#did i forget idiots scar in some panels. yes

[iwantofall]

dont forget to check up on your local idiot

[canarhys]

based off dral and calor, spotted by @pixelchaos00 in this post. well, more on calor but dral is mentioned a few times so yeah. i hope they deserted the war. i don’t want them to be apart. so here:

when calor dropped the bucket in his haste, he knew he was a dead man.

he had made sure all his supplies were strapped to his shoulder when he gently tapped on the side panel for the doors of the quarters he shared with his sleeping brothers, shuffling out the doorway once he assessed the hall. it’s empty. there were no security cameras in this section of the quarters the clones were sleeping in, and the guards patrolling the grounds were shifting to another rotation. he would have only a few minutes to make his escape, all that he would need in this circumstance. he would meet dral at the docks outside, sneak into a transport, and hurry off to… anywhere, really. they both had done extensive research on it, relayed one another intel over the routines of the mandalorians and the clone troopers in the night before their leave. tomorrow, the cruiser would depart, and calor would be gone before they made their way back to coruscant.

but he had been too excited, too stupid to allow his emotions to cloud his goal. though the steps of his boots were light due to temporary mods, and he made sure to place cushioning within the pack to make sure no sound could be perceived through the linen, he had decided to make the dumb mistake of not wearing his helmet when he had crept down the corridor. he had it clipped to his belt, right by the sack he wore, and when it provided too much clacking for coverage he instead placed it beneath his arm. not so much an accident as a refusal to wear the thing that he could barely call himself anymore.

he’ll wear it later, when the winds on their transport would make it hard for him to blink through the currents, but right now? he didn’t feel comfortable to don the bucket of a brotherhood he is leaving behind. though he had made the final say when dral had suggested it, it did not assuage the guilt that claws at his chest.

he makes a turn around the corridor, sticking to the walls to avoid being spotted, despite the lack of organic forms amongst him. here, in the capital of mandalore, it was quiet. a rare occurrence in war, and perhaps an even rarer occurrence in a place like this. he knew mandalore to be a planet defined by bloodshed, where warriors never rest and peace was a forgotten term. yet in the grasp of midnight, the palace is strangely silent. no droids ( though he is certain that mandos were known for their anti-droid stance ), no generals, and no clones. it’s lonelier than he’s used to. but he’s got to get used to this silence when he does the impossible.

the mistake comes when he’s halfway through the corridor. he hears the clacking of footsteps down the hall behind him, and though it’s far, it’s enough to startle him into picking up his pace. he turns up the pace of his walk, attempting to keep his staccato boots from making a sound, but the increased speed causes the bag around his shoulder to slip from his neck. quickly, he reaches back to holster it back up, but the action causes him to lose grip of his bucket. it falls to the ground before he could catch it.

clack. clack. clack.

shit.

hearing the footsteps cease before picking up their pace to his destination, calor forgets his stealth. he grabs his helmet and books it to the end of the hall which leeched into a crossroads, leading to the rightward hall towards the direction of the docks. once he does so, he makes a series of confusing turns, a maneuver in an attempt to shake off his pursuer, one that he’s sure he was trained for just for this type of moment. he makes turn after turn but keeps his mind locked on the direction of the docks, making sure he never loses track of where he goes.

eventually, in a turn, he falls back into light steps. the pursuer, still following the sound of the staccato boots he had created before, breaks off into the direction of the medical bay, opposite of calor’s own goal. he peeks over the wall, watching the unknown form disappear down it, and sighs in relief when he finds the coast clear. hesitantly, he creeps back out the space. that’s when the hand latches onto his shoulder.

“trooper.”

calor, instinctively, jumps. he spins around to face the speaker, and finds probably the worst person for him to ever bump into besides lady bo-katan or general tano. commander rex, formerly captain, his bucket with signature blue jaig eyes left clipped to his belt. his blond hair appears distilled amongst the darkness of the hall. his worn face holds no expression, not of yet, only resembling the default sternness he holds whenever he addresses one of his men. yeah, calor was fucked.

“sir!” he tries not to squeak, but his voice is high-pitched enough to make him cringe. “w— what are you doing here, sir?”

commander rex raises an eyebrow. “i’m on patrol. i just came back from a meeting with general tano and lady bo-katan.” he narrows his eyes. “what are you doing here, trooper? you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“i know, sir,” calor says. he shifts in place to adjust to the formal soldier stance, probably the last time he’ll ever do that voluntarily. he’s rehearsed his dialogue many times, coming up with excuse after excuse if ever caught, but the routines become muddled in his mind when he looks his commander in the eyes. “i… i just wanted to take a look at the gunships, before we depart. spike asked me too.”

commander rex stares at him for so long that he can’t help but feel his skin itch with his gaze. “maintenance check-up on the craft isn’t scheduled til tomorrow morning. and spike is currently on patrol. not by the ship.”

“oh.” great going, idiot. “i mean— he asked me to in the middle of the day, guess he changed plans without me. y’know what? i think i’m just out of it, kind of drowsy right now, i’ll just—”

“why do you have a bag?” commander rex interjects.

calor sees his life pass before his eyes. “uh… equipment. for maintenance.”

he attempts to keep the sling bag out of view, but it is too late when the commander catches a glimpse of the linen. something on his expression changes. not anger. it’s something… softer. one that calor has never seen overcome his commander in a long time. “may i see it?”

he’s understandably caught off guard, then filled with dread, but he knows he can’t disobey the order despite it being hidden behind a simple question. there’s no room to run, and nothing can get past commander rex — not even general skywalker could escape his wrath. already figuring this was the end of the line, and he would be terminated by the time they come back to coruscant, he slings off the pack and silently hands it to the commander. he grips to his helmet tight, a sense of comfort as his heart raced with fear.

commander rex opens the bag, scanning the contents with a squint. reaches into it ( a gesture that has calor already squeamish ) to dig through the items he had packed earlier that day. he stops shuffling when he drags his hands over what sounded to be the cushioning he had implemented into the bag — some shredded up blacks in his wardrobe, perfect for sound-proofing. “good,” commander rex says. “can’t have it being noisy. and containers for fruits. that’s good.”

at first, calor is confused, because he’s pretty sure the commander is complimenting him on noise-canceling packing, but his thoughts are quieted when commander rex pulls out his comlink. he’s frowning.

“this yours?” calor nods. “you know, holocomms issued to troopers all have trackers built into them. could track your location from parsecs away. here.”

the man reaches into his waist and pulls out a comlink of a different design. this one cylindrical, with a voice box at the end and a button on the other, with a keypad installed within the middle. he hands it to calor. then he looks down at the arm brace around calor’s left arm. “hand me your gauntlet. could also be tracked. and your bucket as well.”

calor, stunned barely registers the command before he’s stripping off his gauntlet and bucket to the commander. he can’t see what he’s doing, not clearly, but he appears to tweak with the interface. he promptly hands it back when he’s finished, but calor can’t find the strength or sense to put them back on as commander rex continues to scan his belongings.

“you already got your blaster, so that checks out. forged identification, clearance codes… you with anyone in particular?”

calor finds his voice, albeit as confused as it is. “w— what?”

commander rex scowls. “don’t tell me you’re pulling this off by yourself.”

“n— no!” calor exclaims. his face is flushing with embarrassment. “i, uh, i got… someone.”

“mandalorian?”

calor nods. “he’s uh… picking me up from the docks. taking us to the outskirts.”

commander rex hums. “it’s dral arpat, isn’t it? talked to him before, seen you with him for a few times. nice kid. i know he’ll keep you safe. now let’s see…”

“sir?”

the commander looks up at him. “yes, calor?”

at the use of not just his name but of the softened demeanor he holds in this instance, calor feels his entire body squirm with confusion and shock. he can barely process anything that’s happening in this instance. “why are you helping me?”

for a few moments, the commander doesn’t answer. his stoic facade falters a bit, revealing a type of sorrow in his eyes, a melancholy and nostalgia that grips at the edges of his person. calor doesn’t know what to make of it. “you’re not the first person i’ve met who’s left the army, and you won’t be the last. this war has left us all scarred. for the better part of our lives, we had to live on battlefields and go through our losses one-by-one. you deserve something better than this.

“but…” calor fights back a sob, one that has been clogging his throat since the moment he had made the decision to leave, the memories of his brothers fading like his allegiance to the republic. “but i’m a coward—”

“no,” rex interrupts. “you’re not. i’ll admit that, before, i had thought those who defected were traitors, that we must swear to the republic and our lives along with it. but i’ve come to learn that maybe this war is no longer what it used to be, that the things we fight for change with every battle. we lose so many men, every day. it gets tiring but… we were bred and born to fight. without this war, we wouldn’t even exist. i can’t imagine any life for myself out of it. but you’re breaking free from that quota. you’re making a choice, to have a life outside this war that defined you since birth. and if you ask me, that’s no mark of a traitor.”

“yeah but—”

“it’s already near the end of this war,” commander rex says. he’s smiling. “you deserve to make a new life for yourself. you won’t have to fight anymore.”

calor is quiet. he feels a wetness on his cheek, and he realizes he’s crying in front of his own commander, so he hastily wipes away his tears with his gauntlet-less blacks and beams at the commander. commander rex helps him place back his gauntlet and hands him back his satchel, now checked and ready for his run. “you’re all set. i hope arpat knows the cleanest route out of sundari, but he’s mandalorian so—”

he’s cut off when calor risks his all and develops him into a fierce hug, tight enough to crush someone that wasn’t of clone stature. he can’t help but laugh in nothing but grief mixed with relief. “thank you, sir.”

immediately, rex wraps his arms around him as hell, and despite the clear lack of knowledge of what to do when hugged by a subordinate, calor can feel the warmth from the gesture. “you’re welcome.”

calor’s ready. he slips back on his satchel and makes sure his helmet is safely tucked beneath his armpit to prevent any more catastrophe from happening. he’s making his way down towards the corridor to the safest and quickest way to the docks when he stops. he turns around to look at his commander, watching him go. he sees something flicker in his eyes. there’s something sad about them, intermingling with his joy yet the sorrow still present. “sir?”

rex snaps back to his stoic demeanor. “yes, trooper?”

“have you… have you ever wanted to desert?”

rex doesn’t answer for a beat. “goodbye, calor.”

he doesn’t answer, but the silence and the fragility of his tone is enough of what calor needs to know. he nods and gives him one final salute, before he disappears down the hall.

[swiss-cheeze]

Secretes from the Summer of 69’ || Brian May x reader

((Why are there not good gifs of Brian wtf?))

Warnings: uh, swearing, angst, shitty writing, like, one sexual innuendo. I wrote this in like; an hour or two so it’s really shitty.

A/N: it’s a song fic.

Listen to the song for better use I guess idk.

Lyrics are in bold

———

Growing up was never something for you, you always wanted to be a kid, or at least a teenager. You could get away with everything if you thought of the perfect cover story and had a good complexion, keeping fit always helped as well.

So when you sat down for that final exam you knew everything was going to change. Yeah you got a B- which is good and all, but you finished school; now what?

---

I got my first real six-string.

Bought it at the five-and-dime.

Played it 'til my fingers bled.

Was the summer of sixty-nine.

“Go again Brian” you said rewinding the tape.

“What? But that was perfect!” Brian said dramatically throwing his hands up, John groaned behind you as he came up and pressed the coms button.

“You missed a part dummy!” John said, “If you can’t do it then we’ll get Roger in there and see what happens!”

“What! What part!?” Brian retaliated.

“Just…” you sighed and placed your head in your hands as John kept the coms on, “just play from the start, go all the way through and we can pick and place later” you said exhausted.

“Whatever you say” Brian mumbled. The man put down his drink of water, made a motion to replay the tape and soon the drums and base floated through the room accompanied by Brian’s guitar; he was doing better on this one than any other.

Me and some guys from school.

Had a band and we tried real hard.

Jimmy quit, Jody got married.

I should've known we'd never get far.

“He hasn’t played this bad since Mike left” you said softly making John chuckle beside you.

“Aren’t you glad I came then” John stated as he sat down in a nearby wheelie chair with a large grin.

“Sarcasm isn’t a pretty look on you Deaky” you explained with a grin, you played with a few of the knobs on the control board before leaving it alone and turning around to look at John, “you were so shy and enclosed back then when you first came into the band”

“Shut up” John jokingly said with a smile.

“And the hair!” a voice exclaimed, it was Roger walking through the door with a cardboard tray, two cups of coffee and a tea no doubt, “the hair he had back then WOOF”

“You had that hair back then too don’t forget” John said with a chuckle as he grabbed the coffee Roger had handed him as you grabbed the one he handed to you.

“So, Brian’s still at it then yeah?” Roger said as he leant over the control panel and squinted through the glass, and Roger had the audacity to say his eyesight was fine, “sounds shit”, you whacked Roger in the arm as the man chuckled, followed by John and then you.

“He always sounds shit darling don’t flatter yourself” Freddie said walking through the door, “sorry I’m late, my poor darlings had a stomach bug and I had to take three of them to the vet. THREE!” Freddie exclaimed as he ripped off his sunglasses and landed on the couch with a ‘poof’, “I think it was the tuna I gave them as a treat, needless to say, my loves won’t be getting any tuna no more”

“Don’t you always feed them Tuna though?” Roger asked with a cocked eyebrow raised over his sunglasses.

“Yes but-“ Freddie began.

“Oh please don’t go on about what you feed them Freddie. Please” you said placing your head in your hands, “I’ve heard enough screeching thanks to Brian already, I don’t need you to add onto that” you said with a chuckle.

“Fine! I just won’t feed you then” Freddie said jokingly.

“You don’t feed me enough anyway” you mumbled before blowing a raspberry softly, a soft ‘ahem’ came from the sound booth door.

“I just tried to play my heart out and here you all are talking” Brian said as he sipped his tea, Roger grinned behind his coffee cup as Freddie and John snickered.

“Heart? What heart? All you’ve got is skin and bone my friend” you said with a smile.

“Oh hush hush, don’t hurt the poor boy” Freddie said with a wave of his hand and a grin on his lips. Brian rolled his eyes before slinking over to the couching and plopping down softly.

Oh, when I look back now

That summer seemed to last forever

And if I had the choice

Yeah, I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life

“Stop eye fucking” John groaned.

“Who?” Freddie asked as he looked between everyone.

“(Y/n) and Brian” John said with a sigh, “they keep looking at each other with these eye movements and I can tell they’re undressing each other as we speak and it is not nice to be able to see” the man said as he rubbed his forehead, seemingly scarred from what he had to witness.

“Well if you hadn’t have said anything we wouldn’t be envisioning it right now” Roger mumbled, “plus you’re the one who saw and thought of it, you have such a dirty mind Deaky” the man said with a grin.

“Well he does have the most kids” you said with a chuckle as you sipped your coffee. Brian shook his head as he laughed softly.

“You’re all a bunch of idiots you know that?” Brian asked as he looked to everyone in the room with a nice twinkle in his eye, “between you three” the man said with a finger drifting between Roger, you and John, “you each have one collective brain cell and none of you are using it right now”, you gasped dramatically and placed a hand on your chest and Roger pulled his glasses down his nose a little and John snorted softly.

“How RUDE!” you yelled, you stood up, “I don’t deserve such SLACK! Especially from a PESANT, like YOURSELF” you said, “come minions, we have work to do” you said to John and Roger; the two simply laughed softly (as did Fred and Brian) as you walked to the door, “no but seriously I gotta get to work otherwise I’ll be late” you said with an awkward grin.

“Oh shit yeah” Brian said, “I’ll see you out love, come on” the man said as he stood up and motioned for you to keep walking. The two of you had been together for close to nine years and only recently gotten hitched. Brian smiled down at you as you grabbed your bags and stood at the door, Brian looming over you.

“Work on your fingering” you said with a snicker making Brian roll his eyes.

“Yeah yeah” the man mumbled softly as he smiled, you smiled too as Brian bent down and kissed you softly as he held your elbow softly with one hand and his other on your cheek, “have fun at work okay?” Brian said as the two of you parted, you nodded.

“I will.” You smiled as you pecked the man on the lips once more before you started heading for the door, “I should be home for dinner, if I’m not then don’t wait up okay?” you asked, turning on your heel and walking backwards. Brian nodded.

“I’ll keep it in mind, don’t worry” Brian said softly, “love you!” the man said as he blew a kiss your way.

“Love you too babe!” you blew a kiss back as you turned just in time to get the door and walk out the place.

Ain't no use in complainin'.

When you've got a job to do.

Spent my evenings down at the drive-in.

And that's when I met you, yeah.

---

Brian didn’t actually know what your work even was, you had never told him, you just said it was something ‘top secret’ and something only you and your workmates needed to know. After being told this numerous times Brian ended up giving up and just treated it as if he knew.

Standin' on your mama's porch.

You told me that you'd wait forever.

Oh, and when you held my hand.

I knew that it was now or never.

Those were the best days of my life.

The thing was, legally you weren’t allowed to tell Brian, and otherwise you would have to-

Let’s not get into that just yet.

---

Oh, yeah

Back in the summer of sixty-nine, oh

---

Back when you and Brian had first started going out you were known as the ‘never would last’ couple. Brian was always the teacher’s pet, goody two shoes, be good boy, and you? You where the reckless, ambitious, ‘throw caution to the wind’, ‘do now, regret later’ person. You got into fights that Brian had to break you out of, he had to make sure you studied when a test came up, he was the one that helped you with your killer hangovers from those regretful ‘celebration’ nights when you got past an exam. You didn’t even properly start saying you and Brian where together until a year in, and even then it felt foreign on both your tongues, but you got over it, got past your reckless phase, studied and became a goodie that people could rely on.

Well, that’s what you let them believe anyway.

Man, we were killin' time, we were young and restless.

We needed to unwind.

I guess nothin' can last forever, forever, no.

Yeah.

---

Times change, people change and appearances need to be kept up. Brian was touring with Queen more than ever, yes you missed him, but this also meant you could get more work done without him around, this meant that you HAD to get reckless, wild, and out of your mind fucking crazy; within your job limits of course.

You watched Brian every time he came on live on the telly, he always dedicated a song to you, it was different each time but it was still cute and you loved it.

And now the times are changin'.

Look at everything that's come and gone.

Sometimes when I play that old six-string.

I think about you, wonder what went wrong.

That was, until the day shit hit the fan.

---

“Brian?” you asked shakily into the receiver.

“Yes love? You sound scared are you okay?” the man asked slightly concerned as he sat on the edge of the hotel couch the band was staying in.

“I-I. Fuck. Brian I made a mistake. Brian I’m so sorry” you said shakily as tears slowly started to cascade down your face, “nothing went right, we all fucked up and they found us. Everyone got out except me and-“

“Wait wait, we? Everyone? Escaped?” Brian chuckled awkwardly, “love, I…I don’t understand what you’re saying”

“I work for the Secret Service Brian” you said in one breath, “I’m in the worst branch, me and my team are the ones who get missions for-…for killing people, some jobs we have to assassinate someone, or-or we have to get certain information from something for someone else” you took a breath, “Brian I’m in jail, I was caught, I AM caught, my post wasn’t secured and the police got in and immediately took me in” you said quickly and shakily. Brian didn’t say anything, his soft breath was the only thing that came from the other side of the receiver. “Brian?” you asked, “Bri please respond” you whimpered softly.

“Ma’am” the guard said, “your time is up”.

“Fuck, um, o-okay.” You said quickly, “Bri I gotta go, please, come get me, I’m being held somewhere in-, fuck I think Germany? I don’t know. Bri please” by this point you were crying as the guard grabbed your arm roughly, “Bri please find me! I have a life sentence! Please!” you pleaded through your tears, you couldn’t end like this, “I LOVE YOU!”

Standin' on your mama's porch

You told me that it'd last forever

Oh, and when you held my hand

I knew that it was now or never

Those were the best days of my life

---

Thirteen years had passed and Brian hadn’t come for you. He had sent a letter, only one letter, stating that he wanted a divorce and even though with the amount of love he had for you, he couldn’t be with someone like you. You cried over that letter, your pillow and the jail cell you were held in had seen more tears then you cared to say.

Brian didn’t come for you, Roger didn’t call, and Freddie didn’t visit.

But John did.

He did all of those things, he couldn’t get you out of jail. But he sat with you outside your cell almost every chance he got. Brought you good food, new tapes to listen to, new books to read, and clothes. Almost anything you asked for.

So when you asked for another letter from Brian, John was definitely taken aback.

“A letter? From Brian?” John asked.

“Please John, I miss him so much” you said softly with tears in your eyes, you reached a hand out to touch John but the stern look you got given from the guard made you bring your hand back in quickly, “even just a ‘go away’!” you said with a watery smile, “I just need something from him. Please. I beg you”, John sighed softly as the bell rung for visiting hours to be over. He stood up as the guard came forward to start escorting him out.

“I’ll…ill see what I can do okay?” John asked, you nodded quickly with a smile, “alright. Next time I come I’ll try and bring a note from him”

“Thank you John! Thank you!” you sniffled as the guard started walking John out of the compound.

---

Oh, yeah

Back in the summer of sixty-nine, oh

It was the summer of sixty-nine, oh, yeah

Me and my baby in sixty-nine, oh

It was the summer, the summer, the summer of sixty-nine, yeah

“This is all he would give me” John said, it had been three months since John had last come to you, and this time he had something to give you. The man looked around to check the guards weren’t watching and slipped it into your cell quickly. You smiled to John widely as you started to open the note quickly, quietly, and trying not to break it.

‘(Y/n)

John told me you wanted a note. So here it is.

Yes I miss you.

Yes I still love you.

Yes I want to get back with you.

I didn’t have enough money back then to get you out but now I think I do. I think I can get you out. Deaky can tell you the finer details as I cannot through a piece of paper and pencil.

Please don’t think any low of me.

The only thing I ask from you is to tell me everything you had been keeping from me for all of those years we were together, what you did, how you did it and answer any of the questions I have to ask you.

I don’t want to start off where we left because that isn’t right.

I want to get to know you again, over dinner, a date if you will. But you must tell me everything I ask for, without hesitation and without keeping anything from me.

No more secretes.

We will have to take this next step together slowly and oh so carefully.

So, in the words of Bryan Adams.

‘Back in the summer of 69’

Bri x’

To say you had never been happier was an understatement as happy tears rolled down your cheeks and you held the note close.

[timelordthirteen]

We Are Inside Out (Sutherelle fic)

Robert Sutherland/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A conflict leads to something more, in the past and the present.

Notes: I don't know what I'm doing, but they have taken over my life. Send help. I'm putting all these in a series since there is no real plot to speak of, just some stuff. And some pointless smut.

[AO3]

About 1 year ago...

"Do you want this job?"

It was an unexpectedly simple question, and Belle blinked, watching as Sutherland leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a large man, but there was something about his presence that loomed larger than the physical space he occupied. She’d been here for two weeks, and as much as she’d tried to be careful, it was inevitable that she would fuck up.

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, of course, I -”

He started to laugh, and she stopped. The sound was almost cruel, as if she were a child who had exasperated him with her antics. Her hands pulled at her skirt, bunching the tweed fabric.

He shook his head and huffed. “Then fucking act like it!”

He sighed and sat forward, hands folded over the blotter on his desk. “I cannot have a fiasco like we had this morning, do you understand? I’m the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and I looked like a fucking idiot showing up for a meeting that was already over!” His lips pulled back, baring his teeth as he sucked in a breath. “This isn’t secondary school, Miss French. I didn’t fuck off seventh period with my mates, I missed a video conference with the President of France!”

She stayed quiet until he finished shaking his head again and then pushing away from the desk.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged when he looked at her. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I made a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“You’re fucking right it won’t.” His mouth set in a hard line. “Or you’ll be seeking new employment, outside this government.”

Her lips twitched and she looked down in her lap, smoothing her palms over the rough nubs of gray woven between the finer black threads. “You don’t like me.”

Sutherland frowned and sat back. “What was that?”

“You don’t like me. Here. In this job.” She looked up and met his gaze, folding her hands over her knee.

His eyes narrowed, studying her, almost irked by her calm response to his outburst, and then pushed to his feet. “Why do you say that?”

Belle sighed and let her body relax against the curved leather behind her. “Marshall said you wanted someone else, someone with more experience.She said she had to all but force you into hiring someone who was under the age of 50. You thought my CV was too slim, that I’d be too nice, that every square jaw with a trust fund that walked into this office - which seems to be about every ten minutes in this country - would get through your door just because I’m single and of childbearing age.”

���No, that’s not -” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Anna would say it with her special brand of tact that was not unlike a cricket bat to the face. “Look, experience matters. It’s -”

“Is that because of your wife?”

His mouth hung open, eyes widening at her words. She was still, studying him, her head tilting slightly. A sensation rippled down his spine and he curled his hand into a fist. She was the earliest one everyday, almost compulsively. He knew because he’d watched her. She didn’t do it to impress, she did it because it was what it took to get the job done, and up until this morning she’d done it very capably.

After a rocky start, he finally felt settled in his administration, like he had his feet under him. Belle was part of the machine now, part of what kept him going on a daily basis. He depended on her, and that was why he’d felt so let down by her mistake, understandable as it was. A garbled message on a bad international connection, a typo in an email; small conspiracies combining to fuck up his day, and hers. It still scared the hell out of him, something he'd never say, that she still could sit here in front of him, and not look away, not be cowed by his authority.

He laughed again, but this time it was softer, realer. “You’re right. And no, it’s not anything to do with my wife. Rachel’s...she...” He sighed. “It’s not about her. At all.”

Belle gave him a small smile. “It’s alright, I get it. I’d underestimate me too.” He met her eyes, mouth curving crookedly, and she made herself look away for a second. “But you have to respect me if we’re going to work together.”

Sutherland leaned on the edge of his desk and nodded, his body sagging with the weight of the day. “I do. And I’m sorry.”

She exhaled and then stood up, stepping closer and touching her hand to the desk. “It’s give and take, right?”

He shifted and swallowed, staring down at the gap between their fingers. It was something he’d said to his staff on his first day, a way to try to make it about the whole. Duty first, Queen and country; position was secondary to that, to all of them. It was why they were here.

“You're going to take something from me,” she continued, “and I'm going to take something from you, and this job. That’s how it works.”

“Right,” he managed, throat strangely dry. She’d be lucky if she left this job with only minor scarring. They all would be. “I’m afraid that’ll be quite unbalanced, Miss French.”

She caught his gaze and smiled. “Life isn’t even.”

Sutherland nodded, and she moved back, crossing to the door as his cell phone rang out. She looked back before she left, but he’d already turned away. The ringing stopped as he glanced at his phone, the screen bright as he read it over.

1 Missed Call: Rachel Sutherland

The door shut and Sutherland thumped his fist against the table.

Marshall was right and the whole thing was a fucking mess. He was going to stick to his guns though, hold out until there was no other choice. It was a matter of pride, however foolish, but he couldn’t show weakness, not at this tenuous time. The party and his administration needed to be a united front, even if the press ripped him a new arsehole, which of course they would.

“So,” Belle started, tapping some papers into alignment before setting them on top of her legal pad. “We negotiate with terrorists now?”

He looked up and scowled. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head and folded her arms. There was a nagging pain in her head that had not improved during the meeting, and she had hours of notes to type up on top of the three reports he wanted to her precis for tomorrow. “Marshall’s wrong. The Opposition -”

“The Opposition...” he snapped, stepping up until they were toe to toe, using his authority to loom over her, “is for me to worry about. I’m the fucking Prime Minister. It’s not you or Anna or anyone else they’ll try to crucify for caving on your party.”

Eyes narrowing, she held up her hands in front of her, nearly touching the lapels of his suit jacket. “It’s a valid concession, and it doesn’t weaken anything about your position. You’re being stubborn, and you -”

His lips pulled back in a sneer as he pressed forward. He wasn’t here by chance, in this building and this office. There was a trail of blood and sweat and tears behind him, most of it not even his.

“You forget your place, Miss French!”

Belle stumbled back a step, colliding with the wall. Sutherland was almost pressed against her, so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the warm, earthy scent of his cologne. Her eyelids fluttered and she swallowed hard, annoyed not only at his attitude, but at how nothing had resolved from their moment in the conference room weeks ago. Everything had gone back to normal, and he hadn’t said or done anything since their awkward conversation. He’d put her off every attempt she’d made to bring it up again, and now a mild irk had bubbled up into a simmering anger.

She tipped her face up, meeting his eyes as her lips came dangerously close to his. “Where is my place exactly, Mr. Prime Minister? At my desk outside your office? Or on my knees sucking your cock?”

Sutherland’s eyes darkened as his body reacted to her words. “Would you like that?”

She leaned back against the wood paneling, licking her lips slowly and smirking at the way his eyes followed every movement. “Almost as much as you would.”

He sucked in a breath and then braced a hand on the wall, bringing his body into contact with hers. He should have left, should have pushed away from the situation and not played into her game, but the catch in her breath and the light puffs of air from her pink, parted lips drew him in. She let out a small noise, and he dipped his head, brushing his nose along hers, hovering his mouth just out of reach of her lips until she pushed back.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, tipped his head back slightly when she tried to pushed up and catch his mouth. Then he shocked her by sliding a hand behind her, lifting her leg and the pleated skirt of her dress, and pressing himself against her. He was hard and hot already, and she made a needy, desperate sound and pitched her hips to grind against the stiffening ridge of his cock. “Or is it this?”

“Fuck -” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it came out strained and needy.

His head tilted, avoiding kissing her to drag his mouth down her throat, warm and wet, tongue and lips barely brushing her skin as he breathed, the late afternoon scruff on his chin scraping deliciously and making her hiss. He didn’t dare do what he wanted, suck and bite and leave marks from her jaw to her collar bone.

A hand found its way under her dress to run along the elastic of her panties, and she moaned as two long fingers pushed their way inside. She was obscenely aroused already, just from a little verbal sparring, and a part of her hated herself for it. Now that he knew he could work her up so easily he’d be incorrigible, and probably a complete bastard about everything.

“Here?” she managed to ask, as her head lolled to the side, baring more of her neck to his teasing.

He brought his mouth up to her ear, briefly nibbling the lobe before he whispered, “Would you prefer being on your knees?”

Her hands came up to his shoulders, nails digging in as she rubbed herself against his hand. “Fuck you.”

Sutherland pulled back a bit and licked his lips, sliding his fingers out of her. Her disappointed sigh spurred him on, and he raised them to his mouth to suck her flavor off them. With his free hand he pulled at his belt and zipper. The clinking sound drew her attention, distracting her long enough for him to reach behind her with both hands and lift her off her feet. Pinned between his body and the wall, she let out a squeak of surprise, her thighs tensing around his waist.

He smirked. “Is that an official request?”

Her heels dug into his lower back and she could feel her left shoe slip off, landing on the floor with a muted thud. He managed to work a hand between them, and after a few fumbled movements, tugged her knickers to the side and buried his cock inside her. She glanced towards the door and wondered how long they’d have until someone noticed they hadn’t come out. The fear was quickly dispelled by the sharp movement of his hips, setting a deep and deliberate rhythm that had them both at the edge quicker than she thought possible. Her fingers wrapped around a handful of his dress shirt as her back arched off the wall, pushing painfully, blissfully, into him as he moved.

She gasped and swore in his ear. He shushed her and pressed a kissed to the side of her neck that was entirely too soft and gentle for the way the rest of him was pounding into her. The edge of the paneling bit into her shoulders and she could already feel a few bruises forming as her cunt started to pulse and throb. He grunted sharply and jerked his hips, and she felt a hot, wet rush between her legs. His hips kept rocking into hers as he breathed through his orgasm, shifting and rubbing, and she turned her face, pressing the side of her fist against her mouth to muffle the ragged moan as she came.

They stayed like that for a long moment, with his breath warm and moist on her neck and her hand stroking his hair. He straightened slowly, waiting for her to stretch her legs to the floor and keeping his hold on her waist until he was sure she was steady. The skirt of her dress fell clumsily over her thighs, and she reached up and under, shifting her knickers back into place and trapping the sticky mix of their fluids.

She looked up and found familiar eyes, warm whiskey brown, and a look she couldn’t quite name. It felt like there was something shining in the corner, but then he sighed and turned away, and whatever she thought she might have seen was gone. When he turned back, suit smoothed back into place and trousers zipped up, he flashed her a tight smile. It’s not the one she hoped for, the one where the left side of his mouth curved just a little more than the right. She shouldn’t have needed that slightly crooked grin, those dark, laughing eyes, or the long, hard feel of him inside her so badly.

Belle exhaled and moved away, righting her fallen shoe with her toe and wiggling it back on. A few moments later and they were both straightened, almost like it never even happened, though the ache in her legs and the lingering flush to her skin said otherwise.

“You’re right,” she said, finally, turning away from him to collect her notepad and papers. When she turned around again, he was watching her with a strange expression. “They will blame you. You’re the PM, and it all falls on you, rightly or not. But wouldn’t you rather be blamed at least having done something?”

Sutherland pressed his lips together and then sighed. He could still taste Belle’s flavor on his tongue and smell her on his clothes. His back was going to be killing him later too, but she was right, the same as Anna. He was being stubborn because he thought he had a point to prove, because he always had to be the one in control.

Belle started towards the door, stopping halfway along the table where he was still standing. “But it’s not my place to say so.”

“Belle -”

The door was closing by the time he got her name out and he sat back against the edge of the table as his eyes came to rest on the wall. There was a scrape along the chair rail where they’d been, small, unlikely to be noticed and if it was without much regard. His jaw tensed and he looked away.

Back in his office, on the left corner of his desk, there were divorce papers to be signed.

[funkymeihem-fiction]

He Don’t Mean It- Chapter 7

The back of his hand slammed into the tabletop with such force that the whole metal table rattled, and he groaned and rubbed at his sore arm. The first round he had won by her slipped elbow, but she had put up more than a worthy fight after that. She won the next two, lost the fourth, won the fifth, and by that time he had forgotten if he had upped the bet or not, and whether or not he had to accept her help or she had to kiss his rings.

Zarya was certainly…different. She’d always seemed so somber and responsible on the field, but that had been the only times he had ever truly paid much attention to her. During competitions, even little ones like arm-wrestling, it turned out she was a vivacious and enthusiastic braggart, and loud enough to rival Junkrat himself. Wiping away the sweat on her forehead, she sat back, and rolled her arm, still smirking and ready for another.

“Will nobody else challenge Zaryanova! Must I bring Doomfist himself to the arena!” She raised both arms and cupped a hand around one ear as if she could hear a cheering crowd yell back at her.

“…Only lost the most important one,” Roadhog pointed out, snorting a laugh at the dirty look he received in reply.

“Eh! You are the one who extended the bet. Although…Wait, how long have we been doing this?” She was brought back to reality, glancing to the door again. “I thought they would be here by now. I am sorry, my friend, but we cannot wait any longer. The Junkman and Mei are still unaccounted for and hurt, we cannot ignore that. Up. Up.”

He lifted one scarred brow at the words ‘my friend’, but merely nodded slowly. “Mm…”

She stood, and he watched her head for the communicator panel by the door. She was right. They didn’t know the extent of Junkrat and Mei’s injuries, and that had been at least an hour ago. He liked to think the two were probably off arguing or…doing other things…as they often did. But there was always a very high possibility of Junkrat laying injured in a ditch somewhere, at any given point in time. And Mei…She hadn’t deserved this. But, a lot of things seemed to happen to her that she never really deserved. Junkrat too, the idiot. And the way Zarya spoke, probably her as well. Didn’t really deserve their misfortunes, any of them.

Unlike him, who deserved everything he got.

She paused very suddenly, her hand just above the control panel for the door. Turning back to him, she shook her head. “Oh. I almost forgot. We did not speak of the prizes.”

“The prizes?” He had almost forgotten them completely.

He’d won the first round and most important one, but had kept the bet going after that. He wasn’t entirely sure where they had ended up, but at some point he’d been on the losing side a few times in a row, and likely had lost the third out of five…Which would end with him allowing her to ‘help’ him get back into Overwatch’s good damn graces again, even if it was mostly because she wanted it more than he did.

He doubted that only a few of them really gave a shit as far as Junkrat’s health, or his own. But he’d hurt Mei. Of all people on the base, he’d hurt one of the smallest and most beloved, because of course he would. He still wasn’t entirely sure why the Russian was bothering…She could likely get a lighter punishment just by staying out of things and being the good soldier she was supposed to be.

The pink of her hair was flecked with little speckles of reddish-brown as she tilted her head. “The prizes. I did not forget. We will…exchange winning bets, yes?”

He remembered her words keenly. ‘ If you win, I will kiss your ring, your boots, and whatever is beneath that pig mask,’ she had said. If she had been anyone else, he might have really taken her to task for it. Her overconfidence and boastful nature had driven her to promise all those things to him, after all. He had never much considered himself a gentleman, even before he was Roadhog, but likely it would just be better for them to both to just demand the first part of their bet, just the bit with the rings-

“Which part do you want first?” Zarya said impatiently.

“…Hm?” He turned his massive head to her, blinking behind his lenses.

“I remember our bet,” she replied, folding her massive arms and pulling down her blood-spattered track suit sleeves. “I am holding you to your end, you must hold me to mine. Which do you want first?”

That was surprising, to be sure. For a moment, even he wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally he shook his immense head, waving her off. “Hmmm…Don’t wanna kiss these boots. Not where they’ve been.”

She shrugged. “The rings, then?”

“…The rings, yeah…Grrrngh…” He rumbled, feeling strangely…uncomfortable? He was often uncomfortable, yes, but not in this particular way. He never put himself into situations that would ever result in him feeling this way. Those green eyes were staring at him in a very expectant sort of way that he hadn’t seen in…how many years had it been?

Awkward. That was the word. When was the last time he’d felt this awkward? He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Uhr…Hmm…” He was unsure why he felt this way, seeing as he was the one who had decided on that particular prize in the first place.

She looked a little smug at his sudden hesitation, even rolling her eyes a little before gesturing to his enormous hands. “Put them on, then.”

Something inside him rankled a bit. Nobody truly ordered Roadhog to do anything he did not wish to do. Even Junkrat, who was technically his employer and tried in vain to be ‘the boss’ persona inside his addled head, had never truly been the one in charge. If Roadhog wished to do something, he did it on his own terms. So why was he reaching over the table, gathering up the golden rings in one palm and sorting through them, before swiftly slipping them back into place around his fingers? They covered the tan lines and pale bands across dark flesh that had been long scorched by the sun, the clinking of metal and gold paint clacking against one another giving him a curious sense of comfort and familiarity. It felt right to have them back on.

What did not feel right was the way her hand was suddenly upon his, taking his immense fist into her grip and starting to rise it to her waiting lips.

Shit. No, that wasn’t supposed to be happening, was it? Behind the protective blank glass of his lenses, his eyes widened slowly. Her lips, painted a lighter shade of magenta pink, slowly lowered and pursed, and he watched as silently as ever as their softness was pressed flat to the embossed golden surface of the L. They stayed there for just a moment, before peeling up and away. Then they moved downward once more, to the E. Tilting his fist in her much smaller grip, the F and the T soon followed, their golden surfaces marred by the scattered patterns of pink. Such a pretty mouth against his jewelry, and for once it didn’t involve flying teeth or crunching bone.

L. E. F. T. The rings were done, and he sat there like a big fat fucking idiot as she suddenly chuckled and then abruptly pitched his fist back at him. He looked down at the rings in a very stupid way, muttering something or other about ‘that being done’, and then looked back at her, clearly expecting her to open the door and get on with it.

No go. She was just staring at him in that expectant manner again. “If not the boots, then the rest of it? I do not back down from my bets.”

She was serious, then. Well, best to get on with it. It might have been…a while…and perhaps she really was just doing this for that silly wager she’d made in the heat of the moment, although there was a very light flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Fear? No, not fear. Desire? Surely not. Embarrassment? Probably embarrassment. Maybe. Although that did not explain why she had stepped forward and gotten very close to him all of a sudden.

Only Junkrat had seen what lay beneath the swinish veneer he always wore, and even then he often forgot and had been surprised all over again when Roadhog removed his mask. Even Dr. Ziegler had not been able to get him to relinquish it, though she had fervently tried, and had remarked more than once on his complete lack of hesitation on removing his pants compared to removing his pig mask. But none of them understood its meaning. How could they? And Zarya was just another of them.

He held up one thick finger. “Wait.”

“You do not want-?”

“Fine. But. No looking,” he said, gesturing to his face. He saw her about to roll her eyes and protest, but cut her off before she could do so, yet again. “No.”

“Then how will I know where to-”

He lifted up from his slouched posture, rearing over her. He could tell she was not used to such things. Zarya was a large woman in almost all aspects, and clearly used to being the one doing the looming. But she held her ground, merely looking up at him with her jaw set in determination. Fine. If this was how she wished to play things, he could play along…to a certain point.

“My win, my terms,” he said, in a low tone which barred any more nonsense on the matter.

“…Very well, Mako Rutledge,” she said evenly, her gaze unmoving.

He narrowed his eyes a little behind the mask, but nodded. With both hands, he reached up and slowly undid the latches, clicking one by one until he felt them give, holding the mask in place. She looked on, unflinching and waiting.

He leaned forward slowly, lifting one huge hand as his calloused palm settled over her face, thick fingers curling to cover her eyes. He didn’t have as much feeling in his hands as he used to, more accustomed to having bruised knuckles and dried blood under his nails… but he could swear he felt a wetness there. Or perhaps it was merely his imagination. But she didn’t need to see his face and he couldn’t stand to see those eyes of hers, as he slowly brought up his other hand to push up the bottom of his mask, peeling away the swinish veneer just enough to free his mouth, holding it up above his lips and blocking his own vision. The comforting presence of the mask’s gas filters gave way to the burn of real air and the smell of her, and he kept her eyes covered as he brought his scarred lips to brush against hers in a rusty and ill-practiced kiss that would have shamed his younger self.

She tasted like anger, pain, and cheap lip gloss that didn’t resemble any real fruit he knew of. And she was eerily silent, barely breathing as her posture remained tense. That was no good, and he knew he could do better. When he kissed her again, her lips pressed back against him. So he tried again, and he should have ended it there. But as with so many other foolish decisions, he did the exact opposite of what he should have done.

Her mouth opened and he took the invitation, pushing his tongue forward and finding hers. Her mouth was sweet and more than a little bitter, overpowering the taste of the the stale hogdrogen from his mask. Whatever he might have tasted like to her, she didn’t seem to mind. At all. When he felt the scrape of nails against his chest, he realized she was trying to pull herself on top of him in a very different way than before.

He swallowed. Hard.

Wasn’t the first time he’d had people throw themselves at him, both men and women. But usually theirs was an act of desperation or sabotage or some misguided notion that they might endear themselves for his protection. When he’d been younger, he’d taken a few of them up on it before tossing them aside, after being done with them. But this was one woman he couldn’t simply toss aside, especially after she’d physically tossed him earlier.

She sat astride his lap, leaning on the curve of his wide belly, pressing in with both massively strong legs on either side of him. She kissed him again and he started to bring both hands up towards her face as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her. The armored belt he wore, with the license plate grill and buckle at the front of his trousers, suddenly felt very tight and restricting. Especially with the way those legs, stronger than iron shackles, kept him in place as she started to very subtly grind against him. Safe to say that he felt stirrings of a sort that he had not felt so strongly in a long, long time.

Maybe just a little bit would be all right. Something quick and without passion, before they went on with business as usual? How long had it been? Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he had a little fun. It had been such a long time, after all. If he did this. If he did this… would it feel anything like her?

Mako, take care of yourself out there.

…

That’s what she had said.

But this wasn’t her. And Mako was dead. Everyone was dead and he had killed them. And here he was, kissing a woman nearly twenty years his junior and entertaining some foolish notion that it would be anything like the old days. There were no old days. Not anymore. This had been a bad idea, just one more bad idea to add to all the other bad ideas he’d ever inflicted on the world. The old Mako was gone, and only Roadhog was left. And Roadhog cared nothing for this.

He pulled his lips away and tried to ignore the way her face moved to follow his, as hungry and touch-starved as they both were. He started to sit up, and loosened his grip until he let her go altogether. Her grasp on his vest faltered, and she slid down from him in a clear mixture of resignation and disappointment. She sat up quickly, cheeks rosy and embarrassed and almost the same shade as her hair, as she smoothed her locks back to have something else to do with her hands.

“Ah. Sorry,” she said. “It was my mistake.”

“Hrmm…”

“Извини, что я нагрубил… Sorry, I should not have done that. We shouldn’t… Da, it was nothing,” she said more assuredly, still refusing to look at him.

“Wait,” the junker said quickly, lifting a hand. “It’s not that. It’s not you. It’s…” He trailed off when he realized there was nothing he could really say.

Zarya laughed bitterly. “You just used ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line on me, Mako Rutledge?”

She had him there, and he withdrew with a low sigh. “...Yeah.”

“It is fine. Strange night, everyone acting crazy. Even me, kissing a pig mask man... Acting crazy, that is all.” She buried her face in both hands, rubbing them down her tired features and grasping her chin as she looked at the TV. It had gone into standby mode long ago and she hadn’t even noticed. “Put on that funny show, please. Give me a minute. Then we can go.”

“Ghhm,” he grunted, glancing around for the remote. “Listen, it’s not-”

“You are right, it is not anything. I agree, it is nothing,” she said, a little more harshly. “No sorries needed. None of my business, just like before. You were in a bad place, I should not have done anything. I was just acting crazy, it is a bad night, got carried away. Always. I get too carried away, I kiss too hard, I start to go too crazy, come on too strong or I say what I do not mean, it is too much, and then they leave. You are not the first, think nothing of it. Put on the show, please.”

“Wasn’t bad,” he said, and cringed inwardly at how lame and weak it sounded, how patronizing. “Wasn’t bad. Just…can’t. Now.”

She still wasn’t really looking at him, or the blank-screened television. She didn’t seem to be looking at anything, gaze far away and a little downcast behind her ink-darkened eyelashes. She muttered something in Russian that he couldn’t really hear nor understand. Frustration, perhaps. It didn’t even sound like she was angry at him in particular so much as something else…herself, maybe.

He knew what that was like.

“You don’t have to tell ‘em,” he suggested.

“Tell them?”

“About that. Any of that. You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“Hmph. Maybe. Maybe not. It was just a kiss, part of the bet. Besides, what good is there in keeping secrets now? Maybe I’m tired of secrets, Mako Rutledge.” She fumbled with the sleeve of her track jacket, looking down with some dismay where she found several popped threads and a tear from their wrestling earlier. “It was foolish, to make you do that. To make those wagers. Apologies for that.”

“Didn’t make me,” he admitted. Which was true enough. Some part of him had wanted to. Definitely wanted to, and just couldn’t.

“You do not have to tell them about it either, you do not have to come with me. I will go.”

“The hell’s that?” he grumbled. “I don’t back down from my bets. You don’t, either. You held up your end.” He slowly tilted his masked head at her. An unexpected turn of events, to be sure. She was at least being honest about this being a very strange night. He lifted one enormous hand, hovering over her tattooed shoulder for a moment before finally coming down. “…Still gonna go with you.”

It wasn’t really an honor thing. Honor didn’t matter much in the Outback at the end of the day, and he left such things to the people who cared more about it, like the German and his squire. But they’d made their bets and she’d been good for it, and she’d even manage to best him a few times. He could still taste the sour cherry-like flavor on his scarred lips from her loss, was only fair and square to take his part of the loss as well. Besides…it unnerved him to see her so frazzled and vulnerable, best thing to do was fix his part in it. Might be the only decent thing he’d done in a long time.

She had her own problems. Apparently this wasn’t the first time she’d come on to someone like a goddamn charging bull, just like she’d said. And with very bad timing. Likely she was wrestling with her own proverbial demons, whatever they were. Zaryanova was strong, there was no doubting that. But he was strong too. He knew what it was like to be strong, but just never strong enough. Strong enough to snap the bones of all the little ones gathered around them, but just not strong enough to keep them safe. Going through life from one challenge to the next, with so many of them ending in failure or tragedy, because they just didn’t have enough strength when it truly mattered.

Perhaps this was a recurring issue with her, pursuing other strong people that she should not have pursued. Maybe in some misguided notion that they would be strong enough to handle her, and finally be able to scratch the itch she couldn’t reach herself. She was still young, after all, even if war had made her older in some ways. It did that to people, left them lingering in some weird in-between place, a dark place that he’d been in since he was around the same age.

She glanced to his hand, but then looked away again, still frowning.

He usually liked the quiet, but for once, he had the overwhelming urge to fill it with words. To tell her that it was no idiotic placation, that it really was not her. It was just…him.

She still wouldn’t look at him.

“Her eyes were green too,” he finally said. In the ensuing silence, he added a low, “But no scar.”

“…What?”

“Hmmm…My…” He trailed off again. Didn’t wanna have to say it.

She blinked several times when she realized what his unspoken words were, clearly having not expected such candid honesty from the mercenary, especially not so suddenly. Several expressions crossed her face all at once, all jumbled together; understanding, anger, sadness, resentment, embarrassment… but then settled on a kind of tired resignation. It was an expression that perhaps seemed a bit overly familiar on her features, even if few others ever saw it on her.

With that look still on her face, she approached him again, and for a moment he worried that she might try to kiss him again. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she did. Not a second time. But he did not have to worry, when instead she put both arms around his thick neck and embraced him. Bowing her forehead until he could feel the rough patch of scar tissue against his collarbone, she simply rested there against him in silence for a while before mumbling one low, soft phrase.

“I am sorry.”

Couldn’t be entirely sure what she meant; whether she was sorry for coming on too strong, or sorry about his wife, or the color of her eyes, or what she had done, or a billion other things. He had a strong feeling that it could be encompassed by ‘everything’. Sorry for everything. Still processing that, he just stood there, still unused to contact that didn’t involve bloodshed. The grinding of his mask filters was the only sound, until he finally responded with the same affirmative rumble he used for most everything.

“…Mmmm.”

One massive arm lifted up to place itself on her back, holding it there. He was glad she didn’t start crying or arguing or asking him questions about her. She didn’t need to know about his wife, or their daughter, the mask, or anything else. And thank fuck she didn’t try to comfort him on the matter, like Mei or the others might have done. She also didn’t launch into anything he didn’t need to know; what she had done, the hardships she had endured as well, who she had killed… She said absolutely nothing at all, and that was much better. This, he could handle, just standing there with his hand on her back and her arms around his neck and saying nothing to each other.

Her grip loosened and she slid just a step back from him, hands still on his shoulders as his masked face tilted down at her.

She offered him a half-hearted, still sad smile, and he could see where the pink paint had come off most of her lips. “Come, my friend, we still need t-”

There was an abrupt whooshing noise as the front door slid open, and Junkrat was standing there on the front stoop.

“Oi! Roadie! Y’won’t bloody believe it, mate, she won’t e…ven…talk…”

His words faded away as his good eye glinted radiant gold and widened, and the other one could be seen trying to do the same, stopped only by being surrounded by dark blue swollen flesh squeezing it shut. His gaze darted from his bodyguard, to the Russian woman he was currently holding to him in what looked to be a lover’s embrace. To make it worse, Zarya stepped away from him in a very panicked way, straightening her posture and uttering a little formal coughing sound. Roadhog was left to stand there, his arm dropping away from her back, and looking very, very guilty.

For a moment he just stared, before Junkrat twitched very strangely, eye ticcing as his lips pulled back to reveal sharp bared teeth, still missing his gold one. Even through the swelling bruises, his expression contorted from surprise to rage. Lifting one hand, he pointed at them, jabbing his index finger like he wanted to stab them both with it.

“ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!”

***

“YA DRONGO! YA DIPSHIT! YA ABSOLUTE FUCKING CUNT!”

“Rat…” Roadhog warned.

“CAUGHT YA IN THE ACT!” Junkrat surged forward, eyes still blazing as he stretched up to his full height and went to face Roadhog head on, grabbing onto his vest and slamming his already bruised forehead into the pig mask so he could stare right into the lenses, even though Hog knew he couldn’t see through them. The boy’s voice rose to a screech, pitch going up and down at random and making him sound even more deranged than usual. “You beat the piss outta me, mate! Again! And who gives a shit about that, but you hurt my Mei! Was this all part of your plan?!” He jammed his good eye against the glass. “You were just mad, weren’t ya! Mad cause I had a girl and you didn’t! Caught ya in the act, I did! S’not fair! I leave you alone for five fuckin’ minutes and you go and seduce the big Russian dill while I’m bowing and scrapin’ to mine, and she won’t even talk to me!” Rat turned on Zarya next, bellowing at her as well. “SHE WON’T EVEN TALK TO ME!”

“Rat,” Roadhog said, a little more firmly but not moving to push him off. “No.”

Zarya frowned severely, folding her arms. “Where is Mei? She is not with you? Is she all right?”

“I wouldn’t fucking know, would I?” Junkrat snarled, peeling himself off of Roadhog’s chest and turning on the woman with no small amount of ferocity. “She won’t come out of her room, won’t even talk to me. Tried everything, I did, I did all the things y’said! Tried to be nice, and groveled and begged and apologized, and even-”

He froze suddenly, eyes narrowing at her as he took a step forward, as Zarya tensed up and brought one arm up in clear defense, leaning away from him.

“Y’gave me bad advice just t’fuck with me, didn’t you?!”

She glared back. “What? I did no such th-”

“Didn’t like that I was rooting your little pal, s’that it? Jealousy, that’s the rub! Or maybe you was just trying to get me out of here, so you could put th’ moves on my best mate!” He jabbed a finger at her again, and snarled a little when she brusquely slapped it away from her.

“Do not touch me, junk man!”

Roadhog uttered a grinding sigh as he stepped forward. “Zarya, don’t…”

“Oh-ho-ho! First name basis now, is it!” He turned on Hog once more. “S’clear now! You’re in cahoots! You planned this together!”

“Do you ever listen to yourself, Junkrat?” Zarya asked with a clearly frustrated snort.

“Of fuckin’ course I listen to myself! Nobody else listens to me!”

The calm mood from earlier had been thoroughly ruined with all the screeching, and the pounding in Roadhog’s head had returned. Dealing with Junkrat was already difficult enough when his mood was like this, and now the younger junker was in a rare form of crisis mode. Although there might have been very good reasons for that, especially with Mei going into hiding to get away from him…from both of them. Hog was the cause of this, yet again. Doing a pretty shite job as a bodyguard, really.

With a low rumble, Roadhog reached into his pocket, pulling out Junkrat’s lost gold tooth. Pinching it delicately by the root, brushing away the dust and a chunk of pink gum still attached to it, he offered it out to his cohort. Junkrat’s wild gaze flickered from between his mask and his missing tooth, and when he bared his teeth at him, there was a black gap where the missing fang ought to have gone. With a violent swing, the younger junker knocked the tooth away, sending it bouncing with humorous little plinking noises across the cement floor, finally rolling to a stop near an abandoned engine block.

Hog watched it go, slowly lowering his massive hand back to his side.

Junkrat backed away from him, shaking his head. Even worse than the half-feral look in his eyes, something much more human and stricken bubbled underneath his surface, only kept at bay by his addled brain’s inability to form a cohesive thought of anything. His voice was choked with a mix of sorrow and anger. Mostly anger. “…Y’fucked me up somethin’ good this time, mate…”

Hog nodded. “Yeah…”

Neither of them said anything more for a few moments.

Zarya lifted both hands in a placating motion. “Listen, Junkrat, calm down. We must calm down. We can still fix it. We will go find Mei, and go tell them about-”

“What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Who’s gonna go find Mei! Who gives a shit about Mei!” Junkrat snapped at her before she could finish, though his own words sounded like they caused him pain to say. Trilling a whine through his broken teeth, he seized at his hair and pulled, stomping in the other direction. “Who gives a shit about any of ya!”

“Rat.”

“No! Fuck! Fuck you, Roadhog! The deal’s off, by the by! Was gonna give you a tidy 50% share, no foolin’. That’s a king’s ransom, that was. But I’m takin’ it back, and even then it ain’t gonna do shit to pay for what you done! Stay here with your new lady pal, and you know what, you can have my old lady pal while you’re at it.” He kicked open the door to his room, vanishing inside. There was a loud series of crashes and bangs, followed by cursing, from within.

Zarya gave Roadhog a rather helpless and awkward look, wincing very slightly at every new noise emanating from Junkrat’s den. “What…is he doing…?”

Roadhog shook his head and waited.

A few minutes later, Junkrat re-appeared, with a heavy leather duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Hugging it to his side, he sidled along the far wall and eyed the garage’s two other inhabitants with seething, wary hatred. Roadhog looked again, and saw what it was. Rat always kept an emergency on-the-lam bag ready to go, wherever they went. When they were on the run from the law together, they’d had to rely on those supplies more than once. Only this time, his employer was only holding enough for one.

“Rat, don’t,” Hog said again.

Junkrat ignored him and passed right on by, limping rapidly for the door and slamming it open with one palm. It hissed open, a light gray on the horizon promising the first light of false dawn. He turned on his peg, fixing his once-partner with that piercing yellow stare, which turned all the darker when Zarya reached out an arm as if to comfort his erstwhile ‘protector’. Growling softly, he stood in the entry.

“Ya know somethin’, Roadie. I know it ain’t your fault,” he said, voice still strained. “Know ya don’t mean it.”

Roadhog just seemed to stand there, and Zarya was the one to try to stop him again. “Junkman. Junkrat. Do not do this. Your friend here, he is staying, Mei is staying, you should stay with them. There is still time-”

“Just ‘cos he don’t mean it…he still did it. S’all fucked up now, ain’t it? S’all gone. Blown all to hell, and for once I didn’t set the charges.” His lanky shoulders slumped for a moment, then he straightened back up with fierce conviction. “Well, nothin’ left for a bloke here! I’m off!”

Lifting his metal hand, his middle digit flashed at them both, before he shouldered his bag and left. The door slammed shut behind him.

***

“What now! Can he just leave? He cannot just leave!” Zarya motioned frantically to the doorway yet again. “Go after him! Do you want me to drag him back! I will go get him!”

Roadhog shook his head. Going after him would be a fool’s errand and he knew it. They were both too large and too slow. Junkrat was not an easy rodent to catch even at the best of times, much less now. Besides…couldn’t really blame him for leaving. Not really.

“We will put the base in lockdown so he cannot go,” the Russian was saying, apparently not understanding. “I have to go find Mei and see if she is all right. Where is your communicator? I will call the gorilla and the medics. We cannot wait anymore.”

Hog still just stood there, seemingly frozen.

Zarya’s frantic words were instead interrupted by a knock at the door. Her expression fell into one of visible relief, striding over and pressing the controls to open it. “Rat Man! Good, you are…Oh. Oh no.”

Her faltering words made Roadhog look over, and he saw why. It was not Junkrat standing on the stoop, but the much smaller and somehow more imposing form of Ana Amari. Lifting her chin slightly, the former Captain took a step inside, her single eye roving about the little room. Everything was still a mess, with overturned furniture, strewn tools and garbage, and blood splatters all over the floor. And of course, her gaze was immediately drawn to the glint of the tooth on the floor.

Zarya took a step away, straightening back into her guilty military composure and staring straight ahead. “…Captain Amari. Um.”

The old medic tutted softly, stepping over a puddle of red on the ground as she looked between the two. With a smile that didn’t entirely reach her eye, she folded her arms behind her and cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, in that gentle and grandmotherly tone that nobody in their right mind would ever dare challenge, “…Who would like to start explaining first?”

[deepseacritter]

Every Dog Has His Day

For those who want to read here…

Characters: CC-3636 | Wolffe, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, Sinker

Summary: Wolffe gets his revenge.

Sinker knew his commander, and could tell when Wolffe was having an off day. The clone walked a certain way when he was agitated, with his feet hitting the ground harder than usual, hands clenched into fists that were about ready to take a swing at anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. Cody joked that the Wolfpack could probably smell the change in their commander’s mood as well. Wolffe had not appreciated that comment, but General Koon thought there might actually be some truth there. The Force was in all things, and given the strong bonds of the Pack, perhaps they truly were sensing what Wolffe was feeling.

Things were not going well so far. The mess hall ran out of caf at breakfast and lunch. Some of the troopers from the 501st had occupied the firing range longer than expected, and the new shinies were late arriving from Kamino, which meant the rest of the day’s schedule was shot. To top it all off, someone had also “borrowed” Wolffe’s datapad and returned it full of questionable holovids…Sinker suspected it was Cody. The commanders were currently inside the barracks, having a rather loud discussion about it.  

The door to the barracks flew open and Wolffe stormed out muttering a stream of curses. Sinker quickly shot to his right and flattened himself against the wall to get out of the way. The commander would never take his anger out on any member of the Pack, but it was still a good idea to give the man some space when he was upset. Wolffe had clearly lost the argument (not that there was any real proof Cody did anything), and Sinker could just feel the anger emanating from Wolffe as he passed and headed towards the officer’s lounge. Yes, today was definitely an off day.

———-

Rex was catching up on some field reports in the officer’s lounge when Wolffe made a rather loud entrance. The commander looked agitated, and cursed as he smashed his helmet on the table and threw himself into one of the lounge chairs. Rex guessed he had recently crossed paths with Cody, and not wishing to listen to another tirade, simply greeted his brother by name and went back to his reports.

Wolffe rocked his chair back and stared at the ceiling for a good hour before speaking. “Hey, Rex. Do you remember those training rocket launchers we used back on Kamino?”

Odd question, but of course he remembered them. During a weapons session one of his batch mates was messing around and accidentally fired the rocket launcher across the room. The non-lethal blank hit Rex square in the gut and sent him flying. He was what…maybe four or five at the time? The hit to his small body broke three ribs, and he had massive bruising for months.

“Yeah, I remember those. Reminiscing on our youthful training days?”

“I wonder if I’d be able to get my hands on one. Maybe have one shipped in with the next batch of shinies.”

Rex put his data pad down and looked over at Wolffe, who was still apparently contemplating the ceiling. “Vod, we have plenty of rocket launchers on base right now. What do you want a training launcher for?”

Wolffe leaned further back in the chair and rested his hands behind his head. “Might be fun.”

Might be fun? That was doubtful. Nothing about Wolffe screamed “fun.” Cody, on the other hand…ah, that was it.

“Listen, Wolffe…as temping as it may be to fire a rocket at Cody, that’s a sure way to see yourself decommissioned.”

Wolffe turned a scarred face to Rex, his cybernetic eye glowing. “I’m not an idiot, Rex. I don’t like Cody, but I don’t hate him enough to do that. Not yet anyway.”

“So then why the training launcher?”

“I just want one.” The commander abruptly straightened his chair and stood. “Forget about it. Wishful thinking.” He was out the door before Rex could respond.

———-

Sinker sat at a far console in the command center, watching the daily GAR newsfeed. On days like this, when nothing was happening on base and they weren’t deploying, the command center was the best place to be if you wanted a nice, quiet space. Perhaps he would take a quick nap…

The clone jumped when his comm panel suddenly sounded, disrupting the tranquility of the dark room.

“Sinker, do you have an updated ETA for those shinies?” Wolff’s voice echoed through the mostly empty room.

Update…he had seen a notice somewhere recently. Quickly scrolling through fleet notifications, he found it.

“Yes, sir. They’re now scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning.”

“They haven’t left Kamino yet. Good.”

Sinker wasn’t sure how to respond. How was that good? It wasn’t good a couple hours ago, when you were ranting about the schedule. Silence was the better option.

“Meet me in the armory in five. I have some questions about the requisition form you filled out.”

Requisition form? He hadn’t filed any reqs recently, and Wolffe never made errors with paperwork, so it had to be something else…something that couldn’t be spoken about in the open command center.

“On my way, sir.” Sinker closed the newsfeed he had been watching and headed out the door, wondering what Wolffe had in store.

———

Wolffe had repeated his request, and Sinker still couldn’t believe it.

“A training rocket launcher? I just…Wolffe…that’s an unusual request.”

“Can you make it happen? Our best chance is to get one with this next batch of shinies coming in tomorrow.”

Sinker eyed the commander, and considered asking him if it was a joke…again. No, clearly Wolffe wasn’t joking at all. He wanted a kriffing training launcher, and wouldn’t say exactly why.

“I know one of the training sergeants who might be able to pull some strings. I need a good reason to give him though. Something plausible.”

Wolffe closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in thought. Plausible. After several moments he had an idea…

“Tell him I want it for some training exercises. I want to test these new clones myself, observe how they react to a more realistic battlefield conditions. No better way than to actually shoot at them, right?”

Shooting at shinies. If it had been any other commander, it would have never worked…but Wolffe? It would be an easy sell. The story fit with what other clones outside the 104th thought he would be like.  

“I can work with that. No guarantees, though.”

“Do what you have to do, Sinker. Just get me that launcher.”

Sinker couldn’t help but shake his head as he left the armory. What the hell was Wolffe up to?

———-

The transport from Kamino arrived just after morning muster. Sinker had the clones fall in, and nodded to Wolffe. The commander gave a cursory inspection and speech to the shinies, sent them off to the mess hall, then headed towards central command. It was going to be a good day.

At the officers’ meeting, General Kenobi announced the dates for battalion inspections, and the 104th had a week to prepare. That was plenty of time to really polish up their armor and acclimate the new clones to the rest of the Wolfpack. The 212th would be the first in line for inspection in two days. General Kenobi had mentioned at least four times how important image was, so the pressure was on Cody to have all his men looking their best. Seeing Cody sweat a little at the news made Wolffe happy, and kriffing hells if his good mood didn’t last for the next two days.

———-

From his vantage point, Wolffe could see Cody clearly. The 212th commander was speaking with his top platoon, and giving their armor one final check. Hells they all looked so clean, with the white plastoid shining like new. All the orange paint had been touched up as well. It was almost a shame…almost.

Five minutes to inspection. Wolffe shouldered the training rocket launcher and aimed at Cody. Four minutes. He exhaled slowly, and calmly pulled the trigger. The round hit Cody center mass, exploding everywhere. He never saw it coming. As the cloud started to settle, Wolffe quickly made his escape, barely suppressing his laughter.

———-

The clones in the 212th had been knocked flat in a flash of color. Cody was still on his back, staring at the sky as several of the clones that had been standing near him were stumbling to their feet. They were all trying to process what had just happened.

As he sat up, Cody took several seconds to realize that the colors he was seeing weren’t from the blast, but from the hideous paint that was now covering himself and a good portion of his men. It was like someone had taken all the colors from a drunk night at 79’s, added some glitter, and then threw it up all over the 212th. This is not happening. Not now.

“I swear to kriffing hells, I’m going to get the piece of rankweed who did this…”

Cody scrambled to his feet, still not totally comprehending the situation, as the rest of the 212th snapped to attention. It was too late to do anything; the generals had arrived for inspection.

———-

Obi-wan looked as shocked as Cody felt, and was quite lost for words. Skywalker surveyed the slightly disoriented clones, shaking his head with a grin.

“Well, I must say Master, I’m not a fan of your battalion’s new colors.”

“Anakin…”

“I mean, it does make a statement. Just not sure if you needed so much glitter.”

Plo chuckled as he booted the remnants of the paint round that hit Cody. “Oh, I’m not sure about that. I think the glitter is a fine addition to the armor. It catches the sunlight nicely. Perhaps it’s the color combination that’s a bit distracting.”

“Ah, yes. The green, blue, gold, red, and purple do seem to clash a bit with the original orange paint.”  

Obi-wan was getting a headache. “Unbelievable.” He marched up to the clone at front and center.

“Commander Cody, perhaps you would care to explain yourself.”

———-

Wolffe had hidden the training launcher and returned to watch as Kenobi thoroughly chewed out Cody. Cody, who was covered in every single blasted color the supply room had, plus some extras Wolffe was able to scrounge up. Cody, who would now be stuck scrubbing his armor clear for hours. Cody, who would likely be given extra duty to make up for this inspection fiasco. Cody, who completely and utterly deserved what he got.

It was glorious.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Linger (3)

Chapters: 1, 2 Based on: this imagine Warnings: allusions to abuse, violence, and PTSD. Character: Loki, Kay Hemlock (OC) Notes: This isn’t concretely based in the MCU in terms of preciseness. I’ve merely created a story line going off of the end of Thor 2 and what in my head happens when Loki is found out. If you have issues with accuracy and continuity, then be prepared for this to be out of sync.

Kay had not bothered to turn any lights on, she preferred the dark. Feeling her way along the hallway, she found the barroom of Stark Tower, the moonlight streaming silver through the windows. She recalled how the glass had been shattered the last time Loki had been there and the resulting carnage from his little scheme. It was hard to believe that she was back, once more dealing with the sociopathic demigod.

She slipped behind the bar and opened the cabinet below, picking a bottle without discrimination and a crystal tumbler. She set them atop the bar with a clink and uncorked the bottle; scotch by the smell of it. She was glad that Tony kept a tidy bar; unlike everything else in the tower, he organized his liquor personally. With a suppressed sigh, she lifted the scotch and tipped it so it sloshed into the glass noisily.

Relinquishing the bottle to the bar top, she hovered her hand beside the glass and stared at brown liquid as it sparkled in the night light. What was she doing? She had vowed never to be a drinker. Not again. The smell of alcohol always made her think of the stench of her father’s breath as he shouted in her face. Or when it drove him to worse acts that resulted in bruises and scars.

She closed her fingers around the tumbler and steeled herself as she looked through the window out onto the cityscape. Her hand trembled a moment as she lifted the glass and slowly raised it to her lips, sipping the repulsive liquid with a grunt. Pulling it away from her mouth, she coughed and sniffed, bracing herself once more before pouring the entirety of it down her throat.

She choked and slammed down the glass, a wave of head rush rippling over her. She brought her hands to her face and pushed back her hair as she closed her eyes and exhaled. She remembered when she had enjoyed the toxic flavour of spirits, when she had sought it out desperately to forget her fears. Like father, like daughter.

“I would have suggested the Old Malt Cask, but I’m no connoisseur…just a fan,” Tony’s voice scared Kay and she nearly jumped as Tony slowly turned up the light to a low dim, “You alright there, Kay?”

“Yeah,” She lied as she pushed away the glass, embarrassed at her discovery, “You know how it is…you must with a full bar in your front room.”

“Self-medicating,” He sat on the stool across from her, picking up the bottle and sniffing the open neck, “I’ve been laying off the stuff, hence why this is nearly full. I’ve been told it won’t solve all my problems. If any.”

“It never does,” Kay admitted, her tongue silky with the residue of scotch, “I just needed something.”

“I know, but he’s not worth it, Kay,” Tony corked the bottle and slid her tumbler away, “You should go home. Get some rest. We’ll find someone else.”

“To do what? Fury said he won’t talk to anyone else…not that I want to talk to him again,” She was rambling already and suddenly the liquor seeping into her brain, “I want to leave,” She admitted as leaned against the bar, “But I don’t want him to win.”

“Him?” Tony echoed and his eyes pierced her, “Do you mean Loki? Or your father?”

“Fuck you,” Her response was involuntary but the truth did not mix well with scotch, “What do you know about my father?”

“Kay, I’ve watched you these last few days,” He began carefully, “Loki’s an asshole, I’ll be the first to admit it, but he’s not the reason for those tears. Not entirely.”

Kay stayed silent as she glared at Tony, reluctant to accept that even after all these years, her father still had an ounce of control over her.

“He’s manipulating you, it’s what he does,” Tony explained quietly, “It’s one of his little tricks. He knows how to stir up your past and bring you back to your lowest moments…but I think there might be some things you need to face up to. I think you’ve been running from them for too long.”

“White man thinks he knows everything,” Kay was slurring already; her tolerance had weakened, “Telling the Indian how to drink…I don’t need your help.”

“I know that’s not you talking, Kay,” Not a hint of offense in his voice, “Not you.”

Kay rolled her eyes and turned away, crossing her arms annoyed. In the back of her mind, she knew Tony was right and she was being a drunk idiot. She hadn’t asked him though. She had come to drink alone in the dark, not for a therapy session.

“Go away,” She uttered blackly, “I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” He insisted and heard him stand, “But I do think you should take some time for yourself. Tomorrow.”

“Hmmp,” She huffed but said nothing else as he came up beside her, a gentle hand on her back.

“I’ll talk to Fury. You take the day and you relax…without scotch,” He ordered and he sounded like her mother. The thought of her brought the hint of smile to her drunken lips, “Is that a yes?”

“No Loki?” She asked in a half-whisper.

“No Loki,” He assured with a smile of his own, “Not until you’re ready.”

Kay sat alone as she stared through the clear glass, unknown to the resident within the bare cell. Loki had little more than a plain bench to sit upon and he more often paced than reclined anyhow. She let her vision blur as she watched him; one foot in front of the other, hands behind his back, chin held high, walking the parameter of the room over and over. She could imagine it was agonizingly monotonous but could find no empathy for the snide demigod. She wished there was a button on the control panel which could send another vicious shock his way.

The night had gone by slowly after her midnight binge. She had slept but only by the hour, waking from the void of her dream world to that of her bedroom. The alcohol had suppressed her dreams but given her little rest. No matter how she tried, her thoughts would not leave Loki. Or her father.

She tapped her fingers on the edge of the control panel and sighed, leaning back in her chair. Eventually she would have to go back in there and she felt impatient to do so. She hated the anticipation of her next meeting with the villain and she was eager to mend her injured pride. Why did she let him get the better of her? Perhaps it was because she did the same to him.

The sound of the door whooshing open and closed from behind her came and Kay was surprised to look over her shoulder and find Thor walking in. He had disposed of his usual scarlet cape and while he still wore his armour, he looked less than his regal self. She could see the wear of his worries under his eyes though he smiled at her as he approached. He lowered himself into the chair next to hers and avoided looking into the cell at his caged brother.

“Lady Kay, I am surprised to find you here,” He began with concern, “I thought you would be eager to be free of my brother.”

“Trust me, I am,” She assured, “I just…I’m trying to get my head straight.”

“Well, I can tell you my brother will do little for that,” He finally glanced through the window as Loki made another round, “It’s just who he is. He has his little tricks to deflect others. To protect himself, I believe.”

“Oh, you sound better at my job than me,” She commented drolly, “I had no illusions coming in here. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

Thor nodded and silence rose around the pair as both watched Loki with untold thoughts. Kay was the first to speak as Loki’s movement reminded her of panther, trapped but devious.

“My people, the Mohawk, they believe in a trickster named Flint,” She did not know why she was telling Thor the story but her mind was spent, “He cut his way out of his mother’s womb. He is the lesser of two brothers and is demonized for his impatience.” She looked away from Loki, “Many believe him to be evil, they say he brings hardship to humans, all of which he blames upon his brother.”

“Loki is not evil,” Thor argued but gave his brother a sidelong glance.

“I know, there are others who believe Flint to be guilty of nothing more than the death of his mother,” She explained evenly, “That the one act left a stain on his whole life and in the shadow of his brother, one loved by many, he became maligned by others. To show his true colours, he often caused more harm than good, though that was far from his intention.” Kay rubbed her chin as she tried to understand her own words, “I’m trying to tell myself the same of Loki. That he’s not truly as bad as he seems.”

“He’s not…or at least, he wasn’t always,” Thor looked grim as he let his shoulders slumps, “I want to salvage what’s left of the brother I know, Lady Kay, but I don’t want to cause you harm in doing so.”

“I know, Thor, it’s--”

“How long do you intend on watching me so, Kay?” Loki’s voice cut her short and she looked to the glass where the dark-haired demigod stood looking in, “I may not be able to see you, but I can sense you.”

Kay looked to Thor who seemed as shocked as her, his blue eyes pensive as his posture stiffened with anxiety. Both remained silent and Loki knocked on the glass to draw their attention once more, “I promise, Kay, I’ll be nice this time.”

[heartslogos]

the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [55]

(620): Hey man, he's too drunk to remember what you said. What drugs are we buying and when should we expect them?

“I’m confused.”

“It’s adorable and not an unusual state for you to be in, what are you confused about?” Leliana asks. Cullen shoots her a glare. Leliana smiles beatifically, “Yes, Cullen?”

“Is Mahanon coming back or not?” Cullen asks. “He’s been messaging you for the past two months regarding his current situation and he keeps asking for extraction, or otherwise threatening to come back on his own.”

“It’s Mahanon, he’s being dramatic,” Leliana waves her hand dismissively. “You know how spies are. Yes, Cullen. That includes me, too. I’m not a hypocrite.”

Josephine arrives with a cardboard try carrying three cups, “Who’s being dramatic? Is it you?”

“Possibly, but no, we’re talking about Mahanon.”

Josephine places the cardboard on the center of the cafe table, quickly checking her watch. “Half an hour before we’ve got to get moving to the next location. Are you sure you two don’t want anything to eat? The line was short I can go back and get something light.”

Cullen pulls out his phone, swiping through apps and webpages. “It’s the conference hall on the second floor, yes? Rylen texted me about some interesting booths he saw on the dealer floor. You don’t need me for that one, right? I’ll drop the two of you off and attend for the first half hour and then duck out when it becomes open panel. I’ll meet the both of you by the time the panel ends and we can head to the next one.”

“Right, we’ll take notes for you. Maybe if you read both of our notes side by side you’ll be able to get one legible whole.”

“I’ll never know how people as organized as the two of you can have such terrible handwriting sometimes.”

“It’s called shorthand, Cullen,” Josephine protests. “My handwriting is just fine and you know it. Leliana, what’s the situation with Mahanon now? Is he in trouble?”

“I think he’s infiltrating the drug ring in order to manipulate it to self destruct,” Leliana answers. “Based on his text messages and correspondence back I’m guessing it isn’t going so well, considering that the people he’s attempting to infiltrate are working on the absolute minimum amount of competence needed to be successful. It can be very hard to trick the idiotic sometimes. Some people are just too stupid to fall for traps. It is both a blessing and a curse.”

“And he’s still going at it?” Josephine asks. “Just have him come back. His official mission parameters are almost done with anyway.”

“You think I can get Mahanon Lavellan to drop a project? It’s like a dog with a bone. Yanking it will sooner rip out teeth than get him to let go. This isn’t even about legality, this is about pride. He starts dit so he’s going to finish it. Because he knows if he comes back without anything to show for it I’m going to hold it over him until we both die.”

“That’s harsh and appropriate from what I know of the both of you,” Cullen says. Leliana and Josephine grimace as he takes a long pull from his cup.

“I don’t know how your entire mouth and throat aren’t just burn scars all the way down,” Leliana remarks. “I look at you when you do that and I feel like my own tongue is burning. I have second hand burnt tongue just from looking at you.”

“Did you even taste anything?” Josephine asks.

“No, I don’t buy it for the taste, I buy it for the caffeine,” Cullen says. “Why, did you have them add something?”

“No. It’s plain just like you asked. But maybe I should start asking them to add something as a test to see if you’re capable of tasting anything with that mouth of yours anymore. You terrify me at times, Cullen. I forget that you’re a former Templar who basically held an entire city together after years of — of all of that. And then you go and do something like drink literally steaming near boiling hot coffee in one go as if it were a shot without even flinching. Or you react to popping balloons by grabbing me or Leliana and shoving us out of the way and going for cover.”

Cullen frowns, “The last one only happened once. And in my defense we were on high alert because we had news of a possible assassination attempt going on at the time.”

“Yes, but who just goes for it like that? You.”

“Rylen lunged for Dagna and Malika.”

“Works under you, doesn’t count.”

“Bull didn’t go for anyone.”

“Technically works under Leliana, also doesn’t count. And safest place for someone to be is directly behind him so it’s better for him to not move at all.”

“Cassandra — “

���Went to confront the balloon with a pocket knife before realizing it was just a balloon. Cassandra is an outlier of her own whom you should never look to for an example on anything, and you should know better by now.”

“Blackwall — “

“Stood there with an expression like he was ready for his time to come and would be glad of it. He really needs to agree to see a therapist.”

Cullen falls silent. “But it’s a good thing, isn’t it? Me doing all of that? It’s not — it’s not a bad thing.”

Josephine and Leliana exchange glances. “No. It’s not a bad thing. Exactly. Just an unusual quirk of yours.”

They share another moment of glances and quirked eyebrows, as if they were bring the other to continue first.

“The upside is that Evelyn is like that too,” Josephine says. “I’v seen her do the same. Though she does get watery eyes and red in the face when she does it. But she does do the same as you.”

“Something about being in school for twenty plus years, or so she says,” Leliana tags on. “I didn’t realize higher education could cause a person to snap the same way a person might snap from being in a military service and in an active duty zone.”

[argysnotes]

Ch4

The bed Dawn woke up in was quite nice, much nicer than she was used to. It was extremely soft, and the covers were smooth and warm, encouraging her to keep nice and snug for a while. She was content to relax, forgetting all about her problems in the toasty blankets. She was roused from her slumber as she heard a door open and close, followed by footsteps.

           She opened her eyes, finally deciding to prepare for the day. The ceiling was high and vaulted, built out of white marble, and the panels were painted a light blue with pale clouds, like the daytime sky. The walls were similar, although below its horizon were fields of deep blue flowers.

           Her vision traveled lower, but was obscured by the covers. She propped herself up, bending her torso in the process. A sharp pain shot through her from the stomach, making her shut her eyes, grab at her gut and hiss audibly. The person in her room hastily set down a tray of dishes and rushed to Dawn’s side.

           “Your Highness, I beg your pardon for disturbing you! Please do not rise, you are still recovering and need rest!” they said.

           Dawn peeled her eyes open, seeing a maid dressed in a pale blue uniform and white apron. Her face was covered with anxiety. Around her, the room was decadently furnished, with a small couch, several chairs and tables, an armoire, and various vases of flowers.

           “Don’t worry about me, I’m alright. I’m more concerned about where I am,” Dawn replied, trying to put a smile on her face to put the maid at ease.

           “Of- of course, Your Excellence. You are currently in the guest room of Chateau Fleur Bleu Ciel, the estate of his Lordship Master Avidité. Now that you’re awake, I must go and fetch him. Pardon me,” she states, bowing and quickly darting out of the room before Dawn could ask another question.

           Dawn sighed to herself, leaving her wondering about where her companions were. She kept herself occupied by taking in her environment. Windows were placed along the left wall, with blue curtains. Light peeked in through the gaps, bouncing off the floor. The tiles were intricately designed, depicting a field of blue flowers.

           Dawn’s bed was massive, much bigger than any bed she’s ever seen. The sheets were pure white and fluffy, covered over top by a heavy blanket. She pulled up the sheets, looking at herself. She was wearing a pale blue nightgown, with long sleeves and a skirt that reached down to her ankles. She pulled open the collar of she her shirt, looking at her shoulder where she was previously grazed by a bullet. The skin overtop was completely healed, without even a scar left. She pulled up the bottom of her gown up to her chest, seeing the bandages that were wrapped around her belly. A bloodstained spot was easily visible over her the left half, where she had been shot before passing out. It throbbed in pain occasionally, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

           The burns are her side had shrunk in size, receding from her forearms and lower back up to just her shoulder and base of her neck. They pain from them was all but gone, but the skin was still very sensitive.

           The door opened abruptly, startling her. Dawn quickly pulled her gown down and pulled the covers over her. A heavy-set man, dressing in a deep navy, fur-lined suit with the jacket draped over his shoulders, walked into the room. His hair was deep brown, cut short, along with a meticulously trimmed beard, and dark amber eyes. In his hands was a cane, crafted from steel.

           “Greetings, your Highness. I do hope that you have found our accomidations to be satisfactory,” the man says in a deep voice, taking a bow.

           “Um, yes, I think. I would like to know why I’m here, if you don’t mind,” Dawn asked politely.

           “Your highness, you were injured on the battlefield, which is currently within my lands. I heard the story of an injured Princess and immediately sent for her to be brought to me for proper medical care and to allow me to offer the proper hospitalities as befitting for someone of your stature. You have been here for several days since then,” the man elaborated, an unsettling grin on his face.

           Shouting came from outside the room. It was muffled, but Dawn could faintly hear them. She ignored the Lord’s speaking on in favor of this, and tried to recognize who was speaking. After a moment, her eyes shot open as she realized who one of the voices belonged to.

           “It’s okay, you can let her in!” Dawn said, sitting up.

           The large Lord sighed and then spoke sternly, “I do, apologize, if we are causing you any inconveniences, but we cannot allow just anyone but myself and the attendants I have assigned to you can be in your presence. We need to maintain your security after all.”

           “I insist, Lord Avidité. She poses no risk to-”

           “We cannot trust anyone at this time. Especially not some beast who had attacked you,” the man spoke, his fake smile fading to a frown.

           Dawn could tell that this man was set on keeping those he didn’t want from meeting with her. It was far too obvious. She had to come up with some kind loophole to his little rules. She smiled to herself as she found her solution.

‘Time for me to throw some of my weight around,’ she thought to herself.

           “So, only you and my attendants can be with me right?” Dawn questioned.

           “Yes, your Highness, so please be rational about this-”

           “That girl is my personal attendant, so let her in,” Dawn replied with a grin.

           “With all due respect, I cannot let some dirty half-breed just-”

           “That ‘dirty half-breed?’ She is a proud Wolfwoman and my Personal Attendant, and she is to be at my side at all times. You will treat her as such, or are you going to go against the wishes of your Princess?” Dawn said with confidence.

           The Lord gritted his teeth in anger, cursing himself silently. “Very well,” he mumbled spitefully, “she may enter.”

           The guards outside the door shuffled, followed by the door opening up. Lucatiel slipped quickly through the door, dressed in a long brown trench coat and slacks. Her wolf ears were free from a hat, but she had bandages covering her left eye. She rushed quickly to Dawn’s side. Lucatiel’s hands were gripped tightly on the end of her sabre.

           “Dawn, are you-”

           The Lord coughed loudly to get their attention, and hissed “If you indeed are Her Highness’ attendant, you should be addressing her properly, not some commoner.”

           Lucatiel glared at the man with visible hatred, before Dawn whispered to her, “I convinced them to let you be around me by saying you’re my Attendant. Please, bear with it until-”

           Lucatiel shook her head and relaxed. She loosened the grip on her sabre and breathed deeply, turning back to Dawn.

           “No, it’s fine, Mil’lady. I’m just glad to see you,” Lucatiel spoke calmly.

           The man was clearly frustrated. “Now, I do greatly apologize, but I have other matters to attend to. If you will excuse me,” he said, taking a bow and making his exit.

           As soon as he was gone and out of earshot, Lucatiel’s expression changed quickly.

           “Are you okay? Did he threaten you, or have you promise him anything, or-”

           “No, he didn’t,” Dawn responded, “I just woke up for the first time not long ago. Why are you so worried?”

           “You’ve been locked in this room for three days now, with no one allowed in or out but the Lord or a few maids,” Lucatiel said, “he was trying to keep you isolated from everyone who he doesn’t have control over.”

           “I noticed. I’m still sorry that you have to be all formal to me now,” Dawn spoke.

           “No don’t worry, it’s fine. I was supposed to take over for my mother eventually. I would be expected to address you like this, so I might as start now,” Lucatiel explained, “but please be wary around Avidité, he has a reputation for foul play amongst the Lords.”

           “I can tell he’s up to something, that’s for sure,” Dawn said, shifting towards the edge of the bed, “but I’m more worried about you. Your eye-”

           “You shouldn’t worry about me,” Lucatiel spoke, stepping forward, “you’re way more important than-”

           Dawn reached out and slipped her hand between Lucatiel’s, taking ahold of her bandaged hand. Lucatiel jumped at the sudden unexpected touch. Dawn pushed her right hand away, running her fingers over the bloody bandages.

           “Luki…” Dawn spoke softly and leaning her chin down, letting her bangs covering her eyes, “I’m okay. But you got hurt…protecting me…”

           A drop of clear liquid falls from her chin, soaking into her gown. Another drop soon followed after, then another, and another. Lucatiel’s ears perked up as she heard a snivel and pout come from down. A shimmering trial fed each drop, trickling down her cheeks from the corners of each of her eyes.

           Lucatiel’s face contorted with worry, and she started “Dawn, you’re-”

           Dawn grabbed her friend’s wrist in her hand, and pulled. It threw Lucatiel off balance, causing her to fall forward, using each arm to hold herself up by placing an arm to each of Dawn’s side, leaning over her. Dawn buries her face into Lucatiel’s shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Dawn began sobbing intensely, her tears soaking into Lucatiel’s coat. Each haggard breath pulled at her wound, causing her great pain, but she couldn’t control herself.

           “Why are you…” Lucatiel questioned, her eyes wide.

           Dawn’s grip tightened around Lucatiel. “You idiot! Why did you have to fight them alone!” she pouted, “I thought you were dead! Do you know how much it hurt, thinking that no matter what, I would never get to see you again, that I could never talk to you again, that I would never hear your voice again?

           “Luki…you were my everything. I looked up to you. Anything I did, you could always do better, and yet you always helped me with a smile on your face…”

           “Dawn,” Lucatiel said, “I did that because I wanted you to be strong enough to you could protect yourself if I-”

           Dawn twisted her body, ignoring the pain and pulling Lucatiel onto the bed. She then climbed into her lap, wrapping her arms and legs around Lucatiel, as if desperate to keep her from leaving. Dawn buried herself into Lucatiel’s chest, sobbing even harder.

           “I didn’t want to be strong to protect myself! I wanted to be strong so I could protect you! You worked yourself ragged, looking after me and everyone else, but never yourself!” Dawn cried, “You were always there for me, but when you needed me…I wanted to be there for you, but I wasn’t! My whole life, I wanted to be by your side, to be able to support each other and live a long happy life, and then you…you ran off! Luki, I…I…I didn’t know what to do!”

           Lucatiel wrapped her arms around Dawn, stroking her hair gently. She placed her head on Dawn’s shoulder, holding her close.

           “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way,” Lucatiel said softly, “I’m here now. I won’t run away again.”

           Dawn peeled herself away, looking up at Lucatiel. Her silver eyes were shining with tears, and her nose and cheeks were flushed. “Promise. Me,” she muttered between sobs.

           Lucatiel’s ears flattened against her head and she leaned forward, placing her lips on Dawn’s forehead. “I promise,” Lucatiel whispered, “I will never leave your side again, as long as I live.”

           Dawn’s grip relaxes upon hearing her words, and lets herself fall forward against Lucatiel. “Thank you, Luki,” Dawn speaks quietly, a smile on her face, “let’s just stay like this for a little while longer. I like being in your arms.”

           Lucatiel smiles, setting her head on top of Dawn’s with a smile, her hands playing with Dawn’s golden hair. “Of course, my Princess,” Lucatiel said, feeling Dawn’s body rise and fall against her as her breathing became steady. “I like holding you in my arms.”

[todokori-kun]

0///////0 0.0 <33333 (<- my current emotions)

Thank you so, so much for the kind words. I’m not gonna try to express exactly how I’m feeling/how I reacted, but just know I sat there smiling at an idiot at the computer screen for quite a while and would probably have creeped out my parents if they saw me XD

I get insecure pretty easily to the point where it can seriously get ridiculous sometimes, but just, things like this actually help me so much. So again, thank you. *hugs*

(Also I might be overreacting because that was one of the nicest things anyone’s said about my art in a while)

I’ve played some Pacthesis games before and downloaded a few simple free dating games to play, so I don’t think I’ll have a problem with playing it :) who knows, I may join you in Otome hell someday (I think my main problem with these games, though, is that for some weird reason I find it difficult to get into the fandoms for them…maybe because the fandoms are usually small and I like having a lot of people to talk to about characters and plot? When I play games like these I just silently fangirl and never really do anything in the fandom lol.

 Also I have th problem where I start shipping dateable characters with each other rather than the MC)

Ok those two look really cute. I’m definitely going to play this <3 and it’s nice to hear the guys aren’t major jerks (like they often are in otome games)

Yep, I confused that with Hideyoshi at first too and it was like ‘WAT. Hide is coming back now? HERE??? But where is he? And who’s saying his name? And really, why NOW???- wait that’s 'hide’ isn’t it Ishida did you do that just to mess with the English-speaking fans’

I know, I wish there was more Urie/Saiko ;-; I just want it to be canon please Ishida

I might have gone 'aww’ over tiny Pride. And I definitely like Kimblee now.

I’m both super excited and super afraid for the last volume. I know I’m also going to be really sad because it’s the end of the series omg

I am honored to be considered an equal with the utlimate cinnamon roll Alphonse Elric. Thank you.

Ah, but I’ll simply charm you with the 'Al’ side of my personality. NO FLASK CAN HOLD ME NOW MUHAHAHAHA

Roy would try to prank you back, but unfortunately the Water Alchemist + the Fullmetal Alchemist…whoever introduced them is responsible for creating a monster (at least, in Roy’s eyes, that’s how it is).

And I think he’d get jealous a lot. He’d get super pouty and petty whenever he saw you getting intimate with someone else and not paying him enough attention (Roy Mustang MUST be appreciated ok, he’s the Flame Alchemist and he’s gonna be Fuhrer, you can’t just IGNORE him)

Also everybody makes jokes about the whole 'Flame Alchemist/Water Alchemist, opposites attract’ thing. All. The. Time.

(Guess who makes the most jokes and constantly trolls both Luna and Roy? A certain someone specializing in medicinal alchemy…tho tbh Evans is actually the biggest shipper and scolds (or tries to scold) both Luna and Roy like some sort of mother hen whenever they argue)

Omg now I’m imagining smol Mei trying to matchmake for 'Mr. Scar’

Yep, I think it is :)

Fear is the natural, most logical reaction whenever the words 'I’d like to recommend-’ come out of my mouth.

Ooooh tell me how it turns out, please? :D

Yeah, it was one of the most uncomfortable, awkward moments of my life XD I KNOW my face froze into the most painful expression ever during that hug and my body just kinda went all rigid (“please stop omg you’re touching you do know I don’t even like you or do you not know that is my reaction not making it clear help me mom”), hoping she’d just let go or something, but she just kept hugging me lololol

And I won’t be giving up on the piano! I love playing it and like you said, I’ve made quite a bit of progress and I don’t want to let all that go to waste. I’m taking lessons with a new teacher now :D

(tbh I used to kinda dislike classical music because I thought it was boring, but now that I’m actually learning to play it I like it a lot <3 currently learning a Haydn sonata and it’s really good. But I really want to play anime OSTs too…the AoT openings would sound so awesome on the piano)

Also, I’ll be sending you some more pictures :)

I’m glad I could make you smile ^^ You definitely deserve all the compliments in the world, because the art is definitely gorgeous! From the ones you’ve sent me, Hisoka and Maria are probably my favourites ^^ Though the Saiko is also really pretty (don’t think I missed the tiny dab in the corner XD) Also, Roy. Just. Wow. If anyone ever asks me who he is/to describe him, I’ll just show them that pic. 

I also see a few watercolour pieces! You seem to have good control over the brush! When I drew with watercolours, I could only manage blogs, never looking like anything, yet I instantly recognised what you drew!

Seriously, thank you so much for sharing the works with me! It means a lot to me that you trust me enough to show them ^^  *weeb voice* Ganbatte!

Pls join me I swear I’ll play any game you do so we can gush together, I’ll even write fanfics for you if you ask I just wanna see you in otome game hell. Please. Also, CP seems to have a developed fandom AND there’s a fandisk coming out soon, containing the after-ends! Sooo, it’s not over yet!  Then, there’s this game that’s available for the mobile phone, called Wizardess Heart, which has an even bigger fandom, and there are routes coming out quite often!  AND even if there isn’t a developed fandom, I’ll play it if you recommend!  Also, to tempt you even more, there’s plenty of suffering in Cinderella Phenomenon. I’ve played through the bad ends now, and damn, you should’ve seen it, especially for Fritz (White hair, tan)’s bad end. Lemme give you a general picture of how I looked: 1:30am. Not wearing pants. Tears streaming down face. Right hand holding a mug usually used for tea, that was filled with orange juice this time, left hand holding up the middle finger at the screen. I’m emotionally scarred. Also, I am not able to listen to the song ‘Lost Boy’ without almost crying because of Waltz. Help. Me. Pfft, that’s the magic of otome games! Pick the guy you like most/don’t ship with anyone and ship the others with each other! In Wizardess heart, the fandom is FULL of shipping dateable characters with each other, so definitely don’t worry about it XD

I’m glad to hear the news! Tell me when you enter the world of Otome Hell. 

Well, there is one major jerk, Rod (blond one, has a plush rabbit), but he does get better when his route goes on ^^ The other 4 are nowhere near jerks! In fact, one is the sweetest cinnamon roll you’ll ever meet (except for you!). ONE LAST THING (I swear it’s the last one!) Waltz (aka my absolute favourite, also very very high on the list of favourite characters of all time) calls MC ‘little star’. If I don’t almost melt every time he does it...

I’m still not over CP. 

I had to read that panel at least 3 times to understand what it meant. You can probably imagine my disappointment when I realised the actual context of the words. Ishida is evil, let me tell you. But he is also cinnamon roll. Hmmmmm.

Aha, good luck with the feels! Seriously, you’re in for one heckle of an ending. It’s a huge rollercoaster of emotions till the end. THERE’S EVEN AN OMAKE THAT MAKES YOU EMOTIONAL AF AND IT’S NOT EVEN A PART OF THE MAIN SERIES.

You’re not equal to Al in terms of cinnamon roll-ness. You’re superior!

And if I fill the flask to the brim with Urie/Saiko content? And art supplies? 

Muhahahahahahah we’re the ultimate duo *explosions in the background*

I think that he’s actually pretty insecure underneath everything, so, yeah, you’re probably right there. I guess we can have a ceasefire with the pranks for a bit. Just for a bit.

Yes, mom. We apologise *bowing* We won’t argue again (HA)

Mei tries to make subtle comments, but forgets to be subtle. Probably says something that might or might not embarrass you :P

Fun fact: Cap’s a war criminal in the new spidey!

I wonder why I always get the urge to skip a paragraph when i see the word recommend. I wonder, I wonder...

Well, I dyed it and it’s definitely not a ginger red. It’s mostly a red red, but also hints at violet/purple  This is the closest picture I could find:

But oh god the moment I started washing out the dye. It looked like I’d committed manslaughter. It was fascinating. 

I’m glad that you won’t give up the piano ^^ It’s been 4 years since I finished piano school and I still make it a point to practice once a week, because it’s always such a good feeling when you go somewhere, see a piano and are able to play it.  But I’m really sorry about the hug :/ Honestly, I have no idea why people who aren’t close to you try to hug you. It’s so weird >_<

Yep, classical music can also be really nice every once in a while!