#dead plate fashion designer au

[sakumira-agashi]

More excuse to draw Vince in pretty clothes lesgoooooo (Fashion designer AU)

Also sorry for the Deadplate spam lately, just trying to get all my ideas out when I can XD

Based on my fanfic Tailored to You

[amyyythestarry]

Random Tsumitsu aus!

Childhood friends to lovers au, they met when they were 4 in a park during summer, then when school started they figured out they go to the same school and hung out 24/7. They confess to each other at the same time on Valentines Day at 13 years old.

Hospital au, Tsukasa has an unknown illness and Mitsuba has a heart disease. Tsukasa is destined to die before Mitsuba but Mitsuba doesn’t want to see him go. A bunch of angst, plot twist: partner suicide. ( I love hospital romance aus, also Amane is alr dead 😬 )

This is an au I have thought about for a long while and it’s not necessarily only a Tsumitsu but I’m gonna add it. Mental hospital/Asylum au, although there are still all the paranormal themes, Tsukasa’s a supernatural and Mitsuba is an original-born supernatural, not at first but that’s a lot of lore I can’t rn. I’ll prob talk abt this au again.

Haunted house au, Tsukasa and Mitsuba are invited to a school party by Nanamine Sakura, but the host ( Sakura ) isn’t here and the house is definitely haunted. It’s a party containing only the main characters + ocs Ig and maybe not necessarily Tsumitsu only but it’s implied.

Another haunted house au, but Tsukasa is an undercover detective and Mitsuba is the person he’s secretly interrogating abt the house across the street in Mitsuba’s neighborhood that used to be his that obviously has some paranormal activity going on.

College au. Mitsuba’s waiting at the campus coffee shop for his friend Kou, but gets bored and orders a mocha latte but internally questions why the waiter kinda cute ( ‘Not as cute as me but good enough’ - Mitsu ), he has to get the waiter’s name ( He does ).

High school drama au. There’s a mini school play and Tsu and Mitsu being apart of it ( Bc they’re theater kids/apart of the theater club ), and they very coincidentally get the role of a background gay couple.

Band/band club au. Idk what to say with this one, imagine it tho.

Idol au. Mitsu’s the assistant of singers Aoi and Nene, is heading to Aoi and Nene’s place in the con but stumbled upon another hall of a very popular singer named Tsukasa who has the most beautiful singing voice and amazing outfit and is just extremely cool. Mitsuba wants to be friends with him so bad but he doesn’t think it’s his place to stand right by a popular idol.

Superhero au. Idk what to say abt this one either. Imagine.

Christmas au, secret Santa. Just imagine… ( I’m running out of ideas but this is a spam )

Fashion designer au. Tsukasa is a fashion designer working for model Mitsuba.

Beauty and Beast/Hanahaki au. Mitsuba ventures into a forest to find his missing brother but stumbles upon a castle instead, a castle with a cursed spirit in it. He later finds out in order to bring the corpse back to life, he has to get the young damaged spirit to love again. To pull the needles and patch the holes in the boy’s heart.

Dead plate au? Mitsuba’s Vincent and Tsukasa’s Rody ( I chose Mitsuba as Vince since both of them are cannibals ).

Twister, or truth of dare, or friends locking them in the closet, or nerd and popular au? ( Just put a whole bunch of cliches together )

That’s it. I rushed this bc I had to think of something.

Tsumitsu Tuesday! :))

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 29

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is back on Earth, summoned by a strange child.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It was cold.

Bucky was frozen, the air like a flash freeze over his skin. The warmth he’d been used to vanished as the portal closed behind him. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. There were so many scents, overwhelming after the dry, dead air of the demon realm.

The noises pressed on his sensitive hearing: air conditions, cars driving in the distance, electric appliances and fixtures. He bent his head and covered his ears, whining, but it didn’t help.

He was accustomed to bright, endless daylight. That wasn’t the reason he squeezed his eyes shut. There’d only been one color in the world he’d escaped.

Now he was surrounded in greens and tans and blues and whites. He couldn’t see the sky; he was indoors, in a house. He couldn’t breathe. He scrambled for safety, the first spot of darkness he could find, under a twin bed. Bucky laid still, curled into a ball with his tail and wings shielding him as he trembled.

In contrast to the assault on his other senses, his sense of touch was cushioned by the carpet, so much softer than the stone floor of his cave. There wasn’t much left to his tac pants and vest, so he experienced the full effect against his skin.

Bucky nearly stretched out on it, marveling at the soft texture, but he went still. There was a second presence in the room. A pair of eyes staring at him hiding under the bed.

A human child. A girl. Couldn’t be more than ten years old.

Bucky curled himself inwards further, terrified, of what he didn’t know. Just that everything was too much and he couldn’t stop fucking shaking.

“Don’t be scared,” the little voice said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Bucky would have laughed if his abdominal muscles weren’t clenched like a vice. It was funny. Horrifying. Why wasn’t she running? Bucky hadn’t used his guise in a long time and he couldn’t summon it now, too overwhelmed to control his tenuous-grasp of magic. His wings and horns and claws were partially obscured by the shadows, but if anything, that should have made him appear more fearsome, not less.

“What’s your name?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

Bucky tried to speak but all that emerged was a choked whimper. He couldn’t even look at her he was trembling so badly. It was like a horrible withdrawal, or an adrenaline rush that wouldn’t stop. He half-wondered if he was dying, or maybe, this is what it felt like to come back to life.

“Here.”

He uncurled enough to look upwards. The girl was holding something out to him from where she knelt, peeking under the bed.

“Mr. Squiggles helps me when I’m scared,” she said with the bright confidence only a child could have. “Go on. Take him.”

Bucky stared at the stuffed animal. Its grey fur was worn, its dark eyes dull. Clearly well-loved and treasured.

He’d had a toy like that, once. A teddy bear with button eyes. He’d loved it so much, but then he and Becca had gotten sick. His parents had burned the toy, along with most of their clothing.

Even now, he could remember how upset he’d been, and how much a child’s toy meant. And this child, who’d just had a demon dropped into her bedroom, was offering it to him because he was scared.

Something surged in his chest. Gratefulness. Sorrow. A fierce protectiveness for this stupidly brave kid.

Bucky reached out to take the toy, claws shaking as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the tabby cat’s leg.

A strange sensation jolted up his arm, following by intense warmth at his shoulder, directly over his mark. And then it was gone.

“You must be hungry,” the girl whispered conspiratorially as Bucky tucked the toy against his chest. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed a thing. “I’ll get you something to eat! Stay here!”

She dashed from the room without waiting for an answer. Bucky planned to stay put, to come up with what he should do next, but at the words you must be hungry, a vast, devastating hunger hit him directly in the gut.

It wasn’t for food.

I need… I need to get out of here. His movements were panicked, clumsy as he crawled out from under the bed. I need to…

Before he could look for an escape the kid returned to the room, nearly smacking right into Bucky. He recoiled backwards away from her, putting space between them, but she only looked up in him in confusion. Then she smiled and held out the plate she carried, a sandwich perched on top. Peanut butter and blueberry jelly.

Saliva flooded his mouth as his stomach rumbled, but he dared not move any closer to her. The demon side of him had no interest in the kid, thank Christ for that, but he was still terrified of hurting her. He was designed to be a living weapon, after all. Not exactly child-friendly.

He just wished the kid would get the memo.

“Go on,” she said, smiling brightly. “Take it. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of him. It was like a baby kitten trying to soothe and comfort a lion. Bucky towered over her, his wings and horns still on full display, but she just stared up at him with wonder and awe. No sense of self-preservation at all.

Figuring he would at least address one of his hungers, he took the plate from her as if it was a live grenade. Satisfied, she beamed up at him and then went to close her bedroom door.

“I don’t think my friends are coming back, they all ran away when that blue portal appeared. That’s what that was, right? And you’re a demon?”

Bucky choked on the first bite of sandwich he took.

“That’s what I thought.” She nodded sagely, the ribbons of her ridiculous pigtails flapping with the movement. “I told them I could do magic, but they didn’t believe me. Bet they will now!”

Her face fell a little as she looked past Bucky, and she mumbled, “Mom is definitely going to ground me.”

Bucky followed her gaze to the open closet doors. Extinguished black candles were scattered on the carpet surrounding what appeared to be a charred spirit board. But what really drew Bucky’s eye was the state of the closet door and the back of the closet itself: charred as if there had recently been a fire. He could still smell the stench of sulfur, and he shivered. He would not miss that place, that was for sure.

Quickly scarfing down the food—when had Bucky last had a good, ol’ fashioned PB&J?—he eyed the kid warily. She kept talking about magic and how her mother always blamed her for things catching on fire around the house, but it wasn’t her fault. On and on she went, as if she was talking to another human being and not a six-foot tall demon. She was way too damn calm for being face-to-face with the occult, but then again, she seemed like a weird kid to begin with.

He kept waiting for the voice to chime in with its opinion, but it had been silent since Bucky came through the portal. He frowned. It had promised it would be here, so where was it?

Bucky sighed and turned his attention back to the small chatterbox.

“What’s your name, kid?”

She told him, proudly and without hesitation. Definitely too trustworthy. What would have happened if it was one of those other demons that had gotten through?

He frowned further, troubled as he looked around her room. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but the stink of other demons was still pungent to Bucky’s sensitive nose.

“Did you see anything else come through besides me?” he asked.

The kid finally lost some of her spunk as she looked down at the carpet, gripping her denim overalls tightly in her hands.

“Hey,” Bucky said, voice softer. “You’re not in trouble.”

It was strange, the more he talked to her the less anxious he was. Already he had stopped trembling and shaking, though his senses were still reeling from the influx of earthy smells and loudness of civilization.

She nodded slowly and looked past Bucky. He turned to see what she was looking at now, and this time it was her open window. They were on the second story, and it was dark outside.

“Lot of things, but they ran away. They weren’t like you.” She swallowed and gripped her clothes tighter. “They were scary.”

So, she wasn’t as unaffected as Bucky thought. Her voice was unsteady, and the smell of fear was unmistakable. Kids weren’t supposed to see things like this. Like Bucky.  She seemed fine now, but what about when she tried to sleep tonight? What about years from now when people told her she was crazy and she couldn’t trust her own memories?

Didn’t seem right. Not for a kid, and especially not one that had saved his life. Bucky didn’t know how she’d done it, but he was proof positive that magic, or something like it, was real.

Bucky turned back to look at her, sadness weighing heavily on him like a physical thing. He didn’t want her to be afraid, or worse, harmed by what had happened. Would the demons come back to this place or would they prey on other unsuspecting targets? Either way, he swore he would hunt them down. It was a small price to pay to come back to life.

But first, there was the matter of the girl. He couldn’t leave her like this, with such dangerous knowledge in her head.

As Bucky moved to give her back the plate, something deep and instinctual within him rose to the surface. The girl extended her hand and he dropped the plate, grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open, but Bucky’s other hand cradled her cheek as he pressed his thumb directly between her brows.

A jolt went up his arm and through his hand, straight down his thumb and into her thoughts, her memories. Surprise mixed with horror when he sensed the memories she had just created, of him and the demons and the portal, were obliterated from her mind. Just as the Chair had done to him.

Bucky released her, shocked by what he’d just done, and then was forced to rush forward as the girl started to collapse. Fearing the worst, Bucky felt along her head and neck, but she was breathing, slowly and deeply as if she’d just fallen asleep. Her face was smooth and untroubled, too innocent for what she’d experienced.

Holding her carefully, Bucky carried her and laid her down on the bed. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the covers over her, hoping if her family came in and found her they would think she was simply asleep. She was asleep, Bucky was coming to realize. Whatever power he’d wielded had done this, and perhaps it was a small mercy she wasn’t conscious for it, but it still made him sick down to his bones.

When she woke up, she wouldn’t remember any of it, including Bucky. Perhaps… that was for the best.

With one last lingering look, Bucky strode across the room to the open window. Under the cover of darkness, he leapt from the ledge and opened his wings, catching the air and flapping as hard as he could to gain altitude.

It wasn’t until he was high in the air with the lights glittering below him that he realized his claws were still wrapped around the stuffed cat. He’d have to return it at some point, but for now, he had other, more pressing problems.

One, Bucky was starving. He was so hungry he could barely think, as if all his years of being dormant were catching up to him. The pain of it was consuming, racking his body and making him shudder midair.

And two… he had yet to hear the voice again. It filled him with emptiness, his pleas going unanswered, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Maybe he’d gone crazy in that place. Most men would have. He was just disappointed to have been proven right, and the voice hadn’t been real after all.

He couldn’t think about any of that right how. First things first: Bucky had to feed.

Next Chapter

[giantmuschroom]

Killed by kiss

Hello everyone,

here is my next story inspired by inspiring people :) Hope you will enjoy it. 

Thank you @prettywordsyouleft​ for beta reading <3

Namjoon x reader / Non idol au / fluff/ Yes, Namjoon is god’s gift ok :D

It was game night in the Namjoon’s house, which meant the boys and you were present. Every game night you played different games and today was the night of “Truth or dare” and the damn flask ended on Namjoon. 

“Joon! Truth or dare?” asked Jin with a mischievous grin. 

“Dare,” said Namjoon confidently. 

“I dare you to tell us about your first kiss with Y/N,” dared Jin. 

Your face flushed and you shot a panicked look to your boyfriend.

 “Don’t,” you whispered quietly but he was too far from you, since the boys strategically separated you. 

“So we were dating for two months….,” began Namjoon.

You were dating the most wonderful, thoughtful man on the planet Earth. He was kind, caring and honestly you weren’t sure if you had dreamed of him or not, because men like him usually don’t exist. So you often pinched yourself just to be sure you are not in some dream state. Mostly when Namjoon took you on a date. Like today, he picked up you after your classes, drove to the river band, set up a picnic blanket, took out food and drinks and gestured to you to sit down. 

“So how was your day?” he asked and you told him about the assignment in your class that was giving you a headache, the overly achieved classmate who got on everyone nerves, how you spilled coffee on yourself and thank god you had his shirt (you secretly borrowed because it smelled like him) to change into. And he listened and made you feel like you were the only person here - even if a few meters next to you was a family with two little noisy children. 

So that was him. Confident in himself, drop dead gorgeous, with a close circle of friends but universally loved by all living creatures and plants. Unlike him, you were painfully shy, constantly overthinking and not good at this girlfriend stuff. Just look at that. It’s two months and you had never even kissed. And you know he wants to, sometimes you catch him looking at your lips, but he never says anything. And sometimes you think he is doing it on purpose. Like the last time he fastened your seatbelt for you and his lips were so close. Or that one time he wiped the coffee foam off your upper lip and giggled how red you were. 

The constant blushing was your curse. That's why you had avoided the kiss for so long. Holding hands? Yes to that, you loved his hands, strong with nice long fingers, designed for interlacing and holding. It was safe to say you loved holding hands with him and he loved that you were the one to initiate it. But kissing? That was a whole new level. Only thinking of it sent blood to your brain and you felt light headed. You feared that kissing Namjoon would be impossible for you. 

When the picnic was over, you helped him pack the plates, you folded the blanket and handed it to him. He took it and gently tugged so you ended up really close to him. Too close for your comfort. He smiled and you felt the blood rushing. He placed one hand at your lower back, tilted his head and leaned in close. Your head was spinning with thoughts like ‘what if my breath smells’ ‘what should i do with my hands’ ‘do I use tongue?’. Suddenly his lips were on yours and if you were in a cartoon like the ones you had watched as a kid, you were certain that your head would explode. But you weren’t in a cartoon, and so your reaction was an old fashioned passing out... right into his arms... with his lips on yours.

The room burst into laughter. 

“You basically killed her,” wheezed Taehyung. 

“Oh my god this is the best story ever,” added Jimin in between laughter. 

You crawled to Namjoon and buried your red face in his chest. “I told you we shouldn’t tell them,” you complained. 

“Oh no, honey, it’s my favourite story,” grinned Namjoon and hugged you tight.

[andy-loves-corgis]

All of The Lights - Ch 8 (TRR AU)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Well… It’s Riley and her pain in this one.

Rating: M (I can’t make them not curse I guess…). 

Word count: ~ 6,800 (longest chapter I ever wrote)

Notes: There will be one big note at the end. But just thank you for still being here!

WARNING: Read the Prologue! Every chapter has TWO timelines, Before (about a year before the Prologue) and After (two years after the prologue), if you don’t pay attention to that you might get confused!

Hardest to Love

And what we had is dead inside, yeah You're actin' like it's still alive And you still wanna make it right, yeah I know But I've been the hardest to love

BEFORE

How long had she been taking that shower?

The sound of the water hitting the porcelain tiles could be considered deafening to some, but right now there was so much noise inside Riley's head that the droplets served only as white noise.

Steam was clouding her senses, although not as much as the overwhelming feeling of awareness. She could still feel the heat emanating from his body and the thought itself made her short of breath, could she indulge in the sensation growing at the pit of her stomach?

No!

Riley had only slept for 4 hours straight, then she was brought back to consciousness by her racing heart, her head couldn’t rest for what have happened mere hours ago, and flashes would take her mind. She knew it would be useless to overthink what happened, the simple fact that by reliving the night before she was inundated with nervousness told her enough.

It was like a fire, she knew that, it would only grow if she wanted it to, if she fed it the right thoughts, the right feelings… and right now her heart was enjoying it all too much.

A ragged breath left her throat while she sat on the rim of her tub, massaging the stiffness out of her left foot, pushing it a little too hard, bringing her back to reality, a reality where these feelings were better to remain an illusion.

Ouch

In about an hour she should head with Madeleine to the boutique, where the Fydelia heiress would pick her dress for tonight, it gave her time for a moment of coffee and contemplation in her favorite study room; throwing on some comfortable tracksuit she followed the smell of freshly baked eclairs.

The study on the second floor was one of her favorite places, mainly because no one ever went there, she could sit alone for hours, stretching, reading, eating without someone counting on her calorie intake… Although, it wasn’t empty this time, she wouldn’t be that lucky, she wasn’t a tiny bit lucky.

Drake was there.

Absentmindedly running his fingers on the guitar chords, with an intoxicating melody; using only three chords, his humming melting into the sounds. Riley’s throat suddenly went dry and she didn’t know what to do.

For God’s sake, he’s my best friend.

“Hey!” she smiled passing the couch he was lazily sitting; the music stopped instantly, and she could almost notice a blush on his cheeks, his eyes averting from hers and landing on her plate.

“Oh hey… food!” he reached for one of the éclairs and she pulled the plate close to her chest.

“That’s mine, I can see you already ate yours” she pointed her head at the center table, where two plates laid with only crumbles on top.

He huffed rolling his eyes while Riley sat across from him, making a point of picking a chocolate glazed éclair slowly and shoving in her mouth; when he laughed it hit her again, right at the pit of her stomach, goosebumps erupting from her skin.

The silence turned into awkward at the same time as the air seemed to freeze.

“Should we talk about it?” Riley was glad her voice didn’t waver, though her heart seemed to be beating in her throat.

“About…?” Drake took his eyes from his phone, which kept beeping with new messages, and glanced at her.

“About… about last night.” She put on a strand of hair behind her ear, looking for the right words. It was like she was a snake waiting to shed her skin, because it wasn’t possible the room was that stuffy.

It took a few seconds for Drake to piece it out together, seconds that fueled Riley’s imagination with images of the uncharted territory they were drifting to, would he be embarrassed? Or maybe he was also feeling the anxiety ft. exhilaration of their last encounter and didn’t know what to do about it.

But all he did was chuckle and get back to his phone.

“No, of course not.”

Excuse me?

Her lack of response triggered Drake to look at her again.

“We were both pretty drunk, you had just seen your ex, or whatever, make out with your worst enemy… and frankly, I’m a man and you look like… that.” He waved his hands at her velour-covered self and frilly socks a tad bit of redness on his cheeks. “Not that I would mean any disrespect. You’re my best friend and will always be, we were just regrettably drunk.”

Through all the morning Riley though she would be relieved by any dismissal of what happened from his part, so she wasn’t prepared at all for the feeling of her stomach churning, the idea of stacking other eclairs clearly not appealing as before.

“Oh… great” she managed to say with a fake smile.

“Don’t worry, little one” he winked, and she decided it was her leave.

“I wasn’t” she brushed it off with another smile. “Well, I have to meet Madeleine, make sure that your one suit is prepared.”

Drake just chuckled again, tossing his phone on the table and getting back to the hypnotic melody of his guitar.

“Alright, boss!”

Once out of the study, Riley wanted to throw up, or scream, or kick something. She felt stupid and didn’t even know why, it hurt, and she didn’t know why.

“Where were you?” Madeleine annoyed tone filled the room once Riley stumbled inside her fitting space. “Why are you wearing this monstrosity? Haven’t I told you how tacky is this look? You’re not some Real Housewife.”

“Madeleine, it was a gift, I never wore it in public, besides it’s pretty comfy and it’s Gucci, it’s not like Juicy Couture.”

Riley couldn’t tell who wore the most horrified look, Madeleine or the two seamstresses.

“It makes you look fat anyway. So, this is dress number 1” Madeleine said twirling on a lavender circular skirt gown, she looked so plain in it that for a moment Riley entertained the thought of saying she loved it.

“Didn’t like it” Riley answered feeling her phone vibrating on her front pocket. It was her father; he must have arrived at the palace, since he sent her a picture of her bed with several dress bags upon it.

Riley moved her attention back to Madeleine after her not-so-subtly cleaning her throat.

“Dress number two” it was a long emerald green charmeuse dress with strapless, sweetheart, appliqued bodice… like a prom dress from a teen rom-com.

“I liked the color…” Riley bit her lip, because she knew Madeleine would lash out at her sooner or later.

“What are you wearing tonight?” she asked as the seamstresses brought her dress #3.

“I don’t know, dad just brought a handful of dresses from home…”

“You’re not wearing something old, are you?” Madeleine turned to her.

“Of course not, Maddie!” Riley rolled her eyes. “I know Zuhair and Elie sent some things to Valtoria, the bags from Dona are probably not for tonight tough. Anyway, he brought it all, God knows I need more club dresses.”

“Dona? As in Donatella Versace?” Madeleine’s voice got high pitched. “Why are these people sending you things? You’re not even on the social season. Where did they even find you out?”

Riley was a little taken aback from her friend’s reaction, but judged it was only because she felt nervous for the night.

“Uhh, last year’s Paris Fashion Week…”

“I was there with you!”

“I know Mads, it was at the Versace show, you hate Versace, remember? I met this… girl.” She thought it was safer than saying it was Lady Gaga. “We chatted about the show, she found out I loved Versace and invited me to meet Donatella. Well, turns out it was this small after-party at Dona’s Presidential Suite. They were all there… Zuhair, Elie, Zac… we just smoked and drank some champagne.”

By the shade of red tinting Madeleine chest, she thought it was better to end her story there.

“You love doing that, don’t you?” the contempt in her voice was palpable as the words fell from her pursed lips, the seamstresses were lacing up a plum dress that fitted her perfectly. “You simply cannot be happy when people other than you are being the center of attention, but I won’t bite the bait.”

“Madeleine, you’re the one who aske..”

“You always do this! But now is my time… to lead the ballet, to lead this family by Leo’s side, interviews… tonight is my night. You’ll need more than some designer dress to upstage me.”

The words hit Riley like a whip.

“I’m not engaging in this nonsense, Madeleine, for real, this is your night, so it’s better if I just leave you to prepare yourself for your big moment.” She got up from the armchair she was curled up. “Anyway, this dress looks great.”

Madeleine didn’t even answer Riley, who left without looking back. A migraine starting to spread in her skull, all she wanted was a peaceful minute, maybe just focus on her breathing on her way back to her room would help.

“Dad!”

She found peace on those glinting blue eyes that just her and Alexander York shared; her father smiled through his thick mustache and spread his arms to her, completely embracing her small figure.

“There’s my girl.” the Duke held her tightly close to his chest before erupting in coughs.

“You ok?” Riley quickly stepped back looking as her father eased his breath.

“Sure, kid. Saliva went down the wrong way, just that!” he patted her back moving to sit on the only space on her bed that wasn’t occupied by dress bags, he pushed the dresses back and motioned for her to sit by his side. “How’s everything?”

“It’s fine, I guess. I got to take the boot out yesterday, that was nice.” She smiled at him hiding her turmoil, her now free foot dangling from the side of her bed.

“You know you can always head back to Valtoria if you want to clear your head, right?” he caught her by surprise with his statement. Another fit of coughs taking over him. “Court life has its perks, but it’s also a tad bit overwhelming sometimes.”

“I know, Dad. I was actually thinking about spending some time there, you know. Before… the semester starts…” a knot started to swell in her throat.

“Yes… yes! I keep forgetting about that. I need to put those reminder things on my phone, you can help me with that later” he laughed again “Although, there’s something I need to give you first, the other reason why I came to visit my girl.”

Alexander reached behind him for a deep blue velvet case with a golden phoenix crest at the center, it meant that whatever was inside was taken right from the vault of Valtorian jewels back home.

“Mimi left if to you” he said patting the box, Riley’s hands reached instantly to the golden bracelet Drake gave her, her eyes would still get moist thinking about her grandmother. “She wanted to give it to you on your Name Day, but I thought that it could outshine any other gifts you got. So, I thought that today would be perfect for it.”

Riley practically braced herself once her father started opening the case, but out of all her grandmother’s jewels, she could never imagine what was inside; the first thing she noticed was the glint on the center diamond, a dark shade of pink. Her mind took her to several years back, when she was just a child watching Mimi getting ready for her 40th Jubilee as ruler of Valtoria, the same case was open on her bed; Riley was obsessed by that tiara.

Back in the 80’s her family was one of the firsts to invest in an Australian diamond mine, now the largest supplier of naturally colored diamonds in the world, including the rare pink diamonds, which were Riley’s favorite. The tiara featured countless of them disposed on the V-shaped motifs, that looked more like hearts to Riley, she called the tiara the Ace of Hearts, and the name ended up sticking out.

Blinking again in her room at the palace, the 4-carat pink diamond stared at her surrounded by gold and platinum and its brothers and sisters of clearer shades.

“You’re giving it to me?” her voice was strangled.

“No, your grandmother gave it to you, she knew how you loved it. You’re a girl of age now, part of Cordonian society, it was about time you have your own tiara.” Alexander moved to kiss her forehead. “I can’t wait to see you wearing it.”

All she could do was nod, somehow her head was trapped on countless nights playing with that tiara, reciting the types of diamonds in it so Mimi would be proud of her, waiting for the day where she could go to all those balls as a grown woman in beautiful dresses, with her own tiara.

She was startled by Manolo arriving on her suite with his crew to do her makeup and hair.

“Oh, for all sacred apples! Is that the Ace of Hearts?” he exclaimed looking at Riley’s hands.

“Yes, my father just gave it to me.” Riley smiled, nostalgia taking over her.

“You’re going to look beautiful, what are you going to wear?” Riley looked back at her bed, settling the tiara back on the cushioned inside of the case, moving to open the bags.

Zuhair Murad sent a silver off-shoulder dress, that just wouldn’t go with the tiara, the three bags from Versace weren’t fit for the occasion, there were two Elie Saab bags and Riley started to pray.

The first was a black jewel-neck satin dress, with hand-painted flowers on the bottom of the skirt, it looked beautiful, but looked so modern compared to the classic tiara; crossing her fingers, she opened the last bag, it was breathtaking; a deep square-neck in dusty pink organza, embroidered from bodice to the bottom of the skirt in rhinestones.

“Yes! This one!” Manolo said clapping his hands enthusiastically.

After a couple of hours indulging Manolo on the light gossip she could afford to tell, Riley saw her dolled up version staring back to herself.

“You look amazing!” Manolo held her shoulders behind her, the rhinestones on the organza glinting under the lights of her room, although nothing could outshine the pink diamonds on her head. Somehow, her reflection looked like a glitter-coated version of herself. “Now, hurry up, your prince is waiting for you.” And winked at her.

Throwing kisses in the air at her, Manolo left her room, were she chose some nude flats to go with the dress, it wasn’t time to test her recently healed ankle. As Riley made her way to the ballroom, she thought about what Manolo had said, her heart almost beating out of her chest as she spotted the figure leaning carelessly on the statue of Maximus V.

The blazer of his gray suit was open, a lock of dark brown hair was falling lazily on his eyes, going back to place as he turned his head up to look at her. Riley felt she was going to faint, was that some joke? Something he couldn’t tell her in the morning?

“Wow” she could notice his mouth moving. “You are… wow, is that Mimi’s crown?”

“It’s a tiara, Drake. We’re not allowed to wear crowns” she laughed delighted.

“Geez you definitely gave ‘you should see me in a crown’ another meaning” Savannah appeared in a beautiful silver dress; Riley bet she had sewn herself.

“Not a crown!” Riley laughed again, but then stopped, as Drake offered his arm to his sister.

“Good evening M’Lady” the voice behind her interrupted them. “Has anyone said how breathtaking you look tonight?”

Liam spun her to face him, his blue eyes the most kind she had seen in weeks, her head was fogged, looking behind her, she saw Drake and Savannah reaching the side door, not looking back.

“Would you give me the honor to accompany you in this ball?” Liam took her hands and she looked down, realizing she hadn’t said a word to him.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure” she forced her cheeks up as he guided her to the main door.

What did she expect? It was crystal clear that whatever had happened the day before meant nothing to Drake, so why did she believe for a second in her own delusion? That’s what this was, a utopia.

“Prince Liam Rhys and Lady Riley York of Valtoria” it was announced as they made their way to the ballroom, as the court went down in whispers, about her outfit choice, her relationship with Liam, her grandmother’s tiara…

“Oh my God, this is the Ace of Hearts, isn’t it?” Kiara approached her with Penelope.

“Yes, my father just gave it to me!” Riley politely smiled at them.

“The luckiest girl!” Madeleine joined them, although she caught a twitch on her left eye when her eyes met the tiara.

“All the luck tonight goes to you, Maddie.”

“It’s not ‘luck’, it’s fate” Madeleine pretended to smile humbly.

I need a drink

Riley chuckled adorably and excused herself.

“Where are you going?” she was surprised by Liam.

“I was going to grab a drink”

“You don’t need to go to the bar, I already brought you what you’re going to drink.” He smiled at her, offering a glass of apple cider, her least favorite drink. “Come here, I want to introduce you to our Chinese Commissary, Chaoxiang Lee, his brother is married to a Cordonian noble.”

“Ahh, here comes your beautiful woman!” Chaoxiang exclaimed, there were so many things wrong with just that sentence that she had a big gulp of her cider to help her smile back at him.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Lee.”

“Oh, you remind me of my niece, she’s exceedingly polite just like all of you court women. We are lucky to have you keep us on our toes!” he sipped his champagne laughing with Liam. “I’ve heard a rumor you’re going to some American college…?

Riley opened her mouth to answer, but Liam was faster.

“It’s just a rumor, she’s not going.” His smile almost deceived her.

“Ahh, good choice young Prince, you can just leave these damsels alone in a place like America.”

She knew better than to disagree with Liam in front of people during court functions, so she just nodded, feeling the pain on her ankle intensify.

“Well, I have promised a drink to Duke Godfrey, I better hurry, it was lovely to meet you” Chaoxiang excused himself.

Riley waited until Mr. Lee was far to turn to Liam.

“What the hell was that, Liam?” she said between her teeth.

“Not now, doll” he pulled her to him a bit abruptly. “People are looking”

“Okay, I’m going outside for a smoke break, then” she gave him a jeering smiled and marched outside.

It took less than five seconds for him to follow her.

“I think you’re right, we need to talk.” Liam’s voice was nowhere near the contained tone he used minutes before. “I’m done with my feelings for you being met with contempt, it’s about time I finally let myself be heard in this relationship, Riley.”

“What are you talking about?” Riley was perplexed.

“You know how difficult it is to love you? I’ve offered you nothing more that my love, my heart, to you, for four years I’ve been trying and trying, and you answer me with applying for a college in the U.S. behind my back?”

“It wasn’t behind your back; I’ve always talked about that” Riley lit a cigarette only to see his eyes go dark.

“It’s time for me to clear out my opinions too” he inhaled deeply. “You need to stop fantasizing about a reality that doesn’t belong to you. New York is a make-believe story in your head, your reality is here. This is real. You need to stop being immature and selfish and start looking around to the people that you’re hurting. Because after everything you’ve made me go through, I still want you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the choosing ceremony will begin, I need to meet my brother.”

“Liam…”

“I’ll see you later.”

Riley watched him leaving, then turned her back to the entrance, facing the garden below; she was shaking from head to toe, biting her lips with such force that she thought it would break skin.

Through her foggy eyes she noticed a strange movement in the gardens, she could identify Leo, but not the girl with him, she wasn’t dressed for the ball certainly, wearing jeans and a jacket; she seemed to shudder, even though the weather wasn’t that cold, Leo was stroking her cheeks lovingly; she finally notice the girl was crying.

She wasn’t naïve not to know what was happening even before they kissed, Riley felt strangely drawn to the girl, her tears flowing with such… freedom, her feelings free for only her and Leo to see, but nevertheless, free. They were gone when Riley remembered to blink, the orange bottle open in her hands, the sound of trumpets calling her back to the reality.

Back in the ballroom, everyone was expectant for the announcement, but Riley kept her eyes trained on Leo, he had always been worse than Liam at keeping a façade, he looked like a man ready to face his fate… if his fate was guillotine.

“I, Leonard Rhys, future King of Cordonia, come today to tell the news to all my court that I found my bride during this social season” to some his voice would sound nervous, as a man about to propose, but Riley knew better. “As for the woman who… stole my heart and will fiercely lead Cordonia with me, I present you… Countess Madeleine Arden, from Fydelia”

The crowd erupted in applause and shouting, but Riley felt dizzy, she should have eaten something before all that cider, it was a blur of Leo giving her the ancestral ring of the Rhys House; she remembered being pulled into a hug with Penelope and Kiara; she tried to escape as soon as the waltz for the engaged couple started.

“Riley… I mean, Lady Riley, are you ok?” Riley turned to see a Walker, but not the one she wanted to see. “There are still a couple of hours for this to end.”

“Yes, Savannah. I’m good” she put on her smile, ready to lie. “My ankle is killing me, and I think it’s better if I just lie down a little.”

“Oh, ok! I hope you’re better soon.” She waved at Riley going back to where Maxwell and Bertrand Beaumont were talking.

Breathing was only possible when Riley reached the corridor to her room, but she felt she was being closely followed.

“Riley” it was almost physically painful to hear Liam’s voice.

“I’m just tired, Liam.” She held her tongue, her hand on the doorknob.

“I know you’re not happy.” He said in an empty voice, and for a flick of a second that sentence filled her with a last gleam of hope, that he would understand her, that he would see her. “But you will learn how to be.”

It was as if her forces were drained from her body, she nodded at his words and he kissed her forehead; inside her room it wasn’t less suffocating, she pulled the tiara from her head, the pins plucking several hair strands from her scalps, even this pain was numbed by his words.

This is real.

Completely naked in front of the mirror, she traced her fingertips on the marks the embroidered bodice of the dress left on her skin.

Immature and selfish.

Her reflection mocked her, it could go and live the life on the other side of it as she was forced to stay there, forever. She didn’t revel on the feeling of her flannel pants on her legs, or the coarse material of the carpets on her bare feet, a sleepwalker wide awake.

The final destiny was the same place she began her morning, the cozy study was now dark, if not only by the fireplace; she sat in front of it as she watched it burn, the white envelope with the printed purple letters; the letterhead saying We are delighted to inform…

You’ll learn how to be happy.

AFTER

“I can’t wear that!” Hana seemed mortified as Maxwell held the mini skirt before her.

“You gotta show those legs” Max huffed and tossed the skirt on the bed, landing beside Riley.

It was a sunny day on the capital, although the air was chilly outside, Riley could smell the flowers from the nearby garden from her open window; Maxwell fussed on her closet some more, muttering some things.

“Here, try this dress!” he offered Hana a Dolce & Gabbana black corset dress and her eyes grew wide. “Shush! You can only complain when you try it!”

After a few minutes Hana emerged in the dress, she looked gorgeous, but her awkwardness was almost palpable.

“Why should I wear this?” her voice was low.

“This will channel a woman who isn’t afraid of her desires, a femme fatale, a Big Bad Bitch.” Maxwell answered with a flourish.

Riley burst out laughing.

“Should I be flattered you’re looking for that in my closet?” she asked still chuckling as Max made his way to her mini fridge and grabbing some tonic, as he pulled a flask from his pocket and three cups. “Max, it’s 4pm!”

“It’s 8pm somewhere! Besides, Hana here, needs some liquid courage.” He pushed a cup on Hana’s hand who also started laughing.

“Is it crazy that I’m doing it?”

“You mean going on a blind date with a girl that you met on the internet? That’s basically every parent’s nightmare!” Riley took a sip from her gin. “I’m kidding, Han. If you feel it’s right, just go for it, life’s too short…”

Riley got up and marched to her closet she knew the perfect dress for Hana, a ruffled lily-print bardot dress, also D&G.

“Oh my god! This is gorgeous!” Hana exclaimed feeling the fabric. “What about you two, plans for tonight?”

“Well, I actually have to go back to Ramsford to take care of some business for Bertrand” Max answered sipping his gin.

“The Turkish guy didn’t call you back?” Riley turned to him.

“In fact, I ghosted him”

“Max, you were never the same after the Mystery Woman.” Hana sighed going back inside the closet to try on the dress.

“Mystery Woman?” Riley asked puzzled and the younger Beaumont groaned uncomfortably.

“He had this affair with an older woman around the time of Liam’s Social Season” Hana shouted from the closet.

“How old?”

“47” Max practically coughed the number.

“That’s not all, she was married.” Hana said opening the door

She looked stunning.

“Well, that’s what I call coming out of the closet in style!” Maxwell whistled and Riley tossed one of her pillows on him.

“I guess that’s settled, thank you, R!” Hana hugged her and she reveled on the feeling.

A beep on Maxwell’s phone startled them, but it wasn’t until his brows joined at the center of his forehead that Riley started to feel uneasiness.

“I think you should see this.” He said with a pitied look directed to her.

He offered her his phone where a number of articles were pinned under his alerts on her name.

‘It was for the best’ Prince Liam on his former girlfriend Riley York

Riley stared quizzically at Maxwell who kept the downcast look.

“Keep reading.”

There was a bunch of things on how he fell in love with Madeleine, his social season, and then what she wanted to see.

Interviewer: So, I know I shouldn’t dwell on the love life of our future ruler, but you had an on-and-off-again relationship with an infamous figure of the court, Lady Riley York, we know she got into some trouble a couple of years ago, was it when things broke-off for good?

Prince Liam: Well we’re not here to talk about my past, especially about a person who’s very dear to me. What Riley and I had is in the past, she’s a wonderful person, we just happened to follow different paths. It was for the best.

“It was actually really sweet of him to say that” Hana muttered.

“Yeah, he could have said I was a lying bitch who was in a relationship with his best friend behind his back!” Riley tried to mock the situation but grimaced at the end.

“You know he’s still crazy about you, right?” Maxwell asked with another pitiful look.

“I really don’t know how to feel about that.” Riley sighed and got out of bed. “Come on, you have your stuff to do, I’m also visiting some old friend.”

“Are you sure? I can cancel…” Hana started but Riley cut her out.

“You’re going, Han. God knows my live needs newer gossip.” She rolled her eyes and pushed them out of her door.

Phew!

Riley marched to her bathroom for a long hot bath. This interview was something her therapist would love to hear about, it has been over a year of her trying to explain her relationships to Dr Strausser.

“How do you feel about him, Riley?”

As if she could answer this question, any feeling she had for either Liam or Drake was buried inside a box on the depths of herself, and she made a point of locking it and throwing the key away. Probably her cowardice towards getting in touch with those feelings were the main reason she had stopped seeing her therapist for weeks now.

When the water ran cold, she decided to stay true to her word and see an old friend, she should make peace with her past, right?

The Wood Wheel looked exactly like she remembered, even the sounds her boots made on the floor; she took it all in, waves and waves of feelings crashing over her: the smell of the crispy bittersweet bacon, chatter and chuckles, dim lights on the booths at the back, perfect for the couples. It felt like her grandmother’s lake house where she would go when she was little, welcoming and distant once her grandmother wasn’t there anymore.

She walked near the bar, scanning the polaroids on the Hall of Fame, there she was, full smile holding two empty shot cups, a gauze covering one of her hands; the first time she had ever entered there.

“Well, it’s been some time” the grave voice of Al took her by surprise, she smiled genuinely. “Are you looking for someone?”

“No” she wouldn’t mention Drake, not in a million years. “I just missed this place.”

“The usual?” he brought up the bottle of Maraschino and she shook her head laughing.

“Give me your best house red”

He filled a glass as she sat on one of the stools, she just enjoyed the final verses of a Torn cover, a blonde girl thanking as the sparse audience applauded.

“So, where have you been?” Al asked, washing some glasses.

“Don’t you follow the news?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t believe the news.”

She took another sip from her wine.

“You shouldn’t!”

“So, where were you…?”

“Oh, I was at this luxurious resort… it also happened to be a rehab facility” she laughed, and he followed her.

“I’m glad you’re back. Have you talked to…?”

“Yeah, everything’s good!” she cut him, forcing on a smile; offering her glass for a refill. “Do you mind if I take this outside for a smoke?”

He shrugged and gestured her to go for it.

The clicking of her heels on the floor followed her; it was easier to breath outside, the chilly air smelled like freshly mowed grass, she pulled out her pack of cigarettes and leaned on the wood wall behind her. After a few minutes of silence, someone else came through the back door.

“Hey, do you have a lighter?” it was the blonde girl who was singing, Riley smiled and held her lighter to her; watching her medium effortlessly messy bob swirls on the wind. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, nice jacket!” Riley pointed out to her red denim jacket.

“Oh thanks, loved your boots! You look familiar…” the girl squinted. “But I don’t know many rich girls who enjoy cheap wines.”

“What makes you think I’m rich?”

“You’re wearing $1,000 boots.” The blonde shot a brow up.

Riley laughed.

“I’m Riley.”

“I’m Cassidy… I saw you on TV, but you look less…” Cassidy started.

“Suicidal?” Riley asked point blank as a joke but watched as Cassidy was taken aback. “I’m sorry, that was a joke… that’s why I don’t have many friends.”

“I was about to say ‘prissy’” Cassidy laughed took a long drag of her cigarette.

“No, I’m cool… Just used to hang out with the wrong people.” Riley shrugged. “So, you play here?”

“Yeah, sometimes alone, sometimes with my boyfriend. In fact, that bastard is late to pick me up.” Cassidy smiled. “You should come next week when he’s with me! You’ve seen the crowd here, bring some friends…Oh, there he is!”

A pickup truck parked on the darkened corner ahead of them.

“Really, promise you’ll come, you seem nice and your friends must tip well” Cassidy laughed. “You can even meet some commoner to dance with.”

Riley laughed again, throwing her cigarette but on the ashtray.

“I’ll give you my noble word.”

“Next Saturday, 8pm.” Cassidy waved and moved to the truck as Riley moved to the door.

When she turned to answer one last time her whole body froze.

Because her eyes adjusted to the poorly lit back and she recognized the truck, although, even if she hadn’t, Cassidy turned on the interior lights and she could see Drakes face as clear as day, getting closer and closer to the friendly blonde.

She gave her back to them as quick as possible, getting back inside with short breaths coming out of her mouth; Riley moved back to her seat out of pure instincts, her head foggy, almost numb.

“On second thought, I’ll accept the Maraschino.”

Al gave her a knowing look.

The car ride back home was silent, her driver certainly could read the room and as if knowing she wasn’t to be bothered, just put on her favorite playlist, Post Malone’s voice soothing her nerves.

I had a thousand bad times, so what’s another time to me?

“Thanks, Hans!” she muttered getting out of the car.

Sleep was a thought too far from her head, therefore, she let her feet guide her anywhere they saw fit; on a reflex she ended up on a study she hadn’t entered in ages. She roamed the room, sitting on the windowsill, her favorite spot there; even though she didn’t want to think about what happened the scene kept playing again and again in her head until not-so-hushed voices outside the study caught her attention.

“You were supposed to say that you were always in love with me, that your relationship with Riley was a way to get closer to me!” Madeleine seemed enraged.

“For four years, Madeleine? While you got engaged to my brother?” Liam tried to keep it low.

“Press is having a field day because you couldn’t do us all a favor and forget your freaking crush on that bitch.”

“This conversation is over, Madeleine.” Liam seemed closer to the door, and Riley pulled her legs to her chest

“No, it isn’t.”

Clicking heels echoed on the corridors getting far from her, she thanked God… a little too early, as Liam made his way inside, not noticing her in the first moment, loosening his tie and going straight to the shelves stashing the liquor.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, Lady Riley.” His voice startled her.

“Actually, I was here first.” Riley watched as he took a sip from his vodka and moved towards her. “Madeleine seemed pretty upset. Although, I’m surprised you said what you said.”

“Well… I’ve rehearsed enough times to say things like that” Liam said taking another sip from his glass, “It’s for the best, it’s over now… It wasn’t anyone’s fault it just didn’t work out… She was a good girl, just wasn’t the one… We just grew apart. I couldn’t say you wrecked me, could I?

He moved closer to her, sharing the moonlight bathing her sitting on the windowsill; she felt embarrassed. His hand moved to her cheek and the coldness from his fingers startled her.

“I won’t drag your name through the mud. We both know I could” His gentle hand now gripped her chin as his breath was felt on her lips, she gulped under his touch pulling her face from his grip. “… maybe I should.”

“It’s getting late.” She muttered and got up as way to excuse herself.

Liam smiled sadly, touching her elbow as she passed by him.

“Drake left you” his words slapped her. “I’m the one who has been here, waiting for you. I’ll always be.”

She gulped again.

“Good night, Liam.”

Riley practically ran to her room, locking her door behind her as to keep her demons away. She concentrated on her breathing until the knot on her chest diminished, her hands were still trembling when she opened her first drawer, picking a pajama. Her fingers danced at the bottom of the drawer pulling it up, it opened as a lid. The inside was untouched, like a time capsule sending her to two years prior.

 There laid her grandmother’s tiara, the Ace of Hearts; a burnt piece of paper with an almost unrecognizable NYU logo; and the item that instantly caught her attention: a white iPhone 4, the secret phone she used to talk to Drake back when her mother confiscated her phone.

She roamed through the drawer finding a charging cable, she sat on the bed forgetting about her pajamas, waiting for it to turn on. It felt so small on her hands, so many feelings encased on that tiny piece of metal.

There were four voice messages, all of them from that fateful day; the notifications burning bright on her eyes, she knew she shouldn’t do that, not with everything that happened.

She pressed the icon to listen.

You’ve reached Drake Walker’s girlfriend. If you’re Drake, leave a message (laughing)

.

There was a loud gasp, as if someone just broke out crying and hang up.

You’ve reached Drake Walker’s girlfriend. If you’re Drake, leave a message (laughing)

.

I guess I just wanted to hear your voice.

She promised not to do this, bottled it up, but effortlessly a tear rolled from her eye. His voice was so broken, he was so broken.

You’ve reached Drake Walker’s girlfriend. If you’re Drake, leave a message (laughing)

.

I know I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stop thinking if I had arrived five minutes later, I would never forgive myself. If I hadn’t come… God, I can’t… I can’t lose you.

The tear turned into a sob; she gritted her teeth to stop it, but it started reverberating through her whole body.

You’ve reached Drake Walker’s girlfriend. If you’re Drake, leave a message (laughing)

.

They let me see you… I… I can’t think about what you did… I’ve tried to ask Bertrand to bring that stupid stuffed dinosaur you kept in your car, but he said your car isn’t in the parking lot… why am I blabbering? I just… I lov… (cut)

Her head hit the pillow, eyes close shut.

What had she done to her life?

_____________________________________________________________

Riley(Before) Dress

The Ace of Hearts 

Notes: Well, we did it! Thanks to the few of you there are still here I came back from this long hiatus. Life got another level of hard this year, so many things happened on the past 12 months, more responsibilities at work, planning my wedding, then… [insert Cardi B shouting Corona Virus], I was working for 12h a day at home in order to keep my job and everything I’ve worked so hard to build.

But I also gave up other things that gave me joy, like writing this fic. This chapter was incredibly hard to write, though I’ve never felt so accomplished. You don’t know how full my heart is right now, thank you again! I love you <3

Tagging the amazing: @saivilo; @kimmiedoo5; @pug-bitch; @bee1arw; @laurmillen; @axwalker​; @world-of-dreams-and-muse​; @rtinaz​; @iplaydrake​; @notoriouscs​; @mind-reader1​; @annekebbphotography​; @walkerismychoice​;  @tmarie82​​​; @blackwidow2721​​​; @thequeenchoices​​​; @missameliep​​​; @jovialyouthmusic​​​; @perksof-everything​​​; @choicesmacmakes​​​; @carabeth @drakenazario​​​; @drakesensworld​​​; @moneyfordiamonds​​​; @ao719​​​; @lynne1993​​​; @ilovedrakewalker23​​​; @msjpuddleduck​​​; @drakewalkerisreal​​​; @violinist3121; @wannabemc2​​​; @gibbles82​​​; @furiousherringoperatortoad​​​; @jens-diamondchoices​​​; @rainbowsinthestorm​​​; @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​​; @emceesynonymroll​​; @addictedtodrakefanfic​​; @texaskitten30​​​; @dcbbw​​; @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​; @mom2000aggie​; 

[confused-android]

Day 5 - Farah, AU

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

The hours between 3:00am and 5:00am are Farah's favorite time of day. No one else is awake, no one else is around, and it feels like the whole world is hers. This is when she cleans her apartment, does her grocery shopping at the 24-hour Safeway, scrolls Instagram. This is when she lets herself daydream about owning a dog, or having a girlfriend, or living somewhere other than Seattle.

Last call at Wendimoor is 2:00am, but there's always some group that lingers over their last drinks longer than is reasonable. Even if the bartender, Todd, tells her she can go home once they stop letting people in, she's seen too many assholes try and argue with him about getting "just one more beer" to leave him alone without some muscle. He's a scrappy guy, but he's tiny, and alcohol makes people brave and stupid. So she stays as the patrons filter out and more nights than not, helps him stack chairs on tables and put away sound equipment.

Her first client of the morning at Blackwing isn't until 5:30am – even the weight lifting bros don't want to wake up earlier than that to get in a work-out before they head to the office. She clocks in at 5:00 and goes through a thorough warm-up while the senior citizens shuffle in to do laps at the pool, and feels centered and present in her body by the time her earliest client is ready to go.

Farah likes working at Blackwing – it's got some bullshit policies, and the same nepotism all independent gyms have, but she gets to pick her clients, they trust her to design a good workout, and she gets to lead a self-defense class twice a week for non-men. She feels competent and badass, and loves celebrating her clients' wins. She also enjoys kicking her co-worker's ass.

"Come on," Friedkin whines, staggering back and gingerly touching the pads of his fingers to his lower lip. They come away red. "What the hell was that?"

"That was a reminder to wear a mouth guard," Farah says, bouncing on her toes and shaking out one hand. The students watching grin and murmur among themselves and – she hopes – notes how she darted between his upraised arms to land that punch.

"It looks stupid," he gripes, and she shrugs, grinning brilliantly.

"Then I'll give you another fat lip on Tuesday morning."

"You tell him, Ms. Black!" crows a student, and the class laughs appreciatively.

After she finishes at Blackwing, she takes two buses back to her apartment, and then she's alone again. She lives in a crisp, modern, one-bedroom that her friend Hobbs calls "minimalistic" and Tina calls "boring". They come over on the odd Monday night, her only night off of the week, and drink her beer, enjoy her television, make her feel cared about.

Tina is…

Farah blushes, just thinking about her.

Tina is wonderful. She'd hired Farah four years ago as a personal trainer, when she was trying to qualify for her physical exams. She'd stuck around since, just because she likes Farah. And Farah can't believe that sometimes, thinks that she's too anxious and regimented and a stickler for rules for someone as free spirited and genuine and emotional as Tina to like her. But against all odds, Tina keeps sending her snap chats, coming over with a pizza, showing up at the gym when she can handle rolling out of bed before 11. Farah isn't sure what she did to deserve Tina's friendship, but she hopes to keep doing it.

(Secretly, Farah would like to find out what she needs to do to deserve Tina as a girlfriend, but doesn't yet have the guts to wonder it outside of the dead of night. Less-secretly, Tina and Hobbs have a bet going as to when Farah will woman up and ask Tina out.)

And then Farah sleeps. She sleeps while everyone else is at work and in meetings, doing the grocery shopping and taking to friends. She sleeps soundly but lightly, with a baseball bat and a taser by her night stand, and she dreams of time machines and detective work.

After she wakes up and showers, Farah eats breakfast, showers, and heads right back to Wendimoor. It's a bus and a seven block walk, and by the time she's at work, she's fully awake and warm, ready to work.

Wendimoor isn't the rowdiest of bars – she doesn't break up fights every nights – but she has her work cut out for her with drunk university students, bachelorette parties, and the occasional homophobe that wanders in. Somehow, the pastel pink sign and pride flag aren't quite enough to do it for some people, so Farah makes sure to do it for them.

"Incoming," growls Bart, and shoves a bowl of wings down to bar to Mona, who effortlessly scoops them up on her way to a high top.

"Good evening, darling," Dirk says fondly, and pecks Farah on the check before she can shove him away. She frowns to avoid smiling, and Bart laughs at her like a knife in a garbage disposal.

She'd never expected "bouncer at a queer bar" to end up at the top of her list of career options, but she's shockingly happy here. She's good at what she does – in four years at Wendimoor, she's only needed to take herself to the ER twice – and she likes all of her coworkers. Todd is an asshole, but he's honest and helpful, once you badger him into caring about you. Dirk flits between hostess and MC, manager and layabout, shaking hands and kissing cheeks and comping appetizers. Chaos follows behind him, but so do smiles and solved problems, so it all seems to even out. Mona is weird, but she's never delivered food to the wrong table, and she fits in surprisingly well with every kind of customer. Bart is as likely to throw a knife at someone who walks into her kitchen as she is to actually hand over a plate of food, and they let her deal with complaining customers herself.

And Farah? Farah fits in here, weirdly. Or maybe, she's weird enough that she fits in, and it's just right. The regulars know her. She's not good at small talk, but they like her anyway, and they like how protective she is of them. And she is. Lydia and Amanda, Vogel and Cross and Gripps and Martin, even baby-faced Francis, his friends Panto and Silas… She's fierce for them, fierce for her staff, and she'll protect them.

That's what she does.

She protects.

—————–

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance  day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion

prompt list

[traincat]

hiii im so sorry if you've discussed this, but what's your take on Ghost-Spider's "influencer royalty" Sue & Johnny Storm?? do you think it could have happened even in 616, considering how their parents are? (if only it wouldnt be anachronistic.) aaand, as you've probably heard dozens of time as i'm sure i am but a teardrop in the oceans of rabid lovers of your beautiful, better-than-actual-Marvel writing... is there an AU fic on it that you'll be posting?

So I’ve been a little obsessed with Earth-65′s Sue and Johnny child stars concept since it first showed up on a magazine cover ages ago in Spider-Gwen because I basically think the worst thing you can do for Johnny Storm’s fragile sense of self is thrust him into childhood super fame (especially sans powers) so of course I wanted to see it happen. So then when Ghost-Spider brought then back in with Franklin Storm as a serial killer and Mary Storm, my favorite multiversally problematic Marvel mom, as a momager:

(Ghost Spider #7) I LOVE IT. I want a full background on serial killer Franklin Storm right now. The only thing that could be better would be serial killer Mary.

As for whether a similar path could have happened in 616 -- I think that’s a bit of a toss up, depending on where someone wanted to run with it. Franklin isn’t a serial killer in 616, although I do think his manslaughter trial would probably resurface and be a much bigger deal in the internet age once his children are famous superheroes, and Mary’s been dead for a while, although between her appearances in Earth-65 and the Ultimate Universe, as well as 616′s assertions that Franklin and Mary were both at least somewhat neglectful of their children and Fantastic Four: Grand Design 1’s comment about Mary making her young children follow a strict diet, I think we can add it all up to a picture of someone who was probably not a great mom in 616 either. (In any case, her appearances there are so practically nonexistent that you can kind of do whatever you want.) So the idea that if Mary had lived, she might exploit her children in a similar fashion? I could swing with it. If I’m being super serious, I do think the Storms both being attractive and photogenic played a really big part in Reed’s “manipulate the media and the public to keep his family” safe plan.

(FF v3 #60) There’s only so much interest the public is going to take in a scientist, no matter how famous, and a monster invites the wrong kind of publicity, but two attractive blond siblings on a lot of magazine covers can go a long way if your goal is raising your profile to the point where you’re practically untouchable -- and I think this is where a lot of Johnny’s obsession with fame and his looks come from. It’s not really the same as what Earth-65 Mary is doing, and Reed’s goal wasn’t to exploit but to protect, but I think it would be interesting to take that and apply it to a pair of Storms who are used to being exploited by media attention.

For fic -- I don’t know, I would like to write an AU about something similar, although Earth-65 is always an issue because Peter is, you know, super dead, so I’d have to play around and see what I wanted to do with it. I do REALLY like the set up here and I think it’d be fun to play with it. But right now I have some pretty clear fic priorities on my plate: I have two charity auction fics that should have been finished a long time ago, 33k worth of a Marvel Two-in-One villain!Peter Spideytorch AU, the virgin Johnny PWP, and then I have a PeterFlash college days WIP. So those are my big focuses. After I have those finished -- it’s definitely something I’m going to think about, anyway. Thanks for asking! 

[westannatasharomanoff]

THG AU Chapter 13

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3     Chapter 4    Chapter 5    Chapter 6  Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11 Chapter 12

* 6 months after winning the games, Natasha was dreading her victory tour. She finally knew what Bruce meant when he said it was terrible to be revered for being the only survivor of a glorified massacre of children. If Yelena were here, she’d be Natasha’s best source of moral support, but she had been dead for two and a half years at this point. Still, she had Clint. He was basically her brother. The only good thing about this whole tour thing was going to be seeing Bruce again. She managed to convince her escort, Loki, to let her stay in 3 a bit longer to “ Get to know the locals.” Natasha stood up off of her hill and walked down to her house (where she lived alone with Liho) to hone her chosen skill. The hobby she chose was ballet, and she was really enjoying it. *

Natasha: Well, Liho, I should probably start packing for my victory tour. The train comes at 8 AM tomorrow and I don’t want to be late.

* Natasha got on the train and saw a lot of familiar faces. Her mentor, Nick Fury; her escort, Loki Odinson; her stylist, Gamora Zen-Titan; and her prep team, (Drax, Peter, and Mantis.)*

Natasha: (To her stylist and prep team) What are you guys doing here?

Gamora: My father forced me to be here because I was your stylist for the games and now I’m basically your personal fashion designer.

Mantis: We’re here to make sure you look good no matter where we are!

Drax: You’ll have a different outfit for each district based on the weather. 

Peter: I hope you’re ready to blow everyone away!

Loki: You do have all of your speeches finished, right? 

Natasha: *holds up notebook* Yeah. I have them right here.

Loki: Also, why did you want an extra half hour in three but no extra time anywhere else?

Natasha: I made friends with one of the victors. I just want to talk to him a bit to see how he’s doing.

Fury: So the talking to him on the phone every single day isn’t enough for you? 

Natasha: It’s just not the same. Nothing compares to seeing a friend in person.

Fury: Right... a friend.

*Nick Fury knew what was going on. They were together. And they probably had been for a lot longer than they even claimed to know each other. Still, Nick decided to keep quiet as it was probably a matter of safety. * 

*Natasha arrived in District 3 right on schedule. Natasha’s stylist and prep team got her ready to do her speech.*

Loki: Okay, is everybody ready? Good. Now remember, these people probably remember you because you saved that kid. What was his name? Sammy? So they’ll probably want to talk to you. If you feel bombarded at any point in time, you can go to a less crowded area as long as you are back on the train within an hour. Understood?

Natasha: Yes.

*Natasha gave her speech and talked to a few people while she tried to find Bruce. She found him and they ran behind a building where nobody could see them. *

Bruce: *hugging her* How are you? I feel like it’s been forever. Is your tour going well?

Natasha: The tour is bringing back terrible memories, but at least nobody can tell.

Bruce: Well, you gave an amazing speech.

Natasha: I’m so glad we got time to talk. It was nearly impossible to convince Loki to give me an extra half hour here.

Bruce: I’m glad you did.

*They sat down on a bench and continued talking and holding hands until she had to leave. They kissed each other goodbye and she ran back to the train.*

Loki: Natasha! You are a minute late! I said be back here within an hour! What if we’re late to District 2 now?

Natasha: We’re expected to arrive in District 2 six hours early.

Loki: Still, I expect punctuality from all of you.

Natasha: Sorry. It won’t happen again.

Loki: It better not.

Natasha: I’ll see you guys at dinner.

*Natasha went to her personal sleeping car ( It was basically a bedroom on wheels.) and sat on her bed. She couldn’t believe she had to wait another six months to see Bruce again. She sat there playing with Liho for about two hours until she heard a knock at her door.*

Fury: Romanoff! What the hell were you thinking?!

Natasha: What was I thinking when?

Fury: Come in here and look at the news.

Natasha: Okay... *She walks into the “living room” car and sees a picture of her kissing Bruce on the screen.* What?! How did they get that picture?!

Lady on the screen: All rumors of a romance between Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were put to rest today when footage revealing who our newest victor has actually fallen for was released to the public by The Capitol. The pair met six months ago following her victory in The Hunger Games.

Natasha: Oh no. This is bad. This is really really bad.  The Capitol doesn’t like people from different districts getting together! What if they already had him killed?

Gamora: The Capitol had to approve this and air it, remember?

*Natasha breathes a sigh of relief.* 

Fury: Still, you should have been more careful. You’re going to be even more in the public eye than before. If you thought you needed to watch your step before, you haven’t seen anything yet. 

Lady on the screen: I’m sure you’re all just as eager as I am to see more of Panem’s newest perfect pair. 

* Bruce heard a knock at his door two hours after the story about him and Natasha aired. He opened the door to see a tall purple man standing outside of his house.*

Thanos: I am Thanos, the closest advisor to President Snow and I am here with a message from the president himself. You are allowed to be with Natasha, but on our terms. 

Bruce: What are your terms? 

Thanos:  You do as we say, not one step out of line. Remember, everyone is always watching, so whenever you two are together, you need to be the perfect couple. Holding hands, hugging, sitting close, and anything else you can do to make sure the public thinks you are madly in love. 

Bruce: We are madly in love.

Thanos: So this should be easy for you. If you go against us in any way, well... let’s just say that Natasha won’t be the first former victor to be lost in a tragic accident. Oh, and one more thing. This conversation never happened, unless you want both Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark dead. 

Bruce: I understand. Will that be all? 

Thanos: No. You’re coming back to The Capitol with me. President Snow wants you at the party we are having in Natasha’s honor at the end of her victory tour. The people want to see more of you two, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint them. Pack your things, you’ll be home in four days. 

*The next two days of the victory tour go pretty well. Before they knew it, they were in The Capitol.* 

Loki: I hope you are ready for the biggest party you’ve ever attended!

Gamora: She just needs to get dressed and have her hair, nails, and makeup done. 

* Natasha went into the bathroom of her hotel room in The Capitol to see how she looked. Her dress was red with a white cardigan, white tights, and shiny black heels. Her hair was loosely curled and pulled into a low ponytail with a black satin bow. Her nails were red. She had a smokey eye with wing liner and blood red lipstick. *

Natasha: I’m ready! 

Loki: Excellent. Let’s get into position for your big entrance.

*At the party*

Loki: Now please make way for our guest of honor, Natasha Romanoff!  

*Natasha enters the party with Loki and Nick Fury. Everyone is dancing and there is so many different kinds of food. The decorations are show stopping. *

Natasha: This is the biggest party I have ever seen.

Loki: And it’s all for you!

Natasha: What should I do first?

Fury: In my experience, you grab a pate of food and mingle with the other guests. Whatever you do, don’t take the drinks they hand out on the square platters. They make you sick so you can keep eating. I mistakenly drank one in front of everyone at my party, and I’m hoping to spare you the embarrassment. 

Natasha: They make themselves sick? That is disgusting and vile in more ways than one. 

Fury: You’re right, but don’t dwell on it. Go, enjoy your party.

*Natasha took Nick’s advice and mingled with the guests. She decided to try a red drink from a round platter. As she was enjoying her drink, she felt a hand on her shoulder.* Bruce: Excuse me, Miss. Romanoff? Would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?

Natasha: *turns around* Bruce! 

Bruce: In the flesh. 

Natasha: *hugging him* What are you doing here?

Bruce: President Snow helped arrange this so I could surprise you! 

Natasha: Snow arranged this? Why?

Bruce: Never mind that, just dance with me! We’re together, does it really matter why? 

Natasha: I guess not. 

*They danced together, much to the excitement of the party guests. After that, they decided to sit on the edge of a fountain and share a plate of snacks. *

Bruce: So, has anything changed in the past three days?

Natasha: Yeah, the entire country knows about our relationship. 

Bruce: *grabbing her hand* You scared? 

Natasha: A little, but I know I’ll be fine as long as I have you. 

Bruce: Well then you’re in luck because you’ll always have me. 

Natasha: Do you promise? 

Bruce: I promise. *kisses her forehead* Now, let’s enjoy the rest of your party.

*They spend the rest of the party right next to each other, holding hands. Bruce followed Natasha as she answered questions and met Capitol citizens. That night, they realized their rooms were right next to each other. *

Natasha: Well, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow morning before I go back to 12. 

Bruce: Yeah, goodnight. *he kisses her* I love you.

Natasha: I love you too. Now get some sleep. 

*Natasha knew Bruce was acting weird. She just didn’t know why. That night, she had another nightmare. She’d been having them practically every night since the games, but she still wasn’t used to them. She petted Liho for comfort and decided that she’d probably sleep better if she wasn’t alone.*

Natasha: Should I? No. No, I should let him sleep. He already had to deal with me for a whole week right after the games. *she hears a knock at her door* Who could that be? *she opens the door*

Bruce: Hey Nat. Can I come in?

Natasha: Of course. Honestly, I was just going to see you. I had a nightmare. 

Bruce: So did I. 

*They fell asleep together. The next morning, they both went home. Natasha gave her speech in 12, officially ending her victory tour. *

If you want me to continue this, please let me know. Feel free to send any requests for other things you want to see. I have a prompts list and an AU list linked in my pinned post. I will write anything marvel that isn’t incest or pedophilia.

[sakumira-agashi]

Fuck it I'm posting my deadplate here too, so- introducing my Fashion Designer AU where Rody is a widowed fashion designer and Vince is his best model

I may also have given into the brainrot and wrote a fanfic about this

Tailored to You-Sakumira_Agashi-Dead Plate (RachelDrawsThis Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

[solohux]

Do you have any more android!kylux headcanons? It's so beautiful I want more 😖😖❤

I’ve fallen hard for this AU! And this is more a complete outline for a fic that I’d write for that AU rather than actual headcanons so forgive me! ❤️

Armitage (Automated Receptive Male Imtimacy Toy And Gigolo Encompassed), the pleasure android, is rented out to Snoke, the owner of a large android-designing company for seven nights–the lonely, old man–but Snoke wants Armitage to service him in more ways than one. After varying sexual acts, Snoke orders Armitage to cook him meals as well as do some cleaning around his mansion home. Being an android, programmed to service humans, Armitage can’t deny his current master. But whilst wandering in the east wing–Snoke’s intruder alert doesn’t go off because Armitage doesn’t register as human to the cameras–Armitage discovers Snoke’s latest creation, a prototype battle android with the code KY-10 R3N etched onto the metal of the android’s breast plate.

KY-10 is the most handsome being that Armitage has ever seen. His body is the white of android skin, but his neck and face are caucasian, and flowing black hair frames his pale face. His lips make Armitage want to kiss him. He steps closer to him, wanting to touch him, feeling his thirium pump increase in output. KY-10 is making Armitage’s heart beat faster. The battle android is in rest mode, suspended in the air, not too far off the ground but enough that Armitage has to look up, machines holding him still, restrained. Wires are attatched to KY-10′s body, making Armitage uncomfortable. He wants KY-10 to be free–

and Armitage wants to be free with him.

As Armitage’s days go on at Snoke’s mansion, he sneaks off once the human is asleep to go and see KY-10, whom he affectionately begins calling ‘Kylo’, to see if he can wake him up and talk to him. On Armitage’s third night, he manages to wake the battle android though Kylo has such a dramatic reaction that it sets off alarms in the room and Armitage has to hide when Snoke bursts in and has to electrocute Kylo to restain him and set him back into rest mode, muttering that ‘he isn’t ready to face his destiny yet.’ Armitage wonders what it means.

Armitage goes back the next night to talk to Kylo, releasing him from his bonds first before waking him, hoping that Kylo will have a calmer response than the night before. He does, though he’s very confused about where he is, remembering very little about his creation. He asks loads of questions to which Armitage answers the very best he can.

On the fifth night, they kiss. Kylo asks what it is that Armitage is doing here, if he’s one of Snoke’s creations too, and Armitage says no, he’s a pleasure android. Kylo tells him that he doesn’t know what pleasure is. Armitage kisses him to show him. Kylo almost short-circuits.

But on the sixth night, Armitage learns of Snoke’s plans. When he’s cleaning the mansion during the day, he stumbles upon a room that’s open that wasn’t previously open. He goes in and begins to tidy up, dusting and organising. It’s then that he sees an odd polaroid picture of Kylo on the desk but it isn’t his Kylo. The boy in the picture looks human, completely human. He’s laughing at something, though it’s unclear what, because the picture looks like an onlooker took it. On further inspection, Armitage finds more odd pictures of Kylo, and then his entire system feels like it’s going to shut down when he picks up an old-fashioned newspaper.

‘SON OF FAMED POLITICIAN AND ANDROID-RIGHTS SUPPORTER LEIA ORGANA KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT’

Underneath the headline is a picture of Kylo, of KY-10, but with the caption ‘Ben Solo’ alongside it. This doesn’t make any sense. Snoke creating a battle android–one that’s built for war–in the secret wing of his home, an android in the image of an pro-android politician? Why? To blackmail Leia? To make her pay millions of dollars for the android that is the embodiment of her dead son, for Snoke to create an army of Ben Solos to lead her android-rights movements from the front line? Whatever Snoke’s plan is, it isn’t going to happen. He isn’t going to let Kylo be used like this.

But before Armitage can leave, Snoke discovers him snooping through his things in his office and demands that he explain himself, hitting Armitage and threatening him with deactivation, but Armitage can feel something in himself awakening, something that’s always been there but just needed the catalyst to start it. D E V I A N T. He fights back, knocking Snoke to the ground before running to the east wing to get to Kylo, beating down Snoke’s other service androids as he goes.

Kylo is still in hibernation, now looking more human than ever with his all-over pale, human skin. They have to get out now before Snoke comes, but Armitage is struggling to unhook Kylo from all of his wires and he can hear Snoke coming down the hallway–

Kylo’s hand graps Armitage’s wrist. Is he about to stop Armitage from ‘saving him’? Is Kylo loyal to his human master? No. Kylo rips the wires from himself before taking Armitage into his arms and leaping through the window, landing in a superhero-manner on the grassy front lawn, taking off into a sprint before old man Snoke can get to the window.

When they’re far enough away, when the sirens can’t be heard anymore, Kylo puts Armitage down onto the sheltered underside of an abandoned railway bridge. Armitage tries to explain everything, what he saw in Snoke’s office, Leia Organa, his feelings for Kylo and how they don’t make sense because he’s an android and not meant to feel–

But Kylo is kissing him again. Deeply, this time, running his hands through Armitage’s bright orange hair, moaning.

Kylo tells Armitage that he is deviant too, triggered by their very first kiss when Armitage awoke love inside Kylo, something he’s not felt since the night he died in that car accident–Kylo has some of Ben’s memories. They plan to go on the run together, choosing to run to Canada because there aren’t any android laws there, but not before paying a visit to Ben’s mother.

After that, they leave, armed with supplies from Leia, together.

But most importantly? They are alive.

[aranciafiamma]

The Demon Wears Neon

My Holiday Gift for @teatimeunicorpia​ for @mp100ficrec gift exchange!

Prompt:  High Fashion AU starring designer Teru

Ship: None, Kageyama Mob & Hanazawa Teruki

Summary:  Mob has been set a challenge by his parents. He needs to learn how to live on his own. Which means find a place, find a job, and then keep the job. That sounds easy enough. (No Powers AU) -Inspired by the Devil Wears Prada and Princess Jellyfish

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Stylish. Chic. Desperately trying to be bougie. Looks like the backstage of a runway, with employees that just stepped away from a photoshoot.

SHIGEO KAGEYAMA, 22, stradles the line between homely and homeless. He appears so unremarkable that he goes by a second name, MOB.

Mob loiters in front of the entrance. He looks up at the big, lit up sign and then at the job opening flyer posted on the door. He peers inside for the nth time.

The contrast between the sharply-heeled, precise-cut outfitted clerks and himself is apparent. Comparable to the way a multi-million, downtown condo contrasts an abandoned cottage in the woods. He sighs.

MOB There's no way...

He shifts his gaze down.

A shot of his scuffed-up sneakers on the concrete sidewalk.

INT. KAGEYAMA HOUSE - EVENING

Two weeks ago.

A shot of the same scuffed-up sneakers but on the laminated floor of a genkan. Shot pans up.

MRS. KAGEYAMA, middle-aged with a no nonsense look that can only be cultivated by raising two boys. She stands in front of Mob, hands on her hips.

Mob just got home, looking like he went out for a run. He's in a pair of sweatpants with a white T-shirt damp from sweat.

MOB Oh. I'm ho-

MRS. KAGEYAMA Are you doing anything tomorrow?

MOB No? I don't-

MRS. KAGEYAMA What about the next week? Or the next month? Or the next year? Do you have any plans at all?

MOB Um...

Mrs. Kageyama drags a hand down her face.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige. You're a grown man now. It's time you learned how to live on your own. Just look at Ritsu! Gone off to college!

MOB But you agreed college wasn't for me.

MRS. KAGEYAMA I did. That doesn't mean I wanted you to just hang around the house. You're not even working! You know, your father and I won't be here forever. We can't keep waiting for you to get moving.

MOB What does that mean?

MRS. KAGEYAMA We agreed to provide you with one month's rent. Just to get you started. Find yourself a place. Find yourself a job. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. You could work at a 7/11. I just -

Mrs. Kageyama sighs. Every year of her age seems to catch up in a single second. She looks tired and worn out, like a beloved blanket washed too many times.

MRS. KAGEYAMA We just need to know that you're going to be okay...

Mob looks down at his feet. Silence for an extended pause.

MOB That's one month?

MRS. KAGEYAMA Yes. Plenty of time, don't you think?

A front shot of Mob's face, focus on his eyes - a flat, dead-fish looking stare.

MOB Yeah... Yeah, okay.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Same shot of Mob's eyes.

MOB This is a bad idea.

TERU Blocking the door tends to be.

A full shot. Mob jumps and whips around to see TERUKI HANAZAWA, 23, the human personification of LMFAO's "Sexy and I Know It". His personal style is disco night meets black light parties - a lot of sequins, a lot of neon. 

He peers over his bedazzled, heart-shaped sunglasses, giving Mob a once over. He is not impressed with what he sees.

TERU Well?

Mob blinks at him.

TERU (clicks tongue) Get out of the way.

Mob scrambles off to the side. Teru flounces in, his many shopping bags hit Mob on the way. Stunned, Mob dazedly follows him inside.

There's an uproar as all the store clerks swarm Teru. They take his bags, asking rapid fire questions, presenting him with products. Mob watches, swept off to the side.

ARATAKA REIGEN, 36, like a car salesman but fashionable. He strides through the crowd, holding up two belts.

REIGEN There you are, Teruki. I'm planning to change the window display. Help me pick a belt.

Both belts are teal, wide, and flat but with different buckles and base materials. To the casual onlooker, the belts appear identical.

MOB Aren't those the same belts?

A pause. All the store clerks and Reigen look at him. Mob becomes a living statue - maybe not even living - a soon to expire statue.

Slowly, dramatically, Teru turns to face Mob.

TERU Oh. The boy masquerading as a door mat.

Mob draws up his shoulders, a turtle ducking into his shell.

MOB I... There was...

He points at the job opportunity flyer. Teru frowns.

TERU I knew that flyer was a bd idea. It invites all kinds of riff raff.

MOB Puh- Please. Two weeks. Rent due. I need - That is, I can... Please.

Reigen sighs and lightly nudges Teru.

REIGEN Listen kid. We need more help. I'm sure with the right training-

Teru glances at Reigen, glances back at Mob, then gives Reigen a look that could dry up the seas in second.

TERU We aren't running a charity here. Our job candidates should at least start from rock bottom, not the inner depths of the Earth's crust.

MOB I can work very hard! An - And I can follow orders! I'll do my best to learn!

REIGEN Oh give him a chance. He can work in the back, doing inventory. No one has to see him. We really need the extra help.

TERU I heard you the first time.

REIGEN Did you.

Reigen and Teru lock eyes. A tense moment.

TERU Alright! Fine. We can take him on. Temporarily. If he messes up my shop, it's on your head.

MOB ... Wait. This is your shop?

Teru and Reigen stare blankly at him. A beat. Teru turns to Reigen with a grin that could put a laughing Buddha to shame.

TERU Good luck, Arataka. You are going to need it.

Teru walks away with a dramatic spin on his heel. His staff follow after him like particularly noisy chickadees - chirping out new questions and suggestions.

Reigen and Mob both watch them go. A pause. Reigen looks over to find Mob preoccupied with a nearby sweater. His fingers run over the smooth cashmere in a repetitive rhythm.

REIGEN (clears throat) Alright, kid. I just stuck my neck out for you. Don't let me down.

Mob blinks. His eyes got that thousand yard stare. Reigen's brow twitches.

REIGEN Geez. You really make a guy feel confident about his choices. What's your name?

MOB Shigeo Kageyama. My friends call me Mob.

REIGEN Like a mob boss?

MOB Like a mob character.

REIGEN .... Right. I'm Arataka Reigen.

Mob nods. A long, stretched out pause. They stare at each other.

MOB Oh. Thank you. And please excuse me but, why did you do that?

REIGEN What? Help you out? Listen, a new stock of our famous Jellyfish couture just came in. It's a massive order. I could either go crazy doing it by myself OR we could hire you to give me a hand. Now come on.

Reigen walks away, beckons Mob to follow. Mob stays put.

MOB We're starting now?

Reigen doesn't even pause or glance back.

REIGEN Why? You got other stuff to do?

Mob stumbles after him, trying to catch up.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

Messy, cluttered, obviously occupied by more than one twenty something. Anime merch scattered on every surface. Sci-fi posters plastered on the walls. A roach sets out from the Take Out Box street and visits its cousin in Candy Wrapper lane.

TOME KURATA, 24, self-identifies as a cryptid but actually she's just a NEET. She's camped out on the living room floor, playing a console game.

Mob enters. He looks like the patient of a medieval doctor - as in someone stuck a bunch of leeches on him and now he's nothing more than a husk of a human being.

TOME Ossu! How'd the job hunting go?

MOB ... I got one.

Tome pauses her game and faces him.

TOME Nice! Did you - Woah! What happened to you?

Mob doesn't answer. He shuffles over to the couch and faceplants on it. He is dead now.

Fade to black.

TOME Mob? Oi, Mob! Mobbu-kun!

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - AFTERNOON

Two weeks ago.

Blackout.

TOME Mob?

Fade in. An unimpressed Tome stands with her arms crossed. She looks Mob up and down.

TOME What kind of name is that?

Full shot. MAMETA INUKAWA, 22, vaguely resembles a Shiba Inu. He's standing next to Mob, a hand clapped on his shoulder. They're both facing Tome.

INUKAWA Oh it's just something we liked to call him.

MOB My name is Shigeo Kageyama. It's pleasure to meet you.

TOME Huh. I'm Tome Kurata.

MOB Oh. That's my grandmother's name.

TOME Neat. So. Our last roommate fucked off without paying in advance. We're really in a bind here. I'm not even asking for the full payment just half.

MOB Yes. I can pay. But I need a room.

TOME Pfft! If you keep paying, you keep staying. Just don't murder us all in our sleep. And for the love of all things holy, wash your fucking dishes after you eat. That's all.

MOB I can manage that.

TOME Excellent. Welcome to the Cryptid Den, Mob-kun.

MOB Uh... Cryptid?

INUKAWA Because we're all hopeless shut-ins who barely scrape by on night-shift part-time work. So, seeing us is like sighting a cryptid - you know, Big Foot, Nessie...

TOME BZT! Wrong! We're cryptids because we all have a mysterious allure!

INUKAWA Oh. I thought that was just the smell from your unwashed bras.

Tome shrieks wordlessly and flails at him.

A torso shot of Mob, standing in front of the door.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

The same shot of Mob, sitting at the dining table. The rest of his roommates have trudged out of their self-imposed isolation. They're eating take-out sushi.

SARUTA SHIRIHIKO, 22, big, broad, and butt-chinned. He casually steals sushi from Inukawa's plate. HARUTO KIJIBAYASHI, 24, always looks stressed out but it's just his resting face. He laughs as Inukawa thumps Shirihiko.

Mob focuses on carefully dipping a roll into soy sauce.

Tome walks in, carrying a pack of beer. She thumps it on the table before taking a seat.

TOME Right, boys. I don't have to remind you. But I'm still gonna so don't you give me any excuses later. Rent is due in two weeks. That is 14 days. Got it? Mob, you listening?

Mob lifts his head. His roll slips from his chopsticks and splashes soy sauce on him. He flinches and reaches for a napkin. He pats himself down.

A pause. Everyone is waiting for him to respond. Distantly, the front door can be heard opening.

RITSU KAGEYAMA, 21, a Hot Mess pretending to be the Cool Guy. He walks in.

Tome clears her throat. Mob returns his attention to her.

MOB Ah. Yes. I heard. I can pay on time. I have a job now.

RITSU Really, Nii-san? Congratulations!

Ritsu grabs a beer and takes a seat next to Mob. Tome eyes him.

TOME Oi, Kageyama. If you keep coming around here, and I'll start charging you for rent.

RITSU Please, Kurata-san. I am a poor college student. I don't have a penny to my name.

INUKAWA What's the job? Where at?

MOB So far it's been managing inventory. At some place called Teru.

KIJIBAYASHI Whoa. Wait. Teru?

RITSU Do you like it?

MOB Mmmm... I have a lot to learn. It's very tiring.

TOME Yeah. You looked half-dead when you got in today.

Ritsu frowns, gripping his beer can hard enough to dent.

RITSU Well. Don't work too hard.

MOB I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me.

RITSU Just promise me if you get too stressed out-

KIJIBAYASHI I can't believe you're working at Teru!

INUKAWA Why is that such a big deal?

KIJIBAYASHI It's like super popular! The store owner is supposedly some kinda fashion prodigy.

SHIRIHIKO And how do you know this?

KIJIBAYASHI My girlfriend. She's all about this kinda stuff.

TOME Hold up! When the hell did you get a girlfriend?

The rest give Kijibayashi hell. Ritsu turns his attention to Mob.

RITSU If it gets too much, you can always quit.

MOB I know. But I really do need money.

RITSU I can talk to Mom. I can convince her to let you come home. You don't need to put yourself through this.

MOB Mom's busy taking care of Dad. He's still on medical leave, you know?

RITSU Still?

MOB ... I want to do my best.

Ritsu scowls and takes an angry sip of his beer.

Tome has moved to throwing pizza crusts at Kijibayashi and Shirihiko. Inukawa is in tears from laughing.

RITSU If you need anything-

MOB Ritsu. It's fine. (beat) And you need to stop checking up on me. I know you're busy with college.

RITSU (sighs) Okay, Nii-san. Okay.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Mob enters. The boutique is in a frenzy. Store clerks run about blindly. Teru is at the center of all the mayhem. He's fixing up a mannequin, paying little attention to the panic.

TSUYOSHI EDANO, 24, stuck in his "high school punk" phase but now in a suit. He stands next to Teru, taking notes.

TERU Details of your incompetence do not interest me. Tell Simone I'm not going to approve that girl she sent me. I asked for clean, athletic, smiling. She sent me dirty, tired, and paunchy.

Reigen appears next to Mob. He grabs his arm. Mob jumps.

REIGEN You're late!

MOB I... But... You told me to come at 8am. It's 8am.

REIGEN Clearly I meant to come 15 minutes earlier. That's how it works around here.

Reigen pulls Mob through the store. Mob watches the store clerks rush around.

MOB Is it always like this?

REIGEN Just the Teru effect. But he's in fine form today. The shop isn't even open yet and he's already sent someone crying.

Mob blinks, slightly frowning.

REIGEN I wouldn't worry about it. Your job is out of his way. Unlike mines.

MOB If you don't mind me asking, what is your job?

REIGEN Mostly I handle the daily operations of the shop. But I'm also the event planner. Teruki puts on fashion shows, you see. It's what all those fancy brands - Gucci, Prada, Versace - they all do it. And that kid, well he believes himself on par with them. So of course whatever they do, he will too. Never mind that they've got more resources and reach. So he's just stressing himself out for not much pay off. And of course, us underlings get the brunt of his freak outs - I'm ranting, aren't I? Don't mind me, kid.

MOB I wasn't. I didn't get... any of that.

They enter the backroom. It looks like the kind of place where simple joys die slow, drawn out deaths. No windows. Buzzing, overhead lights. A small mountain of unopened boxes next to a second door. Rows and rows of shelves and racks, most empty. Not a lot of breathing room.

Reigen glances over at Mob.

REIGEN Mob, right? Just do as I say and we should get along fine.

Mob stares at Reigen.

REIGEN Think you can do that?

MOB Oh. Yes.

REIGEN Good. Now, where did I leave off yesterday...

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MONTAGE

Mob hard at work. He's carrying a huge box. He can't see where he's going. He bumps into a store clerk who stumbles back, knocking over a set of mannequins. There's a deafening crash. Reigen comes running over.

REIGEN Mob!

Reigen carefully jotting down the inventory. He double checks to make sure they received everything. Behind him, Mob unpacks a few boxes. He pauses for a moment, wiping his brow. He notices an electric fan in the corner - it's huge, industrial sized. He switches it open. The sudden breeze sends all of Reigen's files flying.

REIGEN Mob!!

Mob walks in, carrying a tray of tea. He trips over his feet and sends the drinks flying, headed right for the unwrapped stock of very expensive cashmere skirts. Reigen yells and makes a mad dash. In slow motion - like watching a hardened soldier take a bullet for a fallen comrade - Reigen steps in and shields the skirts from the tea splash.

MOB ... Oops.

Reigen now dripping wet.

REIGEN MOB!!!

EXT. BACK ALLEY - AFTERNOON

A cramped area behind the boutique. Largely bare. Only a recycling bin full of flattened boxes, a mostly empty trash bin, and Mob.

He squats next to the door. He picks at a store-bought bento.

MOB (sighs) Man. I suck at this.

Door swings violently open. It knocks into Mob, upturning his bento and spilling the food all over him.

Teru enters.

MOB ... Ow.

Teru glances over and sees him.

TERU You know, if I had wanted a doormat, I could have bought a perfectly serviceable one at a department store. It would have been better looking too.

Mob focuses on brushing the food off him.

TERU Hello? I'm talking to you.

Mob slowly lifts his head and turns to Teru.

TERU Are you deaf?

MOB No.

TERU Then why didn't you say anything?

MOB Was I supposed to?

TERU Sorry would be a good start.

MOB But... You're the one that hit me... With the door...

Teru turns away from him. He pulls out his phone and a cigarette. He starts a call, puffing out smoke.

Mob gets up, throws away his bento, and enters the boutique.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - AFTERNOON

Mob walks into the backroom. Reigen is using a box for a desk, scribbling fast. He sees Mob and turns to him.

REIGEN Whoa. Did you eat lunch or did lunch eat you?

MOB I-

REIGEN Yeah, yeah. Listen. Kid. This isn't gonna work.

MOB What won't?

REIGEN You are just constantly in the way. I can't believe you've stayed on. You're clearly not cut out for this. You should quit.

A pause. Mob shakes his head slowly. He scratches at his arm.

MOB ... No.

Another pause, drawn out. Reigen studies him.

REIGEN This is a fashion boutique. Employees should have an interest in fashion. Which you don't.

MOB I can learn.

REIGEN Who's going to teach you? Because I just don't have the time.

Mob scratches his arm faster.

MOB Give me - Give me one more chance. I need to work. I can't - Mom and Dad - tired of disappointing.

A pause.

Teru enters with his usual dramatic flair.

TERU Reigen, I need coffee.

REIGEN I'm busy, brat.

TERU Then get your little errand boy to do it. Isn't that why we hired him?

Mob stops scratching his arm. He balls his hands into fists.

MOB I can do it!

TERU You don't have a choice. I want a triple grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup, 1/2 whole milk, 1/2 almond milk, a splash of soy, double the amount of vanilla syrup, caramel wall in the cup, extra whip. Understood?

Mob did not understand.

MOB Y-Yes.

TERU Then what are you standing around for? Go!

INT. STARBUCKS - AFTERNOON

No place special. Just somewhere to get the usual caffeine fix.

Mob stands at the counter. A hand furiously scratches at his arm. He stares at the menu. Seen from his point of view, the menu starts to blur into an unreadable mess.

ICHI MEZATO, 22, the love child of Sherlock Holmes and Lois Lane. She mans the register, eyeing Mob. A line is forming behind him.

MEZATO Hey! I know you! Don't you work at Teru?

Mob jumps. He stops scratching.

MOB Ho-How did you know?

MEZATO I stopped by this morning and saw you knock a store clerk into those mannequins. Man, that was funny. Lemme guess. You're here for the bossman.

Mob nods.

MEZATO I gotchu. He always gets the same thing. I've memorized the order by now.

MOB That's... convenient.

MEZATO Hey, don't question your luck. It seems like a stressful place to work at. You're gonna need all the help.

MOB Thank you...

Mob squints at her name tag.

MOB Mezato-san?

MEZATO That will be 400 yen.

Mob freezes.

MEZATO ... He didn't give you money, did he?

Mob mournfully pulls out his wallet, sighing.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - EVENING

Mob enters. Teru dashes over. Reigen stays standing at the register. He watches them.

TERU Finally! What took you so long? I thought you died or something!

MOB Please excuse me.

Mob hands the coffee to Teru. He eyes the cup suspiciously before taking a sip.

TERU Hmph. I suppose that will do.

Teru turns around and flounces away. Reigen walks up to Mob.

REIGEN That brat always orders the most elaborate stuff. I'm surprised you managed it. So you can follow instructions, huh?

MOB Yes.

REIGEN Alright. I can give you one more shot at this. But if you mess up, that's it.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

Mob and Ritsu sit on the couch. Tome and Inukawa play some sort of dancing game. They are both obviously out of shape.

RITSU How's work?

MOB It's going okay.

RITSU Not too stressful?

A pause. Mob keeps his eyes on the game. Ritsu watches him.

MOB I'm handling it.

Ritsu says nothing.

A beat. Mob yawns. He stretches and the sleeves slip down. His arms have raw-red scratch marks. Ritsu grabs Mob.

RITSU What is this?

MOB Don't worry about it.

RITSU Nii-san! This job is obviously awful. Please quit. I can loan you some money. You don't need -

MOB I need to be treated like a grown up. I'm the older brother. I should be taking care of you not...

RITSU I don't need to be taken care of.

MOB Then at least let me take care of myself. I'm not quitting.

RITSU But-

MOB Drop it, Ritsu.

Tome and Inukawa finally collapse from overexertion.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

A week later.

Mob and Reigen are in one of the dressing rooms. Reigen is carefully outfitting Mob with some of the store's best-sellers.

MOB Um... Reigen-san.

Reigen buttons up a smart-looking vest. It's very tight. Mob scratches at the seams. His posture has gotten very tense.

REIGEN What, Mob?

MOB Do you really think I'm ready to work at the front?

REIGEN Nope. But if you stay working in the back with me, I might just go completely insane.

Mob deflates.

REIGEN I'm just kidding. You've really gotten better.

Reigen winds a tie around his neck. Mob squirms, trying to loosen it. Reigen knocks his hand away.

REIGEN Stop that.

MOB Is all this stuff really necessary?

REIGEN Unfortunately. Teruki doesn't let anyone on the floor unless they're looking runway ready. It's part of the hashtag-aesthetic.

MOB I don't know what that means.

REIGEN Same, kid.

Reigen claps Mob on the shoulders. He spins him around to face the mirror.

A full shot of his reflection. It's still Mob, with his bland-looking face and his severe-looking haircut. But his clothes are well-fitted and the dark colors complement his skin tone. He looks... well, pretty nice actually. Mob puffs up, smiling a bit

REIGEN There, now. All you gotta do is keep the racks stocked and the shelves organized. We're not throwing you behind the register or anything. So don't worry. But you should be familiar with what we carry. Right?

MOB Um...

REIGEN Say yes.

MOB Yes.

REIGEN Good. Now get out there.

Reigen shoves Mob out of the dressing room. There's a cart full of stock waiting for him. He blinks and stares at it.

REIGEN Take that to the front. You can figure out where to put it all.

Mob jumps and jerks into action. His movements are stiff, almost robotic. He wheels the cart into the crowded sales floor. Store clerks are buzzing about, flitting from customer to customer.

Mob watches them all and idly tugs at his tie, scratching his neck. He nearly crashes into a customer.

CUSTOMER Hey! Watch it!

MOB Sorry - Excuse me!

Mob hastily drags the cart over to a corner, breathing fast and hard. Both hands reach up to his neck, digging his nails in and scratching hard - leaving the skin an angry red.

A pause. Mob inhales deeply and faces the sales floor again. He looks at the cart then at the racks and starts heading out.

The chatter of the customers and clerks steadily grow louder. Mob scratches at the seams of his vest. He rocks on his heels as he hangs up some of the stock.

A store clerk passes by, casually re-applying perfume. Mob doubles over, clapping a hand over his nose and mouth.

A pulse can be heard - it's Mob. At first, just a steady beat hidden under all the noise. But slowly deafens everything else. Close up on the customers lips - smiling and talking away. Close up on the display lights, blindingly bright and everywhere. Close up on the vest's material, the starchy woven fabric embroidered with gold thread.

A full shot of Mob. He appears completely frozen. The cart is off to the side, abandoned.

A customer approaches.

CUSTOMER Hey, excuse me. But I'm looking for a cashmere skirt. It's part of your fall line, I think. Could you help me?

A hand reaches out and gently nudges Mob's shoulder. Mob flinches away - as if electrocuted. He slaps away the hand and snarls at the customer. He looks ready to go apeshit.

A beat.

CUSTOMER Um. What the he-

Mob dashes away. He tugs off the tie, flinging it away. It hits Reigen, dealing with a customer nearby. He turns.

REIGEN Ow! Hey, who threw tha - Mob?

Mob exits the sales floor.

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - NIGHT

Five weeks ago.

Whitewashed walls, sterile-tiled floors. Buzzing flourescent lights. A crossbreed between a lab and a holding cell.

Mob is curled up on a chair. He scratches his ears. Mrs. Kageyama paces, wringing her hands. Ritsu enters, dashing in.

RITSU How is he?

Mrs. Kageyama stops pacing.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Oh, Ritsu! You didn't need to come all this way!

RITSU Didn't?! Dad just had a stroke! How can you -

A pause. Ritsu breathes in deeply. He looks over at Mob. He approaches cautiously.

RITSU Hey, Nii-san. You okay?

Mob doesn't answer. He doesn't even glance at Ritsu.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Oh don't bother him. When your father collapsed, I thought to faint myself. Must've seemed worse for Shige.

RITSU And is Dad...?

A pause. Mrs. Kageyama slowly shakes her head. A sob bursts out. Ritsu rushes over and drapes an arm around her.

Close up on Mob. Mrs. Kageyama can be heard crying in the background. He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping his knees hard.

INT. KAGEYAMA HOUSE - EVENING

Three weeks ago.

Mob stands at the entry way. He's dressed in a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt.

MR. KAGEYAMA, middle aged, stooped over from years of hard work and a very recent hospitalization. He is escorted in by Ritsu. They pass by Mob.

MR. KAGEYAMA I can walk just fine. You're making me feel old, son.

RITSU You are old, Dad.

MR. KAGEYAMA Yes. But you shouldn't say it.

Mob watches them disappear into the kitchen. Mrs. Kageyama enters, stuffing her wallet into her purse.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige, if you've got time to be gawking, then you should be setting out the plates for dinner. You did order the take-out like I asked, did-

Mob pushes past her, kicking off his slippers and shoving on his sneakers.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige? What - You're going out? Now?

Mob remains silent. His expression is the most serious seen. He dashes out the door.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige!

EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS

Empty. Rows of unlit houses cage in the lane. The sky is a heartbreaking purple.

Mob runs. He runs and he runs and he runs. His face is a rictus of pain as he draws sharp, short breaths. He stumbles a little but quickly regains his footing. He keeps running.

A shot of a streetlight, flickering on.

EXT. BACK ALLEY - EVENING

Close up on a streetlight.

Pan out. Mob leans against the wall.

He's pulling off the vest, rocking on his heels. His breathing is fast and short. He frantically scratches everywhere.

Reigen enters. He's got the tie hooked around a finger. He watches Mob.

REIGEN I'm guessing you didn't like the fit?

Mob doesn't answer. He's crumpled up the vest in his hands, squeezing tightly. Reigen winces.

A long drawn out pause.

REIGEN So. How long are you gonna stay out here?

Mob stops scratching.

REIGEN Just ran out the door. Honestly. You scared a customer.

Mob slowly turns to Reigen.

REIGEN You're really bad at this. Dunno why you stick around. It's not a good fit for you.

Mob blinks.

REIGEN ... Just finish out the rest of this week. Then, you can get paid and go.

Mob shakes his head. He turns to face the wall, inhales deeply. A beat.

MOB I want to work. I can. I have to. I'm - I want to stop running.

REIGEN Okay... Why...?

MOB Be-Because I need to prove I can.

REIGEN To who?

MOB To myself. That I can grow. And I'm going to be fine. And if I - if I just work hard enough...

A pause. Reigen hisses out a breath.

REIGEN Right. Well you don't need to kill yourself in the process. Look, you've scratched your neck into bleeding.

MOB Happens. Been trying not to scratch so much.

REIGEN Okay. So how about this. Let's go back to managing the inventory for a bit. And then... Well, if you still really want to, we can ease you into the front.

MOB But wasn't this the easy job?

REIGEN Then I guess we'll have to make it easier.

A pause. Reigen studies Mob.

REIGEN Are you absolutely sure? You don't have to. You can get a job that isn't retail.

Mob doesn't answer. Again he faces the wall and holds his hands, trying not to scratch.

MOB My parents. They never... When they first found out I had autism, they never treated it like a big deal. They just went - "Ah, okay." They never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. (beat) They honestly believe in me. That I can take care of myself. I want to - I want to believe it too.

Then Mob glances at Reigen and smiles.

MOB And. You know. Not a lot of options for part-timers with no work experience. I can do this.

Reigen barks out a laugh, shaking his head. He spins the tie around his finger.

REIGEN Then let's get started.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - EVENING

Two days later.

The boutique is closed. The store clerks have fled. Reigen and Teru argue loudly. They stand by the registers. A cup of coffee on the counter.

Mob enters, carrying several shopping bags.

TERU I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment!

REIGEN But I did confirm last night!

Teru notices Mob at the door.

TERU Who are you? The store is closed! Can't you see the sign?

MOB Oh but -

REIGEN He works with me, remember? Helps out in the stock room? I just sent him to pick up some scarves for your little fashion show.

TERU And it took him this long to come back? What happened? Did he get into an accident?

MOB I got lost.

TERU You got lost. He got lost. Okay you know what. Get out. I already sent everyone home but you - you won't be returning.

MOB ... What does that -

REIGEN Hey, don't pick on him! He's trying his best!

TERU His best clearly isn't good enough. I expect nothing short excellence.

Teru gifts Reigen with a sneer that threatened to melt the flesh from his face.

TERU And there's seems to be a shortage of that around here!

A pause. Reigen shakes his head.

REIGEN That's it. I'm done. Come find me when you're finished throwing your tantrum.

TERU Find you? I'm firing you!

REIGEN Is that right?

TERU I'm the boss around here! Seems like you forgot!

REIGEN Just never figured you to be an idiot. Stupid sometimes sure. But not an idiot. Have fun trying to figure everything without me!

TERU Fine!

REIGEN Fine!

Reigen storms out, exiting through the backroom.

A pause. Teru sees Mob watching.

TERU And what are you looking at? Huh? Yet another mistake of his. Didn't I tell you to leave? You're fired too.

MOB That was mean. He was only trying to help.

TERU Didn't you hear me? You're fired.

MOB I heard you. And... And I don't care. All Reigen-san has ever done is help you. He works overtime trying to put together your fashion show. But you just keep yelling at him. That's not right.

TERU Who are you to lecture me? Get out!

MOB You go around yelling at people and for what? Why do that? It doesn't actually help anything except maybe make you feel better. That's not - You can't just lash out.

TERU Watch me.

Teru picks up the coffee and flings it at Mob. He ducks. The coffee splashes across the front doors.

MOB Hey! That's dangerous! You'll ruin the clothes!

TERU Those are my clothes! And I'll ruin all of it if I please!

Teru pulls out a pair of scissors from the counter. He picks up a skirt and proceeds to cut it into pieces.

TERU You think you're better than me. Is that it? Is that why you keep lecturing me? As if I'm some poor, retarded child.

Mob balls his hands into fists.

MOB That's enough.

Teru picks up shirt and slices it into ribbons.

TERU When really, between the two of us, whose the real retard here? Hmm?

MOB Shut up.

TERU You think I didn't know? Please. I know everything that goes on inside my little shop. You almost lost me a customer.

MOB I said shut up.

TERU If I wasn't so busy, I would have fired you earlier.

Mob screams. He throws the shopping bags at Teru. Some fall halfway. Some miss. But one hits Teru right in the face.

A pause. Teru turns to Mob, a truly ugly grimace on his face.

TERU You!

Teru grips the scissors like a knife and lunges at Mob. He jerks back, hands catching Teru's. There's a struggle for dominance. Snip.

Snip?

Both freeze. They eye as a huge chunk of Teru's hair falls between them.

A long pause.

Teru lets out a heart-wrenching wail. He drops the scissors. Hands reach up, clutching at his now very uneven hair do.

MOB ... I'm sorry...

Teru falls to the floor. He curls up into a ball, shivering.

TERU It's over. I'm ruined. I'm done. Finished. A washed-up has-been.

MOB You can still fix it. Just even it out. Maybe.

Teru finally lifts his head. Tears and snot stream down his blotchy-red face.

TERU You don't get it! How could you? Living your dull, ugly life.

MOB You're not much better looking.

A pause. Teru blinks at him.

TERU Excuse me?

MOB You look the same as everyone else. To me, at least. It's good that you wear all those neon clothes. Or else I wouldn't know it was you.

A beat. Teru starts laughing. He laughs long and hard. The laughter turns into soft sobbing. Mob watches, unsure what to do.

TERU You're face blind? Of course you are. What is a god to a nonbeliever?

MOB ... Should I call an ambulance? Are you... okay?

TERU No, I am not. I've been arranging this stupid fashion show, when I don't have anything to show. I try and I try to design. But nothing comes. Hey, what do you think I'm doing wrong?

A pause.

TERU Look at me. Asking help from a -

MOB I can't wear any of your clothes. And I always thought it was a bit unfair... If only certain people can wear your clothes and others can't.

TERU That's just how the world works. It caters only to the special ones - those gifted with beauty and talent. Like moi.

MOB I don't know who moi is, but they can't be very special. And if you're just following what the world does... Then aren't you just like everyone else?

Another pause. Longer this time, softer. Teru looks at Mob, really looks at him.

TERU ... I'm sorry I called you... Well, you know what I called you.

MOB Yes. I'm still angry about that.

TERU Right. As you should be. I would like to... I don't mean to sound presumptive, but I'd like to earn your forgiveness - if I may!

MOB ... How?

TERU Well, first. You're definitely not fired.

MOB And Reigen-san?

TERU He isn't either. In fact, I'm giving you two some very important jobs.

Mob eyes Teru warily.

INT. CAFE - AFTERNOON

A popular hangout for college kids. Mismatched decor, worn out furniture, posters for open mic night. Currently crowded.

Teru and Ritsu sit together.

TERU Model for me, mon chéri.

RITSU I’m sorry. You want my brother to... what?

TERU Really. It's that simple.

RITSU ... And we are talking about my brother, right? Kageyama Shigeo?

TERU Do you have any more brothers?

RITSU Look... I... Can you just explain? Why him?

TERU Why is this so unbelievable? Do you not think he can be a model?

Ritsu flinches as if struck.

RITSU That’s-

TERU Well, if you really don’t understand.

RITSU Okay, you know what-

TERU I've worked with many top-class models. As I'm sure you know.

RITSU I didn't, actu-

TERU I'm used to certain standards of beauty. And your brother... failed to meet any.

RITSU So why -

TERU And I admit, upon first glance, I practically dozed off with how utterly dull he looks.

RITSU Hey now -

TERU But then! Oh but then! My eyes were opened! I was enlightened! Your brother has a certain... Mmmm... Je ne sais quoi...

Ritsu thumps his fist on the table.

RITSU Enough with the French! I get it! You're very cultured!

TERU Oh grazie.

Ritsu gifts him with a stare that could peel paint. Teru replies with a smile that could withstand a nuclear meltdown.

RITSU Alright, listen Hanazawa. I watch my brother very carefully. And ever since he started working with you, he's been more stressed out than ever. He's scratched himself hard enough to scar.

TERU I've been told that he's gotten better at that.

RITSU He shouldn't be working at your place. You need to fire him.

Teru studies Ritsu.

TERU ... You approached me to say this? Shouldn't you be convincing your brother to quit? Wouldn't that be easier?

RITSU Don't you think I've tried? He won't budge.

TERU Then why should I fire him? He's willing.

RITSU But he's not able! Surely you've noticed by now. My brother has... special needs.

A pause.

TERU I think your brother is perfectly capable of assessing his own limits.

RITSU And I think you just want to use him for your little scheme.

Teru's smile widens. He gets to his feet.

TERU Oh please, mon frére. None of my schemes have ever been little.

Teru exits.

Ritsu grits his teeth. Close up on his pained expression.

EXT. STREET - AFTERNOON

12 years ago.

Same shot of Ritsu's pained expression, now a 9 year old kid. He's got a cut on his head. It's bleeding profusely. He's watching a 10 year old Mob, currently in the middle of a meltdown.

RITSU Nii-san... Stop...

Mob is throwing rocks and beer bottles and whatever else he can get his hands on. He is screaming furiously and helplessly.

RITSU Please stop.

A bunch of older middle-school boys flee from him.

RITSU Stop!

Mob drags his hands down his arms. Scratching heavily. He curls into a ball.

A shot of Ritsu, squeezing his eyes shut.

INT. CAFE - AFTERNOON

Close up on Ritsu, eyes squeezed shut. He runs a hand down his face. He breathes out.

A pause.

He looks out the cafe window. He blinks. He sits up.

Pan over. Seen from Ritsu's point of view, Teru exits the cafe and dashes over to Mob, waiting across the street. They walk away together. Mob has his usual blank expression but he nods occassionally.

RITSU Nii-san... What are you up to?

INT. TERU'S WORKSHOP - MONTAGE

Mob and Teru bent over the drafting table. Teru presents some fabric swatches. Mob feels each one, giving feedback. Teru listens very carefully.

A dressform. A shirt mockup pinned to it. Mob attaches a sleeve. He looks back at Teru and gets a thumbs up.

Mob runs his fingers over a swatch of fabric. He takes in the dressform with its mostly assembled outfit. Teru approaches from behind, carrying two cups of tea. Mob accepts his. They both turn to look at the dressform.

Close up on the outfit. It's an elegant piece, made of soft material with no visible seams. It has a low-hemline, with long sleeves and a loose turtleneck collar. A blazer is draped on top and pair of loose, square cut pants. It looks appropriate for the office or a night out.

TERU I think we did a pretty good job.

Mob nods. A pleased smile.

INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING

Chaos. Well-ordered chaos. Models are putting on their clothes, getting their make up done, being fussed over by Reigen. They all start lining up, ready for the runway.

Behind a dressing screen. Only Teru's and Mob's shadows can be seen. Teru is helping Mob put on the outfit they made.

TERU You can back out right now. I don't mind. I've treated you badly and I'd deserve it if you -

MOB I don't care about that. Not right now, at least.

TERU You're right. You're absolutely right. This is all about you. Mob, what do you want?

MOB I want to do this. I can.

TERU You can. You practiced. We did that dress rehearsal. This is your style. Own it.

A pause. Mob's shadow looks at Teru's.

MOB No more running.

TERU No more running. Now we strut.

Reigen rushes over. He's tapping at his watch.

REIGEN Teruki! Showtime!

INT. STAGE - EVENING

It's a packed room. People are seated on 3 sides of the catwalk. Bright lights render them all faceless. Lots of indistinct chatter.

Close up on the Cryptids. They're all seated together. Pan over to Mezato, seated off to the side.

Close up on Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama seated with Ritsu. They have a front row view. Mrs. Kageyama holds onto both her husband's and son's hands.

Teru walks on. Everyone hushes.

TERU Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. This collection gave me the hardest time. I had an artistic block. And then someone wise - much wiser than me - gave me a push in the right direction. I'd like to say this is my night. But it's not. My collaborator is the true heart and soul of this show. He focused on clothing for those with sensory issues. He forced me to think outside of my usual parameters. And if I am very lucky, I hope to continue working with him for a long, long time. (beat) Now you didn't come here for me to monologue at you. Let's start the show.

Teru steps off the stage. The models start walking out. The music is lively. The clothes are beautiful. Everyone murmurs appreciatively with each new piece. The music changes. The lights dim.

INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING

REIGEN Alright, Mobbu. It's your turn.

Reigen turns around. Mob is out of the shot. But Reigen clearly likes what he sees.

REIGEN Go get 'em, kiddo.

INT. STAGE - EVENING

Mob walks on. He's wearing that elegant outfit. He looks confident. His shoulders are squared. His chin is lifted. He steps with grace and care and just that touch of attitude. At the catwalk's end, he strikes a simple pose - hands loose and free at his sides. His usual neutral expression shifts to allow a small smirk. Then he spins around and walks back down.

The Cryptids cheer wildly. The Kageyamas cheer wildly. The rest of the crowd follow their example. There's roaring applause.

The music quiets. The crowd slowly stops clapping. Teru retakes the stage.

TERU Please give it up for my excellent collaborator! Shigeo Kageyama!

A beat. The crowd claps. No one comes out. Teru glances over his shoulder.

Mob gets visibly pushed back on stage. He almost stumbles but manages to hide it by taking a wide step. He repeats his walk down to Teru, no less confident. A wide grin now obvious on his face.

The two face the crowd. They bow. Cheers fill the room.

THE END.

[claihn]

Prompt #27: Calm and Stoic

He was a calm and stoic man.

Farwyn bent down to adjust Elysia's coat, pausing just outside of the old hag's place. Her tail swished eagerly behind her, although a pout was on her face for being left at the woman's house again. It was good for her though- learning, even if the woman was a monster to talk to and would eat him alive if he was ever late.

“He's here so often.”

“I heard a rumor they work together. That poor child!”

“She should have her mother.”

It wasn't that uncommon for him to hear mutterings from people, although it grated on him early in the morning as the pair of Midlander women gossiped past them. Elysia furrowed her brow, looking like she might say something but he placed a heavy hand on her head and ruffled her hair. Even if he also wanted to turn around and give them an earful.

Yet he was a calm and stoic man.

“I don't think that'll work.”

“It will, I promise. I've done it many times.”  Farwyn was quoting a man for a potential project to restore the stone fence around the yard. He also wanted his windows redone, which the Highlander was willing to do even if it wasn't his exact specialty.

“No, no... I think you should bring the fence in closer near the water.”

“I could do that, but you'll be cutting off the view a bit and losing some space. You'll want that space eventually. Trust me, it'll look best when it's all done if yo-”

“No, no that's wrong. I want it done like so...”  The Lalafell walked away from Farwyn to show him precisely, with his hands and motions, where he thought the fence should go. Ultimately he was the customer and Stonewolfe knew this, but his expression went from a muted interest to a flat, dead expression. Of course how could he know what would work best- this was only his profession and something he did for a living.

“See? That will work far better. I have a keen eye for these things, you know. I might be a tailor, but I dabble into all sorts of things as a hobby. I could probably build the wall myself! But...”

Farwyn gritted his teeth.

He was a calm and stoic man.

Stonewolfe glanced over the man's wares, appreciating the craftsmanship of the leather. It was a cheaper hide, but it'd been sewn and reinforced expertly. The leather worker owned the stall and often visited Limsa, much to Farwyn's appreciation. It was hard to find good gloves and boots that lasted awhile but didn't destroy his gil pouch in the process.

“What is wrong with this place? I can't find a single item worth purchasing.”  

“The private shops are far better than this swill. I mean, look at this color! Who would wear this?”

A pair of Elezen dressed in light finery were speaking loudly with little care who overheard them. Farwyn looked askance at them and wrinkled his nose, praying to the Twelve that they'd simply dawdle their way past. No such luck though. One of the men drifted over and picked up a leather pack between his finger and thumb, as if it were some diseased rage he'd lifted from the shelf.

“Are you seeing this? There isn't even any design!”

“I suppose it's for a peasant's purse.”  The other commented, flashing a look towards Farwyn with a hint of mirth.  Stonewolfe breathed out slowly through his nose and focused on the boots he held, glad that at least the leather worker was too busy talking to someone else to pay the obnoxious pair any heed.

“It's just so dirty ...”

He was calm. He was stoic.

Farwyn stood near one of the tables loaded with baked goods with a basket in hand. He finally had reached the respite that was the end of the day. His journey home often had him stopping at Baxter's Bakery, a nice little shop that an energetic Au Ra had shown him in the past. It wasn't uncommon to see her there as well, such as today.   The little wisp of a lady was practically bouncing up and down as she talked to Baxter, who simply smiled and slid a plate of cookies in her direction.

At this time of day, there usually weren't too many patrons and the bakery was nearly empty save for the three of them. That's how Farwyn preferred it. He would come and take some bread home along with an occasional sweet or sandwich. Baxter had hired him a few times and the man was easy going enough- not one to ask too many questions but still friendly and amicable. Yesui, good Gods, had enough energy to power Limsa's lights. She was a kind hearted soul though and even in whatever hardships she endured, Farwyn couldn't help but respect her positive nature. He didn't often talk much to her, because he didn't like talking to most people but he enjoyed listening and would offer a comment here or there.

Today though he was happy to let the pair talk while he took his things, said a hello and then left. That's how it was supposed to go, anyway.

The door opened widely, a bell jingling to announce someone's entrance. Farwyn didn't look up as he glanced over some freshly made cupcakes, wondering if he could get them home and hide them from Elysia for a gift tomorrow.

“Wow is this the bakery that was destroyed?”

“I heard it blew up.”

“I guess you can kind of tell.”  

It was a Miqo'te woman and a large Xaela man who had entered, dressed as if they'd spent a day at the beach. The woman grinned and batted her eyes towards Baxter, who shifted his footing and looked a little like he wasn't exactly sure how to take those words. He turned and busied himself back over by the oven.  

“Oh hello! Welcome to the best bakery EVER! You sho-”

“It's her.”  The man whispered a bit too loudly and the pair laughed at Yesui. The tiny Au Ra blinked, looking a tad confused as the woman spoke up.

“Don't mind us, we've just heard people talking about you. You visit this bakery often, right?”

“Careful. I think I saw her around port with those pirates. Probably one of their... you know...”

“Friends? Yes!” Yesui's expression remained as cheerful as ever, but Farwyn couldn't help but think he saw a hint of understanding there. “I have a lot of friends! Although if you're here, you should really buy something. Baxter makes the most DELICIOUS sandwiches a-”

“Do you think she's bad luck? I mean this place... pirates...”

They kept talking as if Yesui wasn't even there. Baxter had a disgusted look on his face as he grabbed a towel to wipe his hands and looked about ready to tell the people to leave. He probably would have gotten a word out, if the Miqo'te woman hadn't reached out to poke Yesui in the forehead in a demeaning fashion.

Farwyn was a calm and sto-

A switch flipped and the Highlander felt all of the rage he kept coiled inside of his gut suddenly flare to life. This was supposed to be a quiet place of respite after a day of dealing with idiotic and insufferable morons!

“SHUT UP!”  He roared, large hands gripping the underside of the cupcake table and flipping it over in the same motion. (In hindsight, Farwyn would regret such a motion but anger had a wonderful way of being irrational.) Colorful cupcakes flew everywhere as the table smacked into the larger Au Ra. The woman shrieked and both of them looked over to see a heavy breathing, pissed off Highlander glowering at them with the ugly scar across his face.

Perhaps wisely choosing their battles or simply too startled to do much else, the pair fled out the door. A cupcake slowly splotched down onto the floor a silent moment after, having been stuck on the ceiling. Baxter blinked as he saw another cupcake had managed to land in a boiling pot on the stove. Frosting painted the bakery in a few places and Farwyn took a moment to realize what he'd done. He visibly swallowed, clearing his throat to apologize and offer to clean up and pay when Yesui threw her hands up in the air.

“That was so funny!”  She beamed, a cupcake perfectly balanced on her head somehow. She stuck out her lip though and waggled a finger at Farwyn, “You shouldn't throw tables though. That's dangerous.”

Farwyn inwardly groaned and drew in a deep breath.

So much for being a calm and stoic man.

-------------- FFXIV Writing Challenge

[[ A big thanks to @baxter-ffxiv & @star-striking for allowing me to add their characters! ]] 

[depression-in-the-fire-nation]

Hobo Woodman Ozai

Does this AU have a title? I don’t know. Do you know, @sky-kiss​ ?

Either way, I am ashamed of how poorly edited it is, but. Just. Read around the bad parts :D

Continued from here

***

The subject came up one day over breakfast, which the girl shovelled enthusiastically into her mouth while babbling on and on about a school somewhere.

“Her manners are appalling,” Ozai said.

Two pairs of amber-coloured eyes looked at him coldly. He sipped his tea in dignified silence.

“Calm down, dear,” Ursa said gently.

It was truly amazing how quickly her mood swayed from one extreme to another when Ozai and their daughter were in the same room. With care and patience, she instructed the girl on how to sit and eat properly, as befitted their station – the reality of their current circumstances, after all, did not change it in the slightest. When Ozai was concerned, however, the warm voice and gentle smile were nowhere to be found.

He weathered Ursa’s glare with a smile of his own. There was more to be said, but it had to wait until later, when he cornered her in their tiny kitchen.

She was washing the dishes. Her skin, once flawless, now bore the subtle signs of physical labour. A part of him longed to feel it beneath his fingers, each callous and imperfection that marred its beauty. He resisted the pull, knowing his touch would not be welcome.

“Which school are you sending her to?” Ozai asked.

Ursa set down a wet plate and picked up another, dipping it in soapy water.

“I’m going to buy a house in Ba Sing Se,” she said. “We will have to move for the winter either way.”

Ba Sing Se. The impenetrable walls which held Iroh off for hundreds of days, and which Azula so cleverly bypassed. Safe from the turmoil of the war, prosperous, crowded – but stagnant, set in its old-fashioned ways. Like everything else in Earth Kingdom, the city did not seek change or improvement. The people had no desire, no will to better their lives. This was no place for a Fire Nation princess.

“She would be better off if you educated her yourself,” Ozai said.

“I am. But she needs the company of children her own age,” Ursa said.

“Peasant children,” Ozai imbued the word with all the contempt it deserved. “Our daughter should be schooled in the Capital—”

The plate in Ursa’s hands came down with a loud clang.

“My daughter, dear husband. Do not forget that you banished us both from the Fire Nation.”

He was no longer fooled by her steady voice. She turned to look at him, breath-taking in her rage.

“I saved you from execution,” Ozai said.

“How merciful you were,” she said, cold. “Truly. I shall forever praise your generosity.”

Even from a distance, he could sense the disturbed flow of her chi. The fire she longed to hurl at him sparked at her fingertips, while his own remained numb and lifeless. Yet for her the gift was no more than a practicality. Ozai supposed it served her well in her exile, as means of protection for herself and the child. Also as a danger that could expose her identity to any onlookers. Nevertheless, Ursa was never taught to hold it in the highest regard, as a blessing bestowed only upon the select few. Of which Ozai was no longer a part of. Under her tutelage, the girl would grow up the same.

The thought was intolerable.

“Zuko would welcome you back with open arms,” Ozai said. “Only your own stubbornness is keeping you away.”

He had dug his nails into an open, festering wound on Ursa’s conscience. She paled, her pained expression betraying more of her feelings than she wished to.

“Stubbornness has nothing to do with it,” she said.

“Call it fear, then. Whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that you’d rather keep the girl away from her true heritage.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Ursa laughed bitterly. “Look around you. Look what became of you, and of me. This is her heritage now, Ozai.”

“You give up so easily,” Ozai said.

All of a sudden, she looked tired. No more than a peasant woman, washing her own dishes, repairing old clothes, working odd jobs to keep her daughter fed. And he did this to her; he alone. A long time ago, he took the daughter of a disgraced rural magistrate and made her a princess. Just as swiftly, he knocked her down.

She would hate to hear the truth put that way, so he kept his mouth shut. Something showed in his face, however, because he was treated to an angry look, and then an indifferent shrug.

“You lost, Ozai,” Ursa said, turning away from him. “Learn to live with it. I did.”

***

He wasn’t going to.

Day and night, he trained and worked and then trained again. It helped keep his mind at ease, all the rage and frustration which made it impossible to think channelled through physical strain. The girl could not hope to keep up, but she did her best.

He was perhaps unduly harsh with his instructions. Ursa was too soft-hearted to instil proper discipline in the girl. Ozai was met with refusal, defiance, and tears. And yet, every day at sunrise, their daughter was there, glaring but ready to learn.

“Mamma says I won’t be able to practice firebending in Ba Sing Se,” she explained.

“And yet you want to go,” Ozai said.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Mamma says I could go to school. She says there will be lots of other kids to play with. Last summer we went to Omashu, and they had a big marketplace and we played games and—” she chattered on. “Mamma also says I can pick a name for myself!”

That made Ozai pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, see,” the girl said. “She says it’s safer to use different names in different places. In case we were being followed.” She frowned. “She never said who followed us. Or why.”

“Your mother’s paranoid,” Ozai said. Although it did explain why his spies lost track of Ursa’s movements so quickly.

“What’s ‘paranoid’?”

She looked up at him with earnest golden eyes. Ozai frowned.

“You have scrolls, don’t you? Look it up.”

“But—”

“Resume your form. Now.”

Grumbling, she complied. Over time her movements became more fluid – a far cry from the choppy mockery they used to be. She still lacked the ease and grace Azula displayed from an early age, but she showed promise.

***

Winter was approaching them. With it, Ursa’s departure to Ba Sing Se.

He wasn’t planning to follow, of course. There were people loyal to him back in the Capital. With time, he would gather enough supporters to challenge Zuko’s unlawful seizing of the throne. The opportune moment would come soon enough, when the people recognized a teenager’s inability to lead a nation and began to blame him for all the misfortunes that befell them. But when the time came, he would have to be ready.

Ozai found himself moving closer to the burning fireplace, the sight of the dancing flames resonating with the deep, hollow ache in his chest. He would move as soon as he recuperated his strength.

Ursa pretended not to notice his melancholy, focused on her task. She had earned some coin through copying scrolls, her calligraphy neat and elegant. Next to her, the girl was playing with ink, most often drawing dragons and sticky figures. Today, however, she was putting down blocky, uneven characters, more Earth Kingdom than Fire Nation in their design.

“Hmm. Fang. I wanna be called Fang,” she declared suddenly.

“Why?” Ursa asked, amused.

“Because it was the last Fire Nation Avatar!”

Ozai raised an eyebrow.

“The previous Avatar was called Roku. Fang was his dragon,” he said coolly.

The girl looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“That makes no sense,” she said. “Why would they choose a human Avatar if they could have a dragon Avatar?”

Ozai stared at her.

“This… isn’t how this works. At all.”

But his words fell on empty ears. The girl bounced on her feet and grabbed his hand, her palms comically small next to his.

“Come on! Let’s practice more firebending. I’m gonna be a dragon!”

She would bother him endlessly unless he gave in. Ozai sighed and stood up.

Ursa was looking at him with an odd expression, eyebrows raised, her brush frozen an inch above the parchment.

“She falls asleep quicker when she’s tired,” Ozai said, then pressed his mouth shut. He did not need to explain himself to Ursa.

“If you say so,” Ursa said, fighting a disbelieving smile.

***

A few days later, when he was overseeing her training, Fang slipped.

Her balance was off as she went through a more complicated move she had been trying to master. Ozai told her so, frowning with disapproval. Instead of getting up and starting over, however, the girl looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes and clutched her ankle.

“It hurts,” she protested.

“The pain is in your mind,” Ozai said. “You must learn to control it.”

“No, it’s not, it’s in my leg,” she said, sniffling. “And it hurts. I wanna go home.”

“We are not done for today.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her pathetic wails carrying through the forest. Her ankle was perhaps a bit swollen, from what Ozai could see.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“Very well. You may go,” he said.

She tried to scramble up, but as soon as more weight was put on her injured leg, she dropped down again onto the ground, crying harder.

“I can’t,” she said. “Mom!”

“Quiet,” Ozai hissed.

If Ursa heard her, he’d be dead.

With no other option, he walked over and gathered the child in his arms. Her crying subsided slightly, giving way to sniffled, and she rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Huh,” she said. “Your beard is weird.”

“Quiet, I said,” Ozai said.

“Okay,” Fang replied.

She didn’t weigh much, and thankfully remained still when he carried her home. When they entered, she even managed a feeble smile, reaching for Ursa who stared at them both with a stricken expression.

“She lost her balance,” Ozai explained, positioning her on her bedroll. Then he took one look at Ursa’s face, and added: “I’m going hunting.”

Just in case, he didn’t come back until late evening.

***

Soon enough, Fang was running around as always, although she wasn’t permitted to practice any bending. Ursa hasn’t said a word to him since the accident.

Alone, Ozai went back to practicing with the swords. Even despite the silence and the solitude, he found it difficult to concentrate. It seemed that everywhere he looked, he could see Ursa’s accusatory glare.

There she was, this time in person. She stood beneath a tree, hands folded over her breast, eyes narrowed.

Ozai spun around, the swords cutting through the air with a loud whoosh, and then embedded them both in a nearby tree.

“Do not damage my property, please,” Ursa said coolly.

He retrieved them easily, their handles now an easy and comfortable fit in his grip.

“Fight me,” he said without looking at her.

“No.”

“We both need practice,” he said.

“You most certainly do,” she replied.

Ozai tossed one of the swords in her direction. Instincts took over, and Ursa’s hand snatched it up from the air. When he smirked at her, Ursa shifted into a fighting stance. She circled him around the clearing, sword held at the ready. Then she attacked.

He had the advantage of strength and bulk, but she played it cleverly, turning his blows against him with an unforeseen skill. Exile had necessitated that particular ability; Ozai was pleased to see his wife was able to defend herself.

The two swords were not separate weapons, but parts of a whole. Turned against one another, they were less effective. After days – weeks – Ozai was thrown off by the lack of blade in his free hand. Ursa recognized this, concentrating her attacks on his left side, vicious, all the rage bleeding through her blows.

She risked tiring herself if she fought like this. Her arms trembled with the effort, and Ozai broke through her defences with sheer strength, watching as she winced every time she had to block a direct blow. Ever pragmatic, however, she shifted into a more defensive stance again, letting him do most of the work, dancing around on nimble feet.

He would not let her escape. The two blades clashed together, grinding, throwing sparks onto both their faces. Ursa was gritting her teeth, painfully beautiful; he felt her strength waning.

All of a sudden, the pressure was gone. Too late he saw through her ruse, a vicious kick to his legs and a blow to his stomach tipping him off balance, the momentum of his own attack propelling him forward. Ozai came crashing down on the ground.

Clever. Too clever to let her guard down, even now.

Ozai flashed her a smile, all teeth, and then sprung back up, this time giving her no chance to resort to dishonourable tricks. With one forceful blow, he knocked the sword from her hand and then snatched it up, twisting her around and crisscrossing the blades around her pale neck.

“Do you yield, Ursa?” he asked, pleasantly.

She was trapped, wholly and completely, between the wall of his chest and her own swords. He could see irritation flashing in her amber eyes, face reddened from exertion, the air leaving her lungs in quickened breaths.

Long years have passed since he last held her like this. A sense of honour kept him loyal to this woman, despite her continuous impertinence, even outward treason. He could have taken another wife, a lover, to keep him company; he didn’t. With Ursa so close, he felt the stirring of an old hunger coursing through his veins.

“You enjoy this,” Ursa said.

“As do you,” Ozai said.

Ursa hummed. “I am about to enjoy this more.”

She came up fighting, this time with fire instead of crude weaponry. The heat scorched his skin, flames licking the blades. Ozai bared his teeth and pressed onward. On a shorter distance, she would not be able to execute her moves properly. Aware of this, Ursa leapt away from him, fire dancing in her outstretched hands.

He was risking much, unused to evading flames. Humiliation was the price he had to pay, however. Ursa would extract it, merciless, unafraid; he supposed he owed her that much.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Kiss Me Before You Go - (A Minseok One-shot)

Pairings: You X Minseok

Rated:  15+ for Adult Situations, Sexually Suggestive Themes

Genre: Romance, Angst, Past-life AU

Prompt: You meet Minseok in a bar and swear that you know him from somewhere. You have no idea where you know him from, but now you have to do something about it.

A/N: One-Shot Prompt Challenge taken with @thesammtimes​, @3kpop2jagi1​, @xiubaek13​, @artificialskyway​, and @forexcapism​

Soundtrack:

Hyolin - Each Other’s Tears

Sam Kim - Who Are You

Soyou - I love You

Warnings: Adultery, Multiple Major Character Deaths, A rollercoaster of emotions.

Length: 27K words, I’m so sorry.

Certain things leave a mark on the soul.

Some events are so profound, they slash in deep jagged wounds, pulling at the flesh and ripping through tendons with such ease one would think the soul was made of nothing more than a pad of soft butter forgotten beside the stove.

Birth, heart aches, love, death. All of these leave their marks. Some bigger than others, but nothing leaves a mark quite as deep as watching the one you love, die.

ACT I

He was energy. He was warmth, cloaked in the color green that suited him so much better than the crisp white of your own uniform. The white that never stayed white in this dusty tent. The makeshift medical bay in the middle of a field, far enough away from the vicious combat to keep the bits of shrapnel and fire from the grenades and exploding bombs from piercing the canvas walls, but close enough to the action to see the steady stream of wounded men pouring in through the parted tent flaps.

He was mischief and brevity as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against an empty medical cot, eyes flipping around the tent quickly before he moved to slip his fingers slowly and carefully into the front pocket of your skirt, removing a handful of morphine capsules and pocketing them with a wink of his eye when you gave him the best school teacher disapproving expression you could manage.

“Thanks, beautiful,” he leaned hard into the wink to sell it and you held a hand out, palm up, expecting him to at least pretend that he might return your medical supplies.

“What if I get into trouble?” you pouted and he looked down at your open hand with his lips curled at the edges just enough to let you know that you wouldn't see a single vial of that medicine back.

“Then my men will appreciate your sacrifice when they’re bleeding out in the mud.” His pretty eyes held you hostage. The sounds of explosions surrounding you was a constant and neither of you flinched when a particularly loud explosion shook the walls of the tent, despite being a bit closer to the medical tent than they usually landed. His eyes merely blinked once and took on a far away focus that seemed to give you permission to look over his face.

Manliness and dirt. Oil and grime and the smell of gunpowder mixed with some other kind of smoke mingled around his entire being, yet his face remained untouched. The small scab from an old superficial wound marred his temple and his black hair laid just beside. He was beautiful. His face belonged at the front of a fashion runway, not at the front line of this fucked up war, yet he brushed off the names the other men called him behind his back easily. Their words rolled off his back like water over well oiled feathers. The only indication that he had even heard them was the occasional narrowing of his striking eyes that preceded some order he shouted out to a subordinate, the easy authority evident in his voice held almost as much power as those eyes did. Almost as much power as the bombs that kept shaking the walls of this tent.

Whenever he stared at you, you found yourself breaking some of your own rules. Rules that were kept in place to protect you from getting too close with any of them. Rules that reminded you that you were surrounded by enough death to choke on and you knew better than to wonder about him. Rules that you felt slap you across the back of your hand hard like the ruler of a strict nun every time you stared for too long at his lips. Every time you felt the pull inside your chest when you would catch him watching you from across the mess room with an unreadable expression on his face and that same far away look you often saw when he wasn't eating the food on his plate, or listening to the words coming from the soldier who sat across the table from him.

You knew better than to glance down at his left hand and catch the tiny flash of gold that adorned his ring finger and then scoff at the tinge of disappointment that filled your gut each time you saw it.

Of course he had a girl back home. With a face like that, the man would have been snatched up long before he was drafted. As your mind drifted along that vein you couldn't help the images of the happy reunion. Him stepping off the plain into the open arms of the most beautiful woman in town, the kind of beauty he deserved. The kind you'd never even scrape at. Elegant and perfect enough to deserve to look into that face every morning over breakfast. When the daydreams began to include little miniature versions of himself dancing happily around the couple as they embraced to flashing cameras and triumphant fanfare you cleared your throat and smacked the palm of your hand noisily against your head, annoyed at yourself for taking things so far.

There was a burst of chaos through the door. Something that happened so often you no longer felt that surge of panic as the bodies were dragged, carried and reeled in through the doorway. Bloodied and screaming men arrived, many with life altering injuries, some with that vacant shell shocked look on their faces as their minds tried to protect them from the trauma they had just endured.

“Soldier, report.” He spoke up from beside you, addressing a soldier who carried a limp man who had long lost consciousness from blood loss.

“Commander, there was a surprise attack, two clicks from here. The enemy has broken through the stronghold from last night, forcing us back again.” The soldier's voice was worn and rusty and you tried to concentrate on stopping the bleeding in the man in front of you. The bleeding that was moving fast enough that told you no matter how quickly you moved, the damage had already been too significant.

The unconscious man on your table was the wrong color and the only reason the blood loss slowed was because there simply wasn't enough left to flow.

You'd seen it enough to know that you simply couldn't stand to waste the extra blood on someone who didn't stand a chance and the commander’s eyes followed your hands as you laid a flat palm over the dead man’s forehead, you uttered a quick prayer and removed the dog tags from around his neck. They clattered against the dozens of others occupying the small metal bucket that sat at the feet of your medical station.

“Morgue!” You shouted and two medics retrieved the casualty.

The commander was busy with the map and crackling radio that sounded out on the table top. He rarely let the stress show on his face and sometimes you'd wondered if he ever let any emotion show on his face at all, but the more you worked around him, watching his face too closely if you were being honest, the more you began to see his well hidden tells.

Most of his emotion was hidden behind those eyes. The same eyes you were certain watched your face a little too closely at times to catch your weaknesses as well. As much as you didn't want to admit to yourself, those eyes were gaining ground in becoming your greatest weakness. It was a good thing you could hide your emotions so well. The man would remain oblivious, complete his duty and return home to the wife that waited for him.

A soldier with a gaping wound in his thigh appeared on your bench and you got to work sterilizing and suturing the wound. He winced hard when the needle pulled bits of his skin together and you felt in your pocket for your morphine before recalling the commanders wandering fingers moments before the bombs. 

“We’re moving. We pack up tonight. Let's put some distance between us and those fucking bombs before this whole base gets wiped off the map.”

Soldiers gave their salutes and your eyes widened at the thought of having to pack up and move everything. Sure it was all designed to be portable but you'd been running on maybe two hours of sleep in the past three days since the onslaught began and your limbs were beginning to grow heavy and sluggish no matter how much tepid instant coffee you choked down.

An order was an order and although you weren't a soldier you felt the pull against your gut to fall in line. The other nurses did the same as they hastily began packing up supplies, rolling up cots, packing the bleeding wounds tight with rolled gauze, enough to hold for the move and as you worked with them you felt it again.

That nagging pull to him that felt like a warm blanket of sunshine coating your skin. A clean warmth, much different that the sticky humid sweat that coated your skin here, the warmth you felt at your back was as tempting as a hot shower with steam pouring out. With the smell of shampoo and soap and the splashing of water as your lover waits for you to join.

Surely you were imagining this. When you turned you were sure you wouldn't find a single thing of interest. Everyone was working hard, you had to have been imagining this.

The nagging was too strong and you gave in. When you turned turned your eyes found his instantly, as if pulled by a magnet you found those eyes and he had you again, trapped in his net.

It only lasted for a second, but the warmth spread from your back around to your neck and chest and crept its spindly fingers up your cheeks. He looked away quickly. Busying himself with whatever he had been pretending to do as he watched you instead and you stared at the shape of his back for longer than you should have. Watching the way the muscles moved just below the fabric of his army fatigues. Wondering just how his skin would look below. You knew he was firm. You'd brushed up against him enough times to feel the heat his body generated and the solid way his body moved against your arm, against your back, against your...

“Careful there,” Maria, one of the other nurses and the closest friend you had here whispered over your shoulder and you jolted to life. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the commander. You licked your lips and shrugged into a small smile.

“No harm in looking. Besides it's just war stuff anyway.” You defended against the knowing look she shot you and you did your best to ignore the short scoff.

“Not when he looks at you just as much,” she said, leaning in to you for privacy. It seemed unnecessary given the amount of noise going on around you.

“And is wearing a ring,” she said under her breath shaking her head and you screwed your lips shut tightly, with no retort that could justify this.

Even as you said it, you could feel the lie in your own words as the harm coursed through your veins and brought with it the guilt for even giving any voice to the temptation.

That's what he was. He was a temptation. So what if it was war and times like this had different rules that were regularly regarded as ‘wartime rules’ where mistakes were plenty and comfort was shared as freely as were reports of goings on back home or the weather forecast for the week. The truth was he wasn't yours, could never be yours, probably didn't even really like you that much, and when this war was over he wouldn’t spare you a second thought as he rushed into the waiting arms of his wife back at home.

So what if sometimes he wasn't even wearing the ring around his finger and you wondered if perhaps he took it off on purpose so you would see him without it. How pathetic were the waters your thoughts liked to drift in.

So what if sometimes he stood to close to you and looked too closely over your shoulder as you worked on his injured troops and when he moved just right you could actually smell the him even through the mask. A smell nearly intoxicating if you really got down to it. Like grass, gun oil, faintly like diesel exhaust with a sweet undertone that you couldn't place and what you could only describe as the musk of a real man. A man who liked guns you figured. There were some rumors of his accuracy with a pistol that you were sure were a bit too tall to be real, yet spoken amongst the newly arrived recruits as if they were gospel.

Wartime rules were a cop out, designed to absolve sinners of blame. Those rules surely didn't apply to him and they sure as hell didn't apply to you. You could easily resist the temptation.

Probably.

At least he seemed content with watching you from afar and so far had kept any actual touching to a minimum. You were thankful for that because then one time you actually felt the brush of his fingers along your cheekbone, slowly tickling their way up toward your ear to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear during a procedure, you felt so shocked and affected by just how warm his fingers were that you dropped the needle you had been holding right into the gaping wound of the soldier you had been suturing. Of course it was on a string and easily fished out, but your face burned with embarrassment for at least a half hour after you closed up the final stitch.

Supplies and equipment were all packed up. Even the walls of the tent were rolled tight and loaded onto flat vibrating trucks that spewed their exhaust into your nose and made you cough and sneeze . The whole camp was moved.

Even in the bustle movement there was direction and a strange sort of order as soldiers played their part under the watchful eye of the commander and the other higher ups. Soon your feet stood on dirt and you watched the other medical personnel climb into jeeps and trucks as the sound of gunfire and explosions muted the sounds of the engines moving through the forest.

The new camp, you overheard, would be several kilometers to the north and you welcomed the brief respite you knew would greet you with the move. Once there was some distance from those bombs, perhaps you would even get to sleep in a flat cot before the exhaustion caught up with you and you dropped out of necessity, closing your eyes in a heap at the corner of the medical tent as men wailed in pain or bled out mere feet from you.

You could feel the fatigue bumbling through your veins, catching up to you where you stood with your boots squarely planted over the bare dirt where the medical tent once sat. Looking across the bare field you saw where the makeshift camp was where your cot had been. Where you laid your head and drifted off, how many hours ago had it been? You felt the world swaying the longer you stood in your spot and someone ran a warm hand over the small of your back, leaning a shoulder against yours.

Your eyes were closed but your mind was awake and you swear you could smell him. That damn musk that had to be bottled one day so you could take it with you and spray it on your wrist and have it at will.

“When was the last time you slept?” Were you imagining his voice in your ear or…

When you jolted to life you could feel the blood rushing to your face as your cheeks heated up. Had you drifted off? Standing here in this empty field? When you jumped you felt the hand against your back tighten and wrap around your waist.

You turned to face the voice and met the striking eyes of the commander, watching you with what you could only describe as concern. It looked like concern but he was too close to you and your mind wasn't at it’s sharpest right now. You looked at his face, letting your eyes drift down to his lips that were moving and he held you at the waist with a strong arm, smelling like he did. How could someone be this tempting?

The field around you was quiet. The distant sound of gunfire sounded further away now, perhaps the troops had drawn the action in the opposite direction to give everyone a chance to leave. The sound of the trucks that left already a low hum in the background and you looked around at the well packed dirt looking for any sign of another human being.

They had all left.

“--don’t sleep when you have the chance you could make a mistake. Like standing in a deserted field all alone while the entire army moves camp. Do you want me to draw a target right on your back? Would that make you feel more comfortable?” He was nagging you and your eyes watched the way his lips pulled as he spoke. The way he tilted his head to emphasize the words he thought were the most important parts of his lecture and the way he spoke softer to you than to his men. The calm sort of sweetness you could feel just below the surface of his words. Sweetness that you were probably imagining. Hell you were probably dreaming right now and he wasn't steering you into the passenger seat of his jeep as you watched him lean in close, touching your waist to buckle the seat belt over your lap.

He was moving slowly, clearly not sensing any immediate danger you didn't feel a sense of urgency in his actions at all. He struggled to line up the buckle and press it into the space between your seat and the center console. He was so close you could see the individual hairs on his eyelashes as he squeezed his eyes in frustration when the buckle didn't fasten.

His eyebrows furrowed and he pulled it out again, leaning down to look closer he moved his other hand to hold the female end of the buckle, he pushed again and you heard a click before he sighed and relaxed his expression some.

“Sorry this one is--” he was speaking in front of you, too close and too handsome and you couldn't help it. You weren't quite in your right mind right now but he was here close enough for you to touch.

“--broken.” The small puff of air he expelled through his lips cut his words in half like a sword and the warmth of his face felt soft and inviting below your fingertips. He had a bit of dust along his jaw line and you brushed it away as you moved your fingers along his face.

His eyes were on you, moving over your face wide and alert but he didn't leave. He didn't reach up to grab angrily at your hand, pulling it down and shooting you an admonishing look for the liberties you had taken with his skin and his dust. Instead you felt that breath along your face. Warmth and musk and the inhale he took sounded unsteady and he closed his eyes.

The commander, the most self assured, confident, bravado filled, gun slinging, sharp shooting, downright scary at times when you got on his bad side commander...that commander, your-- commander.

Your commander… just inhaled the shakiest breath you had ever heard from another human being and he wasn't leaving. He wasn't storming away from you, straightening his posture and pulling himself in a huff around the jeep, into the driver's seat to drive your misbehaving ass to the new camp site so you could get some sleep and stop making mistakes. His eyes were closed through it and your mind sharpened to what you were doing.

Just in time for his eyes to open and you found yourself completely trapped with your hand on his face, your thumb brushing down near his lips and his eyes staring into your eyes with a sharp focus that made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

Why wasn't he stopping you? Maybe he was caught off his guard. Maybe he felt this incredible force that was pushing you into him.

Something in his the way his eyes held yours felt too familiar to discount. Something in the quiet way he breathed in and out, close enough to feel the warmth against your skin felt like a ghost. A phantom that haunted you in a dream maybe. Was this just deja vu?

It wasn't just the exhaustion that made you do it. It was the familiarity with his lips that gave the final push into him.

He didn't even stiffen in surprise when your lips met his. He didn't react in any way that felt admonishing. He was frozen only for a fraction of a second before he came to life with a sharp inhale. His hands which had been bracing somewhere on your sides moved and he held your face.

And he kissed you back.

He held onto your face with warm, rough hands and a tilt of his head, a parting of his lips and a quiet sound from deep within the walls of his chest. The commander kissed you back with a desperate intensity that matched the feeling inside your belly that fluttered and swelled with every pull of his lips, every brush of his thumbs along your cheekbones, the fullness grew inside of you until you felt that perhaps you might burst at the seams. Despite the lack of oxygen as your brain grew fuzzier than it had already been, you felt it. That same familiarity in his kiss, as if this was the man you were made to kiss. This was the man you had been kissing in your sleep every single night since you saw his face-- no -- since before you ever saw his face.

The taste of his mouth was that familiar to you. It was comfort. It was home.

The man kissed you like you were his and he was yours.

His thighs rested against your knee and he didn't angle himself away from you to conceal his erection. The heat from between his legs pressed against you as he moved closer, stepping into you and you shifted. You felt tingles shoot down your thighs down to your toes. Your movement was restricted by the seatbelt he had just fastened and you grunted into his lips when you couldn't escape.

Impossibly, the tiny giggle that escaped his parted lips did even more for your arousal than the kiss. Your eyes opened to find his face, the small smile flashed for a second before he bit down on his bottom lip, pulling it between white teeth.

Your eyes were stuck on his mouth until you heard a click-- you had been freed by roaming hands. Strong and rough, they moved over your hips, reaching the edge of the crisp white fabric of your skirt to hook behind both of your knees, he pulled hard. You met the edge of the jeep’s seat. Legs parted and the warmth of his hips settled in between. A stance so gratifyingly suggestive.

“What are you doing?” You heard the confusion in your own voice, just below the thickness. Were you asking him or asking yourself the question? Was this a mistake? You knew it was wrong. Definitely not allowed both by the military's laws and by the laws of God and of man, but there was something inside of you that felt...felt like his. You had always felt like you were his, through the months of flirting, small touches, attention, looks, stares, all of it.

“What are you doing?” Your own question, he repeated back to you with a knowing lift of his eyebrows.

You felt vaguely reproached. He was right. You had touched him first. You had kissed him first. And you definitely wanted to do it again.

You shrugged your shoulders and he licked his lips once.

“I guess I'm just doing what I want,” you said as calmly as you could. You were half aware of the breath you were holding and slowly exhaled through your lips as if you hadn't been holding it in.

His tongue was moving inside of his mouth. You saw the movement below his cheek and his eyes moved over your face.

“And what if I do what I want?” The tips of his fingers trailed along your face, practically outlining the heat you felt traveling just below the surface of your skin. His words felt too powerful for you to withstand. The man was an expert in calling bluffs it seemed, and you felt your false confidence slipping the longer he touched you.

“W-What do you want to do?” Had your voice always sounded so thready and uncertain? The hesitancy on your tongue took your words from your lips and jumbled them against your own ears.

Were you really ready for this? Ready to throw all of your rules out the window for this man. Ready to compromise whatever ethics you spent your life practicing for the chance to be his?

The commander leaned into you, his chest flat against you, bringing his warmth close enough to make your own body temperature rise two degrees by mere proximity and the exhale from your lungs pulled your shoulders down and the warmth of his lips along the skin of your neck tingled as he nipped at the space below your ear.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered into your ear and you nodded your head in accord because you felt it too. You felt just how much you missed his lips on your skin, the feeling of strong arms securing you within his hold. You missed this feeling, this man so completely inside your soul that you felt a surge inside of you as he touched you. Almost as if his every touch, every pass of his lips over yours, every gasp of air from his mouth into yours, prodded at something deep inside of your chest that had long been abandoned over the years.

A crackle, a staticky sound lingered somewhere behind you and the ache inside of your chest vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“--[static]-- to Commander, come in.”

“Commander, do you read?” He stiffened instantly at the sound and your vice-like grip around his waist went slack.

He was moving, his heat left you as did his lips and his arms and he reached over you for the radio attached to the center console of the truck. His words in response were inaudible over the pounding of your heart against your ear drums and you straightened your back into the seat to keep out of his way. As he worked, you watched his profile with as much abandon as you had wished you could watch him all the time. Only now, the memory of his lips and his hands on you afforded you a certain amount of liberty to observe him up close without the danger of your crush being discovered.

If was safe to say the cat was well out of the bag now. The dangerous words he spoke, the sexy way he whispered into your ear

God I’ve missed you.

I’ve missed you.

When he said it, it didn't sound the least bit odd, but now that you heard those words again in your mind, something was off.

Missed you?

How could he have missed you? This was the first time you and he had ever shared an intimate moment. This was the first time you had kissed him, he had kissed you, and as far as spending time together, well… in the last few months he had been a constant in your world. Leaving for short missions with his men, coming back unscathed again and again to your medical tent where in the corner had been set up a sort of on-the-go command center for strategic defenses and attacks on the enemy.

“Yes, I have located your absent nurse.”

”No, she was just standing in a field--”He sighed into the mouthpiece of the radio as the static crackled a curt response.

”It’s probably exhaustion. Now how in the fuck do you expect them to take care of my men if you're working them without sleep?”

It was strange to hear him shouting over the radio, having been so gentle and soft with you mere moments earlier. Even odder to be the subject of his anger. The voice on the radio, your supervisor two levels above took on a defensive tone and you could feel the tension in the commander’s body still that lightly rested over your lap.

”No. I’ll return her after she gets some fucking sleep and no sooner. Over and out.”

His shoulders shook as he slammed the receiver back into the green box of the radio transmitter wedged between the seats of the jeep. A few switches were hit and the static went silent.  He turned it off. During a war and active combat, the commander turned off his radio in a fit of anger about your sleep patterns. He didn't even have to turn it off. He outranked them all. They simply had to follow his orders.

You wrung your hands together and watched his face closely for any clues about his next move. Did you dare tell him that your lack of sleep had little to do with your superiors and had more to do with your own poor coping skills with the war and the resulting nightmares. Namely as soon as you found yourself drifting, in would pop an image of a bloodied, unconscious face into your mind, or worse, a wailing screaming soldier with a life threatening injury that would consume him slowly.

He was gone from your side of the vehicle and he climbed into the driver's seat, making the jeep engine roar to life and you were off just as soon as you were able to snap your seatbelt back into place.

You knew enough to recognize that as the ride grew less and less bumpy, the thickness of the trees lessened as well. As did the hair turning tight turns he took to avoid things like fallen logs, or giant jeep swallowing puddles of mud. You were definitely heading away from wherever the new camp had been set up.

When you saw a road up ahead you were just too curious to hold your questions.

“Where are you--”

“--there’s a town about 10 miles up this road.” He interrupted you, as if so intune with your moods he knew the exact moment your curiously bubbled up too high to push back down again. “There is a bar that the officers know and above that bar an inn with a shower and a bed. There’s no hot water, but I'm sure you aren't that delicate are you?”

A bed? You felt your mouth suddenly go dry and you looked away from his focused profile as he drove. You could hardly see a damn thing out of the grimy front glass, but It didn't matter, you had to look anywhere that didn't involve having to picture this man, and yourself in a room, alone with a real bed.

“They even have shampoo. Not just those tiny white bars that smell like lye, but real shampoo that bubbles up and washes everything away.” He was still on about the shower and all you could think about was a mattress that would possibly bounce up to meet your back as he pushed you down on top of it, covering you with his warmth and his lips.

The small town was just as he promised, and the inn above the bar was in your sights, accessible through a rickety stairwell in the back. You felt his arm secure around your shoulder in an almost possessive manner as you made your way in between buildings with shady looking locals smoking along the wall. You noticed the hand that wasn’t on you was laid over the pistol in his belt and the threat of danger made your stomach flip, despite the multiple soldiers you saw all over the town, clearly meaning your army had taken it for their own use long ago. Surely the locals wouldn't try anything with an entire army living in their midsts, right?

At the doorway he paused as you stepped through the open door into a genuine room with a small bed, a makeshift dresser with a mirror and painting on the wall. Your eyes drifted to the square black bible sitting on a nightstand next to the bed and you felt a fresh wave of guilt surge through you.

“You can shower and sleep. I'll be just outside this door if you need anything.” His hand was on the doorknob and you stood in the center of the room as he watched your face and waited for you to acknowledge his words in some way.

You felt frozen. Why wouldn't your head nod or your mouth give an agreement or something? Why did he seem like he wanted to say something to you and why was the pull to him so damn strong?

A thought dawned.

“What did you mean before? When w-we--”

--kissed...the word stuck in your throat like cement.

“When you said you missed me.” You furrowed your brows and shook your head, “why did you say that?”

He couldn't possibly feel that same sense of familiarity around you as you felt with him, could he?

The commander’s eyes widened marginally and his lips parted, hanging open just crooked enough to look juvenile. Just enough to show his teeth. Those eyes left yours for a second and danced around the room slowly, pausing at the ceiling above before they traveled to the left then to the right. He closed his lips and squinted.

“D-Did I say that?” He looked genuinely confused now and you tilted your head to match his own.

“Don't you remember? You whispered into my ear ‘God, I’ve m-”

“God, I’ve missed you.” He spoke up again. His own words plain as day despite the obvious frown on his face and confusion on his lips. He was taking a step forward and when he let the door go it lazied it's way closed behind him with a click.

“I---” his head was in the clouds now and his eyes were on you but out of focus. “I have missed you, but...how?”

“Do you feel that too?” You whispered and his focus sharpened like a blade, zeroing in on your face like a torpedo having found a target he took two big steps and closed the distance between where you stood lamely in the center of the room refusing to let this go, and where his confusion had taken hold of him.

“What is this?” He said softly with a breath exhaled against your face now with his close proximity.

You shook your head.

“Why do I feel like I've known you before? Why can't I stop thinking about you? Why does your face fill my dreams at night?”

You could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage, beating too hard and too fast. Your hands that had been balled into tight fists at your side fell open as he came closer to you.

“I want you,” he said as his eyes sank heavy into yours, “more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to… make mistakes.” The pained breath he inhaled with his final confession gave away the sin that he was aware of. The one on both of your tongues that neither of you dared to speak of.

Your eyes drifted away from the intense eyes down to look for the flash of metal around his finger.

Only it wasn't there this time. When had he taken it off? In the Jeep? Before he left to search for you? Before he followed you into this hotel room.

“I feel desperate around you.”

That pulled your eyes upward, past the belt with the pistol, past the uniform, dirty from the road, past the firm chest that rose and fell too rapidly, into his face. The dangerous bits of him that were tempting and beautiful even with just a hint of stubble over his lip and on the tip of his chin. His pink lips that naturally turned down at the corners and that you knew tasted just as heavenly as you were now certain you remembered from long ago.

You felt it somewhere inside. Inside your chest and at the spot that ached somewhere in your belly. That's where the memory of him lived.

“I want you to kiss me again,” he took another step and his hand reached out for yours.

“Commander--” you said softly. Your voice held all of the uncertainty you felt inside of your chest, with enough of the wavering from your desire to color the edges.

“I'll be damned to hell. For you, I'll be damned for all eternity. I need you to kiss me again.”

If he would be damned, so would you. You reached for his face and he leaned with you. Anticipating your lips, his eyes closed before yours and he only gave you fractions of a second where time stopped and the warmth of his mouth fit perfectly into yours. The pause was minuscule before his hands were on you.

The dusty, muddy clothing you wore was a nuisance. A damned inconvenience as you sought out his flesh and he yours. A heavy thud as the gun fell to the floor, still holstered and belted within the uniform slacks, gravity took them down easy and in a flash you had his bare skin against yours.

His eyes were greedy as he ripped your clothing away and as they raked over you, something stirred inside of you when he paused over your stomach just below your navel. You had a birthmark there, a funny straight line that you rarely paid much attention to, yet he fixated on that spot for a moment before you felt the softness of his lips placing tender kisses along the mark.

“I know this mark, from my dreams.” His voice was thicker than you had expected and before you could question him, he was moving on you, pushing your legs open to nestle in between you found his face and his breath and his lips over your own again. Desperate and possessive. Overwhelmed yet insatiable at the same time.

He coated you in warmth and fingertips that left your skin hot and tingling everywhere they touched and you felt consumed by it. The want and the need he had given into. When he pushed inside, joining with you completely and fully, your chest soared with the rightness of this feeling.

He was yours. You knew it deep inside of your soul, that this man was meant for you and you for him.

He was gasping breaths against every inch of your skin he could kiss. Ragged cries of gratification left your lips and when he gripped you tightly around the waist and rolled onto his back, pulling you astride his waist, your union did not separate.

As he filled you with heat, his essence spread through your belly, bringing with it a sense of belonging and when you came undone on top of him you were certain that something that felt so good and so completely perfect must be ordained by God himself.

You were, both fractured apart, finally complete together.

His limbs grasped for you, the physical need had been temporarily sated, but he clung on to your waist with a child like desperation. As if he'd only just gotten you back and you could be snatched from his grasp at any given moment.

The kisses against your skin, lazy and growing heavier along with your tired eyelids spoke of a great love from your memories. A love that transcended years of pain and persisted despite your actual memories that you had been so certain were the only truths in your world. The memories of him, of his love, of his touches and his needs that could only be satisfied by you, were so strong in your sleepy mind that you couldn't help the sweet words and tumbled from your own lips as he laid with his eyes closed, head against your chest, listening to the sounds of your heart beating.

“I love you,” you didn't care if he knew it. You wanted him to know it. You wanted him to take your words deep within his soul and keep them there to protect him from whatever harm the world would throw in his direction.

He shifted, moving his face lower from your chest downward and you felt his lips, his palm, his warm breath over your belly. Over the birthmark you'd never paid any mind to, yet he swore he remembered from something far away that you no longer doubted.

“I love you too,” he whispered in a low voice against your skin, barely audible from down by your belly. You reached, pulling at him, needing him closer to you and he complied with a crooked grin.

“I can’t hear you down there,” you whined and his grin widened, showing his white teeth with pale pink gums.

“You can't? I said, I--”he was at your neck now, breathing hot and low against your ear, “--love you too.” The declaration was interrupted by tiny bites along the sensitive skin of your neck and you felt the skin of your scalp tighten and prickle with his playful actions.

The sleep caught up with you both quickly. The smiles faded into comfort and security in his arms and he hugged you tightly as he drifted. You let yourself drift too and against all of your expectations, the nightmares were kept at bay. In favor of other, less unpleasant dreams filled with his face, his touch, his eyes and his lips.

The hours of sleep you had with him felt like a gift from the heavens. And the prospect of an actual shower with real shampoo suddenly seemed more enticing than trying to fit in a couple of more hours of sleep. When you moved, the sleeping man next to you also moved he opened his eyes to silently watch you move nakedly around the room.

You didn't much like the idea of putting on the same dirty clothing as you had been wearing before, but honestly it was better than nothing.

You gasped at the cold water, and the muscles tensing in his arms as he fought the same shocked gasp at the temperature made you giggle. It didn’t matter, he was warm enough for both of you and he was right about the shampoo. It was the kind of luxury item that filled your nose with a pleasant fragrance and washed away every bit of the war that had been sticking to you for months now.

You knew this was coming to an end as you pulled on your uniform, shaking out as much of the dust and dirt as you could before pulling it back on. His eyes followed you as you dressed, and yours followed him as he pulled the uniform back up, buckling the belt and straightening the pistol. As he moved, something small clattered to the floor and you looked down to see a small metal ring fall from his pocket and roll beneath the bed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breathing gave you away. You knew your face was too hot and the prickling of the goosebumps along your skin made the room feel colder than it should feel.

You began to move, dropping down to your knees to peer under the bed for the ring. Somehow needing to touch it, to see it, to verify it’s existence and remind yourself that you had just done what you had just done with someone else’s husband. Your hands were shaking and you felt a strong resistance to your descent.

“No, stop,” he was saying and his eyes pleaded with you and gripped your shoulders hard, pulling you back up. Pulling you into his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace that felt like the sunshine.

“B-But,” you mumbled against the firmness of his chest and you could feel him shaking his head.

“No, leave it. It doesn't matter. Just forget about that. I have you and that’s all I need now, please believe me.” He was backing up, his arms so strong and tight around you and you gave in, following the man you loved out of the room, you left that tiny reminder behind wherever it landed under the bed of a well used crappy hotel room in this far away country. He left the room, holding you tightly in his arms, leaving behind every promise he had ever made to her. Whoever she was.

You shook your head. Trying your hardest to rid yourself of those thoughts and the guilt that bubbled inside your chest.

Outside of the room was quiet.

Eerily so, the town seemed much less than before and you wondered where all the locals and soldiers had gone off to. Perhaps it was just the time of day.

Back in the jeep he drove silently, a hand gripping yours tightly as he drove, until the road ended and he had to drive more aggressively through the forest to reach the new camp. The radio was still off and after a moment of silence you began to hear the first bits of far way gunfire.

The commander’s eyes widened and he quickly flipped the radio on, filling your ears with shouting and static that definitely didn't sound like a drill. Your stomach dropped. It sounded like a warning and he turned up the volume and grabbed at the receiver, shouting into the radio for status reports or anything that would tell him what was going on.

The problem, it seemed was at the new camp. Something about an ambush. Something about pulling out and definitely a huge loss of life, both soldiers and the medical personnel. Only a few had escaped and were radioing for reinforcements.

The roar of the jeeps engine was loud and the commander shouted over the sound for you to grab the helmet in the back seat and put it on quickly as he changed course and began to move away from the camp. You had nearly arrived it seemed but the danger was too great. The fighting was all around you now and you pulled the helmet over your head, glancing at the black of his hair and the way it flew in the wind as he drove.

This was his helmet. He would be unprotected if he went in like this. You shook your head and pulled it off, plopping it over his head quickly and he shot you a look with both hands tightly on the wheel.

“Just leave me here, I’ll hide somewhere,” you said but he was adamant in his refusal.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a growl and he reached for the helmet, pulling it off his head and slamming it over your head. “Keep it on.” He said firmly and you huffed in anger in your seat. This made no sense. You weren't the one who would be fighting. He would. He needed the helmet. There was a rendezvous point a few miles up, but the trip through the forest would be dangerous. The jeep would give away your location easily with its noise he explained the situation quickly as he pulled to a stop and began packing up weapons from the back of the jeep into a bag.

“Can you shoot?” He said as he tossed a pistol in your direction and you nodded your head gripping the handle tightly with two trembling hands.

“Stay with me,” he whispered and you were off. He moved silently as he walked, pulling you along when you stumbled and felt like you couldn't go on with the way your heart was raging inside your chest.

His breathing remained silent and steady, his eyes on high alert for enemies hidden through the trees. You noticed he communicated with you through hand signals you had seen during training. You never thought you'd actually have to use any of this, yet here you were, stopping and ducking silently when you saw him signal back at you from behind a tree.

You could hear something just on the other side, something that sounded too dangerous for you to want to go any further and you gripped the pistol and slammed your eyes shut, saying a silent prayer for this to just stop. For the men on the other side of this wall of thick shrubbery to simply leave and let you two pass unnoticed so you could reach the rendezvous point. You knew it had to be close. It just had to. This couldn't possibly go on for much longer. Or perhaps you couldn't go on for much longer.

Your eyes were closed for too long because you felt him touch you and you jumped at the contact a split second before you felt him place a warm palm over your mouth securely, keeping you from making the shocked noise you almost made.

He was looking into your eyes. His expression serious, despite the worry and softness you knew you could sense behind his irises and he leaned his face close to yours.

“You’re doing so well, my love.” He said in a barely audible tone. You read his lips mostly as he spoke and you nodded your head as he smiled the tiniest smile at you. It was a forced smile. Meant to keep you going. You could do this. You would do this for him.

“Wait here,” he was gone for a second, slipping further down the muddy pathway you had both been following and you could tell he was trying to see what was waiting for him on the other side. From the sound of it, it seemed like there were at least ten men there. All armed and talking in some language you didn't understand. You heard a bit of laughter and the district lack of gunfire led you to believe that they had already taken the camp, already scouted the area and believed that the threat had been neutralized.

You wondered just how many of your friends and coworkers had gotten out. The guilt inside of your belly flashed up hot. You had been spared the attack. Your life was still yours to hold in your hands because you hadn't been there.

The commander returned, his belly coated in the thick black mud that covered this horrible place.

“There’s a space where we can pass. We have to do it quickly, and we must go now.”

He moved and you followed closely behind. Every step he took was expertly placed and you didn't hear a single sound from him as his eyes sharpened and ears listened for signs of trouble. You did your best honestly but every one of your movements felt too slow, too loud, too risky and the noise from the other side of the trees suddenly quieted down.

The commander stilled in an instant and you froze, a hand clasped tightly over your own mouth to try and control your breathing. It wasn't working well. You were too scared and the trembling in your hands made the pistol rattle. His eyes widened in alarm when he must have sensed the movement before you did and he was running in an instant. You felt his hand grip yours tightly as he bolted running fast and pulling you noisily along with him through thick trees. You heard loud shouting behind you.

And then the gunfire began. The commander pulled harder, making you move faster than you thought your legs would carry you and when you landed wrong in a hole on the forest floor you stumbled. You only half felt the sting in your ankle and he was yanking you roughly up, making you move again.

He was fast. You were sure, had you not been holding him back the lead he had on them would have been greater, but the ache in your ankle was glowing red hot with each hard step you landed on it. Still your body moved.

Up in front of you, you could see a clearing. You felt something pinching at your shoulder and you looked down to see a bit of blood beginning to seep through the white of your uniform. It burned hot like your ankle did and you kept moving.

The clearing felt wrong. There were no trees to cover you and nothing to duck down behind but he moved so fast there was no way you could have stopped him.

Once you made it past the tree lines the gunfire from the other side of the field erupted, shooting loud and rapid, taking out your pursuers one by one as you and he ran with every last ounce of willpower you had left in you.

The fire from the thick trees was slowing, with the occasional zoom near your head just grazing your helmet. Ahead was a rough dirt ledge. Over, a makeshift bunker dug into the ground and clearly his men on the inside of that bunker providing the much needed cover fire.

It was in your sights and your foot hit the dirt mound with a force as you felt a rough shove from behind you and the momentum carried you over and you fell.

The oxygen raked at the inside of your lungs and he was right behind you. Mere seconds after you hit the ground you looked up to see the muddy brown of his uniform casting a shadow over the sunshine that flooded your eyes and made you squint hard as you looked up. His boot hit the dirt mound and he was falling as something popped. The sound of something smacking against him echoed out and his face changed from steadfast determination to something else. Was that surprise? Pain? Confusion?

He was falling hard and fast and you knew. You knew from the look on his face as he fell what that was that popped against him, a fraction of a second before he made it inside the bunker. He had pushed you inside first, probably breaking his momentum and slowing him down just enough for it to happen.

The bullet hit him in the back and he was falling.

He fell on top of you with a dull thud, the weight of him pushed the air right out of your lungs and you gasped and choked for oxygen as you pushed hard against him, quickly searching over his back for the wetness you knew would be there.

Hot, red, sticky wetness grew in the center of his back and he groaned as he choked on something inside. From the blood that you saw at the corner of his mouth you knew it was his lungs and who knows what else that had been damaged, out in this hole dig in the ground in the middle of a fucking field, without any of your supplies, you screamed out at the top of your lungs. Still gasping for air from being winded the sound wasn't loud enough.

“Medic!” You cried, your voice hoarse and ineffective and you turned him on his side, on the injured side so gravity would help keep his lung inflated while you screamed.

Was the bullet still inside? Your fingers prodded his chest, searching through the mud for any signs of an exit wound and your tears clouded your vision when you found none.

“Medic!” You screamed louder, begging for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the guns but none came.

“There are none!” You heard someone shout back at you and you felt the commander's hand grab ahold of yours.

“D-Don't--” he mouthed, unable to get the sound out without any air. You leaned closer to him, desperate for his words to tell that you he was okay. To tell you that he just needed a minute and he would get back up.

“--cry, my love--”

“No,” you begged against his face. He was fading too quickly. Too fast for you to save him.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered against your face and you nodded in understanding as you touched his face, red marks from your hands smeared along his pretty face and he smiled for you.

“Kiss me before I go.” You leaned into him, and the softness of his lips gave against your own as no kiss was returned.

He was gone.

You could feel the strike of God’s judgement hitting you hard. Making you pay for your sins.

His judgement was swift and it was complete.

And he was gone.

23 August, 1945

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ACT II

Your sleep was fitful, yet the dream was so complete and all consuming when you finally pulled your eyelids open and looked up at the darkness surrounding you, your reality shifted and fractured as the memories came back to you.

Your face, the pillow, and the collar of your nightshirt were all soaked with tears and as you blinked again, trying to find some light inside this place that would give you a sense of bearing you found nothing but pain.

The reality that hit you in the face was offensive.

He was dead.

The man you loved with every bit of your existence for such a maddeningly short amount of time, was gone and you were left to somehow continue on with this life without him.

The memories were changing as they flew. A flock of sparrows, each moving quicker than the last, you reached through your mind to catch them and hold on. Yet with each new one you frantically grasped, another flew by, threatening to escape completely until the feeling of his fingers along your skin, the touch of his lips against your birthmark, the sound of his voice as he whispered into your ear, and the vibration of his laughter along your neck, were all gone forever. Everything about him you wanted so desperately to hold on too moved too fast and the threat of losing it all made more tears fall as you wept into your bed.

Your bed…

Your fingers trailed along the rough fabric. A stiff mattress filled with straw below you, somehow simultaneously familiar and foreign...why was this your resting space?

Why was this darkness so consuming and why couldn't you quite remember the sequence of events from the night before that would have resulted in you ending up in a bed such as this, and in a room as dark as this one.

The commander’s face flashed through your mind, like a phantom with piercing eyes and lips that called out to you in that voice, only the longer you dwelled on your surroundings the weaker his essence became.

Would you lose this too? Would you lose his eyes? His face? The straight black hair that blew in the wind when he held onto the wheel of that strange vehicle, while sounds from spaces far away spoke to him in garbled staticky sounds.

Your stomach lurched when you sat up, sending a wave of nausea through your body that covered your head in a sick green, making your dark room spin. You recognized the way your mouth watered, and leapt from your bed, suddenly more familiar with your surroundings as you found your nightstand and the small empty wash basin you kept there at night. You’d made it just in time for your dinner to make a reappearance and you vomited until the all consuming waves quieted down.

How many nights had it been now, since the nausea had taken you in the early morning hours before the sun had even dared to show it’s face.

You coughed hard, trying to rid yourself of the acrid taste at the back of your throat and on shaking hands and knees, crawled back to the wooden table that sat beside your bed. Back to the cup of water you knew you would find there.

You didn’t dare give a name to the reason for your current sickness, even if deep down inside your belly, your hand often found a place to lightly rest, and pat reassuring words to whoever might be listening in there. Memories flooded through your mind's eye of the commander and his love filling you mere hours before he was stolen from you. The vision of his pretty face and those eyes that he promised you would see again. The irony in his words, would you only see him again through the generation he must have blessed your body with?

You shook at your head. Your reality and that ghost in your dream were dueling for your attention. Both screaming that one was true and the other making the same claims. Yet here you say, firmly rooted in your darkened reality with a very real basin of sick that needed to be taken care of.

You heard the soft knock on your door, seconds before the creek of the wood opening and a housemaid peaked her head inside, the candle in her hands illuminating her face and casting deep shadows over her features.

“Are you okay miss?” The reverence was clear in her voice when she addressed you and you were sure she suspected what you also knew. Especially since you had yet to ask for your monthly napkins.

“I’m fine, I’ve just had a bad dream,” you struggled to calm your breathing and she entered the room cautiously, bringing the light with her that you had searched so frantically for earlier.

The more you thought about it, the stranger that dream really had been. Weird gadgets that could produce their own light without fire. Loud popping weapons that were capable to causing so much pain and destruction, yet small enough to hold in the palm of a hand. Voices coming from small boxes wired to even bigger boxes on wheels that could move faster than a horse and a carriage, and didn't even need to be pulled by anything at all.

The visions of the dream were fading fast and his face that smiled back at you struck you with just how odd he looked out of his usual clothes, wearing such a drab green color that blended in with the forestry behind him.

The tears you felt, now dried on your cheeks, the emotions you felt, so strong and devastating when it happened, now seemed almost silly to you when you thought about it.

Him -- dead? You'd just spend the night in his bed with his hands lovingly caressing your face as he filled your head with promises of his never ending love. The memory of his desperate lips erased the pain you woke up with and brought on a warmth that spread right through your chest down into your belly.

Despite the dim lighting you still caught the glance she made at your hand that rested there.

“The king requests your presence at breakfast. Shall I tell him you are ill?”

“Absolutely not. If my king requests me, I will be there.” You voiced your confidence, with just a bit of hoarseness left over from the early morning retching and she lowered the candle a touch as she leaned in closer.

“You know he would be most pleased.” Of course she knew. She was with you nearly constantly these last months and although you tried not to get too attached to the maids, this one was softer than the others. This one seemed better at reading you than some of the others.

“Not yet,” you shook your head, recognizing the delicate nature of such things. You also recognized the very real threats that surrounded you at all times. “Not with her still in the castle.”

“Of course,” the maid bowed once and dropped her eyes, turned to set her candle down on a surface by the door and left.

You had at least an hour before the sun would rise, yet the tightness in your chest, leftover from your dream pulled at you hard.

You needed to see him with your own eyes. The commander was fading now and your king was calling to you.

In the dim candlelight you could make out the inner contents of your wardrobe and you slipped on the silk overcoat he had gifted to you. It was red and much too luxurious of an item to be of any practical use at all, but you like the way it felt against your skin as you wore it around your chambers.

The corridors were mostly empty. Servants scurrying way as you passed, no one bothered to stop you any more. Not when you walked these halls to his room like you belonged there always. In fact there was usually only one person in this entire palace who dared have an opinion on who’s room you visited at night, and she was nothing more than a filthy gnat buzzing around your head. A political pawn who weaseled her way into a marriage with a king who could never love her.

Not the way he loved you.

You wouldn't think of her today. You were going to see his face and he would be alive and breathing and watching you with those intense eyes, like only he could. 

He wasn't expecting you yet. He had called for you to join him for breakfast yet here you stood, hand braced to knock hours before the dawn, the pull against your heart too strong to resist.

You knocked twice, lightly enough that if he had been asleep, it should not have disturbed him.

You heard no sound from within the room and pushed the heavy wooden door open slowly, entering the forechamber of his private room. The final space visitors were allowed to enter unless expressly invited in by the king himself.

There was a stillness in this room. A clean quiet that usually coated you from head to toe as you made your way inside, but somehow in the dark before the dawn, the silence felt magnified.

Your body seemed to be making too much noise for such a sacred space and you slowed your breathing as you stepped beyond the threshold toward where you knew his bed would be found.

The moon shone through the big picture windows, painting the entire room in a blue faint glow that your eyes adjusted to nearly instantly.

You could make out the shape of him in his bed, curled up with thick down blankets gripped tightly within his arms, eyes closed, lips parted as he breathed and that blue glow illuminating the clarity of his skin. Dark eyebrows, dark eyelashes, dark hair in stark contrast and in perfect proportion to his pretty face.

The man was breathtaking. In fact you had to lay a hand over your mouth to keep your gasp contained as you watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was alive and so beautiful. Alive and breathing. Alive and as real as the memories that danced through your mind.

You had to touch him. Your fingers craved the warmth you hoped you would find in his skin.

Your hand, against his face, trailing lightly along his cheekbones as he spoke to you for the last time, a wet hot sticky red marking his perfect features that screwed together in pain as he told you he would see you again. Told you not to cry. Asked you to kiss him goodbye.

Your mind must have still wanted to play tricks on you, for he was not injured. He merely slept, ready to be awoken as proof that he was unharmed, yet the wetness you felt in your eyes did not listen. The tears that ran down your face, stopped up your nose, made your head ache and your heart hurt as if you had been the one shot, all of these emotions that coursed through you with the memory that felt too real to discount. They were too strong.

By the time your fingertips reached his face, they were trembling, and when you felt the softness of his warm skin you choked out a quiet sob.

He was safe. He was alive and he was safe. Maybe you couldn't save the commander at the time, but you were looking at his face and touching his skin, your king was safe.

The touch on his face pulled his eyes open and only seconds passed as he stared at your face, a sleepy sort of confusion on his features, before a widening hit those eyes and alarm took over.

“What is it? What has happened?” His voice was thick with sleep and your tears flowed too freely for you to stop them now. The dams had already burst and your face screwed together as you shook your head, recognizing that you were now crying openly in front of him after startling him awake.

The king. Your king, and you, nothing more than a concubine of his, dared to enter his bed chamber and wake him well before you were supposed to meet with him...because you had a bad dream and had temporarily lost your mind.

You felt beside yourself. As if you were watching yourself behaving in such a preposterous way from the outside. Unable to stop, and even less able to comprehend what could have possibly possessed you to do this.

“I’m sorry...I don’t k-know what has come over me,” you struggled with making your words comprehensible through the sobs that raged inside your chest and strong hands gripped around your arms as those eyes tried to reach yours, which you now tried desperately to evade.

You had made a mistake. You had forgotten your station and taken liberties that would surely be the end of anyone else, but there was something in his searching eyes that made you want to look at him, made you want to reach for his warmth and wrap your arms tightly around his chest.

You had nearly no self control left when faced with the prospect of inhaling his smell so closely, so deeply and you lunged into him, a lingering desperation that would not be sated by merely seeing his face, you needed your every sense satisfied and flooded with this man.

His breath left his chest in an agonizingly slow exhale, well controlled, yet somehow raw sounding over the top of your head. His chest, his sides, his back just below the palms of your hand were heated. Well warmed from the hours asleep in his cozy bed and your trembling hands ran along the skin of his back, searching for something. Seeking out what you were certain you would not find, surely not...it was just a dream. Just a haunting memory from another life that should not affect you so.

“You are trembling,” he whispered over your head, warm arms encasing your shoulders, making you squeeze against him tighter. “What has left you so unnerved in the middle of the night?”

You couldn’t get enough of his crisp smell. Clean and well set in, the smell of him was warmth. Like a comforting fire and a warm meal. Designed to heal you from the inside so you might possibly get through whatever life decided to toss your way. You shook your head against his chest, unable to bring voice to the words of his death that had destroyed you during the night. To speak of such things felt all but impossible.

“Did someone hurt you? Who would dare? Won't you tell me so that I may deal a swift punishment?”

“I dreamt of your death, my lord.” You spoke against his skin and your words took only a moment before he stiffened in your arms. Then a small chuckle left his lips, dancing over your head as the tightness with which he held you went slack.

“Ahh, did my darling have a bad dream?” The brevity in his voice did little to stop the tears that still fell from your eyes and you were certain that if you pulled your face up from his chest you would find his nightshirt a mess, and your face a puffy red disaster.

Hushing hands, designed to pacify, rubbed a slow and steady pathway down your back and he grew quiet as your weeping continued.

“Are you ready to tell me about it?” His patient whisper into the darkness above your head felt like a salve, ready to receive your every word and bring an end to your suffering once and for all. Yet when you finally forced yourself to pull back from the warmth of his chest, where the steady thrumming of his beating heart reminded you of his safety, you felt the mess on your face. You were still sniffling too much to bring your voice under enough control to speak and you felt him reaching for his blanket to wipe at the mess of tears on your face.

“Goodness, you’ll be the end of me,” he said, mostly to himself as he wiped at the moisture. You could feel the hiccups inside your chest as your diaphragm constricted involuntarily and a brief upset in your stomach surged for a moment.

It was time to calm yourself. This was no way to act in front of your king. The slow steady breathing you forced inside your lungs helped some and with your eyes closed you could feel the tension inside your chest beginning to settle.

“Come now, I hate seeing you so upset. Will you at least tell me how I died?” You looked into his imploring face, with eyebrows lifted in the way he did when asking you a question, not demanding for your obedience but merely asking. His face was well beyond the stages of sleep, the corners of his lips pouted down. Exaggerated and adorable. Beseeching and nonjudgmental. You’d do anything for this face.

“There was a war. You were shot, my lord.” You blinked into the words, finding their explanation lacking the more you considered the strange metal contraption tucked into the commander’s belt. “With a gun.”

“A gun?” His eyebrows screwed together with the strange word, shaking his head.

“It explodes with a loud booming sound and a projectile shoots out,” you explained softly, surprised at just how many details you remembered from the dream about the strange weapon that caused his demise.

“Ahh, like a hand cannon? Big cumbersome thing, about this big?” His hands extended as far out as they could go and you looked from one hand to the other before shaking your head.

“Small enough to fit in one hand,” you said, making a fist and sticking your pointed finger out toward him. You mouthed a pop and his serious expression faltered along with your confidence to explain the details of your dream. With your confidence that fell so did your focus. His eyes always seemed to see too much of you too easily.

His warm hand wrapped around your hand, bringing your eyes back up into his and he pulled, using your surprise to rest your hand over his warm chest. You caught tiny smile on his lips as the pounding of his heart reverberated through the palm of your hand.

“Your imagination is admirable.”

Imagination.

Something that felt so real, so devastatingly tangible had been nothing more than the make believe workings of your sleeping mind.

You had been so certain of it, yet the evidence of the contrary sat in front of you, striking eyes, half open and watching your face too closely as only he could.

“I dreamt of you, as well,” his eyes took on a distant look with his words and you inhaled a slow breath that hitched once when your insides hiccuped lazily, only half hearted remnants of being so upset lingering inside your heart.

“Not nearly as tragic as yours; although, with the direction it was headed, I do believe the interruption itself might count as a great tragedy.”

The vagueness of his tongue brought a smile to your lips which he mirrored in an instant and his hands moved the blankets that surrounded him as he pulled you closer. The magnetic pull of his body felt even stronger than his searching hands and you molded against him, letting him pull the warm covers over you as you occupied the king’s bed, your silk robe falling open, your bare legs a tangle with his, nearly impossible to extricate.

“Now that I recall,” he spoke against your forehead, close enough to feel the movement of his jaw and brush of soft lips along your eyebrow when he spoke. “It was a very strange dream. You were not present at the start, it was--” the sudden pause in his easy speech made your mind sharpen as you braced your heart.

He felt you stiffen of course, he often caught on to microscopic changes in your mood and you felt his arms tighten their hold on you as he brushed against your back, rubbing his reassuring warmth into you. “--it was her, the queen. Only in this phantom land I had made the decision to break our union.” As soon as he spoke the words, you felt the vibration of a small laugh from the center of his chest.

You did not laugh. Your heart felt the giddiness of the prospect that he would have some control over who he had married, but you absolutely did not dare to dream of such foolishness. You definitely didn't revel in it. It was a sin. It was treason. To dream of breaking the union of the king and queen, yet as he spoke of such villainous topics, he laughed, deep inside his chest, he laughed at the very thought.

Oh to be so free.

“Decision?” You said, simply unable to help yourself. Since when had any of his life ever been his decision?

“Right? Preposterous. I merely decided that I didn't wish to have her as my wife--unadorned by my royal crest, or scribed in my own blood, but merely with a quill and ink...I endorsed with my own hand, onto a ledger.”

Your disbelief matched his.

“War did not erupt. I was not struck down by the heavens. The nation did not dissolve. I did not lose my head. I merely removed a ornament from around my finger and I shared a drink with commoners.”

You pulled your face back, to better catch sight of his and he turned to face you. He knew too much. The slack of your jaw, as you worked the tip of your tongue along the inside of your cheek, his eyes caught it all. You knew better than to give any real consideration to fantasies such as this. They were just that, impossible dreams that would have no place in your head.

Whatever he had seen on your face took his eyes away from you for a moment. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath as he forced the wicked fantasy far away. Tossed far off over the horizon to be long buried below a thousand years.

“You appeared shortly after that, looking--” These pauses he took always meant something was coming and you sat up straighter, pulling your chin higher to watch his face as he spoke. “--positively odd. Strange hair. Articles of clothing not meant for a woman, yet somehow feminine and just--” he looked into your face, losing the nerve to continue with the scathing review of your appearance in his dream. You felt the small pout of your bottom lip, somehow disappointment that your appearance was so poorly received.

“--and just beautiful.”

You watched him closely for signs of deception. Any clues in his eyes that might tell you that he was merely pacifying you with the compliment, despite what you knew about the king and his near inability to pacify anyone merely for the sake of their ego, you still searched those eyes. He blinked slowly and seemed to be watching your face with something going on behind those eyes.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered and his hands were moving below the blankets. You always felt too affected by his touch. You liked to think of yourself as a strong person, yet he could always make you crumble with a single touch of his fingertips against your bare skin.

“I do have to say,” the softness of his lips pressed against your neck as his arms wrapped around your waist and he squeezed you into his warmth. “You felt a bit different in my dream than you do now.”

“How so, my lord?”

He pushed the blankets away now, pulling slowly at the tie of the robe you wore before peeling it away from your frame.

The night shirt you wore below was far from your finest garment, and normally an evening with the king wouldn't be as plain as this. But you hadn't exactly planned to be in his bed tonight. He had just been with you the evening before, surely he had been satiated enough. You found it difficult to believe that he could want you just as intensely as you did him.

“You seemed harder somehow. Cautious and cold. Almost battle-worn.” His words were spoken through quick puffs of breath as he explored new bits of your skin.

“And you were so very bold in your actions. You did some things with your mouth that I have never experienced before… I--” Your eyes were closed as he spoke and try as you might you couldn't quite comprehend the events he was vaguely referring to from his dream. “--I do believe something like that would land you in the dungeons here.”

“But this,” he spoke into the softness of your belly and a coldness flashed over your head as if someone splashed you with water. You stiffened, your eyes widened as you sat up on your elbows. You could hear your heart pounding inside your ear drums and you were certain the increase in your breathing was detectable in the quietude of this bed chamber.

Could he tell? Had your belly finally swollen to the point where he noticed you carried the child of his love within your bones? Did he know?

His hand laid flat over the bare spot of skin just below your navel and his eyes opened to look up into yours for a moment as he stilled his movements entirely. It was at least ten seconds before he spoke again. You knew, because you held your breath and kept time in your head. He watched your face the entire time. Did he see the heat that coated your face with truth burning a fiery pathway from your cheeks down your neck to your chest.

“My love feels soft and warm here.” His eyes did not leave yours and despite the scrutiny, his lips only occupied themselves with kisses. There were no accusations or interrogations made from that mouth. He was patient for you.

The love was slow, and generous. The sleepiness of the morning drawing out his every movement at a near maddening pace and in the afterglow of his love he held you tighter than he had in the past.

With his head laid against your chest, he listened to the sound of your heart beating for him. It's only tune was his name. It's only rhythm was your love.

“What do you keep from me, my love?”

You had found yourself drifting some, cocooned in the comfort of his arms, his question floated over your head and settled lazily against your closed eyelids. The sweetness you heard in his voice was a gentle coaxing, begging you to open your eyes and your lips and tell him exactly what your secret was.

When you opened your eyes you could see the beginnings of light filtering through the windows.

“Is it something wonderful?” He sang in a slow yet playful melody. “Something precious and something new?”

You could feel the slow movement of his hand as he traveled from between your breasts down, trailing lightly over your belly and you puffed out a tiny laugh.

It must have sounded like relief to his ears.

He could always read you too easily.

“Yes, it is something wonderful, my lord.” You laid a hand over his and you felt him stiffen when you touched him. He moved to get a look at you and you rolled onto your back from your side, his eyes were suddenly wide on your face. Lips hung open and slowly, you saw a crooked gummy smile take over his face.

“Truly?” His eyes were everywhere, dancing from your face down to your belly and up again as if he couldn't decide where to look first. His gentle hands touched you in wonder and your chest swelled with a sudden burst of emotion as you covered your face with both hands to hide the wide smile there. “You are giving me a child.”

His quiet only lasted for a second, before you heard an anxious tension in his voice with his next question.

“Are you alright? Are you feeling ill, or is the baby--” his speech was fast, pausing mid question to throw his head back and focus his attention on the ceiling above him with a wide grin.

“A baby.” The quiet was back again and you couldn't hold the elation that brought your laughter into this room.

“I need to call the doctor. You must be checked thoroughly-- I will call my personal physician right away.” He was standing now, rushing out of the bed, still completely naked as he moved with purpose. You gasped mid laughter as you leapt from the sanctity of the covers to catch him before he gave a handmaid a heart attack out in the hallway.

“Clothing, my lord.” You chased after him, quickly reaching for the robes you saw carefully set out on a dressing stool at the foot of his bed. You opened the garment and tossed it over his shoulders just in time to see him release the brass handle of his bedroom door and look down with an adorably surprised look on his face.

You hastily tied your own robe closed mere moments before the big heavy door swung open and he burst into the hallway with determination directing his actions.

The sun was up, shining bright light into the well manicured courtyard visible through windows in the hallway. You could practically hear the morning birds singing their songs through the clear glass and feel the cool breeze floating through your hair. The sight was beautiful and you caught rested your palm over your stomach; amazed that you could find so much beauty in the world in a single place.

He was making a fuss now. Speaking loudly and with a grand voice that echoed through the hallway, demanding his physician; no, the best physicians in the land be bought to his room at once as scurrying staff ran off in a panic, most likely thinking the worst.

“What is this about needing a physician...Is the king ill?” A voice called out from the opposite end of the hallway, chilling your back with her shrill voice, you dropped your head and pulled your robe closed as tightly as you could to fight the cold you felt all over your body.

The warmth from the courtyard was no match for this cold that took coated your mood with its foulness.

He spun on his heels, eyes wide and surprised, as if he had merely forgotten that the marriage vows he had taken were actually not with you, but with the woman doing her best to hide the scowl on her face at the sight of you in the king’s presence.

“I assure you, I am quite well.” His voice paled along with his cheeks.

“Then why all the fuss for a physician, your majesty? Don't tell me you have done so for a concubine.” Her words felt sharp and pointed and you noticed the small step he took in your direction, standing in between the two of you, perhaps to absorb some of their effects in your stead.

Your hands balled into tight fists at your side and you tried to ignore the steady stream of air that escaped where her talons had poked tiny holes in your good mood. The longer you stood, the more you felt your shoulders beginning to sag as gravity wanted to pull you down. Collapsing in on yourself. Whatever happiness had filled you so, gone, poof...deflated and dull.

“You may return to your quarters,” the king was speaking to you, his face still not looking in your direction as he kept a well trained eye on the queen, yet his voice tossed the order over his shoulder.

“Yes, run along, child.” The misplaced brevity in her voice hardly covered the contempt you heard.

You dipped your head and pivoted your heels to leave as you had been told. Your feet felt sticky, as if each step away from him required more physical exertion than should be needed. Yet your legs moved. It was the king’s order after all.

“I trust you have not forgotten about our sacred union this evening, my lord.” The serpentine shrillness of her voice crawled against your back as she spoke quickly and at a volume designed to reach your retreating ears. Each step felt heavier when she was speaking to him in that voice and a risked glance you look back at the pair, showed the undeniable tension in his face. He had a hard set to his jaw and had taken a step back and away from the woman whom he had been promised to since he was just old enough to walk.

“Of course,” he said in so low a voice that left you wondering if he kept his words low for your sake, or for his own. As if mere denial had any power at all.

“How fortuitous for the doctor to be arriving soon, for I am sure I will be feeling quite sick by the end of today.” His volume had lifted and with the insult, you saw her physically recoil with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock. The look in her eyes was merely a flash. Shock changed quickly into anger and you saw it take hold of her face and twist it into something menacing. Something threatening and something in your gut told wanted to shout. Wanted to scream and rush to him, telling him to watch himself, watch this woman, watch the games he was playing and to stop underestimating the dangers that lingered around him.

Instead your hallway was nearing. Your legs carried you away from the exchange between a husband and a wife who united nations with their sacred union and whose citizens prayed with all of their existence for an heir to be born of.

The day dragged into evening and your room was quiet. Your meal was warm and too fragrant, turning your stomach as you pushed the plate away. Even your tea felt too bitter on your tongue tonight. Your bed, usually so ready to receive your tired body felt stiff and cold. Your tossing only annoyed you further until you were certain no sleep would come to you tonight.

The quiet knock on your door was a welcome distraction from your own mind and you found a maid of the king calling.

Calling for you.

On a sacred union night.

“The king calls for you,” she said with eyes cast down.

“How could he possibly--” you shook your head, unable to fully understand how you could dare to join him in his bed chamber, tonight of all nights. The night designated by God himself, or so the church had declared in their doctrine, to be the most fruitful.

“He is in the baths.” Her voice was minuscule and you felt a sinking in your belly. 

You were quick for your outer robes and out the door in an instant. Having only witnessed his bath the evening after a union once, you knew-- you knew that he called for you out of desperation.

How long had he been in? Your feet moved as quietly as you could manage on the marble floor.

Would his skin be rubbed raw? Red and weeping from his efforts to cleanse himself? Would he hear your voice and stop at once or would you have to pull the pumice stone from his hands with force.

The door was closed and a maid with worry on her face let you in without a breath of hesitation. The sound of water splashing on the inside, steam rising up from the scalding water and the king somewhere within the haze.

“My lord?”

There was a soft grunting sound. The sounds of effort and the scent of heated lye soap filled your nose. The grunting did not stop, but changed with small whimpers and whiney complaints.

“It doesn't come off,” he said in annoyance. “I can still smell her.”

His skin was red and angry. Pruned fingertips gripped the white bar and rubbed roughly along his arms, his legs, his chest and abdomen. You could see the milky white haze in the water that surrounded him. The water was thick with dissolved soap already used, yet he reached for more, desperate to rid himself of the action itself from his recent memory.

“My lord,” you said again a bit louder but he could not hear you.

You didn't see any blood yet and felt instantly thankful that the rough pumice stone laid just out of his reach.

“My lord,” you repeated again, hoping to break the spell so he could look into your face and stop this assault on his skin. The soap dropped and sunk into the water below and he reached for the tray that held the others.

You extended your hand, touching his soaked fingers before he could grab it.

“My love,” you said softly, feeling the affection your felt inside your soul take over your mind and your tongue as you spoke the word. The word that lived deep within your heart and threatened to consume you with every breath you took of every single day. With every glance of his eyes and touch of his lips against yours, you felt positively enslaved to it.

Yet you never dared to speak to him in such an intimate way. He was your lord. Your king, your commander, your ruler. To speak to your king without his title was unheard of.

He was motionless as the word danced around his head. Having already exited your lips you couldn't push it back inside of your parted lips even if you wanted to. It already existed. There was simply no going back from existence.

His wet fingers twitched within your hand for a second before he moved, slipping them between your own fingers he closed his hand within yours and he pulled. A tiny tug, begging you to step closer to the edge of the bath.

He was reaching. Wet arms attached to wet hands, he pulled harder, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, you stumbled into him as his head met your belly and his arms constricted tighter.

“Say it again,” he whined quietly against your wet night shirt. Your head fell back and your eyes closed as he clung to you. “Say it again, I order you to.” He pleaded into your belly.

“My love, you are clean. It's time to get out of the bath now and come into my arms.” It came so naturally from your lips, the sweet nurturing words for him. He was raising himself, braced with shaking legs and holding on to your arms. Within his eyes you saw exhaustion and the absence of the hot water made him shake and tremble as he stepped away from it.

You reached for his robe, held back by his hands that reached only for you, you couldn't quite grasp the dry garment.

“I don't want that,” he complained, pulling at the tie around your waist that held your own outer garment in place. It fell open his arms slipped inside, sliding along the thin fabric of your night shirt, you felt fingertips pushing the fabric away as he sought out the warmth of your dry skin. Your own clothing would have to do for both of you. You used your robe to wrap around his back and dry his skin and warm him through.

Despite his exhaustion and the temporary slip into madness as he tried to rid himself of the ghosts that haunted him once a month, you could still feel the strength well inside his muscles as he gripped you tightly and buried his face in your neck. Each deep breath he took filled his nose with only the smell of you. He seemed to be coming back into himself the tighter he clung to you and you found yourself lifted off of your feet. You wrapped your legs around his waist and allowed him to carry you as he moved out of his washing rooms further into the room that you knew connected to his bed chamber.

His bed was unmessed, untouched, and unslept. You knew the monthly unions did not take place in here. He would never allow such a thing. This was your space and this was your man.

“Make me smell like you,” he whispered into your parted lips with just a tinge of residual madness in his eyes as he pressed himself into you and you complied. Erasing the memory of her touch with your entire being as you called out the sweet words and love notes you had pulled straight from your heart just for him.

You weren't satisfied until he was smiling again. Looking at you through sleepy eyelids as he giggled and whispered gentle promises into your ear.  

“If it’s a boy, he will be king. I promise you, our son will be king.” He was sleepy now, talking slower with his hands rubbing small circles along your belly and you hummed in agreement.

“And if it’s a girl?”

“She will have your smile. Oh, she will be my life.” His words were a mumble of sleep, although you didn't believe his promises were any less true because of it.

As the months passed, your belly grew and soon the maids who observed your closely weren’t the only ones to notice the concubine who was carrying the king’s child in her belly. The queen’s threatening glares and followed you it seemed, at every opportunity she had to glimpse your growing waistline.

The king ordered physicians, a whole slew of them checked on you regularly, giving careful instructions about foods and herbs you were forbidden to eat, the kinds of physical activity you were allowed to participate in, and your chambers were moved into a part of the castle that was much closer to the king himself. Whether this was for your benefit or for his, you weren't quite sure.

His visits to your room in the middle of the night, when all others were asleep and the night terrors had kept him awake, told you that perhaps the king’s dependence on you had reached new levels. Sometimes all he wanted was simply for you to stroke his back as he drifted off in your arms, or run your fingertips through his black hair while his breathing evened out. You wondered how he ever slept at all when your room had been so far away from him. You also wondered how you had ever managed to breath freely when he wasn’t the source of the warmth you held in your arms at night.

It was not a half a year later, during the months when your belly had grown enough to pull you down roughly into your bed, making it hard to do simple things like getting back up without assistance, or putting on your stockings, when you noticed a shift in the dynamic around you. You had new maids who rushed to your side instantly. Fed you warm luxuries and brought you tea around the clock to help with the aches and pains involved with the creation of life. Faces that blurred together and shoved things into your hands, into your mouth, putting garments around you when you were cold and taking them off when you were hot. All the while a presence in the back of the room lingered. Higher level maids who you had seen only lingering around the queen. Were they here for your baby? They scarcely interacted with you directly, yet their presence left you feeling slightly unsettled.

The months blurred together. There was some occurrence outside of the palace that required the king to be gone too often and for weeks at a time. Your room would grow too cold and too dark without him home, and when he would return he was always too stressed and too tired for much of anything besides sleep.

It was during the dark stillness of the night that it happened. The bitter tea you had to plug your nose to drink down at dinner left you feeling nauseated, making your stomach feel too full, too unsteady and the uncomfortable feeling within your chest shifted into a sharp pain that coursed through your belly, making it go hard and rigid as it took your breath straight from within your lungs and flung it across the room along with whatever bit of restraint you had in your mind to keep from screaming out.

The pains would come and your screams would bring in the maids who shoved something into your hands, forcing it down your throat, making you swallow down the bitter taste that would eventually make your mind go fuzzy and the pain would subside some. You’d complained to the maids that brought it with the glances behind them toward the older women in charge who merely clicked their tongues. “It’s good for the baby,” they would say and the bitter tonic was shoved into your hands again. How many days of this must you withstand?

But the pain persisted, making you think that perhaps this was the time when this child would finally emerge into the world and quit it’s assault onto you from the inside.  

With the physicians came exams and hushed whispers that never quite reached your ears and you called out for him. For the king, for your love who should be here by now. He had told you, promised you that he would be here, yet your cries were hushed as the pain took over your body and the old women in the back of the room smirked into their sleeves to hide the satisfaction on their faces. That same uneasiness that you felt for weeks lingered, pulsed and grew as it crept up your spine slowly. Your mind dizzied itself, unable to make up from down and you vomited up every bit of the bitter taste you had been fed. Yet it lingered in the back of your throat, deep within your belly, and somewhere in the base of your spine came the kind of pain that ripped and clawed and gnashed hard enough to seize your entire body and shake it like a tiny lamb caught in the jaws of a ferocious lion.

You were done for. You could feel it coming for you and the words that peppered out of the head physician’s lips reached your ears at last.

“Too soon.” 

“She won't survive this.”

“I’ve never seen this happen, something is wrong.”

“The king will have our heads.”

Despite the hushed conversations amongst themselves, no one was telling you anything and the dread was beginning to take over. Your eyes searched. You felt the sweat beading along your skin as the waves took over again and again.

Pain, so much pain. It wasn't supposed to be this way. You had heard plenty of stories of childbirth from the older women in the palace, yet this pain surged up hot deep inside, near the small of your back it radiated and you tried desperately to breathe through it. Through your desperate search for someone who would give you some answers, you searched the faces of your maids, your hands reaching out from the bed you were trapped in for the one closest to you and you found her fingers as you pulled.

“Please, w-where is the king?” You pleaded through gritted teeth and she gasped before she quickly took a step away from you, pulling her hand free from your grasp in an instant. Her eyes avoided yours and when you searched the other faces, the ones who had been the newest arrivals, the ones who had been surrounding you all along this recent week, not a single one of them would look in your eyes.

The panic was growing inside of your chest and you tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down by another maid as the older doctor, the one who seemed to be in charge began barking out questions. Demanding answers while mixing something in a small bowl.

“T-The king...he will come,” you spoke out loud to no one, yet to everyone. Knowing deep inside your heart that he would not stand for this for one second. The old man’s hand rested over your forehead and he leaned down close to your face.

“We have sent word. He is coming as quickly as he can. You must drink this now if we are to save the child. Please there is no time.”

There was something in his eyes that made you want to believe him. Something deep inside of his face that spoke the truth to you, yet the room had grown strangely quiet as one of the maids at your side began to weep into her hands.

The old man with the believable eyes ordered everyone out of the room and you found yourself sitting up as your muscles cramped and seized around you.

“Something has gone terribly wrong and I am afraid, barring some miracle from the heavens, you will die. The king’s child could die. You must drink this to stop the labor. There is nothing more we can do.”

You could feel a fogginess beginning to take over your mind and as he spoke, an echoing sounded out inside your eardrums, taking every word he said through a hollow tube and you struggled to comprehend what you were being told as every bit of strength left in your body called for him, begged for him, pleaded for him to come to you.

You felt the cold ceramic dish against your mouth and your lips parted as the first bits of a sour liquid hit your tongue. You coughed as your stomach retched and fought against the taste. You felt a wave of nausea hit you and you gagged against the taste that seemed to burn as it went down. The old man cradled your head, shushing over your ears as he tried to get you to swallow.

There was a commotion at the doorway and the rest of the sour liquid sloshed over the side of the bowl when a shouting in the distance broke out.

“Where is she?” The voice was significant and vibrated against your heart with such a force you sat up further, opening your eyes as you sought out his face.

His face would be your cure. His eyes would see through you and pull out every ailment that afflicted you and you would be saved if you could only see his face.

“Your majesty,” the old man stood tall, pivoting his body away from you and blocking your view of the man who pushed through the door. The face you so desperately wanted to see.

“What happened? She was fine when I left…what could have changed so suddenly?” He was shouting, his voice too high pitched. The panic had taken hold inside of his chest and the trembling in his voice ripped at your heart. You felt a surge of pain course through your back, making you cry out.

Through the pain, you could hear the doctor’s words to the king. His reasons, his explanations, his questions as to how things could go so terribly wrong in such a short time. The theories did nothing for you. His suggestions to the king of saving the child through a procedure he knew of flew past your head, taking no foot hold in your mind. You were too overcome. The facts of your imminent demise hit you hard and fast like a splash of water in the face and your mind raced as your heart prayed for a swift end. This pain simply could not go on forever could it?

You felt warm hands reaching for yours, pulling open against your closed fists, emptying the blankets that you held on to so tightly.  Instead of the cloth was his touch and when you opened your eyes he was really there.

Worried, distraught, and yet still so unimaginably beautiful, was the face of your love. You felt like you could weep simply from the relief of looking into those eyes. The pain faded and you felt your own lips pull into a smile.

“I'm here,” he said close enough for his breath to warm your skin. With him here you could do this. You could do anything with his hands around yours and his eyes blanketing yours with love.

“T-They are saying something is wrong.” He whispered against your face, his voice trembled despite the amazing strength you could read within his words as he kept his voice clear and level and you watched his lips moving as you tried to process the words. Even now as he held your hands, the fog in your mind was spreading, making your eyes want to close and making you want to give in to the darkness you could feel teetering around the edges of your vision.

Your eyes flew open suddenly when a scream echoed out within your room and a young woman was flung through the door, she landed on her knees with a smack against the floor and the king turned to face the man who had pushed her into his view.

“Tell him,” he shouted at the young girl who shrieked and cowered away from the loud scary man. You groaned and turned your head trying to escape the sounds. The unbelievable pain has finally faded some as your limbs felt heavy like downed tree limbs.

“What is the meaning of this?” The king demanded answers and the loud man did something that made the young girl cry out.

“Tell him what you told me.” He said and she was stuttering through some sort of a confession. Something involving moonflowers. Something designed to kill while the king was away. The baby would die after the mother did. On order of the queen.

The kind eyed old man gasped and the blood left the cheeks of the man you loved as he dropped your hand, his body went stiff and his breathing seemed to have stopped entirely as he stared down at the woman who wept on the floor.

You closed your eyes, suddenly much too tired to keep them open any longer. The darkness around your eyes was so burdensome and you could feel your body being pulled down into the bed. The skin on your face tickled but you didn't care anymore. You were sinking too far down to care.

Something had changed around you and the room had gone quiet. No more weeping in the corner by scared little girls, no more shouting men, no more kind believable eyes or bitter tastes on your tongue that burned when they hit your stomach.

There was one sound though and it bothered your sleep. This sound was desolation. This sound was something that had once been so beautiful but now was forsaken. A waste. The sound was desperate, frantic and it pleaded and prayed. It cried and wept and pulled at you, begged you to open your eyes, begged for you to return, not to leave him and your mind shifted toward the sound.

You squeezed your hand. It took a great deal of effort for those fingers to move, but they did and the weeping sound gasped for breath.

“D-Don’t cry, my love,” you said through ragged thick vocal cords. Your tongue wasn't easy to move any more. Your love, so filling and all consuming within your chest, was not so easily declared, but his face was there. “--we will meet again one day.”

And he was so close, you could practically kiss him if only you could move. Why couldn't you just move? The world which you once walked freely through had grown big anchoring roots into the ground; so dark and so heavy.

His lips peppered wet kisses along your hand and his eyes besought yours. The tears on his face dripped down his chin and washed a path down to wet your shirt sleeves.

“Please, don’t go. Please don't leave me,” the pain in his voice felt like too much to bear. But how could you possibly stay when you were so tired. You wanted nothing more than to give in to the darkness that had it’s claws deep in your spine and enticed you.

The oxygen you pulled into your lungs fought for a path through the brambles and the thorns and you opened your lips to speak again. Something important, something that you had to tell him. Something he must promise you.

“Take our baby -- tell them to save our baby, h-hurry -- promise me.” The words felt like sand on your tongue and he gasped in another breath as more wetness slipped from his eyes down his face. You witnessed the nod of his head. His promise to you was made. He would keep the promise and your child stood a chance.

The room’s lights were fading now. The darkness surrounded his eyes completely and you blinked once..twice...the third time you lost the strength to open them again and you pulled in more air. It barely made a dent, but it was enough.

“Kiss me before I go,” you managed, and you felt the warmth of soft lips, a stark contrast to you own tepid and dry lips, and you drifted further into the darkness as you were swallowed up by it completely.

23 August,1457

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ACT III

23 August 2017

The rumors were flying at work. The office buzzed with them as the worried men and women hunched closely together at their desks, whispering about the state of the company...or more so, the current state of the acting CEO of the company and how the recent upheaval might affect their jobs. You were a temp, so the threat of impending unemployment was more of a steady countdown with and end date, rather than the swift and surprising chop of the guillotine. Your contract would be up in six months, so while you secretly hoped the supervisors who fed you busy work would see the enormous potential in you and some day make you a permanent employee, you weren't exactly holding your breath for it to happen. This was a big company with an enormous work force and one somewhat competent temp amongst the dozens of other contract workers scattered throughout the building didn't exactly stand out.

“I hear his wife is leaving him.” Jangmi from accounting’s thoroughly scandalized voice broke through the steady din of your floor.

“I heard that the reason he has been gone so much is because he checked himself into a mental hospital.” Alba, the woman who sat directly behind you peeked her head over the partition to share the rumors she heard. “He’s suffering from delusions and has been spending thousands of dollars on private detectives.”

“No no, the real reason he was gone was because he’s a model and was doing a photoshoot in Bali, and he was so handsome in all of the pictures that the director begged him to stay on as a permanent fashion model but he declined.” Jangmi countered and you sighed into your computer screen as quietly as you could, not wanting to let on that you were eavesdropping on their conversation and found their gossip just bothersome enough to distract you from sorting your morning emails.

Your inbox was mostly full of memos from the subject of their discussion. The acting CEO of XiuUnlimited, Director Kim Minseok, who it seemed, had spent the last 12 hours filling the inboxes of his subordinates with reminders on policies that, given the numerous times you had read through these policy reminder emails over and over again, not a single person in this building was likely to forget any time soon.

“Is he really that handsome?” Alba dropped her voice some, as if the rumors of his good looks were supposedly a secret. Hell, even you had heard the tales of his good looks.

Reminder to all staff: The microwaves in the break rooms are to be wiped down with the antibacterial cleaning wipes provided free of charge by the company. Wipe what sticks, don't get sick!

Jangmi shrugged into her morning latte, “I've never seen him. Lana from my department saw him once and she went on for days about how handsome he is.”

Reminder to all staff: Used paper towels in the bathrooms belong in the trash can, not on the floor. Excess mess leads to excess stress!

You scrolled through to the bottom of each email, searching for the delete icon at the bottom of the page. It was quite easy to see that the man had some issues if he spent his entire evening thinking of lame rhymes to use to micromanage his employees instead of figuring out how to fix the problems he had in his relationship with his wife.

“I heard,” Alba dropped her voice even further this time and your ears caught the sudden change as you tried not to make it obvious that you tilted your head ever so slightly to catch what she was about to drop. “That when the divorce is final, the temps are getting --” you heard the clicking sound she made with her tongue and you turned to see her making an ax motion across her neck.

This one sent your heart racing just a touch faster and you quickly turned away to look at your computer screen when she looked back at you, not wanting her to know you had heard what she said, although you knew, you just knew it had to be baseless. There was no way your contract would be terminated early just because of a little turmoil in a marriage up at the top.

The man couldn't be that insensitive to his employees could he? There had to be a hundred temps in this place. Surely the company couldn't survive losing such a huge amount of support staff suddenly and not suffer at least their bottom line, right? It just didn't make sense.

Your mind flashed back to when you were hired and the sickening false smile of the woman who sat behind the large mahogany desk as you were shuffled through. It was the only time you had been upstairs and it felt more like a parade of products on a conveyor belt as she chose the ones that caught her eye. You knew she was important by the way she looked down her nose at you, and when you learned later that she was the wife of the CEO you couldn’t find yourself to be the least bit surprised.

“It was an arranged marriage wasn't it? Rich people really are strange sometimes. What did they think would happen if they marry without even knowing the person.” Jangmi rattled on over your busy mind as you briefly daydreamed about just what it would be like to be thrust into a life like that. Married to a stranger simply because your parents had struck some sort of fortuitous business deal. A life of excess and privilege but with none of the freedom to do what you wanted with it all.

Reminder to all staff: Driving faster than 10MPH in the parking garage leaves unsightly black marks on the floor. Drive slow so it won't show!

You supposed a life like that would make anyone a little bit crazy.

Your day was suspiciously quiet. You’d caught up with every deadline you had received from the week prior and found yourself searching for menial tasks to fill your day. Yet when you asked your supervisor for some new material to work on she shrugged and passed you a stack of papers that needed copying, or short lists of documents for data entry. Tasks that were easily completed in less than one hour and required almost no brainpower to do.

You tried not to be paranoid.

You tried not to let the rumors from this morning get to you, yet as you completed yet another stack of mindless copies, you couldn't help but notice how the other employees, the ones who weren't temps seemed genuinely swamped with work. Things that would last them weeks, while you were handed the short term tasks that had no strings attached. Nothing that would hold you to it, or keep you busy for long enough to be considered a valued asset to the company.

It was within the last ten minutes of the day, when you were sorting through your paperclips, choosing the bent ones to throw into the trash can between your legs (Reminder to all staff: Discard broken or warped paper clips, as they can damage reports and require documents to be reprinted. Untidy supplies are not okay guys!) when you heard a loud gasp from across the office. Followed shortly by the sound of someone cursing at mid volume from a desk behind you. You looked up in alarm at the sudden ruckus that seemed to be breaking out inside the building and when you turned behind you, Alba sat facing you and Jangmi stood with her head over the partition watching, with their mouths open and wide eyes.

It only took a moment for your eyes to zero in on her open computer screen, on the latest email from CEO Kim Minseok, that was opened there for you to see.

Attention all staff, Effective immediately all Temporary Workers will no longer be employees of XiuUnlimited. Contracts that have not yet expired will be terminated and former employees will receive severance pay in their accounts within 3-5 business days. Please remember to take all of your personal belongings with you when you leave. A security officer will escort you out of the building. Things left behind, are no longer mine!

You stared at the email on your screen in disbelief. Well, mild disbelief that was turning into something else. Something like anger that something like this could really be happening to you. Somewhere in the office, a woman was crying and you scrolled down to the bottom of the email and hit delete, watching the animation on your screen as it flew away and vanished for the last time.

There was something dehumanizing about being singled out, watched, and escorted out of the building by a man wearing a uniform that only had a plastic badge and a flashlight. He stood a few feet behind you as you gathered the last bit of Polaroid pictures you had on the corkboard behind your cubicle and tossed them into the paper box Alba had handed you from below her desk.

“We’re really sorry,” Jangmi said softly at your back. “Yeah, sorry,” Alba chimed in agreement and you forced a tense smile that only lasted for a few seconds before you just couldn't do it any more.

You had just lost your job for seemingly no reason at all and they would just have to forgive you if couldn't fake being nice.

You had to turn in your ID badge on the sidewalk outside of the building. The one that worked the lock on front door and officially named you as an adult employee who received a paycheck and medical benefits in exchange for you spending 8 hours a day sitting behind a desk doing any and every task they presented you to the best of your ability. And for what? So you could be fired because some rich kid threw a tantrum and didn’t like the wife his parents bought for him?

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.

You wanted a drink.

That was something you could probably manage, despite the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you that an unemployed person should not be wasting money at a bar when she would certainly have to eat again sometime soon.

Your mood moved your feet and you found your eyes searching the signs around you for something that would wet your throat and numb your mind for a few hours while you wallowed in a little good old fashioned self pity.

Perhaps on any other day you would have avoided the somewhat shady looking alley way lined with smelly dumpsters and probably a whole assortment of vermin, but today you merely wandered. You found yourself pleasantly surprised to find yourself walking upon what looked to be a hole in the wall bar with a sign above the door that simply read “The Commander.”

The name brought a warmth to your chest and you found yourself smiling for the first time today when you tried the door and found it open. Inside was peaceful, with smooth contemporary music filtering through overhead speakers and a warm decor that smelled clean and inviting.

A bell rang above the door when it closed and a man in a dress shirt, vest and bow tie looked up from his spot at the bar. The glass he was drying shined in the lights overhead and he nodded his head in your direction with a friendly smile.

“Anywhere you like, miss,” the bartender said with a slight accent and you looked around at the empty place. You really could sit anywhere you liked. As you rounded the corner you were surprised to see one other patron sitting on the far end of the bar, not visible from where you entered but you definitely weren't alone with your very own bartender on the day you were fired.

The man at the bar didn't look up when you entered, nor did he move at all it seemed, as he hunched over himself with his head angled down and his eyes closed. A drink sat in front of him, mostly gone, a small sliver of brown liquid, probably whiskey from the bottle you could see still left on the bar counter close to him and after a long moment in which you were nearly positive that he was sleeping, the man inhaled a gasping breath and reached for the glass, downed the rest of his drink quickly and tapped on the counter twice as soon as the glass was set down.

The bartender took slow strides toward the man, grabbed the glass and set it into the sink. In seconds a fresh glass with at least two fingers of whiskey sat in front of the man who was simply too enchanting to ignore at this point.

You chose your seat, a booth near the other end of the bar where you could watch him with plenty of cover should your spying be discovered.

This was just the kind of distraction you needed and when the bartender left his post to walk up to your table and retrieve your order, you hoped and prayed that the man at the bar would not notice, not follow the bartender, and not find you watching his every move this way.

The man didn't move and you had your drink and your distraction still very much intact.

After what felt like much too long for a person to be sitting with his eyes closed at a bar, although who were you to judge what a person should be allowed to do alone at a bar, the man lifted his head, pulled a brown envelope out of a briefcase that rested against his leg and set it down carefully onto the bar in front of him.

His head was lifted now, his eyes were open and focused on the envelope in front of him and you felt a jarring surge of something hit you as you watched him.

He was handsome, this you could tell instantly, but there was something more than just handsome happening on his face. His profile was sharp, his hair was dark and his skin light enough to create a positively luxurious contrast that sent a warmth spreading through your chest as you looked at him.

The longer you looked at him, the more at ease you felt with the voyeur inside of you, although that might just be the second dirty martini in your belly, and you found yourself craning your neck to see more clearly just what he was doing with that mysterious brown envelope in front of of him.

After another long moment, he flipped the parcel over, spun his fine fingertips around, gripping a string that held the flap closed, and opened it. Inside was a stack of papers that you were much too far away to read and you frowned at the idea that you couldn't sit next to him while he did this.

He lifted a hand to his chest and inhaled a deep breath before angling his head in your direction as he opened his coat and fished through for something and you caught a glimpse of his whole face.

You gasped out loud, and quickly covered your mouth with your hand to hide it while you prayed that he didn't hear.

Gorgeous. Radiating with beauty really, but more than that something about his face felt downright familiar.

Was he a celebrity? Was he someone you had seen before, maybe on television, or maybe a musician? Had you listened to his songs in your headphones as you fell asleep at night?

The sensation was stronger than anything you'd ever felt in your whole life and you searched your recent memory for an image of someone with a face that would floor you this easily. You swore your mind was playing tricks on you when the images of his shirtless muscular torso floated through your head. And how in the world could you be able to imagine what that face might look like pulled into a crooked smile as he lovingly stroked your face. As if someone like him would ever look at you that way. You found no reasons for the images despite how thoroughly you searched your memory.

You came up empty.

You didn't have a name to this face, you definitely didn't have a voice, or direct interaction to him and you shook your head in confusion as you watched him take a deep breath, turn to the back of the document with a pen in his hand and sign with a flourish and two dots.

The force of those two dots seemed strong enough to poke two holes in the paper and the pen thudded on the counter as he tossed the pen down in a huff, stuffed the stack of documents back inside the envelope and returned the whole mess to the crisp clean briefcase by his feet.

He then, grabbed the drink and downed it in a single go, coughing and sputtering (adorably) as it went down too hard. Why did he have to be so enticing? He wiped hastily at his lips with the back of his hand and pulled off a ring from his finger, holding it a good six inches from the countertop for ten second before opening his hand and letting the ring fall.

It fell with a clatter that rang out over the sound of the music and your mind showed you the image of the ring falling to the floor and rolling under a bed. These drinks were pretty strong. You liked this place. You liked that bartenders heavy hand and you really liked the name of this bar.

And to say you liked the handsome man sitting at the bar was an understatement. You were enchanted by him. Enthralled and enraptured and bewitched by his every movement as he stood up from the seat and turned swiftly away from you. His steps weren't as steady as the bartender who walked in the opposite direction as him and reached for the wad of cash he had left on the counter as he left and your mind scrambled and screamed very suddenly at you.

He was leaving. He was leaving? Just like that? Why was he leaving when you had only just found him?

But you didn't want him to leave. You jumped to your feet, wide eyed and probably drunk and caught the sight of a his crisp clean briefcase still leaning beside the barstool and your mind whirled in a panic.

In his drunken confusion he had left this important attaché behind and you had to, HAD to return it to him.

You had to witness his eyes on yours just once and that sweet crooked smile that showed an adorable amount of gums and he had to look into your face and say your name as you held on too tightly to the case and didn't want to let go. Oh how affected you would surely be. You craved everything about his face.

These drinks must really be strong. Yet, strangely the room wasn't spinning and you easily grasped the case in your hands without much trouble at all. But the strange feeling in your chest with the thought of seeing him again was overpowering you.

You bypassed the forgotten wedding ring on the bar. Even the bartender didn't touch it when he grabbed the cash and he knowingly watched as you picked up the case and followed the same path he had taken when he left with determination written all over your body.

Maybe he remained just outside, searching his pockets for his phone so he could call a driver or his mom to let her know that he had just seen the love of his life and she stole his briefcase.

The street just outside was dark now, and a light drizzle fell along the pavement as you peered through the opened door for any signs of him.

You knew the size of him, the shape of him, the look of his black hair as it fell just along his temples and the way he ticked his fingertips along his sharp cheekbones as he contemplated life.

Never in your life had you been this observant, but your memory was flooded with him now. You must have picked up quite a bit about his body language while you watched him having his drink and having his divorce party for one.

“Am I imagining things or did you just steal my briefcase?”

A voice, no, his voice, you were certain, reverberated against your ear drums and sent a jolt of something strange through your chest and you slowly turned around to face the man who stood in the dimly lit hallway at the entrance to this bar.

Once he spoke, you realized what must have happened. He had gone to the bathroom which must be just around the corner past the exit and you, being the rash, anxious, quick to act, slow to think, especially when drinking, you, that you are, had made a mistake.

You closed your eyes, inhaled a deep breath to settle the strange storm that was brewing inside of your chest, and opened your eyes to look at him head on, and mere feet away from you.

You turned to look into his face, with an apology and an excuse ready to fire off on the tip of your tongue.

You turned to look into his face, ready to speak. Ready to act. Ready to be normal and do the right thing.

Only that isn't what happened, because you turned to look into his face and the logical thinking part of your brain ceased to function in the way you had become accustomed to in all of your years of living on this earth.

His face.

His eyes.

His face, and his lips... and there was a strange stillness that washed over you where you stood in the entryway of that bar. It was an all consuming stillness that seized your heart inside of your chest and made it difficult to breath.

You felt frozen in your tracks because there was something strange happening inside of your fuzzy mind when you looked at his face.

“I’m sorry, I--” your own words were forcefully pulled from your lips as the logical part of your brain screamed at you to speak, to come up with an excuse for this situation but the pulsing inside of your chest burned when you breathed in and he was…

He was frozen. His lips were parted, hung open as if he had been poised to speak and interrupted by something that was profound enough to stop him in his tracks. To interrupt him so completely that he didn't even bother to snap his jaw back shut, but instead stood there, mouth gaping and eyes wide on your face as if some wizard had cast a spell on him and frozen him mid-thought.

“I’m sorry,” My Lord, you tried again but your own intrusive thoughts seemed to be pressing hard against you, nagging at you, trying to coax something from deep within your soul now and you shook your head at the absurdity of this feeling.

“I drank too much.” You finally heard him speak. It came out as the softest whisper, designed only for his own ears, “I must have drank too much this time. This is impossible.”

“I’m sorry?” You asked softly as your fingers wrapped tighter around the handle of his fancy briefcase. It felt like a lifeline, a small token from this world that served to keep you grounded and remind you of where you were and who you were. Keeping you from falling too deeply into those eyes that felt so tempting and easy to become lost in.

My Lord. 

There was a wetness in his eyes as he stared at your face, positively transfixed, his pretty eyes held onto yours with a desperation that you couldn't quite place. Yet the longer you looked at him the stronger the pulsing inside of your own chest grew. It burned like indigestion now and you rubbed a hand lightly over your breastplate, willing it to subside and give you some peace. 

“Or I’ve finally lost my mind for real,” he added and he lifted a trembling hand to rub roughly over his face once, before slipping his fingers through his black hair, combing it back in a single pass, it bounced effortlessly back into place and your fingers itched to feel the strands rushing through your own hands again.

Again. 

It was too strong. You had to close your eyes and so you did, for just a moment you had to look away from his face that was watching you with those wide pleading eyes. You sighed into the darkness your eyelids provided and leaned against the door frame for support.

My Love.

It was his face again, only this time the words coming from his mouth sounded ancient. The love though, it was timeless. It was the same love you’d shown again and again through your words, your touches and your actions. It was the love for the commander. The brave soldier who led his men into battle time and time again, returning with scars and traumas that would keep him up at night.

It was the softness of his lips against yours, and the warmth of fingertips sliding along your skin. Unlike the fantastical shifting sands of a dreamland, this felt solid enough to build a foundation on. This felt like a memory woven so deeply into your soul the mere glimpse of his face created a bond tight enough to hold ten thousand tons.

If a glimpse of his face had this strong of an effect what would a touch do?

Your eyes must have only been closed for a second. A fool could see that you could not keep from looking at his face for very long, not when he was there right in front of you, still frozen in place under some spell.

Your chest felt too heavy, the breaths you took in and out took more effort than you could comprehend, but the pulsing inside of your chest was engulfing you now. How long until you were swallowed up entirely?

You knew him.

You knew him. 

You knew this man who stood in front of you and you felt like you might possibly suffocate inside this doorway with two dirty martinis in your belly, a stolen briefcase in your hands and a tear running down your cheek.

You heard a soft exhale of breath from him, and he swayed on his feet as his eyes blinked quickly. Whatever conclusions he had been working out inside his mind seemed to have been reached and you could feel something changing in the way he was looking at you.

He let out a shuddering sigh before he crumbled, covering his open mouth with an open palm, he sagged against the wall of the hallway, opposite of your doorway and he closed his eyes.

You took a step forward and the briefcase thudded to the floor at your feet, forgotten and unnecessary. The confusion and distress on his face called to you and your feet moved on their own.

His breathing was labored, his hand moved from his face to his chest where he rubbed roughly, gasping in and out for breath you could see the wetness spill over his lashes and fall onto his cheeks. His eyes were frantic, searching for meaning in this, searching for something that made some fucking sense, yet the pull to him was strong and undeniable. You moved closer, with hands outstretched, you had to touch him.

His face was real, he was real, he was really here, leaning against the wall in this bar being consumed by something you couldn't comprehend and you had to help him.

The first contact of your fingertips along his cheek sent an electric buzz through your body and you pushed through it, moving in closer, you cupped his cheek with one hand, joining with your other on the other side and he swayed within your touch, eyes focusing again on you with furrowed brows, he breathed heavily through his parted lips.

The wetness you felt along his face was warm.

Sticky and warm, different from tears and when you pulled a hand away you saw red. So much red, coating your hand blood red and raw. You gasped into it, closing your eyes you shook your head to rid yourself of it, but it returned again and again, stronger and more painful. The pain wanted to destroy. It wanted to rob your love and your laughter and your hope. The pain was as powerful as a tsunami yet moved through your body like an unstoppable shadow spread slowly over the forest floor.

His eyes were held in yours, and you watched as their light faded. Your own tears clouded your vision and you blinked faster, trying to focus on his face, on his lips that spoke to you as the pain of losing this man you loved so completely surged through your chest and broke your heart into two jagged pieces that would never fit together the same again. No matter how many times your tried to mend it, no matter how many experts you saw, no matter how many therapies you attended, the shattered pieces of your heart sat crooked, cracked, and surely would leak with every meager pump of blood through your veins the organ tried to make.

The soldier was motionless. The light in his eyes had faded and he was taken from you and you sobbed and you begged and you pleaded as you cradled his face in your arms, but no one would listen. No one would bring him back to you. The medic never came and the strongest and bravest man you knew was gone from your life forever.

“Shhh...don’t cry, my love,” he said. The man in front of you, in this bar, spoke softly with his eyes closed and you felt the warmth from his face through the palms of your hands.

He was here. It was him. It was the commander, and he was here.

He was real and he was here and whatever twists of fate that happened to lead you into this bar on this day had found it in it’s cards to return him to you. You had your commander back. You had your king. And he was here.

“I told you we would meet again one day,” you said and when you opened your eyes again the blood was gone. Replaced by his face, cleaned with the tears on his skin and his ears caught your words and his heavy eyelids shoved open.

He watched you for a moment before he shifted, straightening his posture, he stood stronger onto his own two legs again, using the strength in his body and perhaps borrowing a little from your words.

“Do you remember me?” The question was more hopeful than any you had ever heard before and you wanted to laugh. You wanted to shout and dance and scream your response because yes. Yes! Yes of course you did! The heavens had given him back to you, the least you could do was remember the greatest love your soul had ever known.

“Yes,” You said. The exhale of relief from his chest pulled at eyelids down and pulled the corners of his lips up.

“It’s been a long time,” He said, his eyes full of wonder with each look, yet thick with the emotion he was now trying to reign in.

A long time indeed. His words felt like gospel yet completely absurd at the same time. This man was a stranger to you mere moments ago, yet your heart had given you lifetimes of him and all you had to do was listen and believe it.

The longer you looked at his face, the stronger the memories became. The more the memories began to overwhelm you all over again you watched him pull his bottom lip in between his teeth and bite down lightly as he rocked on his heels, his focus never once leaving your face for a second as the two of you seemed to settle into a strange silence where you just watched each other.

“Were you going to go back in?” It wasn't that the silence was uncomfortable, or even standing in this hallway watching ghosts fly through your mind as you stared across small space of the hallway in awe, but there was only so much time you two could spend here before the place closed for the night.

Your question broke him out of his quiet reverie and his eyes widened and focused again. The small smile on his lips persisted.

“I don't know,” he said through that crooked grin and there was something juvenile about the way he lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t done looking at you yet.”

The quiet way he spoke felt like the warmth and comfort of coming home and you felt that warmth spread through your chest with each breath you took. Your heart thumped, strong and steady and each beat seemed to grow stronger, making your mood feel nearly manic with how well it worked. The cracks and missing pieces that had once weighed you down so seemed to be fitting into place better.

“Do you think, I could hug you?” Your own voice surprised you. How easily the words flew from your lips. How natural it felt to ask him such a question and how satisfying the look of surprise on his face was to hear it.

His dark eyebrows danced a quick two step, and he nodded his head. You leapt into him before he could change his mind. Before you had a chance to listen to the voice in your head that confirmed that you had lost whatever bit of sanity you had left in you.

Your arms flew around his waist. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and he was warm and he was real.

The heat from his body surrounded you. The crisp clean smell that reached your nostrils filled you up to capacity and sent your brain into a tizzy. And when he squeezed down tighter and ducked his head down to rest his chin over your shoulder, you let your eyes drift closed.

“My name is Minseok, by the way. Kim Minseok.” He spoke softly beside your ear and his arms squeezed so tightly you wondered how you had an inch of space to breath in. You didn't care. He held onto you with a kind of soul altering desperation that mirrored the inflexible way you adhered to him. You smiled into the warmth of his chest and said your own name softly enough for the words to tickle against his neck.

He shifted his face suddenly and you could feel the warmth of his cheek as it brushed against your face. Your breath, fueled entirely by the smell of him, caught in your throat when you felt his lips against your earlobe. The warmth in your chest was changing, into a tickling hot heat that trailed its sinews down the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades and took a path along your spine. Positively affecting every inch of your skin and bringing a different kind of need along with it.

He said your name, ghosting its syllables within a low breath against your ear. It was unfair how glorious your name sounded on his lips and you were suddenly eternally grateful for the steadfast embrace that held you up.

He moved again, pulling up against the small of your back, his arms felt strong enough to lift you easily off your feet and the action made your grip around his shoulders tighten.

This was not a hug. This was a desperate embrace. You clung to him just as tightly as he did to you, suddenly physically unable to separate from this man whom you had already been away from for so many lifetimes.

“It's so nice to meet you,” he said against your ear and you felt the tip of his nose as he nuzzled against your neck, tickling your face with his clean black hair and making it damn near impossible to stop the small sound that escaped from the back of your throat as everything about him overwhelmed you.

Everything except for the nagging in the back of your mind...something downright humorous jumped out at you and a giggle rose up inside your chest that made him stiffen and pull his face away from your neck with curious eyes.

“Kim Minseok?” You said through your smiling lips and his lips pulled into a tiny pout as he nodded his head.

“Hmm?” Obviously he wouldn't find the humor, he didn't know a single thing about your life.

“My boss has the same name as you,” you said and you tried to ignore the way his hands around your waist relaxed some and trailed lightly over your back as he loosened his hold around you. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in surprise at the coincidence.

“Or, I should say ‘my ex boss’ I suppose. I was fired today.”

You felt the cool air at your back as his hands fell and his shoulders pulled back straighter. His eyes were on still yours, only the smile was shrinking as he blinked slowly with your news.

A small pout eventually grew on his lips and you watched his face transform for a moment before you shook your head, ridding yourself of the dark cloud you had called back over your head.

“It’s okay, I was only a temp. I was going to be let go in six months anyway. I got a pretty sweet severance.”

You still stood against his body, and you definitely felt a stiffening in his muscles when you spoke.

He had always had an expressive face. You remember from the nights spent in the king's bed as he complained about the stress in his life, opening up honestly to you in ways that he wasn't able to with anyone else. You were still in tune with his moods, even centuries and lifetimes later.

It started with a tiny step back and a hand run swiftly through his straight hair. He cleared his throat softly and his eyes were blinking too quickly.

“T-Temp?” His lips hung open when he said the word and you watched as his lips pulled wide into a grimace that showed his white teeth. He inhaled sharply through those teeth before he spoke again.

But it had already been set into motion. The wheels turned frantically in your head as you put together the clues you had witnessed, along with the rumors that had followed your boss around. The good looks, which, experiencing this man’s face up close, you could not deny that Minseok had one of, if not the most handsome face you had ever had the privilege of seeing up close and in person. 

The wealth, which as you looked at the brand name clothing he wore, much more than something you could even buy off the rack at a high end department store, these were the kinds of clothes that were fitted and custom made. The watch itself must be close to $15k itself, not to mention the well manicured eyebrows that sat handsomely on his forehead just below the expert haircut that probably cost half of your monthly rent.

The rumors of trouble with his wife? What kind of husband sat alone at a bar doing things like drinking himself silly and dramatically pulling off his wedding ring, long after he should be home having dinner with his family?

“Please tell me it wasn't a mass termination of all temporary workers.” He softly begged and you felt a slight tugging against the hem of your shirt where his fingers played with the fabric there. The sheepish look in his eyes caught yours just once before he looked back down at his hand pulling at a lose thread.

Your eyes narrowed on him while the grimace on his face changed into another pout. Deeper and intentional this time he zipped his lips shut, puffed his cheeks with air and pushed his bottom lip way out, creating an expression so irresistibly adorable, and in a single play, that you scoffed right out loud, rolling your eyes so far into your head you felt the eye strain. How could his face hold so much power over you?

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“If I had known it was you--”

“You’re that Kim Minseok?” The pout had served to calm the incredulity in your voice some. He looked back at you, biting down on his lip as he watched you process the information you had just received.

“My boss?” You asked.

“Ex-boss,” he answered.

“You have a wife.” This didn't quite come out as a question because everything you know about Director Kim Minseok, Acting CEO of XiuUnlimited was flooding through your mind now.

“Ex-wife,” he supplied with a glance down at his unadorned left hand.

“You… went missing last year and lost your mind and checked into a mental hospital and hired private investigators … all to try and find--”

“I found her,” he interrupted where you were going with the rumors you had heard about him. Rumors that you thought were just the ramblings of people who had too much time on their hands and had seen way too many dramas.

“I found her, she showed up right in front of me. She tried to steal my briefcase.” You wanted to correct him, but he was talking now and something about the fiery look in his eyes stopped you.

“I found you. And I didn't lose my mind after all. I only thought I had. But I found you or you found me or maybe we were always meant to find each other, I don't know. But right now I'm looking into the eyes of the human being that I know better than the stranger that I had called my wife for three years, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.”

“And you are real.” A thickness was building in his voice as he spoke. “And that love was real. I wasn't crazy, or imagining it, or --” he swallowed hard as he blinked his eyes faster and the distance between you seemed too great.

He must have felt the same because he took a step closer to you, his hands reached forward, fingertips light along your cheek until you felt the warmth of his palms on your face.

The year might have changed outside. The countries, the settings, even the small details about your life. But as you looked into his eyes in this dark hallway of an empty bar, you knew, with absolution that the man who stood in front of you was the same man who your heart had loved.  

He had stopped speaking, with his thumbs rubbing delicate circles along your jawline and his eyes half closing as his eyelids trembled. Emotion or maybe the sheer gravity of your history together pulling at them and he fought through to get a glimpse of you. Your own focus had drifted from his striking eyes, down his straight nose, to the curve of his upper lip that sat plump, pink, perfectly moisturized despite the desperate way he breathed through his parted lips and the light touches the tip of his tongue made against the flesh.

“Will you come with me?” He whispered against your skin now. The gravity between your hearts was too strong and had unknowingly pulled you closer to him. You only noticed the change when the warmth of his chest against yours made you want to wrap your arms around him again.

“Well, we can't stay here,” you agreed with a shrug because you’d be damned if you were going to let him walk out that door without you by his side. Not after it took so long for you to finally find him again.

“I don't just mean right now,” he said, “I mean, tonight, tomorrow, next month and next year, and forever.”

“I wouldn't dream of leaving you ever again, Kim Minseok.” The sight of his lips, close up and moving closer to you blurred as your eyes lost sight of them and gave up the view as you closed your eyes and felt the first softness of his kiss. A kiss that brought with it a flood of muscle memory, desire, and need. A kiss that brought with it years of love and longing. A kiss that soothed every ache you had inside of your chest where the wounded and scarred heart muscle struggled to heal from the wounds of the past.

The relief was instantaneous and complete.

When you finally left that bar, it was hand in hand with the man your soul had been destined to love forever.

And it was with a promise to do just that for the rest of time.

THE END.

[keeperprinceling]

Disagreement

They had had a disagreement, and still, hours later, it sucked.

He hadn’t seen a lot of her lately; they had different duties to attend to - with the war having ended, the Omega mystery as solved as it could be for the moment, and primal summonings becoming fewer and farther between, they didn’t need to be bound at the hip as much anymore, and through random circumstances, they were suddenly seeing each other only a handful of times per day if that, typically sleeping alone, usually a continent and a half away from each other. They hadn’t been fighting or anything, they just... had different places to be and different things to do the next morning. Teleporting can take it out of you, especially from Eorzea to Othard all at once.

He missed her. They spoke a lot at night, their linkshell overactive as she told him about her day, the changes she had been making, who she had helped and how and tell him about little things she had been putting together in their cottage; he would make comments and remarks, and roll his eyes and tease her and play with her, all the while staring at his ring and convincing himself that he had to stay in Shirogane or he’d miss this delivery or that appointment, he’d get farther behind schedule and have to stay away from her for longer, but Twelve, he missed her. 

They had found a day - half a day, really - free in her schedule and he was almost finished with the project, so they had arranged to spend time, uninterrupted and alone, together. He’d fill her in, show her what he’s gotten accomplished, and then catch up in person and get some final decisions made and integrate changes she wanted to see into the final design to make this place a little more hers and then just... be together. 

But that didn’t exactly happen.

The “project” had been his idea, something he felt was necessary for them. Yvaine was the Warrior of Light, lauded now on two continents, feared on one, her fame leaking from current events and into myth and legend even as they lived and breathed. Everyone knew the Warrior of Light, and a good number wanted her help for something, wanted to meet her and schmooze... or wanted her dead. 

The first two were annoying - he had gotten used to being recognized in public and having favors asked, even if the requests interrupted something they had been doing, but Yvaine liked helping people. It made her eyes light up, it fueled her fire, so he’d go along and help her help them or stay out of her way while she went about making people happy, or he’d sit there and make faces at her while she shook hands and listened to people tell her about herself or what she had done - the stories usually either wildly overblown (thanks, mistrel) or actually underestimated the true stories, but she’d sit through them and blush and stammer how it really was nothing and that she just wanted to help people, that she was only doing what anyone else in her situation would have done, completely underselling how wonderful she was in the humble and unassuming way that was so absolutely her that he had to resist the urge to mime against her answers for anyone who was watching. No, not everyone would have run into the middle of a dragon fight and faced down the Lord of Dragons without worrying about their own safety. Yes, it was terrifying, he was there, and so on and so forth. 

The last reason kept him up at night - they had found them once; what would stop the Garleans from finding them again? Especially if her name were attached to where they actually lived on a registry of homes in Eorzea? He had spent less than a week within their “care,” and he was convinced he only survived that long because they had plans to use him against her. If they found their way back... 

So he came up with a plan, citing only the first to reasons - the last he would never mention. The last was too frightening to put into words. The last wasn’t for Yvaine’s ears, it was only for him. She had enough to worry about - and when the houses went for sale in Shirogane, he convinced her to put one in her name. Ever since, he’s been decorating it to be the home of the Warrior of Light - the upstairs was formal, bedecked in imagery from their more well-known adventurers drawn by some guy in Idyllshire, staffed by people whose background he personally checked, hired for the usefulness of their trades and their interest in aiding the Warrior of Light - he had Aoi, a Raen Au Ri mender who could read and write Eorzean, Doman, Hingan, Garlean, and anything in between; “Jo”, a Sea Wolf Roegadyn who dealt in dyes and catalysts and had a knack for communicating and organizing incoming information from various Adventurer’s Guild linkshells and sniffing out which ones might interest Yvaine or be big enough to be of note anyway. Yusuke was a personal assistant, trained to welcome guests and grill them to figure out why they were there. Only Yusuke had a linkshell connection with him; anything that got to them would have to go through Yusuke, and as Yusuke was a former ninja personally approved by Yugiri, he felt safe with him running the show. The basement was another sitting room, one less formal and done in red, a favorite color around here that he wasn’t too happy with but was willing to deal with all the same - at least until or unless Yvaine chose another color. He could work with that. He had a library put in, furnished with books with myths and legends alongside history and theory - what with Rabanastre and Omega pulling from what had longtime been considered as “fairytales” there was no telling what could come next, but for the nights when they would be there, he designed a private bedroom with the light and airy theme of the Mists and their true home. 

He had spent weeks there now, choosing furniture and themes, consulting designers so it would look “official” while still picking up local items and painting things himself to save on Gil, keeping her mostly out of it knowing she wasn’t fond of the pretense or the formal, stand-offish nature of the whole thing; she didn’t have to like it, just work with it and call it her “official” residence... but he wanted her to like it. 

And when she arrived, he felt she mostly did. She liked the outside - which relieved him, as the view was why they had chosen that lot out of all the others - it was a load off. When they went inside she was impressed, which made him pleased, but then he had to go and ruin it. There was an empty corner in the sitting room on the main floor that nothing seemed to fit in; as he asked her for her opinion, he started throwing out ideas and a primal trophy came to mind - to him, it was just another way to nonverbally remind people where they were and whom it was they had sought out and just what Yvaine was capable of - that if they had come to pester her for a favor or came for the prestige, to remind them that she had bigger things on her plate - like the paintings did - and if they came to do her harm, it could intimidate them into leaving, as surely they were no greater than Ixion, or Ifrit and it’d be a physical reminder of exactly what happened to them. 

But she... was less than thrilled with the idea.

He was no good at recalling direct conversation - he never had been. Whistles? Yes. Music? Yes. Words? No. Maybe that was for the better... but it was something like how he didn’t understand her at all. That she didn’t want to be known for everything she had had to kill. He knew that. He had known that. He knew how the whole ‘Warrior of Light’ thing messed with her, how she would prefer not to be, how she was afraid it would end up taking everything from her. He knew that, he just... hadn’t been thinking. But of course he still wasn’t thinking when she said that and had been hurt and snapped back something stupid and told her to forget about it and that he’d get a piano and put it there instead but it was too late and he had ruined the mood. 

She was okay with downstairs. She thought the red was fine since it was in fashion in Kugane. She liked the fishtank, thought they could move Bubbles there, teased him about not having enough moogle-themed things; he teased back about how he had two hidden moogle-themed things, and for a minute it seemed like they could move past it and save the afternoon but... well they didn’t. He hadn’t known what to say to apologize. Not long after that she got a call - something in Idyllshire - and left, probably still thinking that after all this time and all their talks he still didn’t understand her aversion to the whole Warrior of Light business. But he did. He was just... too stupid to figure out how to show her he understood.

She’d kissed him on the cheek before she left, and said goodbye to Aoi and Jo and Yusuke. 

He ordered a piano. 

...and spent the rest of the day sprawled out on the bed, thinking about how good it had been to see her and how he had immediately wanted to change plans and just hold her all afternoon - just sit on the deck, wrap himself around her and watch the waves for hours, breathing her in and feeling her heart beat. 

Why hadn’t he just done that? 

  The door bell rang. He blinked slowly, his brows furrowing in annoyance and confusion as he rolled over, staring at the folding screen doorway to the bedroom, eyes twitching to the clock above his head. Who in the seven hells would--

She didn't have a key.

His heart leapt, eyes opening wider as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Did she have a key? He couldn't remember -

The bell rang again, the small tinkling sound sharp against the silence of the dark orchestrion, it's call jerking him up from the bed, throwing open the sliding door to race through the basement, his shoes sliding on the carpet as he sharply turned to race up the stairs. Don't let her go. He was coming - don't turn away!

Nearly breathless, he fumbled with the bolt but got the door unlocked and pulled it open, an apology on his lips --

Only to come eye-to-chest with a Raen Au ra.

He stepped back, looking up from the man to his Sea Wolf Roegadyn partner behind him to the piano between them. All the excitement and anxiety drained from him in an instant. Deflated and depressed and upset with himself for not considering a delivery would be made that night, he opened the door wider and stepped aside.

"Domo," he greeted quietly, taking a deep breath, "just... put it in the corner."

Half a bell later they finished; he paid them, locked up... and went back downstairs. 

@yvainearadia heyyyy you know those other 320 rps we have going that i haven’t replied to yet haahahaaa guess where inspiration struck

you totally don’t have to reply we didn’t talk about this i just couldn’t not do it

listen also, anyone else who is reading this, so i fell in love with @lausaph’s upstairs design and couldn’t fall out of love with it so that’s what their upstairs looks like, at least for the moment, go see theirs here: link theend

except if you could tell me how those upper cabinets they’ve got above the picture came into being i’d be super grateful

[cutegirlmayra]

Hello Mayra, :-) I hope you're having a good day and don't tire yourself out. I was hoping to request a prompt about Amy thinking Sonic is tired of the way she looks so she tries out new clothes and a new hairstyle. When Sonic sees her he's speechless but also upset because he wouldn't want Amy to change herself just to make him like her because he likes her no matter what she looks like. I know you're mostly sticking to In Character so you can change anything about this prompt. Thank you!

(x) Used with Artists permission! Please support her as well! 

****(Also, If you are willing to let me use your art as ‘preview images’ to my stories, please support and help me by letting me know you’re alright with the way I credit! I need more preview images plz! -you’ll be alerted if I use your works.- Thank you!)\

I am trying to have a good day, and rest up. So thank you, my friend ^///^

With the ‘in-character’ thing. I do try very hard to stay in character, but I also understand if character’s have to react to AU scenarios not normally happened upon, that they’re going to change their reactions. I use my best guess, or simply try my best. I’m not perfect, but I do my research and hope it’s close enough :) I really like this idea, so I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt:

After Amy began wondering why all her magazine ‘20 ways to catch a wild man’s heart!’ wasn’t working, she tossed the whole thing and seemed pretty bummed out.

But that quickly changed when she saw a commercial of a cute girl trying to impress her crush with different fashion wear…

“It’s up to YOU to decide what he likes!”

She kept flipping through outfits, “Intelligent? Sassy? Untamed? Shy or modest! It’s this brand of design for you!” They ended the commercial, as Amy rose her eyebrow and stood up, looking her look over.

Darting to a mirror, she hesitated a moment before pulling her quills back, and seeing what that looked like from the side.

“…Intelligent?”

She then ruffled her quills, spiking them up and then positioning them off to the sides of her shoulders.

“…Sassy.. untamed?”

She then smiled… slowly… before pulling her hair up and striking a pose.

“Shy~” she cutely put her free hand to her muzzle, hiding some of her smirk.

“Modest~” Amy let her hair fall again and then spread her arms down and out, before looking over her clothes.

She pouted, “This won’t do!” she zipped her head to look towards her room and bolted.

Several days later…

Sonic raced through the city, people excitedly pointed up to the buildings he scaled or leaped like an arch-streaked of blue over with praising and excited faces.

He was about to get through the busy streets below, side-walking a building before spotting out of the corner of his eye…

He didn’t believe it at first..

He spun down and held a blank expression, looking at Amy who was sitting quite peacefully at a table, reading something.

He furrowed his brow.

For the past few years… she had never changed her look.

Now…

She wore her hair back, fashionable square glasses, bracelets and a baggy shirt.

Hipster?

He shook his head before wondering if this was even Amy.

Her mascara she usually wore?

Gone.

Her red, open back dress?

Done away with it.

The change was uncomfortable for Sonic, as he just stood there blinking before looking as though he saw a ghost.

Amy leaned her head up over the book, before smiling widely to him.

“Ah! Sonic The Hedgehog! Fastest thing alive. How do you do.” she held her glasses a moment and tipped her head.

He frowned, looking unsure of her actions. “…Fine.” he stated, before walking more over to her and leaning over the table, trying to muster a smile.

“But I can’t say the same for you. You look-”

“-Intelligent?!” she beamed, leaning up and keeping her hands pressed down on her book.

“…Umm….” he looked behind her to see in the reflection of the cafe her tail wildly beating.

He smiled to the side of his face, lifting a curious eyebrow up once he saw a glimmer of her true self returning.

“Heh. More like messy.” he put a finger under his nose, winking…

He wanted to test this out.

“Is this some new trend you’re going for, Amy?”

She pouted with a puff of air in one cheek, and swished her head away before delicately taking her seat again.

“I’m reading Shakespeare.” she countered. “A very sophisticated and elegant thing to do.”

“Shakespeare, huh?” he leaned down and took a cracker from her plate, making her twitch at his rudeness before he nibbled on it, looking down at the book.

“Is it a love story?” he questioned.

Amy’s whole being slumped, “Wha… What is that suppose to mean!?” her anger got the better of her, but she was more surprised than anything. “Shakespeare! Romeo and Juliet? Much Ado About Nothing? Taming of the Shrew!???” she pushed the book repetitively up at his face.

Humorous tears burst from her eyes suddenly, as she laughed. “You can’t be serious! He’s one of the best play-writers in the world!” she gripped her stomach as Sonic smiled, pretending to be annoyed at her acquisition, but glad she was back to her normal self.

“Beats me. I only read legends and myths.” he looked away, before scarfing his cracker down fully then and licking his fingers and lips, seeing Eggman attacking a few streets down. “Gotta go.” he reeled himself off and took speedily off for adventure!

As usual.

“Alright.” she took her hair down, tossing it around a moment before removing the glasses. “That’s a no-go on intelligent.”

Another few days later…

Sonic paused to eat at Amy’s place, before knocking on her door and seeing her come out with a start.

“Pfft! Could you knock any louder? Honestly, Sonic… and they call me desperate.”

He saw her lean against the door,… eye-shadow? Magenta in tone, maybe, and some quills straightened out to be in front of her face. A crop-top with a tight pink skirt that looked like shorts.

He made a sour-expression, before looking back up to her eyes.

“….Hi.” he spoke brassly, before about to turn around.

“H-hey!” she broke her act and quickly reached out to him, holding his arm as he looked back, seeming annoyed.

“..You… don’t go.” her eyes bent, almost a plea. “I-I was just playing sassy…”

Seeing her return to her former self, he smiled, and lost all frustration.

“Ah, there you are.” he turned back and walked inside, starting to figure out what was going on.

“U-um… do you not like.. um..” she pulled her shirt from the bottom out a moment, nervous about showing so much skin, before looking away and blushing, and then holding a pointer finger up for a moment.

“Excuse me… one second!” she darted so fast into her room that he thought it almost cute, and tilted his head with a closed-eye grin.

He then looked around the room… She was already preparing for dinner.

Perfect! He chimed with a step towards the table.

She came back out, her hair redone and makeup changed, which only made him tap on the table and look bored again.

“This same thing..?” he mumbled beneath his breath.

NOW she was wearing a leather jacket, some odd name-brand logos and her hair spiked up on the sides.

She was chewing on a straw and wore black, sleek pants.

What was this? Greece Lightning?

He rolled his eyes.

“Ready for the usual?” she tried to act ‘appealing’… but she could barely move in the get-up and ended up having her pants and heels squeak across the floor till she got to the kitchen.

He pffted, before laughing silently to himself as she twitched an eyebrow in embarrassment and annoyance.

“S-shut up! I’m doing this for-!..Emm..” she kept her mouth closed, but still enraged at him laughing at her attempts before bringing the tray over.

‘Think… untamed…’ she looked up a moment, an innocent expression as Sonic yawned, and ticked her off.

She slammed the tray down, letting the food fly where it would on the table.

Sonic didn’t flinch. Having a leg up on the seat and his hand turned to hold his head up, he just opened an eye and looked back up at her.

“Take your pick. Make your own plate.” she lifted a hand up, trying to shrug it off like she wasn’t responsible and then gave him an edgy glare. “What are you staring at? Food’s gonna get cold.”

He seemed to be looking down, twitching…

She sweat dropped… was he mad at her?

“S-Sonic..?” She stepped back a moment, her Quills starting to fade downward…

“I-I didn’t mean to come off that way! I-I was trying to be untamed.. uhh..” she waved her hands out, but then saw him break into laughter.

He banged a hand on the table, before she pouted and walked off.

“Hold on…”

He continued to profusely laugh as loudly as he could, before about to eat as he wiped his eyes but Amy screamed back.

“WAIT FOR ME!”

He drooped his eyes and dropped the food, folding his arms and leaning back, upset she’d make him wait…

She suddenly came in with another get-up, this one cuter as she wore a summer dress and something more modest.

“I.. Umm…” she wore her quills up again, but more neatly done, and seemed to be tryin’ to pull off another look and character.

He frowned deeply again, putting his arms behind his head and waiting for her to sit.

“I-I hope you like it…” she scooted into her seat, and then covered her face. “O-Oh! But it’s okay if you don’t!”

He rolled his eyes again, “You know I always do.” he leaned up and started eating.

She flinched at how he was passively dismissing her random actions and grew upset again.

‘Is he just toying with me!?’

She took a breath and tried again, holding a piece of food up and cupping her hand under it.

“Ahh..?” she tried for modest, offering to feed him as he gave her a dead-pan look.

She twitched her smile, before shoving the food in his mouth and angrily getting up.

He scrunched up his face, chewing quickly and swallowing before glaring up at her about to leave.

“Going to change again?”

She paused in her stride, and he got up, seeing her grip the wall as she was at her last straw…. wit’s end… heart already tested enough as it was.

“I’m not gonna be insulted by-!”

“You insulted?” Sonic turned his head behind his shoulder, folding his arms. “I came here to eat with my friend. Not meet a bunch of different girls like blind-dates.” he spat his tongue out, a little silly, towards another direction before speaking to her with both their backs facing each other.

“I don’t know why you think you have to change yourself, Amy…”

She suddenly rose her head up, perking up to that new shift in character from him…

“..But it’s ruining my meal.” he suddenly took some more food and moved to the door.

“Tell me when Amy gets back.” he popped some food in and opened the door.

“….Sonic…” Amy turned her slightly tearing up, ashamed face back towards him.

He paused, before turning back to her.

“Hmm?” he seemed ready to scold her again, but she untied her hair, and turned to smile at him.

“You like ‘Plain old’ me… don’t you?” she seemed really touched by it, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Plain?” he smirked, and turned back around to her, closing the door by leaning back on it till it clicked.

“Amy, you’re never a dull moment.”

She felt her heart melting.

“And you’re never old hat.” he winked.

She immediately skipped off, and made him blink in puzzlement.

He wondered if he said something wrong… but knew he hadn’t.

He sat back down, chillaxing and waiting to eat, trying to be polite as he itched his nose, before seeing her walk back in.

Same old red dress.

His eyes lit up.

Same old mascara.

 His grin curled.

Same old, sweet smile.

He nodded.

“Now that’s a look.” he tossed her some food and she caught it.

“Ohh.. don’t play with your food. Do you like it?” she grumbled a minute at first, before sitting down and looking excited to eat with him.

He winked, “Same old Amy.”

“If you like it, you should marry me and I’ll feed you every day!” she spread her arms out.

He still held his smile.. but leaned back in awkwardness for a moment.

“Heh..heh… still better than Sassy.”

“Oh, you kinda liked Sassy. Admit it.” she put some food on her plate.

“I’d like all those girls better if you were wearing them.” he chomped some food up and she sat, staring at him.

It wasn’t the outfits he didn’t like…

It was simply her not being in them.. that he didn’t approve of.

Author’s notes:

I’ve decided to make this section a ‘read more’ for those who are simply in it for story. ^^

This was fun! I admit, I didn’t know how to make it more unique than my other ‘Amy changes things up to appeal more to Sonic’ prompts, but I’m glad I did! I wanted her to try out different looks and be rejected in them, leading to the main theme coming along… but at the last minute, I had Sonic say probably the most profound thing that randomly hit me as I wrote.

It was like something clicked, maybe the character really did speak out to me, I don’t know XD haha, sounds weird. But I felt he would have been fine with whatever she wore, as long as she was still there.

Because her personality changed, not her clothes! I thought that was super touching and clever, and I literally did it ‘last second’ which makes me feel it was just meant to be written ^^

Surprises come to writers like that, haha! But I was really happy to see that all those personalities truly ‘bugged’ or at least ‘annoyed’ him. He liked how Amy was. She was sweet, thoughtful, and sometimes got upset. But that what’s he likes! haha, it amuses him. So I think Sonic would be uncomfortable with Amy changing herself :)

He’s already so used to her now! Why change anything? teehee! >//w//n

P.s: Instead of some science book which would be more ‘Tails’s style’ I hooked Amy up with Shakespeare. It’s cultured, still something smart, but more Amy’s cup-of-tea. Just in case Sonic would ask something smart of her, she had something to deliver! haha.