#but! i am suppose to be here for a solid week at least so????? win win!!

[providencehq]

Hello I'm back making art. Art for roseandgold over on tiktok of their DC OC Ollie Wire!

[shadowheritageposts]

The One Where Shadow is Dead

In collaboration with @butterfly-reaper-lily​ 

Shadow is rather dead at the moment. 

Darkness. That was the first thing Shadow could see when he opened his eyes.

It also was the only thing he could see, it turned out, as he slowly sat up and turned his gaze to his surroundings. Nothing but darkness wherever he looked.

The last thing he’d seen…the last thing he could remember was fighting Rift. Burning through his life force energy in the stratosphere…and then. Nothing.

This. 

He peered into the darkness, but even with his enhanced eyesight as the Ultimate Lifeform, he couldn’t make out anything concrete or distinctive. Just unending darkness. Rising to his feet, he couldn’t help but be on guard as he ventured a “Hello?”

Suddenly, he heard a soft chuckle behind him, and whirled around to face the source—before stopping short in utter confusion. Shadow admittedly wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t…this.

Standing—no, floating—in front of him was a human girl, with bright ginger hair and wearing a yellow dress suit. Who also happened to be surrounded by an aura of fire, which somehow didn’t illuminate the surrounding area. And were those…butterfly wings?

The hedgehog was now halfway convinced that he was trapped in his mind and hallucinating again.

“Well. Certainly took you long enough.” The girl playfully crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side as she said this, complimenting the slightly sarcastic tone of her words. “I was starting to wonder if you actually couldn’t die, to be honest…”

Shadow blinked, staring. This…well, it probably wasn’t real, was it? He’d been trapped in his own mind before by Rift and…others…and this…this was just another random delusion…wasn’t it?

He couldn’t be dead…not really. He was the Ultimate Life Form: he wasn’t supposed to be able to die.

“I’m…where am I?”

“...You’re dead, Shadow.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head as if this statement was the most obvious thing in the world. “You burnt yourself out, literally, taking down that Rift guy. Heck, there was barely anything left of your soul—do you know how hard it is to accomplish something like that?!”

Shadow regarded her for a moment, folding his own arms defensively, “I would imagine it’s relatively difficult. But to be fair, I was fighting what ended up being more or less a god for several weeks…but…you’re right.” He deflated significantly, letting his arms fall back to his sides, “Near the end…I knew I wasn’t conserving my energy enough to survive. But I couldn’t give up—I had to beat him, no matter the cost…” He glanced around, letting out a sigh. “Apparently, that was dying…”

The girl held up a finger as if making a point. “Actually, make that several months, believe it or not. Seriously, it’s impressive you held out for so long—and you did win, by the way. Even more impressive.” Her playful look then melted into a sad smile. “But…yeah. You did have to pay the price for burning through so much energy so quickly like that.” Her wings fluttered a few times, filling the air with amber-colored sparks.

Shadow stared in awe, watching the embers dance through the black void. One came close enough that he reached out to touch it, before thinking better of it and quickly withdrawing his hand, “I…suppose that’s only fair…” He watched the sparks for another moment, before returning his gaze to her, his tone quite a bit sadder now, “I just…I just wanted to protect the world. I’m glad I was able to do something, at least…”

She gave another chuckle, finally landing herself on the…ground? The hedgehog wasn’t sure if there was an actual ground here, to be honest. “You’ll still be able to do a whole lot more, don’t worry.”

He raised a brow at her ability to find a solid plane in the empty void, but his ears pricked up and he looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you really think I’d let the Ultimate Lifeform stay dead? Especially with how much chaos is going on?” The girl smirked, chuckling more loudly now. Then, suddenly serious, she added, “Besides, someone is literally trying to revive you right now.”

Shadow mused on that for a moment. It made sense; he had died before, of course, and come back. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t met anyone in between lives, so to speak. And as for that last bit…who would be trying to revive him? From what he remembered…well, apparently his memory was shoddy because he didn’t remember defeating Rift. If he had, though…maybe Sonic? “I…suppose…that makes sense…”

“Still confused, huh?” She shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. But I promise, it does actually make sense on some level…do you have any questions, though?”

Did he? Shadow dug sharp little fangs into his lip for a moment; fundamentally, he understood where he was. He understood what had happened. And…frankly, he didn’t know what more information or power this apparent god of death actually had. 

“…Maybe anyone you’d like to see before you go back?” the girl quietly added, giving him a knowing look.

He looked up sharply, eyes widening at the implications of what she had just said. “You…can you…?”

She nodded, no words needed to convey her response.

“I…if you can! I would…I would like to see her…”

“I figured you would,” she said, smiling warmly. “Here, this way.”

Shadow stared in shock as, in a swirl of flame, the girl suddenly transformed into a small, glowing butterfly. It fluttered its wings gracefully, hovering in the air in front of him for a moment before darting ahead into the darkness. The orange glow it gave off stood out brightly in the void, a trail of embers in its wake.

The hedgehog stood unmoving, blinking in astonishment for a minute or so, before remembering he’d been told to follow. “Wait—!”

‘Come on!’ The girl-turned-butterfly’s voice seemed to ring directly inside his head now, echoing slightly.

He hesitated for half a moment before following.

The dark void around him didn’t seem to change as he trailed along after the butterfly, or at least, there weren’t any noticeable changes. But after some time, he wasn’t sure how long, minutes? Seconds? Hours? However long it was, another figure became faintly visible in the distance.

He was suddenly torn between picking up the pace or not, and found himself slowing to a halt.

The butterfly, meanwhile, seemed to have no such internal struggle, quickly fluttering over to the newly-revealed figure. The familiar blonde-haired girl had her back turned, but immediately noticed when the glowing insect swooped in front of her, and she quickly spun around to face the approaching hedgehog.

Shadow froze.

It…it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. He’d thought…well, he’d almost thought that it wouldn’t actually be real. That this was just another dream he’d wake up from before he actually saw her. He practically held his breath, feeling himself unconsciously draw closer, staring up with wide ruby-red eyes. “M-Maria? Is it…is it really you?”

“Hello, Shadow.” She smiled, and Shadow felt his heart crack because her smile was exactly the same, the way her eyes crinkled up to obscure the ocean-blue irises...She looked exactly the same as he remembered her (which was the only way he saw her now, since he didn’t have any pictures from back then anymore). But here she was, as if it hadn’t been 50 years and several different lifetimes and universes away since they had last seen each other. Blond hair curling slightly just below her chin, blue eyes that sparkled like the sunlight reflected off of the oceans on the Earth below them, a smile that made the sun seem even brighter.

“Maria…” He stumbled forward slowly, and then when she knelt, opening her arms, he threw himself at her, burying his nose in her dress and inhaling the smell he’d almost forgotten: somehow, despite living in space, she always smelled like flowers and sunlight, “Maria, I…I missed you…I missed you so much…”

Shadow was tearing up by now, wet streaks running down his face. This…this was actually real, Maria was actually here, she was here! He still couldn’t quite believe it, it felt too good to be true, but…it wasn’t. This was really her. 

He just stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, crying into her shoulder as she embraced him.

“I missed you, too.” She stroked his black and red striped quills, the same way she’d always done when he had cried to her back on the ARK, after another day of testing and trials that had pushed him to his limits. 

He finally pulled his muzzle back just enough to look up into her eyes, “Did…Maria, do I make you…did I do what you wanted? When we talked, all those times, when we were young…I’ve tried to…tried to make up for you not being there, when I finally got to Earth. Did I do well?” He stumbled over his words, not even sure what he was saying, but needing to hear her answer nonetheless. To know, for sure. 

“Oh, Shadow…” Maria tilted her head just slightly, and smiled again, that same radiant warmth. “Of course you did.”

He could feel even more tears forming in his eyes, and he let out a sniffle before clinging tightly to her again.

He was wishing so hard that this moment never would have to end, but…he could feel something, like a slight…tugging, in the pit of his stomach, and he knew what it meant: as the butterfly girl had said, someone was trying to revive him. He was being called back to the world of the living.

“I…I have to go,” he forced out, unable to keep the tears out of his voice as he clung tighter to Maria’s shoulder. “I don’t want to leave you again, but…”

Maria hugged him back, “Don’t worry, Shadow, I’ll never be far away. I will always be with you in your heart. Now go…go save the world, like you always do. And this time, the only promise I want is that you’ll try to be happy.”

“I…I will, Maria. I promise I will.”

“I know you will, Shadow. Now, it’s time for you to go back to your friends, and the world, and leave me to be a fond memory…but no more tears. I’ll always be with you.” She pulled away and poked him gently in the chest, over his heart, “Right here.”

Shadow snuffled slightly and wiped the last tears off his eyes; he didn’t know what else to say, but that was all right because there really wasn’t anything more that needed to be said right now. They both knew.

“…Alright, I REALLY hate to ruin the heartwarming moment, but it is time for you to head back now, Shadow.” 

The hedgehog turned to see that the redheaded girl had left her butterfly form, and was now tapping her foot somewhat impatiently.

“As much as I also wish your reunion could keep going on forever,” the butterfly girl continued, shaking her head sadly, “I literally can’t keep you here any longer.” Her eyes met Shadow’s in a pointed look, and she gestured towards him. “You’re being pulled back as I speak.”

Indeed, looking down at himself, he saw that he was visibly starting to fade, small sparks of light drifting away from him like the embers of a fire.

It was time to go.

“Goodbye, Maria,” he whispered, giving his old friend one final wave as he stood up, his body now almost entirely transparent.

“Goodbye, Shadow!” 

And then the hand he was waving with entirely vanished, dissipating into drifting lights, and the rest of him followed, his sight fading to black along with it.

The last thing he saw before his vision went completely dark was her smile, beaming like the sun as it always had.

[vina-writes]

Ten Favorite Drarry Fic Recs

I’ve reached a bit of a follower milestone, and I thought, why not celebrate? I’m happy! This is an incredible feeling that I honestly can’t fully articulate in writing. Knowing someone enjoyed my work and presence enough that they’d want to be notified if I posted again just makes me squeal and want to hug everyone from joy!! Thank you to anyone who has ever left me kudos, a comment, a tag, a note, an emoji, a tag emoji!! I am endlessly grateful to you all for this support and kindness.

Now, since it’s party time, I’ve compiled a personal list of my ten favorite Drarry fics to share the love. This is by no means a stamp of quality (as there are thousands of brilliant fics out there) and neither is it a guarantee that these are everyone’s cup of tea. But they are certainly my cup of tea— my whole buffet honestly.

I chose fics that made me feel deeply. Fics that made me cry, laugh, throw my phone, squeal and wiggle and dance at the end. These (mostly) weren’t fics which answered deep philosophical questions. They were fics which instead showed me love and adventure, joys and betrayals, misunderstandings and occasionally unbelievable (but appreciated) levels of smut (you know who you are). These are stories I read to be entertained, entranced, delighted, and happy. These are stories that made me feel in love.

In honor of that (and of my Canva addiction) I’ve made little banners for each. I hope they do some justice to these works. I’ve tried to capture the feeling of each fic in just one image. Without further ado, read on to find out exactly what my guilty pleasure (as if Drarry isn’t enough) is:

The Songbirds of Avebury Manor by Tessa Crowley [E, 18k] 

Summary: Harry Potter presents as alpha at fifteen, and it is supposed to change his life for the better. Instead, it leads him to a beautiful noble omega he cannot have, a political plot he cannot escape, and a threat on his life.

This story. Oh my stars, this story. What can I even say to properly express how I feel about it? This is the Romeo and Juliet, the Pride and Prejudice, the Hades and Persephone of Drarry. Reading this made me feel like an unwedded Victorian lass waiting for her Prince Charming. It’s a wonderful Historical AU that throws around power dynamics and questions of who is worthy of love, freedom, and respect despite them. This is a brilliant portrait of deep romantic love. Harry’s dedication to Draco is all-encompassing, beautiful, intense, intimate— earth shattering, really. The way they fall in love despite class and situation made me want to cry and write poetry. This is a true fairytale romance.

The Pirate and the Prince by @nerdherderette​, maniacani [E, 49k]

Summary: Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met.

The moment I started this story I knew it was going to be an instant favorite. It’s swashbuckling, debonair yet disheveled, dangerous, fun, adventurous— everything you could desire from a romance on the high seas! Though they come from very different backgrounds, this Draco and Harry are a power couple to the core. Their romance is once again beautiful, intense, and dedicated, but this time it’s mixed with a healthy dose of self-exploration and mutual acceptance. But apart from romance this fic holds delicious secrecy and identity issues, an astounding knowledge of sailing ships, plenty of piratey shenanigans, some heart-wrenching found family dynamics, a cursing parrot, and a glorious angst with a happy ending finale! 

Soup-pocalypse and the Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats [E, 104k]

Summary: Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

What can I say about Soup-pocalypse? It will lure you in with tales of Veelas and romance, and then it will kidnap you and throw you in cooking class and therapy. You’ll come out wondering what just happened and how two days have passed. There will, of course, be Veelas and romance aplenty, but it will be a caring romance, a familial romance, a supportive and kind and nurturing romance. This story feels like family, good cooking, sunny days, the deep heartbreak of change, and through all of it, the truth of a real and solid partnership. This is the humorous yet angst-ridden tale of two idiots learning to love as adults, and then in turn learning to face the world together.

you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakickass [M, 20k]

Summary: When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

Right then. On to the angstiest story I’ve ever read and truly enjoyed. Not just enjoyed, adored! Worshipped! Come back to time and again whenever I needed a good cry! Here is the beauty of it: this fic is deeply painful and heartbreaking, yet it steers clear of emotions like disgust and discomfort. Never once was it disturbing— only sorrowful, in the purest and most heart-wrenching way. Yet despite the pain strung throughout the majority of it, this fic left me feeling relieved and rejuvenated, the way one feels after crying their heart out over something simple. It’s an emotional release that does not leave you broken.

On the Last Day of Our World by Sansa [E, 84k]

Summary: During a detention, Harry and Draco get locked in a strange room together overnight. When they escape the next morning, they discover they are alone. Love, angst and adventure abound as they struggle to survive in an empty world.

Truly one of my favorite takes on canon divergence. Truly. This is an exploration of isolation and the joys and comforts that come with it. It is the power couple Drarry to rule them all— a Draco and Harry so strongly connected, in love, and attuned to one another that the world could fall at their feet. This story leaves you on the edge of your seat until the very bitter end— one of those where the second things are briefly peaceful the world goes up in a new set of flames. Those of you who daydream about a partnership that needs no others, two souls who are each other’s family, friend, and future, and would gladly abandon everything to spend eternity alone together: this is for you.

The Arc of the Pendulum by brummel [E, 30k]

Summary: After his father casts a mysterious curse on Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is forced to try to make things right.

Yes. YES. YES!!! The Beauty and the Beast take you didn’t know you needed! Still canon-compliant to an extent, this is realistic and raw and incredible. Draco makes the choice to help Harry here, and the vulnerability of their interactions while Harry struggles with the curse is everything you could hope it to be. There’s a distinct fairytale atmosphere in this fic— both of them confined together, finding support and comfort in one another while struggling through the effects of the curse, and falling in love along the way. I could write sonnets about the ending using my tears for ink, but they shan’t be revealed here.

Picking Up Pieces by Tessa Crowley [E, 43k]

Summary of Part One: Fifteen years after the War, Draco is a social recluse and award winning author. Harry is an auror who works too hard, ensuring his old war wounds never heal. They meet at a masque ball, unaware of each other's identities. In another situation, it would have been love at first sight. But for them, it would never be so simple.

Picking Up Pieces deserves no introduction, but if you haven’t read it yet, please find a blanket, and cup of tea, and a quiet place to read, cry, and recover. I sobbed my little heart out through the entire second half— the tears were really never ending. How does it end up on a reclist by a fluff lover like me? The answer is similar to Antidote— though this story broke me apart, it was never twisted nor ugly, never disturbing. It was an incredibly touching tale of redemption, forgiveness, human nature, and recompense. The writing does put you through the emotional wringer, but it leaves you relieved and whole. I would lay down my life for this Draco. He truly needs to be protected and loved at all costs. Even though I’m usually careful when recommending heavy stories, I would encourage everyone to read this— it made me feel new, it made me feel like I’d spent an hour crying in the shower, but most of all, it really did make me happy.

Two Trees by LakeWitch [E, 36k]

Summary (shortened): In his Eighth year at Hogwarts, part of Draco Malfoy's probation is to see a Mind Healer once a week. Another part, unfortunately, is having to take Muggle Studies.

It wouldn't be so bad, really, if it weren't for the mandatory outing—a 'field trip'—booked at a Muggle lakeside retreat for the better part of five days. [...] Draco is determined to get it all over with as painlessly as possible. He'll keep his head down, and stay out of everyone's way. That is, until Pansy tells him—at the very last moment—that she's schemed to have Draco stay in the same room with Potter for the whole trip.

Just the two of them... in one room.

This is the comfort fic of all comfort fics. It feels like camping, like sitting by a lake in the sun, like marshmallows over a fire and sparks against a starry sky, and cool, feather-soft hotel sheets. Draco is dealing with several different anxieties here, but the brilliant setting and easy plot turn them into a cathartic read. This is a fic about young love and the ability to build bonds on trips. It made me remember my first crushes and the feeling of getting breakfast in a hotel lobby. There’s cuddling, there’s love, there’s some highly emo Draco (both warranted and unwarranted), and there’s a truckload of nature. Go read it!

Your Place Or Mine? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark​ [E, 26k]

Summary: "This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?" 

At first I was like, “Damn, Harry,” but then I was all, “Damn Harry!” but then I went, “DAMN Harry!” (interspersed with a lot of whistling and cursing). I could have slapped him, and you will want to. This is another Draco that deserves endless love and hot chocolate, with a Harry that deserves a good smack. I think about this fic weekly, and not just because it’s endlessly hot— although it is scorching hot, like how do you even write something that hot type of hot. Draco’s pining and Harry’s stupidity makes for the angstiest yet most satisfying friends-with-benefits-but-really-there’s-more combination, and the climax (pun intended) and resulting spill of emotions is everything anyone could hope for. Ten out of ten.

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken​ [T, 19k]

Summary (shortened): Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!

So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship...

This thing of beauty is exactly as hilarious as it sounds. However, it is so much more than the endless laughs (although there are many). It is sweet, tender, touching, and filled with glorious pining and misunderstandings. Inside you’ll find extravagant (the word was literally invented for Cibee’s Draco) outfits, confusing customs, a blanket that brought me to tears, one badass house-elf, one very confused beloved, absolutely no fornication (wink), and one hopelessly smitten pureblood. Be warned, this fic is actually three “What the fuck, Draco?”s in a trenchcoat. I read it when I want to laugh, facepalm, and submerge myself in the adorable stupidity that is Draco Malfoy in love. It is well worth your time and is sure to bring a smile to your face.

With this final fic we conclude my list on a happy note! It’s long, it’s tedious, and I had a spanking good time writing it. I hope these bring some joy or happy tears to your day.

Love, Vina 

[alisonsfics]

Secret Santa🎄

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: “Omg spencer and secret Santa!!” - @wesleeporstudy

Word Count: 1.9k

You walked into JJ’s office. The team was doing a secret santa exchange for the holidays. JJ had volunteered to be in charge of picking who each person’s secret santa was.

“Hey JJ, I’m here for my assignment” you said, jokingly acting like JJ was your teacher. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N” JJ repeated while scanning the list for your name. You waited patiently as she found it. “Oh here it is, you are Derek’s secret santa” she told you, smiling.

“How much do I have to bribe you to find out who my secret santa is?” You asked her, smirking. “Not going to happen, Scrooge. Stop trying to ruin the holiday spirit” JJ said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You laughed and left JJ’s office. You were already trying to think of gift ideas for Derek. You loved Derek and he was one of your closest friends, but you had no idea what to get him. You ran into Spencer in the hallway, as you were going back to your desk.

“Spencer! There you are” you said, lighting up when you saw him. Reid gave you a warm smile and waved at you. “I need some advice” you told him, simply. He looked shocked to say the least. “Only if that’s okay” you said, backtracking. “No, of course it’s okay. I’m just not used to people asking me for advice. Normally they ask Derek or someone” he expressed, honestly.

“Well this is about Derek. I don’t know what to get him for secret santa” you told Spencer. You hoped he would have a good idea. “Oh well umm, he’s been talking about some football game that’s coming up. Maybe you could get him tickets to go see that” Spencer suggested.

Your eyes lit up, that was the perfect gift idea. “Oh my god, Spence! That’s it, it’s perfect” you told him, excitedly. You wrapped your arms around his body. You could feel his body shake as he laughed. Then he put his arms around you. He gave you a quick squeeze and then you both pulled away.

You saw the slightest blush in Spencer’s cheeks after you both pulled away. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you really saw it. There was a part of you that was sure you had made it up.

You had the biggest crush on Spencer. You thought that everything he did was perfect. It was pretty obvious to everyone on the team, everyone except Spencer.

Spencer had been pining over you for years and just could never get the guts to ask you out.

“I should get going, I have to go see JJ” he said, awkwardly. “Oh for secret santa! Good luck, just hope that you don’t get Hotch. He’s probably the hardest to shop for” you told him, giggling. You saw Reid let out a light laugh at your joke.

“Yeah, you’re probably right” he said, and then walked past you. You had a cheesy grin on your face as Reid walked away. But, you just couldn’t help it.

-One week later-

You were sitting at your desk, filling out paperwork. You saw Morgan stand up and walk into the kitchen. Now was your chance.

You stood up and quickly walked over to Morgan’s desk. You placed the envelope on his desk and then quickly walked back to your desk, so he wouldn’t catch you in the act.

You continued doing your paperwork and acted inconspicuous when Morgan came back in the room. “Well would you look at that” Morgan said, to himself. “What’s that?” Emily asked, curiously. “My secret santa got me tickets to the game. But it’s two tickets, who wants to go with me?” Morgan asked the rest of team.

“Sorry I’m booked solid” Emily said, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t really do sports” Spencer said, causing Emily to laugh. “What about you, Y/N?” Derek asked you. You looked up from your paperwork.

“Well— ” you said, thinking about if you were busy or not. “She has plans” Spencer said, quickly. You were shocked by what he said to say the least. You most certainly did not have plans.

You spun around to face Spencer. “I do?” You asked him, raising your eyebrow at him. “Pretty boy, what are you talking about? Y/N looks as confused as I am. What are these magical plans that she doesn’t even know about?” Morgan teased Spencer.

“It’s umm— it’s nothing” Spencer said, looking back down at his book. Then it clicked, Spencer was jealous. Could it really be that Reid liked you back?

There was only one way to find out. “Reid, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to the game with Morgan” you said, hoping that would get a reaction.

Morgan smirked at you, realizing what you were doing. He walked over to you. “That sounds great, babygirl” Morgan said, knowing the nickname would make Reid even more jealous. Morgan came up behind you, and rested his hands on your shoulders.

“Can I talk to you?” Spencer asked you, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him as he walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” You asked him. “Don’t go with him, please Y/N” he practically begged you.

He was clearly jealous, why couldn’t he just admit it to you.

“Why don’t you want me to go?” You asked him, prying. “Cause look at Derek, all the girls love him. And it’ll just be you two and it’ll be like a date” he said, looking down at the floor.

“Derek is one of my closest friends, we hang out all the time. Why is this time any different?” You asked him, confused. “Cause you’ll both be alone together” Spencer said, quietly. “What are you worried is going to happen?” You asked him, trying to draw the answer our of him. “That Derek is going to make a move on you. I mean, look at you, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I’m sure Derek knows that too, so what would stop him from asking you out?” Spencer rambled. Your heart fluttered when he called you gorgeous and you could feel the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“Derek and I are just friends. But I think you’re jealous” you told him, smirking. “Huh? I’m not jealous, I just don’t want anything to happen to you” he lied.

You sighed to yourself, apparently it would take a lot for Spencer to admit he was jealous.

“Come on Reid, we both know Derek. He would never let anything happen to me. You trust him when he’s out in the field with me, so why is this different? And you could’ve just said you didn’t want me to go, you didn’t have to lie and say I had plans” you told him, honestly.

Spencer took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to you. “What is this?” You asked him, cluelessly. “I’m your secret santa” he explained, and it clicked in your brain.

You opened the envelope and you saw two tickets. You read the tickets and saw they were to an orchestra concert.

The concert was the same night that the football game. It all made sense now. It wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to go out with Derek, it was also that he wanted you to go out him. And Derek’s football game would get in the way of that.

You looked up at Spencer and tried to figure out the right words to say.

“You mentioned the other day that you were a fan of this orchestra that was coming here on tour. So I got you tickets” Spencer said, sheepishly. “Yeah I see that, two tickets. What am I supposed to do with the other one Spence?” You asked him, smirking.

“I was hoping you would go with me, but if you want to take someone else that’s okay too” he said, giving you a weak smile.

“Oh come on, you dork. Spencer, would you like to go to the concert with me?” You asked him, smiling. “Like a date?” He asked, hopefully. “Just like a date” you told him, smirking to yourself.

“I would really like that” he said, smiling down at you. Looking at Spencer, you felt completely lovestruck. He had that smile, the one that made your heart melt.

You thought of a sneaky plan. A smirk rose on your face. “Come with me?” You told Spencer, then turned and started to walk down a hallway that no one was ever in.

“Where are we going?” Spencer asked, cluelessly. “Shhh” you said, putting a finger up to your lips as you looked over your shoulder at him. You looked around and then stopped walking.

You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulled him towards you. His eyes grew big, he didn’t seem to believe what was happening. You backed up until your back was against the wall.

“Put your hands on my waist” you instructed Spencer. Then, you smirked and leaned in to kiss him. His lips felt soft and tasted like chapstick. Spencer felt rigid, his hands were lightly placed on your hips, barely touching you.

You tugged on Spencer’s hair a little, as your lips moved together. “You good?” You asked, against his lips. “Mm-hmm” Spencer muttered. You pulled him closer to you, so your bodies were pressed up against each other.

Then, his grip on your hips tightened and you smirked against the kiss. Finally, you both pulled away for air.

“What was that for?” Spencer asked, breathlessly. “For finally getting up the courage to ask me out” you told him. “But didn’t you ask me out?” He asked you, confused. “Did you enjoy the kiss?” You asked him. He nodded and his cheeks flushed red.

“Then, just take the win, pretty boy” you told him, smirking and walking back into the bullpen.

“So are you coming to game with me or what?” Derek asked you, walking over to your desk, where you were sitting. “No, turns out I do actually have plans” you told him, giggling. “Did pretty boy finally give you the tickets?” He asked you.

You froze, how did Derek know about the tickets? “How did you- ?” You started to ask him. “Please, Reid has been stressing for a week, trying to find a way to give them to you. And I may have asked you to come to the game, because I knew it would make him jealous” Derek admitted.

Then, it all made sense to you. “So you were completely in on it! Oh and by the way, you’re welcome for the tickets” you told him, turning back to your paperwork.

“Wait, you were my secret santa?” Derek asked you, in shock. “Yep” you heard someone else answer. You saw Spencer walk in the room and sit down at his desk.

“Woah woah, you knew too?” Derek asked, turning to Reid. “Yeah, who do you think gave her the idea to buy the tickets?” Spencer said, ratting you out.

“Shhhhh, you weren’t supposed to tell him” you said, frowning. “Come on, you lovebirds. Stop arguing, you both should be looking forward to your date. You’ve both been in love with each other for years, and you’re already bickering as soon as you get together” Derek told you both, and then walked away.

“Thank you, by the way Spencer. It’s a really thoughtful gift” you told him, smiling. He just smiled right back at you. He was happy. You were happy. Derek wasn’t lying, you both had been waiting for this day for a while.

taglist: @reniescarlett @thelovelyrose @shyinadarkplace @azghedaheda @averyhotchner @katerinaval

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[blueskrugs]

Mary’s Song | Tyson Jost

happy friday! we’ve got josty this week! even better, this one’s longer and has minimal angst. I hope y’all like it, thanks again to @broadstbroskis​ for being my beta, and I’ll see you next week with the first song from Fearless!

length: 2.7k words

I looked at you like the stars that shined in the sky, the pretty lights And our daddies used to joke about the the two of us, growing up and falling in love

You’d known Tyson Jost for as long as you could remember . You had been neighbors when you were little, had gone to the same preschool and everything. Your moms said you’d been inseparable from the start. 

Well, really, Tyson had offered you some of his snack, and you’d declared that you were best friends. It had kinda just stuck.

You heard your moms laughing sometimes, and they would say that you looked at Tyson like he’d hung the stars in the sky, though you didn’t understand what it meant at the time. You just knew that Tyson was your favorite person, and that you wanted to be friends with him forever.

Take me back when our world was one block wide I dared you to kiss me, and ran when you tried

Tyson got into hockey when you were still little. He was head over heels from the start, though from the one time you had tagged along with Laura and a toddling Kacey to practice, it seemed like there was more falling than playing hockey.

“I bet I could teach you how to ice skate,” Tyson said one day after school. 

You laughed, because he knew that you were scared of falling, but Tyson was looking at you earnestly, all messy hair and bright brown eyes. You were seven, and Tyson was starting to show some talent on the ice, you knew he loved it, but you would like to keep your feet on solid ground, thank you very much.

“Aw, come on,” Tyson begged. 

“No way, Tys,” you said, but Tyson kept pushing, literally, shoving up into your space and leaning on you.

“It’ll be fun!” he tried. You just shook your head at him. “Alright, fine. Tyson’s eyes turned mischievous, and you knew then that this wasn’t going to end well for you. “What about a bet? If I win, I get to teach you how to ice skate.”

He had you there. You were nothing if not competitive, and Tyson knew that better than anyone. And when Tyson with you and competition, you would stop at nothing to win. 

“Ugh, fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “But a bet’s cheating, and you know it.” 

Tyson just grinned at you. You thought for a minute. Tyson was bigger than you, just a little, but still enough that he wasn’t above tackling you into a snowbank to get the upper hand. You knew because he had done it just last week. 

You had an idea.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” you said, and Tyson opened his mouth to complain. But you pressed a kiss to his cheek before scrambling off the steps you were sitting on, and Tyson was left staring after you, mouth still open.

You’d overheard the other boys in your class talking about cooties and teasing Tyson about being best friends with you just the other day. He’d been blushy and weird about it for a couple days before deciding that he could, in fact, be best friends with a girl, cooties or not.

You laughed, loud in the quiet of your neighborhood, as you heard Tyson shout, “Hey!” and collect himself enough to race after you. 

He did end up catching you, because you were too busy laughing to keep running. You’d never admit it to Tyson, either, but letting him teach you how to skate was fun.

Well, I was 16 when suddenly I wasn’t that little girl you used to see They never believed we’d really fall in love

In another few years, hockey went from something for Tyson to everything, and he was heading off to B.C. You didn’t let Tyson see you cry when he left you behind, but it was hard, only 12 years old and watching your best friend get on a plane for 800 miles away. You didn’t want him to forget about you.

Tyson always came home, though, and when he was too far away, he would always call, always answer the phone for you. Before you knew it, you weren’t kids anymore, and Tyson was getting drafted. You were there with his mom and Kacey when Colorado called his name. You were so happy for him, but as you watched him pull that jersey over his head, you couldn’t help but feel like you were losing your best friend again. You weren’t sure you’d get him back this time.

Except in the middle of the madness that was the draft party back home later that week, Tyson grabbed you by the arm and dragged you outside. He was still wearing an Avs hat, but it was crooked, and his cheeks were flushed.

“I’m proud of you,” you told him. You felt like you’d been saying that a lot lately, but you still meant it every time. Tyson just shrugged at you, ducking his head. 

“I wanna talk to you about something,” he said. Up close like this, Tyson seemed nervous.

“Tys. What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna miss you,” he admitted, but there was still something he wasn’t saying. He’d left you before, that wasn’t anything new.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Tys, but-”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Tyson blurted, cutting you off.

You froze. Tyson looked unsure, curls askew under that stupid hat, and, yeah, he was just your best friend, but you’d probably been a little bit in love with him for years, too.

You didn’t quite know how to say that, so you stood up on your toes and pressed a kiss to Tyson’s lips. When you pulled back, hands still on Tyson’s shoulders, he was grinning down at you.

“So.” Tyson’s hands found your hips. “Guess you love me, too?”

“I take it back.” Tyson was going to be annoying about this, you could already.

“Nope,” Tyson said. He kissed you again, because he could. “Too late.”

Not much changed after that. You and Tyson still spent all of your time together, except there was a lot more kissing. Tyson had always been a tactile person, always looking for an excuse to be close to you, to be touching you in some way, and now he didn’t need an excuse. You couldn’t turn around without Tyson being there, a kiss pressed to your cheek, your temple, your lips.��

You rolled your eyes at him every time, but you didn’t really mind. 

You saw your moms smiling knowingly at you two sometimes, when they saw you curled up on the couch watching a movie, and you remembered the way they used to say you looked at Tyson like he’d hung the stars. You knew what that meant now, and they might’ve been on to something all those years ago. 

You asked Tyson about it one night late that first summer together, underneath those very stars, on your backs in the grass. 

“How’d you know?” Tyson turned his head to look at you. “That you were in love with me?” You were still young, but with Tyson it just seemed right.

Tyson laughed, rolling to his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

“I think I’ve always been in love with you,” he admitted. He was blushing a little. 

You leaned up to kiss him, and when you pulled back, he was blushing harder. “Me too.” 

You weren’t able to be there the night Tyson made his debut, but he called you after the game, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks and messy curls that you loved so much. 

“I love you,” he said quietly, like he still didn’t quite believe any of this was happening.

You wished you could be there to hug him, tell him again how proud you were of him. 

Take me back to the time we had our very first fight, the slamming of doors instead of kissing goodnight You stayed outside ‘til the morning light

The distance never did get easier, especially on the days Tyson struggled with his hockey, and you wondered if there would ever come a day where Tyson would have to decide which he loved more: you or hockey.

But there were always summers together, and long weekends and spring break. You made it work. Or, you thought you did. 

“Have you ever thought about transferring schools?” Tyson asked one day out of the blue. He’d only been home a couple of weeks after the Avs had been knocked out by San Jose.  You were sitting on the front porch swing after dinner, Tyson’s arm around your shoulders, but you tensed and pulled away from him.

“Why would I switch schools?” You had stayed close to home, and you were on pace to graduate early. Most importantly, you were happy.

Tyson shrugged, but his nonchalance seemed fake. “You could come down to Denver,” he said. He was looking over your shoulder at the sunset.

You raised your eyebrows at him. You hadn’t followed Tyson to UND, and you weren’t about to uproot your life to follow him to Denver. He’d been okay with that. You’d thought he’d been, at least.

“I’m not switching schools, Tys,” you said. You couldn’t decide if you were really angry or just hurt. This wasn’t Tyson asking you to move to Denver with him; it was him asking you to give up the life you were building and planning to be his girlfriend.

You stopped yourself from reminding Tyson that he couldn’t even stay in the lineup again this season, because he knew that already.

“Why not?” Tyson looked like he really didn’t get it. “You do want to come to Denver, one day, right?”

And, yeah, of course you did. There wasn’t a future in your head that didn’t have Tyson by your side. But you were supposed to graduate first, be able to start a life of your own out in Colorado, not just follow Tyson there.

“What if I don’t?” came out of your mouth instead. Tyson's face fell. He’d hurt you, and now you’d hurt him, too. “Tyson, my friends and family are all here, how am I just supposed to leave everyone behind?” You would, one day. You just weren’t ready yet.

“I did it.” Tyson’s voice was small. 

He had, and you’d been one of the ones he’d left behind, over and over.

“And what if you change your mind about me, about us?” 

Tyson recoiled as if you had slapped him. You supposed you had, in a way.

“I won’t,” Tyson said lowly. He looked like he wanted to grab your hand. “I would never.”

You believed him, but you couldn’t do this anymore tonight.

“Good night, Tyson,” you said, standing up and heading inside. You didn’t look over your shoulder to see Tyson’s face as the screen door shut behind you. 

You woke up the next morning to find Tyson passed out on your living room couch. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. 

“Sweetheart,” your mom said carefully as you walked into the kitchen. “Why did I find Tyson asleep on the porch swing when I went out for the paper this morning?”

You giggled a little in spite of yourself. Like a lot of things, last night’s fight felt a little stupid in the daylight. That also explained how Tyson was currently drooling on one of your mom’s throw pillows.

“We got in a little bit of a fight last night,” you told her. “I should probably wake him, eh?” He didn’t look very comfortable, but you didn’t imagine he’d slept very well outside, either.

Your mom just smiled into her coffee.

You watched Tyson sleep for a moment before poking him to wake up. He pressed his face deeper into the pillow for a second before blinking disgruntledly up at you.

“Hey.”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him, but it just came out fond. Tyson grinned up at you. He had pillow creases on his face.

You ended up going out for breakfast, after taking Tyson home to change into not-stale clothes. You both apologized over waffles, but you didn’t talk about it. It was fine, you were fine. The future was scary. 

Tyson didn’t bring it up again that summer. Not until you were on FaceTime one late night after the season started, when you were both tired and defenses were down. It was easier to talk about the future that way, for some reason, making plans while you were both half asleep. You dreamed of mountains that night.

Denver could wait, and Tyson would always be there waiting for you, too. 

A few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town And you looked at me, got down on one knee

Years passed. You graduated college. Moved to Denver, moved in with Tyson. You loved Denver, and you loved Tyson. And on late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you could just reach across the bed instead of reaching for the phone.

It happened back home in Alberta, though, because Tyson was sentimental like that, and home was where it all began.

You were next to Tyson on porch swing after dinner, just like you had so many times before, except tonight Tyson seemed nervous. He was clutching your hand tightly, and he was rambling, some story about JT you were pretty sure you’d heard before. When he paused to take a breath, you nudged him with your clasped hands. 

“What’s up, babe?” you asked. Tyson’s ears turned red the way they always did when you called him “babe.”

Tyson squeezed your hand, then brought it up to his mouth to press a quick kiss to the back of it. 

“Do you remember all the days we used to spend out here when we were kids?”

You did. You’d do your homework out on the porch swing on nice days, and when there wasn’t homework, you’d find some other reason to be outside. It had always been both of yours favorite spot. 

“I always hoped we’d end up back here like this one day, y’know?” 

You did know, but Tyson was letting go of your hand and sliding off the swing, down on one knee next to you, before you could respond.

“Tyson,” you breathed out instead.

There was a ring in Tyson’s hands, and he kept turning it over nervously as he continued talking. You had a half thought to hope he didn’t drop it.

“In my head, I was gonna have this great speech, and it was gonna be all romantic and shit, but now I can’t think of any words to say.”

You giggled and reached out to run your fingers through Tyson’s hair before cupping his cheek. He leaned into the touch. The sun was setting behind him, bright pinks and yellows across the sky, and it was just like every other time you’d sat right here together. 

“I love you,” you said, because it seemed important. 

“You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of anyone else I want to spend the rest of my life with. Because that’s all I want, to be with you forever.” Tyson paused, took a deep breath. “Y/N, will you marry me?” he asked, looking up at you with big brown eyes.

“Yes, Tyson, of course,” you said, laughing. You might’ve been crying, too;  it was a little hard to tell. 

After all this time, you and I…

Alberta was home, but so was Denver. Tyson had been by your side for as long as you could remember, and he’d be there for as long as you could imagine.

You’d been lucky to fall in love with your best friend, but you’d probably always been a little bit in love with him, so maybe luck had nothing to do with it.

When you bought a new home together, Tyson insisted that you had to have a porch swing. Not that you would have objected.

“D’you think our kids will be like us one day?” he asked you once. There was a ring to match yours on his finger, now.

“What?” All those years, and sometimes you still didn’t understand half of what came out of Tyson’s mouth. 

“Like, cute, fall in love with the kid next door stuff,” Tyson said. 

You just laughed. 

[dangerdangerhighvoltage]

Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time. 

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand. 

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet. 

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind. 

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro. 

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!” 

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.” 

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath. 

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle. 

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you. 

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself. 

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him. 

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace. 

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath. 

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term. 

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?” 

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!” 

“You didn’t even clear it when we—” 

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête. 

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.” 

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood. 

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked. 

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked. 

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?” 

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other. 

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled. 

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.” 

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t. 

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile. 

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours. 

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?” 

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts. 

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you. 

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass. 

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe. 

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro. 

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh. 

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in. 

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you. 

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took. 

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared. 

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath. 

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest. 

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you. 

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!” 

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock. 

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open. 

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear. 

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two. 

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man. 

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore) <--- later chapters, this one’s clean.

Welcome to my first attempt at Ethoslab angst! I wanted an nHo-centric fic with a heavy dose of Etho angst. I have nowhere else to post this, and fair warning I am terrible at characterizations, so everyone will probably be a bit OOC to some extent; but for sure EvilX will be very OOC in how evil he is in this one. The Rating for the later chapters is a solid M, so be warned about that. If y’all have suggestions or feedback, feel free to come and say hi! P.S. I got my inspiration for this fic from this fic over here! Give them some love too.

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 1 (below the cut)

BDoubleO was worried. 

Now, it wasn’t often he worried, particularly about Etho. Especially after the shenanigans from Season 5 with the nHo, and their many years of collaboration after that, he was well aware that Etho had a habit of disappearing for weeks on end. Even when he was supposed to be helping with a bit of collaboration work like the Horse Course, he was infamous for suddenly disappearing for a week, and coming back acting like nothing had happened. But even still, Etho usually left a note, or told someone about where he was going so they at least knew when to approximately expect him to show back up. This time though, Etho hadn’t even left Iskall a note, and so far this season he had made sure to at least leave a note for Iskall since they were sharing a base. (BDoubleO had asked Iskall 3 days after the last time he had seen Etho to ask if he knew where Etho was. Iskall didn’t know, though he had seen him 2 days previously puttering around their shared base as normal.) He had asked around the other Hermits, seeing if anyone had heard anything. The only one that had seen anything was Beef, who had said he had seen Etho lurking on the edges of his territory heading toward the top of BDubs’ mountain with a spyglass about a day and a half ago. Doc had mentioned that while he hadn’t seen Etho recently, he had heard that Etho had been busy in talks with Xisuma and Evil Xisuma over something. However, when BDubs questioned Xisuma, he said he hadn’t seen Etho since the last major server meeting. (It was always disconcerting when Hermits’ stories didn’t match up, as that usually meant there were shenanigans afoot. But BDubs couldn’t figure out why there would be shenanigans afoot, because this was just Etho.)

A whinny from Lulu beneath him startled BDubs out of his worries. Looking around he realized that they were already staring up at Xisuma’s lighthouse and general base area. Why were they there you might ask? (A theoretical from a theoretical, truly meta of him, aha) WELL, Xisuma had sent out a message to the server that everyone should come and gather at his base for an important something. BDubs was confused, and very concerned, that Xisuma was insisting on the meeting being in person. After all, any news could be dispensed through the Server messages, and all their bases were known, so boards could be placed at bases for Hermits to see as they came in and out. Meeting in person was never technically necessary, though it made it generally easier to talk with each other since they didn’t have to type everything out. The point stood however, that unless it was an emergency, Xisuma never called a general Hermit assembly outside of their regularly scheduled monthly meetings. 

Looking around, BDubs was able to see that Beef was already there, along with most of the Boatem Crew, and surprisingly enough, the Horsehead Farms guys were there as well. Of course, Doc was on his way, and last he heard, the Big Eye crew was following up behind him since they both had been busy when the announcement had gone out. The rest of the server would be on their way because of how far out they were. (Part of BDubs wondered if those who were coming in later were the lucky ones. The rest of him wondered why he was so filled with anxiety and so certain this meeting was only going to be terrible.) Deciding nothing good would come of dwelling on the negatives, he made his way over to where Beef (who was looking more unrecognizable by the day as the alien contamination overtook him) was standing alone, seemingly keeping his eye out for someone or something.

“Hey Beef!” BDubs called out, smiling and waving as he approached. Beef looked over at the sudden shouting of his name, and instantly relaxed as he saw BDubs approaching. “Hey BDubs!” he called back, something alien layered under his normal voice. (It spoke of void and distant stars, though Tango had recently been saying it reminded him more of sulfur and brimstone). “You know anything about why Xisuma’s called this meetup?” asked Beef before BDubs could ask the question himself.

“Not a clue,” BDubs replied, allowing his concern to show through as he stood ill-at-ease beside his friend. “He just announced he had something he wanted to show or talk to us about I guess, though I can’t imagine what it could be about.” Well, BDubs had a guess or two, but none of them were generally pleasant topics of conversation, outside of some surprise announcement for the next server update to 1.18.

“Darn, I was hoping you would have heard something…” said Beef, his own unease easy to read. BDubs shrugged, looking around at the other groups of players standing outside the Lighthouse. It looked like even in the short time they had been greeting each other, the other Big Eyed Crew had arrived on his tailwind. An awkward pause settled between the two of them, both having been so tied up in their own shenanigans to really know what the other had been up to. BDubs debated bringing up the obvious, but it seemed like one of those things you don’t necessarily bring up. But then again… 

“Yo Beef,” said BDubs, turning to look at Beef again. Beef startled out of his momentary reverie. “You’ve been looking pretty, uh… green recently. How’s that been treating you?”

For a moment Beef looked almost confused, before he seemed to connect the dots and snorted. “Oh yeah, it’s been treating me great, as you can see.” They both chuckled a bit at his sarcasm before he continued. “But in all seriousness, I hadn’t really been noticing it. I mean, I definitely notice that people have been giving me a wider berth this season, which hasn’t been great for business since I have a great idea for selling specialty cat food I can make on my alien ship. I haven’t personally noticed too many changes outside my appearance thus far however.” After a moment Beef said, “So how about you? How have Keralis and Tango been treating you this season?”

BDubs chuckled. “Would you believe it if I told you it’s been going great? I have a mountain already, and we have a small bay town we’re building up to serve as a shopping district for our Big Eye Crew. Plus, we got Tango to actually make his eyes big, so it’s a win all around! Though I’ve been noticing more Derpcoin sneaking into our shops…” 

“Hey now, what’s wrong with Derpcoin?!” exclaimed Beef, looking vaguely offended. BDubs was startled by this, completely not expecting such an outburst from Beef of all people.

“I mean, there’s nothing necessarily wrong with it, it’s just I have no idea what the conversion rate is on the stuff, so I don’t know what people are paying in my shop for the items they’re buying,” replied BDubs. “Plus, there’s nowhere to use it.”

“But there is a place to use it! You could use it at EX’s Evil Emporium. Plus, with more people signing up for Derpcoin, it seems like a lucrative market to sell in,” countered Beef, a strange gleam in his eyes. “EX was nice enough to give me an in into his Derpcoin shopping district, so I’ll have a storefront through the Evil Emporium.” 

"Evil Emporium huh?" BDubs made a considering noise. "Heard a little bit about it back when EX was doing a little sales pitch in our neck of the woods. Seems pretty fishy to me, but if you think it's a trustworthy establishment, I'll definitely give it a second look."

"Attention everyone!" called out Xisuma, suddenly standing in the center of the gathered Hermits. "Your attention please!" BDubs looked over to where X was waving everyone over. He noticed that X seemed abnormally forward, though that could be attributed to his paranoia. Afterall, X wasn’t one to cause problems! Sure he had been trying to get people on board with this Evil Emporium thing pretty hard, but X couldn’t hurt a fly even on a good day, so BDubs wondered if this wasn’t about Derpcoin.

He had been hearing from the other Big-Eyed crew that tensions between Boatem and the Derpcoin empire had been slowly escalating over the last week or so. Plus he had been hearing about more of the unaffiliated Hermits beginning to create close ties with EX’s brand, embracing Derpcoin as their main currency even! On the other hand, he’d been hearing from some of the Boatem people about how they were getting sick and tired of finding Derpcoin in their shops, and seemingly some people were beginning to refuse to pay for items with diamonds… There was a mess brewing for sure in the background this season, it just seemed like an issue that could wait till the next monthly meeting is all.

With a jolt, BDubs was brought back to the present as Doc bumped him in the shoulder. “How are you doing BDubs? Looking pretty lost in thought there, big guy.” 

“Well, doing pretty good if you must ask!” BDubs puffed up with the compliment on his height, despite knowing it was more than likely meant in a sarcastic manner. Between Doc and Etho, BDubs never really could catch a break. “You just get here then?”

Doc let out a rumbly hum in agreement. “Yesss, though I have no idea why Xisuma called the meeting. Know anything?”

BDubs and Beef both shook their heads. “We’re in the dark as much as you are, it seems,” replied Beef, moving towards the other Hermits to try and get their little group to walk and talk.

“I have a theory though!” continued BDubs, leaning in to act somewhat more conspiratorially. Doc leaned in a bit more than he needed to, getting a friendly bump on the head from Beef. “See, I’m sure you’ve both heard a bit more than I have about Boatem vs the Evil Emporium. I think things might be heating up enough between the two that X might be forced to intervene soon.” BDubs rubbed the back of his neck. “Admittedly, it still seems like the kind of thing that he would bring up in the monthly meeting instead of an impromptu meeting like this.”

“Looks like we don’t have to wait long to find out in any case.” Beef gestured at the surrounding Hermits and Xisuma himself still standing at the center looking official as usual. (Though BDubs thought he looked a little dazed, but he shoved the thought aside.)

“Thank you everyone for taking time out for this meeting!” called out Xisuma, his face still disconcertingly empty. “I’ve called you together today because EX had a stream he wanted us all to watch, and I agree it is most imperative we all watch it together.”

BDubs did not like the sound of this one bit. “What’s the stream about?” called Joe from the opposite side of the crowd.

“Yeah, why’s it so important we all have to watch it?” asked Cleo from beside him. BDubs realized that those two had had to travel across the entire continent to come to the meeting, and Joe was still renouncing wings, so taking long trips was a distinct hassle. At the very least, it was far more time consuming than everyone else’s trips had been, minus potentially XB and Hypno’s trip.

Xisuma seemed to stand there taking it silently, which was not necessarily outside of the usual, but his response certainly was. “With that out of the way, I’ll get the screen set up, and then we can watch EX’s stream!” ‘That was strange,’ thought BDubs as he looked around the circle of bewildered Hermits. Normally X would try to answer questions, or at least let them know things precisely before he did them. It was incredibly out of character that he would just ignore Joe and Cleo like that… Particularly Joe and Cleo if BDubs was to be brutally honest. Those three had been closer than three peas in a pod since Season 2, and Joe and X had known each other pretty well since almost the start of Season 1. To have those two brushed off by Xisuma struck a wrong chord.

BDubs was pulled back to the present as Xisuma rapidly typed into his communicator, and a holographic screen projected just beyond the circle of Hermits behind where Cub was standing. Almost as one, the Hermits turned to look at it, curiosity overpowering any potential feelings of lingering confusion and discomfort.

Xisuma’s expression was blank as the large screen buzzed to life in front of them. However, BDubs’ watched as he seemed to come back to himself just as the static on the screen cleared and the assembled hermits gasped in disbelief and horror.

‘Well,’ thought BDubs to himself, dread rising like a wave about to swallow him whole. ‘Now we know where Etho went.’ For there on the screen, looking the worst BDubs had ever seen him, was a restrained Etho beside a seemingly gleeful EvilXisuma.

[zadenwillowfyre]

Devil's Gambit - Chapter 1

Day 2 of writing every day.

Down and out Gabe Mosse makes an usual deal with a beautiful yet sinister stranger...

The eyes with which Gabe Mosse regarded his boss glass over with apathy. Mr. McMannus had given the same, hackneyed speech for at least as long as Gabe had been under his employ. Gabe lets the words fall on deaf ears, he's heard it all before anyway, and could probably recite it from memory. The importance of “team work”, “company loyalty,” and “client satisfaction”.

It wasn’t that Gabe disliked the job, and he had certainly worked for far worse bosses. But lately, he felt like a bit like a juggler who’d been tossed one ball too many and worrying about investments that made already rich people richer had become increasingly more difficult.

"You turned in your portfolio for the Davis account yesterday," Mr. McMannus droned obviously, at last getting to the point of this little meeting, "It was two weeks late."

The glass shattered behind Gabe's eyes. "I know sir, I apologize. You know my father’s been-"

"Our clients don't care about your father, or any other excuses," barked Mr. McManus with a dismissive wave, "This is a very big account, Mosse. I had hoped to see some initiative. Especially after 6 years here."

"Of course," sighed Gabe defeatedly, "I'll be sure to have the next account in on time."

Mr. McMannus seemed to soften with what might be pity and said, "There won't be a next time son, I'm going to have to let you go."

Hardly surprising, this turn of events; Gabe had been a solid but not stand-out employee. He was okay at his job, but apparently not good enough to make up for the last few months of increasingly shoddy work and missed deadlines. Sick relative excuses didn’t make investors money, even if they were true. No, it wasn’t surprising, but it still stung.

With a sad nod, Gabe, the now ex investment advisor, rose from his seat to leave.

"I am sorry, Gabe. You had such promise."

Gabe offered no response as he shut the door behind him, though he held no bitterness towards the mostly kind, but droll man who had just fired him. Promises were all to often left broken and in the end, the evidence of 6 years of those broken promises and service to the same institution, all fit so neatly into a small cardboard box nestled safely in the trunk of a Ford Focus.

----

By the time the Focus rolled out of the parking lot of Hanson and McMannus Investments, its dashboard clock read 5:15.

"Typical," murmured Gabe to himself. They let him work nearly a full day on a Friday before kicking him to the curb.

He had until 5:45 to meet his Realtor, then a date at 7. No time for the rush hour traffic that inevitably bared his progress across town.

Despite being fired, he was looking forward to seeing the prospective house, even with his chances of being able to afford the place now drastically reduced. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total loss.

At 245 Belman, Barb Lucas, Realtor, was already waiting. She was a hefty, joyful woman with amber hair, and a winning smile that could sell even the most polluted water to the finickiest germophobic whale.

Barb sung the praises of each room as if she were giving a tour of a stately historical mansion. In reality, the house resembled a cottage and offered modest accommodations, which Gabe didn't mind. The living room was spacious, kitchen in working order, two and a half baths. It was certainly nice enough, and the guest rooms would come in handy if his father's health continued the way it had.

Gabe hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The tour didn't take long and as expected, the asking price was well over double what the house is worth. At hearing the price, Gabe’s heart gave a small clinch. He supposed he would have to come clean to Barb about loosing his job, but when he tried to find the words, he found he couldn’t. Not just yet.

"I can do $75,000," said Gabe instead. He didn't really expect the offer to hold at a far cry from the 100k the owners wanted, "You said its been on the market a while, right?"

Barb eyed him dubiously, "Yes, but even so, I seriously doubt the owners will accept an offer that far below asking."

"The worst they can say is no," said Gabe, not quite able to lighten the heaviness in his voice.

Barb kept Gabe under her gaze for moment longer. Her face was less jovial than before the tour, disappointment or worse, pity, marred her expression.

“Sorry, I know I’ve been a difficult client,” Gabe offered lamely

Barb hitched her winning smile back on her face before patting Gabe on the arm, “We’ll find something. I’ll keep looking.”

Gabe shot his wary realtor an appreciative smile as they departed for their cars. They had been on this hunt a good 4 months with financial restrictions making the search a hard one. Though he had managed to put enough in savings for a small down payment, an investment consultant makes considerably less than what he makes for his clients. An unemployed investment consultant makes even less.

Gabe watched Barb drive away before starting his own journey home. It had been yet another disappointing venture on top of an already shitty day.

Oh well.

He supposed another few months (he was being optimistic here) at Hell's Apartments wouldn’t kill him.

Besides, he had a date tonight. Maybe the day would at least end on a high note, though he had his doubts.

----

If Gabe had to describe his dating life, no other phrase but “abject failure” would do. Sure, he looked good on paper and could be charming enough to get a first date, but he found it difficult to connect enough with most people to light any type of spark. Men, women, those who fell elsewhere on the gender spectrum, it didn’t matter. There were no second dates. But he kept trying, because, apparently he was a glutton for punishment. Which was why he found himself in the drive of possibly the biggest house he’d ever seen, waiting for his current date to arrive.

Susan Rockefeller was as expensive as her name. The veritable mansion she pranced out of was enough to tell Gabe that. Sleek black dress with raven locks done to match, diamond necklace, and high heel shoes; she's dressed for a horse and carriage to take her to a gourmet meal at a 5 star restaurant with a debonair gentleman decked in Armani.

All Gabe had to offer was his dinged up Focus, a moderately priced meal at his favorite eatery, and himself. An average man in a cheap suit with curly Jewish hair and glasses. He was beginning to feel grossly inadequate.

Susan entered the car with great flourish and a measure of disappointment she did little to disguise. She exudes power. No doubt, Gabe has been oversold to her by the mutual friend who set them up.

Set up indeed. He had to wonder which one of them was meant to be the butt of this joke.

"Ash said you worked in investing or something?" The question seemed more like an accusation.

You sure don't look like someone how works with money.

"Oh...yeah," Gabe confirmed evasively, "Bennie Hanna's alright?"

It wasn't but she gave no alternative. Gabe suspected that under her confident and strong exterior, was someone who preferred to be led, told what to do.

The car ride was awkward and uncomfortable. Dinner, was doubly so.

Beyond being rich and stunningly beautiful, Susan proved to be not very interesting at all. But perhaps that's because she wasn't very interested in her Gabe, whom she all but ignored.

Instead, she overtly flirted with with the owner of the establishment, who, after coming over to check that their experience was satisfactory, personally oversaw the needs of their table for the rest of the evening.

At least the food is good Gabe mused to himself.

When the check came, Susan was sure to provide the overly attentive owner her number while Gabe provided the credit card.

Cutting the date mercifully short, Gabe returned a Susan home that was much happier than the one he had picked up. Though he knew it wasn’t because she had enjoyed his company.

----

Outside Hell's Apartments, or Stone Creek Condos as they are more commonly called, Gabe indulged in a vice he quit 5 years ago. Long drags let the menthol tobacco work its magic, soothing Gabe's weary mind and wounded ego. He took some comfort in imagining his problems billowing away with the smoke.

All too soon he flicked the butt of his cigarette to the pavement, resisting the urge to inhale the whole pack.

Stretching laboriously, Gabe entered the apartment building and made a stop at the mailboxes near the far end of the lobby.

"Evening," a deep masculine voice said.

Startled, Gabe turned in the direction of the voice. The speaker was a tall, broad shouldered man with strong features. He looked to be around Gabe’s age; late 30’s, maybe a bit older. His black suite and red tie clearly stated that he could afford nicer places than this. He was also devastatingly handsome in a way that made a gentle heat rise to Gabe’s cheeks.

After a beat, Gabe acknowledged the greeting with a halfhearted nod-and-smile. How did he miss this man coming in?

"Quite a day, no?" Probed the stranger.

Collecting his pile of bills and assorted junk mail, Gabe gave a noncommittal noise of agreement. What was this guy’s deal?

"What if there was a way to make your problems disappear?"

Gabe wished he could make this sexy but increasingly creepy man disappear.

"I know of your troubles, Gabe Mosse. Of the burdens you bear."

Gabe thought briefly of booking it up the stairs that stood adjacent to the mail area and locking himself in the sanctuary of his dilapidated apartment, no matter how hot this wierdo was. But something in the man's aura kept him still.

"Very clever, reading my name off my mail over my shoulder," Gabe accused snidely, though he had a sinking feeling the stranger hadn't done anything of the sort, "What do you want?"

"I'm only offering to help a man who can't seem to catch a break."

Getting creepier and creepier all the time. Gabe tried to convince himself that this was just some crazy person, but intuition knew otherwise. "Who are you?"

"Just a concerned friend. Many call me Luci, but I have many names."

"Riiight," said Gabe sarcastically, "Your name is Luci and you want to help me." He was definitely being punked.

"An apt summarization," crooned Luci.

Gabe rolled his eyes. Intuition be damned, this conversation had turned insane. "And what? Let me guess...all my problems disappear in return for my soul."

Something in Luci's grin, in the way he sneered at Gabe’s jibe, was deeply unsettling. "Actually, I'm trying something new these days. Humans are far too reckless with their own souls. That old game has rather lost its charm for me. Its more amusing to watch things unfold when another person's soul is at steak. The things people are willing to do to get ahead. Or the lengths one goes to to retract their offers and save their loved ones. It makes for a much more exciting gamble."

"Who's soul exactly then?" Whispered Gabe, mouth dry, shocked and appalled at entertaining this lunatic's ravings.

"Could be anyone. Someone close, or someone you don't know at all. A murderer even. Not knowing is part of the fun. For me anyway."

More than the unsavory subject of their conversation, Gabe was bothered by the depressing realization that it brought. It had been years sense he'd been truly happy. A dead end boring job he had just lost, countless dates gone bad, a hole in the wall place to call home, no prospects, no purpose, no fulfillment. Not to mention the worry over his father’s heath seemed to compound it all. It seemed so self pitying, but it was almost enough to bring him too his knees.

"I see it in your eyes," said Luci earnestly, "You yearn for something more."

This was ridiculous. Nothing but drivel from an oddly perceptive crazy man.

"Sir, if you really did have way to make my life better, I'd personally hand you any soul of your choice." Gabe jeered, trying to seem flippant and unaffected by Luci’s presence.

Luci’s sneered broadened into an evil, disconcerting expression that seemed to distort his handsome features into something sinister. "I see we have an accord."

Reaching out, Luci shook Gabe's hand.

Oddly electric that handshake.

"Yeah, what ever, guy."

Gabe retracted his hand, shaking off the static sensation, and started up the stairs.

By the time he looked back, the stranger named Luci was gone.

He also noticed the faint sent of smoke, likely just from his cigarette.

[daniclaytcn]

quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

title: quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

Summary: “In that warehouse,” Buck says. “I almost gave up.”

Eddie doesn’t bat an eyelash at his words. “I know,” He says, simply.

Buck isn’t sure why he’s saying this. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to confess this to Eddie, why this is something he needs for him to know. He also doesn’t know why Eddie is being so calm about it.

“I almost stopped fighting,” Buck continues, his voice breaking a little. 

“I know.” Eddie says, again. | Post 4x05: Buck Begins.

ao3 link

a/n: i wrote this when i should have been sleeping so it’s probably incoherent...pls excuse me..

tagging some people who may be interested: @malikjavaddzayn @evaneddie @matan4il @prettyboydiaz @firefighter-diaz  please let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list!

Seconds after Buck knocks, the door opens and Eddie is looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "Since when do you knock?" He asks teasingly.

 Buck shrugs wordlessly. The weight of the past couple of days he's had—his parents arriving in town, finding out about Daniel, god, the fire—all had been momentarily forgotten in the time he spent with Maddie after his shift, the relief that came with forgiving her making something that had been unbalanced shift back into place in his heart. However, after leaving her apartment, it had all come crushing down on him again, leaving him shaking and breathless in the aftermath. Before knowing he was doing it, he was taking the turn to Eddie's house instead of his own apartment and now here he was.

 "You're just in time," Eddie gestures for Buck to come in. "Dinner's almost ready."

 "I—I didn't tell you I was coming, though," Buck says, confused. Eddie grins at him.

 "I had a feeling you would." Not waiting for a reply, he turns to go into the living room. "Christopher! Look who's here!"

 Buck is greeted with an armful of Chris when he enters the room and he can't help but laugh, hoisting him into his arms. Pressing his face into Chris' hair and hearing his bright laughter, Buck feels some of the tension drain from his body.

 "Hey, buddy! Hope you don't mind me coming over so unexpectedly."

 Chris giggles as Buck puts him down, as if he's said the funniest thing ever. "Don't be silly, Buck! We always want you around."

 Buck feels his eyes burn with tears inexplicably and he's relieved that Chris chooses that moment to turn around to search for a drawing he wants to show him. Eddie says nothing, instead moving past Buck to leave the room, pressing a warm hand to his shoulder as he passes him.

 Chris takes Buck's hand and tugs on it, leading him to the kitchen. Buck's eyebrows raise at the sight of Eddie pulling a pan out the oven

 "Dad cooked," Chris informs him. Buck chuckles.

 "Maybe I shouldn't have come over," He jokes. Eddie throws a dish towel at him, scowling.

 "It's just mac and cheese," He retorts. "And I'll have you know I've gotten better at cooking over the pandemic. Make yourself useful and set the table."

 Shifting into the usual routine of dinner time at the Diaz household has a comforting familiarity to it, Buck thinks, as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses, knowing where everything is supposed to be without even thinking about it. They sit down at the table to eat, Chris chattering away about his day as Buck listens on, barely suppressing an eye roll when Eddie not-so-subtly heaps two servings onto his plate. God, his best friend can be such a dad sometimes.

 As dinnertime comes to an end, though, Buck can feel the lightness begin to slip away, tension gathering in his shoulders once more and his smiles come less easily, not even Christopher’s cheer being able to bring them out easily. Eddie seems to notice (of course he does) and quickly stands to gather their plates.

 “Chris, I think it’s time you start getting ready for bedtime,” he says and Chris groans dramatically.

 “Dad, can’t I stay up? It’s not even a school night!”

 “Nope,” Eddie hums. “Rules are rules, Chris, you know how it is.”

 Chris groans again but doesn’t argue his point and gets up. “Goodnight, Buck,” he murmurs, and Buck bends down to receive his hug almost automatically, barely registering it. Thankfully, Chris doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss and pulling back, grins at him before leaving.

 “Hey,” Buck startles as Eddie taps him on the shoulder and looks up at the barely concealed worry in his friend’s face. “Why don’t you go wait in the living room? I’m gonna go tuck Chris into bed.”

 “It’s late,” Buck mutters. “Maybe I should leave.” He doesn’t want to. It’s almost more than he can stand, right now, the thought of leaving the warmth of Eddie’s house, of Eddie, to go back to his apartment, that has never felt like home the way Eddie and Christopher have. But he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He’d once told Maddie that he’s not really a guest in Eddie’s house, but now, with his entire world, with everything he’d ever known about himself turned upside down, he can’t be sure of anything.

 Eddie shakes his head and repeats, a little more firmly. “Wait for me in the living room.”

 Buck goes, helpless but to do as he asks. He looks around at the room as he sits down on the couch, Chris’ homework on the side tables, the video game consoles scattered around it, Eddie’s jacket tossed over a chair—just a few weeks ago, he had been on this couch with Eddie and Christopher, playing video games and teasing Eddie about his newfound fear of technology. Just a few weeks ago, he had been in this same spot, happy and lighthearted with two of his favorite people in the world.

 Just a few weeks ago, he hadn’t felt this overwhelming sense of wrongness and uncertainty, like everything was collapsing around him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

 Eddie returns shortly, sinking down into the couch beside him, his shoulders pressing into Buck’s; solid and grounding. Buck lets out a shaky exhale, ducking his head as he feels his eyes burn with tears again. He doesn’t want Eddie to see him like this, cracked in a hundred places and this close to falling apart. Which doesn’t make sense, he knows, Eddie has been there during some of the worst moments of his life; he was there holding his hand while his leg was being crushed under a firetruck, he had seen him choke on his own blood during that welcome-back party; there was no end to it. But this—this was just too much. Too vulnerable. Too raw, and open and exposed.

 Eddie says nothing, just sitting there, a line of warmth and stability against Buck, waiting for him to open up. And Buck does, inevitably.

 “I forgave my parents,” He doesn’t look at Eddie while he says it, but can feel him stiffen momentarily before he relaxes again.

 “That must have been hard,” Eddie says, his words so similar to Maddie’s just a few hours ago. Buck shrugs in response, talking about it with his sister had been hard enough, he doesn’t really want to get into the why’s of it again.

 “I just feel like---” Buck stops himself and sighs in frustration. “I feel like this should have brought me some sort of relief, right? Taken some of the weight off my shoulders? Now that I actually have some context to what they did, and why-“

 “Hey,” Eddie interrupts, almost sharply. “Your parents lost a child, and that’s terrible. But them ignoring the two living children they had, not being there for their kids who actually needed them? That is on them and nothing can excuse that. You are well within your rights to feel angry, Buck.”

 Buck shakes his head. “I am so tired of being angry,” He says. “But---I still am. I thought forgiving them would make me feel less angry, but it didn’t. I am so angry that they kept my brother a secret from me, all this time. I am so angry that they forced Maddie to keep that secret, when she was just a child. I am so angry that I was finally, finally, doing better, feeling more secure and good about myself and my life and it took just one visit from them to turn it all upside down!”

 He sucks in a deep breath and buries his head in his hands, shaking slightly. He did not mean to explode like that. Hell, he doesn’t even know where it all came from. He had no idea he was even feeling like that before it all burst out.

 I sometimes hide my true feelings, Buck remembers telling his therapist that one time, and he chuckles hollowly at the memory.

 Eddie lays a hand on his shoulder, the pad of his thumb drawing soothing circles over his sleeve and remains quiet until Buck raises his head again, eyes wet.

 “It’s clear to me, now,” Buck says. “Everything I ever did to try and win their affection, to win their love—none of it mattered. I was set up to fail since the very beginning. The entire time, whenever they looked at me, all they could see was Daniel and I would never measure up in their eyes. How could I compete with that? God,” He scrubs a hand across his face roughly and lets out a bitter laugh. “I’m jealous of a dead person. How fucked up is that?”

Something shutters in Eddie’s expression and he ducks his head for a moment, swallowing. “I understand completely,” He murmurs. Before Buck can really think about it, Eddie is talking again.

 “It was never on you to win your parents’ love, Buck,” He says. “It’s not something that needs to be won, it’s something that has to be freely given. And your parents—they—no matter the loss they were mourning, the way they made you feel like every scrap of their attention needed to be earned was unacceptable. You have to know that. I mean—” He sighs and pauses for a moment. “I have made a lot of mistakes with Christopher, but I can never imagine doing to him what your parents did to you and your sister. It’s unthinkable.”

 Buck manages to smile at that and says, his voice breaking a little, “You’re a really great dad.”

 Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “I hope so,” He murmurs. “At least, I try to be. And sometimes, trying is the best you can do. It’s what every parent should do.”

 Trying, huh? Philip and Margaret Buckley certainly hadn’t. They had given up on Buck the moment he’d failed to save his brother, Buck is certain of this no matter how they might say otherwise. They had given up on Maddie when she married Doug. They were never willing to try when things got hard, instead that burden had been placed on their children and Maddie and Buck had carried it even into their adulthood, without even noticing.

 He had never felt that burden so acutely as he did in the fire, as he relived his entire life, seeing his past through new eyes as he fought desperately to save Saleh from the flames and himself, from giving into all that despair and guilt and hopelessness. And in the end, he hadn’t had to carry it alone, because the 118, his family, stepped in to carry it with him.

 “In that warehouse,” Buck says. “I almost gave up.”

 Eddie doesn’t bat an eyelash at his words. “I know,” He says, simply.

 Buck isn’t sure why he’s saying this. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to confess this to Eddie, why this is something he needs for him to know. He also doesn’t know why Eddie is being so calm about it.

 “I almost stopped fighting,” Buck continues, his voice breaking a little.

 “I know.” Eddie says, again.

 “You’re not—” Buck clears his throat and says, hoarsely, “You’re not…I don’t know—” He can’t finish.

 Upset? Angry? Disappointed?

 Eddie, evidently, doesn’t need him to say it. “No,” He says, his voice impossibly soft. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there.”

 Oh. Of course, that’s—Buck doesn’t know whether he is referring to Afghanistan or the well, when he was buried under thirty feet of mud. Or both.

 Buck doesn’t ask, and Eddie doesn’t elaborate.

 “It feels easy, to just stop resisting,” Eddie continues. “But then, you remember that you have something to live for. A family that loves you.”

 Buck shakes his head, almost automatically. “My parents—”

 “I’m not talking about your parents,” Eddie says, firmly. “I am talking about your sister, Bobby, Athena, the 118—”

 “—you?” Buck finishes, something in his heart lifting at the soft smile Eddie gives him in return.

 “Yeah, me,” Eddie says. “And Christopher,” He pauses, suddenly looking almost uncertain. “That is, if you’ll have us.”

 If he’ll have them? Buck almost laughs hysterically—what sort of question is that? Surely, Eddie has to know—to have him and Christopher as his family would be everything and more. He wants it, all of it, so badly that it’s almost terrifying. He wants Eddie, in any and every single way possible, no matter how selfish it is.

 “Eddie, you don’t know what that means to me,” Buck says, instead.

 Eddie smiles. “I think I have some idea,” He says, and reaches out, slipping his hand into Buck’s. Buck can feel his breath catch, his heart leaping at the gentle touch, at the way Eddie’s fingers slot so perfectly between his. It is at times like these, that he thinks that Eddie might return the feelings he has for him, the feelings that are definitely not those of friendship. But he can never bring himself to cross that line, too afraid of being wrong, of ruining one of the best things he has in his life.

 They sit in silence for a few minutes. After a while, Buck glances at the clock.

 “It’s getting late,” He says reluctantly. “I should go.”

 “Stay.” Eddie says. Buck’s pulse quickens, he knows that Eddie doesn’t mean it that way, yet—

 “I think—”

 Eddie shakes his head. “Stay. Please.”

 And how can Buck say no to that?

 He nods wordlessly and allows himself to lean into Eddie, his eyes drifting shut. This is slowly exceeding the realm of best friend behavior, but Buck can’t find it in himself to care at the moment, especially when Eddie turns into him, resting his head on his shoulder.

 For now, he can have this.

 For once, he can be enough.

[sparkkeyper]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Word Count: 3,797

Warnings: None    

Summary: Old habits die hard. Crowley and Aziraphale’s habits are very, very old. Building their own side is difficult when 6000 years of instincts won’t shut up. 

(Originally very loosely-based on the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" but then it kind of did its own thing, haha. I was originally going to post this for Advent  Omens but uhhh you can see that didn’t quite happen. Written as ace but you can read it however you want, really. Guess what fools, it’s Soft Boi hours again!)

(Now on AO3!)

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The snow had started early in the day. When Aziraphale arrived at the Mayfair flat it was just a dusting. But the flurry had become a proper snowfall, and then quickly decided 'go big or go home' and transitioned into a flat-out storm.

This didn't phase the two immortals in the slightest, of course. If anything, the swirling flakes outside made it feel even cozier inside. Crowley's sleek, minimalist flat had grown a fireplace for the occasion, and a very surprised new chimney on the roof of the building found itself venting smoke that somehow managed to bypass three floors.

They sat together on the plush sofa (obtained at Aziraphale's insistence several months prior, on the grounds that he wasn't going to continue coming over if there was nowhere comfortable to sit, and Crowley couldn't have that) and drank wine and talked and laughed and reveled in the feeling of being cozy and warm on a cold, blustery day.

Time had traveled on in the usual manner since Armageddon failed to happen. The two of them were unwinding slowly. Thousands of years of looking over shoulders did not evaporate in an evening, benevolent Antichrist or no, and 'our side' was a concept they were still carefully exploring. But what a glorious exploration it was.

There was no limit to the amount of time they could spend together. It was a dizzying concept that they were both adjusting to, but one that carried a thrill through it all the same. Crowley had been sorely tempted to buy tickets to every concert, play, and musical revue London had to offer and do nothing but attend shows for the foreseeable future, the two of them together. In public. He very well might have done too, if Aziraphale hadn't talked him down amid giddy chuckles. "We have time," Aziraphale had reminded him, and Crowley was ecstatic to realize that it was true.

He had relented to two a week.

It was elating. They stood closer together, they sat beside each other on public transportation rather than one behind the other, they gave each other teasing nudges with elbows.

And sometimes - when they were both at least a bottle in - one of them might even bump their hand against the other's, and fingers might intertwine, and an electric tingle would flood Crowley like a live thing, and most importantly neither would pull away for at least two solid minutes and oh wasn't that alone worth saving the world for?

Crowley spent a previously-unheard-of amount of time at the bookshop and Aziraphale's face always lit up like the sun whenever he walked in. He arrived early, stayed late, sometimes didn't bother going home at all, often showed up with wine or snacks, and they were together and it was wonderful. He had fallen asleep on the bookshop couch in the past, but these months he got the impression that Aziraphale had zoned the piece of furniture as specifically his. There was a permanent place set aside for him in Aziraphale's home, in Aziraphale's life. It made a warmth pool in his stomach to think about it despite the creeping winter chill.

Aziraphale had begun to visit Crowley's flat in return. The angel had never once set foot in the place until the night after the airfield - Crowley had never given him the address, to be fair - but now that permission had been granted Aziraphale was here increasingly often. It was so like the easy evenings at the bookshop, just with more austere surroundings. Music, alcohol, debates and memories and slightly drunken speculation. The occasional temporary twining of fingers. It was good.

It was overwhelming sometimes, this new 'good'.

Aziraphale always left the flat at the end of the evening, usually around ten. He had no reservations whatsoever about chatting until dawn in the bookshop but the flat was a new environment, Crowley supposed. Possibly something to do with propriety.

Possibly something to do with thousands of years of distance that they were both still figuring out how to cross.

But that was Aziraphale, all right: as slow and steady as a glacier when it came to his set, comfortable ways. So much had changed in the past few months and the angel had had to adapt quickly. Crowley didn't begrudge him taking a few things slow. Old habits were hard to break and their habits were very, very old.

Crowley understood well how shadows could linger even in the bright daylight. It was all well and good to say he was off Hell's payroll. It was another thing entirely when instinct crept up on him screaming that he needed to watch his back, to sit a row behind Aziraphale on the bus, to have forty excuses ready for when Dagon came auditing. It took considerable effort to override those instincts and remind himself that 'together' was okay. It was allowed. And still he'd so far only managed to turn the volume down on them, not silence them completely. He didn't know if he ever would. Crowley didn't doubt Aziraphale had similar instincts of his own. If the angel felt better setting himself a curfew, Crowley certainly wasn't going to judge.

But tonight they were here, and warm, and sheltered from the blizzard. As 'retro' had begun to slide back into style, Crowley had picked up a sleek addition to his stereo system that was at once a record turntable, radio, tape deck, and CD player, with added Bluetooth capability for good measure. Strains of Vivaldi swam through the room from a vinyl, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the clinking of wine glasses. Aziraphale was settled deeply into the sofa, his posture several steps short of perfect which was how Crowley knew he was truly relaxed. Crowley, as per usual, was draped over the couch like he'd never seen one before in his life, as though he had too many limbs and didn't know what to do with them all. It was good.

Life was good.

It was a little after ten when Aziraphale spoke up. "It's getting late." His voice was a bit distant as he looked out the window, snow glinting in the reflected light as it fell. "I suppose I ought to be going."

There was a note of regret to his voice, a lack of conviction in his eyes, that Crowley had learned to read over the long years of the Arrangement. A smile pulled at the corner of the demon's mouth, covered up easily by another sip of wine. It was a very old game they played, treading carefully along the outside edges of things that could not or should not be said aloud. Expectations, angelic ones in particular, built a lot of barriers. Aziraphale wanted something that wasn't allowed him - or wasn't supposed to be allowed him - and couldn't bring himself to reach out and grasp it. It was Crowley's job to find ways for him to justify the forbidden something to himself.

In the subtle language they shared, the angel was asking Crowley to tempt him, and how could Crowley pass up a request like that?

"Awfully cold out there," the demon drawled, gesturing languidly toward the window with his wine glass. "Snowing like nobody's business. Wind and ice and subzero chill. Terrible night to be out in."

"I'm sure it's not so bad."

"Not so bad? It's been raging for hours! Look at it! It's knee-high! You expect me to try and drive my poor car out in that mess?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon. "Ah yes. Imagine if humans invented other forms of transportation aside from your horrid car."

The demon's argument was all bluff and they both knew it. The Bentley could slice through the snowdrifts like a hot knife through butter if Crowley wanted it to. It wasn't the strength of the argument that mattered - it was whether or not Aziraphale could twist it to bypass the metaphorical roadblocks. Crowley rose to the challenge by sprawling back on the sofa with a smirk. "Other forms of transportation? You mean a bus, in weather like that? And good luck finding a cab out there, angel. City's practically shut down."

Aziraphale stood, giving his back a tentative stretch. "I could walk, of course. I've done it loads of times. It doesn't take much more than twenty minutes, not counting the care that has to be taken for ice."

"Walk, he says!" Crowley tossed back the remainder of his wine like a shot glass. "Think of it - the first angel in history to catch pneumonia! Bad job I'm not working for Hell anymore; they'd give me an award!"

"If doing those temptations in Qashliq for you didn't give me pneumonia, I'm quite sure nothing will."

"Are you ever going to let that go? It was over four hundred years ago!"

"It was February in Siberia, no I will not."

"Suppose you did stay a bit longer," Crowley ventured, changing tactics. It was a risk, coming at the problem from such a direct angle when they were both so used to ghosting along edges. "Bookshop wouldn't go anywhere, would it?"

Aziraphale blinked at the abrupt transition. "Well no, I shouldn't think so. It's just...I mean if I don't return home someone might notice of course and well...people will talk."

Crowley leaned forward over his knees, seriously. "Angel. When, in two hundred years in that bookshop, have you ever given a single fuck what your human neighbours think?"

Aziraphale drew himself up with a huff, and Crowley was delighted to see familiar indignation winning out over nerves. "I am an upstanding member of the community, I'll have you know. And it's not just my neighbours, of course - it's yours as well. That little old lady who lives on the floor below, for example. She always gives me that look when I pass her in the lift."

"What look?"

"You know! That look! Like she thinks she knows what's going on between the two of us."

The demon grinned like a Cheshire cat and gave a suggestive wiggle of his shoulders just for the expression it painted across the angel's face. "You're worried that my neighbours are going to think you and I took a tumble in the sheets?"

"They already suspect! Or at least she suspects." Aziraphale was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but mirth glinted behind his eyes. "Do you know what she said to me as she was getting out of the lift the other day? 'Don't forget to use protection; you don't know where he's been!'"

Crowley howled, leaning so far back in his laughter that he fell off the couch.

"I don't know what's more outlandish, the idea that we're in here having a lurid physical affair or the idea that I don't know exactly where you've been."

Crowley wiped his eyes dry and held out a hand so the angel could help pull him up from the floor. "Remind me to miracle her fridge so that all her milk keeps past its date. 'Don't know where he's been' indeed."

Aziraphale fought to get his own smile under control, for the sake of his argument if nothing else. "Yes, but it just goes to show, Crowley, people do notice. And they will talk, I'm sure of it."

"Let them," he waved it off. "I've seen tissue paper with more durability than human gossip. It'll all get forgotten in a day or two." Crowley leaned over and refilled both glasses.

"Right. I suppose it will." The angel took a tentative sip and sat back into the sofa again. "Silly thing to get worked up about, really."

On a regular night that might have been the end of it. They'd had their verbal tennis, they'd had a laugh, and Aziraphale had accepted another drink. But try as he might, the angel couldn't seem to settle. There was a stiffness, a tension to his spine that would not unwind. He fidgeted with the stemware, shooting furtive glances at the window, the fireplace, the clock. 

The ceiling.

The final notes of Vivaldi faded out, leaving the room in silence, and Crowley rose to swap the record. The discomfort radiating off the angel was almost palpable and it made his own spine crawl. "Aziraphale--"

"Only, the wind really looks dreadful," Aziraphale blurted out, jolting to his feet and crossing to the window. "I really ought to go before it gets worse."

"Can't get much worse than it is, I think," Crowley countered carefully. "Best stay where it's warm."

"I don't..." Aziraphale stared out at the London skyline, nearly invisible in the storm. Pale fingers worried absently at the hem of his waistcoat. His mouth was down to a thin line and there was quite a lot behind his eyes. He looked pained. "I shouldn't impose."

"You're not imposing if I'm offering."

"It isn't...it isn't right for me to stay!"

The demon set down the vinyl he was holding, something dangerous layering his words. "Says who?"

"I've been ignoring protocol too much as it is--"

Crowley gritted his teeth, a growl rising in his throat. "There is no protocol on our side!"

"I know!" Aziraphale snapped. There was a beat of silence and the anger in the angel's face melted as suddenly as it had come, leaving his expression frustrated and upset. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, almost apologetically. "I...I really can't...surely you understand why I can't just..." He ran a hand through his hair helplessly, eyes darting to the ceiling.

The demon set his glass down and moved over to the window.

It was a very old game they played. Crowley was good at his job and Aziraphale was good at the mental gymnastics required to fit through some of the more dubious loopholes. But every now and then they still lost.

He positioned himself in front of the principality, forcing Aziraphale to look at him.

"Angel," he said quietly, as though someone might overhear. "If you want to head home, I'll take you. You know I will. I'd just rather it be because you want to rather than because they would want you to."

Aziraphale looked truly miserable. "Crowley, you've been a marvelous host, you really have, but...I'm so sorry, I..."

Crowley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment the demon's face was soft, genuine. A bit sad but still impossibly fond. "Don't be." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's late. Get your coat, angel, it's cold out there." He doused the fireplace with a wave and stretched his back out. "Give me a moment to sober up and I'll start the car."

Aziraphale sighed, clearly frustrated at a great many things, but headed for the coat rack while the demon forced the alcohol from his system. "It ought to be fine," he muttered as the wine bottles in the corner finished refilling. "It ought to be fine. I can't explain it, I..."

"It's like someone's standing too close inside your personal space," Crowley finished for him quietly, pulling a coat of his own from the ether. "Like you're driving on the motorway and you end up in the blind spot of a lorry. There's no great outward change but all of a sudden the hairs are up on the back of your neck and your skin is crawling. And you just have this overwhelming sense of this is not a good place to be, get out."

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured unsteadily. "Yes, that's it exactly." His eyes found Crowley's, apologetic, searching.

"It is what it is, angel," he assured him softly. "We have time."

A weight seemed to lift from Aziraphale's shoulders. "I...thank you. Truly." There were things unspoken that Crowley could hear beneath that simple phrase. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being patient with me.

Don't say that, hesitated on the tip of Crowley's tongue. Instinct was, of course, very old and very strong. He swallowed down the words and searched for new ones to replace them.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. The syllables tasted foreign in his mouth.

There was silence in the flat as he buttoned up his coat. Despite the passing months they truly had only moved the barest steps away from where they had been.

They had so very far to go yet.

But it was true. They had time.

"Right." He tried to break the mood as casually as he could, slipping dark glasses on and turning his voice into something light and easy. "Shall we be off then? After you, angel."

The lift ride down was silent, subdued. Something complicated was warring behind the blue eyes and Crowley wasn't going to even begin to touch on it until they were in the car. Aziraphale's steps faltered as he reached the glass doors of the lobby, and Crowley was halfway down the outside stairs before he realized he wasn't following.

"Oi, you coming?"

Aziraphale stared down at the space beyond the door with a peculiar expression: uncertainty and determination and anger and hurt. "I - I don't..." There was a moment of indecision, of frantic debate on his face, then he backed quickly over to the lobby bench and sat down hard.

Crowley pulled his coat tighter about himself as the wind bit through his clothes and ducked back into the building.

Aziraphale held very still, eyes closed and fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

"Angel?"

"Give me a moment. Please."

Crowley paced a cautious half-circle around him, instinctively scanning the principality for damage and the storm beyond the glass wall for threats. Another old habit - nearly useless now but one he wasn't going to be able to drop any time soon. He sat down beside the angel and the lobby was quiet for a very, very long time.

"I think," murmured Aziraphale at last, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

Crowley studied him closely. "Are you sure?"

"No." Aziraphale met his gaze. "I haven't been sure of much of anything, recently. Not since Tadfield. But I do not want to be forced back to the bookshop tonight."

"Shouldn't force yourself to stay if you're only going to be miserable."

"It's not so bad down here, that's the silly thing. But for some reason the idea of going back upstairs is just..." He laughed wryly. "What a mess I've made of the evening."

"It was a fine evening," Crowley told him earnestly.

"I thought so too, at least until the end there." He straightened, and looked a bit more like himself to Crowley's eyes. "And it's my most sincere hope that, with some more wine and another record, it might be again. Give me a few minutes. I think I can work up to it."

The demon took his glasses off and studied him closely. The determination in those eyes, the set of that jaw, were so familiar they hurt. There was a nervousness there, but there was a stubbornness as well. Like the glacier: slow, steady, but deep down so, so strong.

Crowley reached behind himself and retrieved a pair of full wine glasses that suddenly and thoughtfully decided to exist. "You know, I reckon..." he said quietly, handing one to Aziraphale, "that these will taste just as good right here as they would upstairs."

Aziraphale blinked. Glanced from his glass to the demon to the lift and back again. And his expression softened considerably.

"And if music and wine is what it takes to hang onto your company for a little longer, I s'pose that's the sacrifice I'll have to make, won't I?" He sat his phone down beside him and with a few taps Mozart began to play from its speakers.

Aziraphale stared deep into his wine glass, a smile spreading across his face that he didn't seem quite ready to share with the world yet. "A little unorthodox, isn't it?"

"And?" Crowley shrugged. "Last I checked, there's no protocol on our side."

"So there isn't. Do you know, I think I like that about it."

The demon lowered his voice. "Say the word any time, you know. We'll go, no questions asked."

"I know." Aziraphale let out a long breath and settled back onto cushions that were suddenly far more plush than anything the lobby bench had seen before. "But at the moment I'd rather be here."

The storm howled beyond the glass wall but the central heating vent behind them kept any stray chills at bay. They sat in gentle silence for a long time.

Piano Sonata No. 14 wound through the room, mingling with the warmth and the wine to kindle a sense of calm: a concoction of human magic that miracles, for all their power, could never replicate. Clever things, those humans.

Crowley traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "Can I ask what changed your mind?" he asked softly.

Aziraphale gazed off into the distance for a moment before looking back to his companion. "It was the 'you're welcome', funnily enough. You've always objected so vehemently to being thanked before."

"Yeah, well..." Crowley took another sip of his drink so as not to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Like being in the blind spot of a lorry."

Aziraphale nodded. "It's..." He trailed off. Took a swig of wine and swallowed it down hard, as though for courage. "It's a comfort," he admitted so quietly that Crowley had to strain to hear him. "To know that it's not just me."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Not by a long shot, no" he confessed, equally quiet.

"I know accepting gratitude doesn't come easy to you. But you managed, tonight."

"It isn't a footrace, angel. I'm not asking you to keep pace with me."

"I know that. And I'm grateful. It's just... seeing you be brave makes me feel like...like I can be as well."

That smile was tugging at the edge of Crowley's mouth again. He reached out and clinked the edge of his glass with Aziraphale's. "Course you can be. Always have been."

The angel smiled back at him, warm and glowing and grateful, just the faintest hint of pink darkening his cheeks. With a daring Crowley had only seen behind the safety of closed doors and wine bottles, he placed a hand on the bench between them, palm up. 

Crowley took it.

Meeting him in the middle, as always.

"Careful, angel," the demon murmured in his ear. "Remember, you don't know where I've been."

Aziraphale gave an undignified snort into his wine glass and their laughter echoed throughout the lobby.

The storm raged cold outside, but here, in their own little in-between place, they were warm.

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary:  Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you?  Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever.  “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation 

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

[husbandograveyard]

Hi hazel! I hope you're doing well, may i request a fem s/o of Shanks who feels invisible and is starting to get bitter because of it and Shanks comforts her? Scenario if you would. Please and thank you!

Hi Sky! :D As discussed in PM, the reader is now genderneutral <3 Im sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy! 

Not weak, just loved - Shanks x Reader 

2nd person. Genderneutral reader. 1.5k words. Fluffy comfort fic. 

All the men on the Red Force were exceptionally talented. Years of experience, sailing all the seas, winning and losing battles, mostly winning though.... everything had contributed to the strength and confidence they now had. And it was necessary, after all, the crew of a Yonko cannot possibly be weak, especially not with such a small crew compared to the others. 

And yet. You were not as strong as the men on the ship. You were the only one who had only been there for a little while, not as a pirate initially, but as their captain’s partner of a few years. You were not weak, Shanks wouldn’t have let you sail with him if you were for your own safety. You could hold your own against most of the average pirates and other annoyances you ran into, which weren’t that many anymore, at this point most people knew who you were and knew better than to just attack part of a yonko’s crew without a solid plan, but compared to the others? You were nothing. At least that was what it felt like. 

Whenever the crew was training, you felt left out. There was nothing you could do really, unless they went really easy on you, but you could tell that they'd want to go all out sometimes, preferring to spar with crewmates they knew they wouldn't hurt in case something went wrong. You were "too frail" for that. It was often the main subject of their jokes, and you always laughed along with them, trying to hide just how much that actually hurt. 

Whenever they were sitting around a fire on an island, telling each other stories and reminiscing about islands visited years ago, you couldn't step in or add to the stories, your voice noticeably more quiet and soft amongst their deep and raucous voices. On top of that, you had only joined the crew a few years ago, and most of these stories were just that for you, stories. For you, they were not memories, but just stories that got wilder every time you heard them. 

It just all piled on. Negative after negative after negative. There were so many occasions where you felt weak, useless, a burden. And before you know those words were just on repeat in the back of your mind. You weren’t expected to help around too much on the ship, but you tried wherever you could, just so you could pass the time whenever Shanks was busy doing all his captain things, and you were usually sent away with some laughter and a comment that help was not needed. The crew did not mean this in any malicious way, just wanted to make sure you could relax and not overwork lest they had to hear the captain complain about them shoving work onto his love and tiring them out before he could do so, but to you, it just felt like them sneering at you for not being useful and you just felt yourself become more and more bitter every single time it happened.

Today you were finally docking on a new island after a few long weeks at sea. You were supposed to be excited about land underneath your feet, and new fresh food, but you could hardly find any enthusiasm to bring up. It would be the same as always. Supply shopping, maybe a little date with Shanks, which would be the highlight of your day, and then they would go to a bar, drink the place dry, get some more booze, and party on the beach until the sun came up again. Then the next day rinse and repeat until the ship was all stocked up and the log pose reset, and you and the crew would move onto the next island. You were not feeling up to it at all. You just knew that you would not be allowed to help load things onto the ship cause they were too heavy. You knew more stories would come that would never include you. And you were just not feeling up to that at all. 

So when you heard the familiar sounds of everyone running around, getting the ship ready to dock, you stayed in the bedroom you shared with Shanks instead of going out and watching the land get closer as you usually would do. Sitting on the bed, staring into the nothingness, your angry thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It indicated that there was someone that had noticed your absence, but you ignored it, pretty sure that no one would really miss you anyway. 

The door opened, and in walked your red-haired boyfriend. You were surprised that he had even knocked on his own door, but you appreciated the gesture, certainly done to make you feel comfortable and like your privacy was respected. You couldn’t bear looking at him when he asked the question you knew was inevitably going to come up. 

“Is there something wrong?”

You shrugged. The answer was yes, but you couldn’t exactly say something about it. You didn’t want to cause tension the moment you were arriving on an island. He walked over slowly, sitting next to you and placing his hand on your thigh. 

“What’s up then?” 

You bit your lip. “I don’t want to talk about it”. He leaned forward a bit, trying to make eye contact, but you turned your face away. “Please Shanks, just go with the crew, leave me here for a bit.” 

He frowned. You didn’t sound extremely upset or sad. More empty and angry, and he did not want to leave you behind in such a state. 

“You don’t want to come with us? This seems like a fun village, and I heard the local liquors are unlike anything we’ve tasted before.” When his soft smile and enthusiasm didn’t even manage to make you turn your head, he got really worried. Did he do something wrong? 

“No, I don’t want to come with you. I don’t want to sit around the campfire and get confronted with how helpless and unnecessary I am around here. How I am never part of the grand story because I am weak,” you took a sharp breath in, Shanks mouth falling open in a surprised o-shape, and now that you had finally started pouring out your feelings, you felt yourself unable to stop. 

“You know? Maybe I should get off on this island and just stay here cause apparently I am nothing but a dead weight on this ship. I am grateful for the adventures I had but apparently I was never significant enough to even mention in the wild drunken sto-” 

“Y/n stop.” 

His voice was stern, his expression serious. You finally looked at him and saw the usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes was nowhere to be seen either. It made you feel uneasy in some way. 

“You’re not weak. You’re not dead weight. You’re not useless. Don’t…” he frowned, grasping one of your hands in his, “don’t say such things about yourself. If you were weak, you’d never be allowed on this ship. If you weren’t loved, no one here would put up with you and look out for you. If you were such a nuisance… I’d never had noticed you. And yet here we are. You are loved,” he kissed your forehead, “you are wanted,” he kissed your left cheek, “you are needed, not a nuisance,” he kissed your right cheek, “and I love you with all I have,” he kissed you on the lips. 

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep your angry expression, and he didn’t stop talking. He started summing up moments where you would throw a weapon to one of the crewmates after they’d lost theirs, how you patched people up in the middle of a chaotic battlefield, how your tactics had helped the crew greatly, and countless of stories of how you had made him happy, smile, laugh, filled his days with joy. Before he was done talking, there were some tears silently streaming down your face, he rubbed them away, not even mentioning your teary eyes, still keeping that same, serious, focussed expression on. Although a new emotion had set in the twinkle of his eyes: love. 

“Are you coming with~? Maybe tonight we should dedicate all stories to you?” 

Your eyes widened and you started to stutter. “N-no...No, I am fine without all that extra drunken attention.”

“As long as you’ll accept my drunken attention I won’t bother you”

You smacked his arm painfully, noticing how your whole body seemed more relaxed now that you were no longer carrying most of those dark thoughts with you. Of course, there would undoubtedly be more moments where you felt unfit or inadequate but as you grabbed Shanks’ hand and followed him out on deck, you realized that there was always the one to make you feel better. You’d hold onto that thought. It’d work way better for your mood too.

[lassieposting]

Any alive! Skulduggery hcs that you haven't shared? I live by your version of him tbh

Hi anon! I think I covered skug's backstory up to when he signs up to fight and then skipped ahead to when he meets his wife, so you can have the Early War Years

- so when we left skug, he'd been on the pirate adventure and essentially moved in with ghastly's family at age 16, and that's where he stays for the next three years. Ghastly's father introduces him to taking pride in his appearance, Ghastly introduces him to Hopeless, and Ghastly's mother Saoirse introduces him to three things: motherly love, household chores, and the back of her hand for swearing in the house. He settles into the family, flirts with the prettiest local girls, develops an allergy to manual labour, and starts Experimenting™ with Ghastly, who's absolutely besotted with him.

- at 19, he has his surge, and it's bad. Ghastly has his a few months earlier, and it wasn't pleasant, but Ghastly was always going to be an elemental. He was sick and achy for a few days and howling in pain for just one or two. Skug expects much the same: he hasn't used necromancy in years, and he's had the best elemental tutors his parents could find.

- But he's inherited an insanely strong necromancy gene from his biological father, and an insanely strong elemental gene from his mother, and his surge ultimately comes down to two branches of magic trying to destroy each other to be the last gene standing. His temperature skyrockets as the elemental gene tries to burn the necromancy out of him. What looks like black blood seeps from his eyes and his nose and the corner of his mouth. His veins go black as the shadows retaliate. It goes on for days. Ghastly's mother is beside herself trying to get water into him so he doesn't die of thirst.

- If he hadn't also inherited the extremely rare genetic abnormality responsible for magical ambidexterity, his surge would've killed him. But he did, so it doesn't, and eventually he comes out of it and spends the next six months or so just recovering.

- at this point, the sanctuary is pushing recruitment. Ghastly doesn't look twice at the posters, but skug does. Ghastly's whole world is his family, their farm, and his father's tailoring business. But skug's father is a diplomat, he's got extended family involved in the war, he was supposed to go to a fancy French university that ended up being burned down during an attack by some pro-Mevolent riots, he's had to field questions from smaller siblings about when - and if - their dad would be coming home. He's highly educated, politically savvy, and emotionally involved. He decides he wants to sign up to fight.

- Saoirse does her best to talk him out of it, but skug is skug, and he digs his heels in and insists this is what he wants to do. He's going to join the war effort.

- Ghastly and Hopeless think it over and decide to join up with him. Hopeless, because he's an idealistic young man looking for glory, and Ghastly because someone has to watch skulduggery's back and keep him out of trouble, or he'll get himself shot long before he gets to set foot on a battlefield.

- honestly, ghastly isn't expecting skug to last long in the army. Skug is a pampered spoiled rich brat, and he's about to be surrounded by people who will scream in his face and make him do drills and expect him to obey orders, and he thinks it will take a few weeks tops before skug wants to desert

- that is. Not what happens

- like. none of them like it very much to begin with. hopeless has never had to do this much exercise in his life, and he hates it. ghastly is lonely and homesick and just wants to go back to dublin. and their first CO decides he hates skug on like, their first day of training, because he's a smart-mouthed arrogant asshole who's never had to be afraid of anything but his own father, and he does not react well to being ridiculed during drills. skug's ego takes a good solid battering because the other enlistees don't appreciate being given extra chores as punishment for him mouthing off, ghastly has to crack some skulls to make sure he won't be bullied for his scars, hopeless doesn't quite fit in and gets some nasty ribbing over it

- but also? they've got untapped talent, all three of them. they end up black ops fighters for a reason. hopeless tops the class for intelligence and undercover operations, because he can become anyone. ghastly is strong and level-headed and does well under pressure. and skulduggery is a natural leader, a ruthless tactician, and has a tendency to pull off insane plans that would go horribly for anyone else.

- they survive basic training. they get sent into the field. and ghastly and hopeless find that they're actually pretty good at this. they earn the respect of the rest of their platoon. and skulduggery? he starts to thrive

- this is the era of wealthy aristocrats buying their way into leadership positions they don't have the experience or common sense to do well in. almost none of the lower-class soldiers have any patience for it, but as a fellow aristo Skug has the social standing to call them out on it, so he still has a habit of making enemies of his commanding officers. he resents being handed orders by men who are less than he is, less clever, less observant, less capable. he goes out of his way to prove that his way of doing things is better.

- and? it works for him, sort of. he gets promoted several times - first he's pulled out of the enlisted ranks to be trained up as an officer, then he makes lieutenant, then captain - partly because he's Challenging to deal with and partly because he's becoming incredibly competent. it's fairly common for skug to get a flogging (for disobeying orders) and a promotion (because it worked out well for him) simultaneously. he has quite a few stripes by the time he meets wifey. when he starts being given command of a squad of his own, he takes ghastly with him as his number two, and hopeless comes along for the ride.

- at some point, skug gets palmed off on then-colonel corrival deuce. it's phrased as "oh here i'll give you some of my best men", but corrival is experienced enough to recognise "god please take this one off my hands im begging you" when he sees it, and sure enough, he butts heads with skug almost as soon as they're introduced.

- by this point skulduggery's men have developed a reputation for being a bit wild, and they're very loyal to him, so corrival has his work cut out. but? he's got a bit of a different approach to a lot of his fellow officers, because he came up through the ranks himself. so instead of locking horns with skug and trying to flog him into compliance, he turns skug into his pet project, his protégé. he gives him a loose rein, defends his decisions to the higher-ups, and doesn't interfere too much with how skug runs his team, but he also doesn't tolerate backtalk, bullshit or cheek. he's the stern-but-fair mentor figure - the Captain Holt/Captain Pellew/Lord Wellington to skug's Peralta/Hornblower/Sharpe. and skug's never had a very involved father figure, because ghastly's father is massively introverted and his own was short-tempered and perpetually disappointed in him, so corrival trips his "kids want boundaries" switch and actually wins him over.

- corrival hangs onto him after that. as he gets promoted and moved around, skug goes with him, and by extension so do his team. corrival learns to use the sensible members of the group - ghastly and hopeless, then erskine - to triangulate skug and stop his temper getting the better of him. he's incredibly proud of his chosen men, and all three of them really come into their own under his guidance. skug turns down promotion a couple times because it would mean a change of CO, and he knows there aren't many people he'd take orders from anymore.

- and then skug meets wifey.

- when skug gets married, neither his mother or father attend. they don't approve of wifey or her pitiful dowry. they assume, as does kenspeckle, that he's marrying her to Do The Decent Thing because he's knocked her up, and his father reassures him that he doesn't have to marry the girl, just send her somewhere far away and send her money to support her brat, and this whole sorry indiscretion can be put behind him. skug is. furious. he was smart enough not to take wifey with him to announce the engagement, and he ends up having a screaming match with his father that ends with him a) walking out and b) getting disinherited. he marries her anyway, and despite mr and mrs pleasant senior snubbing the whole event, he's got a full complement of parents there all the same - ghastly's parents turn up, and so does corrival.

- it's a military thing - skug's in his military dress uniform, they cut the cake with his sword - the parade sword, at least, the one he's never actually used, they walk out of the venue through the sword arch and skug's team do the rifle salute. ghastly's mother drags him to one side, pulls him down by the shirtfront to fuss over his hair and try to make it lay flat, licks her thumb and wipes a smudge off his cheek, embarrasses him in front of all his friends. then corrival snags him while they're waiting for the bride, tells him off for not having perfectly shiny buttons, redoes his collar for him, and tells him, "You'll do" like he isn't about to cry a lil. he offers skug some whiskey from his flask "for courage" and without really thinking skug says he doesn't need it because he's never been so sure about anything in his life and corrival is just. he's fine. he's not choked up at all. stand up straight, boy, for god's sake.

- he also makes a speech ghastly still brings up hundreds of years later, because it's the soppiest the old man ever got with any of them. along the lines of "i never had a son, and if i had, i like to think he would've turned out absolutely nothing like you, because you are single-handedly the reason i am going grey several hundred years ahead of schedule. that being said, i couldn't be prouder of the man you've become; you are at least half as stubborn and annoying now as you were when i met you, and i think i can claim at least some of the credit." and then, to wifey, "as to you, my dear, you have freed me, this monster is yours now. to your health, and my heartiest hopes that your future children turn out like you, because one of him is plenty."

- wifey laughs until her sides hurt and she's wheezing. skug pretends he's offended. ghastly wolf-whistles noisily and gets clipped round the ear by his mama. corrival tears up a little in the middle of his speech and clears his throat to hide it. and when it's all over and they're about to leave, wifey thanks him for coming because she knows it meant a lot to skug, and he promises her he'll do his best to bring skug home safe and sound until this damnable war is over.

(he wishes he'd been able to keep that promise until the day he dies)

[rockandroobuckaroll]

Shyan Mafia AU - Chapter One

This is the first chapter of my first Shyan fic, so any comments/notes would be helpful. I'm currently waiting on an email from A03 to make a new account, so when it's up I'll start uploading this there too.

A couple people asked about this too being @watcher-savage and @celestial-e I apologise in advance for my inability to write chapters less than 5000 words haha

This is a mafia AU where Ryan is a newbie in the mob, looking to gain protection. He’s sent after a guy known only as ‘Legs’ to take care of business... only things aren’t so simple as that. Ryan must lure this ‘Legs’ guy out to some place quiet... but he’s not the only guy in town who’s after him.

Life hadn't been easy for Ryan Bergara. He'd been on his own most of his life, not many friends and he had no family that he was particularly close with. Ryan didn't know what had happened to his parents or younger brother, only that they were six feet under and not by natural causes. It had happened one night when he wasn't home, instead he was out partying with his old friends from college. He'd come home to a sight that caused many sleepless nights, a sight decorated with shades of red that he could never wash out of his clothes.

Ryan had been a paranoid man from that night onwards, afraid he was next on the list and he would be murdered some day soon. It lead him to lead a sheltered life, shut away from friends and remaining family. If he was on his own maybe people would forget he existed entirely. Being alone kept him alive, despite the loneliness it brought him.

It was this loneliness that eventually brought Ryan to a decision that would change his life forever.

Ryan needed protection and he craved a family like the one he used to know and love, and there was a way to kill two birds with one stone;  he did have to admit he must have been crazy to come to the conclusion however. His dad was a wealthy, powerful man, he and his wife had ties to higher ups that they kept secret. Ryan knew they weren't just rumours made up by people in the street, after all he'd been at family dinners where strangers in sharp suits were invited, he'd overheard meetings and phone calls. It was certainly no secret to him that his family were part of the Californian Mafia.

During the day his dad was a humble dentist but by night he was out in a tailored suit, attending meetings and 'taking care of business'. Ryan's mom always joked that his dad was part of the men in black and that he used to go out and hunt aliens and as a child he had believed her. As he grew older and pieced together the truth Ryan thought it was pretty cool what his dad did, although that novelty came to an abrupt end the night they lost their lives.

It was a longshot, but he hoped that the men who used to come round his house for dinner would take him in, train him up, and give him the protection that he needed to sleep at night. He could be brave if he was in the mob, he had to be, and maybe he could finally get some sleep at night. If he couldn't all those years of shutting himself away would have been pointless and Ryan didn't ever want to admit that to himself.

That was how he found himself sat in a leather armchair in a small office, sat opposite a man he recognised from his youth. The man was much older now, hair grey and he wore glasses that weren't previously needed, but he still had the same believable kindness behind his eyes - though Ryan knew better than to trust that kindness.

"I'm glad you came to us Ricky, we can give you the protection you need." The elderly man sat behind the desk spoke, his voice smooth and soothing. He may not look it, but the man in front of him was the big boss of the Californian Mafia, overseeing the ins and outs of the entire organisation; he was known only as Father Thomas. He was a man no one wanted to cross.

"Um, my name is Ryan, sir." Ryan corrected him, realising afterwards that he probably should have known better. If the movies were anything to go off he shouldn't talk back to these kinds of people.

"Ryan, my child, you don't want to give out your identity to men who are going to use it against you. From now on if someone asks for your name, you tell them its Ricky: Ricky Goldsworth." The Father had a point, although Ryan assumed it would take him a while to get used to that alias - he would probably have to write it down. "You're new here and you want our protection... but not everything is free, Ricky."

"I'll do anything, sir." He was honest when he said 'anything'. Ryan wouldn't have resorted to the mafia if he wasn't willing to leave his old miserable life behind him.

Father Thomas leaned forward, elbows resting on the dark oak desk and his chin atop his interlaced fingers. "Anything?" He looked Ryan in his eyes, peering deep into his very soul. "Here's the thing, Ricky. I believe you when you say you'll do anything, I do... but I don't know if my good friends will be willing to back you up. So I've got a little job for you. It's a risky job, you'll be tested for sure, but if you pull it off I can make you very wealthy very quickly... and throw in a couple of trained assistants of mine to keep you safe at night." The Father leaned back again much to Ryan's relief and opened up one of the heavy looking drawers on the desk, pulling out a large, beige binder and flipping through before taking a page out.

The paper had a personal file, a photo attached with a paperclip at the top. There wasn't much known about him, no name to call him; only an alias was written down. "This here guy is a bit of a troublemaker for us. We've lost many good men to him, he's cunning and has a perfect record when it comes to his work."

"And you want me to..."

"To take care of business, yes." Ryan suddenly wasn't so sure. He picked up the photo of the man. He had dark hair slicked back and had a slender build. He was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt only half buttoned up and sunglasses covering his eyes. "We don't know all that much about this guy, only that he goes by the nickname 'Legs' and that he's extremely hard to catch. If you go after him your loyalty and dedication to us will be tested, naturally, as well as your skill and methods. I can't promise you'll ever come back though... so what's it going to be, Ricky?"

Ryan thought over carefully. He couldn't deny his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that Father Thomas could probably hear it, nor that his hands shook slightly as he held the photo. He was terrified of what this 'Legs' could do to him, or what he had done to others. He was also terrified of his own desperation. He was scared of how tired of being paranoid he was, how tired he was of being scared and alone. If things didn't work out and he ended up getting killed... would that really be so bad?

A snarky voice in the back of Ryan's mind told him he should have probably gone back to his therapist instead of paying the mob a visit, but it was far too late to listen to logic and reasoning now.

"Where was he last sighted?" Ryan bravely spoke up, gaining a small smile from the man in front of him. Ryan knew whichever way things went it would be a win-win for him - though deep down he had a feeling things were more realistically lose-lose, it wouldn't hurt to at least try.

"Yesterday in New Orleans, that's when that photo was taken." Ryan placed the photo down on the desk and looked over the rather empty file, he'd be going into this practically blind. "We've got an unused hotel in that area you can use to take care of him, one of my boys will give you the keys. We can get you a flight too, private of course."

"New Orleans..." It was a long way from home, although Ryan was almost glad of that. He'd only left his home state of California a few times and only ever as a child, on holidays and such. Hopefully leaving the state would do his mental health some good. "When's the flight?"

"We can get you in the air by six in the morning, you'll have all day to get your bearings and get to work." Ryan hadn't expected it to be so soon, although he supposed he didn't have to make up any excuses to anyone about where he was going. His job at the local theatre realistically wouldn't get him anywhere anyway and they could easily replace him in an instant. He had hoped one day to be making his own movies, or at the very least work on big productions, but it was a difficult industry to crack.

"Six AM..." He nodded to himself. "Okay... I'll do it."

Ryan was restless that evening, barely touching his bland microwave meal and constantly reorganising his suitcase, filling it with only the essentials and his best sneakers. He showered and sat on the edge of his bed beside his opened suitcase until early hours in the morning, going over what he had to do. The plan was relatively simple: find this 'Legs' guy, take him to the hotel and... it was the last step Ryan was having trouble coming to terms with.  He knew he would have to kill some guy he had never met. He probably had a family, maybe a wife or a child - at the very least he probably lived alone with a cat. Could he really do that? Could he really take someone's life?

He had opened his laptop and looked at Google Maps for a solid hour, trying his best to memorise the streets of New Orleans, the routes he would have to take to get to the old hotel the mafia had given him the key for. He didn't know how he was even find 'Legs', New Orleans is a big city after all, though he had been tipped about a diner that the man had been seen frequenting over the past few weeks so hopefully that was a start. Part of him hoped he never ran into him and that he would just have to live a quiet life in Louisiana, surely the deep south couldn't be all bad.

Hoping that he had everything memorised, Ryan decided that there was no point in getting any sleep now, he could just hopefully sleep during the three hour flight. He changed into something that would make him look like he was going on a business trip, something the guys at the office had informed him would be his cover up. If anyone asked him he was taking care of the hotel to prepare it for new ownership, that was all they needed to know. He settled on a silver suit and with a black tie, hoping he didn't look too affiliated with any gang; he didn't want to go over the top and wear a fedora with sunglasses, that was way too cliché.

By four in the morning there was a knock on his door and before he knew it he was on a private jet making his way to New Orleans. Ryan watched as the sleepy city slowly awoke, the sun slowly making it's way above the horizon. It didn't take long for his lack of sleep to catch up with him and a few minutes of resting his eyes managed to turn into him sleeping through his short flight. The next thing he knew was that he was being prodded awake by the pilot.

The pilot in front of him was a, quite frankly, dodgy looking, slender individual. His dark hair was greasy and slicked back and his eyes were just as dark as his hair. His skin was tan with little blemishes on his sunken face and his nose was crooked, his teeth matching the nature of his nose and were in desperate need of a dentist. He wore a pinstripe suit, black with thin cream stripes, over-polished shiny black dress shoes and a cufflink shaped like a red dice adorned the white shirt that peaked out from his slightly short sleeves. He was almost the complete opposite of Father Thomas.

"We're here." He sounded just as slimy as he looked, Ryan couldn't believe he actually fell asleep knowing it was only the two of them on the plane; he would be sure to check for any scars when he was alone later on to see if he had any missing kidneys. "You know what you're doing, right?"

"Yeah." A simple yet effective lie.

"Good. Then get off my jet." He ushered Ryan and his luggage out, the poor man still half asleep and aching from sitting in one spot for three hours. "If you by some miracle get the job done give Father Thomas a call, I'll come back and fetch you. Good luck."

With that hurried goodbye, Ryan was left on his own in a city he didn't know. He knew he should have been nervous, probably terrified given what he was supposed to be doing there, yet the only thing he felt was hungry. He'd skipped breakfast and barely ate any of his dinner the night before. He decided the best thing to do was find somewhere to get a bite to eat and ask around for any clues where to find this 'Legs' guy; Father Thomas had informed him of the perfect place.

Diners were always a hit and miss experience, although the small building that had been recommended by Father Thomas seemed to house a semi-decent establishment. It had a pleasant scent of coffee and bacon, mixed with a hint of pine from the décor. It was cosy, welcoming and much to Ryan's relief: empty. Not to mention, apparently 'Legs' had been sighted coming in and out of there all week. It was the perfect spot to start looking.

He sat at one of the barstools and looked up at the menu, mouth already beginning to salivate at just the stock photos of the food they served. "Hiya, hon, what can I get you?" A young, blonde waitress appeared from the beaded curtains, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes; a symptom of an early shift in the quieter outskirts of the city.

"Hi, can I get a black coffee and some pancakes please." At this point Ryan would eat anything, even if it came out of the trash.

"Sure thing, hon." She scribbled down the order and took the payment before pouring Ryan his coffee from the glass pot. The first sip burned his tongue but it helped wake him up a little. A few minutes later the waitress returned with a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup with bacon placed on top: it looked picturesque.

"Thank you." Ryan remembered the manners his mom had taught him many years ago before shoving far too much into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savoured his first mouthful. Before he could ask the woman about places of interest that may attract mob guys or murderers (or both) the bell on the door rang, meaning another customer had walked in. Ryan didn't turn around to meet them, instead taking another sip of his coffee.

The customer sat two seats away from him, the waitress smiling at him the same way she had at Ryan. "Hiya hon, the usual?"

"Yes please." The man spoke in a quiet but kind voice, although his accent stuck out to Ryan. It wasn't that it was a strong accent, quite the opposite actually. It certainly wasn't from around here. "Thank you."

The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the two men in silence. Ryan took another sip of his coffee as the man tried to start up a conversation. "Pancakes? Now that's in poor taste. It's waffles all the way." Ryan almost spit out his coffee - not at the comment but at the man's appearance.

This was the guy from the photo: this was 'Legs'.

"You alright? Don't choke." He laughed at Ryan, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he did. Ryan had to fight every instinct not to bolt out of the diner there and then. Here he was, trying to enjoy his breakfast and now all of a sudden he was having a conversation with a murderer... well, he would have to respond in order to have a conversation.

"Uh..." Ryan struggled to find the words to say. "Pancakes are way better." He settled on, 'Legs' shaking his head and turning back to the waitress as she brought him a plate of waffles before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Is that how you like to talk to strangers?"

"Oh, sorry..." He seemed to become shy all of a sudden as he realised his conversation starter had been a bit rude. "You don't sound like you're from around here. You here on business?" It was a fair question to someone who was dressed in a suit although Ryan could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. Did he know? Could this guy sniff out someone in the mob at a glance? He was a professional from what Ryan had heard, for all he knew the guy had spotted the plane landing and followed him there, planning to kill him behind the diner.

"Yeah... something like that." Ryan cleared his throat and steadied his hands on his coffee cup. They had begun to shake, betraying him when he needed to remain calm.

'Legs' hummed a response and begun digging into his waffles. Ryan needed to think quick. He needed a reason to keep him around, not let him out of his sight. The hotel key Father Thomas had given him felt like it was burning into his leg like a beating heart under the floorboards, reminding him of all his troubles. He was starting to panic already. He really wasn't cut out for this despite his efforts to try and convince himself otherwise. "Hey, don't mean to sound rude but are you alright? You don't look well all of a sudden."

"I'm fine." Ryan's voice shook. Shit. He couldn't afford a panic attack. "I just need some air." Ryan stood from his seat and rushed out the door, his knees feeling like jelly. He took in a few deep breaths as he leaned against the wall, hoping he was just far enough outside that 'Legs' couldn't see him. Fuck. If Ryan couldn't even sit next to the guy and have breakfast and a friendly chat how the hell was he supposed to lure the guy to some abandoned hotel and murder him in cold blood?

"You want me to ask the waitress for some water or something?" 'Legs' poked his head around the door, "You gonna hurl, dude?" 'Oh great', Ryan thought begrudgingly: 'of course he's a nice guy'. No, no he isn't, Ryan had to remind himself. This guy has killed people.

"I'm okay." Ryan kept lying to himself, lowering himself so he was crouching down, his back against the wall. 'Legs' crouched down next to him, his hand on his back to try and comfort him.

"Just breathe, yeah? You're alright." 'Legs' seemed to recognise the signs of an oncoming panic attack. "What's your name? Have you got someone I can call?" 'Stop being so fucking nice', Ryan internally groaned. He shook his head, closing his eyes and just focusing on his breathing. "Okay, I'll stay here with you. Talk you out of it... uh, well shit I can't think of anything to say." He chuckled in such a nonchalant way that made Ryan want to punch the guy.

"Pancakes are better." Ryan managed to mutter in between breaths, deciding to just say anything to change the subject and take his mind off his paranoia. 'Legs' wheezed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You believe what you wanna believe, man." He adjusted his position so that he was sat down properly, legs crossed in front of him. "You're wrong, but hey, opinions and all that baloney."

Once Ryan felt like he was going to be okay, that he wasn't going to have a complete breakdown in front of his future murder victim he looked up to the sky, still avoiding looking at 'Legs'. "My name's Ricky by the way... Ricky Goldsworth." Ryan needed to try and make acquaintances with him while he could; it would hopefully make the upcoming murderous meet and greets less awkward.

"Goldsworth?" He seemed intrigued by that. "Cool name." Ryan was glad he hadn't just seen straight through him immediately. "Nice to meet you Ricky." He held out his hand to shake, Ryan took it and tried to keep his grip firm despite his hands still shaking. He also had to play it off like he hadn't noticed that 'Legs' had completely avoided telling him his name.

"Your breakfast is gonna go cold." Ryan told him to try and change the subject. "Mine too... let's go back inside."

"You alright to stand? You looked a bit wobbly on your feet just now." Ryan was tempted to just put a bullet in the guys head there and then and get his suffering over with. Of course he ended up with the crazed murderer who just happened to be a total sweetheart.

"I'm fine. Come on." Ryan pushed himself up and lead 'Legs' back inside, the two taking the seats they were previously in. Ryan's coffee was still pretty warm and his pancakes hadn't quite turned to soggy mush yet.

"Sorry if I said something to set you off, by the way. I didn't mean to freak you out." 'Legs' spoke in a hushed voice, as though he was trying not to induce more panic into Ryan.

"It's alright... it's been a long night. I'm just on edge I guess." Ryan took a bite of his breakfast, he wasn't that hungry anymore but he also knew he would regret it later if he didn't finish it. "It's not your fault." Ryan took another sip of coffee to wash it down.

"Well, I don't know if you're free sometime soon but there's a nice bar in town, I was planning on going out tonight if you wanted to join me." That was the second time 'Legs' had made him choke on his coffee. He hadn't expected to be asked out by the guy he was supposed to kill. "Uh, well, you don't have to if you don't want to!" He quickly gave Ryan the option to turn him down, his cheeks bright red and he couldn't meet his eyes.

This was perfect. 'Legs' had practically signed his own death warrant... granted that Ryan could actually pull the job off. Everything had fallen into place however, he would be an idiot to turn it down.

"That sounds... that sounds great actually." Ryan tried not to sound so relieved that he didn't have to make up some bullshit excuse to stalk this guy without it being weird.

"Really?" God, Ryan felt like such an asshole. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. 'Legs' was showing interest, he was inviting him out and was shy when he asked the question. Now 'Legs' was feeling immense relief that Ryan had offered to spend the night getting to know him. He was leading him on and wouldn't even get the chance to let him down gently. "Shit, I didn't actually expect you to say yes! I mean, on my part even I can say this is bad timing!" He was giddy like a child, not helping the sinking feeling in Ryan's stomach.

"I'm always up for a good time." Ryan played along to the best of his ability. This guy was digging his own grave without Ryan even having to try, he didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. "I've got to... there's this hotel I'm looking after at the moment. It's gonna be refurbished and I've got this job to basically check in and make sure none of the shit gets stolen. I can meet you after work if you want?"

"You're looking after a hotel? You're not gonna go all Jack Torrance on me and come after me with an axe, are you?" Even if it was a great movie he was referencing Ryan couldn't help but nervously chuckle at the irony.

"Wouldn't dream of it." 'Just drink your coffee and don't make eye contact Ryan', he thought to himself in desperation. He picked up his napkin and took a pen out of his blazer pocket. He'd childishly put it there in case he needed to go all spy-movie-action-scene and use the pen as a weapon, but he supposed using it for it's intended purpose would do for now. "Here's the address." Ryan had memorised it off by heart after fretting over his plans the night before. "Meet me about seven-ish?"

"Seven-ish." 'Legs' spoke aloud his mental note as he took the napkin and glanced at the address. "This isn't that far from the bar actually." That was lucky for Ryan, he wouldn't have to bring 'Legs' half way across the city just to kill him.

Ryan's plan was pretty simple, if not slightly manipulative - though he decided that if he was plotting to kill someone he would have to put his morals on the back bench for the time being. He would go out for a few drinks with 'Legs', get him to loosen up, bring him back to the hotel, lock the door so no one would accidentally wander in on his murder scene and then take care of him in the basement. One flaw he found with his plan was that he realised he still hadn't been told a name for his victim, not a nickname or initials: nothing. Ryan was starting to wonder if he was the one manipulating the situation, that he was the one in control... he had a feeling 'Legs' had his own ulterior motives behind inviting him out.

By the time seven rolled around Ryan almost felt sick with nerves. After preparing everything he needed in the hotel he was sat on the steps at the front door, staring at his blank phone screen in front of him to seem less conspicuous when he heard a call for his name - well, the name he had given out as a cover.

"Ricky?" Ryan looked up and smiled at the man before him. 'Legs' had changed out of the striped hoodie and jeans he wore that morning, he was wearing a dark blue shirt with red Hawaiian flowers on it which caught Ryan's attention. He'd never actually seen someone pull off a flower shirt like that and not look like a dad on vacation.

"Hey." Ryan stood up and climbed down the stairs, feeling slightly intimidated by the guy. He found it strange that he was wary of a paper thin guy in a flower shirt, but when put into the context that said guy towered over him in height he found himself feeling strangely inferior - that and he was a fucking murderer, Ryan had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

With a nervous breath 'Legs' gave a smile, "Shall we get going? The bar's down this way." Ryan smiled and nodded, following the taller man down the street

'Time to act your heart out' Ryan thought to himself, 'Play it cool, don't be suspicious'.

The bar was starting to fill with patrons though it didn't seem to be as busy as some of the others, Ryan was glad of that. The less people that saw him there the better. 'Legs' took the gentlemanly approach and offered to buy the first round, Ryan watching closely to make sure his drink hadn't been spiked before taking his first sip.

It had been a while since Ryan had been out like this, he had missed it if he was honest. The last time he was out drinking he... Ryan shook away the thought with a frown. He wouldn't think about that tonight, not now that he was about to cause someone else to find their family member brutally murdered.

'Legs' had noticed Ryan's frown and looked nervous, as though he was calculating the right thing to say. This night must have been important to him, he was trying so hard not to mess it up. Ryan felt immense guilt but knew he couldn't wallow in it all night. He needed the night to go well too, given that he needed to get him back to the hotel. He hoped it would be willing and not Ryan dragging him back kicking and screaming.

"Thanks for coming out tonight." 'Legs' started, talking over the music with his best efforts. "I mean, I really thought you were gonna turn me down."

"I needed something like this, I should be the one thanking you." Ryan wished he meant that, he wished he was just out on what felt like a date - it probably would have been considered one in Ryan's mind but 'Legs' still had neglected to give him a name. It was a sobering reminder that the man in front of him could very well have his own plans of murder. His nice guy act was so cliché anyway, serial killers were always known like that. It was the whole Norman Bates schtick, the type of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, socially awkward yet charming. Ryan hoped he wouldn't get stabbed to death by this guy dressed as his mother later on, though it would certainly be an unexpected twist to his evening.

"Is it a tough life, looking after hotels I mean?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink, "Must get pretty lonely having all those rooms to yourself."

"Yeah... it can be." Ryan was used to loneliness, it was just part of his daily life by this point. He supposed if the whole hotel business was his real job he wouldn't think it any different to how he felt when he was sat at home on a Friday night watching movies all on his own rather than reuniting with his college friends and going out to get completely shitfaced. "What do you do, I don't think I asked?" Ryan hoped that question wouldn't scare him off.

"I, uh... I'm actually unemployed at the moment." He was avoiding eye contact again, Ryan knew he was lying anyway. "I'm here on a sort of midlife crisis, trying to see if I can make it on my own sorta thing... it's not going well." He laughed it off and took another, longer sip of his drink.

"You're on your own out here?" Interesting, that meant there would be no one around to search for him if he suddenly went missing. Ryan had interpreted him saying he was unemployed as he wasn't out on a job for the mob in New Orleans. He was just as alone out here as Ryan was. This whole situation just seemed so perfect, though he was wary of how careless it was on 'Legs' part.

"Yeah." Was his only response.

"You must be pretty lonely too then." Ryan didn't like to empathise with a killer, though he knew in just a few short hours he would be one himself. "Guess we can be lonely together." Ryan raised his glass, 'Legs' picking his own up and tapping it on Ryan's, the sound of the clink breaking through the music with ease.

Ryan had anticipated the night to go poorly. He had assumed he would be too nervous to drink or talk for half the night or perhaps for his date to figure out his true identity through some offhanded comment and ditch him or put a bullet between his eyes. What he hadn't expected however was to actually have a good time with him.

The two of them seemed to get along just fine, conversing in topics such as old shitty horror movies that were just charming enough to be enjoyable - or the ones that had practical effects so terrible they were actually hilarious to watch. 'Legs' had listened to Ryan ramble on about how much he loved Disneyland and hadn't been in years, in return Ryan tried his best to pay attention to some anecdotes 'Legs' had from an old D&D game he had played with his friends back in his hometown.

As the number of drinks piled up Ryan actually started to let his guard down, relaxing in his seat and laughing along at the dumb jokes 'Legs' cracked every other minute. He had to hand it to the guy: he was pretty funny. With his guard down he hadn't quite expected 'Legs' to smoothly place his hand over Ryan's as he was fidgeting with his glass, nor had he expected himself not to pull away quickly.

This was his chance.

"Hey... how about we drink up and get out of here, yeah?" Ryan suggested, 'Legs' quirking an eyebrow at him and downing the rest of his drink. "We can go back to the hotel I'm looking after, it's completely empty. It'll be just you and me."

"Lead the way."

The two of them headed out of the bar and into the cool night air, Ryan holding his hand and pulling him along through the crowd as to not lose him. The streets were bustling with the city's nightlife, the people passing them were either already drunk and loud or on their way to join in. Ryan really had missed this, the buzz of it all, but that wasn't what he was here to do, as much as he was hoping that maybe he could spend a couple nights with this guy, go out partying and make stupid decisions together. At the same time however, the last thing Ryan wanted to do was form an attachment; he was already getting dangerously close to that.

"Here we are." Ryan struggled to fit the key into the front door ten minutes later, mentally cursing to his past self for having one round too many. He hated that he'd actually had a good time with 'Legs' tonight. He hated how now it was over, now was the time where 'Legs' whole life was over. The price Ryan was paying to have protection didn't seem worth it all of a sudden, but he'd come this far... giving up now wouldn't sit right with him.

"Give me a room with a view, Goldsworth." 'Legs' put his hand on Ryan's hip, leaning into him and breathing against the back of his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. It took all he had not to throw his plans out the window and lead him to one of the rooms upstairs.

"Got a better idea." Ryan turned around to him. "You said you didn't want me to for obvious reasons... but what if I did go all 'Jack Torrance'? What I'm trying to say is I bet the basement is romantic as fuck." 'Legs' burst out laugh at that, his head dipping and eyes crinkling into thin lines as they had done many times that night.

"You know what? You've won me over." He let Ryan take him by the hand and guide him towards the heavy metal door that lead down a flight of stairs to a mostly empty room, just a boiler and some electronics  that Ryan had no idea the purpose for - probably a fuse box or something. The only light in the room was a simple bulb hanging from a chord on the ceiling, fitting for a room that was soon to house a murder.

The second the door was closed behind 'Legs' Ryan struck out, grabbing the pole he had set out earlier when he was rehearsing this moment over and over again like some crazed fanatic and striking the taller man on the side of the head. It knocked him out in an instant, 'Legs' dropping like a sack of bricks and tumbling down the stairs. Ryan winced, it looked like it hurt. 'Forget your fucking morals, man, you're trying to kill him'. Ryan stared down at his unmoving body from atop the stairs, his breathing heavy in his chest. It was terrifying to him just how easy that was, how simple it had all been. This poor guy was just looking to have a good time and now he was getting murdered for it.

Acting quickly, just in case 'Legs' woke up half way through, Ryan rushed down the stairs and grabbed the chair and the rope had set aside, hauling up the man's deadweight and tying him to the chair. He inspected the wound on his head, blood pooling around the edges but not gushing down like he had imagined it would in his rehearsals.

"Okay... okay, right... what now?" Ryan frantically looked around the room as if looking for clues. "Oh, gun, right." Ryan took the gun he had concealed under the boiler, dusting it off and checking to see if it was loaded. "Right... now wait for him to wake up I guess."

Ryan took the spare chair he had previously placed in the basement just in case things escalated and he had to knock him out with a chair instead of the pole, lucky the craftwork had stayed in one piece. He sat opposite 'legs', hunching over slightly and looking at the gun in his hand. It rattled slightly as his hand shook, looking out of place in his grip. Ryan knew this wasn't right, he knew deep down that this was only going to make his life worse but he was in far too deep now for retrospective analysis.

"Stop shaking." He whispered to himself, using his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was panicking again. "Fuck..." He couldn't help but think about the last time he was panicking, crouched down outside the diner this morning. 'Legs' had been there for him then, a comforting presence that had managed to calm him down despite being the reason he was panicking in the first place. He felt like he needed that now.

As if on cue 'Legs' stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips as he struggled to find consciousness. He tilted his head up slowly with a wince, eyes squinting as he looked directly at Ryan. "Huh?" He struggled against the ropes he was tied to, looking at them in confusion as if he couldn't understand why he was now tied up. He seemed to wake up a little more after his brain tried to piece together what was going on, the tall man looking around with a pained expression before his eyes settled back on Ryan.

"Hey sleepyhead." Ryan stood up, putting his acting chops to best use. 'Whatever you say just make it intimidating' he repeated in his head like a mantra. "Have a nice nap?"

"Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded woozy, "What's going on... is this a kink thing or something? I'm not one to judge or anything but some consent would have been nice."

"Wha-" Ryan was baffled by the stupidity that had just come from this guy's mouth. A kink thing? This guy was a well known member of the mob who'd just been knocked out and tied to a chair in a basement like some sort of thriller movie cliché... and then he thought it was just that Ryan had a fucking kink? Not quite what Ryan had been expecting. "No, you idiot! I'm here to kill you!"

"Oh?" 'Legs' seemed to think that over for a minute before the somewhat humoured smile that had previously been on his face was wiped completely. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." Ryan mimicked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought this was going to be a lot harder but you just walked right into this... you didn't even question me wanting to take you into the basement! Are you really that dense?"

"In my defence you hit me on the head pretty fuckin' hard." He groaned, almost as if he was trying to get sympathy. Ryan wouldn't take the bait, even if he did sort of feel guilty about it.

"That was after I lured you all the way out here!" Ryan's voice rose in both volume and pitch, holding the gun out and aiming it at 'Legs' head. "I thought mob guys were supposed to be fuckin' smart!"

"Mob guys?" Everything slowly clicked into place for him, he looked almost disappointed, but what he was disappointed about Ryan wasn't so sure. Maybe in himself for being so naïve or perhaps in Ryan for leading him on the way he did to turn out to just be another in a long line of guys that had come after him. "Right, so you're here to kill me then?"

"Yeah, I said that already." Ryan was trying his very best to be patient and take into account the guy had only just woken up after he bashed him round the head with a metal pole. "You're a ballsy guy, I'll give you that. I mean, just going out and partying in New Orleans knowing the Californian mob is after you? I can't tell if it's bold or insane!"

"Well I'm not in California right now, am I? I didn't think they'd be dumb enough to come around here with how high the tensions are between them and the gangs here in Orleans." So he did have a bit of common sense, even if his logic had been flawed. "That and I wasn't expecting the good looking guy in the diner to be some fucking mafia hitman or whatever."

"You think I'm good looking- wait, no. You're not going to flirt your way out of this!" Ryan jabbed the gun in his direction as if to threaten him into shutting up but 'Legs' didn't seem all that phased that his life was in danger. 'Definitely insane' Ryan thought to himself as he glared down at him. Who the hell stays so calm in a situation like this? This guy really is Norman Bates reincarnate. "And I'm not a hitman, I'm part of the Cali mob!"

"You are, are you?" 'Legs' seemed sceptical. "You don't look the part. I mean, you're way too short for one and that tough guy act is fooling no one."

"Man, fuck you! Just because you're as tall as a fucking sasquatch doesn't mean I'm short! Oh my god I cannot believe I was actually considering throwing everything I worked for away and just fucking you instead!" Ryan was aware he was trying to rile him up on purpose, but god dammit it was working like a charm. "Are you forgetting I'm holding a fucking gun here? I'm going to kill you! You should be begging for your life right now!"

"Oh, no, please don't kill me Mr Goldsworth." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Although, I mean, if you untie me I could pretend none of this even happened and we could just go upstairs and, y'know." He gave a conspicuous whistle rather than being as blunt as Ryan had been.

"You're insufferable." Ryan couldn't believe this was the same guy he went drinking with, the same guy he was starting to regret luring to the edge of town to kill. He was filled with enough aggression and adrenaline not to feel that regret anymore, but he still couldn't help noticing that his hand still shook slightly as he pointed the gun in 'Legs' face.

"I always thought you mobsters were supposed to be tough guys. You're shaking like a leaf."  'Legs' pointed out which only infuriated Ryan even more. "You really should work on controlling your emotions more, just shut 'em off, y'know?"

"Stop giving me fucking criticism!" Ryan growled, his fist balled at his side before he used it to steady his shaking hand. "I'm literally about to shoot you!"

"Well hurry up with it then, you're starting to look like some incompetent movie villain!" 'Legs' almost sounded bored, impatient even. Ryan figured the guy must be on some next level of crazy if he was practically begging the guy holding a gun to shoot him.

"Don't rush me!" Ryan clicked the safety off on his gun and held it against 'Legs' forehead, the taller man closed his mouth very quickly and his eyes opened wider. Ryan couldn't help but smirk at how quickly he turned his act around.

"Uh, Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded worried all of a sudden, a complete juxtaposition from how he was mere seconds ago.

"Oh, now you're afraid. Didn't take much for that tough guy act to fall through, did it?" Ryan felt proud in a way, proud that he'd actually succeeded in intimidating the guy. Maybe he had it in him after all? Maybe this whole time he had just been overreacting, overthinking. He had the guts to do this, all he had to do now was pull the trigger (after saying something badass like they did in the movies, of course) and it would be over.

"Ricky!" 'Legs' called out, an unmistakeable fear in his tone. "Look out, behind you!"

"Yeah, how stupid do you think I am?" Ryan scoffed, though his tune soon changed when he heard the sound of metal scraping along the floor behind him, something he imagined 'Legs' had heard before Ryan knocked him out earlier. He gasped, eyes widening as he remembered he forgot one crucial step in his plan: he forgot to lock the front door.

Before Ryan could even turn around and defend himself he felt something connect with his temple and the world turned to black in a terrifyingly quick instant.

So much for everything being too easy...

[rinusagitora]

You’re in all my dreams.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Karin Kurosaki, Toushirou Hitsugaya, Momo Hinamori, OC- Mae Izumi

Pairings: HitsuKarin

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Shinigami!Karin AU. For HitsuKarin Week 2021. WARNINGS- mentions of suicide, dysfunctional families; Karin graduates Shin'ou and shares her dreams with Toushirou.

AO3

For the last six years, Karin dreamed of the day she’d graduating from cadet to officer and don the shihakusho like everyone she ever admired.

It was an anxious future filled with wonder and promise she never knew back in the World of the Living. Going from cadet to captain of a small force was going to be quite the culture shock, perhaps even more than the cold water of the river where she drowned. But she made it, and it made her much more confident in her ability. Officers were chosen from a pool of graduates and turnover was infrequent since few officers passed away in peacetime. It made competition fierce and even rarer that a graduate obtained a seated position out of the gate.

She was equal parts nervous and excited. For the time being, all Karin wanted to do was enjoy the graduation bonfire.

Mae toppled onto the log, sloshing rice wine onto Karin’s lap. She laughed. “I’m sorry! I’m sooo hammered.”

“No worries. I think I’ve puked on you more times than you’ve spilled on me.”

“Indeed, we swapped roles tonight.” Mae tapped Karin’s nose. “Tonight, of all nights, you choose to be reserved. Why?”

Karin hummed and swirled beer. “I’m nervous, I think.”

“It’s a big change.” Mae looked over the crowd. “Where are Hinamori-fukutaichou and Hitsugaya-taichou? I expected them, of all people, to be here.”

Karin’s reikaku grazed the crowd. Momo was there, just chaperoning. Keeping firelight between bodies like a puritan. Perhaps rightfully so. They were the new faces of the Seireitei. It was better not to romp in the woods right over poison ivy before recruitment day. Pussy itch was a different kind of awful. The kind of awful where Karin, who was once impaled, ended up curling up on the floor crying while Izuru healed her crotch and Shuuhei and Renji laughed in the next room.

The crowd parted for Momo like river water around stones. She stopped before Karin, and Karin smiled at her mentor. “Hi, Momo-senpai.”

Mae nodded. "Hinamori-sama."

"Izumi-chan, I hope you're enjoying the festivities."

"Oddly enough. It's strange letting loose… but I see where Karin-chan's alcoholism comes from. Dancing while intoxicated is liberating."

"Indeed." Nonetheless, Momo cocked her head and curiously looked over Karin. Karin knew the jig was up from there. She and Ryuuji were normally in the center of the action, and Karin hadn't so much as howled or toasted once that evening.

“Leave us, Izumi-chan.”

Mae managed to right herself and bowed to excuse herself. Gracefully, Momo took a seat beside Karin as she cursed internally. She didn't want to talk about it, but Momo always dragged out her bad feelings and laid them in the open.

“It’s odd you’re not out enjoying the festivities. This is your… thing.”

“It’s just really hitting me that I’m going to be a shinigami,” Karin told Momo. “I’ve been working toward this goal for six years. What do I do from here?”

Momo laughed. “Six years is a blink of an eye for the majority of us.” She held Karin’s shoulders. “There will be plenty to do, Karin-chan.”

“I can’t believe we’re all in a squad just after graduation, though.”

“Who? Izumi and Kawashima?” Karin hummed affirmatively in response to Momo, who then grinned. “Believe it or not, Iba-taichou wanted Watanabe. I think Watanabe is in for a reality check.”

“You are far too happy over that.” Karin couldn’t help but share Momo’s thrill, however. Chousuke Watanabe was a thorn in her side for six years, being her friend Ryuuji’s tormentor. Tetsuzaemon would straighten him out. The very picture of manhood and chivalry according to Momo. It was far too rewarding imagining Chousuke getting reamed by a six-foot wall of meat and battle scars.

"Bias is something I never shied away from. It's been a driving force in my life, for better or worse." Momo kissed Karin's forehead. "For best, in your case. You've been family since the moment I laid eyes on you, Karin-chan. My own in many ways. Every obstacle you've faced, you've overcome, and are better for it. I am so proud of how far you've come, and I'm so glad to have played a part in it."

Karin smiled bashfully. At least she had Momo.

Momo lovingly jostled Karin. There it was. Momo buttered up Karin just enough and was about to get her to bust open a can of worms. "What's on your mind?"

"I just… I thought Toushirou would be here. I haven't seen him all day today."

"I'm not supposed to tell you, but," Momo whispered, grinning, "he's preparing something special. Be patient."

Her heart pattered. "Oh." Of course he was. She was a little ashamed that hadn't occurred to her earlier as if they hadn't developed years of trust and affection, or at least a solid friendship. Nonetheless, Momo stroked Karin's hair, reminding her she was only human, that something so little wouldn't ruin everything.

Speaking of… Karin picked up on a familiar, icy reiatsu approaching. It was Toushirou, still in uniform. She smiled and Momo tapped her on her nose.

"See?"

"Not yet, but he's coming." Momo only rolled her eyes in response to Karin's lame joke.

"I'll leave you now. Enjoy your night, Karin-chan."

"Thanks, Senpai. I love you."

"And I love you."

Toushirou was still in uniform with his hands tucked into his sleeves. As he passed, Karin's fellow cadets parted and bowed to him. He ignored the attention, however, instead sporting a smile as he found Karin on her log.

He'd undergone hormone therapy in recent years to trigger a growth spurt. And he'd grown up to be a handsome young man, with looks rivaling stars in the World of the Living with access to renowned surgeons.

"I hope you've been enjoying yourself," he said. He took a seat next to her. He smelled like flowers. "I never attended these things, truthfully."

"Did you want to try dancing?" Karin asked.

"Well… I don't know," he said. Toushirou pulled a modest bouquet of daffodils from his sleeve, tied off with a turquoise ribbon. "It's not a big gift, I know, but I hope it reminds you that you're always welcome in juubantai."

Gingerly, Karin took his bouquet and smelled them. They smelled like spring. "I love them," she said. "Thank you."

She pressed a kiss against Toushirou's cheek, and he happily hummed. "I'm glad you like them. It's hard buying gifts for you."

"As if."

"It's true," he replied. "All Matsumoto wants is a day off, Hinamori loves spices and tobacco, and the boys are happy with some sake. You, on the other hand, easily get your hands on sake and tobacco, and hate downtime." Toushirou crossed his legs. "I should've consulted my sister."

Karin frowned. "But I like them…"

"The flowers? But they're such a lazy gift," he scoffed.

"I like everything you give me." She smiled. "Really, thank you. I love them."

He laughed bashfully. "Well, I'm glad."

Together they sat amid drums and singing and firelight, swaying with it, until Toushirou asked, "I don't want to take you from your friends, but I’m not enjoying myself here. Do you mind going elsewhere?"

"We can leave," Karin said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Someplace quiet where we can see the stars."

Her cheeks were warm at the idea. How romantic.

Karin bashfully followed behind Toushirou, holding his hand as he guided her away from the bonfire. When it was dark, he illuminated the way with kidou, assured in every step. A gorgeous man. He'd grown into his looks. His cheekbones were high, his shoulders broad. She could swoon until early morning over his handsome shape.

Up a hill, through a grove, and up a steep path, until they reached the peak of a sheer cliff. The stars above looked like a river of life. They didn't twinkle but were a steady pathway carved in the sky. Karin fell onto the grass and marveled. "Wow. When did you find this, Toushirou?"

"Not long ago. I wouldn't keep this from you  without a good reason." He smiled at her. Sitting, he said, "Do you like it?"

"Yes!" Karin nigh tackled Toushirou and kissed his cheek. "It's beautiful."

"I should've brought wine."

"This is perfect." Karin laid her head on Toushirou's shoulder. Together they stared into the stars. She searched for constellations but found none she recognized. "Do you think the World of the Living and the Soul Society have different stars?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. No one spends time looking up in the Soul Society. Those who do, don't seem to have the technology contributing to significant findings," Toushirou replied. "I'm not much of an astronomer either."

"You're a man of the law."

He laughed bashfully. "Aye."

Karin drew pictures in the stars herself. Birds, men, kitchenware, like she remembered from her human life not so long ago. Six years was nothing compared to how long her peers lived, was it? Not Momo, who was approaching a century and a half. Not even Toushirou, well into his seventies by that point. But Karin couldn’t remember the names of the stars or where to find them in the sky. How much longer did she have until she overwrote their patterns with other things? How much longer until her sad mortal history was forgotten in a sea of everything else?

There weren’t immediate answers to her questions, but Karin was fine with that. She said, "I remember hoping a rope would drop from the sky and drag me by the neck. Put me out of my misery."

"Understandable," Toushirou replied.

"I'm so much happier here. It's not always easy, but..."

"Slow and steady?"

"Yeah. Slow and steady wins the race. And I'm glad to be with you for it."

"So," Toushirou said, "no more sky-ropes to hang you until you're dead?"

She giggled. "Not anymore. I don't fancy myself a pirate, anyway."

He hummed. "I had a dream some time ago. Similar to yours... although I remember it being less grizzly," Toushirou confessed. She pulled her gaze from the starlight and saw him cloaked in darkness. Still, his eyes shined with wonder. Adoration. "A dream that assured me you're the love of my life."

"Go on," she said.

"I was being puppeteered by the sky. Dragged around day in and day out. And I saw the strings on you, into the sky as far as my eyes could see. And yet despite time, and fate, and all the horridness that plagued life for some time, we fought to be together." He clasped her hand. "Our strings became tangled and pink like cherry blossoms in spring. Like sunset. And... and I never want those strings freed." His blue-green eyes met hers. They made her melt like her body was hot wax in a leather bag. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Karin."

It felt like forever before she caught her breath. She asked, "Are you proposing?"

"If that's all it takes to spend the rest of my life by your side, and you at my side, I'll fetch a ring now. Propose properly in front of as many people as you like.”

Karin giggled. Picturing Toushirou hopping onto a bar counter, sake raised high, and screaming how deeply he was in love with Karin to their loved ones and peers, was quite a sight to behold! Yet, as anxious as he was to do so, she replied with, "Not at all. But let's make plans down the road. When I'm settled in."

"Of course." Toushirou sighed happily. They kissed. "I'm so in love with you, Karin."

"And I love you."

"I could stay here forever."

Karin hummed. “We have forever to do that…”

He turned to meet her gaze. “But?”

“I want to do more.” She sat up. “We work because we’re more than just lovers. We’re friends, confidants, partners. Warriors and artists and scholars.”

“Of course,” he agreed, propping himself on his palm.

“I want to be married, and I want forever with you, as much as I want-”

Toushirou said, completing Karin’s statement, “More.” He held her hand then. “It’s one of the reasons I love you. My recruitment was necessary. Yours is nothing but-”

“Desire.” She gazed into the stars, searching for divination in the blanket covering a slowly rotating plane.

“Then what more do you want?”

“To give justice and safety to those who have been and yet to be hurt. No one should suffer as I, and we have. I want to tear down the caste system here. Hold nobility responsible for their actions and give power back to the people, and eradicate the symbols of fascism and cruelty. I want to reconnect families. To make the Rukongai safe, so no one’s starving or resorting to crime to survive. And…” Karin turned to Toushirou, her breath stilling as she saw his eyes swimming with adoration. “And I want to mold the next generation to dream as I now dream, and to better the world. And I want to do all of it with you beside me, Toushirou. As equals.”

Toushirou cupped her cheek. He kissed her, and she held his sleeve. “Let’s do it. Together,” he said. Their foreheads touched. “Together always.”

[platypanthewriter]

Vines

Harringrove April day 19, Vines!  Maid Stephanie Harrington encounters the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest.  I wrote this all in one swell foop today, so it's unbeta'd, and I'm very sorry.  XD

The Fair Maid Stephanie Harrington, ward of the king, was riding.  She liked riding, in general, when the horse wasn’t too slow, except at some point the riding always stopped, and she arrived, and she had to give her regards to whoever her presence was supposed to convey the depth of the royal regard to.

It was like being a medal, she thought, sometimes—the prince gave a few weeks of her time to someone, as a prize, and they showed her around at feasts in her honor, and kept her locked up in a box.

Whoever pleased him enough, she’d marry, she was pretty sure, hoping it wasn’t Guy of Gisborne, the current recipient of the prince's favor.  He always smiled just a little when she was angry, and the thought of being near him forever was not to be borne.  She blew through her cheeks, trying to enjoy the ride through Sherwood Forest, and urging her horse just the tiniest bit faster.  

One of the sheriff’s guards grabbed her horse’s bridle, slowing it back to a walk.  “I can lead you, my lady,” he said, smirking.  “If you can’t control such a large animal.”

Stephie stared at him, biting her lips together before she called him every name she could think of.  “I am fine, sir,” she said, thinking, I hope the girth breaks on your saddle, and you slide right off.  

“There have been thefts in the area,” said the sheriff.  “A band of bandits.”

“I’ll protect you, Milady,” her guard told her, pulling her horse closer.

She was about to dig her heels into her horse’s sides—just run, jumping over the tree limps fallen in the path—when she remembered she had nowhere to go, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been born a man.  She could have gone with the king, were she a man.  Coul have fought bravely and well, and won honors—a castle of her own, perhaps.  A wife, she thought, feeling a twist in her stomach as her cheeks flushed.  She imagined taking her helmet off after winning a tournament, and accepting a victory kiss from someone with dark curls and a sweet smile.

Or, she thought bitterly, she could have died.  Chosen to leap in front of the king, saving his life at the cost of her own.

Chosen.

The guard refused to return her reins, smiling as though she was a petulant child, and she rode along gritting her teeth and imagining him snapped off his horse by a dragon, his spine gleaming in the sun.  The dragon would steal her away, she hoped, imagining flying, when an arrow shot by her face, and all around her.  The guards yelled, their horses stamping and rearing, and in the confusion, she snatched her reins back.

“Guests in our merry wood!” came a voice, and Stevie jerked aorund, staring at the massive oak above them to see two women, one laughing, one with an arrow drawn, smirking faintly.

Of course they’re in trousers, Stevie thought vaguely, staring.  They could hardly have scampered up a tree in gowns with long daggered sleeves.  They were in command of the whole clearing, Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff, and his guards all staring in shock, and that was probably why Stevie’s heart was pounding, she thought guiltily.

“Welcome all!” yelled the one standing, holding the vines, as the one with the bow narrowed her eyes at Guy of Gisborne, Stevie’s current host.  Everyone aorund was muttering “Outlaws!  It’s her, it’s Robin Hood!”

“You won’t take the king’s ward from us!” yelled Stevie’s idiot guard, trying to grab her reins again, and she groaned inwardly, along with the guards around her, who groaned aloud.  She nudged her horse into sidling out of his reach.

“The king’s very own ward?!” the loud one called down.  “Welcome, my lady!  What fine neighbors these, to bring us not only the taxes, but the loveliest guest in all of England!”

“You’ll have to kill us all first!” yelled the daft guard, yanking his sword out, swinging it as though he could reach the women in the tree, and nearly beheading Stevie.  He nicked her horse’s neck, and it reared, whinnying in righteous indignation as arrows started flying again at the guard’s arm.  The other guards rushed at the people in the trees, who started swinging in on vines, and it turned into a melee.

Stevie clung to her horse like a burr as it kicked and reared and the guard swung wildly at the arrows, and then she heard a yell, and saw a flash of green behind and beside her as the louder of the two women swung down on her vine and kicked him off his horse.  She started to fall under their hooves, struggling to sheath her sword in the mess of horses, and Stevie grabbed her, grappling her close.  

“Hang on to me,” she hissed, and her rescuer did, locking strong arms around Stevie’s waist and panting in her ear as Stevie directed her horse out of the mess with her thighs and heels, and charged up the path, her whole body buzzing with the energy of the air before a thunderstorm.  Her horse galloped, finally, leaping the fallen logs with ease, and Stevie whooped with excitement and relief, laughing.  They galloped until her horse slowed, blowing and prancing, and sidling around as she glared out at the forest.  

“Good girl,” Stevie told her, patting her neck and panting, as her passenger slid her arms from around Stevie’s waist.  

“They’ll call us kidnappers, now,” she breathed in Stevie’s ear, her hands patting at the saddle as she tried to find purchase not on Stevie.  

Stevie reached around behind and pulled her closer.  “I’ll tell them you rescued me,” she laughed, turning to grin over her shoulder.  “He’d have beheaded me, in a moment.”

Her kidnapper had wide, blue-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and flushed cheeks, from close up, and Stevie laughed again at the gold in her curls, remembering the curls she’d fantasized sinking her fingers into moments ago, as the winner of the tournament, getting a kiss.  She was giddy, she thought, unable to stop smiling.  

“...I’m Billie,” said Billie, licking her lips, and grinning back, a little.  She was warm and solid against Stevie’s back.  “My lady.”

“Stevie,” Stevie panted.  “I kidnapped you, I think, more than the other way around,” she told Billie, gripping her hand, and tugging it back around her waist.  Her horse jerked her head up at a stream, and trotted towards it.  When it stopped to drink, Billie swung down, then, as Stevie dismounted, caught her around the waist.  

“Hello, princess,” Billie said, smiling.

“I’m not actually a princess,” Stevie confessed, reaching up to see how the curls felt against her fingers.  “I’m sorry.”  Billie’s lips were soft, she thought, against her thumb.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Billie told her, smirking a little, and leaning into her hand.  “Stevie,” she whispered, tasting it.

Stevie couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she’d known, until today, she couldn’t do, and she watched Billie’s half-lidded eyes, and her smile that looked like she knew something Stevie didn’t, and then just...threw her arms around Billie’s neck and kissed her.  Billie made an undignified snorting noise, then kissed her back, warm and breathless, and Stevie started laughing again, when she pulled back enough to breathe.  

 Billie offered to walk home, but Stevie didn’t want to leave her, just yet, not when she told such entertaining stories, and the blush over her freckles was so warm.  When they got to the camp, everyone was feasting.  Guy of Gisborne tried to apologize to Stevie at least six times, gripping her arm hard, but she shook him off, and kept walking away, following Billie to see the little school in a tent, and the still, and the treehouses.  

A weight drew them up on another vine—creaking as it swung them up through the air—Stevie’s arms around Billie’s neck to hold the rope, Billie’s arm around her waist.  They stepped off onto a swaying bridge of woven rope, and Stevie staggered.  Billie grabbed her, bouncing on the ropes so it shuddered, and Stevie yelped, but Billie laughed, pulling her close, and kissed her again.  

“You think I’d let you fall, Princess?”

“I think you might,” Stevie panted, her stomach somewhere on the ground below, but she followed Billie across the bridge to a little house chipped right out of the living wood of the tree, with a walkway all around it, and a shingled roof.  There was a cot, and a lute, and Stevie leaned to look down over the camp, hanging on to a tree branch dizzily.  “...I would never come down,” she whispered, and Billie laughed, her eyes widening again.  

“You feel right at home in tall towers?” she asked, and Stevie elbowed her, sighing.  

“When I saw someone coming to take me somewhere,” Stevie said, softly, so Billie had to lean in, “—I could cut the rope.”

 When they left, Robin Hood herself saw them off—Stevie at the head of the party, allowed to keep her small knife, and everyone else’s arms and armor loaded into a wagon, while they rode out of the forest in their smallclothes, escorted by the merry souls of Nottingham forest.  Billie grinned up at her, walking alongside them, and Stevie beamed back, then jerked her head forward so Guy of Gisborne wouldn’t write to the prince that Maid Stephanie had come unhinged.

 Two nights later, Stevie heard her name by the window, and ran to see Billie clinging to the vines.  “I see you do live in a tower, princess,” she panted, once Stevie had hauled her inside.  

“Why are you here,” Stevie whispered, delighted, and Billie grinned back, her eyes flicking towards the door.  

“I thought this was how it was done,” Billie whispered back, leaning in for a laughing kiss.  Her curls swung down from her shoulder, and Stevie tucked them back up over Billie’s ear.  She’d kissed winners of tournaments, on the cheek—dodging their attempts to capture her lips—but kissing Billie was nothing like that, all soft lips and quick smiles.  “I brought my lute,” she said, swinging it down over her shoulder.  “I’m no dab hand at poetry—”

“Ssssh!” Stevie hissed, laughing, and then she ran and barred the door.  “No poetry.  No music, you’ll be caught—”

“I meant to sing under your window,” Billie said, frowning over her shoulder, “—but I would fall in the moat.”

“Do not fall in the moat,” Stevie told her, giggling again, because she couldn’t stop, the glee of kissing Billie hitting the wave of fear of Billie found, Billie slashed in half for climbing her tower.  She grabbed her outlaw and hugged her, squeezing her like they were swinging through the air again, and breathing the smell of the woods, and the river she must have washed in, and a little perfume that smelled expensive, that she’d definitely stolen.  Billie arms were muscular, and Stevie’s hands fit comfortably at her waist, and around her hips.  

Billie leaned in to kiss up her neck, soft and a little wet, and Stevie leaned her head away, her hands everywhere, feeling Billie’s strong shoulders from climbing, and—daringly—cupping the softness of her chest.  Billie felt no hesitance there, sliding a hand down inside Stevie’s kirtle, and finally Stevie set her jaw, pulled away, and yanked her whole kirtle and cote off until she stood there in her chemise, so thin she shivered.  Billie stared back, and then laughed, her whole face reddening as Stevie drew her over to the bed.  

 “...I meant to bring you a rose,” Billie whispered, as they both panted, after.  “It fell.”

“I am glad to see you,” Stevie laughed, watching Billie’s fingers on her hip, where her chemise was rucked up to her waist.  “Rose or no rose.  Bring me a weed next time, and I’ll be just as glad—but you mustn’t come here again.”

“Why not?” Billie asked, her freckles shining with sweat, and Stevie leaned close to taste her skin.  

“You will die,” she whispered against it.  “Someone will see you, and you’ll die, and if I never see you again, at least I’ll know you’re in the trees, safe and well.  Better than than full of arrows, and drowned in the moat.”

“No one will see me,” Billie whispered, and Stevie pinned her.  

“Promise me,” she hissed.  “Promise me you won’t come again.  Billie, please.”

“There are promises I can’t possibly make,” Billie whispered back, smiling unsteadily up, and Stevie groaned, and let herself fall on top of her, and kiss her until she laughed again.  

 Billie came many times more, and they fell into bed easily, Stevie daring to undo her trousers—and try them on, afterwards, turning the shiny brass of her dinner tray to see herself from all angles.  Billy lay naked, smiling, the candlelight making her skin glisten, but her eyes were red. 

“...when are you leaving,” she asked, softly, and Stevie stopped, and walked over to press kisses down Billie’s side, until she giggled and kicked, and pulled Stevie down on top of her.  Stevie leaned on one elbow to kiss the slight softness of Billie’s stomach, and the curve of her breasts, and sighed.

“I am not sure,” she said, watching the muscle flex in Billie’s jaw, and kissing it in apology.  “You know I would stay, for you.”

“Stay for what,” Billie whispered, curling away, and swallowing hard, and Stevie curled around her, pressing kisses to her freckled shoulders, and then her neck.  “A house in a tree,” Billie said hoarsely, and Stevie stopped, remembering the way they’d soared up in the air, on the vines.  

“I would stay,” she repeated.  “...and they’d burn the forest to find me.”

Billie cried harder, and Stevie’s eyes burned.

 The next time she went into town—restless without Billie in her bed, and furious at herself for the longing in her kisses goodbye—she heard Billie’s name in the mouth of the Sheriff, and rode over, her veins running stiff and cold.  The hammering on the gallows sounded louder, suddenly, echoing like a gong.

She’d been caught holding up a tax payment, and everyone in the crowd was very quiet, whiteknuckled as the Sheriff took down the posters of Billie’s face.  Stevie walked forward and snatched one, clutching it close as she stalked back to the castle, her attendants running behind her as she ran up five flights of stairs to her room, to the seal of the king, and wrote a pardon.  She signed it, and sealed it, and hid the seal again, running back downstairs to give it to the sheriff—but he told her to see Sir Guy of Gisborne, and he laughed in her face.

“I am ward of the king,” Stevie told him, trying not to yell, or shriek, to stay calm and lovely, to get a man to listen to her, but he shook his head, smiling, and tossed the letter on the fire.  

“I know you looked on these outlaws fondly,” he told her, knowing the tax rates, knowing the prince was months from a rebellion by every barony in England, “—but we are harsh on lawbreakers, as we must be.”  He patted her cheek.

Stevie walked out, ordered her horse saddled, and then yelled “YAH!”, and took off at a gallop, ignoring the shouts behind her.  

It wasn’t hard to find outlaws, in the wood.  

She’d ridden barely a mile in when a voice ordered her to halt, and she drew her horse to a stop, even as it huffed, stomping in a circle, catching her nerves.  “I’m here for Billie,” she said, as loud and clearly as she could.  “Billie Hargrove.”

“Haven’t you heard,” the someone said.  “She’s hangin’ tomorrow.”

“No, she’s not,” Stevie fired back, gripping her reins.

 Robin Hood herself recieved her, sharpening the heads of her arrows.  

“How can I help?” Stevie asked, crouching next to her, and watching the others fletch arrows in silence.

“Haven’t you helped enough already?” Robin scoffed.  “She’s nearly been caught a dozen times, climbing your tower.”

“I told her not to,” Stevie whispered, her throat closing.  “What—what is the plan, how can I…”

“There is no plan,” Robin said, snorting softly.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen in the light from the fire.  “Do you have a battering ram for us?  A trebuchet?  Thirty or so archers can hardly take the Keep.”

“You can’t give up,” Stevie shouted back, aghast.  “You have to—”

“I can not get inside,” Robin hissed, whipping around to lift Stevie’s chin with the arrow.  “I am known.  I can blend with the spectators, and what then?  Watch her drop?”

“Blend with the spectators, then,” Stevie told her, grabbing her sleeve.  “Fill the crowds with—”

“And do what?” Robin asked, her eyes shiny in the firelight.  “What then?  Should we throw dung, Milady?”

“Your bows and arrows,” Stevie breathed, realizing.  “You can’t bring them inside.”

“We will attend, and keep vigil for an old friend,” Robin said, flatly, as her eyes spilled over.

“I will bring the weapons in,” Stevie told her, shaking her arm.  “I can help, I can—I will bring them.  Get me a wagon.  Bring me the king’s deer.”

“...what?” Robin asked, glaring at her.  

“I am the ward of His Majesty King Richard,” Stevie breathed.  “I am allowed to hunt the deer.  There will be a feast, for the hanging of an outlaw of Sherwood.  Put your weapons in a wagon.  Cover them with the deer.  I will get your weapons to you, inside the Keep.”

Robin stared at her, and then grabbed her arm, bruisingly tight.  “Bring me a wagon!” she yelled, her voice raw.  

 The three outlaws that joined her blended in well—Alanna Dale, the minstrel, whose flip responses to the guards made them laugh, a friar who brought them ale, well dosed with liquor from his still, that made a grown man stagger after only a few sips, and Much, who introduced himself as “the miller’s son”.  Stevie busied herself calling orders to everyone that contradicted the last orders she’d given, until half the courtyard was bringing her a litter, half bringing the kitchen to her to view the deer, and Much, Alanna, and the friar made off with the well-wrapped weaponry in the confusion.  

Sir Guy came to see her on her return, and raised his eyebrows at the deer, and Stevie nearly lost her head, gripping her sleeves from inside as he laughed.  

“So quickly does the female mind turn,” he said.  “Just this morning you were eager to save this outlaw, and now you celebrate her demise?”

“I offer proof I am King Richard’s ward,” Stevie shot back.  “Will you remember, now, and grant my pardon?  We can as well celebrate her release.”

He smiled at her, and patted her horse, and Stevie had half a mind to order her horse to turn and kick, but she gritted her teeth instead.  Guy of Gisborne watched her face, and then beckoned to the guards.  “Escort my lady to her room,” he said, smiling, "—and see she does not leave.  Her emotions are running high.”

Stevie gasped with fury, finally screaming all the thoughts she’d had at him, that he was a coward, and he’d die on the rope himself when King Richard returned and she could tell him all about the taxation, until he stepped forward and covered her mouth so hard her head smacked back against the wall, and she saw colors behind her eyes.  They threw her in her room none too gently, and then, they searched for the royal seal.

They didn’t find it.

Once they were gone, Stevie reached out her window, and tested the vines.  She left her hair down in a braid, unadorned, and her gilt overdress behind, and tied only her knife, the royal seal, and some money to her belt before tucking her long skirt into her belt, and swinging a leg out the window.

The first foothold she found yanked loose from the wall, and she bit back a scream, clutching the vines to her as her heart pounded, but the ivy was old and thick as her arm, and it held.  She was shaking with exhaustion by the time she could step onto the wall, and fall the dozen or so feet into the Keep.

 She could hear the crowd around the gallows, some jeering, some screaming—it was hard to tell through the noise.  She saddled her horse quickly, charging into the courtyard to see Billie with the noose around her neck, her eyes wide as they took in Stevie on her horse.  She smiled as the executioner pulled the lever, tears spilling out of her eyes, just as Robin’s arrow whooshed through the air with many others, and cut the rope.  The executioner fell, and so did Billie, stumbling forward to where Stevie could shout her horse forward and grab her arm, dragging her up alongside.  

Billie’s arms were tied, so Stevie hauled her into her lap, slapping her horse’s reins against her neck and kicking her sides for a burst of speed, and no one expected King Richard’s ward to commit a jailbreak, so Stevie and her prize galloped by the dazed, drunken guards with little more than a startled “Oho!”

They ran until the Keep was far distant, slowing only to a canter, as Billie laughed and cried, shaking in Stevie’s arms.  “You came for me,” she kept whispering, and then laughing, as though it was hard to believe.

“I always will,” Stevie told her, wiping her own eyes, overflowing from sheer relief.  She squeezed Billie’s shoulders to her, kissing her hair, and her forehead, and occasionally bruising her mouth with Billy’s skull, because of the long strides of her horse.  “You came for me,” she pointed out, and Billie laughed, finally untied after much struggling, and slid her arms around Stevie’s waist and back.

Billie guided her to the camp—deserted, with the attack on the Keep, so they sat and talked nervously at the fire, exchanging kisses and wiping each other’s tears, until Robin strode back in.  “You have to leave,” she told Stevie, and Billie’s arms tightened.  “They’ll summon armies.  With you here, they’ll ride to war.”

Stevie pulled Billie to her for one last kiss, and it was salty.  Stevie cleared her throat,  cleared it again, and then gave up and nodded, biting her lips together, before taking one last look at the little house in the tree, and the vine that led there, and Billie’s furious, teary face.

The road back seemed long.  Guy of Gisborne locked her in again, and she sat at her table wishing she’d heard Billie play the lute, or sometimes she embroidered, wishing to set the world on fire.  

She wrote to Anne—Nancy, her friends called her—the girl she’d once fantasized about rescuing from monsters, but Guy was opening her letters, she knew, so she barely explained.  Still, when they finally rode on from Nottingham—finally, she thought, both longing to ride on forever, and never see it again, and longing to turn ‘round and never leave—Nancy was waiting for her in her quarters, and Nancy had a plan.

“You must disappear elsewhere,” she said, and Stevie clutched at her hands, her breath catching in her throat.  “You must disappear in a way they’ll never trace to your outlaw,” she said, and Stevie let her go, because Nancy sometimes needed to pace as she planned.  This was one of those times.  “What if you were thrown from your horse?” Nancy asked, turning to face her.  “Riding alone?  My wetnurse is nearly family, and close enough to a doctor.  If she told Guy of Gisborne you’d died…”

Stevie grimaced, a little, imagining the king returning to such news, but the problem was his absence, after all.  “Do you think it would work?” she whispered.

“Say you’ll ride a wilder horse,” Nancy suggested.  “Then when you fall, you can leave on your own.”

“They may kill the horse,” Stevie pointed out, with a pang of guilt.

“Leave that to me,” Nancy said, and Stevie did, striding into the stables the next morning to snatch the stallion from the wide-eyed stablehand, and riding out into the sunrise.  

 When she rode back into the forest, her fine clothes traded for trousers, her face hooded, the voices didn’t recognize her, but they hailed her horse.  “There’s Billie’s girl!” one called, and another, “No, didn’t you hear, she’s gone and died,” and a third, “Is the horse a gift, then?”

“Take me to her,” Stevie yelled, too tired for politeness, and they realized who it was.  

Billie was by the fire, her eyes red and swollen, and Stevie swung off her horse and knelt beside her, gathering an entire weeping outlaw into her arms.  “You came for me,” she sobbed, her arms so tight Stevie gasped.

“I always will,” she laughed, pulling Billie over to the vine that led up and away.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done