

it's both surprising and not. your families have always been partners, in everything―business, education, and now you guess, life as well. you hate gojo's guts but this creates an opportunity you don't think can result from anything else.

so, sure, you'll agree to the marriage―only to make his life a living hell.

"hello, fiancée," he greets you, for the first time since the agreement.

you don't do anything to hide your disgust, face scrunching up as you spit out, "shut up, satoru."

the wedding planning is horrendous―at least, you hope it is for him. you pick out every single cake flavor you know he hates and choose the brightest venue possible for the event. the lights you pick for the afterparty are strobe lights, and you make sure to do multiple test runs just to play with his eyes. it doesn't occur to you that the solution to his light sensitivity is simple: just a plain pair of shades.

you wear plumping lip gloss on your wedding day, just so his lips burn when you have to kiss him. but gojo is either extremely numb or just good at faking it, because all he does is grin as he whispers quietly before parting, "spicy."

in preparation for your married life, you create a ledger of some sort―a book of accounts housing every single thing gojo has done wrong. you write down your plans to get him back for each of them, a list of pranks and inconveniences to make him regret ever messing with you all those years ago.

at half a year of marriage and 25 years of knowing each other, he casually tells you the big "i love you," but you're sure he doesn't mean it. you tell yourself your heart is racing from how infuriating his existence is; at how stupid his face looked when he'd said it. not anything else and most especially not the little dimple on his cheek that shows itself every now and then.

(you didn't know it yet then, but he'd found the ledger you kept and read through it all. the one-year plan, the three-year plan, the five, and so on. and it does nothing but strengthen how he feels about you, since he was 6, 14, and a few years ago at 24.

it's at your third year of marriage that you find out―how gojo's known all this time, but more importantly, how there were reasons behind every single instance you thought he was out to ruin your life.

with intelligence far beyond his age, gojo has always preferred the company of adults more than children. at age 6, he would listen in on conversations his mother had with her friends, roughly comprehending complex worlds with the simple ones he understood. someone had mentioned something about their daughter being allergic to milk. and so, when your birthday came up and all he saw were milk treats, he gobbled them all up in an effort to make sure you wouldn't be subjected to an adverse reaction―even though you were far off from any dairy allergy.

what he was sure of, however, was that you were severely allergic to bees. and when he spotted one perched right on the buttercup stem geto handed you, he had no choice but to smack it right out of your hand and down to the ground, stepping on it too, for good measure.

and, okay, maybe he was a little naughty for tugging at your braids when you'd just spent all that time doing them, but he always liked how they flowed into waves when they unravelled; how you'd chase him afterwards, angry but so, so pretty.

if there's one moment gojo will consider real sabotage, though, it's that date he stopped you from going to. like there was any way he was going to let another man see you dressed like that. he isn't nice that way. when gojo wants something, he's not sharing, and the sight of you in white―that was meant to be his and only his.)

[the-nysh]

Been seeing takes expressing confusion over Garou's 'calm/tolerant/cooperative' behavior towards the heroes (like Mb) so far, amounting to basically: "he refused to team up with Platinum, yet he's ok aligning with Metal Bat? No way, the Garou 'I know' should intensely hate heroes! And would beat them all up instantly! This is ooc and makes no sense!"

And to me it's like...are you sure? Are you really quite sure? The same Garou who actually reacts like a giddy dorky fanboy when he meets the strongest S Class heroes (and conversely with pure disgust meeting real monsters)? With wistful smiles of one day earning his place in the Hero Guide? (So much irony.)

It's not heroism he hates, because Garou already has a set image in mind how heroes should perform their roles. For example, he ideally expects them to be generally kind & just, acting in 'fair' justice, to selflessly serve the weak and do their jobs well. (You see it when he often points his finger telling them how their roles should act.) But it's when he sees them acting poorly un-heroic: in self-serving, ego-stroking means for example, with false justice towards abusing their own position & power (like Tacchans) - now THAT is what he hates, when they're performing as 'heroes' in name only. (When he says 'you've thrown away your kindness; the hypocrisy makes me sick.') Ohhhh, then he'll certainly have something distasteful to say about that!

Unfortunately, most heroes he's interacted with (ones he's goaded/challenged to fight into seeing what they've got) have only affirmed to him his worst perceptions & disappointments in their 'bad' behavior - except in rare cases (surprising him), like Saitama running past him to attend to an injured Genos, and Metal Bat reacting to selflessly shield the helicopter alongside him - aka they're doing their jobs (performing their roles) as they should, then Garou has no need to attack them, interject, or critique their behavior (except yeah he did scold Mb at first for getting distracted off task.) He leaves them alone because he sees them actually being 'good,' with little else for him to object at the moment. The only thing he'd then expect of them is to keep up, especially when he's already been the one committed to keeping up this far, driven by his strongest feelings - determined solely on his own priority mission, which is right now focused on ensuring Tareo's safety. (So 'keep up' or stand back, as he'll just ironically do their jobs for them. Plus more irony: no lone hero, not even Saitama or Blast, can do or 'fix' everything alone.)

But in contrast, if heroes (& monsters alike) still insist on fighting him - like Flash, for example jumping the gun, acting on prejudice, or their own self-interest etc, then of course Garou won't back down. (He'd gladly fight those who would still oppose him, or always defends himself accordingly, even if it's only him alone vs 'god' and the entire mob.)

Because him setting that example - being that symbol there to 'scare' everyone into behaving well (playing nice & 'fair') is the crux of it, to the point he (wrongly, naively, stubbornly) believes he has no other choice but to take the (self)destructive monster role this far to incite what he wants - goodness & unity in others. (Repeatedly convincing and resigning himself of his 'evil' role & mistaken identity to do that, believing that he cannot cause change otherwise or ever be accepted as a hero in turn. No self-awareness and poor self-assurance/confidence here, thinking he has to become someone he's not.)

You even see his intent in the webcomic when he literally stands there, goading everyone into attacking him (demanding they rise to meet his challenge) to test their true heroic grit & spirits. (And if they fail? Of course he reacts in bitter disappointment.) The only thing is that he just hasn't realized that what he's after - the 'good' behavior of a selfless heroic heart - actually already exists within himself, and that is pure dramatic irony at ONE's finest.

So with that, and Garou yet to fully accept or reject himself on the line, we'll see how far he chooses to behave and consistently react as 'Garou' (or not?) next.

[actuallysaiyan]

Crazy On You

warnings: Prince!Gohan, potential Planet Vegeta AU, jealousy, kissing, roughness, allusions to oral sex, slight degradation, general smuttiness| a/n: This was inspired by @loki-love, who is a huge Gohan fan just like I am. I really hope you all enjoy this. Note: requests are still closed.

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. You were just his best friend. That was it, that’s all it was supposed to be. But Prince Gohan was something else. The way he carried himself around. The kindness he showed you and the other constituents of the kingdom. How he could make you laugh but feel a million emotions all at once. The way your stomach flipped whenever you saw him now. Or how nervous you were to spar with him most days.

The more your feelings grew, the more panicked you became. You weren’t even sure you should tell him about these feelings of yours. You knew the risk of your friendship coming to an end was always going to be there if you were going to be truthful to him. It ate you up inside to keep it to yourself, but you knew you had to keep it a secret.

Until one day, you saw him at the King’s party. You had wanted so badly to make a good impression on him, so that maybe he would see you in a new light. But your heart was broken and your dreams were crushed the moment you saw him with another woman. It was only a matter of time before he was going to make a move on someone else.

You left the ballroom to find a quiet place to hide. You were incredibly embarrassed. You had taken so much time out of your day to make yourself look so good for this party. You hardly notice it when someone walks up to you. You’re sitting on the ground, your knees tucking under your chin as you cry quietly.

“Why are you out here crying?” Prince Gohan asks, his hand outstretched to you. You barely look at him.

“Why do you care?” Your tone is snappy. Gohan looks down ashamed; he knows why you are upset.

He moves away slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. Even just that small movement was very princelike and regal. He’s deliberate and eloquent with his movements. You hate the way you admire him so easily, even when you are upset with him. When you do get the courage to look up at him, he’s frowning.

“You know I care. Don’t play these games with me,” your surprised. His tone is very stern.

“Why don’t you just go back to your tramp?”

This sets him off immediately. With the help of his tail, you’re up on your feet within seconds. Gohan has you pinned to the wall, his tail holding onto your wrist with force. The look in his eyes shows just how much he’s very unimpressed with you right now. This wasn’t what he intended when he came to this party. He wanted to take you home, after all. Gohan thought you were better than this.

“Oh? So this is how you’re going to be?” Gohan questions, not letting you go. You whine when you feel his tail grip you tighter.

“Yeah, because you left me in the dust. You broke my heart.”

He doesn’t listen to what you have to say. Instead, his lips come crashing down on yours bruisingly. You groan, trying to break free from his grasp so you can wrap your arms around him. He lets out a growl when he feels you struggling against him.

“No no no, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Bratty girls like you need to be put in your place.”

Your heart skips a beat. He’s never been so degrading or stern with you like this before. He chuckles snarkily as he nips at your neck. His tail lets go of your wrist slightly, only to push it back against the wall over your head. You’re so aroused already and he’s hardly done anything to you.

“Are you already turned on?” He asks, his voice husky and hoarse. You can tell he’s trying to remain calm.

“And what if I am?”

He groans and rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’ll have to take care of this little problem of yours.”

Without another word, he’s kneeling in front of you and bunching up the skirt of your puffy dress. You whine when he rips the panties off your body and he’s holding open your thighs. When his warm tongue presses against your wet folds, you’re almost done for.

Hopefully, you can learn to keep quiet.

[sunder-soul]

hii what about Tom Riddle being fucking jealous about reader ?

So I got massively carried away with this one lol, apologies if this isn’t what you were expecting, my imagination went wild!

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Jealousy

Summary: Reader has to tutor an insufferable jock and Tom Riddle starts acting very strangely indeed. Wordcount: 1.8k Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The Great Hall was bright and lively with morning sun and the chatter of students, spoons clinking against bowls and butter spreading on toast.

“What is he doing?” you whisper to Margot sitting next to you at the table.

“I think he’s attempting to show off,” she giggles back.

You were both watching Austin Varrowe, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, obnoxiously demonstrate his Beater swing for a series of very bored looking Ravenclaw girls who weren’t paying him any attention in the slightest.

“Slughorn’s making me tutor that idiot,” you grumble.

“No way,” Margot grins, rounding on you.

“Yup,” you sigh, “can you believe it? Two evenings a week for the rest of the term… I think I’ll brain myself with a cauldron by Friday.”

Margot pats your shoulder sympathetically.

That evening, you reluctantly set off for the dungeons to meet Varrowe with your bag slung over your shoulder, but as you round a corridor you very nearly bowl straight into someone coming the opposite direction.

“Riddle,” you say, surprised, “sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Riddle takes a step back and tidily clasping his hands being his back. “You’re out rather late,” he said smoothly. “And in the dungeons, no less. Are you lost? The library is that way.” He nods back down the corridor.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Riddle was such a know-it-all. “I’m meeting someone, actually,” you say dismissively, checking your watch. “In fact, I better get going or he’ll think I’m standing him up.”

Riddle looks very briefly surprised, and then a cool look of disapproval settles on his fine features. “I don’t suppose I have to remind you that curfew is in two hours,” he says stiffly, “you wouldn’t be intending on breaking that, would you?”

You snort a laugh and step past him. “Thanks for the reminder,” you say sarcastically, “see you later, Riddle.”

You manage to get away before he can say anything else.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Varrowe,” you call, giving your friends a quick wave as you dash to catch up to him in the throng of students making their way to their next class. “Are you free tonight?”

“Oh – right,” Varrowe says, looking dispirited. “Sure. Seven o’clock?”

You nod and lean closer. “Please make sure you actually bring your textbook this time,” you mutter, managing to keep your exasperation off your face. “You do in fact need to read it at least once to pass the class.”

Varrowe grins and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “You’re smart,” he says loudly, “barely understood a thing you said last time.”

“Right,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to tidy your hair. “Well, see you this evening.”

“Sounds good,” Varrowe shrugs, wandering away.

You sigh. Slughorn better appreciate your sacrifice; tutoring Varrowe was the equivalent of torture. You turn on your heel to catch up with your friends, but once again you come face to face with –

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me,” you say dryly, “seriously, Riddle, it’s creepy.”

Riddle’s eyes slide from Varrowe’s retreating form to your face. “Is Varrowe the one you were meeting last week?” he asks smoothly.

The question surprises you. “Yeah, why?” you frown.

“And you’re meeting him again?”

You arch a brow at his decidedly clipped tone. “Yeah but don’t worry, I promise I won’t break curfew, I know that’s of the utmost importance to you –”

“An odd choice,” Riddle interrupts, something uncharacteristically irate in his voice, “Varrowe.”

You stare at him. “…Is he?” you ask pointedly, unable to think of anyone more in need of tutoring. Only yesterday Varrowe had lost his phial of Flobberworm mucus and had asked Slughorn if he could just use some of his own instead. “I think he’s the perfect choice.”

Riddle’s eyes flash. “I should be going,” he says curtly, “see you in class.” He gives you a single, stiff nod and leaves without another glance.

You blink after him, shaking your head in confusion. Riddle was acting very, very strangely.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“So if you overboil it, it’ll turns green,” Varrowe said slowly, peering at the notes on Veritaserum on the desk between you, “but if you underboil it, it’ll get those weird lumps?”

“Yes,” you say with great relief.

“Is it better to overboil it or underboil it?”

You immediately regret having felt relieved. “It’s better to do neither,” you say flatly.

Varrowe heave a great sigh and carelessly leans back in his chair. “I’m too tired for this,” he complains. “Did I mention that we had an extra Quidditch practice this morning?”

He had. Six times.

You slide your things into your bag and stand. “You’re right, it’s late,” you mutter, “we can pick this up again on Monday.”

Varrowe gleefully stands too and is out the door of the Potions classroom in a heartbeat. “Are you coming to the game next weekend?” he asks you in the corridor outside, unsubtly flexing his shoulder muscles as he pretends to roll them out.

You very nearly roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent,” he grins, “I’ve been working on this tag-team move with Procker that’ll really have Slytherin guessing, I’ll have to show you later –”

“Varrowe.”

The voice is crisp and cool, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess who it is.

“Riddle,” Varrowe says, looking disgruntled. “Why are you here?”

“I’m a prefect, if you recall,” Riddle says in a glacial tone, “patrols are part of my responsibilities.”

“How very fortunate indeed that you were patrolling this exact corridor at this exact time,” you say with a hint of sarcasm. “Merlin, imagine if we’d forgotten about curfew.”

Riddle’s dark eyes flash to you, and you impassively hold his gaze. “You should return to your common rooms,” he says delicately, “or I will be forced to give you both detentions.”

“Steady on Riddle,” Varrowe grins, “we’ve got half an hour yet, give us a second to say goodbye.”

Riddle wrenches his eyes off you and fixes Varrowe with a very cold look. “You will go at once,” he says in a dangerously soft tone, “do you understand?”

Varrowe bristles, standing taller and pushing his chest out in a way he clearly thinks is intimidating. Riddle looks utterly unfazed.

Sensing trouble on the horizon, you grab Varrowe’s sleeve and tug him back. “Come on, Varrowe,” you say quickly, “let’s go. You’ve got practice in the morning, right?”

Varrowe glares at Riddle who was yet to move an inch, his expression still cool and blank. “Right,” Varrowe growls, “yeah, let’s go.”

Varrowe turns and stalks off, not noticing that you don’t follow. Instead, you round on Riddle.

“Will you explain what the hell is going on?” you whisper angrily.

“Watch your tongue,” Riddle says sharply.

You glower at him. “So sorry – I mean, will you please explain what the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrow. “It would not be wise to antagonise me,” he says icily.

“Would it not?” you breathe, stepping closer. “What are you going to do, dock me points? Give me detention?”

Riddle’s eyes are dark and hostile, and something works in his jaw as he glares back at you.

“Back off, Riddle,” you snap, “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but seriously, drop it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he breathes.

“Oh? You always threaten people with detention when they’ve done nothing wrong? I’m sure Slughorn will be overjoyed to hear that his favourite prefect is abusing his power like that,” you hiss, leaning closer.

Riddle visibly grits his teeth with fury on his face. A tense silence falls, and you suddenly realise that the two of you are standing far, far too closely together.

You step back at once, trying to ignore the strange feeling that swells in your stomach. “Goodnight, Riddle,” you mutter, turning to hurry away.

“Why Varrowe?” he says sharply, stopping you in your tracks.

You look over your shoulder at him. Riddle’s hair looks even blacker in the dark corridor, his burning eyes on yours, the flickering light from the torch on the wall beside him throwing shadows down his cheekbones. “What?” you frown. Now was definitely not the time to get distracted by Riddle’s good looks.

“Why Varrowe?” Riddle repeats stiffly. “He’s a simpleton.”

You blink. “Exactly,” you say slowly.

Something hostile flickers on Riddle’s face before he quickly tempers his expression back into composure. “I appear to have misjudged you,” he says coldly, looking away.

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim in exasperation. “Do you not understand how tutoring works? If he wasn’t absolutely thick I wouldn’t have to waste my evenings explaining to him that Cough Potions are for curing coughs and not inducing them.”

Riddle stares at you. The silence drags on.

You sigh impatiently. “I’m going to bed,” you grumble, turning away again.

“Wait,” he says sharply.

You wheel around, annoyed. “What?”

But your frustration is wiped away in an instant because Riddle is once again much too close. So close, in fact, that you can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting down his cheeks and the heat in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re tutoring him?” he asks quietly.

You nod silently, your throat suddenly thick with nerves.

“That’s why you were meeting him.”

You nod again, unable to look away from him.

Riddle hums contemplatively, his expression smooth as his dark eyes roam your face. “Good,” he murmurs.

“Good?” you whisper.

Riddle’s lips curve into a small smirk, his head tilting slightly, and you absolutely do not blush at the sight. “Weren’t you going to bed?” he asks silkily.

“Worried about me breaking curfew, are you?” you say with a flicker of a taunt, trying to ignore your heart pounding quickly in your chest.

Riddle’s smirk grows. “I told you not to antagonise me,” he says smoothly as he steps in even closer, so close that his robes graze against your arms and you can feel warmth radiating from him as he looms over you.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “seems to be going pretty well for me so far.”

Riddle’s eyes flick between yours, and for a single burning moment the tension is so thick that you can hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, your gaze dropping to his full lips and seeing his do the same to yours – and then just like that, Riddle steps away.

“Goodnight,” he says evenly, “I trust you can get back to your common room without supervision.”

You nod blankly but Riddle is already turning away and disappearing down the dark corridor, melting into the darkness. You stand there a moment frozen in place, your cheeks burning and your heart still racing as the cold air rushes in where his warmth had been brushing up against your skin.

Riddle was acting very, very strangely indeed.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

[groovyzombiellama]

Shy Baby Girl

Title: Shy Baby Girl

Requested? Yes.

Plot: Cato noticing you during practice sessions and he starts flirting with you and teasing you, but slowly falls for your timid and kind nature, and then the night before the games he confesses and you spend the night together.

Warnings: I am attempting to write smut after so long of not writing anything, so i will be attempting to write a detailed smut scene :) (so please be nice to me, I’m so worried about posting this for some reason)

Word count: 3013 (I might have went a little overboard, but I haven’t written in a while, so enjoy a longer story :) )

---***---

You didn’t expect to get drafted for the Games any time soon, and when you were, your whole family was shocked, and your older sister, who actually thought she was going to be the one going in was ready to volunteer, but your dad stopped her, as he believed that you could get through it. You were actually fine with going into the Games, as you had accepted this as your life, and you knew your time was coming, and in the end you guessed it’s better rather sooner than later. But one thing worried you the most, and that was the fact that you hated confrontations, and would much rather be making friends in life, even though you knew that was kinda impossible considering the way the world was now. You were prepared to fight for your life and to win in the Games, but a big part of you dreamed of a day when you didn’t need to fight to survive. You didn’t expect anything going into the whole process, but you were planning on keeping to yourself and not responding to any provocations.

 At first, everything was fine, you were almost always training, to make sure you were as ready as possible, but whenever someone needed help, you were there to show them a move or hold their punching bag steady so they could practice accuracy. And that was how you actually caught the attention of Cato, a blonde, blue eyed guy, who ended up being intrigued by the quiet, timid girl, who greeted everyone with a smile. He watched you for a while, trying to pinpoint what it was about you that has him so drawn in, and he decided one day that he was gonna approach you, and teach you the best stance for a fight, considering this his moment to throw in some flirting in the mix. The faint blush that spread across your cheeks every time you saw him, well, it has him hooked. Watching you from afar was nothing compared to being up close and personal, and your shy smile that would grace your lips at his compliments was becoming the highlight of his day. “I see you at the gym every day, and you still struggle with the basics. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were scared.“ He said one day when he noticed that you were not using the stance that he had taught you and as he spoke, he let his hand “accidentally“ brush against yours, his eyes searching for that rosy tint that he felt was the shade only present on your cheeks and couldn’t be found anywhere else in the world.

You brushed him off, already used to his teasing, saying how you were not scared and if he needed you to prove it, he is free to challenge you to a sparing match. Cato smiled softly, a feature you had grown to like, and you lowered your gaze to hide your own smile that was curving your lips. But of course, Cato caught that and while he swore his heart was beating faster seeing it, he had to default to teasing you about how you were still not comfortable with him, despite knowing each other for a while now. The reason why he would always tease you and playfully flirt with you (although you were oblivious to that one) was because he was not really yet ready to confess his feelings to you. Pretty odd huh? A guy like him, who was training to fight for his life in the Hunger Games, basically a show for the rich to watch children get killed off one by one, until there is only one winner, afraid of what a girl thought about him.

Although he didn’t know how, he knew that he had to tell you abut how he felt, hoping that in case you felt the same, he could count on your alliance, and at the end he would let you come out on top, or would hopefully be able to convince the government to let you both win and stay together. And he had his mind set on telling you the night before the games. The fact that you were so timid and at the same time so fierce and powerful made Cato’s head spin. There was just someting about you, someting in your eyes that showed that despite the world crumbling around you, your innocence was someting intact that could not be destroyed and he wanted to protect that so much, he wanted to make sure you are not exposed to anything that could damage that, no matter the fact that you would have to fight for your life, he hoped you would let him stick by your side and protect you.

 Just like you were unaware of his flirting and the fact that he felt the same way for you as you did for him, you wanted to tell him how you felt, but you just couldn’t. There were a few times that you were certain that you were going to tell him about your feelings, but the moment you would see him, the way his sky blue eyes bore into yours and how they would light up when he smiles or develop their signature mischievous glint when he was teasing you, and all that courage that you built flied out of the window. Until tonight that is. You were currently sitting in a quiet fort that Cato had built a bit further away from the others and invited you, because he needed to tell you something, your eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and eyebrows raised, trying to process what he had just told you. Cato had just informed you about his feelings and it made you feel giddy and excited, but also gave you this newfound confidence, right after he waved his hand in front of your face, as you had been silent for far too long for his liking after he just spilled his heart out to you.

 Suddenly this new rush of confidence took over your body and before you knew what you were doing, you surged forward and pressed your lips against his, and this time it was Cato’s turn to be taken off guard and surprised. For a moment or two you just stayed like that, neither of you moving your lips, but just feeling them pressed one against the other, getting familiarised with their shape and soft feeling. Soon however, Cato started moving his lips, to which you followed suit, and the salty taste of todays lunch mixed together in your mouths, as Cato decided to lick your bottom lip, and then slightly nibble it after you didn’t get the hint, causing you to slightly gasp, and Cato took the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. You were filled with complete bliss as your tongues fought for dominance, that you just let yourself fall back, with Cato hovering over you, his hand on the middle of your back guiding you into the pillows he had placed for you guys to lay on. Neither one of you expected this turn of events, and you figured you would just talk and fall asleep there, but both of you were slightly worried about tomorrow, so you decided in that moment that you were gonna fall victimes to your feelings and enjoy your time together.

 As the two of you continued kissing, you felt like your hands had a mind of their own as they glided up and down Cato’s toned back muscles and his arms, one of your hands finding their way to the short hairs on the back of his neck, as you let your fingers tangle with them and even lightly tug on them, earing a low groan from Cato, which you happily swallowed. But soon it was your turn to express your pleasure, as you felt his warm hand get in contact with your cold skin, as he slipped his hand under your shirt, soothing your waist, before reaching up and cupping one of your breasts. You moaned just as your lips parted, damn lungs and their need for air. “Even though we are far enough away from the others, we’re gonna need to manage our volume baby, you never know who might be lurking, okay?“ Cato said as he looked deep into your eyes, his hand still on your breast, squeezing it after getting confirmation from you through a nod, causing you to gasp, and Cato to go right back to attacking your lips with his own.

 You felt his manhood harden against your leg as you went on, kissing and removing the top halves of your clothes. As soon as he reached around to your back to unhook your bra, you felt your nipples instantly harden as the cold air hit them, but what got you more worked up was Cato blowing on them slightly, before taking one of them in his mouth, while his fingers pinched the other. Your back arched off the pillows, and you felt your wetness pool in your core, with each flick of his tongue on your nipple. Cato sucked in a sharp beath as your hand found its way to his clothed dick, and you began to palm him, causing him to groan lowly as he attached his lips to your neck, and sucked on that sweet spot that had you seeing stars, making sure to leave a big, purple mark. After he was satisfied with his work, he kissed the spot he had been sucking on and looked at your hooded eyes, with his own getting darker and filled with even more lust.

 He wanted to see your face as his hand reached into your pants, and started rubbing circles around your clit, causing a moan slightly louder than you had intended to escape your lips. Cato quickly muffled it with his own lips, whispering into your ear that you needed to be a bit more quiet, but still continuing his assault on your core with his fingers. You bit your lip, and you could tell he could feel how wet you were and how aroused he was making you, just as you were making him (in his own words, you were driving him crazy). Without warning, his hand slipped into your panties and you threw your head back at the pleasure his fingers were giving you. “C-Cato, ple-ease...“ You wanted to say more, but your words got stuck in your throat when two of his fingers entered your pussy. You grabbed his wrist with both hands, and bucked your hips to meet his thrusting fingers, as Cato watched your face contorting in pleasure, your moans being music to his ears, and thinking in a moment how did he get so lucky to have you feeling the same way about him as he did about you.

 But hearing your cracked voice begging him for something (he knew exactly what) his fingers stopped and he removed his hand from your pants, causing you to whine from the lack of contact. Cato smirked as he licked his fingers, tasing your juices, that melted over his tongue like honey, before placing his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste the mix of yourself and his spit. His smirk grew into a grin as you began to fumble with the opening on his pants, desperate to feel him inside you. He allowed you to push him on his back and climb on top of him, and after removing his pants and boxers, letting his erection spring free, you got rid of your own bottoms, throwing them both to the side, and began tracing a line from Cato’s lips, down his chest and stomach, all the way to his manhood, finally getting to have your ears blessed with his breathless moans and groans as you took his manhood in your hands and licked a long stripe from his balls to the leaking tip, keeping eye contact with him, seeing his eyes flitter closed at the sensation.

 You waste no time taking him into your mouth, earning you a gutteral moan from Cato, to which you hummed, satisfied that he was now the one to have to manage his volume, and the vibrations your hum caused around his dick make him place one of his hands on his mouth at to try to supress, even a little bit, announcing to the rest of the people getting ready for the Games tomorrow the pure bliss that you were making him feel, while his other hand found it’s way to get tangled into your hair, not really forcing your head to move, just resting there, only slightly tugging on your hair when a wave of pleasure was higher than the previous ones, which he would only learn to both enjoy and regret, because that earned him you taking him into your mouth completely, so much that he could feel the back of your throat, along with the vibrations of your moan, and he could have sworn he was about to cum in seconds. When he felt truly close, he tugged on your hair a bit harder, and you got the hint, taking him out of your mouth, and the sight of your flushed cheeks, and a string of spit still connecting your plump lips to his dick was a beautiful sight to him.

 He beckoned you to come towards him, and he could taste himself as you kissed him, just like how he had made you taste your juices of his fingers. “How about you ride daddy now, hmm baby, what do you say?“ His low voice had shivers running down your spine, and you actually couldn’t wait to feel him inside you, so you positioned yourself and without any warning, you slammed hard on his dick, and it had both of you practically choking out moans from the back of your throats, getting used to now being connected into one before you started moving your hips up and down, Cato raising his pelvis to match whatever rythm you were leading him in, and despite starting off slow, soon you were placing your hands on his chest, your pace getting quicker and each time you would sink deeper onto him as your thrusts would meet in the middle. You were both no longer that concerned with managing the volume of your voice, as you didn’t really care if someone heard you, pure extasy flowing through you with each thrust.

 Wanting to tease him, you clenched your inner walls around his dick a few times, even past him telling you that if you continue doing that, he would cum sooner than he wants to. After you did it again, Cato had had enough, quickly rolling both of you over, as you squealed, and ordering you to get on your knees. You did so, even though you prefered watching his muscled torso and arms, shining with sweat, but the mix of pleasure, letting Cato take the lead, and the chance of you getting caught by someone in your heated session, it made it all so much more fun for you. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head as Cato accompanied his dick entering your pussy with his hand slapping your ass, and the tingling sensation that followed was only adding to the pleasure, which he knew, and so he added a few more slaps as he fucked you fast and hard, going balls deep inside you with every thrust, and ever plea you made for him to slow down a bit were falling on deaf ears. “I can’t hear you baby. Are you saying to go faster? Sure I can do that.“

He almost had you screaming with the pleasure he was giving you and as you felt the tingles in your lower stomach, you knew it was only a matter of time before you came undone. As soon as Cato received verbal confirmation that you were close to your orgasm, his hand reached around and found your clit, rubbing it fast, and this time your were truly seeing stars as your body began to shake, and convulse, and you came on Cato’s dick, harder than you had ever cum before. It was gonna take you several minutes to recover from that, you were sure of it. And the sound of your moan as you came, accompanied by your pussy walls clenching around him, Cato knew he was close too. He pulled out of your pussy, you already missing the contact, and came on your ass, and then collapsed next to you, after using a napkin to clean both of you. He gathered you in his arms and used a blanked he had brought to cover your naked bodies, and you both waited until your breating settled down.

 You both felt amazing and you knew this was not gonna be the last time you would have sex with Cato, something in your gut convincing you of it, especially after he offered you a round two as you both came down. At first it had you giggling, thinking there was no way to top what you had just experienced, but seeing the tent his dick made in the blanket, you knew he wasn’t joking and that you were not yet done with each other. That blissful night before the Games had you both cumming multiple times, each one stronger than the previous one, and before letting exaustion take over you and your eyes flutter closed, taking you off to the realm of sleep, both of you agreed to stick together no matter what and find a way to survive together, despite all odds, and prove that you were stronger together. You had found each other in this world of madness and you were not gonna take that for granted, Cato was yours, you were his and no matter what, you were sure that he will have your back just as much as you’ll have his.

---***---

I hope the two anons that requested this think I did their request justice and I hope you all enjoy reading it. I’ll try my best to write more often, but since it’s exam season and I’m trying to graduate this year, most of my time is focused on studying :) I’m literally half asleep as I finish this fic, so I hope you guys don’t find any issue with it, and if you do, please let me know through messaging me something like “This part of your fic was a bit much” or something like that, for some reason I’m worried you guys are not gonna like it, but here it is, tomorow I’m going back into my inbox to find some new requests, but for now, I need sleep badly :)

[misselko]

LIONESS

Warnings: Angst, fluff, small violence

Words: 20.130

 

“Begin.”

Loud clashing of lances can be heard through Garreg Mach hallway.

The red-haired skirt chaser barely able to hear you said it when you rushed him. Sylvain knew that he should focus on his strikes.  He didn’t have time to be impressed at this small, petite girl that is jabbing her lance so fast against him. Devastatingly fast. And strikingly strong. ‘It is such a wonder how a small, petite body like hers held so much power’. That’s the last thing that passed his mind before (Y/N)’s lance has cracked so loudly against his that he thought it might snap. Beautiful, fierce, deadly (E/C) orbs that staring into his soul has captivated the Gautier heir and got him hard knock on his shin, felling him over.

“Whoa there! I yield. You do like it rough, don’t you, (Y/N)?” Sylvain raise his hands on the air with and winks seductively. Rolling your eyes, you put a light tap on his neck at his remarks.

“Though she be but little, she is fierce. (Y/N) is the youngest among us, but she is indeed a Lioness!” Dimitri claps over your third in a row winning for today. You beat Felix in sword and Dimitri in the lance spar.

“That’s what you get for skipping classes, Sylvain. And.. keep up with your solid techniques, excellent moves, and rapid quick footwork, (Y/N). That’s all for our combat class today,” said Professor.

“She’s a few inch shorter than me but she had effortlessly defeated Blue Lions’ strongest lancer and swordsman! That’s my favourite lil sis (Y/N) for you!! ” said Annette giddily. She hugs you in a death grip embrace and sings her silly song.

Everyone are so nice to you, to the point of spoiled rotten! Especially Ingrid and Mercie! They are like your big sisters, always offering their help to ride pegasi and give endless supplies of baked sweets that you love very much. Felix is kinda harsh and always eager to spar with you, but he’s the first person to get angry when someone bullies you because you are so small. So kind, almost feel like a big brother! Dimitri helps you with your late night studies and picking books in the higher shelves on the library a lot. Dedue and Ashe cook dinner together with you on your duty day.

They see (Y/N) as the sweet smol bean that has to be protected at all cost!

“Are you free tonight, Munchkin?” Care to join me to visit the town and get something to eat? I know this little restaurant that has nice dessert! My treat, of course! Think of it as a token of congratulations from me on your brilliance today!” Sylvain put his hand on your shoulder in a friendly gesture and wink seductively.

“Seteth will scold us for sure, Syl! This is the fourth or fifth time we went for a late dinner this week,” you pout at his invitation. “He won’t. I’ll walk you back before curfew as usual. Don’t want my Kitten to get  hurt on her way back. Night walk can be dangerous, you know.”

“Why you are being so nice to me, Syl... Your girls will be upset and kill me for sure.”

“Nah.. I don’t have any! It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful evening alone. Besides, I don’t want to let my Munchkin starved in her sleep! Not to mention that you just looked awfully cute with your cheeks stuffed.” You smacked his shin and rewarded with a loud yelp from him.  “Lead the way. And.. it’s not like I like it or something like that, you know! Don’t get any wrong ideas,” you hide your blush and took his huge hand in your tiny ones.

The food was delightful as usual and Sylvain stay true to his words about going back before the curfew.

As you both closed the large door’s that marked the dormitory, you were greeted by the crisp spring night. Warm wind passed over your forms, and crickets chirped in the night.

“While we’re at it, how about a little board games rematch at my quarters? I got a new strategy to show you, Syl!”

“Bring it on then, (Y/N)! Let’s bring some sweet buns as usual to snack on later as well, then.”

“It’s a deal!”

“I’d think playing it on the bed would be more comfortable than doing it on the floor. You might catch another cold and passed out like last month in my room. It scared the living daylights out of me! Nope, never trying that again.”

“It’s not fun being frail and get sick easily.” You sigh.

“No problem. Think of it as a good chance for me to get to carry you around in my arms. For our weddi-- Ouch!!” he faux a sad face melodramatically when you punch his hand away playfully. “You might be small and petite but these hands are a force to be reckoned with. You’re as strong as a lioness,” said the philanderer as he ruffled your hair affectionately.

 

It was such a beautiful night.

---

“Do you have a moment, Miss (Y/N)? I have something important to tell you regarding my research and your Crest. We can discuss it in more detailed manner in my research room,” Professor Hanneman ask you out of the blue after the afternoon battle strategy class.

 

“Crest? But I’m sure I don’t have any, Professor! It’s stated as clear as a day in my enrollment documents, isn’t it?”

 

“There’s a mistake, Miss (Y/N). And I sworn it on my name as the Father of Crestology, you do HAVE a Crest. A Major one at that! Congratulations! I have sent a letter to your family and inform other Professors and your House Leader regarding this matter. I have my suspicion about your Crests since I watch your  prowess at combat and when it activates, the timing, and the flash of....”

 

You are a bit shocked about this and decided to ignore this fact, having a hard time to process this shocking information. Your family and other members of Blue Lions will be very surprised of this information. Is it going to be a good thing or not? Professor Hanneman’s murmurs fell on your deaf ears as you politely excuse yourself out of his room. ‘It’ll be better to keep this as a secret to avoid unwanted attention nor unnecessary commotion’ you think to yourself.

---

Moons have passed. Then the night of the ball came. Urged by your curiosity, you are eager to wait for your true love at the Goddess Tower. You were hardly expecting to see Sylvain, of all people. The surprise at seeing each other was mutual. The both of you stood there for a moment, simply enjoying the scene before you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to stave off the chill that went down your spine, shuffling closer to the older man.

 

“Do you even believe the rumors about this place?” he asked as he lay his uniform coat over your shivering form. “My curiosity gets the best of me. But am glad to find you here, Syl.”

 

“Huh.” Sylvain went quiet, his face etched with contemplation. After he thought about it a little, he let out a huff of breath and frowned.

 

“Well, the person I’m interested in... is already here. You’re here alone. I’m here alone. I was thinking maybe....”

“Wait. Me?”

“Well, of course! We’re the only two people here, aren’t we? I keep thinking about it, and it just makes sense. My Crest and yours...”

“How did you...?”

“Dimitri told me. I have confirmed it with Professor Hanneman as well. A Major one, he said. So lucky.”

He looked down at you menacingly. Your eyes were averted away from his, looking away into the distance. “What do you mean? I’m still me, Syl.  Crest or no Crest.”

Despite your dismissive answer, something changed in his expression. He took his hands from behind his neck and stalked towards you. This wasn’t at all like the kind and flirty Sylvain you loved. He’s... different.

“You know what? I’m a bit jealous. The whole time you were growing up, you never knew you had a Crest. You were free. Nobody pretended to like you. I kind of hate you for that...” he slammed you hard against the wall behind you. Strangled pained noise came from you.

His knees rest on either side of your petite body and his arms cage your head, his much bigger hand grasp yours roughly. “All you’re worth to me is a little bit of fun. We’ve been having fun, haven’t we? I thought that you understood,” Sylvain’s face a mere inch from yours, glaring daggers at you. You can feel your tears begin welling, threatening to spill at his words.

 

“Is that really what you think of me? I thought... I was different. So… our friendship has just been for nothing?” you muttered quietly, holding back your sobs.

 

He scoffed. “Of course you are. You’re just some dumb noble looking for crest babies. You never meant anything to me.” His rejection was validation of your worst fear, that you were just like every other girl. Your friendship had all fallen apart and meant nothing for him.

 

“Playing around with girls is the most fun a guy can have. Besides, I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t intend to change how I live my life. I’m a good-for-nothing, if you haven’t noticed, but I’m still a noble with a Crest. That’s all anyone cares about. It’s best to avoid getting too serious with fools like me.” His expression darkens and unreadable. The carefree mask was long gone.

 

“My Crest bring me nothing but pain. I thought maybe...if I made someone else suffer, it might help me feel better.” His hand shot up and grabbed you by your throat. Sylvain held you in front of him, tightened his grip, choking you hard. His caramel eyes glowed dark with excitement.

 

“Unnnghhh......Syl....”

You tried to squirm away but he clamped his hand tighter, making it harder for you to breathe. Your legs felt weak and limp. The pain was too intense.

 

“You were a spoiled brat who should pay for that Crest. Maybe I’ll collect the debt.” His expression dark as he looked up at you.

 

Focusing yourself, you punch his jaw as hard as you can. To your surprise, a blinding flash of your Crest shows up when you smack him as hard as you can, making Sylvain flinch in pain, dropping you with a loud thud on the cold floor. You stumbled back and dropped to your knees. Gasping for air, you tried to rub the pain from your throat, doing your best to pick yourself up.

 

“Sylvain Jose Gautier!  I care not for your Crest nor title! It means nothing to me. I like.. no, love you because you are the strongest, kindest, funniest, and the most caring person that I know. Even you are such a skirt chaser, but you always very considerate and protective of me. I never felt this way before about someone. This is my first time but... This… This was a mistake. Sorry. I hope.. you find your own happiness someday,” you said, your voice is raspy from his deadly grip and your sadness. Tears were finally flowing freely from you.

 

Sylvain’s posture becoming rigid despite his feigned relaxed position. “H-hey,” Sylvain said, his voice softened somewhat. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry...”, he tried to pat your head, but you step back instinctively. The red head flinch and turned away when he saw angry purplish hue on your neck. Guilt began creeping on his conscience.

 

“I believe you. You’re not a bad person, Sylvain, no matter what anyone says. I care about you. Our friendship, dinners, late nights walk and banters... I cherished them a lot. Really, I do. I love you, Sylvain.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t look at anything besides the floor. “That’s what I came to tell you, but... nevermind. Good night, Syl. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

 

“Did you mean that? (Y/N), wait!” He spoke with disbelief.

“Why would I lie?” you asked, hardly audible. “Goodbye, Syl.”

 

His pleas fell on deaf ears as you dash yourself as fast as possible from Goddess Tower, locking yourself inside your quarters, clutching to Sylvain’s uniform coat, while crying yourself to sleep.

---

That’s the last thing that you can remember from your Academy Days. Things were never the same since that night. You never talk to the playboy ever again since that incident. No more night walks or late board games. When you have to work together in weekly duty, there’s an unseen awkward distance and heavy tension between you two.

 

The notorious philanderer went back into his old ways, going around with a different girl each day. You often catch him glimpse at you with eyes full of remorse and sadness (mostly when he thinks you aren’t looking or noticing). Everyone in the Blue Lions noticed the changes between your relationship but being very considerate of your feelings and trying to not mention anything about it.

 

Your Father called you back home because of his grave illness in Pegasus Moon, insisting you to leave the Officers Academy behind. Blue Lions was taken aback and sad with your abrupt leave. Going back to your home in Fhirdiad, days flies in a blur motion into moons and years.

---

It’s been 5 years since you left your Academy days in Garreg Mach.

A bloody coup led by Cornelia causes Duke Rufus and Dimitri both to be apparently killed. Her  tyranny left Fhirdiad in poor state with poverty and famine. Holy Kingdom of Faerghus thrown into disarray condition with their Prince’s disappearance. The nation is plagued by civil strife and hardship.

 

With the vast majority of the former Kingdom lords having bent the knee to the overwhelming power of the Empire, all Blaiddyd territory, including the Kingdom capital, is ruled by those who are cooperating with the Empire, and is thus renamed the Faerghus Dukedom. Houses Fraldarius and Gautier were left to spearhead the resistance as the primary opponents of the Dukedom.

 

As the legitimate Marchioness of your major noble house in Blaiddyd territory after her Father’s passing, (Y/N) decided to keep on fighting against Empire until the bitter end, along with Houses of Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea. You keep maintain close relationships them, mostly with the neighbouring Houses, Fraldarius and Galatea. Whether it may be reinforcements soldiers to House Fraldarius or stock supplies to House Galatea, you are so much eager to give it all (sometimes by going there personally—much to your advisors’ dismay) to aid them.  Being always giving or adding the most relevant information about current war state developments made you overjoyed when you heard about the news of Dimitri’s plan to recapture Fhirdiad.

---

It’s been forever since your last time fighting on the battlefield. Reclaiming the capital is a daunting task with shortage of soldiers and resources. Rodrigue’s death is a devastating blow to Faerghus’ military strength and resources. Not to mention that House Gautier and Galatea has any resources to spare. With limited resource of your own House, you decided to prioritize evacuation of Faerghus’ citizens and helping Blue Lions to the utmost.

 

Dimitri marches for Fhirdiad, causing the oppressed citizens to revolt against Cornelia’s tyranny People are rebelling against Cornelia and Fhirdiad has turned into a gruesome battlefield. Fire was everywhere The sound of metals echoed loudly in your ears. Large Titanus crowded the streets and wreaking havoc upon buildings and citizens. With your sword in your hands, you leap and cut through Kingdom Soldiers that is preparing to activate Viskam turrets against Felix.

 

You pushed forward with great caution. When you are done helping a pair of elders and children under the rubbles to evacuate, you saw him. Sylvain. Fighting over a mage and a large Titanus all by himself. Did he get separated? He barely dodged a fireball when you strike down that mage.

 

“Munchki--!” He gasped, surprised to see you back.

“Watch out, Syl!”

You leap in front of him, parrying and slash back at the Titanus’ large appendages that is going to smash him. Sylvain cast a Ragnarok and taking down the golem-like creature with a loud explosion, sending flying debris everywhere. He gasped, grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the way. 

 

“Ugh... that hurts. Are you okay, Munchkin?” He was trapped under the rubbles and the first thing that he asked is your safety?

“W-why did you do that, Syl? You got hurt protecting me. Didn’t you want to kill me?”, you said as you helped him out from the rubble.  Fortunately he is okay aside from a few scratch and bruises.

 

“When I thought you were going to be killed for real, my reflexes kicked in. I reacted without thinking. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being jealous of you. But, come on, I can’t help looking up to you.” He look at you with eyes full of worry and sadness.

 

“Sylvain..... Well.. It’s been awhile, but as much as I want to chat with you, we have to help Professor and Dimitri first. Cornelia has brought us so many sufferings. Now’s the time to put an end to all of this. And... thank you, Syl.” He nods and push forward to throw his lance at a Pegasus Knight that is fighting against Ingrid.

 

“I will go to deactivate Titanus’ lever. I know its location and it will help everyone tremendously against that gigantic monster! I’ll open Fhirdiad’s secret passages within my House territory to help everyone to get better access to Cornelia. When I’m done with it, I’ll regroup with reinforcement soldiers from my House to evacuate more citizens on the east side of Royal Capital, then go to help Dimitri fighting against Cornelia. See you later, Syl. Please stay safe.” You bid your farewell and run through smaller alley path, doing your missions, leaving Sylvain astonished at your very thorough, detailed plans.

 

Without the Titanus, Cornelia only has archers as her backups. As you take the archers down with Felix and Annette, Professor and Dimitri are working together to close in on her and take her down. It was a gruesome battle, but thanks to everyone’s efforts, casualties were kept to minimum and reclaiming Fhirdiad is a big success after Cornelia has been defeated.

---

It may be spring, but the nights are quite chilly here in Fhirdiad. The people are rejoicing at the return of their King. After a hard won battle of reclaiming Royal Capital of Fhirdiad, celebratory feast shows no sign of stopping. Growing weary of the festivities, you decided to excuse yourself from the banquet at the castle balcony.

“Munchkin. Here you are. His Highness has been looking for you. He wanted to express his gratitude for your loyalty and huge help at reclaiming Fhirdiad.”

“Good evening, Syl. We just did our utmost to help. Fhirdiad’s  peace and safety of the Blue Lions is of the most important thing for me, after all.”

A moment of silence passed where both of you stayed still, just basking in the moonlight and enjoying each others’ presence for a while.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” You are taken aback when Sylvain bows his head deeply in front of you.

“I know I messed up really bad and it’s fair enough if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me. My jealousy got the best of me and it has brought you so much harm. Most girls just want me for my title or my Crest, and when I thought that it was the same for you, I… I was the one who made a mistake. I’m sorry, truly I am.” Peeking at him from the corner of your eye, you could see the furrow of Sylvain’s brows, the frowning twist of his lips. It was a look you’d never seen on him. Regret and pain. He looks so vulnerable. Somehow, you didn’t doubt the apology.

“Please elaborate, Syl.”

“Since I bear a Crest, my parents made sure I was never left wanting. My older brother didn’t have one, and so when I was born, he was pushed aside. My mere existence stole everything from him. There’s so many people that want to get close to me because of my crest. Because of something I didn’t even want to be born with. I wish I could have cared as little about my Crest as you do yours...,” he grimaces, running a hand through his hair briskly. “Women smile at me for the same reason my parents adored me...and my brother wanted me dead. And I have to meet them all with a smile because I have a Crest.” Sylvain purses his lips.

 

“But you–you’ve never treated me differently. Always being there for me and understand me, and…and–I like you, (Y/N). No. I love you so much that it scared me. A lot,” he says, closing his eyes.

 

“You say that, but it doesn’t excuse the things you’ve done.” You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to let him see mixed expression you were making at  his sudden confession but you knew he was looking at you. Intently.

 

“I was devastated when you left Garreg Mach years ago. I lost you once and I won’t let it happen again. So.... what I’m saying is…” he hesitated and briefly appeared at a loss of words which is very unlike of him.

He hugs you closer very tightly it hurts, cradling you gently against his chest. This close, you can feel the rapid pace of his heart and his nervousness. “Can you give me a second chance?” Sylvain’s touch was awkward and clumsy.

“......I will. But first… Please let me go, Syl. You are crushing me.”

Sylvain paused, as if unsure. “Did you mean that?” Vulnerability colored his tone, softened it. “I’d like to be a man who deserves that. Who deserves you. Even if you want nothing to do with me, one day I will find a way to make it up to you, to earn your forgiveness. I promise.” His voice wasn’t strong with his infamous flirtatious bravado. It was sincere.

 

“You’re so much more than just your Crest or your status, Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Taking his much bigger hand in your tiny ones, you smiled and whisper it against his hand. “You are the most amazing, kind, strongest, and nice man for me. Your path is your own.  I love you just the way you are, Sylvain. Crest or no Crest.” His face turned dark red instantly redder than his hair at your words. Sylvain.exe has stopped working

“You are going to be the death of me, Munchkin!!” Sylvain yells frantically. You can see his ears flushed furious red. He can die happy now. Goddess Sothis please take his soul.

“Why you still call me Munchkin, Syl?” you asked much to your curiousity. “It’s been years but you barely grow a few inch! But y-Ouch!! He yelps when you jab at his stomach. “But you have... grown into a fine, smart, and beautiful woman.”

 

“Time hasn’t been so kind to me in these past years, Syl. After my Father’s passing, I have to succeed him. Being a Marchioness isn’t an easy task but I learned so much and am still learning.”

 

“My sincerest condolences for your loss. But... he must be very proud of you, Munchkin. You will be a great Marchioness. Strong, thorough, quick-witted, and lovely as a—”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Gautier.” You rolled your eyes at him. The redhead laughs softly and embrace you in his arms.

 

“When this war is over, will you come with me to my homeland? It’s time for the first step in the right direction. I don’t want to marry a girl who wants to use me for my Crest or a girl who someone else chose for me. I want to marry someone I really care about. With you by my side, I’m excited to find out what this new way of life is all about. (Y/N), I’m serious. Marry me. I’d do anything for you. I’m done lying, especially to myself. I’m going to spend the rest of our lives together trying to make you happy. I promise.”

 

 “I’d like to.... introduce you to my parents. They’d love to have a new Gauti—Gyaahh!!!” He shrieked when you stomped your feet on him. “I’m so DONE with you, Syl!!” you said with exasperated look, looking away trying to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. ‘A future with Sylvain...’

 

There’s a pause when you catch his gaze and find something vulnerable there, something familiar. The flicker of hope, mirrored in your expression. It’s as if everything falls into place and clicks. Then his lips were on yours, soft and hesitant, so unlike his usual self. Your eyes fluttered shut, your lips moulding against his, as his hand came up to cup your cheek. It was all the confession you needed.

 

“I will, Syl. I promise.”

---

Bonus:

When Professor and the Blue Lions heard about your new relationship with Sylvain, they offer you heartfelt congratulations and throw a little dinner party. Dimitri is OVERJOYED and sobs a little when he saw you are radiating with so much happiness. Back then in your Academy days, he was the one who worry about you the most when Sylvain treated you poorly, after all. Ashe and Dedue throw a lavish dinner to celebrate (Y/N) and Sylvain’s relationship that evening. Mercedes and Annette provide everyone with tasty sweets and dessert. It was a heartwarming small party among Blue Lions members.

Sadly, Sylvain didn’t get to celebrate it together. Rumors had it that Felix and Ingrid has beaten him to a bloody pulp (with Professor’s EXCLUSIVE permission) because he made you their lovely sweet lil sis wept and hurt. Sylvain kept on mumbling something between “Don’t ever hitting another girl”, “RUIN his Lance of Ruin”, “Don’t ever taint her”, or “You’re finished”. Even the kind and benevolent Mercie turned her back and refuse to heal Sylvain. The Gautier heir almost went to hell that evening.

 

The poor, traumatized philanderer will changing his ways for the better for sure.

[starshipsofstarlord]

All This Hassle, and What For?

Pairing | Loki Laufeyson x reader

Summary | getting taken hostage, along with Loki, is far more amusing than ever intended to be, despite it leaving your captors anything but impressed.

Warnings | kidnapping, mentions of depression, swearing, implied smut, innuendos

Based off this tiktok. All original rights to the plot go back to the creator.

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your aching eyes, you found yourself to be in a large room, there were plenty of feet stood at your eye level, and such a sight made you frown. You certainly didn’t remember being knocked out, but who would, the exposure to unconsciousness was most likely sudden.

But nevertheless, you raised your head, glaring up at those whom had captured you. As your eyes scoured the room, your eyes landed promptly on the god of mischief, who had his hands bound and shackled in chains, and by Odin, did he look good.

However, your attraction the man who once reigned terror down upon New York wasn’t the focus now, and so you licked your lips, and kicked the nearest guard in the leg. He stumbled, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of all others, and you were pleased to stifle a laugh. Loki frowned at your behaviour, knowing that this was not the way that you were trained to be an avenger, but it was clear that you were no longer on earth, so human pleasantries did not apply here.

“And by the gods, who in the galactic council’s name do you think you are?” The closest asked, wrapping his large hand through your hair, and tugging your face up to stare up at him, wanting you to be treated as the lesser being he thought you as.

“Actually, he’s the god.” Tilting your head, you diverted it towards Loki, who squinted feebly at your answer. “But I think you already knew that, since you have him rattled in metal. Just a word of advice, rumour has it that he likes to be restrained in such ways; really, you’re doing him a favour, and you may just earn yourself a big tip.”

You sent a wink up at the commander, watching with inward joy as he grimaced at your development within your speech. “Quite a nice sight, to see him so vulnerable and at someone’s mercy, so thank you general.”

Sending him a smile, he huffed, whilst Loki tried his darnedest to contain an amused grin. It wouldn’t be the first occasion that you had made suggestions regarding the new troop of the avengers; even when he was around causing mischief, (which he still tended to do), there were always words said that gained the god’s intrigue.

Tony at the time, and to this day, despite him being a part of the heroic team, which Thor was ‘inclined’ to drag him into, thought nothing more than disgust at your meaningful jokes. In his words, ‘you two may as well screw so we don’t have to listen to anymore of this dirty banter, you in regards to reindeer games’.

How you wished right now, preached silently even, that Tony could bare to listen again, so that he could send in the team whom could deal with these aliens that were keeping your imprisoned. But all communications were cut, and that just left you and Loki.

By no means did you doubt if Loki got the chance to escape, he would leave you. It was in his nature to do so, but if you could pose a lack of threat, they may loosen up on their efficiency in guarding you. After all, Loki was the one they wanted, not you. And then, both of you could get away from this galactic nonsense.

“Humans.” The general huffed, causing you to grimace as the stench of his breath wafted through the air, and hit your nose. “You all think that you are so special, but when it comes down to it, those who are not from your planet do not care. Loki here, this god, does not care about you little one. And he never will.”

“That’s okay with me, because I don’t care about him either. It’d called self preservation.” You informed your captor, noticing Loki staring across at you with an icy gaze. Who were you kidding? Of course you cared about the god, but right now, you would do anything to get out of this predicament.

“Aw would you look at that.” The feet moved back towards the main reward of their capture, staring down at the green eyed trickster with mocking eyes. “This woman has attitude just like yours, if either of you cared, I’d call it a match made in Asgard.” A laugh bellowed from the wide chest of the being, finding his own comedy quite humorous.

“Excuse me, I’m way out of his league!” You pretended to be offended, bringing your hands that were free of restraint to your chest. They thought not to tie you down as they did to him, after all, you were nothing but a midguardian. That was their mistake. “What’d you want with old horse shagger over there anyways? Don’t be alarmed, but he actually does some kind of good now, even if it be out of his own self interest.”

A heavy sigh fell on deaf ears, as the protector of space glanced unsurely between the pair of you. “He has the tesseract, and I wish to take it from his slippery hands, he cannot be trusted with such a powerful source of energy.” His words bellowed a laugh of absolute surprise from your mouth, earning a frown from those keeping you hear, and a cock of the head from the god of mischief.

It was clear that not only was he confused by your supple, yet somewhat pleasant burst of amusement, but he was also in the dark about what in the Hela this predominant being was speaking of. Yes, he had had the tesseract at one point , however, no longer was it in his untrustworthy grasp.

Thanos had taken ownership over it, after killing many of the people that he had saved from the events of Ragnarok. It was not just some energy source, it had been an infinity stone all along, tricking the eyes of elders and the young to believe that it was nothing more than a harbouring of power. But it had indeed been the space stone, and it was taken from him, in exchange for saving Thor’s life.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had found the pair of them upon the aftermath of the wreckage, taking them in, amongst plans of taking Thanos down. It had been a failure, up until the avengers went back in time, going to their past that would not affect their future, so that they could reverse the affects the Titan had brought upon earth and everywhere else.

During that time, Loki had nurtured his brother, watching as he fell apart with the responsibility of their people, and collapsed into a spiral of depression. You had also been there for Thor, doing your best to take the drink away from the bulky god, but to no avail did you manage to succeed. And so, during those tormenting five years, you and Loki would sit side by side, both basking silently in your failures.

“I thought you guys’d know everything, but I guess that you and your highness are stuck in one time line; all of them. But for us humans and every lesser being, there are multiple, and that Loki that stole the tesseract, yet I say again, is one much different. And we are on the search for him, to stop his disruption and crossing over of the times!” An exonerated, and audible exhale of air left you after your little speech.

Loki smirked, at the premise of you protecting him with the admission of the truth. But he couldn’t help but feel a feeling of warmth flutter within his immortal insides, it was rather a nice feeling he realised. “He is quite difficult to catch, we have been tracking him since the time heist went sideways.”

“That’s because he’s you!” You pointedly exclaimed, unable to pin some of the blame upon the god himself. Sure, in recent times he had changed, and was much different from back when he wanted all mortals to kneel before him (which you’d willingly do if it ever came to that, though you’d never tell him under which circumstances that would be), but at the end of the day, that had been him once!

The tricks and the lies still remained, but he had found a reason to thrive, and a long and enduring career that he was well at tackling. Often, he made out being an avenger, despite the government’s rouse of concern, to be a bore, and that he had far better things to do. But he stayed, with a light in his eyes, and continued following along with the heroic traditions, breaking a few rules here and there.

“Dear, why do you always have to put the blame upon me? I was not the one who decided to put that green dye within your shampoo, but I’ll have to admit, did you look so enrapturing.” He was running a ploy, dragging out the time that you spent bantering in hopes of something happening.

Unlike Heimdall, he did not have foresight, but it was a requirement whilst the pair of you were on your expediting mission, that you check in with the base, via the comms that had cracked under brutal feet. And so, he spoke, with the promise that you’d return the conversation and leave all others in the room confused with your meaningless discussion.

“I did, didn’t I?” You asked, to which he hummed in reply, lightly nodding his head, as his feline eyes ran up your body, paying ample attention to how your limbs were free, unlike his own. “But I’d say fine sir, that the blame is down to Clint, and if I’m correct, may we kick his ass as soon as we get back home?”

“Of course we can my beloved-“ you froze at his choice of words, and it appears that he did too, suddenly realising his mistake. Gulping for a second he went to speak again, but the commander felt much inclined to but in, and stop the headache that was bubbling in his large head.

“Shut up; the pair of you!” His scolding made you feel as though you were in school over again, it was impossible not to drop your head down and try to contain your laughter. Loki too found such enjoyment in this predicament, sporting a cheshire grin to emit his emotions.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Maybe a just a tad louder?” You pinched your thumb and forefinger together to show how much, and it was clear that you were pissing this primal being off. He began towards you, and you were prepared to fight him, you were never one to back down, which was one feature upon the various reasons that Fury had initially recruited you.

Awaiting the first strike, you stood despite the others around you, your eyes wide open as you bravely stared up at your opponent. But before the fight could begin, a distant crash assumed preference in your ears, causing you to turn your head in the direction it had came from. And then, all of a sudden, a ship crashed through the dock, guns blazing from its side.

“What are you waiting for?” The distinct voice of Rocket asked, and obediently you ran through the terror, finding Loki already upon the ship, but then, he appeared behind you also. “Quill, get ready to go!”

Taking glances, you stared between the two practically identical copies, a light frown on your face. Both were restrained, yet the one that was seated beside Groot, whom was playing a game on some nineties device, was glaring up at the pair of you.

“An avenger, really?” The seated one laughed, mocking his once future self, as you felt the ship steer clear away from the scene. Your Loki quirked his brow, smirking at his self that had avoided the wars that he had chosen to fight upon earth.

“Yes, an avenger.” He responded, causing his other to languidly scoff. An ‘I am groot’ came from the tree, and it was uncertain in your spoken languages of what he had said, but either way, you were more intrigued by the conversation that was happening between the Loki’s. “And I’ll have you know, that she is infinitely more brave than you, you cower-some fool.”

“Oh, so we’re going there?” You asked, causing the pair to snap out of their mutual rivalry, and stare haphazardly at you. “No, don’t mind me, feel free to continue.”

“We’re not going to be unable to unbind your until we reach earth.” Gamora cut in, speaking to the Loki that you knew to be the original.

“That’s fine.” He nodded humbly, before casting his attention back at his alternate reflection. “And this woman, is not only an avenger. She was there for your brother when you were not.”

“Aw.” The other Loki smirked, almost cruelly. “So she’s your beloved?” He remarked rudely, and it seemed to break something within Loki, him wishing not to listen to the other version of himself. He decided he did not like him, and understand how you must have felt upon your initial meeting.

“Yes.” You went to speak, but instead, Loki stood before you, powerlessly pulling your face to his own, and colliding his lips upon yours. On impulse, you ravenously replied with much affection, clasping his jaw and allowing him entrance into your mouth. It earned a disgusted groan out of the Loki that had caused all this hassle.

“I hate to interrupt...” Rocket returned, after putting his gun down and having gone to the front of the ship with Quill, so that he could contact Stark. “But these may get those off.” He held a pair of golden pliers, that were far larger than his body. At the sight , you pulled away from Loki’s face for a moment, raising a brow.

“It’s fine, I think I want to keep them on.” You smirked, earning another sound of disapproval from Loki’s identical rival, pulling him back to your face. Wildly, he hummed into the cavern of your mouth, as the pair of you stumbled around on the spaceship.

“Bedrooms are down the hall to the right.” Nebula informed you, her voice monotone, and in turn, you dragged the god towards said direction, finally releasing all the tension that had been pent up through the years.

Tags

@nickkie1129

[scripturiends]

gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Read on ao3

Summary: It was the one time her hunch had been wrong.

In which Han Joonhwi is acting suspicious, and Kang Sol A intends to find out why.

Rating: T

Word count: 3,848

Notes: Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs; were there clues I didn’t see?”

~

As promised, here is the Solhwi fic that I had hoped to be up before Episode 7 airs. I went straight to work after receiving positive feedback from an interest check post. As I mentioned there, the story isn’t necessarily dwelling on the current timeline, but is, for the most part, still canon-compliant. I totally made up all the legal jargon, so please bear with me. And, like the show, I decided to do ‘cutscenes’ instead of one unilinear fic.

I had a lot of fun with this little project for the past two days, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :) I’d also love to hear your thoughts, please do send me a message or feel free to comment, it would mean the absolute world to me. Thank you and let’s all look forward to Episodes 7 and 8 this week!

The fic is under the cut. As a sidenote, this fic is un-beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.

~

I.

Kang Sol A swears she only drifted off for a second.

She had been burning the midnight oil for the past few days, well into the weekend, so much that the tension was radiating into her atmosphere, so much that the heat was starting to get to her head. Her Civil Code paper may not write itself, but neither could she if it took every ounce of her energy just to even sit up. So she plopped down on her bed, head heavy on her pillow, still fighting the urge to doze off.

She blinked, slowly, and as her eyes fluttered at an alarming rate, they eventually closed — just for a moment, I’ll count to ten and then wake up again — and stilled.

Birds were chirping outside her window when her eyes shot open, and that’s how she knew she messed up big-time. She woke with a start, frantically shaking off the books and papers off her person and frisking for her phone, silently praying that she wasn’t too late for her meeting with her project partner Seo Jiho, who she knows absolutely despises latecomers.

Sol A felt something vibrate from behind her, and an incomprehensible sound escaped her lips as she checked her phone. There were mountains of notifications that prevented her from checking the current time: self-set alarms, e-mails from her professors, reminders about today’s meeting with Jiho, and missed calls from a certain Han Joonhwi.

Clearing all of them at once, she finally reads: 9:07 AM. She was supposed to meet Jiho at 9:15. Sol A breathes a sigh of relief, but her momentary celebration is cut short when her phone starts to ring.

Han Joonhwi was calling again.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak yet when the voice on the other end asked, “Breakfast?”

Sol A put him on speaker phone as she packed up her things. “Can’t,” she replied mindlessly. “I have to meet with Seo Jiho and I’m already late. Eat by yourself.”

A few seconds of silence went unnoticed as Kang Sol A zipped up her knapsack and wore it over her shoulder. She finally picked up her phone and switched back to the handset. “Don’t skip breakfast, you hear me?”

Still nothing. “Joonhwi-ah.”

“Walk fast,” was all he said. And then he hung up.

That caught Sol A off guard, but she heeded the advice anyway.

She made it to the study room at exactly 9:13, only stopping by the entrance to catch her breath and tie her hair back into a ponytail. It was silent, so she half-hoped that no one would be there, but half-expected nothing less from Jiho. So she walks in, footsteps heavy, only skidding to a halt when she sees Jiho staring someone down, someone whose back looked all-too-familiar.

“You like her, don’t you?” she overhears from Jiho. “Kang So-”

Jiho suddenly fell silent at the sight of Sol A, and the man opposite him suddenly turned his head towards her. She was right about who it was — it was none other than the person she spoke with on the phone just a few minutes ago.

If Joonhwi was surprised, he didn’t show it.

But Kang Sol A did. She blinked once, and with a hint of dubiousness, she asked, “Who likes who?”

The men shared a look, and she was met with silence again, which was beginning to irk her. But she bit her tongue, took a seat across Seo Jiho, and grinned cheekily at him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You aren’t...” Jiho replied, trailing off.

“I am by your standards. I know you,” she said matter-of-factly. “For Seo Jiho, ‘on time’ actually means ‘thirty minutes early’. Which means I’m late.”

Sighing wistfully, Sol A added, “I learned that the hard way.”

She locks eyes with Joonhwi momentarily, but he averts his gaze, expression unreadable. Sol A ignores this and tries her luck once more, eyes flitting from Jiho to Joonhwi and back. “Who were you guys talking about?”

This time, almost with no hesitation, Joonhwi finally spoke up. “No one,” he answered. “My roommate was just practicing his cross-examination skills on me.”

He stood up, giving Seo Jiho a final staredown. “They’re very poor at the moment. Help him out, will you?”

Then, without looking Kang Sol A in the eye, he gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder, and promptly left.

Sol A’s eyes followed Joonhwi’s back, and stayed there even after he left. His touch lingered on her shoulder like a ghost, but instead of comfort, all she felt was fear. Suspicion. Restlessness. That maybe he was hiding something, and whether it involved her or not, she was keen on finding out just exactly what it was.

II.

“I’m telling you, Yeseul-ah,” Sol A insists. “Something’s up with him.”

They link arms, walking past the school entrance and into the lobby. Jeon Yeseul turns to her, hair falling perfectly into place as she lets out an angelic laugh. God, Sol A thinks. Even her laugh is perfect. But past the admiration for her Aphrodite-like features, Sol A feels like she’s being mocked.

She pouts. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do!” Yeseul defends. “You think he likes Kang Sol B.”

Sol A slides her left hand off Yeseul’s arm and holds her friend’s right one lightly. “So why are you laughing at me, then?”

“Unnie.” Yeseul wraps an arm around Sol A’s shoulder. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe Joonhwi-oppa likes you?”

Sol A almost choked on her spit. Of course she’s thought about it — after all, she’s a hundred percent certain that it was the name Kang Sol that slipped from Seo Jiho’s mouth a few days ago. But none of the evidence so far points to it being herself. And anyway, it’s not as if he’s shown any interest in Sol A as a woman. In fact, all he does is tease her. And she’s okay with that. And Sol B already likes Joonhwi. And they seem to be a far better fit than Sol A and Joonhwi. And it’s not like she harbors any romantic feelings for him, either.

She pushes the thought away before it could become bigger.

Sol A denies, deflects, and defends. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?” her friend challenges.

“Why would he be avoiding me if that were true?” Sol A counters.

“People do that when they feel awkward around their crush,” Yeseul rebuts.

This is starting to feel like a game of chess rather than a conversation between best friends. “I think he’s just scared I’ll tell my roommate or something.” Before Yeseul could say anything else, by some stroke of luck, Sol A spots Joonhwi from her peripheral vision, walking past Lady Justice.

Yeseul smiles kindly at Sol A. She doesn’t doubt its genuineness, but she feels like it’s laced with mischief. “Should we test your theory, then?”

What does that mean?

“Joonhwi-oppa!” Yeseul shouts, waving at him from across the room.

She’s not going to ask him, is she?

Yeseul runs to Joonhwi, a light skip in her step. “I have something to ask you.”

Wait.

“Wait,” escaped from Sol A’s lips, barely a whisper before it started registering on her what Yeseul was about to do. And when it does, she finally sprints. “Jeon Yeseul, wait!”

“Oppa.” Yeseul bats her eyelashes at Joonhwi. Sol A was in tow behind her, feeling small but unsure why.

“Oh, Yeseul-ah,” Joonhwi greets. His eyes lit up at the sight of his friend and classmate.

While it pained Sol A to just sit back and watch, knowing that Joonhwi had been purposefully avoiding her, she let the scene unfold, trusting that Yeseul knew what she was doing.

“You haven’t been going to the study group sessions lately,” Yeseul starts.

Sol A hoped it would get a rise out of him, seeing as he was the one who started the group to begin with, but was barely showing up these days. Instead, all he said was, “The pair project in Civil Code has been holding me up.”

Yeah, right, she thinks. A second-round judicial exam passer and a former police academy student having a hard time in Civil Code? Why do I find that hard to believe?

Sol A scoffs, and Yeseul pinches her side. “Sol-unnie and I are meeting the others for lunch. You should come join us.”

“Ah,” Joonhwi drawled out slowly, as if coming up with an excuse to say no. Sol A expects it to be his next move. “I wish I could, but-”

Knew it.

“Kang Sol B will be there,” Sol A blurts out, fully aware that it’s a total lie. Still, she had to try.

Something in Joonhwi’s mood changed, and his face hardened. Still not making eye contact with Sol A, he excuses himself from Yeseul. “I’ll take a rain check today, okay?”

And without another word, he left again, leaving Sol A with the same emptiness that she had felt in the study room the other day.

Yeseul finally turns to Sol A, crossing her arms. “You’re right. He’s being weird.”

III.

A few more days without Joonhwi’s company, and Sol A was starting to feel its ill effects on her. She hadn’t realized just how much she took him for granted until he was no longer around to challenge her ideas, to annoy her over the littlest of things, to calm her down when she’s freaking out, to be her drinking buddy, to be someone she could tell any and every stupid story to, with the utmost confidence that he’ll keep it to himself or that he wouldn’t belittle her for it.

They’d been through too much together now, and even their fateful first meeting all those years ago didn’t faze him from her. In fact, her little scheme, no matter how deceitful at the time, brought him closer not just to her, but to Byeol, her mom, and to an extent, even Dan.

So what changed? What on earth did Seo Jiho say to him, and what on earth did she walk into, that made him close himself off from her? Proximity may not breed familiarity, but right now she wishes nothing more than to be in his orbit again.

Arguably the worst consequence of the lack of Joonhwi in Sol A’s life right now is having no one to eat with.

During one of her all-nighters at the dorm, she found herself with an intense craving for some ramyeon. She removed her earphones, partly to pull herself back to reality, but mostly to ask her roommate to have a meal with her. As if Sol B would say yes, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m going downstairs for a bite. You wanna come?”

No response, as expected from Kang Sol B. Sol A inwardly rolled her eyes, spinning in her chair to tease her roommate, only to find the desk empty.

She scratched her head while walking, wondering where Sol B could be at this time of night. And without a heads up, too… She was getting worried.

But it seems like her concern was all for naught, because Sol B was right where Sol A was headed.

And she was there with Han Joonhwi.

She was laughing. It was the first time that she saw Sol B laugh, maybe ever, and to see that Joonhwi could be someone who could do that for her, made Sol A feel proud. Like knowing Han Joonhwi was a privilege, not only because of the way he could make people comfortable around him, but also because Sol A had once been on the receiving end of it herself.

She should be relieved. In fact, she should be happy. Because it means that her guess was right, which means she doesn’t have to keep digging anymore. She could just tell Joonhwi that his secret’s safe with her, and they could finally go back to the way they were before... Right?

And yet something about witnessing the pair interact as a mere bystander didn’t sit right with Sol A. There’s a pang in her chest that she can’t quite comprehend — maybe she just misses him, or maybe it’s something else completely. Because if Han Joonhwi has feelings for Kang Sol B, and they’re together right now, then that leaves only one explanation: he must be avoiding her, and for a completely different reason.

It was the first time her hunch had been wrong.

Needless to say, Sol A lost her appetite and trudged back upstairs lifelessly, a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in her stomach that she couldn’t quite place where it even came from.

IV.

Come Friday, Sol A was too exhausted to even think about Han Joonhwi. Between the endless deadlines and papers to write, her job in the copy room, and the Seo Byungju case, her energy had been too depleted and her social battery too worn out to even care that her relationships could be falling apart.

The only thing she has going for her now is the Legal Clinic, the one place where she could bury her nose deep in case digests and law readings and she would absolutely never get tired of it, because it’s the one place where she feels like she’s making a real difference, especially when people’s lives are at stake. It was the remaining part of her life where Sol A felt like she was in control, so these days, all her emotionally-charged passion was focused on this one thing.

But of course that had to fall apart too, when Professor Yang asked for her to stay after class.

He cut right to the chase. “I’ll be meeting with my defense lawyer today so I need you to consult with the client in my stead.”

Count on Yangcrates to always give Sol A a heart attack in under two seconds.

“M-me?” she stuttered.

The professor’s face twitched, ever-so-slightly, which Sol A took as a sign to backtrack and confidently proclaim that she’s up to the task. She knows there’s nothing Yang Jonghoon hates more than a quitter.

“Ah, yes, of course,” she accedes, with a little more verve.

He nods once in her direction. “And take Han Joonhwi with you,” he commanded.

She’s doomed. Not that she wasn’t doomed before, but now that Professor Yang had to drag her personal life into this, she was really in shambles.

Sol A clears her throat. “With all due respect, Sir,” she laughs nervously, “don’t you trust me?”

Professor Yang takes a moment to think about it. Sol A wonders if today’s the day she finally gets a definitive answer. But Yangcrates is as sly as ever. “This is your chance to get back at him for the Bad FaMa case. Make him your assistant this time.”

He walks away, leaving Sol A dumbfounded once again, but not before he adds, “Under my orders, of course.”

Sol A’s knees buckled at the thought. Normally, she would find this predicament to be absolutely funny, a chance to bicker with Joonhwi and learn something from him at the same time. But he’s angry at her, and she doesn’t even know why, and even merely approaching him has turned into a problem.

Everything in Sol A’s life right now is a problem. She wonders if it's getting Joonhwi back that would fix everything.

Upon leaving the classroom, she spots him getting a drink from the vending machine. She has to slap herself twice, just to mentally prepare herself, to muster up the courage to approach him again.

“Come on, Sol,” she whispers to herself. “This isn’t hard.”

Shaking off the nerves, she takes a step forward, but in a momentary state of weakness, takes another step back. “So what if he’s mad? That’s his problem. I’ve never given him a reason to be angry. He should suck it up. Not me. Come on. Just do it.”

A step forward.

“Just do it.”

A step back.

“Goddamn it.”

One final step back to boost herself forward, and she’s running towards him, pretending to be as casual as possible. “Han Joonhwi!” she calls out to him.

His eyes widen at the sight of her, knowing he has nowhere to escape.

“Did you get my text? Professor Yang needs our help at the Legal Clinic.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

Joonhwi scratched the back of his head, and Sol A just knows it’s about to be another lame excuse. “I can’t. I’m meeting Sol B for our Civil Code term paper.”

He can’t even look at her, and Sol A wonders just how bad she had hurt Joonhwi for him to feel like this towards her. But that only lasted for a second, when she realized just exactly what he said. Then, her pity turned into irritation, as she accused, “Liar.”

Sol A crossed her arms, and glared at Joonhwi. “Did you forget that I’m her roommate? She went home today.”

V.

Sol A sat across Joonhwi inside the Legal Clinic, her eyes narrowed to slits. A profound silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by a sharp inhale from her.

“You like Kang Sol B, don’t you?”

The only response she got was Han Joonhwi’s signature smirk, playful and taunting, one that said, ‘You don’t know me, and you never will’.

She hated that.

She slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have kept your secret if you just asked. Is that why you were avoiding me? Because you think I’d tell her or something?”

The same smile painted on his face, Joonhwi exhaled defeatedly. “Kang Sol A, I thought I taught you to never make any claims with unfounded bases.”

An eyebrow perched up on Sol A’s end. “It’s not unfounded,” she argues.

“Where’s your evidence, then?” he dared her.

Sol A had been waiting for this. She listed everything he had ever done — or refused to do, which was spend time with her, speak to her, or even look at her, which was absolutely the bare minimum — since the incident with Seo Jiho up to this very moment.

He waves his hand dismissingly. “That’s all speculative.”

If his goal was to rile her up, then it’s definitely working. “Then what about what I heard Seo Jiho tell you that one time? And most importantly, you straight up lied to my face.”

“Circumstantial,” he quips. “That would never hold up in court, especially not when the only witness is yourself. How are you going to be both the defense lawyer and the sole witness?”

Han Joonhwi should be at the edge of the precipice here, and yet he has managed to flip the situation over and turn it into an interrogation for Kang Sol A.

Nothing can hide her frustration anymore. “I would never be the lawyer in my own case. Look, it’s still evidence. You asked, and I gave it. Seriously, Han Joonhwi, what’s with you?”

Instead of a direct answer, he points out, “You rely on your emotions too much.”

Almost immediately, she shoots back, “And you rely on the law too much. This isn’t a courtroom. This is a human conversation.”

He purses his lips, unable to say anything, and Kang Sol A continues. “You’re too stubborn.”

“And you’re too nosy.”

“You’ve benefited from it more than once.” Sol A’s patience is getting thinner by the second. “Can’t you just tell me what I did so that I can either apologize for it or call you out for being wrong?”

“You and Sol B are hardly friends. What reason would I have to be afraid?” Amusement gleamed in Joonhwi’s eyes; Sol A was astounded by how he could stay so nonchalant about this. “Think.”

She glared at him, but still ceded. Damn his tenacity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”

She rolled her eyes, and in a blasé manner, started to think out loud. “I overheard Jiho ask you if you liked Kang Sol, and then you started avoiding me. Yeseul asked you to join us for lunch, and when I said Sol B would be there, even though she really wasn’t, you declined. So I thought it was her that you liked. But it doesn’t make sense, because I saw you two hanging out at the cafeteria that one night-”

His arrogant expression changed to one of shock. “You did?”

“-and then you straight up lied to me about your plans. Unless you two are already dating-”

“We’re not,” he interrupts once more. Sol A eyes him with suspicion. “We’re not,” he repeats indignantly.

“-it could only mean that you do like Kang Sol…”

Joonhwi starts slowly nodding, face a little flushed, but somehow urging her on to continue.

“...just not B. You like-”

“Kang Sol A.” Professor Yang enters the room, calling out her name.

She’s sure her professor asked her to do something, but she was unmoved. At this point, she doesn’t think anything could pull her out of her reverie for the rest of the day.

A veil that covered her eyes was lifted, and she had never been so pitiful of the blindfold that Lady Justice wore. The scales Kang Sol A carried, as heavy as the burdens she was facing, balanced with Han Joonhwi holding them up with her. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand right at that moment, to feel the heaviness in its entirety, and thank him for staying anyway.

They don't talk for the rest of the day, but Kang Sol A is unbothered.

Her questioning attitude may have always gotten her in trouble in school, but this was the one time she was glad to be wrong.

Epilogue

Han Joonhwi fell asleep on his desk again.

He normally finishes up all his revisions early, but because of his agitation, the cold table seemed to be more inviting than the bed, where he simply ends up tossing and turning.

Despite the stiff neck it was bound to cause, he’s been doing it for days, only being woken up by his constant 8:30 alarms. This time, however, it was his gracious roommate Seo Jiho who finally interrupted him from his slumber.

Jiho slammed a sealed instant ramyeon pack on Joonhwi’s desk. He groggily looked up at his friend, whose hair was still disheveled, and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s from Kang Sol A.” Before walking away, he deadpanned, “Do your own bidding next time. I’m not your messenger.”

Joonhwi took the cup ramyeon, spotting the bright yellow sticky note on it, not unlike the ones he’d put on Sol A’s notebook, or occasionally, her forehead. He smiled to himself as he read the message, walking out to heat up some water for breakfast, but not before carefully displaying the note on his bulletin board for the whole world to see.

Han Joonhwi,

For a second-round judicial exam passer, you can be so dense.

I like you back, you idiot.

Now stop sulking and have breakfast with me.

Idiot.

~

Send me your thoughts/fic requests here!

[ladykissingfish]

On A Cruise with the Akatsuki

Done at the request of @deaththesyd ((I hope I’m spelling that right)) thank you for such a unique ask! This was fun to write😊

All work and no play makes a bunch of killers very dull, indeed. A vacation is absolutely necessary sometimes, and Pein comes up with the brilliant (?) idea of sending them all on a relaxing cruise.

Konan

When Konan hears that there’s a full spa on the cruise, that’s it, she’s sold. She heads out of her cabin early in the morning and spends an entire day basking in much-needed luxury and relaxations. While she chooses to indulge in any and everything, some other members of the Akatsuki choose to drop in and join her for certain elements. For example, Deidara shows up for the face masks (he’s surprisingly fastidious about his skin and almost spends more time on his face than Konan does hers). Itachi comes to join her when it’s time for massages, becoming so calm and relaxed that he falls asleep mid-sentence (and Konan admonishes the workers to be as gentle and quiet as possible, because, obviously, the kid could use the rest). Hidan surprises her most of all when he pops up in time for the manicure and pedicure portion of the treatment, but he makes it a point to say over and over that “I’m not a wimp or nothing; I just like clean nails.” At the end of the day, after being pampered and preened and made even prettier, she finds Sasori sitting on the deck, and joins him to watch the sunset and see the first stars appear in the night sky.

Deidara

Deidara has a mind that goes a mile a minute, and finds it immensely difficult to stick with doing one thing. Therefore, he’ll try to fill his days on a cruise doing everything that there is to go. An on-board pool? He’s the first one doing a flip off the diving board. A mini casino? He’s “borrowing” money from Kakuzu and playing until he goes bust. The thing that appeals most to him, however, are the complimentary breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets. He, along with Hidan, will strike fear into the hearts of all the other passengers, as they load plates higher than the ceiling and scarf down more than seems physically possible. Because Deidara spends so much time eating and indulging in various merriments, towards the end of the day he’s more than likely to sit down in a deck chair to “rest a second” — and end up sleeping there until Sasori comes to look for him and make him go lay down properly in his cabin. Then the next day, Deidara will be the first one up, and his antics will repeat themselves.

Kakuzu

Kakuzu is very much against the idea of the Akatsuki going on a cruise, because you know, money; but Pein offers to pay to send everyone out of his own pocket ... and Kakuzu isn’t one to turn down anything free. Once on board, he really doesn’t intend to do anything other than nap in his cabin ... but that’s before he hears about the on-board casino. A hidden (but profitable) talent of Kakuzu’s is the ability to count cards, making him a veritable nightmare to the dealers working at the blackjack table. But he’s smart; he knows that if he wins too many hands the proprietors will become suspicious and likely kick him out. So he wins just enough to make it worth being out of bed. Other than the relaxation and the gambling, the others can convince him to join them when they eat at the ships buffets or small restaurants, although, as he does on land, he’ll always go for the cheapest thing on the menu. Shockingly, a cruise is one of the few places in the world that he can really get along with Hidan; something about being on the sea brings out more of the calm and quiet side of the Jashinist. The two will spend some time sitting in the deck chairs and having avid, whimsical conversations about life, likely enjoying a glass of wine or two as they do so.

Zetsu

Zetsu goes with at the behest of the others, but doesn’t really want to be there. An endless body of water? Over-bearing sunshine? Happy people? No, thanks. He’ll likely stay in his cabin and sleep ... during the day, that is. Nighttime is a different story. He’ll use his powers of infiltration and camouflage to find his way into passengers rooms, and have himself a midnight snack or two (or six, but who’s counting?). When he’s done with the bodies, if there’s anything left he’ll toss them into the ocean. It’s one thing if a passenger goes missing, but another if they’re found dead. He’ll clean the cabins out too, getting rid of the blood and evidence, so as to lessen the alarm raised when others notice the dead’s absence. He also likes to spend a bit of time with Obito and play cards in one or the other’s cabin.

Tobi (Obito)

Unfortunately (or, in another light, hilariously) Obito gets horribly, horribly seasick. The rocking motion of a ship, or even seeing the water move around outside the ship, has the guy running to his cabin’s bathroom (or if he’s outside of his room, the deck) and puking his guts out. He didn’t really want to come in the first place, but the others insisted and besides, Obito likes to spend time outside of typical Akatsuki businesss with them. Deidara, in a surprising show of kindness, will visit Tobi’s room with seasick medicine he buys at the on-board store, and this will help Tobi to at least get vertical without feeling like he’s dying. After he’s feeling better he sticks to low-impact activities so as not to trigger a relapse, and will likely spend more time with Konan at the spa than anywhere else. He’ll also join Kakuzu for a bit at the casino; like the old man, Obito has a knack for gambling and predicting good odds. Poker is his specialty; the mask he wears makes reading his face impossible to his fellow players, and his goofy demeanor pulls others into thinking they can take this guy … and lose their shirts in the process.

Hidan

Ah; the sea. Being out in the open waters, feeling the sun on his face and the most of water, brings out a side of Hidan that nobody’s ever seen before. He’s calm, he’s quiet, he’s downright friendly. Kakuzu comments that maybe he was a seaman in another life … although “pirate” seems a bit more accurate for him. No matter where Hidan is, however, his competitive spirit never dies. There’s several exercise and game rooms on board that offers table tennis, volleyball, golf, basketball, and a variety of other things, which Hidan takes part of. There’s even a small rock-climbing wall that he challenges Deidara and Itachi to, which he (gleefully) beats them at. When not playing games he also loves to eat, and will join Deidara at the ship’s buffets to stuff himself silly. Normally, as a follower of the way of Jashin, Hidan doesn’t drink. However being at sea seems to be cause for bending the rules, and Hidan will enjoy a stiff cocktail or six while relaxing in his cabin.

Itachi

Whereas the rocking motion of the ship makes Obito feel sick to his stomach, it effects the other Uchiha in another way entirely; it relaxes him. Getting someone who’s as stressed as Itachi to relax is no small feat, but a cruise is one of the rare things that can do this. The first few days on the cruise will likely see the young brunette sleeping as much as possible. He’ll put up the Do Not Disturb sign on his door and nap away his worries. Around the third or fourth day, he’ll wake up feeling wonderfully reinvigorated, and actually have the energy to join the others in their activities. He’ll share a meal with Hidan, he’ll wander into the spa that Konan’s practically made her home and indulge in massages and facials. He’ll even take up Kisame’s offer to participate in the ship-offered scuba diving lessons (although Kisame has been teaching Itachi how to dive for years and neither really has the need for professional training, they find it fun to be around the others who are just learning). Deidara even seeks him out join him in the game room to compete against him (although he accuses him of cheating with his sharingan every time he wins). At night, he enjoys sitting on the top deck with Sasori, and the two have deep conversations about life and culture and art. Sasori doesn’t sleep so he can literally sit up with Itachi all evening until the stars disappear from the sky and the sun comes up over the waves.

Pein

Nagato makes the decision not to send his Pein-body on the cruise. Nagato, like Obito, gets very seasick, and this isn’t a sensation he wishes to experience through the Pein-body. He utilizes Pein’s time alone at the hideout, however, by gathering the other Pein’s together to practice sparring and different fighting techniques. They’ll get the house quite messy, and will have to work together to frantically clean before the others return.

Kisame

Kisame is in his element on a cruise. As could be expected, Kisame tends to stick solely to the activities on board that are based around the water. He’ll be one of the first ones in the ship’s pool when it opens, in fact going so far as to strip completely naked until somebody else comes in and ruins his fun. He participates in the deep sea fishing offered by professionals, although Kisame’s tips and tricks for catching fish far outshine those of the instructors. There’s even a chance for him to be heroic; one day a woman slips and falls over the railing and into the waters below. Everybody panics, but before anyone can make a move towards rescuing her, Kisame is diving into the water and pulling her to the surface as easily as one would pull a sack of feathers. He stays with her until she’s stabilized, and the woman thanks him by hugging him and kissing his cheek, which will have him blushing from head to toe. Besides his water activities, he also enjoys spending time with the others, in particular Itachi and Konan. One thing that these three do together (to the delight of Kisame) is play pranks on the others. They manage to get into Deidara’s room and steal all of his shirts, they sneak black hair dye into Hidan’s shampoo. One particular funny feat involved then going into Kakuzu’s room safe (Itachi was able to use his sharingan to see into the old guy’s mind to get the combination) and replace all of his money with IOU slips. It was funny … until Kakuzu burst into Hidan’s room at 3am and threatened to strangle him as “the most likely fucker who did this”. Kisame loves cruises and wishes the Akatsuki could afford to go on one every month.

Sasori

Another soul who really didn’t want to go on a cruise. He ends up going because (and only because) Deidara pestered him relentlessly until he gave in. Eating, games, swimming, gambling … none of these things hold any appeal for the puppet master. One day he’s walking along one of the lower deck and happens upon a group of ship staff taking a mandatory CPR/basic medical training class. Being somewhat of a medical expert himself, he goes in and offers his expertise, as well as some tips that not even the instructors thought of. Sasori also spends some time with Deidara, as the blonde was the one who made him go in the first place. They find an art class and it offers painting, a medium that neither are familiar with. The subject is a bottle of wine. The instructor is somewhat horrified when he finds that Sasori has painted the wine bottle being smashed into someone’s kneecap; and Deidara has painted it exploding and sending glass fragments into innocent bystanders. On one of their nights, Deidara falls asleep while the two are sitting in deck chairs under the stars, and Sasori manages to pick him up and carry him to his room. Sasori also likes spending time with Itachi; he never passes up an opportunity to get into Itachi’s head a little, as he thinks he has one of the most fascinating minds in the Akatsuki. Sasori comes to enjoy his time on the cruise, and will actually find himself a bit melancholy when it’s over and they return to land.

[luluwquidprocrow]

(the three-part folding mirror)

the denouements & the snickets, olaf, r, olivia 

teen

15,985 words 

The year the schism gets worse is the year one of the quarterly information costume parties is held in the grand ballroom on the third floor of the Hotel Denouement. 

@lyeekha won my commission in the @asoue-network fandom against hate raffle and asked for the denouements, so i put together some shenanigans with the denouements and the snickets, with slight ernest/lemony kit/dewey frank/jacques, and a few other associates hanging around ~ 

some minor warnings – language; smoking; brief mention of murder; referenced parental death; identity anxiety about being seen physically and personally 

title from i am alone by they might be giants 

10:59 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

Kit skirted the perimeter of the crowded ballroom, stopping at the side wall by the drinks, one eye on the table and the other on the dance floor. She couldn’t put her back to it. Not now. There was a tall, potted boxwood nearby, unreasonably lush, almost slouching against the decorative golden pillar beside it. She picked up one of the wineglasses, the only signal she could think of to properly get his attention. She’d have to find Lemony as well; where was he?

The plant coughed.

“J,” Kit whispered, “listen to me.”

A few of the branches parted, and Jacques’s blue eyes appeared out of the green. “What happened?”

Kit breathed slowly. Her free hand curled into a fist, crinkling up the fabric of her dress. She swallowed. It did not help. She gripped the glass. Beneath her feet, the floor gave a slight shudder as the clock out in the lobby readied itself to chime the hour.

“Someone in this very room has—”

WRONG!

7:25 PM—Above The Lobby

It was Saturday night, and Saturday night always meant one thing—Guess The Guest.

Ernest stood in the small alcove situated around the gears of the hotel clock, far above the lobby, and looked down. Like any other night, the sleek gold and red lobby was filled with people, loitering around the front desks and the fountain and each other before they made their way up to the grand ballroom on the third floor. Well, the ballroom was different. This was a work event, as Frank had so brilliantly labeled it on their schedule, so no one was a regular guest tonight. Frank, who had never appreciated the joy in making up grandiose lies or exaggerated half-truths about the strangers who came in and out of the hotel, certainly wouldn’t appreciate the thrill in watching all of his associates in costume and trying to guess who was who, either. Dewey thought the game was slightly mean, because Dewey was just too kind for this sort of thing.

It was good that Ernest was not Frank or Dewey. Not right now, anyway. Ernest knew how to get joy out of the little things.

He watched a flash of green scales move erratically through the lobby, a cheerful voice calling enthusiastic greetings that echoed all the way up to the ceiling—Montgomery. There was a reason he did undercover work so sparingly. Two women in nearly identical butterfly costumes by the door, one purple and one white, hand in hand, standing close together—Ramona and Olivia. It was nice to see them together. A woman with a deep blue dress that swept around her like a wave—Josephine, here alone. Ernest had it on good authority that the Anwhistle brothers weren’t coming. Another loud voice, but deeper, following the confident swath a tall figure in black cut through the crowd—Olaf. Ernest turned away, in time to catch a glimpse of a long red cape shifting from behind one pillar to another around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding Olaf—aha. Kit. Which meant another one was nearby. Not that the Snickets had arrived together, because none of them ever did, but where there was one there was always at least one other, ready to make a decent amount of trouble. (Ernest liked trouble. The little things, of course.) And there, near Ramona and Olivia, Lemony Snicket, a figure shaped in grey shadows.

The alcove door opened. Ernest knew exactly who it was, so he didn’t give him the courtesy of turning around, keeping his eyes on Lemony. Grey was a fitting color on him, on the long line of his shoulders, his legs. Ernest’s stomach flipped over, once.

“It looks like a full house tonight,” Frank said, standing beside Ernest. He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and folded his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t sure.”

Ernest leaned a hand on the alcove railing. “Takes more than a murder to stop a party, I suppose,” he said.

Frank didn’t reply, but Ernest knew that for once he agreed. The double murder in Winnipeg two months ago had, like any other sudden, suspicious death they’d dealt with over the years—Ernest shuddered and flexed his fingers—barely made a ripple in VFD, except that after the funeral, everyone had closed ranks significantly tighter.

This worried Frank; this did not worry Ernest. Very little truly worried Ernest, at the end of the day. That, of course, only made Frank worry more, but Ernest couldn’t help that. Frank would find something to worry about if Ernest was still on “his side”. Ernest had much more pressing commitments than the heavy, idle worry that everyone else shuffled between themselves without any results, and it wasn’t that he’d be found out. It was change. The real kind of change, not the noble one, not the fragmentary one. Change Ernest could see.

He shifted his hand on the railing once more. If he kept thinking about it, he was going to argue with Frank, and they’d rehashed the argument so many times the past few months without any resolution that it was better, Dewey had eventually insisted, if they just didn’t talk about it at all. So they wouldn’t. Ernest stood next to his brother, and the silence dragged out between them, punctuated by the soft ticking of the clock gears, and they wouldn’t talk about it. Not at all.

“Ernest.”

Almost.

“Frank,” Ernest said back, in the same critical tone, tilting his head to the side and giving his brother a look.

Frank shot him a flat and unimpressed stare in return. At least he still did that. “Promise me you won’t do anything—” he paused, his face pinching in an aggrieved sort of way before he settled on a word. “—rash tonight,” he finished.

Ernest laughed. “I don’t intend to do anything rash, Frank.” Of course not. You couldn’t carry out a pre-established plan rashly.

“I should hope not. I—”

The door opened, again. Dewey burst into the alcove, all smiles as always, and stopped on Frank’s other side and leaned over the railing, gazing into the lobby. Like Ernest and Frank, he wore the muted red manager uniform, because somebody had said it was the “host prerogative” to not dress up for a costume party. Somebody had felt bad about it when Dewey was disappointed, but somebody had still not relented, and there they were, a matched trio, everything outwardly perfect.

“Everyone’s costumes are so beautiful,” Dewey said. “Who’s that, in the big blue dress?”

“Josephine,” Ernest and Frank said at the same time.

Ernest raised his eyebrows. Frank, stooping so low as to actually guess the guest? Even Dewey blinked at him in surprise. The tips of Frank’s ears went slightly pink, but he didn’t say a word.

“Oh, Frank, you left your name tag downstairs again,” Dewey said. He pulled the name tag from his pocket, the slim gold rectangle glinting briefly in the soft light of the alcove, and pressed it into Frank’s hand.

“Thank you,” Frank murmured. But when Dewey turned away, Ernest saw the tag disappear from Frank’s fingers, most likely slipped up into his sleeve. None of them wore their name tags with regularity—the black ‘manager’ embroidery on their jackets was really enough—but Frank’s kept showing up places, and Ernest and Dewey kept giving it back to him, every time. Ernest didn’t quite know what to make of it. He wondered about asking Frank about it, but he didn’t want Frank to take it as another argument. Ernest didn’t actually enjoy arguing with Frank. About small things, sure, like Dewey’s stupid poetry and Frank’s inane hotel schedules, the sorts of things brothers argued about. But Ernest was sure Frank would make it into another one about VFD.

Dewey was studying the lobby, one hand on his chin. Ernest watched him go from one friend to another, then stop when he got to Kit’s red cape sweeping towards the stairs. It was an unusual color for her, but Dewey, whether he thought it was nice or not, knew how to identify someone from the pieces they let slip through too. Kit was straightforward about everything, and the way she walked, determined and with an endpoint in sight, was no different.

Ernest and Frank exchanged a quick glance.

“So,” Frank drawled, “when’s the wedding?”

“I look best in black,” Ernest put in. “Take that into account, Dewey.”

“I look best in blue,” Frank said. “Take that into account.”

Dewey’s face went its typical six shades of red, flushing through to his ears as well as he jumped back from the railing and sputtered, “What—we’re not—we haven’t even—I don’t—Kit’s not—you two are impossible.” He stormed out of the alcove, shutting the door with a slight snap behind him, because Dewey had never slammed a door in his life.

Ernest enjoyed a brief chuckle with Frank before his brother fell silent again. The lobby crowd was thinning as everyone made their way to the elevators or the stairs, or to the bathroom, or, perhaps, to some clandestine hallway somewhere else. Ernest could see the ring of neatly-trimmed boxwoods lining the lobby now. He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was one more than usual, sitting right inside the door.

He leaned forward, squinting. “Did we always have a boxwood there?” he asked.

Frank moved his head down a fraction of an inch and considered the lobby. “Of course,” he said. Then he straightened his sleeves one more time, and left the alcove.

7:35 PM—The Lobby

Among the Snicket siblings, there was an ongoing discussion about the best hiding place. Kit preferred the quiet, professional approach. She stood behind newspaper stands, put her face into books and brochure racks, stayed in the shadows of a store awning. Lemony was difficult about it. He thought the best place to hide was the least likely place someone would look for you; the place you wouldn’t look for yourself. He took dangerous perches in train station windows, seats in restaurants he vocally hated, or sophisticated and cramped corner cafes that had never heard of a root beer float.

Jacques, meanwhile, with a lifetime of hiding experience, always liked to hide in plain sight. People barely ever remembered what was right in front of them as long as it appeared relatively normal. And there were a number of options—a large potted plant could be overlooked among a dozen other potted plants, people received packages every day and wouldn’t notice if there was one more oversized box, every city park lost track of how many statues were supposed to be there, even a regular man in a fine suit crossing the street or driving a taxi was expected and forgettable. Another boxwood was just another boxwood sitting in a free space in the empty Hotel Denouement lobby, slowly making its way to the ballroom for optimal eavesdropping. Another volunteer in costume was just another volunteer in a lion costume borrowed from Bertrand, for the moments tonight when Jacques had to communicate information to an associate.

That was the point of the party, after all. Jacques couldn’t deny that everyone liked dressing up—he liked dressing up, a little—but the main objective for most of them tonight was the passing of relevant information that had happened in the three months since the last official gathering (not counting the funeral). It should have been at Winnipeg, as they usually were, the organization taking over the Duke and Duchess’s sprawling, sparkling mansion, the couple’s easy laughter flowing from room to room. Jacques didn’t blame Ramona for not wanting to do it after what happened there. He doubted she’d actually been in the mansion since, although it was entirely hers. But the Hotel Denouement was a suitable replacement. It was too public to ever lose its neutral position among both sides. No one was going to get killed here, Jacques was certain. But he was mildly worried something else would happen. He didn’t know what. But something.

Especially considering Lemony was here. Not that his brother was a troublemaker—Jacques would never say it out loud, at least—but because Lemony wasn’t supposed to be at the hotel tonight. He had told Jacques that he was going to be with Beatrice and Bertrand, who were working on plans for an upcoming assignment. This meant two things—one, that Lemony had lied to Jacques. But Jacques had counted on that. He had assumed, however, that Lemony meant the three of them were finally going on a date and hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Two, that if Lemony never did anything idly, without a specific purpose, then he was here for an unknown reason. Something else was going to happen, Jacques was certain. Something Lemony wanted to be here for.

First, though, he had to get the boxwood he was hiding in from the lobby to the ballroom upstairs. The pot was significantly heavier than Jacques had counted on.

8:05 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Every time they all got together, Frank was so amazed at how many of them there were. Despite some noticeable gaps—Beatrice’s overbearing presence, for one, which Frank was happy to do without for an evening—the grand ballroom had barely any free space. Every available and noble associate was here, and it filled Frank with a sense that everything was going to be alright. All these people, including himself, doing what was necessary to keep the world quiet. Tonight would be fine. Ernest wouldn’t do anything regrettable; Dewey would forgive him about the costumes and the gentle ribbing; the meeting would pass without incident. Tomorrow would come. Sometimes Frank almost thought that it wouldn’t. Typically when Ernest was being difficult, but tonight even he seemed to agree that the organization—their organization—was impressive.

He spotted a potted plant by one of the drink tables, a boxwood that matched the ones lined around the room and back in the lobby. One branch was bent out of place. Frank would have to have a word with the person responsible later. But he should fix the branch now.

Everyone he passed on his way across the room gave him a quick nod, a brief smile. Frank returned it as that familiar buzzing started under his skin, like it tended to in groups. He shrugged it aside. He gave the controlled smile of a manager with everything in place, and no one said a word.

All of a sudden, his view of the boxwood was blocked. Through the mass of associates came Olaf, head to toe in a suit and mask of black, spiky fur, smiling with all his teeth, unceremoniously pushing a woman in a silver dress painted like a large, rocky moon aside on his way towards Frank. Frank steeled himself. You never knew what you were going to get with Olaf, if he would try and charm you with a reckless humor or annoy you with a joking cruelty. It was one of the many reasons Frank had never particularly cared for him.

“Ernest!” Olaf exclaimed when he got close. He hooked an arm through Frank’s. “Lovely to see you, wonderful party.”

The cold, dark hand twisted its way along Frank’s insides. It gripped down through his chest, put a film over his eyes that made the room seem distant and wrong. The party continued around him, Olaf was still talking into his ear, and Frank couldn’t hear any of it. The name tag pressing into his wrist up his left sleeve didn’t help. Just because it was his didn’t mean it was him. His name meant nothing if no one was going to care about who it was, about what made Frank instead of Ernest or Dewey. No one should need evidence to tell the difference. No one should make a mistake between the three of them. How many times would it happen?

Time was still passing. Frank blinked once, twice, until Olaf’s voice filtered back in and the noise of the ballroom swelled up once more.

“—incredibly delicious, I have to say, but, to be frank with you—ha! This champagne has seen better days, which one of you is responsible for this travesty?”

Frank smiled, a little turn of the corner of his mouth, the professional smile of all three of them. If Olaf wanted Ernest, alright. Frank would be Ernest. “Frank,” he said. The word sounded like it couldn’t possibly have come out right, but Olaf didn’t break his stride, so it must have.

“That does not surprise me in the least,” Olaf said. “Meanwhile, allow me to take up one single minute of your time,” he continued, and pulled Frank into the shadows by the door. Frank’s stomach gave a terrible lurch as the stark terror he woke up with every morning came back, riding over the dissonant gap he still felt between his body and his brain. What did Olaf want with Ernest? Had Olaf found out about him? Frank had covered up for Ernest before, but would he be able to keep doing it if more people knew?

“Have you thought about it any more?” Olaf asked, leaning close.

The sheer relief that Olaf didn’t know battled with the swooping fear that Ernest was doing something new Frank didn’t know about, and with Olaf. He remembered, with startling clarity, the last time he talked to Kit, when she told him that Olaf had been spouting dangerous ideas about the organization and trying to rope in as many people as possible. It was one of the reasons, according to the rumors Frank had heard elsewhere, why he and Kit had ended their relationship. What was he trying to get Ernest into? Ernest needed absolutely no encouragement, and neither did Olaf. He had to say something.

“I have,” Frank said. It was the safe answer when you were pretending to be someone else.

Olaf grinned again, big and excited, which was a terrible sign. “And?”

“No,” he said, because it was also the safe answer, and the faster Frank could untangle Ernest from whatever trouble he was into this time, the better. “Sorry to disappoint,” he added, with the cool tone Ernest used.

Olaf frowned. “Really? I must admit, I am a little surprised. I mean, I know you weren’t entirely on board, but you’d given it a shot before, and I was hoping you’d come around again.”

Before? They’d talked before? Frank thought a series of incredibly inappropriate words Beatrice was always using that he would never say out loud.

“But!” Olaf pivoted quickly, in his speech and his actions, spinning on his heel away from Frank and shrugging broadly. “Who am I to bend your arm about it! I’ll keep you in mind, though, in case.” He showed all his teeth, his eyes glittering. “And keep me in mind, next time you have anything else worth sharing, will you?” He flounced off again, tearing through the crowd.

It took a few minutes for Frank’s heart to go back to where it was supposed to be from where it was thundering in his throat. He put his hands in his pockets and gripped the fabric, something real and his to hold onto.

Anything else worth sharing. Since their apprenticeships, Frank and Dewey and Ernest had been tasked with organizing a great deal of information, mostly about the history of the organization, but sometimes, and especially as they got older, the very information that was passed along between volunteers. It was part of the reason Dewey had started building his personal archives in the basement. He liked the business of collecting facts. Of course all three of them were still being given that information. Of course Ernest still had access to every single piece of that information. Ernest, collaborating with Olaf, Ernest, sneaking around behind Frank’s back, Ernest, who had promised, at the beginning of all this, that he wasn’t going to jeopardize their positions by doing something stupid.

Ernest, what are you doing?

8:40 PM—The Archives, In Progress

Dewey was not hiding. He liked parties a great deal, and he loved people, but like his brothers and everyone else, he too had his own appointment to keep tonight.

His just happened to be in the basement.

He still sort of felt like he was hiding, especially the further he went into the archives. But things always needed organizing, and while he waited, he had to do something to keep his hands busy. He searched for a set of organization accounting records for five minutes before realizing he’d already shelved it, last week.

So Dewey was nervous. Plenty of people were nervous. Olivia went around all the time being nervous and no one gave her any grief for it. But Olivia didn’t have a sister to give her any grief for it. And Dewey didn’t mind, not really. He loved it when his brothers teased, because it meant they were getting along. But this time it was slightly personal. Because he was meeting Kit, and he was nervous.

Kit was—well, normal. Like Dewey was normal. He loved his brothers, but Frank was high-strung and made it everyone else’s problem, Ernest was often disagreeable for the sake of it, and with the Snickets, Jacques was always hiding in furniture and Dewey didn’t think he’d ever seen more of him than one hand and possibly an eye at a time, and Lemony was wonderful but sometimes too cryptic and morbid for Dewey’s taste. He liked things a little more sensible, comfortable, pleasant. And Kit was organized, reasonable, quiet when other people were reading, cool under pressure. She let herself get lost in books and people she cared about, underneath all the professionalism. Her smile was a careful, slow thing, something private she only showed you if she genuinely liked you. And it meant a lot to be on the receiving end of that smile.

His brothers didn’t get it. He wasn’t involved with Kit, and he wasn’t going to ask her out, because you didn’t do that with Kit. If Kit wanted to spend time with you, that was her own choice. She never did anything she didn’t want or she hadn’t thought through first. That she wanted to spend time with Dewey, specifically, to see him, and no one else, was nice. It made the whole of him feel all tingly and weightless. He wanted their meeting in the archives to be as nice as that feeling.

Dewey grabbed a set of Agatha Christie translations he kept on hand for when things got boring (rarely, but Beatrice got bored easily, and if you gave her a translation she sat down for a while to prove she could read it) and walked to the next aisle to shelve them. His foot snagged on something in the middle of the floor and he stumbled, hugging the books close to his chest so they didn’t fall. He turned around to see what it was, and found Kit blinking up at him with wide eyes from where she sat on the floor, a thick book open in her lap, her long red dress pooled around her on the floor. Her dress had an off-the-shoulder neckline, but most of her shoulders were covered by the matching red cape pulled around her. In the wide diamond of skin left between the cape and the top of the dress, he could see the sharp edge of something black around her collarbone, a point of the nearly-finished tattoo she’d been getting done. The red sleeves disappeared into short white gloves, with her hands folded together at the bottom of the book pages. Oh. Dewey’s heart pounded for a horrible, exhilarating moment, his mouth going dry. He swallowed once, twice, a third time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling wryly, closing the book and sliding it gently back in the middle shelf. “I got distracted.”

“Oh, no, that’s completely understandable,” Dewey said. He folded himself down beside her, crossing his legs, still clutching the books to him. “Happens to me all the time. What were you reading?”

Kit smiled again, and it was that slow, beautiful smile, her eyes lighting up. “Have you heard,” she said, “about the cookiecutter shark?”

Dewey had absolutely heard about the cookiecutter shark. “Isistius brasiliensis,” he said. “It can travel in schools, and it bites little circular sections out of fish, like a cookie cutter. Have you heard about the brownsnout spookfish?”

“Barreleye fish, has mirrors in its eyes. Toothless upper jaw,” Kit replied easily. “Anostraca.”

“Fairy shrimp, they swim upside down,” Dewey said. He leaned forward, grinning. “Sometimes even found in deserts. Frilled shark?”

This was his favorite game, with his favorite person, in his favorite place. Both of them were librarians, or librarian-adjacent, so he and Kit dealt in information, not only about nobility but about the rest of the world around them. And the whole world was so fascinating, and there was so much to know and share, so how could you not try and see who could stump the other first?

“An eel-like living fossil, with six pairs of gill slits. Chaunacidae.”

Dewey scrunched up his face, thinking. “I think you got me there,” he admitted.

“Sea toad,” Kit said, looking pleased, “and coffinfish. Deep-sea anglerfishes. The sea toad has fins that can be used as leg flippers.”

“Really? Wow.” Dewey made a mental note to check that out later. He hoped, on the scale of unsettling sea creature to pleasantly spooky sea creature, that it was somewhere in the middle. “So besides oceanic intrigue,” he said, “what else is going on with you?”

“I’m supposed to get something from Frank tonight,” Kit said. “But, I also came to give you this. From Bertrand,” she clarified, and then picked through the seams of her dress, which revealed themselves as hiding at least ten different pockets.

When he had the time, Dewey wanted to study clothing design. Kit and Beatrice always found the place for so many pockets that you could never see from the outside, and Dewey wished he had the same capacity in his slim manager’s jacket and trousers for all the things he wanted to carry around. Poetry; chocolate-covered pretzels; the pencils Kit always left behind; spare buttons; sturdy rope, in case he needed it; maybe a mini chess set. He’d have to work on it. Maybe he could hide them in shoulder pads, or his shoes.

Kit pulled out a book from a side pocket. Dewey finally put the Agatha Christie down, piling it in a neat stack between them, and took the book. It was the one Bertrand had spoken to him about last week—Undercover Underwater: Diving For The Truth, a truly terrible murder mystery novel he said Dewey had to read to believe. He was greatly looking forward to it.

“That was awfully sweet of him,” Dewey said, running his thumb over the cover. He looked for a place to put it, and then just put it on top of his book stack. It felt a little sacrilegious, if it was as bad as Bertrand said, to put it on top of Christie, but he didn’t want to misplace it. “Thank you very much.”

Kit shifted on the floor and put her back to the bookshelf. “Did you hear the Anwhistle brothers finished building that marine research and rhetorical advice center?”

“Yes,” Dewey said. “I guess that’s why they aren’t here tonight? Josephine was all alone when I saw her earlier.”

“They should’ve celebrated with the rest of us,” Kit said. “What a massive architectural achievement—and I wanted to hear about the leeches, too.”

“Yes!” Dewey exclaimed. “Have you seen them yet? I haven’t.”

“No,” Kit said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not in person. Ike gave Lemony one of the earlier ones as a paperweight some time ago but I haven’t been able to see their recent work yet. I hear the teeth are impressive.”

“Cookiecutter shark impressive?”

Kit grinned. “Potentially.”

Dewey laughed. He wished he and Kit could go see them, together. For the scientific curiosity. For spending time with someone who really, really wanted to see him. No, for the oceanic intrigue, of course. “You know—” Oh no. He hadn’t intended to actually start the sentence, but it was out, and Kit was looking at him expectantly, and Dewey was rapidly losing all handles on the conversation. His face was heating up. Everyone else made talking to people whose company they enjoyed look so easy, but the words jumbled together in his mouth. “We should—go? I mean—not right now, but, soon, we could—to the research center—for the leeches, for, for science.”

Pink colored Kit’s face under the freckles along her nose. “For science,” she said. Then—“Not a date,” she added firmly.

“Definitely for science,” Dewey insisted. “Oceanic intrigue, and everything.”

“Yes,” she said, blinking quite a few times. “That would be fine.”

They stared at each other for the longest minute of Dewey’s life.

“We should probably get back up to the party,” he said. The archives were feeling much, much too close, all the books and shelves pressed up against him, the point of Kit’s tattoo still peeking out from under the edge of her cape.

Kit nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

8:55 PM—The Ballroom—Near The Piano

Next—Jacques had to find Olivia.

He abandoned the boxwood by the east wall, for the time being, out of sight near the piano, where a man with a white half-mask played a pleasant Beethoven sonata while a woman in a sharp, pointed gold suit argued with a man dressed as an octopus with a hat. They did not notice Jacques, even in his own costume, but he noticed them. He noticed everyone in the room so singularly. He’d almost forgotten so many people could be in one place at the same time. You spent a lot of time alone, hiding in small spaces, you got used to yourself.

Olivia was easily identifiable. Nothing she did could ever disguise the tightly-wound nervous energy coiled inside her, not the shimmery white butterfly wings curled over her shoulders or the mask of purple flowers on her face. Something always gave her away. Tonight, it was her hands, twisting together as she talked to someone in a large, leafy tree costume, so consuming Jacques couldn’t make out the face. He scanned the crowd, trying to locate Ramona in her reversed purple wings and white mask. He saw her making her way towards one of the drink tables. Ramona wouldn’t leave Olivia alone for long.

The tree left soon after, and Jacques made his way over to her, getting a decent amount of elbows into the side along the way. “Olivia,” he said, when he stopped in front of her.

Her eyes passed over him and onto the rest of the room, like she was staring straight through him. Jacques frowned. He’d certainly said something. He’d certainly moved, Olivia was right in front of him. People moved around them without sparing him a second glance; someone said a cheerful hello to Olivia and she returned it. His voice dried up in his throat, like if he tried to speak he’d never make a sound. When was the last time before this he’d spoken out loud? No one expected him to talk, in his line of work. When had he done it? No, perhaps she simply hadn’t heard him.

He cleared his throat a few times. That was a sound. That was undeniably a sound. Jacques existed here.

He touched his hand to her wrist. “Olivia?”

Olivia jumped nearly a foot. She turned her head from side to side frantically, and Jacques gave her a short wave.

“Oh!” Olivia pressed her hands against her chest and laughed, breathless. “Oh, Jacques, you startled me. How are you?” she asked, as unfailingly kind as always, as if he hadn’t just frightened her. She looked like she wanted nothing more than for Jacques to tell her the long, substantial answer, instead of the polite one. He almost did. But Jacques was here for business.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Alright,” she said, still smiling. “Ramona’s gone to get some champagne, would you like to join us?”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I have a message for you.”

Her bright smile faltered, her hands seizing together again. “I see,” she said quietly. “What is it?”

“We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival.”

Olivia blanched. “The—the hinterlands?” she repeated. Her voice trembled. “That’s, ah, terribly far away, isn’t it?”

“It is a distance from the city,” Jacques conceded, “but not far.” It was far from Winnipeg, though. It was very far. Eventually, Ramona would be back there, at least in some capacity. Things would be different, especially if Olivia was wanted in the hinterlands permanently.

“Jacques, I really—I don’t—I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

An assignment from headquarters was not exactly optional. Her eyes darted somewhere behind him, and Jacques knew who she was looking at. She and Ramona had just gotten together only recently, before the Duke and Duchess’ deaths. Any kind of love was difficult within the confines of their organization, but the solace here, Jacques thought, was that she and Ramona were both there. They would never be that far away. They might see each other a good deal less, but they would see each other.

“You can take your time to leave, if you wanted,” he said.

“I’ll think about it.” Her voice was firm. “But, thank you for letting me know, Jacques.” She gave him her soft, breezy smile again, and slipped off through the dance floor.

Jacques watched her go. They would see each other. That was an invaluable thing, in their line of work. Being seen. Sometimes even the best person you loved with your whole being couldn’t see the part of you that mattered. To be seen when you disappeared from the rest of the world—that was worth holding on to. It would be difficult. But he had no doubt Olivia and Ramona would do it.

The floor rumbled, like it always did before the lobby clock chimed.

9:00 PM—Room 687

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Does the clock always sound like that? Like it’s saying wrong?”

“Incessantly,” Esmé sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I think Frank’s responsible. Heaven forbid he goes an hour without reminding everyone else how little he thinks of their decisions, you know.”

9:00 PM—The Ballroom—North Drink Table

The hotel was not Winnipeg. But right now, that was exactly what Ramona wanted. The modern angles, the warm, well-lit ballroom, the dark corners and firm rigidity of it all currently felt homier than the soft, open pinks and whites of the Winnipeg mansion. She was glad to have another excuse to avoid it and the constant questions. Tonight, she was going to see her friends, and dance with Olivia, and drink champagne, because Olivia said every occasion was cause for celebration and champagne, and Ramona was going to have a good time. She picked up two champagne flutes from the table and took a sip of one in the careful way her mother taught her, so she didn’t leave lipstick on the glass. Her heart stuttered as she saw the press of plum purple streaks on the glass when she pulled it away. The hotel clock was chiming, sounding like a heavy, distorted vibration of a word. It was right. The lipstick was wrong.

Who had done it? Everyone wanted to know. The firestarters? Likely, but they had been quiet for some time, and Ramona wasn’t going to point fingers without evidence. Some older enemy? Ramona didn’t know enough about whoever that was to consider them. Someone new?

She didn’t want to think about it. Her parents were dead, and she’d found them, and she didn’t want to think about who could have done it or why they did. It wasn’t going to change that it had happened. Ramona wasn’t looking for answers. She was looking for—

An arm slung around her shoulders, jostling her and the champagne, which sloshed around in the flutes as she lurched forward. Scratchy fur and outrageous cologne bore down on her, and she knew exactly who it was.

“My dear duchess,” Olaf said, squeezing her tight. “How have you been?”

Ramona found it in her to roll her eyes. Some people didn’t like Olaf, which she completely understood. There was something about him though, as brash and outlandish and obnoxiously tactile as he was, that had to make you laugh sometimes. She felt comfortable, close to a friend. “Just peachy,” she said. She offered him the other champagne glass; she could get another for Olivia. “Champagne?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Olaf said. He hooked his free hand around both glasses and set them back on the drink table. “Look, I wanted to give you my sincerest condolences—” And he did look sincere, sliding around in front of her, his hand still on her shoulder, the joy immediately gone from his face and replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. She was struck by it, by how glassy and shiny his eyes were under the dark of his mask. “I’m sorry about your parents, Ramona.”

Her mouth wobbled at the edges. She knew Olaf could understand. They’d had similar positions in the organization their whole lives—their parents their chaperones, their time split between assignments and society, the safety that existed in his manor as well, its own controlled pocket of the world, like Winnipeg had been, like the Hotel Denouement was, too. She thought of the Count and Countess, still alive. She hoped they’d stay alive.

It wouldn’t do to cry at a party. Ramona picked up her flute again and took another small sip. “Thank you,” she said.

And just like that, he straightened up and pulled away from her. Some of the mirth found its way back into the shape of his mouth and his arm found its way back around her, this time a tight grip at her waist as he steered her back into the crowd. Ramona felt slightly less consoled than ten seconds ago. Easy come, easy go, with Olaf. “I hate thinking about you all alone in that big house,” he said with a sigh. “All that room, all those things—remember when I knocked into that vase in the hallway?”

“Very vividly,” Ramona said.

“A glorious time!” he crowed. “Well! At least you’ve got all of us, haven’t you. What are your friends if not your family, et cetera, et cetera.”

But he still understood. That was what made it so important to be here tonight. What were all the people in the room, the friends she’d grown up with, people she knew and loved, if not her family as well, just as much as her parents had been? They were more than associates or volunteers, stepping in around her not to fill a void, but to offer back some little part of what had been taken from her. Her throat tightened up as she thought about it. Everything they did was hard, but it was also so special. Ramona wanted to hold it close to her and never let it go.

“And what wouldn’t one do for one’s family, am I right?” Olaf continued. “So, if you ever need me for anything—a shoulder to cry on, although certainly not in this jacket, or, say, a partner in crime, or a willing participant in any daring assignment you might come across otherwise—do not hesitate to let me know, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.”

Ramona stumbled to a halt as Olaf stopped abruptly. He looked down at her with a gash of a grin. “People like you and me, we’ve got to stick together, duchess.” He gave her a squeeze one more time and then finally let go, dashing away.

Goodness, but he was rough about things. Ramona gave herself a shake, trying to collect herself back into order. She stood up on her toes to try and see where he’d gone. She didn’t get much more height, already being in heels, but she did manage to see him already making grandiose hand gestures across the room to those white-faced triplets Ramona had seen once or twice. They were younger than she was, still in their training. The three of them stared at Olaf with three immaculately raised eyebrows. Ramona chuckled a little, dropped back down, and went back for Olivia’s champagne glass.

9:40 PM—The Ballroom—Center

Over an hour had passed, and Frank hadn’t seen any sign of Ernest. He had better things to be doing than keeping track of Ernest, and yet here he was. He couldn’t have gone far—the hotel was enormous, but it was a hotel. The whole world contained on nine floors. You couldn’t disappear from it.

Frank edged his way through the dance floor, searching for him through three separate groups of associates doing three slightly different versions of a circle dance. A snake and a tree frog whirled past, a phantom with them, a tangled shape of dark greens and blacks and bright blues and exuberant laughter. When they’d gone, Frank found himself in the center of the floor and face to face with Dewey, coming towards him from the other direction, his cheeks pink.

“Are you alright?” Frank asked immediately.

Dewey blinked. “Of course,” he said. “Just dancing. Is everything okay?”

He should have known, but Ernest had him on an edge he hadn’t expected to be tonight. He tried to look apologetic but wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. “Have you seen Ernest?”

“Not since earlier,” Dewey said. “Oh, and Kit was—”

“When you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

Dewey’s shoulders drooped down. “If I see him,” he said. “Then I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you,” Frank said, and he meant it. He smiled at Dewey until he smiled back, and then Frank moved past him, pushing back into the crowd.

He hadn’t meant to be short about it, but Frank’s worry never came out like he wanted it to. It became biting irritation instead, or a slow-simmering temper he never let boil, or professional, distant orders about hotel business, or a refusal to talk at all in case he said the wrong thing. More often than not, he still wound up arguing with Ernest. He didn’t argue with Dewey, but their conversations were so much more stilted than they should have been lately.

But it was because he feared Ernest was going to slip away from him one day and never come back. Realistically, it was unlikely. After all, Ernest was still here. Indecision entering their home hadn’t taken him away from it. But what if that changed, one day, and it was Frank’s fault, because he reacted too quickly or too slowly? And Dewey—Dewey was so sweet and so kind Frank thought the world might crush him. He had to keep them close, and he had to keep them safe. It would’ve been so much easier, though, if Ernest wasn’t so difficult about it, if Dewey understood that Frank didn’t want anything to happen to him, if they would listen.

Frank glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He’d look for Ernest on the way, but for one small hour, Ernest was going to have to wait.

9:59 PM—The Floor Behind The South Drink Table

Through typical party events, The Herpetology Squad (Plus Hector) found themselves on the floor behind one of the drink tables.

“So how do you tell them apart?” Gustav asked, stirring his drink with a spoon. “Because, and I do feel terrible about this, but I can’t do it. We’ve known them for ages, and I can’t do it.”

“Frank is taller,” Monty said immediately, and very confidently.

“What, no, he can’t be taller, they’re triplets,” Hector said. “Do genetics work like that?”

“Hey Haruki,” Monty called around Gustav and Hector, “do genetics work like that?”

Haruki leaned into Hector’s shoulder and considered it. “I’m really not sure,” they said. “But, I always figured, Ernest was kind of quiet, and Frank was kind of stern, and Dewey was kind of, well, kind.”

“But that seems so reductive,” Gustav pointed out. “You can’t just identify a person down to one base trait and leave it at that. And I say this as a screenwriter and director. You need to be creative.”

“All your characters sound exactly the same, though,” Hector said, frowning. “Or, like, so different, I don’t think you’re keeping track of them between scenes.”

“Oh, that’s awfully rude,” Haruki said.

“No, he’s right,” Gustav said. He hung his head into his hands, his glass tipping sideways through his fingers. Haruki reached over and grabbed it, twisting their arm around and up to slide it back onto the drink table where it’d be safer. “I always thought they did, and now I know for sure. I’ll have to renounce film making and go back to herpetology. Or, submarines. I can’t disparage your honor too, Monty.”

“Oh, Hector, you hurt his feelings,” Monty said. He patted Gustav on the back consolingly. “Gustav, you write wonderful scripts. I loved the, the Werewolves In The Rain.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I can’t handle a drunk Gustav,” Hector said, closing his eyes. “Gustav, I’m sorry. To be fair, I only watched—what was it—” He waved his hands around. “—the one with the—you know—”

“Vampires In The Retirement Community,” Haruki said.

“And it was once. And—hey, weren’t we talking about something else?”

10:10 PM—The Short Hallway Between Rooms 40-45 and 46-49

Unassigned numbers within the Dewey Decimal System were not the trouble they appeared to be to a hotel based on it. They still existed in the hotel, no matter how much Ernest had protested that it made no sense to have rooms that had no theme or purpose in a hotel whose very purpose was theme—Frank and Dewey’s rebuttal was that it made no sense to nonchalantly remove numbers out of their sequential existence because they didn’t fit in neatly otherwise. They existed. They didn’t have themes, even this stretch of ten, which had been previously designated but was now just a blank space between encyclopedias and magazine publications, which left the rooms relatively blank and boring, typically unnoticed and unused, but they still existed.

In the brief, dark hallway between the two sets of unassigned rooms, Frank could sit on the bench against the wall, and he didn’t have to think about family or the hotel. Frank sat featureless in the shadows and thought about himself. Usually, it meant he felt better about everything. But tonight, with the worry set aside once more for now, all he felt was that chill through his insides again, when Olaf mistook him for Ernest.

He took the name tag out of his sleeve and turned it over in his hands. Frank was a man in a manager’s jacket, with a face that looked like two other faces, someone who could be anyone. The name tag did nothing but identify him without caring who he was. What was it that made Frank himself, the imperceptible, innate existence of him that mattered? His love for Ernest and Dewey? Visible. His organization? Trivial. The fear he was going to lose everything? Meaningless and a weakness, in the face of everything else. It was hard to say for sure. He had gone his whole life getting mixed up with Ernest and Dewey and it was exhausting to keep trying to prove he was real when it felt like the world was rubbing him out. He leaned his back against the wall.

He heard Jacques before he saw him, like always. Exact, economical footsteps, nothing extraneous, the tap of his expensive shoes on the rugs, the swish of his jacket. Everything measured, as it had to be.

Jacques appeared around the corner, that bent piece of the boxwood plant stuck in his hair. He seemed to brighten when he saw Frank, like Frank’s presence set something off inside him. Frank watched him. What did Jacques see, when he looked at Frank? What was it that made Jacques notice, over and over again, over other people? How was Jacques so certain that when he looked at Frank right now, at that moment, that Jacques was looking at him?

Jacques sat down next to him on the bench. Frank had seen him in a mask earlier, something terrible and orange, but it was gone now, and he faced Frank fully. He was inches away from Frank, and Frank could see every part of him, even in the dark—the calm, if tired, resolution in the set of his jaw, the way he waited, still and patient, as if he could do nothing else. He had the darkest eyes of his siblings, a steady and unchanging deep blue.

“That which is essential is invisible to the eye,” Jacques whispered.

Frank let out the breath he’d been holding. How long ago had he said that to Jacques? “I initially said that to insult you,” he said.

“It was deserved,” Jacques said. “And I never forgot. Do you know how I always know it’s you now?”

“Enlighten me.”

He put his hand against Frank’s jacket, resting his fingers against the fabric to the left of the buttons. Jacques kept it there, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Frank for anything, not even when the heartbeat under his hand sped up. Frank felt almost split open to the core. He always did, every time. Jacques saw whatever it was. The man who was always hiding knew exactly who he was, because he looked.

“How very sentimental of you,” Frank managed. His breath hung between them. He traced the side of his thumb over the collar of Jacques’s shirt, just below the skin. If he moved his hand just a centimeter he’d be able to feel his heartbeat as well.

“It’s the truth,” Jacques murmured. “Sentiment is—dangerous. Truth is immutable.”

“Do you know how I know it’s you?” Frank said against his mouth.

“How?” Jacques asked.

Frank finally pulled the branch out of Jacques’s hair. “You do terribly stupid things.”

Jacques laughed, and the sound vibrated all the way down through Frank’s throat.

10:19 PM—Room 366

Frank had to be somewhere. Kit was not overly concerned with finding him, but she would rather do it sooner than later. She worked from the ground floor up, combing through the hallways but finding no sight of the Denouement, until she was on the third floor again. The faster she found Frank, the faster she could, maybe, go back to talking to Dewey. About completely professional things, of course. The fact that she felt different when she was with Dewey was simply because he was pleasant, welcome company. He wanted to look at leeches with her, for the delight of science. They expected nothing from each other but a nice time.

She immediately pictured Beatrice waggling her eyebrows at her, if Kit had said that out loud. Not that kind of nice time, she thought, but the mental Beatrice kept laughing joyously at her.

“He’s a nice person,” she grumbled to the empty hallway. He was calm. Regular. Okay. The exact opposite of everyone else, Beatrice. Could she go five minutes without them all picking apart her romantic life? This was why she wasn’t interested. This was why it was strictly nice. There were other, more important things that needed her attention.

The door to Room 366 was ajar, and Kit, who had naturally been trained to investigate the suspicious, investigated the suspicious. She slid herself carefully through the gap in the door and into the dark room. She’d been in there a few times to know it was an absurdly comfortable meeting room, with plush chairs and a bookcase that spanned the length of the far wall. A figure sat against the side wall, reaching up and tapping ash from a cigarette out the open window. For a moment, they looked like a blank, featureless shadow, until a light outside the window shifted and Frank—no, Ernest’s face resolved itself in front of her. The tip of the cigarette burned bright orange against his fingers.

“I heard about you and Olaf,” he said. “Would you like an apology, since I’m sure you’ve been getting enough I told you so’s?”

Kit sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” But she shut the door and walked over, sitting down on the floor beside him. She took her own pack of cigarettes out of one of her dress pockets and accepted Ernest’s lighter to light one. She never carried her own.

“He did,” she muttered, giving the lighter back. She brought her legs up and wrapped an arm around them. “Tell me, I told you so. Not in so many words, of course, but I knew he was thinking it.”

“Ah,” Ernest said. “The disappointed look of, I’m not going to say it, but I’m going to think it, in your general direction. Which is worse.”

“Exactly,” Kit said. “At least argue with me so I can tell him he’s wrong.”

Ernest breathed out a long line of smoke. “Yes.” She thought he was going to say something else, but when he didn’t, Kit pressed on.

“He acts like it was my fault,” she said. “Should I have known better? I—” It was a harsh thing to admit, but she and Ernest didn’t do this to lie to each other. “Yes. Fine. But he acts like I can’t be left alone now to make my own decisions. He keeps following me, hanging around.” She slouched against the wall. “My own brother thinks so little of me.”

Ernest hmmed. “Well—”

“Do not. Do not say I’m short. I’m not short. Jacques has one inch on me, Ernest. Esmé is short. I’m not short.”

“Sorry,” Ernest said, laughing.

“Say it,” she said, and pushed her elbow into his side.

“Ow—Kit, you are anything but short.”

“Thank you.” She took her elbow back. The two of them sat in silence, blowing out small circles of smoke as the cigarettes smoldered down. “What’s Frank disappointed about?”

Ernest waved his hand with the cigarette dismissively. “Frank’s disappointed he can’t find a tie that matches the custom paint in the lobby,” he said. “It doesn’t take much for him. I was five minutes late, I didn’t give him the mail on time, I missed a meeting, and he just—” He did an obviously perfect impression of Frank’s unimpressed stare.

Kit snorted. She had to admit, Frank did look like that a lot, even if you caught him in a good mood.

“If he wasn’t so difficult,” Ernest muttered, “he’d be almost bearable.”

“Wouldn’t they all,” Kit sighed. “Brothers.”

“Brothers,” Ernest agreed.

10:25 PM—The Ballroom—West Hors d’oeuvres Table

Dewey stood at the hors d’oeuvres table, away from the crowd of his friends, surveying the food. At least, with everything going on, there was always good food to look forward to. It was awful to glare at it like he was. He’d felt so good after talking to Kit, and now he was glowering at little rows of canapes like they were the source of his problems.

He wasn’t usually upset with his brothers. No matter what they did, he knew they had their reasons, and Dewey loved them regardless. But sometimes they really were impossible. Frank’s quiet temper and Ernest’s secrecy and indifference had driven such a wedge between the two of them that when Dewey suggested they didn’t talk about it, it had seemed like the best idea at the time to get them to go forward. Otherwise, he’d been worried that Frank was going to say something he’d regret, because he wasn’t going to change Ernest’s mind, and Ernest might’ve done something terrible. Dewey didn’t think he was capable of something truly terrible, because Ernest was his brother, and he knew Ernest. They both believed in a right way to live, just in different ways, so Dewey respected him. You couldn’t let anything change that. But he was still as worried about Ernest as Frank was, and he had just wanted the arguments to stop.

But it had led to Frank and Ernest almost refusing to talk to each other, ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was pleasantries or conversations that skirted the edge of an argument, which was worse. Dewey particularly hated it lately, when he was asked to pass messages between them, typically from Frank. He wasn’t a messenger system, he was their brother, and he was, in fact, if either of them cared to remember, the oldest. But they treated him like someone to protect because he wasn’t as forceful as them. He frowned down at a section of tiny shot glasses of—he picked one up. Gazpacho. It looked so charming and Dewey couldn’t even appreciate it.

What it came down to was, the schism couldn’t come between him and his brothers if they didn’t let it. Just like his current irritation couldn’t come between him and his brothers if he didn’t let it. He considered it, because he was angry, but he didn’t let it change anything.

He found a narrow, palm-sized spoon from one of the other hors d’oeuvres and poked at the gazpacho with it. He thought, for a moment, about the Anwhistle brothers, sitting in their brand new marine research and rhetorical help center, probably having a lot of fun together talking about fungi and grammar. Gregor and Ike were two of the most different but most companionable people Dewey knew. Nothing got between them. They probably didn’t forget who was the oldest. Who was the oldest out of them, anyway? They probably didn’t let it matter.

Oh, Dewey was letting it get to him. He piled some of the gazpacho onto the spoon and took a bite. He wished Bertrand had been able to come. Bertrand would’ve loved the appeal of the gazpacho as well. Bertrand didn’t have a single sibling to complain about and he would’ve enjoyed the gazpacho wholesale. He could’ve stood around with Dewey at the table, and maybe they’d have brought in Lemony, too, and talked about flavor profiles. Lemony, who was legitimately the youngest of his siblings, commiserating over cold soup about how they never stopped trying to protect him either. Who could possibly think Lemony of all people needed protecting, too? There was always that quiet, competent energy around him.

Dewey finished the gazpacho and put the jar on a passing hotel attendant’s silver tray. Where was Lemony, actually? He was sure he’d seen him earlier. Dewey remembered, because it was the first time he’d seen Lemony in a long while. Wherever he was, Dewey was sure it was probably more enjoyable than here.

10:32 PM—The Ballroom—Dance Floor

“Josephine,” Olaf said, sidling up behind her, “Jo, angel of my eye—”

“The correct word for that expression is apple,” Josephine interrupted. She did not take her eyes off of her plate of puff pastry. “We’ve been over this.”

He continued, persistent as ever, his smile stretched like candy. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, angel of my apple?”

“No.”

10:45 PM—The Elevator

The night was passing by, and Kit still hadn’t found Frank. She’d made it all the way up to the ninth floor with no sign of him. Was he the type to be on the rooftop sunbathing salon? Unlikely. But she should check, just in case.

She had her hand against the rooftop door when the elevator dinged behind her. Kit turned to look. The elevator doors parted, revealing the gold-walled interior with rather harsh lighting, and there was Frank, standing with his hands folded behind his back. He caught Kit’s eye and gave her a slight nod. “Kit.”

“Frank.” She stepped into the elevator beside him and pushed the button for the third floor. As the doors closed, she smelled smoke for a moment, and her heart leapt before she realized the cigarette smoke must’ve clung to her gloves. She tugged them off and stuffed them into one of her pockets.

“I heard the Anwhistles finished the research center,” Frank said, as the elevator started to move down.

“Yes.”

“And the mycelium—are they still working on it?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Frank sighed. “Do you have any concerns?”

“Some,” Kit admitted. There was no denying it was dangerous. Necessary, but catastrophic if it ever got out of hand. “If anything happens, it can be dealt with.”

“Good,” Frank said, decisively. Silence dropped through the elevator, the hand counting down the floors moving slowly from eight, to seven, to six. Frank raised an eyebrow; Kit realized she’d been staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I was under the impression that there was—” More, or something else entirely. It was Kit’s understanding that Frank was to give her a list. There was usually only one kind of list that mattered in their organization, and unless she had radically misjudged the ages of the Anwhistle brothers after personally knowing them for years, they wouldn’t be on that list. “—something more specific,” she wound up finishing.

Frank looked at her with his impassive, unimpressed mask. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

The hand moved again, six to five to four. Kit had the strangest sensation that she was missing something. She should’ve been given that list, not subjected to a brief interrogation, especially about something she was already aware of. The smell of smoke flitted in front of her again.

Disbelief shot through Kit like an arrow, pushing the air from her lungs. She felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. She stared at the man in the elevator, and he stared back, cool and collected. It couldn’t be. Because that would mean—but the longer she looked, the more certain she was.

“Frank quit smoking,” she said quietly, “but you didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth turned down. “I—”

Kit slammed her hand against the stop button on the button panel, and kept her hand there, boxing him in against the wall even after the elevator had halted, the counting hand stuck between four and three.

“Don’t lie to me, Ernest.”

One Month Ago—City Headquarters

It wasn’t like there was, say, an initiation ceremony or anything. They’d been through that already, there was no need to do one again. You knew what you were getting into this time, you were just, “changing sides”. And it was so subtle that it barely mattered. Nothing about Ernest’s life really changed otherwise. He ran a hotel with his brothers. He ranked tea brands with Dewey during lunch. He played loud music in Room 784. He carried a lighter in his pocket that he used for other things. He went to headquarters, sometimes as himself, sometimes as Frank, never as Dewey. He acquired messages, and took his sweet time delivering them or delaying them, spaces of time where nothing changed, either. He almost wondered what the point had been, until he overheard Frank spout off some noble patter again. At least he wasn’t like that. At least Ernest knew better.

And since nothing had changed, no one knew. Not even the “firestarters” knew there was another one, namely because Ernest hated the name and disliked a great deal of them, but also because Frank made him be so careful about it. He thought a few people in VFD suspected, or at least suspected someone of switching, because everyone could feel something was happening and they were trying to pinpoint a source, and it was only a matter of time before someone suspected a Denouement. Triplets were naturally suspicious. But it wasn’t like they could do anything, even if they ever had proof—how often did anyone know which Denouement they were talking to, anyway? It was likely Ernest could exist like this for the rest of his life.

The thought almost stopped him on his way into the city headquarters. Day after day of calculated, performative nonsense without an end in sight. Age sagged through him. His bones were too heavy and to move them another step was impossible. He kept walking.

What had made Ernest change? That, exactly that. Change. He’d lived in VFD for practically his entire life, and nothing was different there, either. There had been no great strides made towards the nobility they all talked about, only tiny little steps that were easily set back. Ernest watched his friends and his family get sucked in by this big, dramatic fight that never ended, a fight none of them had ever initially had a part in. He’d learned that you couldn’t achieve “nobility”, whatever that even was, by a bunch of absurd spy behavior and kidnapping, or by coded messages and age-old discussions that went nowhere, or by acting like information weighed more than your life, by pretending any of that was normal. None of it did anything. Ernest was going to find some way to make something happen, to make what they’d lost worth it, and if it meant Frank thought he was a traitor, fine. He’d do it even if Frank didn’t appreciate that Ernest was doing it for him.

The note for Frank that he’d intercepted said that there was a file under the fifth floorboard of the back staircase in the city headquarters. Frank was supposed to give it to Kit.

He made his way to the back staircase. It went up to the observatory, which no one had used since Esmé burned that spot into the rug with her telescope out of protest. The corridor and the staircase were, predictably, deserted. Ernest slowly lifted the fifth board, but it came away without resistance, so he pulled it up all the way and saw the slim folder waiting inside. He took it out, replaced the floorboard, and sat down at the bottom of the stairs. He opened it.

He wanted to crumple the folder in his hands but he made himself breathe and look at it. It was the upcoming recruitment list. There were some he recognized faintly, distant associates, long-lived families in VFD, but a majority of the names he’d never seen before. New families to carve apart. He flipped through the pages—addresses, dates, times. A few photographs. Ernest closed his eyes and held them shut tight. When he opened them, he was still looking at the folder.

Of course none of it mattered, he thought bitterly, shoving the folder into his jacket. He could intercept or stop a thousand messages and there would still always be more. There would always be more children, more fires, more lies, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop it.

Ernest leaned the side of his head against the banister. He thought about Olaf, suddenly. He’d been trying to corner everyone lately, Ernest among them, talking his ear off about big ideas that Ernest agreed with, but Olaf had a habit of taking an age to follow through with them. Ernest did not have the time to wait an age. He’d shared some information with Olaf a few times, on the off chance that it would spur him into action, but Olaf had hidden it away, for “later”, and it obviously had not helped.

Maybe the only way you could fight a long game was to play the long game back. Maybe that was what Olaf was doing. He was on to something, at least, with his words. Maybe Ernest could try again. Maybe he could learn to wait. Maybe the payoff would be worth it. Maybe.

Ernest stood up. He didn’t at all feel like going home, but he wasn’t going to stay at headquarters any longer.

The staircase creaked. When he looked up, he saw Lemony Snicket at the top by the observatory door, standing like he’d always been there.

“What are you doing up there?” Ernest asked.

Lemony watched him carefully. Ernest got the distinct feeling that he was being appraised. He shivered. When they were younger, you could look at Lemony and see the gears working in his head, like watching—yes, like watching change take shape and form and meaning before your eyes. Lemony Snicket was going to do anything, lead them all anywhere. Ernest hadn’t been foolish enough to believe a twelve-year-old in a brown hat was going to demolish VFD from the ground up. Then Lemony had disappeared, and in the years after resurfacing at sixteen, he looked less and less like that powerful, mythical figure everyone had worshiped and more like he’d seen too much. Ernest sympathized.

But here, Ernest finally saw it, that hunger they’d all talked about. In his eyes, bright blue in the shadows. Physical change, a juggernaut of determination. Ernest’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Lemony said softly. “Do you think we could talk?”

10:50 PM—The Elevator

Damn.

The disbelief on Kit’s face was gone, replaced by a blazing, dangerous fury, the threatening and exacting professionalism she hid inside her on full display. She wasn’t all that short, Ernest thought, inanely. He wasn’t going to be able to bluff out of this one. She knew. It was significantly more terrifying than Ernest had imagined it would be. How stupid could he have been, to forget about the way that cigarette smoke would cling, to think Kit Snicket wouldn’t notice. “Kit—”

“How long?” Kit demanded.

“Does it matter?”

He could see that it very, very much did. Kit was already disgusted over dating Olaf; that she’d spent so much time with Ernest when he wasn’t on her side was going to eat her alive, Ernest knew. He winced.

“It wasn’t personal,” he tried.

She glared at him. “What were the names Frank was supposed to give me?”

That, he was going to hold on to. They’d already burned the papers, anyway, up in the observatory. No one was going to get that list now. “I guess you’ll never know,” Ernest said.

Her hand clenched on the button panel. She stepped closer. For a wild and uncontrollable second that seemed to spin out into eternity, Ernest imagined she was going to kill him.

“The elevator is going to start again,” she said lowly. “We’re going to walk out into the lobby. You’re not going to make a sound. We’re going to go to headquarters.”

Ernest didn’t like what he was going to do next. But he was always going to have the upper hand for one distinct reason.

He swallowed and straightened the edge of his sleeve. “Who’s going to believe you, Kit?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Regrettably for you, I am at a distinct advantage,” Ernest said. “You and I are the only two people in this elevator. You did think I was Frank. Who will be able to figure out who was who when you try and tell on me? Who can really know for sure?” He hesitated, but it was true. “Why, I could be Dewey, even.”

Kit slapped him across the face, her cheeks flushed a fierce red. The force of it stung hard, knocking Ernest’s head to the side. She removed her hand from the wall and stepped back.

“Does it help if I’m sorry?” he asked, gingerly rubbing the side of his face.

“You aren’t,” Kit said.

Ultimately, it was true. He wasn’t. He was sorry he’d been caught more than that he’d done it. Ernest regretted nothing about what he’d decided to do. Not in his line of work; and Kit was the same, too. But he was sorry he was going to lose a friend.

Kit didn’t have friends, though. You were with or against Kit Snicket, and she always made that abundantly clear. Ernest touched his cheek again, and then lowered his hand.

“I’m not,” he said. He took the elevator key out of his pocket and put it into the lock on the button panel, watching Kit the whole time. She watched him back. The elevator slid into motion, settling down on the third floor.

The doors opened.

11:00 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

“Who?” Jacques asked.

Kit turned slowly back to the dance floor. Was one of them still here? Had she been followed out of the elevator? She locked eyes with a Denouement across the room. Which one? Was it Frank? Was it Ernest, again? Was it Dewey? The clock was still rumbling under her feet. The glass trembled in her hand and she felt almost sick, anger and shame and fear churning through her. She was in a nightmare and she couldn’t shake it off. The triplet held her eyes for a long moment and then walked away.

“Kit.” Jacques had a hand on her arm; he must’ve gotten out of the boxwood. “Who?”

But she couldn’t get the words out, not here. Ernest was right. She was at a disadvantage when she couldn’t prove it. If she pointed the finger now, what would be done? What could be done? How could he do that to Dewey and Frank? To put them in the position where they’d unknowingly cover for him merely by existing? Did they know at all?

What would she do if her own brothers—no. She couldn’t even think it. Kit couldn’t fathom the idea of her brothers doing anything like this.

“We have to find Lemony,” Kit said.

11:02 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Frank still couldn’t find Ernest. He did not have the time for him to be hiding like a child; where was he? Frank had looked everywhere over and over and was back in the same ballroom again, scanning through the associates for what had to be the hundredth time. He caught Kit’s eye—and stopped.

There was cold and intense fear looking back at him. It was unbearable to have it directed at him, and Frank turned away after a few seconds.

Ernest. A thousand possibilities ran through Frank’s head, each of them worse than the last. He had had enough. Frank strode towards the main doors, just as he saw Ernest making his way out of them as fast as possible. Finally. Frank followed him out into the hallway and grabbed onto Ernest’s arm, whirling him around.

“I asked one thing of you tonight,” Frank said.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Ernest repeated. He wrenched his arm out of Frank’s grasp and put his hands in his pockets. “And I didn’t, thank you.”

“Apparently I wasn’t specific enough,” Frank said. “When I said that, I clearly meant, don’t do anything stupid that’s going to compromise the family and our position in it. What information have you been giving Olaf?”

“Who said I was?”

“Olaf.”

“You know, that hurts a little, that you’d believe Olaf over me.”

Frank’s jaw clenched. Fine. Olaf was less important, anyway. “Then what did you do to Kit?”

Ernest raised an eyebrow. “Did I do anything?”

It was agonizing, seeing such a carefully blank mask on your own face staring back at you. Frank didn’t hate him, but he came close. “What have you done, Ernest? Do not lie to me.”

Something fractured through Ernest’s expression. “I just—miscalculated,” he muttered. “She found out.”

“She found out?” Frank echoed, his heart skittering in his chest. It had finally happened, and Frank couldn’t protect Ernest this time. Kit wouldn’t keep this a secret, not by a long shot. By morning—by midnight, because nearly the whole organization was already here—everyone would know. And Ernest didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it. “Ernest—”

“It’s fine,” Ernest said coolly. “Considering she can’t prove it.”

The world detached from Frank’s consciousness. Kit’s fear made a sudden, terrible sense. Ernest had used him as a shield between himself and the organization, on purpose, he’d positioned Frank and Dewey as pawns whose only use was whatever Ernest wanted. Frank could feel his hands shaking. They didn’t feel like his hands.

Ernest sighed. “Don’t look like that,” he said. “You’ve pretended to be me, that’s the only way you would’ve found out about Olaf. Don’t act like you didn’t use our face as an advantage too. That’s what we do. That’s what this family does.”

Anger burned through Frank, hot behind his eyes. That had been different. A sharp fury that had been building somewhere inside him all night snapped apart. “You are not a part of this family.”

He regretted saying it the second the words were out. Of course Ernest was still his brother. That was an immutable fact. But Frank was so tired of trying to hold onto Ernest when Ernest so blatantly didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at family, he was looking at a stranger, who stole his face, who used his name, who threw it around like it meant nothing, who denied everything noble and proper and real. It wasn’t how a brother was supposed to act. But it was how Ernest acted, and now Ernest was staring at him with an open, wounded expression, something Frank hadn’t seen since they were children.

Frank ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Ernest’s jaw trembled for a second, his mouth pressing into a thin, flat line. “I don’t think I am.” He took one step back, a hard glare in his eyes, and then walked away from Frank.

11:20 PM—The Rooftop Sunbathing Salon

Ernest hadn’t figured on Frank being angry, because, primarily, he hadn’t figured on Frank finding out at all. He hadn’t figured on Kit realizing what he was doing, either. Well, that was on him, but Frank didn’t need to be so—he didn’t have to say—

Shit, Ernest thought, breathing hard. He came to a stop in the dark, empty hallway some floors up from the ballroom and let himself think it, pressing his palms into his eyes. Shit, shit, shit. He’d have a brother after this, sure, a family member who stood by him and ran a hotel with him and played nice, but he didn’t know if he’d have his brother. He would have an associate, like everyone else, a found family of people who loved on conditions, not a family. Not his family.

He had to find Lemony. Just because he’d been hiding all night didn’t mean he was exempt from this.

Lemony disliked heights, open spaces, and decently-sized bodies of water, which was why Ernest found him on the roof, sitting on one of the pool chairs, his mask discarded beside him. He was studiously avoiding looking at the pool or the ocean or the night sky, dark and enormous above him. The rooftop salon was never used at night, but there were small lights along the edge of the pool and the railing, giving off slivers of stark white light. The brief anger Ernest felt downstairs evaporated the longer he watched Lemony not-watching the world around him. He wanted to say a million and one things to him, but the one that came out was, “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“What do you know about exposure therapy?” Lemony offered as a response.

“Enough to know you probably shouldn’t use it for heights,” Ernest said. “Among other things.”

“Point taken,” Lemony said. “What would you say if I told you I was now too frightened to move?”

“That you brought it on yourself,” Ernest said, but he didn’t mean it. He walked over and sat next to Lemony on the pool chair. Ernest stole a quick glance at him again, brief and fleeting. To look consistently was dangerous; Ernest always had to make a distinct effort not to touch.

“Your sister found out,” he said. “Not about you, but about me. She also hit me.”

Lemony’s head shot up. “What?” He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing Ernest’s jaw as he turned his face towards him. They trailed warm over his right cheek, where his skin still smarted from Kit’s hand. Here in the dark, Lemony’s eyes were so bright again, full of concern, directed right at him. Ernest held himself so still, barely breathing.

Falling in love, if you could call it that, with Lemony was what Ernest personally considered the most ill-advised thing he’d ever done, even after lying to Kit. Lemony loved other people, and it was clear in everything he did, in the way he looked when they weren’t there. But Lemony understood what Ernest wanted, and Ernest craved that with a destructive ache.

Really, who else were they supposed to fall in love with but each other? They didn’t know anyone else. No one was going to get this life but them. It was probably why half of VFD had a crush on Beatrice, honestly. It was terrible, but none of them seemed to be able to stop doing it. Ernest included.

“You—” Lemony’s hand jerked back, shrinking down between them onto the chair. “What happened?”

“She knew I lied,” Ernest said. “About the information and about being Frank. I got out of it, but—she won’t trust us again, I think. And Frank—probably won’t trust me either.”

“I’m sorry,” Lemony said. “I didn’t mean for—”

Ernest shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. It wasn’t. He and Lemony had both just wanted something, desperately. Ultimately, they’d still succeeded, in the end. They had. Change he could hold in his hands had happened. He still felt hollow about it all, everything drained out of him, but he didn’t regret doing it. Not at all. The hurt would go away and he’d do it again. “What we did—that mattered.”

“It did,” Lemony whispered. “But I never like the cost.”

“Why did you do it?” Ernest asked softly.

Lemony smiled ruefully. “I guess I didn’t want to stop trying.”

The real, noble answer, Ernest thought. Why the “firestarters” and Ernest would never get him. He raised his hand. Slowly, without looking, he put it on top of Lemony’s. Lemony turned his hand over and gripped Ernest’s tightly. He knew that the way Lemony would try from this moment forward would be different than the way Ernest would, and he wanted to have this moment while it lasted.

Ernest stood, tugging Lemony up with him, and let go of his hand. “You should go back downstairs,” he said.

11:30 PM—The Ballroom—South Drink Table

The party would be over soon, but you’d never know it, the ballroom still thronging with people. But most of the dancing had died down, and Dewey was taking mental stock of how clean up would start. He found one of the attendant’s silver trays and picked it up, estimating how many glasses he could fit on it.

Frank came back into the ballroom and made a beeline for him, pale. Dewey’s shoulders tensed up yet again. What had happened now?

“I can’t believe it,” Frank muttered, grabbing a wineglass.

“Whoa, hey, hold on.” Dewey took the wineglass back and set it off to the side. “What happened?”

“He—” Which meant it was Ernest. Again. Dewey’s patience with both his brothers tonight was wearing extraordinarily thin. “He’s been passing information to Olaf this whole time.”

“To Olaf?” That was not what Dewey had been expecting. A flare of worry burned through him and curled his hands around the tray. “But—”

“No,” Frank said. “This time, I’ve had enough. I’m tired of covering up for him, and he’s going to have to deal with this mess himself.”

Olaf was certainly a threat in one way or another, but it seemed a disproportionately vicious answer for Frank. Dewey frowned. “Did something else happen?”

Frank looked so—frantic, was maybe the word, a terrifying energy breaking out of him in quick bursts of anger on his face. He looked at Dewey, and the emotion seemed to cage itself back in.

“He was found out,” Frank said quietly. “About being a firestarter.”

Dewey had counted on it happening. It seemed unlikely that it would be able to remain a secret forever. It still hurt to hear. Things wouldn’t be the same as they had been, if people knew about Ernest. Dewey imagined the division between the three of them only growing larger, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to do anything about it if it got too wide.

Something broke in Frank’s expression again, and Dewey startled—it looked like guilt. “Don’t defend him,” Frank hissed. “Dewey, he’s going to get away with it. He’s going to ruin what we’ve worked for, what you’ve worked for in the archives—do you want all of that information in the hands of the enemy?”

Dewey clutched the tray. “Ernest isn’t the enemy,” he said, darkly. The agitation from earlier at the hors d’oeuvres table shot back into him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Frank said. “I—”

Dewey slammed the silver plate down on the drink table. A real, genuine slam, like he’d never done before, the glasses around it rattling. Frank stared at him, gaping a little.

“He’s still here,” Dewey said. “That’s enough.”

“Dewey—”

“That is enough.”

12:00 AM—The Lobby

Jacques had never seen Kit so unsettled. Even when she’d been arrested she’d kept her composure. But she stood beside him in the empty lobby, tapping her foot against the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. He still couldn’t get out of her what had happened, but it was obvious from her face in the ballroom that whoever betrayed them had to be one of the Denouements. It was a sobering realization, the worst possible outcome of the schism that had been building for too long. One of three identical triplets being a traitor complicated matters, although it was easy to figure out which one it was that had done it. Things were going to change after tonight.

He took a small, brief moment to appreciate that Kit actually wanted to stand next to him and acknowledge him as her brother. Lately, he’d gotten the impression that she couldn’t stand him. But now she needed him, and it was a relief to Jacques to still be needed by his siblings. He never thought he did that successful a job of managing to keep them all together.

The elevator dinged, and Lemony stepped out, adjusting his jacket. The only evidence he’d been at the costume party was the mask tucked under his arm, because his suit was as plain as ever. 

“Finally,” Kit muttered, and she ran over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly, something none of the siblings had done since they were children.

Lemony froze, and then hugged her back. He met Jacques’s eyes across the lobby.

Jacques knew it, immediately. Lemony had played a part in what had happened tonight with Ernest. It shouldn’t have surprised Jacques as much as it did. Lemony had held a perilous position in the organization for years now, and this wasn’t the first time he had wound up disagreeing with Kit about recruitment. But it was the first time it had involved other people. That made it dangerous.

Lemony shook his head a fraction of an inch. Part of Jacques relaxed. The three of them might still be okay. He wondered, with a slight jolt, how the Denouements would fare. 

Kit pulled away from Lemony. “Where were you?”

“Did you know the rooftop sunbathing salon has night lights?” Lemony said. Jacques couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked over to his siblings. “Very pleasant. I recommend it.”

Kit rolled her eyes, and she led Jacques and Lemony through the lobby and out of the hotel.

“I’ll drive you both back,” Jacques said. “It’s on my way.”

“You brought the taxi?” Lemony asked.

“Regrettably,” Jacques sighed. “I still seem to have it.” Headquarters refused to take it back for some reason, even after Jacques insisted he didn’t need it. It had been six months since the initial assignment with it and he was still driving it, and probably would be, for the foreseeable future. He took his keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll drive,” Kit said.

“You will not drive,” Jacques said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Kit said, snatching the keys out of his hand and walking briskly out of his reach. “Jacques, did you say something about hives? There aren’t any bees nearby.”

“Trees?” Lemony said. He jogged ahead a little and caught up with Kit’s pace. “They do look particularly lush this time of year, now that you mention it.”

“No one is in a rush, and Kit, give me my keys you are not going to drive—” His siblings raced ahead of him down the front drive, and Jacques ran after them into the night.

1:55 AM—The Ballroom

Olivia and Ramona stayed on to help the Denouements clean up. Ramona had insisted, saying that it was no trouble at all, and she owed them for being so kind to host the party. She was very good at insisting; Olivia had never seen anyone able to resist the charm of Ramona cheerfully demanding she was going to help and they were going to have to deal with it. She hid her smile in the champagne flutes she was stacking on a tray as Ramona talked with one of the triplets on the other side of the ballroom. She picked up the one rimmed with half-rings of Ramona’s deep plum lipstick and giggled.

She’d have to tell Ramona about what Jacques told her, of course. But for once, Olivia wasn’t all that worried about dealing with it. It had been an extraordinarily pleasant night otherwise. Ramona was happy, some of the glow back in her face, so Olivia was happy too.

All the glasses were stacked, the plates piled together, the tablecloths folded up, the lights finally dimmed. There was only one Denouement left in the room, and he stopped Olivia and Ramona on their way out. “Olivia, could I speak with you?”

“Of course,” Olivia said.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Ramona said, squeezing her hand, and she disappeared down the hallway, the hem of her dress sweeping the floor behind her.

Some people expected Olivia to be able to tell the Denouements apart, and some people expected her to be as clueless as most others as to who she was talking to. It wasn’t terribly hard to tell them apart, because Olivia liked to pay attention, but what she could never remember what when she was supposed to know and when she wasn’t. Here, she knew the one in front of her was Frank, most definitely. There was a weight to the way Frank carried himself, not like he assumed he was in control, but like he assumed he had to be.

“What is it, Frank?” Olivia asked.

He hesitated, which was rare for Frank. “When was the last time you saw Miranda?”

Olivia blinked. Had she misheard him? “What?”

“Miranda,” Frank said again. She hadn’t misheard. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Miranda?

“I—I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I—” When was the last time she saw Miranda? Years and years ago, wasn’t it? Shortly after they’d been taken. Olivia hadn’t minded. Miranda was older than her, not by much but by enough, and enough that they weren’t kept together. Miranda had thought it a chore to look after her, and Olivia hadn’t liked being seen as a chore. She wanted a sister, not a babysitter. So she’d been okay when Miranda was gone. They went to different classes, made different friends, passed each other in the hall without saying a word until their apprenticeships, where Olivia was shuffled around from chaperone to chaperone and Miranda—went where? What had become of her?

The questions spun through her head, dizzying, but they kept coming. What did Miranda look like, now that she thought of it? Had she looked like Olivia at all? Would she recognize her own sibling, like she could easily identify the Denouements? Would she know Miranda if she saw her in a meeting, on the street, at one of these parties, if she was an enemy? But what made a person wasn’t appearance—how did Miranda act? What made Miranda, in the way Frank’s quiet made him? How could she not know what made her sister? Miranda was her sister and it hit Olivia, squarely in the chest, that she didn’t know a single thing about her.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her gaze darting across the floor. How had she gone all this time without thinking about her? How could she not know? How much had she forgotten?

“I’m sorry I asked,” Frank was saying. “Olivia. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia whispered. She took one step back, then another, almost hitting the edge of her dress with the point of her heel, and another, then made herself turn around and leave, back downstairs, through the lobby, anywhere else but there.

Olivia hurried out into the night with the front doors banging open after her; the humid air was sticky on her skin, sitting heavy in her lungs as she tried to inhale. She saw Ramona past the front archway, leaned back against her car a way down the front drive, her shoes beside her and her feet in the grass, the shape of her soft and fuzzy in the heat. Olivia tore off her mask and scrubbed her hand over her eyes, wiping the tears on the side of her dress.

There was a weight on her shoulders, more than just the heat. She had the horrible sense that she was going to turn around and see Miranda. Olivia wanted to leave. She wanted to leave the city, she wanted to go somewhere she’d be away from this. She wanted to take Ramona—would Ramona go with her? She had her own things to care about besides the violent anxiety shaking Olivia from the inside out. She had a duchy to take care of. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with Olivia.

We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival. The carnival was miles from the city, out in the hinterlands, flat and desolate blankness. Maybe she should go. Maybe that would be better. She would be away from the city and be one place where no one had to bother her and she couldn’t bother anyone else. Maybe.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut again, and when she opened them the tears were gone and Ramona came into focus, all of her slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Olivia ached to look at her.

She went over to Ramona and slid her hand into hers, tucking her face into the smooth skin of Ramona’s shoulder. “I want to go somewhere else,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Ramona said, her other arm coming up and folding around Olivia, drawing her close. “We can go anywhere you want.”

Behind her, through the open front doors, Olivia heard the hotel clock starting to chime again.

[damn-stark]

To new friends

Chapter 6 of Different Light

A/N- So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am going to have some events from the books in this series, just to add more angst and more fun. So if you read parts that don’t show up in the movie, it’s becaue it’s either what I wrote, or something that happened in the books 👍🏽 hope you guys like the chapter and don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts!

Warning- Angst, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

As the blissful daze of the Yule ball night passed, the last few free days passed swiftly, taking the memory of Fred’s kiss on your lips with it. Leaving nothing behind but the mental memory of such a delightful moment.

Albeit it was also a moment that wasn’t talked about any day after, classes started again and days would get busier for both Fred and you. Of course you didn’t want to force him into talking about it, you wanted the topic to come out, just effortlessly. Fred treated you kinder; that’s something you noticed, he was way more touchy than before. Usually before when you would sit next to each other, there was no contact whatsoever—sure your arms, or thighs brushed against each other’s, but that was it.

Now when Fred sat next to you in the great hall, or really anywhere else, he would place his hand on top of yours, or hook his pinky fingers with yours; sometimes he would place his arm on top the seat you were sitting on, but that was about it. Fred didn’t try and repeat what happened that night, or try and gloat about it. He simply just didn’t talk about it.

Which led you to think; what did he intend with that kiss?

You want to ask him, but then again you fear the answer he could give.

It’s not like you could ask George. One, because he was Fred’s twin brother and two, you didn’t want to put George in that position. It’d be better if he wasn’t in the middle, things would just flow much easier that way.

You still wanted help, but from who? Narcissa? You could specifically leave Fred’s name out and just ask for advice, but as you further thought about it, asking your mother wasn’t the best option; yet.

That left you with the lingering question of, who then?

“Y/N.”

At the sound of the small, sweet voice calling to you, you’re thrown from your train of thought and left to look over your shoulder and notice, Hermione Granger, striding towards you. At first you don’t know what to do, you’re actually utterly confused on what to do and why she has called you. But realization hits you as she finally falls by your side and offers you a small sweet smile—you had helped her that night of the Yule ball. She said words you’d never forget.

Regardless you didn’t really think you helping her that night was enough for her to reach out to you now. Maybe just simple “hellos” when you passed by the halls, but you didn’t think she’d actually call your name and hurry to reach you. That gesture was still so unfamiliar and new to you.

You smile and greet her however, regardless of how your thoughts churn. “Hello.”

“I saw you pass just now and thought it’d be nice to walk with you to Arithmancy.” Hermione explained kindly. “Is that alright with you?”

Of course!

You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah that's alright.” You feel your cheeks burn and a need to just walk in silence, but you also were desperate to make friends who weren’t just Fred and George—“I never got the chance to ask, did you enjoy the Yule ball? Before everything went down I mean.”

Hermione smiles wider and nods. “Yes it was absolutely great. I had a lot of fun. What about you? Fred mentioned he was going with you, how was that?”

“Oh well,” you smile shyly at the memory of that night. “It was amazing, Fred was a good partner.”

A new thought then invades your mind—you could ask her for help. Even ask her if she heard anything Fred mentioned of that night. After all they were part of the same house. She’s got to know a thing or two, right?

“Do—”

“Fred said you were a great partner too,” Hermione mentions as if she has read your mind. “He said he enjoyed that night with you.”

At the sound of her comment, you feel your cheeks burn increasingly hotter. You’re left stunned for a moment, left giddy and speechless, left trying to collect your thoughts and like you could explode from the inside—you had heard him say he enjoyed that night, but hearing that he had said that to other people just made it seem even more special. The knowledge of what he said made you smile wider. It made you want to know more.“Did he say anything else?” You turn your head to look at her and you see her shake her head.

“No, I’m sorry. He and his friends moved away before I could hear more.”

You hum softly and assure her. “It’s okay, thank you for telling me what he said though.”

Hermione just smiles as response before she changes the subject, not giving you the chance to ask for her help in your still troubled dilema. “What are you reading?”

You look down to the Daily Prophet in your hand and shrug. With all your running thoughts, you didn’t have time to read what you had in your hand. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to read what,” you lift the newspaper and scoff, “Rita Skeeter wrote it, probably just rubbish anyway.”

Just as you’re about to shove it in between your books, Hermione stops you before snatching the paper from your hand. “Wait, what does this evil witch have to say now.”

Out of new grown curiosity, you look over her shoulder as she begins to read the paper outloud; “DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything—”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your brother's name and anything else read after that just tunes out. The news of Hagrid being a half giant doesn’t even bug you, or register in your mind as someone dangerous (because he wasn’t). All you focused on was what lies your, weasel of a little brother had to say. It makes your furious, feel steam come out of your ears and feel your fists shake. The news on the paper even makes Hermione upset; albeit her reasons differed from yours.

Clearly—“how-how did she find out!” Before you could give your opinion, Hermione quietly seemed to ramble to herself, only raising her voice at specific points. “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball—but no, they would have seen her, she’s not even...” her voice goes quiet again and you’re left looking at her bewildered and still taken back yourself. As well as intrigued by what she had to say. Surprised by her suddenly asking you a probing question. “Did you see Rita Skeeter that day of the ball?”

You blink out of surprise, but manage to shake your head. “No, I didn’t. But maybe she was hiding in some bushes, like an odd-ball.”

Hermione bites her lip and shrugs before giving an opinion herself. “Maybe she has some type of invisibility cloak?”

You shrug, “maybe. I mean to get such a scoop on people, she’s got to have something up her sleeve.”

Hermione's eyes narrow and she seems to go into deep thinking before she comes up with a suggestion that surprised you even more. “We should try and figure it out. You’re smart, I’m sure if we got together, we’d figure it out.”

You scoff lightheartedly and stop before entering your intended class. “Why the need to get the scoop on her?”

“Because,” Hermione blurted passionately, “it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. Mysteriously getting news on people. She’s wicked and needs to be stopped.”

You smirk at her fiery spirit and can’t help but give in without much need of further convincing. “Alright, I’ll help. It sounds like fun.”

——

The day of the second game came and you couldn’t be dreading this one more. It was too cold and what was the point of having an audience? The players were going to be underwater and if they somehow have a way for you and the rest of the students to look in the depths of the lake without having to go in along with the players, then what was the point?

You were just going to unnecessarily freeze to basically watch players dive.

“ANY BETS! ANY BETS!”

“PLACE YOUR BETS!” George and Fred shouted in a booming voice to the passing students.

Yet with all you’re complaining, here you were, still teamed up with the twins trying to take bets from students.

“THREE LADS!”

“ONE LADY!”

“FOUR ARE GOING DOWN!”

You would’ve joined into their tactics, but you didn’t feel like screaming, so instead you held onto the box for them, watching them as you moved up and the students moved down towards the boats. Stopping only when their sister shoved past them and stopped to remark their rude persuading screams. “Don’t be so mean.”

The twins and you looked back to Ginny and you couldn’t help but agree, but the twins on the other hand turned back around and continued screaming to try and convince others to place bets. Stopping only minutes before the last boat could leave the dock.

“Finally,” you groan as you close the box and shove it in George’s hands. “I thought we’d never finish.”

Fred scoffs, “come on, you’ve got to admit that doing this makes the games more fun.”

“Hardly.” You retort as you shove your hands in your jackets pockets, “freezing to watch water is something I would hardly call fun.”

“You’re in luck then.” George assures you, “the game should be an hour long.”

You groan one last time before you reach the boats, looking to Fred as he pointed for you to get on first. “Ladies first.” He smirks before he follows after you, waiting lastly for George to go on before the person driving the boat began its short trip to the already packed and rowdy stands.

Luckily not having to wait too long for the game to start and beginning to watch with much more anticipation and stress than you intended after you watched Harry clumsily fall into the lake. While Draco, who was two people away from you laughed and pointed at Harry’s clumsy fall, causing you to shoot him a side glare. One he didn’t catch, but you meant with a burning dedication. He only shut up when Harry shot up after his worrying fall into the water, causing an uproar from the students rooting for his win. Albeit seconds after he splashed in, everyone, including yourself were filled with stomach twisting anticipation for anyone’s resurface from the water with their special lost thing.

You were also left with waiting, and endless waiting, growing colder as time ticked.

“Cold?” Fred asked you.

You looked to him and shivered slightly at the feeling of the bitter wind hitting your face. “what do you think?”

A half, smug smile tugged on his lips and he shrugs. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Then there's your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest and look out to the lake, feeling your shoulders jump slightly moments later when Fred wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“Better?”

You feel your cheeks burn and your heart skip a beat. It’s hard to think of what to say at the flustered feeling you got at the interaction, but you somehow manage to respond. Albeit stammering and sounding like you were terrified. “Y-yes, much better.”

You didn’t see but Fred grinned at your response. Choosing to stay quiet for the remainder of the game until the first contestant surfaced from the water; Cedric Diggory and Cho—you clapped, but didn’t feel much excitement like others did. Instead you felt as if your stomach twisted tighter knowing that the game was close to over and Harry hadn’t surfaced yet.

Krum and...Hermione surfaced and you clapped excitedly for her, but you were still left with the increasing worrying, glancing repeatedly at the time and waiting as others did. Hearing whispers and the excitement for the game dwindled the more time passed and Harry showed no sign.

The worry now surrounding the crowd was replaced by short relief when Ron and a little girl surfaced, but that was short lived since Harry’s presence was lacking. It made you part from Fred’s side and grip onto the railing to look down into the water to watch and wait—and yes he was just a boy you hardly knew, hardly talked to and just thought of as cute and nice, a bit clumsy and dorky, but...you couldn’t help but worry and—

Before you could get deeper into your thoughts, Harry Potter shot up from the water and finally relieved the worry and stress that had grown increasingly higher those past few minutes. Making you push yourself off the railing to finally clap and cheer, turning to celebrate the win with the twins for a brief moment before you’re interrupted by Dumbledore's booming voice. “Attention! The winner is Mr. Diggory!”

The crowd for Cedric erupted with claps and cheering for him and his win. All them were forced to quiet down though as Dumbledore continued. “Who showed the need to command of the bubble head charm. However seeing as Mr.Potter would have finished first, should it not been for his determination to rescue not only Mr. Weasley, but the others as well, we’ve agreed to award him second place! For outstanding moral fiber!”

Again the crowd erupted into a roaring cheering, causing the twins to five each other and you in a form to celebrate. Ignoring as Draco, bitterly stormed off after the announcement of his rival's achievement. While the three didn’t waste a second for the twins and you to push through the crowd to walk down to where Harry, and the other contestants and the people they saved were.

The twins rushed first, greeting Harry with loud congratulating cheers and a tight hug that they backed from after feeling Harry all wet; letting them turn to their brother and in their own foolish way, worry over his well-being. Letting you be face to face with Harry and instantly feel a hotter heat crawl onto your face before and while you found the words to talk to him.

“That was amazing Harry! You did great!” You grinned, stepping into wrap your arms around him, but stopping as you took in his soaked figure.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t, I’m soaked.” A timid and wobbly smile tugged on his lips and he continued. “Thank you though, y/n.”

You offer him another warm smile and last lingering stare before you rip your eyes away and turn your attention to Herimone next to him.

——

“Right on, all that moral fiber, eh?” George teased Harry as he walked onto the deck.

“That’s great.” Fred chuckled.

You smirk and tag along with the teasing. “All that moral fiber.”

“Blimey, even if you go wrong it turns out right.” Ron voiced with a slight smile.

“Well done, moral fiber.” Fred teased before lightly pushing Harry and then walking off with his brothers, Hermione and you, leaving Harry behind.

You wanted to look back, but before you could Fred’s hand on your arm interrupted your attempts before you could accomplish them. “So, y/n, I was thinking,” he began to say in a soft voice that was rare for him to speak in and off putting for you to hear. “How about we go to Hogsmeade together?”

You blink and begin to fall behind from the group, parting your lips to speak, but coming out with nothing but a breath of air. Proceeding to instead gently rub your arm nervously and letting your eyes flicker from the ground to Fred before managing to speak just as nervously. “Like George, you and I?”

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. “No you goof, just you and I.”

Your cheeks burn again and you giggle and whisper, “oh,” before smiling warmly and nodding. “Sure I like the sound of that, when?”

Fred shrugged, trying to hide his cocky smile. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

You nod, “okay.” Before you both catch up to the group you had been with, picking up your pace smoothly, so you could catch up with a grinning Hermione that already knew by the smile on Fred and your faces what had gone on.

In that moment letting a thought begin to unroll in the back of your mind. Not one having to do with Fred, nor George or Harry. But about Hermione. Odd thing especially after getting asked out by Fred, but it was a thought that just grew; even if Hermione and you had just started talking and a friendship was beginning to develop. It still felt refreshing, assuring and exciting that you had someone else as a friend. Someone who could relate to you in other ways Fred, or George couldn’t. You felt happy that you were beginning to be her friend, that she viewed you like hers and not like the other girls would in Durmstrang. She viewed you like a friend now. She viewed you differently.

——

“HARRY POTTER IN A BURNING LOVE TRIANGLE

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would suffer through a trouble bigger than any he has faced, choosing who to love and who to leave behind broken hearted.

In the recent events of the Triwizard tournament, Harry has been spotted in the arms of new transfer student to Hogwarts, Y/N Malfoy. At first it had seemed that it was nothing but platonic, but their affectionate embrace and caring and lovable words told us otherwise. Yet as loving as they are, Harry is still caught in the middle between Herimone Granger, who is not innocent as she portrays to be.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that he opens his eyes and sets his heart upon his Slytherin lover.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening. No. Your father...your mother….your father. He’s going to kill you before disowning you. No. This isn’t what you wanted. Even if it was false information when it came to your part of the paper, it was still going to get to your parents before you had the chance to explain. You’ve done good to hide the truth of your friendships from them when Draco snitches, but this...this can ruin everything and take you back to Durmstrang.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Herimone says, beginning to giggle and causing you to snap your head from the paper to look at her with a perplexed, widened gaze. “What a pile of old rubbish.” She proceeds to take the paper from your hands and throws the paper into an empty chair. The action leaving you shocked and speechless—wasn’t she worried to?

On how Rita Skeeter found out about the obvious private conversation that went on between her and Krum? Why wasn’t she worried like you?

“Why-why are you so calm?” You manage to ask with your perplexed and widened gaze.

Hermione looks over to a group of Slytherins to see if they’d be upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and turned back to pretend to focus on the parchment in front of the both of you to finally talk without giving your question an answer. “There’s something funny though, how could Rita Skeeter have known?” Her face went red and she pressed her quil to her chin. “How did she know Viktor asked me to visit him in the summer?”

You shrug and push your worry aside for now, “maybe someone’s her spy?”

Herimone shakes her head, “no, couldn’t be, he pulled me away from the judges after we got our blankets and we were in a spot surrounded by his friends. They’d never do anything to Viktor.” Her face grew increasingly more red and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she mindlessly pressed her quil on the parchment now. “But how could Rita have heard. She wasn’t there...or was she? Maybe she’s got an invisibility cloak?”

“Perhaps,” you muse along with her, “but there were too many people on that platform, someone would have bumped into her and found her out.” You tap your fingers on the tabletop as you begin to brainstorm a possibility, muttering to Hermione as you did so. “What exactly happened after Krum and you got out of the water?”

Herimone began to explain every exact detail of the events after Krum got her out of the water. Every single detail from climbing onto the platform, to mentioning that Krum flicked a beetle off her wet hair and lastly the moment you had finally come along.

“Hmm,” you rest your elbow on the table and rest your head on your hand as you continue to think and throw out ideas that came to your mind. “Well there wasn’t much room for her to hide at all. She couldn’t be under the water, and it’s doubtful she used polyjuice.”

“You’re right.” Hermione agrees.

At a incoming thought you begin to snicker, “maybe she temporarily transformed into your towel.”

Suddenly Hermione shoots up and her eyes gleam with what seems to be excitement. She steps towards you and manages to pull you off your chair to hold your hands in hers and basically shout out. “I’ve got it!”

“Hermione Granger and Miss Malfoy, please be quiet unless you both want detention!” The professor scolds you, making Herimone quietly apologize before she pulls you back to your seat and continues quietly. Disregarding the warning you both had just gotten.

“She couldn’t have turned into a towel, or risked using polyjuice, but she could have transformed into something else. Something smaller and easy to blend in and be disregarded by any person.”

You blink in astonishment by her quick thinking and fast investigating skills. You don’t say anything, just listen completely mesmerized.

“Rita Skeeter was the beetle in my hair,” Herimone whispers in a loud excited whisper, “of course I thought nothing of it before because it was just a bug, but now it all makes sense; how she can catch all the scoop and hide without without being seen. She’s an animagus.”

You smirk and squeeze in your own thoughts. “Probably an unregistered one too, or else Dumblrdore would have taken extra precautions to keep her off the castle grounds.”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims with a joyful and yet mischievous grin, “she kept her secret well until now. I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t have another chance to spread any more cruel, dishonest stories.”

“What do you mean?” You gasp with a deeply puzzled and slightly fearful face.

“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t write any more stories from here until the tournament ends. I’m going to catch Rita.” She explains in a loud whisper once again with a dangerous mischievous look still painted in her eyes. “Do you want to catch her with me?”

“I,” you pause to think before you have the chance to abruptly answer. Beginning to go over the fact in your head, that Rita didn’t also make a lie about Hermione, but one about you. One that could cost you heavily. And the days before Herimone asked about helping her, you were down to pair up with Hermione because you didn’t want to lose a friend. Now you were doing it because, well you didn’t want to lose a friend and two, you had motivation of your own.

A smirk creeps onto your face and you meet Herimone’s gaze to share that same dangerous mischievous gaze. “I’m going to catch Rita with you.”

Even if you knew you were still going to get hell from your parents….especially your father.

.

.

.

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Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie , @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy

[fanfictionfansmiction]

I Said Your Name

It’s been awhile! Here’s a Fred Weasley X Reader that’s a modern AU where you love him and plan to tell him about it but chicken out and the story follows you at a party. I’m not the best at summaries but I hope you guys enjoy! Also PSA if you have any requests feel free to ask!

Word Count: 1885

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“I’m leaving.” I whisper to anyone who can hear me. Large tears run down my face and blur my vision.

Using all the strength left in my shaking arms I push myself off the fabric sofa knocking into Hermione as I do. She doesn’t notice for once, too invested in what Ron was saying. Her nose pink and her large teeth biting down on her lip in anticipation for climax of the story she’s already heard hundreds of times. I hear Neville say goodbye. I don’t bother to respond pushing myself through the crowd that’s gathered around the entryway. Too frustrated and focused on getting out of there I realise I’ve left my coat in the kitchen. I stop in my tracks because I can’t leave without my coat, but I really don’t want to go into the kitchen where he is.

To be fair I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing. I suppose my anger would seem more justified if I told Fred. If he knew that every time he recommends an old film, I go home and watch it. I should tell him. I really did mean to tell him when he picked me up tonight. Hermione and I planned it out. I was going to invite him in because ‘I just wasn’t ready yet’. We’d be alone in my house and then I’d tell him. That it didn’t matter to me if he didn’t feel the same way but if I didn’t tell him it was going to ruin me. A little dramatic in the wording I know but a feeling like this requires dramatics. A man like Fred is someone I want to be dramatic with. But no. I couldn’t tell him. Tonight, when I opened the door and looked up at him hair damp from the rain and face red from the cold. He took my hands and said, “It’s so bloody cold out there! Feel how cold I am.” I rubbed his red hands in mine trying to warm them up. We just stood there, door wide open laughing. So how did the night end up like this?

Before we left, I made sure that all the windows and doors were locked, more focused on the notes stuffed in my coat pocket than whatever Fred was talking about.

“And then she kissed me!” Fred exclaimed breathless.

I turned my head not realising how wide my eyes had gotten. For a moment I thought Fred looked guilty.

“Don’t looked so surprised,” he laughed my name throwing a toned arm over my shoulder, “I really didn’t expect it though. I always thought she was into someone else.” He said looking down at me. Before he could continue, I asked if we were ready to go. A lopsided grin took over his pink face, “Yeah I think we are.”

The house party was only a few streets away, but the walk felt wrong. Too much tension for a walk with my Fred. I think he could feel it too.

“Someone said everyone from the old days were going to be there.” Fred said bumping into me.

“Well, you know Lily and James go all out with these things. It’s so great that Harry still gets to do these things at their house.” I replied.

“Could you imagine if I asked mum to do something like this.” Fred barked with laughter.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

When we entered the warmth of the house hit us. Filled with happy faces and the golden light I always associated with the Potters. A wave of ‘heys’ hit us as we entered. Lily and James weaved their way through the crowd to greet us. Hugging us and informing us of all the free booze in the kitchen. Sending us off with a wink.

“I love it here.” Fred spoke leaning down so I could hear him over the steady thud of music.

When we reached the kitchen, Fred told me he’s sort out the drinks, so I leant against the kitchen counter listening to a work story he was telling me when Oliver Wood sauntered into the room and placed himself by me. Fred attention followed Oliver all the way to empty space next he now filled.

“Here, I made you your favourite.” Fred said handing me the glass and snaking his arm around my waist tugging me a little closer toward him. “How’s it going Wood?” Fred asked arching his brow.

“Oh, you know, the Rugby’s worked out for me I actually just signed my new contract. I did however just break up with my girl,” Oliver looked at me, “you know we just wanted different things. I wanted to settle down get serious. She didn’t.” He said, thinking a moment before continuing, “So when did you two finally get together?” He asked cocking his brow. Fred’s arm suddenly retracted from my waist and a gap began to form between us.

Fred’s face a violent red, he cleared his throat before he started “No mate, we aren’t together. Just friends. I’m actually sort of dating this other girl. She’s actually coming here tonight.” He chugged the rest of his drink actively avoiding my glare. “I need a refill what about you two?”

Before I could answer Oliver slid closer to me and asked, “So does that mean you’re single?”

My mouth fell open, “Um, uh, yeah. Yes, I am single. Actually, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” I said ignoring the burning feeling in the back of my head. Oliver smiled at me like he’d just gotten good news. I felt Fred about to interrupt when the kitchen door opened.

“Freddie!” A voice rang.

“Oh, hey there.” Fred said preoccupied.

Oliver cleared his throat, “Let’s leave these two alone, I think they’re playing drinking games in the other room.” He took my hand in his rough ones gently guiding me away into the dining room.

I played drinking games with Oliver with a few hours until he got called away for some emergency. That’s how I ended up a little too drunk sat on that sofa rethinking everything.

I was sat there for about an hour. At first, I was joining in with the conversation laughing with the others but then on my way to the toilet I caught a glimpse of Fred and his sort of girlfriend. Her face buried in his neck, him laughing holding her close. I locked myself in the bathroom. My heart beating a little too loud. I slump down onto the toilet seat trying to catch my breath. This is not how my night was supposed to go.

After staying in the bathroom for twenty minutes I returned to my seat hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that I’d been crying. I think they noticed. No one said anything but I could tell. The worried glances exchanged by those sober enough to care.

So here I am. Standing in the middle of the entryway. Red faced and a little too drunk. Why should I feel weird? He’s the one who was being weird! Why should I cry over him?

“Everything alright love?” Lily asked softly. I turn to look at her intending to answer before I can she says. “Go tell him.”

I nod at her. If I were sober, I’d feel ridiculous but right now it almost feels like an under reaction.

I storm back through the house the crowd parting slightly as I do. Pushing my way through the kitchen door I see Fred leant against the kitchen island his head hanging down covering his face with his hands. I stomp my way through and snatch my coat from the space next to Fred which causes him to look up.

He says my name quietly. The fury in my veins almost disperses at once. I don’t let it.

“Fred, I need to tell you something.” My voice is a little shaky. I try to continue but Fred tries to stop me.

The kitchen door slams open and Fred’s sort of girlfriend is stood there with red eyes fuelled with recognisable rage.

“Is this her?” She spits eyeing me like I’m prey. She then mockingly moans my name which completely throws me. Suddenly I’m confused what I’m still doing here with the feeling that I should leave immediately.

“You are pathetic Fred. I cannot believe you. Don’t try to contact me we are done.” She declares with venom before gracefully exiting the room. I almost follow her wanting to ask her what happened. My feet move before my mind does, I’m only stopped by Fred tugging at my arm.

“I don’t think she’s going to want to talk to you.” He says with his head down still.

“Why not?” I ask looking up at him trying to catch his eye.

“You don’t want to know.”

“If I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t have asked Fred.” The anger re-enters my body as I yank my arm out of his grasp.

“Not you too.” He whines.

“Yes, me too. You have ruined my entire night! And apparently, I’m not the only one. Look I came back here to get my coat and tell you how I feel but quite frankly I don’t think that’s a conversation I want to have with you right now. I’m leaving. Goodnight Fred.” I declare following the exit of the girl before me.

On my way out I quickly thank Lily for hosting as I walk away, I hear them laugh and the words “He’s such an idiot.”

I stomped the entire walk home trying to shake the foul mood out of me. As I reached the top of my road, I hear Fred call after me.

“What Fred?” I shout back pulling my keys out of my pocket.

“Please wait! I just need to talk to you.” He yelled after me sprinting the small distance between us.

“Can we do this tomorrow Fred?” I ask opening my front door.

“No, we need to do this now.” He announces.

“Fine, come inside.” I tell him.

Before he begins, he says my name softly, “Earlier when I was telling you about the kiss I had more to say. You cut me off.” He says closing the gap between us. He brushes a piece of hair out of my face, from this small action I feel a warmth grow inside me “What I was going to say was that it didn’t feel right. When I was kissing her all I could think about was you. About your lips. About the way you smell. And the way she wasn’t you. When Oliver showed up, I acted like an idiot. Then she showed up and I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her how I felt. Then I drank a little too much and said your name when I was kissing her. Look I have loved you before I really knew what it meant. I still don’t really know what it means but I don’t want to lose you over a dumb mistake like the ones I made tonight. I love you.” He says softly with tears forming in his eyes.

“Fred.” I say, “I love you too.” I touch my hand to his face.

“Your hands are so cold.” He laughs.

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 3

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of NSFW content, suggestive NSFW content

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Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea

Chapter 3: Dirty Little Secret

I’ll keep you my dirty little secret

Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret

Hope that you can keep it

My dirty little secret

~ The All-American Rejects - Dirty Little Secret ~

All three girls watched as Orion left the private area of the nightclub, two of them looking confused, one of them trying her hardest not to laugh.

“What’s got into him all of a sudden?” Merula asked, looking baffled.

“Seems like Jameson’s show rattled the poor guy alright,” Skye cackled.

Lizzie joined into her laughter. “As if. I don’t think anything could shake him, let alone me.”

She hid her smirk by taking a sip of her cocktail.

The next fifteen minutes felt like an eternity to Lizzie. She passed the time by listening to Skye and Merula’s chit chat, sipping her drink and nodding from time to time. She had to fight the urge to bounce her foot in impatience and not glance at her watch repeatedly. Not quite succeeding, Lizzie caught herself tapping her finger against her glass to the beat of the music; she willed herself to stop.

When she had finally finished her drink, she rose from her seat, stretched her already aching back and smiled at her remaining two friends.

“I’m afraid Orion had a point earlier, I always forget how exhausting playing a full show is,” she yawned and reached for her bag. “I’ll get a cab back home to get some sleep in.”

“Alright, let us just finish our drinks and we’re ready to go,” Skye said immediately, but Lizzie could tell she wanted to stay for a little longer; she always did.

“No, it’s alright, go and have some fun. Once we’re out of London there won’t be much time for that anymore.”

Skye scowled at her. “You sure? Not that keen on you going back all by yourself.”

Merula rolled her eyes. “Just let her go, if she wants to. If she gets kidnapped, no one can chew their captor’s ear off with that awful cheeriness like her. We’ll have her back in no time.”

Usually she would have shot back at Merula but right now Lizzie was glad she was playing into her hands. She was buzzing to get out of the nightclub, so when Skye tried to speak up again, she just shook her head.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll text you once I’m back, alright?”

Without giving Skye another chance to reply, she smiled at both of them, turned around and walked towards the exit.

The cool air of the summer night felt wonderful compared to the stuffiness of the packed nightclub as Lizzie stepped outside. She buried her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and bowed her head as she passed the group of photographers always present in front of high profile establishments like this.

It was her luck that they cared more for soap stars and minor starlets stumbling home on the arm of a football player than one relatively sober person leaving all on her own. It was only a few clicks and flashes she had to make her way through before the mob had already focused on the next familiar face emerging from the doors behind her. She just hoped she had waited long enough for no one to make the connection.

Checking the message on her phone telling her where to go, she quickly walked a few steps away from the crowd until she reached the entrance to a small side street. Turning her head, Lizzie made sure no one was watching her before she stepped into the darkness of the alley. Anyone still in possession of half of their senses would have told her to stick to the main street, but Lizzie knew where she was going.

A smile stole onto her face as she walked towards the figure stepping out of the shadows.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Ignoring his question, Lizzie sped up her steps until she had reached Orion, grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him towards her. Her lips crashed onto his and his arms immediately went around her as he kissed her with the same desperate hunger she was feeling herself.

She buried her hands in his dark hair and sighed against his mouth as she felt his hands wandering over the curve of her waistline before his fingers hooked through the loops of her jeans.

“So fierce tonight,” she chuckled as they broke apart for a moment. Both of them were breathing heavily, Orion’s skin feeling hot to her touch. There was a fire burning inside his eyes that made her shudder.

“You did keep me waiting,” he murmured into her ear. His breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her neck was giving her goosebumps all over and he knew that full well.

“I couldn’t really down my drink in one go and run after you, could I? Your fault you left so early.”

She would have loved to go straight after him but that would have been way too suspicious; their little affair - if one could even call it that - was a secret both of them very much intended to keep from the others.

“After that show you’ve given? What did you expect?”

She had to laugh at his words, her eyes twinkling with promise as they found his. Her finger traced the line of his jaw, the stubble of his beard biting into her fingertip.

“I knew you’d love it.”

She rose onto her tiptoes to reach his ear as she whispered, “Want me to remind you what else my tongue can do?”

“I don’t think I’m the only one eager for that.”

Despite herself, Lizzie’s breath hitched and she bit her bottom lip as she felt Orion’s hands travel downwards from her waist. He stopped over the back pockets of her trousers, squeezing her bum as he captured her lips in another searing kiss.

Her head spun for a moment, dizzy from exhaustion, alcohol and Orion’s touch. She had to will herself to break away from him again, this time taking a step back out of his reach.

“Come on then,” she purred, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she looked him up and down, “What are you waiting for?”

But Orion knew how to play her game as well. Mirroring her grin, he simply walked past her in the direction of the main street, not sparing so much as another look. He passed so closely that he was almost brushing against her; the electricity between them was palpable and Lizzie felt her mouth go dry as she watched him from behind.

Orion waited a moment before motioning for her to follow him when he was sure no one would pay any attention to them.

While they were waiting for their cab, not being able to touch Orion when all she wanted was to feel his lips on her skin almost killed Lizzie; judging from his tensed shoulders and nervous fingers drumming against his leg during their ride home, that feeling was mutual.

It was no use, though; as long as they were in public, there was nothing they could do. Making out in the alley with a bunch of reporters around the corner had already been a hell of a risk.

The drive to Orion’s place in Nottinghill felt like an eternity; by the time they had finally reached his flat, Lizzie’s skin was positively tingling. Not being quick enough for her taste, she plucked the key from his hand and unlocked the door herself before stepping into the dark hallway first.

She turned around in the doorframe, shooting him a cocky smile over her shoulder.

“Are you coming? I think I promised you a show.”

***

The pale sunlight of the early morning seeped into the room from the skylight above Orion’s bed. Falling onto Lizzie’s face, it made her stir in her sleep, slowly waking her up from her dream. She tried holding on to it for a moment longer, but it drifted out of her grasp as her body was waking up until it was completely out of reach.

Sighing wistfully, Lizzie turned around and propped herself up onto her elbows. Her lips curved into a smile as her eyes fell onto Orion, who was still sleeping next to her. He was lying on his stomach with his face buried in the fluffy white pillows, his breath deep and even.

Now, in the light of the new day, Lizzie could see the bright red scratches running over his shoulder blades. She blushed a little; maybe she had gone a little overboard in the heat of the moment.

The sight of Orion’s maltreated back made the memories of last night return to her. The thought of his rough fingertips exploring every inch of her body, the sweet bite of his unshaved cheek against the inside of her thighs sent a pleasant shiver down her spine even now. The way she had relished the feeling of his skin against hers as he had coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from her body made her realise how starved she had been for his touch.

It almost surprised Lizzie how quickly sleeping with Orion had become her favourite way of winding down after a show. The sex was fantastic and the fact that no one knew what they were doing was only adding to the excitement. They were aware that it was one of the band’s most important rules they were breaking time and time again: No meddling with the other members. According to Ethan, getting involved with each other could cause nothing but trouble.

However, Lizzie was enjoying their time together way too much to just give up on it like that; free from any form of commitment, it was a bonus to their friendship neither of them wanted to miss. She could definitely confirm that Orion’s fingers weren’t only nimble when it came to playing the guitar.

Without really thinking about it, Lizzie reached out towards him. Her fingers were tracing the lines of the tattoo covering the whole of his back, from the now slightly scratched eagle wings spanning from shoulder to shoulder, down to the woven circle of the dreamcatcher the eagle was carrying in its claws. Her fingers tiptoed lightly over the pattern, joining up the beads worked into the web. Orion had told her that each of them represented a memory dear to him; she noticed he had some new ones added since the last time she had seen it.

Some of the inked feathers flowing down from the circle past beneath the eagle’s tail were new to her as well. Her fingers were wandering over them, dancing across his lower back.

Completely consumed by what she was doing, Lizzie hadn’t noticed Orion waking up. She jumped as he spoke to her, her eyes flying towards his face.

“What are you doing?”

Orion’s head was turned towards her, his eyes still closed, but a cheeky smile was playing around his lips.

Lizzie was spared an answer when he opened his eyes to look at her. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Realising how his words must have sounded, his smile turned softer as he closed his eyes again. “Don’t stop though.”

Setting her hand onto his back again, Lizzie let her fingers wander up his spine. She lightly tapped them to a rhythm only she could hear and noticed the tiny shiver running through him when she brushed them downwards again, her fingernails grazing his skin ever so gently.

“You never stay the whole night when we’re touring,” Orion murmured sleepily.

Lizzie hummed in response, not taking her eyes off the beautiful picture painted on his skin.

“I missed this,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than to him.

“I missed you.”

Caught by surprise at his words, her movements stopped abruptly. Orion’s eyes were soft as he watched her, taking in his shirt hanging loose on her body. Her open hair was still a tangled mess from last night

“Why would you say that?” Lizzie laughed, trying to mask her being caught unaware with a poke to his ribcage.

Orion laughed along and evaded her by rolling onto his side. He quickly caught her wrist and held it away from him. A grin formed on his face as he shrugged.

“Because it’s true; nothing relaxes me more than you do.”

Lizzie snorted. “Is that so?”

With a laugh, he let go of her hand and let himself fall back into the pillows. “Do I look not relaxed to you?”

“If anything, you look overly smug to me,” Lizzie shot back.

She grabbed her pillow and hit him with it before quickly jumping off the bed to get out of his reach. She searched her jacket that was among the pile of clothes littering the floor for her phone and a hair tie, all the while feeling Orion’s eyes on her.

When Lizzie had found what she had been looking for, she tied her unbrushed hair back and straightened up again. Unlocking her phone, she quickly scrolled through her messages.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Orion getting up as well, stretching his back.

“Come to think of it, I might have overestimated how balanced my body is this morning,” Lizzie heard him complain, “my muscles hurt like hell.”

She didn’t even bother looking up from her phone. “Tell me about it.”

Orion finally caught her attention when he stepped closely behind her. “I could do something about that, you know.”

Lizzie had to stifle a sigh when he gently began rubbing the tension from her shoulders, knowing exactly where her tight spots were; he had developed a knack for this she had come to appreciate.

Enjoying his touch for a moment longer, Lizzie pulled herself together and shook his hands off. She turned around, holding her phone up for him to see.

“Forget it, I have a breakfast date.”

“With Charlie, I presume?”

“Charlie is busy interviewing that new pyro guy.”

Orion tilted his head. “Who else then? Someone I need to be jealous of?”

Lizzie chuckled at the notion. “Only if you consider Skye as competition. But we both know you’re not the jealous type,” she shrugged. “And why would you be, anyway?”

She started gathering her strewn about things. “In any case, I need to get ready. I could really use a hot shower.”

Looking down at herself, still dressed in Orion’s shirt, she plucked at the collar and chuckled. “You’ll get this back another time.”

She turned to leave but didn’t make it far. Orion’s arms closed around her from behind, his lips nuzzling against the exposed skin of her neck. “Your wish and mine don’t necessarily rule each other out.”

Goosebumps were spreading all over her skin at his touch but she pulled herself together and broke free of his embrace.

“Tempting, but no. I can’t really show up at Skye’s place wearing last night’s outfit or, even better, your shirt.”

Her smile turned into a smirk as she looked him up and down, taking in his bronzed skin, lean but still muscular build and tousled black hair, regretting her decision already. “I might take you up on that massage later, though.”

She tried to leave a second time before she could change her mind, but Orion caught her wrist, pulling her back towards him.

“Do I get a kiss?”

Lizzie was already smiling; she had anticipated the question. He always asked it before she left, and her answer was the same every time. “You already got much more than that.”

She took a step back towards him, rose to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe next time.”

Orion laughed as he finally let her go. “I’ll get my kiss one day.”

Lizzie dipped her head back as she laughed and turned towards the door. “We’ll see about that.”

[realtacuardach]

On Ice

Figure Skating AU for Obiyuki Bingo 21!

(Special thanks for @sabraeal , @bubblesthemonsterartist , @ruleofexception , and youlee on the Obiyuki Discord for help with the music!)

~~~

Stepping onto the ice, Shirayuki felt herself leaving her troubles behind to stay, as they always did, on the benches behind the plexiglass. Her breath gusted out from her mouth, trailing behind as she glided to the center of the silent rink. She reached above her head, feeling her shoulders pop satisfyingly, before craning her head back to release the tension in her neck. Nothing could release all the tension she was feeling at the moment, but it definitely helped - somewhat.

She took another deep breath, bent her knee so that one leg stretched out behind her while the other took most of her weight - and pushed off.

The ice rink was a lot quieter now than it was in the middle of the day, the Olympic-quality rinks hosting times for ice hockey players, speed skaters, and ice dancers. It got even louder when the rink opened up for the public - those of the public who could afford it, anyway - because the director through that cultivating public support opened the rink up for more interest in the sports programs, a greater influx of talent that he could presumably snap up, and, of course, more merchandising opportunities.

Izana certainly likes to keep a finger on the pulse of everything, Shirayuki thought to herself, and choked a little on the foreign bitterness intermingling with the observation. Usually, it bemused her more than anything else, but today…

She tried to push the thought away as she finished one lap and started another, picking up speed. Cold air streamed more and more quickly past her face as she rounded the rink, making her eyes water, which at least gave her something to focus on.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I should have seen this coming, she thought, the cold and stinging eyes not powerful enough to slow down her mind. She slowed to a stop, realization dawning as she began to feel the burn in her calves. No, I’m not surprised, it’s what I expected.

Somehow, that only made her feel worse.

Shirayuki huddled down, resting her hips against the scuffed ice, her arms wrapped around her knees, the old insulated pants crinkling in a familiar way that soothed her, just a little bit.

Really, she should just be grateful that Zen wasn’t more hurt. He’d been lucky that she’d been watching the last-minute scrimmage he and his team had put on after hockey practice, before their paired skating practice. It could have been a lot worse.

She exhaled heavily, squeezing her face more tightly into her knee.

“All right there, Twirls?”

Shirayuki looked up and craned her head towards the sound. The side doors for the storage area for the Zamboni were open, and she saw the familiar form of Obi leaning against the machine.

She would have preferred to have been alone with her thoughts, but if anyone was to find her, she was glad it was him. She blinked away the traitorous moisture, put on her brightest smile, and nodded briskly. “No.”

Shirayuki cursed. She could never lie to him.

Even from across the rink, she could see his eyebrow arch, stretching the old scar above his eye. He straightened up a little, all his muscles at attention despite his deceptively languid stance. “Seem a little undecided there, Twirls.”

“I just got back from the hospital.””

“Yeah?” Obi responded. “How’s Ace doing? I’ve never seen Coach turn that shade of red before.”

Mitsuhide took a lot of things in stride, but there were two things that he absolutely did not. Like a proper Canadian transplant, the preservation and promotion of hockey was paramount to him. One did not mess with his hockey team and escape unscathed.

The other thing was Zen - his safety and well-being, not only as his friend but also as his star player, was also paramount.

So Zen taking a chance during the scrimmage to use one of his most acrobatic aerial leaps to soar over the other team (ostensibly intending to steal the puck and score a goal rather than slamming into the side of the rink and significantly spraining his ankle) had definitely...elicited a reaction from Mitsuhide.

He had vacillated between panic (“Are you okay, Zen? Can you stand? Is it broken, Shirayuki?”) and rage (You idiot! We were ahead by three goals. And this was practice!”)

Mitsuhide practically frothing at the mouth had unnerved most of the hockey players, so Shirayuki was grateful that Kiki had skated forward, shucking her gloves off to help stabilize Zen’s ankle as she splinted it before grabbing Mitsuhide by the back of his jersey and forcibly escorting him off the rink when he would not stop hovering.

(If it had been a less serious moment, Shirayuki would have laughed at the new redness burning the top of Mitsuhide’s ears as he was behind held by the third thing he had difficulty taking in stride.)

“Doctor says he’ll make a full recovery.”

“No doubt,” Obi grinned, walking smoothly towards her. “Between Coach’s mother-henning and your splinting skills, he didn’t have much time for it to get serious.”

The compliment glowed warm and low in her chest, but then it was overwhelmed by the cold feeling she got as she remembered what happened after Zen’s surgery. She fought back tears, hoping Obi wouldn’t notice.

He did.

“Twirls?”

She would have given everything to respond to him, but she didn’t trust her voice.

Obi sat down beside her, and she felt his arm move across her shoulders before squeezing them reassuringly. She leaned her head onto his chest, feeling the embroidery of his name push against her cheek, grounding her as his chest rose beneath her. A breath shuddered out.

“He’s going to be okay.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “But Izana says he can’t do both ice skating and hockey any more.”

“Oh.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Well, that’s a shame, Twirls, but it does make sense. This isn’t a Disney Channel movie, he can’t do both at the same time forever. That’s a lot of strain for the ankle to take, even for a paragon like Ace. But he can still play scrimmages and stuff sometimes, right? Boss can’t expect him to just quit hockey completely-”

“He chose hockey.”

The soothing rubbing stopped. “What?”

Shirayuki cleaned her throat again, shuddered. “He chose hockey.”

The hand on her shoulder didn’t move, but she feel his muscles tensing, and she opened her eyes to see his other hand clenched into a fist. He must have noticed that she had noticed because he exhaled deeply and let his fingers relax.

“But...what about your competition?”

Shirayuki sighed and settled back against his chest. “It’s early enough to change categories, and I’m used to skating singles, anyway -”

“That’s what you think? Or what Boss thinks?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter either way, it’s done.”

Obi was still for a long time, so still that Shirayuki eventually opened her eyes to check on him. His jaw was set so tightly that she was surprised that she couldn’t hear teeth grinding, and his eyes, which usually glittered with mischief or glowed with humor, were hard and flinty.

At her movement, Obi looked down at her, his eyes softening and his expression turning apologetic as his hand resumed its soothing rhythm. “I’m sorry, Twirls.” He looked out towards the Zamboni he was supposed to be driving, and snorted. He muttered, so low that she probably wasn’t supposed to hear, “I can’t believe he didn’t-”

Shirayuki shrugged, cutting him off. “He tried - at first, anyway. All the way to the hospital, he was holding my hand and promising that everything would be fine, that he’d figure something out.” She sighed. “I guess he did.”

“Or Boss did.”

“You know how important the team is to him.”

Obi squeezed her shoulder a final time before removing his arm from her shoulders and standing up. “I know how important you are, Twirls.” He held out a hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

She took his hand and let him pull her up. “Where?”

~~~

The moon was big and full, casting an ethereal glow over the frozen pond. Shirayuki took in a deep breath, feeling the icy sharpness of the air sting her nose, and smiled. She loved to skate anywhere, and she’d always be grateful for having the opportunity to skate at the rink, as fancy as it was. But there was something more...real about skating on a pond. It reminded her of the first time she glided across the lake near her grandparents’ pub, the feel of her father’s gloves beneath her mittens as he taught her to skate, of spinning free in the center of a lake, hair flying and arms outstretched, feeling light and airy and free.

Obi’s keys jingled as he shoved them into his coat pocket, stomping through the snow as he made his way over from his pick-up. “Feeling better, Twirls?”

“Just about,” she nodded. “The moon is so beautiful tonight.”

Obi hummed under his breath, and looking up, she saw him staring across the lake deep in thought.

“Makes me think of the night we met,” she continued.

It showed how much time had passed since they had met that Obi didn’t wince. She knew he wasn’t proud of how the first time they’d met officially was after he’d been caught for spreading debris across the pond where she had been practicing to trip her up and scare her off from the up-and-coming hockey player. Some enthusiast for the hockey team hadn’t liked that some outsider redhead was distracting The Zen Wisteria from the game.

Clearly, Obi had not been expecting her to leap over the debris without a moment’s hesitation. She could still remember the surprise and impressed look in his eyes as she met his stare head on after landing. He had even applauded her, which probably had some part in how quickly Mitsuhide and Kiki were able to catch up to him. Zen hadn’t been impressed with the stunt, but he had been impressed with the speed of Obi’s skating.

Despite Zen’s best efforts, Obi could not be pressed upon to actually join the speed skating relay team, but Zen had at least succeeded in getting him a job - reportedly to “keep him out of trouble” but they all knew better - at the rink. He took to driving the Zamboni with an enthusiasm that mildly terrified Mitsuhide, and he had a wealth of information on the surrounding area teams.

Obi gave a self-critical smile. “Good times, right? Except for when I got my face mashed into the snow by Miss Kiki.”

“It was good,” she agreed vehemently, “because it was the night I met you.”

She could feel her ears burning beneath her earmuffs and she quickly looked away over the lake. She heard a cough and saw Obi looking sheepish, one hand behind his head and red glinting through the olive skin of his cheeks.

“Same, Twirls.” He coughed again, and then made a shooing gesture. “Go on already, I know you’ve been dying to.”

Shirayuki needed no further prompting. She sat down in the snow, yanked off her boots, and slid on her skates. She pushed off the snowy ground and wobbled for a moment before steadying herself on Obi’s outstretched arm. “Thanks.” She stepped onto the ice, then craned her head back. “You coming?”

He kept gesturing towards the ice. “In a minute.”

The ice of the pond wasn’t quite as smooth as the ice of the rink - despite all his pleas in the past, Obi had never been allowed to take the Zamboni out for a “test drive” - but she liked that. The blades caught the slight divots and waves the water had settled into as it froze, and it reminded her of the lake back home. She could hear the birds settling into the nightly roosts and smell the fragrant scent of pine trees as a breeze blew into her face. Her nose was already red from the cold, and it felt amazing.

Shirayuki closed her eyes and spread her arms out wide. She felt free.

Na-na-na-na, na-na, na, I wanna start a fight!

Only years of experience in skating kept her from falling face first onto the ice, and she looked towards the sound. “Obi? What?”

The pick-up truck was running, the headlights spilling across the snow, and Obi was standing on the runner, holding onto the door with one hand and waving his phone with the other. Music blared out of the cab of the truck.

So, so what, I’m still a rock star-

“No time like the present, Twirls!” He bellowed over the music. “Let’s get that first-prize routine started.”

“Obi!” She was laughing now, her lungs burning beautifully. “Not that one!”

“It’s a good song,” he protested, “and it was the first one on Torou’s ‘Break My Heart, I’ll Break His Face’ playlist.”

Of course, Torou would have that as a playlist.

“Next one!” She yelled, making a new round around the perimeter of the pond.

“Fine, but I’m telling Torou!”

It was an empty threat, they both knew Torou would take her side.

I do my hair toss, check my nails-

“Yes!” Shirayuki crowed and pushed off to the center, tossing her hair and splaying her fingers along to the music.

Baby, how you feelin’?

She spun once, twice, three times before skating backwards shimmying her shoulders in time with the music. She went faster and faster -

You know you a star, you can touch the sky-

And she leapt. And again. And again.

She was breathless with laughter and could see Obi’s grin all the way from the shore between spins. 

The song faded, and the next began.

It took too long, it took too long, it took too long for you to call back-

“Too fast!” She called.

“Lies!” He called back, “Get it, Twirls!”

She stopped herself with a hand on the ice before tearing off around the pond, picking up speed.

This is the potential break-up song-

She began to make almost lazy spins in the center of the pond, her arms gliding in patterns in front of her and behind her head before speeding up once the chorus starting blaring.

Potential Break-up Song segued into IDGAF, and then into Cee-Lo. She was breathless and her arms ached from skating and her face ached from smiling and everything felt right.

We could have had it all, rolling in the deep

You had my heart inside your hand and

Played it to the beat-

Her heart stuttered despite herself, and she sighed.

“Twirls?”

She waved him off, and picked up speed. Faster and faster she went, leaving her hurt and anger behind, feeling nothing but the burn in her muscles, the ice beneath her feet, the chill in the air, and the music in her ears. One leap, two leaps, and then she slid back on her left foot -

We could have had it all!

-And she spun backwards into a Salchow.

She landed, blushing at the Obi’s whoops and cheers, and felt proud but spent. She slowed down, her heart pounding as Adele continued to sing, and skated towards where she’d left her boots.

Obi padded down towards them as well, bending down to scoop them up and lifting them out towards her as she approached. She shook her head vigorously and stuck out her hand. “No, your phone.”

He arched his brow. “Huh?”

Shirayuki thrust her hand towards the phone, fanning her fingers vigorously. “Your phone, gimme. Come join me!”

“Twirls…”

She knew it was cheating to give him The Eyes. She didn’t care. “Obi.”

He took a shuddering breath and covered his face with his hand. “Fine.” He handed over the phone and tramped through the snow back to the truck.

By the time he had pulled his old skates from the truck bed and laced them onto his feet, she had scrolled through the phone and disregarded several songs before picking the best one.

Obi stepped out onto the ice. “Gonna tell me what you picked?”

She pushed Play and stuck the phone into her pocket, zipping it. “Nope.”

“Twirls…”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she chided, hoping the nonchalance in her voice drowned out the pounding of her heart. She reached out her hands. “Skate with me?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m not that fancy of a skater, Twirls.”

“I don’t want fancy, Obi,” she insisted. “I want you.”

That was...a lot more blunt that she had intended. But it was a night for change, and as his hand enveloped hers, it felt right.

She braced one foot behind her and pulled on his hand. And he followed.

Hand in hand, they skated to the center of the pond, and Shirayuki strained to hear the opening chords from the truck radio. As the piano began, she pushed off, with Obi following their linked hands.

What would I do without your smart mouth?

Obi’s hand tightened on hers, and she was hyper aware of how the heat of his palm burned hers through their gloves.

My head’s underwater, but I’m breathing fine

You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind.

This was moving too fast, she was being too forward. But it felt like all her pieces were falling into place. Obi wasn’t used to leisurely skating, he was more of a speed skater and going slowly nearly made him stumble. But in the next glide, his movements were more smooth and together they fell into the same rhythm.

Cause all of me loves all of you

All your curves and all your edges

All your perfect imperfections

Their eyes met, and even now she could see some hesitation. Her grip on his hand tightened and she adjusted her stride so she was closer to him. Even as their breath fogged around them into the cold night air, she could only feel the warmth of him beside her. Shirayuki turned, skating backwards and pulling him to follow her into a small spin. And Obi, who she’d seen charm birds out of the trees, looked almost dazed before following along.

Give your all to me

I’ll give my all to you

You’re my end and my beginning

Even when I lose, I’m winnin’

Slowly, they spun around each other, the circles growing slower and smaller until she was fully in his arms. Even as his arms wrapped around her, she could feel hesitation in the quivering of his muscles. She took a big breath, laced with the scent that was so distinctly Obi, and took the plunge, laying her head against his shoulder.

His breath shuddered, and she was held so close she couldn’t tell where she started and he began.

Give me all of you, oh

Cards on the table, we’re both showing hearts

Risking it all, though it’s hard

There was always a risk to be completely honest. But she trusted Obi. She hoped he trusted her, too.

“Obi?”

“Yes?”

“Is this-” Despite her resolve, she could feel her fingers trembling. She had been brave up until now. “Do you feel- I mean…”

Obi pulled back and gave her an intense look. “Shirayuki.”

(She refused to faint, but hearing him say her actual name like that was making it a real possibility.)

“Yes.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She was about to show that word all the appreciation it deserved, but then Obi opened his mouth again.

“But I won’t get in the way of-”

Only he could make her want to smack him and hug him at the same time. “There’s nothing to get in the way of, Obi. There’s just friendship there, and right now even that’s a little dodgy.”

Obi looked dazed again. “Oh.”

She smiled at him, adrenaline making her lips quivered. He brushed his hands against the outside of her arms and she melted against him.

The song had long since stopped, and they stood in silence for a long time.

“Shirayuki.” Obi began, and as much as Shirayuki liked his nickname for her, she definitely would like hearing her full name from him more often, especially when his voice held that husky tone.

She looked up and met his gaze, which was full of intent. He lowered his head to hers, slowly enough that she could pull back or pull away if she wanted.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she lifted her head so that her lips met his.

[hockeyboysiguess]

seven swans a-swimming → seven kids a-playing (hockey) | a. burakovsky

a/n: by follower request, here’s the next fic of my 12 days of christmas series! rest of the series can be found here. 

word count: 2,399

warnings: none? genuinely, none i don’t believe. 

André was fidgeting at your side, one hand around his drink and the other fussing with the collar of his ugly sweater. You knew he was itching to do something, anything, other than just stand and talk. If your time at parties with André had taught you anything since you had gotten together, and your time around him prior to that, he couldn’t stand just standing around. He always told you with a smile that if he was going to be anyone’s arm candy, he wanted to be yours. Even though this was an event for him and by the accounts of all outside observers you were the arm candy, you knew being your arm candy was incredibly low on the list of things he actually wanted to do. He was dying to be freed, for you to tell him you could handle the cheek kissing and polite conversation without him. 

Normally, you would’ve asked him to hang on a little longer, but his soft eyes and the crooked elf hat on his head, Landy told him he was too young to wear a Santa hat, were all encouraging you to take a little holiday pity on him and release him to wherever he wanted to go that wasn’t the circle of wives and girlfriends he was in with you. You reached out and patted his forearm softly to grab his attention from the circle of conversation. André leaned his head down, bringing his ear to your height so you could whisper softly to him. 

“If you want to go, feel free. I can hold down the fort,” you told him. 

He hummed softly in appreciation as he lifted his head enough to drop a lingering kiss to your temple. One of his hands rubbed up and down your back smoothly, a silent thank you, before he gave a small wave of goodbye to the group. 

“He lasted pretty long this time,” Mel joked with a shove of your elbow with hers. “He’s improving.” 

You laughed in agreement as you watched André make his way towards the makeshift floor rink that had been set up for the kids to play mini sticks, one of the older wives’ ideas to help the kids burn energy during the party. Family friendly parties were an elaborate ruse as far as you could tell because kids were invited to them, but oftentimes kids single handedly brought the destruction of the party along with them. 

“We need a goalie,” one of the kids huffed loudly enough you could hear from across the party. More of a whine than a huff. “Who wants to go in goal?” 

Except none of the six kids in the rink wanted to do anything other than shoot, something that wasn’t really all that different from most of the professional hockey players scattered around the party. You didn’t hear the exchange, but you saw your boyfriend, who wasn’t entirely unlike the kids in the makeshift rink in a lot of ways, grab a mini stick and jump right into the goal. The stick was way too small for him, so he was bent practically in half at the waist trying to use it, but the smile on his face was undeniable. You were pretty sure there were now seven kids in the rink, but André couldn’t have been happier being an absolutely terrible goalie on purpose. 

It didn’t escape you just how natural he was with kids. You’d known for a while now, back when it was just something else about him to find endearing, back when it was just a bonus you hadn’t seen when you first met him, like an item you had mentioned longingly like a dream showing up under the tree for you Christmas morning. Seeing him with kids used to make your heart race as if it was taking flight in your chest, nerves about the future fueling its pace and forcing your lungs to work harder to keep up with the demand. There was an anxiousness to seeing him with kids in the past, your hands fidgeting at your sides, trying to process everything it made you feel, from nervous to excited to hopeful to desire to fear, and everything in the middle. There was an innocence to it back then because the reality of it was so removed from the present, as innocent as Christmas was to children who still believed Santa left their presents under the tree. It was allowed to be a dream, a fantasy, a magical morning where the impossible was possible. 

Him being natural with kids didn’t represent some distant reality anymore. It was something relevant very much to the present, something that if he didn’t have, you wouldn’t have gently informed him that his window to propose was very, very open if he intended to, which had been met with the biggest smile you’d ever see from him. There was a magic to it that was lost now, but you didn’t miss how distant the dream of it all felt back then. There was a relevance to it, an importance to it now. Nerves and anxiousness that came with the uncertainty were replaced by assurance, of want. Sometimes magic was the unknown and the unknown was terrifying. Seeing him with kids had lost its magic, much like Christmas did from your childhood, but the magic was replaced with something tangible, something real; a deep, comfortable love. The kind of love that always felt  just the right weight on your shoulders, heavy when you needed his warm embrace, light when you needed to spread your wings. Christmas was like that too. Santa and the mystery of gifts gave way to an appreciation of the thoughtfulness behind them all, an appreciation of the time spent selecting an item for someone else. It was less magical in the traditional sense, but nonetheless beautiful. 

That’s how seeing André with kids felt now, comforting and reassuring. Every time you saw him, you felt more and more sure that you were picking the perfect person to build the rest of your life with. It was less of a dream, but sometimes reality was better than a dream and André Buravkosky was definitely better as reality than a dream.

Mel had said André was improving earlier, but looking at him, being an incredibly over-dramatic goaltender all in the name of entertaining the kids, you didn’t really think there was anything André Burakovsky needed to improve on. You were pretty sure if you spent your whole life with him and he was the exact same person at the end of it and you spent every single year until then trying to better yourself that you still wouldn’t catch him. You watched as he let one of the kids knock him over, taking him out at the knees and falling dramatically onto the ground into a giggling pile of André and children. You could hear his laugh carry across the room, combined with the kids, and you let yourself think about how many in not too many years in the future, there would be some of your kids in that mini rink too. 

The kids were worn out before André was, but at least they expended some of his energy for you. His elf hat was still askew on his head, like it had been the entire party, and his cheeks were flushed pink. He greeted you with a soft kiss to your temple and an arm slid around your waist. He dropped his lips to your ear to whisper softly to you. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked quietly. “There’s something downtown we can catch, if you’re ready to go.” 

“What do you have in mind?”

He pulled back as you turned to him, timed perfectly for you to see his bright, wide smile, the first thing that had drawn you across a crowded bar to talk to him. 

“It’s a surprise. Come on.” 

His hand reached out and he laced his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand softly and encouragingly. You looked up at him, greeted by his kind eyes, and nodded softly. His smile seemed to become impossibly brighter at your agreement to his surprise even though you weren’t the biggest fan of surprises. 

“We’re going to head out,” you said to the group even though they already knew. You and André and your subtle whispers weren’t as subtle as you thought you were. Plus the group had been seeing your stolen moments for years by now. “We’ll see you all for the game tomorrow?”

“Always,” Mel assured you as André was already beginning to pull you away. 

You yanked your coat on as you exited the arena and were barely able to pull your Avalanche beanie you’d stolen from André way back on your second date before he was reaching for your hand, demanding it be laced with his again. He was touchy, something you found endearing at the start of your relationship but now found comforting. You didn’t get butterflies with him anymore as you walked through the cold winter street of Denver. The butterflies settled a long time ago, leaving you to find another young love to inhabit. Your love was old now, a tradition you were happy to keep, like the one you had with your mother of buying a new ornament every year. You thought about that tradition every time you passed a reminder of Christmas, every time you saw ornaments in airports and gift shops in towns you visited. You saw your love for André in the couples you passed on the streets, in the care with which someone had hung each wreath in town, in the children earlier smiling because of André taking his time with them, in the warmth from his hand in yours. Everything was a reminder of it, of something old and sure. Christmas was a time where there were more reminders and why it was your favorite time of year. 

“What are you thinking about?” André asked, asking softly to be let into your thoughts.

“Just you and Christmas,” you told him with a squeeze of his hand. “Two of my favorite things.” 

“Funny,” he laughed as he spoke, “I was just thinking about Christmas and you.”

You smiled and turned your attention back to the streets, letting André guide with soft tugs of your hand and leading footsteps as he talked at length about the kids, and hockey, and holidays, and anything that floated through his mind. When you came upon a crowd of people, unexpected to you but seemingly expected to André, he gave you another soft squeeze of your hand, letting you know this was all in his plan. You let your eyes scan over the crowd, seeing ugly sweaters, Santa hats, and other Christmas apparel. Then you noticed the large, still dark tree at the center of it all, unlit strings of lights hung about the plaza overhead. 

“A tree lighting, huh?” you teased him lightly. “This is why we ditched out on the Avs Christmas party?”

He nodded as he pulled you into him. He dropped a kiss to your partially covered forehead. You turned and pressed your back into his inviting chest as one of his arms wrapped around your stomach and the other over your chest.

“I thought lots of twinkly lights were better than some repeat conversations NHL execs,” André mused softly into your ear with his chin on your shoulder. 

“I do love me some Christmas lights,” you laughed as you wrapped your hands around his arm over your chest, securing yourself to him. 

“Well good,” he laughed in return, “because you’re going to get a lot of them here in a minute.” 

You watched with André’s arms around you as it seemed every single one of Denver’s local politicians was using this tree lighting to give a rousing speech about the holidays and family and the importance of this time of the year. You were certain somewhere among the platitudes was genuine heart and love, but it was doused in a little too much fake holiday cheer for you to buy in. Your eyes were more focused on the children playing tag off to your left, entertained by nothing more than each other. There were seven of them, racing about the railing and steps, Santa hats and Christmas tree headbands flailing as the children moved haphazardly to dodge each other. You couldn’t help but giggle as a little girl with curly blonde hair was tagged. She whined and stomped her feet, curls and the antlers on her head bobbing in her miniature tantrum, before she collected herself and made it her mission to tag the boy who tagged her. 

“Maybe we’ll have that many someday,” André mumbled in your ear. “Our own little three-on-three team plus a goalie?”

“Mmm, unless you’re giving birth that many times, I’m going to stop you at two or three,” you told him, drawing a laugh from him. 

“Guess we’ll just have to take them to Sweden so they can play with their cousins, yeah?” 

He kissed your cheek before turning his attention to the makeshift stage again, as they were actually about to light the tree. You thought it was going to be a simple switch flip, but apparently someone in Denver was feeling a little more dramatically festive than that. They rigged up a small firework to shoot from a nearby building and coast down a guide wire into the Christmas tree, shocking you and the crowd below as the lights flicked on all around you as though the firework had sparked them itself. You couldn’t help but smile as fireworks began to go off overhead, covering the applause of the crowd. André was laughing too, rocking you back a little on your heels as he tipped his head up to look at the sky, appreciating the red and green and white dashing across the sky.

“Think maybe we can bring our kids here every year?” André asked in your ear after the fireworks finally began to die down. “I was kind of hoping this could be a new tradition for us?” 

You smiled softly as you gave your answer, a joy in your words as you saw the future as you spoke, “You know me. I love a good Christmas tradition.”

[crystalgirl259]

Guilty Pleasures Chapter 1

SUMMARY: A demon Kai and an angel Zane, longtime acquaintances who, having grown accustomed to life on Earth as representatives of Heaven and Hell, seek to prevent the coming of the Armageddon...

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Current theories on the creation of the universe stated that if it were created at all and didn't just start it came into being about fourteen billion years ago. The Earth was generally supposed to be about four and a half billion years old. These dates were incorrect. Some medieval scholars put the date of the creation at 3760 BC while others put creation as far back as 5508 BC. But these were also incorrect. Archbishop James Ussher claimed that Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday, the twenty-first of October, 4004 BC, at nine in the morning.

This too was incorrect, by almost a quarter of an hour.

It was created at 9:13 in the morning. The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke that paleontologists haven't seen yet. This proved that God did not play dice with the universe. He played an ineffable game of his own devising. For everyone else, it was like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiled all the time. To understand the true significance of what that means, we need to begin earlier.

A little more than 6,000 years earlier, to be precise.

Just after the beginning. It started, as it will end, with a garden, in this case, the Garden of Eden, and with an apple. It was a nice day, but all the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But the storm clouds gathering east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one...

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Zane fretted as he stood near the lip of the stone ledge, his shining robes shining in the light along with the white, almost glowing, feathers of his large wings. The first two humans off in the distance, Adam and Eve, had barely made their way out into the new world and they were both already in danger. A large male lion made a beeline from nowhere toward them and was now intending on making them extinct. The young angel didn't think this was going to go well.

Thank goodness they weren't unarmed, the angel consoled himself.

Before they left, he gave Eve his shurikens of ice gifted to him by the high angels. He was surprised to see Adam wielding a sword of fire, a weapon not of Heaven, but considering what had happened, he wasn't too concerned about it. Knowing that they had means of protection helped Zane's mind rest, but only a little. The weather was fair, aside from the rapidly building clouds. At least that was a comfort to know. A kind, warm breeze fluttered his clean robe around in a playful way.

It felt wonderful to the angel, but even better how it ran through his unsheathed white wings.

He flexed them out to get a better feel. It felt good to have them free from their confines. He had been practicing getting used to having them put away for his assignment on this new planet. They had warned him upstairs that he couldn't afford to be seen by 'God's Little Projects' down here. Those were their words, not his own. Before Zane embarked, God himself told him they wouldn't be able to handle it due to now learning 'jealousy', whatever that meant.

When he asked him what it was, he said the young angel would find out in time, plus all the other ones.

He still didn't know why God didn't tell him, but God had always worked in mysterious ways. Don't interfere too much. That was the rule all angels lived by. Be ever watchful, a mentor if needed, provide guidance if asked, but that was it. Not too difficult, or so they kept telling him, and already he broke the rule. Now he had more trouble on the mind. There was only so much to do when watching over the birth of a new species. To be so limited to what needs to be done simply wasn't fair.

Not that he condoned rules should be broken.

But this was not going to be easy. His toes curled on the hard surface when he felt that other presence approach closer. It was a sort of tugging sensation that came from deep inside him. He thought it was curious. That never happened before, except when that thing first showed up. He knew it was nearby anyway. At times it felt as though it was hovering just out of sight, watching. But he had hoped it would leave. It felt different than anything he had ever known, and he didn't like it one bit.

Not when everything was so new.

So he promptly chose to ignore it. It was just a lowly serpent demon anyway. Granted, that filthy Hell beast was most likely the reason he had a chance of being fired before he could do his job. Perhaps everyone would understand. They were angels, after all, forgiveness and compassion were at the very root of their cores. Zane rubbed his temple. He had only one job. He hadn't even been here for very long and already he morally mucked it up.

He would be the laughing stock upstairs.

The only other thing he could possibly get wrong now is if Eden caught fire. Then he would officially be out of a job. Zane started wondering if he should have been more aggressive about it and really told that serpent what for. He never was very good at this soldier of Heaven thing or asserting himself in general. Zane truly believed that someone else would be better suited for this than he.

"What do you make of it?" A voice suddenly asked, shattering the silence. Zane jumped, the voice startling him from his own musings. He hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. He was shocked that the creature had yet to attack him, wondering if they were friendly, but that would be outlandish because the very thought is preposterous, blasphemous even. Their kind would never mingle with his. Not without bloodshed, anyway. It simply wasn't done.

The angel turned to his left and couldn't help but do a double-take to the creature next to him.

It was male, dressed in dark red robes, with amber snake-like eyes, beautiful tanned skin, a toned body, and brown hair shaped in a way that reminded Zane of fire. The back of the demon's hands and up his arms were dusted with dark red snake scales. His finger and toenails were incredibly sharp and black. Zane couldn't take his eyes off it, completely transfixed. He almost didn't believe that that was the serpent. He didn't know it had a vessel, let alone a silky pair of feathered, crimson wings with black tips.

When Zane saw the wings he realized that this was not just some ordinary demon.

It was one of the Fallen. That was fascinating to Zane, as he had never met one of them. In fact, if Zane was entirely honest with himself, this dark one was a mixture of striking, exotic, and becharming. Now it was staring at him with those amber serpent eyes. For some reason, they didn't repulse the angel. It was then that Zane remembered that the snake had asked him something and it was probably best to respond. He should also stop thinking of it as an 'it'.

That demon was evidently much more than that and Zane suddenly felt like he was being rude, even if the demon couldn't read minds.

Zane smiled awkwardly, then concluded he had no idea what the creature said.

"Sorry, what?" Zane asked and the brunette pointed out towards the humans.

"That, right there, the whole tiger thing." He clarified and Zane followed the demon's finger.

"That's a lion." Zane corrected.

"Whatever, don't you think it's a bit much? I mean, they just got out, are finding their footing, and the first thing they come across on this big round planet is this aggressive beast?"

"No one said it would be easy," Zane said, even if the other had a point.

"It's trying to eat them!" The demon gawked at him.

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do, uh...?" Zane trailed off when he realized he hadn't gotten the demon's name if it had one. The brunette quickly caught on to why Zane paused and smiled faintly.

"Kai." He answered the unasked question.

"Kai, thank you, but these things are not our decisions to make."

"You're not about to sprout some Holier-Than-Thou jibberish at me are you?" Kai asked as he gave him a peculiar look. Zane wasn't sure how to answer that. That was all anyone ever talked about upstairs. The very idea that someone wouldn't want to, let alone calling it jibberish, preach about it and discuss its many glorious wonders was unheard of. When the angel didn't answer, the dark one rolled his eyes.

"You were, weren't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that." Zane countered.

"No no, of course not." Kai mocked. "You're within your right to justify a reason as to why God's human race failed at the get-go."

"I'm not trying to do any such thing!" Zane said, growing flustered. "B-Besides, look! The male seems to be fending its adversary off brilliantly on his own! They're obviously capable of taking care of themselves; I only hope that this will be the worst of it, at least for today." He frowned in concern as a roll of thunder broke in, causing them both to look around for the source. Detecting it was from the sky, they exchange looks then went back to watching the battle for survival in front of them.

They stood in oddly comfortable silence before Kai broke it.

"Wait, so that's a lion?" He gasped, almost in awe.

"Yes, It is."

"Never seen one of them before."

"Sorry?" Zane blinked in confusion.

"I said, I've never seen one of those before."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've never seen a lion before, so I would never have known they looked like that." He shrugged and Zane could only stare. "What?" Kai asked in a rather prickly manner.

"Nothing," The angel squeaked as he turned away, a slight blush framing the tips of his ears. He didn't realize he was ogling again. "Just, find it surprising that one dead animal isn't familiar with an equally dangerous one."

"It's not like I was there when they were created, was a little bit busy with another matter at that time, as you well know." Kai returned as another boom of thunder rumbled closer over their heads. Only this time it had been accompanied by a shocking bright snap of light that streaked across the sky. Both of their sets of wings flinched outward and lightly fluffed at the surprise of it. Zane let out an embarrassed chuckle and willed his feathers to settle down.

He could see out of the corner of his eye the other trying to do the same.

He cleared his throat and thought it best to continue where they left off.

"So, therefore, am I left to understand that, based on what you've said, you've never witnessed a tiger as well?" He asked and Kai immediately clammed up.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's a simple question."

"I don't know about that."

"Really? Do tell, I'd love to hear it."

"Has it gotten a bit stuffy out here?"

"No, I find it quite pleasing in all truthfulness."

"More cloudy things are building up."

"Stop trying to change the subject, please." Zane all but begged and Kai eyed him carefully.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being ridiculed?"

"I would never," He said with all honesty. Kai looked around as if someone might hear, grimaced, and leaned in.

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Oh, may the Lord himself strike me down if I should ever utter a syllable to another living soul," Zane promised and he clasped his hands as if in prayer. Kai gave him a doubtful look, but eventually relented and grumbled with an obnoxious huff.

"No, are you satisfied now?! I've never seen a tiger, a lion, or fucking whale!" The demon cried as he closed his eyes and flinched again when more thunder rumbled closer. The sky was turning all below it several shades darker, growing ever so closer to swallowing the bright sun. The angel was oblivious to this, however.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never seen a whale either." Zane smiled. It took a moment, but Zane noticed the smirk flit across that surprisingly pretty face.

"It doesn't," Kai replied as he glanced at him all the same with those gemstone eyes and once again they slipped into a pleasant silence. Zane suddenly had a thought. If Kai didn't seem to know about other animals, did he know about himself?

"Now Uhm, don't take this the wrong way but, you do know what you are, correct?" He asked carefully.

"You mean besides an angel-turned-demon who's damned for all eternity?" Kai said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yes."

"Then, of course, I know."

"Excellent! Care to say it out loud?"

"I already told you; my name's Kai," The demon grinned. He felt his heart miss a beat, and not in a good way. The thump was alarmingly prominent like his vessel-body was trying to alert him to take note of what this creature was saying. There was no possible way this demon could be this naive. Something else was amiss.

"Yes, I know your name, but I'm asking if you know what you are; do you know what you are?" He asked again and Kai's expression gradually changed from enjoyment to being perplexed. His brow furrowed as he stared off, eyes flicking around as if searching for something but simply grew more confused.

"What am I?" Kai finally asked, getting annoyed by the question.

"A serpent, dear," Zane replied for the demon. Evidently, Kai's face fell back to puzzlement once more and Zane's mouth fell open. It was evident that word meant nothing to the demon. "You don't know what a serpent is, do you?" He asked, almost sadly, Kai shrugged it off.

"What of it?"

"That's what you are!"

"So? What's so important with needing to know the ins and outs of a serpent? Why do you care if I know or not?" Kai snapped, experimenting with the new word in his mouth.

"No need to get upset, I was only trying to help," Zane said as he raised his arms in defense to try to quickly diffuse the tension. He watched Kai focus on the humans again, and it was clear something he had said or done bothered the demon immensely. He felt terrible, and then suddenly that scent came back. Only recently Zane had caught this aroma in the air. It comes and goes with the wind, but the longer he had been here the less deniable it had become.

Never had it been invasive or overbearing, but the angel noticed he could pick it out no matter what kind of stronger scents surrounded it.

Right now, this very moment, it was hitting him stronger than it ever had before.

"Looks like the lion's down," Kai added, noting how successful the humans were doing so far. Another rumble of thunder accompanied by that bright flash pushed ever closer. Perhaps Kai had caught a whiff of the scent?

"Do you smell that?" The angel asked, sniffing the air.

"What?" Kai asked and Zane realized he had made a poor judgment.

"Never mind." The angel shrugged off awkwardly, but thankfully the demon didn't push it. They stood there in silence for a short while, before Kai glanced over at Zane, and his snake eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Wait, where are your shurikens anyway? I thought you had a pair that froze anything they touched?" He asked and Zane froze in fear. "Did you have one, or didn't you? Because now I'm confused."

"How do you mean?" The angel asked as he began to feel uneasy.

"Well, your presence here no longer makes sense, so what are you doing here Snowflake?"

"I'm-"

"Are you lost?"

"No, I'm... you're trying to confuse me." Zane accused as his heart started to race,

"I'm trying to confuse you?" Kai almost laughed, and this made Zane even more defensive.

"Yes! That's what your kind do and I will not be swayed into it!" He stated in the strongest voice he could muster at that moment, his chest puffing out slightly as he did. Zane knew he was being cornered. He knew this whole thing was a setup to get him to lose ground or faith or doubt himself in his duties for the choices he'd made and how thanks to him everything was ruined. But that wasn't what upset Zane. He was upset that he fell for it.

He had failed again.

God must have been testing him early and he has failed another one. Or perhaps not? He may have caught it in time, he could still redeem himself if he stayed strong.

"You're the one who's doing the confusing here," Kai lectured. "You're supposed to have some freezing shurikens, which I could've sworn you had, and that would make sense for a Cherub to have in order to guard the Garden of Eden, but let's face it, you're terrible at guarding, and you don't have your shurikens so I ask you again; what are you doing here?" He scowled and a boom of thunder emphasized the demon's point. Zane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, eyes closed.

All he had to do was be honest, true, and stop being distracted by the alluring visage before him.

"I...I gave them away."

"You gave them away?!"

"Shh! Not so loud!" He panicked, already forgetting the pep-talk he gave himself. "I don't want the head office to hear! Besides, they're not lost or anything; they're right there, see? The humans have it now." The angel explained and pointed to the humans slowly fading in the distance with a pair of remarkably bright-looking objects in the hands of one of them. Kai looked back to the tiny figures, then to the angel. Then back to the figures, and once again to the angel.

Then suddenly, what Zane could only describe as a ridiculously big stupid grin spread over the demon's face, the creature did an unexplainable thing.

He started to laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. It became so severe they turned into fits, gripping his stomach. That damned thing lost its balance and fell to the floor. He rolled around, it wracking his body to near spasm levels, and during it all, he had the utter nerve to speak to the angel at the same time.

"Oh, I would love to be there for your first report! Glad to know I'm not the only one who interfered." He cackled, and his grin grew when he saw the confusion on Zane's face. "What? Where did you think Adam got that flaming sword from?" He laughed and Zane gasped at the realization that Kai had been the one to give Adam the sword, a weapon of Hell. "I hope it doesn't turn out that they aren't too bright yet when it comes to violent weaponry and the use of fire and ice so they somehow kill themselves!"

Zane's paled, even more, when Kai's words sank in.

The angel finally realized that he could get in a great deal of trouble for this. Everything Kai pointed out was more than plausibly true and may happen once the humans were out of sight. This was serious. Even so, he couldn't stop a giggle bubble up to the surface. Watching Kai, he found out, was contagious. It started small but soon grew to a level that was painful to hold in. He tried to stifle it, tried to bite it back with his teeth against his tongue, but it was hopeless.

Zane covered his mouth and did his best to hide it from the cackling demon.

"That's not funny, I beseech you, stop laughing!" He tried to say normally but cracked on the last word. He clenched a fist and nearly begged the other to spare him. Kai rolled to face him and Zane was almost lost again when he saw tears running down his cheeks. He had no choice but to turn away and fisted his hands tightly by his sides. "No! No, I refuse to believe in your trickery! This isn't a joke!" The angel yelled, not caring what he said so long as this lark would end.

Within time, Kai calmed down, breathing heavily.

"They're going to be fine, Snowflake, I'm only teasing you," He said while a chuckle or two still found its way out. "Look how well they have handled themselves against their first threat, and they've only just set foot out there; if I hadn't given them that sword and you hadn't given them the shurikens they would be torn to pieces by now, we saved them." Zane heard from behind him a tired sigh. The loudest thunder roll cracked out, the very appearance of the clouds above threatening their next level to come soon.

The flutter from inside Zane's chest came back.

But, somehow it was stronger this time around. He turned back to face the other being and took notice of how Kai laid there. Wings relaxed, hands resting on the stomach, one leg bent. He was comfortable. Kai, an evil enemy, was content to lay there in his presence. Zane could easily smite him. He would technically be within reason, for what Kai had done concerning the apple. It would be simple, quick, and clean. But that never even crossed his pure mind.

He strode over to the brunette and reached down a hand with a winning smile of his own.

"My name is Zane; it's nice to meet you." He introduced and Kai's eyes widened. He wasn't expecting that. He stared at the hand as if he had never seen its kind before. He appeared unsure of what step to take next. Zane gave him time, not pulling away yet. Soon enough, Kai eventually smiled.

"Hello, Zane, it's nice to meet you, too," He replied and reached up with his own hand, clasped the inviting one, and was hoisted up. Zane nearly dropped the demon, however. Once they touched, the contact was not at all what he was expecting. He cried out, yanking his hand away, and jumped back. His other hand clasped it around the wrist and pulled it close. Zane stared from his hand to Kai in either astonishment or fear. He couldn't decide which it was.

Kai just raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed as to what had happened.

"Oh! Forgive me but, you're so hot! To the touch, I mean!" He stammered as he did his best to explain but not offend.

"Naturally." Kai shrugged. Zane shook his head, confused.

"This is a normal occurrence?"

"Of course," The demon said casually, amused by the reaction from the angel. He crossed his arms, took a deep, over-exaggerated breath. "Being a fallen angel, or more accurate, a demon from the fiery pits of Hell now, so to answer your question; being boiling hot is normal for demons like me," He smiled. The next boom of thunder rumbled on for some time. It was as if the sky was growling its impatience for being ignored.

"Is that all?"

"Yep," Kai replied, but he didn't seem to care. The brunette then opened his mouth and exhaled. The air in front of it appeared to ripple several inches outward. Zane walked up to it, mesmerized, and like a baby who was still testing out the world for the first time, he reached out a hand and ran it through it. It was warm, heated air coming out. It wasn't painful in the slightest. The angel beamed as he wiggled his fingers around it. He kept it up until Kai closed his mouth, grinning at Zane's blush.

Zane was about to agree, then stopped himself and wondered why this was brought up in the first place.

"Anywho, going back to your shuriken conversation with His Almighty, if you can't find humor even in the direst situations, then what's the point of it?" He asked and Zane visibly shook his wings at the way Kai mockingly talked about the Lord. Ignoring that, however, Zaen wasn't sure what he thought of that advice, but he secretly tucked it away in the back of his mind all the same.

"You'll be alright, he loves all of you unquestionably," Kai added and Zane paused. Did he hear that right? Had a fallen angel, a being who willfully rebelled against God just casually admit the Lord adored all of them? Without a second thought about it? What was going on here? Zane turned his head and glanced at the demon. The brunette was rigid stiff. Amber eyes hard, staring intently straight ahead. Jaw clenched. He could see the dark one's fingers turning white from how hard he was gripping his own arms.

So it was a mistake.

He didn't mean to say it. Now at least something about this villain makes sense to him.

"I wonder how far up we are?" Kai suddenly blurted out with a jerk of his head, and then just took off, running over and standing right on the edge of the wall cliff. His red and black wings thrusting out just so as to counter the body weight from tumbling over. Zane gasped and ran after but stayed himself some steps later. For a split moment, he chastised himself for the idea of wanting to save the enemy. But most of the time he was too busy worrying about the brunette disappearing suddenly from his sight.

The wind had picked up some, and was a tad rougher on Kai's clothes and hair, yanking and blowing it around like a dare to take another step.

The demon suddenly moaned, but Zane couldn't tell what he meant. The angel moved fast and was standing next to them once the groan had been uttered.

"Are you alright?" He panicked.

"I don't like heights," The demon mumbled. The eyes were closed and they appeared to be swaying.

"Then get away from the edge, you silly thing!" Zane shouted, grasping the other and guiding him down to safety. When he unclosed his eyes, he got defensive.

"I just wanted to see how far down it was!" He hissed angrily, but Zane just rolled his eyes and neither of them said anything more on the subject. Water from the skies began to fall. When it hit them they shied away from it on the first drops. Zane figured it out quicker than the other one did. Kai seemed a little lost to this experience, unsure of what to do or how to react to it. Kai must have sensed eyes on him, for he turned to catch the angel's icy orbs.

Zane, at this point he stopped trying to reason it, opened an arm, lifted a wing, and beckoned the other in.

To say he was surprised the demon actually moved closer was a hardball to juggle. So many unusual and unexpected things happened in such as short time. He wasn't even sure how he felt. He didn't seem the least bit repulsed when Kai stood so close they nearly touched shoulders, and he could feel the heat of the other's temperature radiating onto him. The demon kept glancing at him, shifting on his bare feet. Eventually, he opened his mouth and asked what seemed to be on his mind.

"No hard feelings between us, yes? After all; I was only doing what I was so ordered to, on pain of repercussion, and all that." He said, looking a little nervous. This made the pale angel go quiet. Unsure of whether to trust what this thing was saying or if he was lying to him and this was planned the whole time. Whichever it was, he hadn't the heart to be cruel.

"No, I daresay, no hard feelings; it's too early for that yet." He replied and another silence surrounded them. Every once in a while, they would both stick their hands out to catch the water droplets on their palms then bring them in under the protection of the angel's wing. Even if they both refused to admit it, Kai and Zane felt at peace at that moment. Where it was just the two of them, huddled together as they experienced the first rainfall with the young planet Earth...