#her friend. and she was so very certain in herself that he would never stoop that low. so she feels guilty

[camels-pen]

something as mundane as the three of them sitting next to each other at dinner, Nami and Usopp chatting while Zoro seems focused only on his food. Then Zoro offers a single line, nothing smart of course but proof he was listening, and Nami and Usopp were laughing and Luffy was joining in.

The last straw though, was when Zoro reached over to grab their empty plates. In turn, Nami and Usopp gave him a peck on the cheek in thanks. Something twisted and ugly started to blow past Sanji's cork.

He meant to say: 'Please, I can carry dishes just as well as mosshead!' and 'Usopp you can make the trip, it isn't that far.' and 'Ha, they've got you trained like a dog.'

Instead, what came out was: "Please make me your dog."

The galley fell silent. Nami and Usopp were making identical, unidentifiable expressions. Zoro was staring blankly at him. Luffy was still eating.

"You're... flirting?" Zoro asked.

Sanji stared, mouth agape with tongue tied up in utter embarrassment.

"We'd need..." Usopp turned to Nami.

"Some time to think about it, yeah." She nodded. "Since when have you wanted to...?"

"Screw me and Usopp?" Zoro grunted as Nami smacked the back of his head.

"I thought we were all dating already?" Luffy asked around a mouthful.

Zoro, Nami, and Usopp shared a look. They nodded. "You are now, Captain," Zoro said. Luffy made a noise of triumph.

This was not what he meant to happen, but if it meant he'd get to date the lovely Nami...

Sanji stared expectantly.

The three of them nodded.

"You'd want the boys too?" Nami asked. "Usopp, Luffy," she paused, squinting her eyes, "Zoro?"

Sanji had to hold himself back from cringing. "This isn't the kind of thing I'd like about, my dear." Except he was, but what was the harm in it? He'd get to be with dear Nami and all he had to do was deliver a few more snacks with finesse and pay the mossball a couple compliments. He had to wait tables on and off for almost a decade, this was nothing in comparison.

"Okay, but if you're lying..." she trailed off, the look in her eyes more than enough to know the consequences of being caught.

Pressing a hand to his heart and tamping down on a giddy smile, he said, "Trust me, in matters of love, I won't let you down."

hmm. zonasopp being, well, them but openly for the first time on deck. and then pan back to Luffy picking his nose and Sanji looking like his world is crumbling apart. There's a sign above each of them that says "no bitches, doesn't care" / "no bitches, cares too much"

[morgan-tha-gorgan]

Logan can sing.

But he doesn't sing in front of anyone.

When he is by himself (driving a car or even in the shower) he starts to sing.

And bc he is around 200 years old, he sings from every time period. Every song he knows is a memory of a purely happy moment: An old lullaby sang to him by his mom or adopted dad. A jaunty little jig played on an out of tune fiddle that played when he had a first dance with someone in his youth. An upbeat jazz number that played in a nightclub the night before him and Victor shipped out to the European theater in WW2.

He knows a lot of songs. And each one a memory that he feels is worth revisiting when the mood strikes him.

The thing is, Althea hears everything. She keeps it to herself. She likes his voice, especially the way he sings the oldies she grew up with. She knows he would be embarrassed and never sing again if she gave even the slightest inkling of knowing. So, she just listens.

Laura hasn't ever heard him sing, but she notices that when they're in a car together he insists on letting certain songs play. He never sings or even hums. He just listens. But one day, while they were picking up Althea's medications and geoceries, Joan Jett and the Blackheart's "Bad Reputation" starts to play. And Laura, can't help it. She loves this song. And starts to sing to it. Logan looks over at her perplexed. "I didn't know you sing?" He says to her. "This song is about you, you know," she taunts back. He snorts. But then he starts bobbing his head to the beat. Laura notices and sings a little more enthusiastically, hoping he might join in his own way. He hums low, while turning up the volume so she can't hear him. Laura sings a little louder and even does a little air guitar. He just watches and smiles. Laura doing her one woman revival of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

They get back and Logan hands Althea her bag of meds. "Make sure Wade doesn't find this stash," he says. Laura unpacks some of the groceries then heads out for the night with some friends. Wade is out on a job, so it is just Althea and Logan. They sit on the couch, Logan flips through channels until they find something they both like. They more often then not gravitate towards the Turner Classic Movies channel, or some trash reality TV that catches their interest. This night, Logan lands on "Singing in the Rain," and he stops. It is the titular moment when Gene Kelley and Debbie Reynolds are kissing on the stoop, before he breaks out into the big musical number for which the movie is called.

Althea notices this immediately. "I never took you for a guy who liked musicals," Althea quips. She hears the remote creaks in Logan's hand. He is going to change the channel. But Althea is quick to stop him, "Nah, uh....I like this part. Don't change it."

Gene Kelley put his umbrella aside, starts to hum that catchy tune and the music swells...Althea noticed she could feel a slight thumping on the ground. It was Logan's foot, tapping to the beat. She also heard a very slight creak of the remote, still in Logan's hand. He was tapping his finger to the beat as well. Althea smiled to herself: this guy really is full of surprises.

They watch the whole movie. The entire time, Logan kept his hand on the remote but never made a move to change it. His finger and foot tapped to every song.

As the credits rolled, Logan began moving furniture to pull out the futon. Althea walked around to figure out where he was putting the furniture so she wouldn't trip over it in the morning.

"I saw that movie with my dad when I was probably 9 years old. It was the first movie I ever saw in a theater," Althea said.

"Me, too," Logan said. "First, time in a theater."

"I figured you'd be into westerns with how you act like Clint Eastwood up in here."

"Clint Eastwood was in a musical, too."

"What?"

"Something like...Wagon Paint? Can't really remember. We were watching it in the barracks in Vietnam when we were suddenly being rushed..." his voice trails off and the room tenses around him.

Althea didn't need eyes to see that Logan was having a traumatic flash back. She knew not to touch him. Instead, she quickly fiddled her hands to where she last heard the remote clank. When she finally grasped it and found the power button, she realizes she had no idea what movie was playing next. Hoping it wasn't a John Wayne war movie, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard a song she vaguely recognized belonging to the musical "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," an obscure one for sure. But hey, better than what was happening in Logan's head right now. Howard Keel was full on belting about how some girl was the girl for him, so Althea jabbed the volume button as loud as it would go, neighbors downstairs be damned.

Eventually, she heard Logan move. It sounded like he took a step, like he was turning towards her.

"Althea?" He sounded a little dazed and confused, but atleast he was here, and not lost in his thoughts. She didn't want to embarrass him.

"Sorry, Logan, I read in the TV guide that this movie was on next and I just had to see it."

"You read the what?"

"Just lay down and watch this movie with me for a bit."

And so Logan found his place on the futon, Althea on her sitting chair. And they just let the music and movie take them away for a bit.

"Thanks Al." Logan, said.

"Don't mention it."

When the movie ends, Althea turns off the TV and makes her way to her bedroom. As she dozes off, she hears, rather clearly, Logan singing. She can't make out what he is singing. But it sounds vaguely like Joan Jett and then morphs into Singing in the Rain.

[gravehags]

desinare

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, reader meeting the papas, reader and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator reader fics

Words: 3,784

Summary: Your very kind cardinal friend has invited you for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing this lmao i didn't realize how much i missed writing them pre-relationship. my beloved nerds.

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” you yelp, dropping the stack of folders you were holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while you smile kindly up at him as you stoop to pick up your papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making you jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

You’re making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror you previously wore when he barked at you like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” you murmur, eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “this old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees your eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift your lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Are you flirting with him? You turn to busy herself with organizing your folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of your ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Your mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” you ask, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” you say and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees your lips silently form the damning word and your cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around you?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” you look as panicked as he feels at your wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of you in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting your shapely calves and your decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” you say, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

You’re embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to you talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell you something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her a month, fool. Instead he gives you a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “it is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” you say softly as he turns and exits your office. He doesn’t see the way you collapse into your desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

You’re going to be late.

As soon as your work day ended you hustled up to your apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and you still have no idea what the fuck you’re going to wear. Half your wardrobe lies scattered on your bedroom floor (you know it’s going to make you insane when you return later that night but fuck you can’t remember what clothes you even own) as you stand in the center of the room in your underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of your throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

You eye a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to your left. You’ve been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. You would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To your right is a pair of mom jeans - you pick them up and give them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. You toss the jeans onto your bed behind you. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! You spy a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatch it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…your well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. You look down at your watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once you jump into your jeans and pull the sweater over your head, tucking it halfway into your waistband. You don’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when you make it out the door with your phone and keys, it’s five to six. You briskly power walk the entire trip to your office and by the time you’re standing outside the door, you’re clutching your side and heaving for breath. You pray to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so you have a chance to compose yourself but before you can even form the thought–

“Signorina?”

You spin on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” you rasp. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives you butterflies, “you’re glowing, signorina.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To your immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if your odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for you to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” you ask, as the two of you proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” you smile.

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Schreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

You realize you’re now in a wing of the abbey you’ve never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - you recognize one of them and the other two are staring in your direction. The tallest (and from what you can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. You’re suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into you.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on you like flies on honey in a snap, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces you to the two you are unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” you murmur, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” you sigh in relief. He gestures you over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? You remind yourself to look that up whenever you manage to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. You know immediately this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours you a generous glass which you swirl delicately in your hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

You take a sip as Secondo watches you carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” you gush, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into your glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” you smile, “you’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” you smirk.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers you over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and you blush as he gives you a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

You’re distracted by Primo softly saying your name and you turn to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. You want to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at you instantly makes you want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” you say, looking down into your wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives you a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are.” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” you ask, cocking your head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what you assume is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” you say, setting down your wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of you.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

You’re squeezing the meat of your thigh as hard as you can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in your eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he reaches out to take your hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness you’ve never heard from him before. You’re not sure if it’s the wine but you’re definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” you ask, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” you say cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now your face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur obediently as you rise from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as you approach the island, leaning over to pour more wine in your glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

You give him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” you scoff, setting down your glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors you with a nod and a half-smile. A point in your favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here,” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands you a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, you have not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives you one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as you feel.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as you sniffle, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to your side and Primo steps away to make room. When your head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around you, making soothing noises. 

You don’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but you do see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has you choking out a laugh, and you turn to Copia to see him staring down at you with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up your wine glass and gives you yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

You nod, accepting your glass.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and you feel Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of your back. You’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what you got out of it.

“It’s nothing, signorina, truly,” he says quietly in your ear, leading you back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of you to take your seats in the dining room you are…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, you can feel yourself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of you, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

You have to sit on your hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, you’re ready to strike. Before you can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if you’ve heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest that you’re certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” you murmur with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to yours on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against yours. You look at him out of the corner of your eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes your heart thud in your chest. It’s as if the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of you openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and you wish you could put your finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.���

Terzo is staring at you from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at you.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as you politely dig into your chicken and rice. It’s divine, as you knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to you.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Your brow furrows as you mouth their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at your candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and you’re shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. You’ve met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “you must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Your cheeks redden at the moan that escapes your mouth. Copia coughs sharply at your side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as you do.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As you exit the room you see Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

You move to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

You smile. If only he knew now how you’d take that request to heart.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 6]

Warnings and Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). Tech's never beating the space!Tablet Kid allegations for this chapter lmao. A couple of lines here and there get suggestive: CF99'S favorite medic friend is deep in thought about the shortest man of all the Batchers today. ;) Should know the drill on my usage of italics, Mando'a and headcanons by now for the series. Passing reference to a little Twi'lek kid being injured in an upsetting/unsettling way (accidental burns from a fusion cutter), but he's okay! We cry like men in this house because we've learned (slightly) better coping mechanisms almost a year after Order 66 in this AU!! Mentions of medical stitches, prescription medication and paraphernalia. Some fluff. Some angst. Mutual pining if you squint. Mostly Star Wars but also real-world swearing. Occasionally jumping character-focus. Observed mentions (by Tech) of Hunter's avoidant behaviors near the end of the chapter with Tech lying to Medic!Reader so he doesn't ruin Hunter's plan.

Word-count: 7,718

Tech was hurrying out the door and down the short stoop as [____] approached, head buried in his datapad like a distracted kid. "Good morning, Tech! Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she tried, amused to see him already so busy with something. Most of the long-term residents of this spaceport would still be sleeping, but here Tech was, already looking like he'd been awake for hours. Well, with exception of Omega, getting up early was still by and large habitual for this band of brothers, she reminded herself. (A war didn't stop just because you got a little sleepy…)

There was no stopping the bespectacled Clone, he hardly broke his stride as he stepped away from his front door but made sure to greet her over his shoulder to avoid offense. "Shipyards. Docking fee day. Have to hurry before there's a line. Good morning, [____]." 

Heh. Catch you another time, then, she thought with a laugh. The shipyards didn't open for another few minutes, according to her wrist device, but Tech and his love of optimization and efficiency didn't care much for waiting in line. As she watched his retreating figure walk down the street, she could have sworn one of his arms was moving very gingerly, and his gait looked a little stiff. Weird night of sleep and woke up in some uncomfortable position, perhaps? Wouldn't be the first time, given he's been reported to sleep in the pilot's seat of the Marauder when her friends were off traveling, much to the worry of his family. Or maybe he fell asleep at his desk again, tinkering with another project. 

Perhaps, and stars she hoped not, there'd been some concerns with Hunter last night. Wonder how Hunter slept… How was he? Was he awake now, and would she have time to bid him good morning, see for herself that the man she dreamed about last night was, hopefully, okay? 

Mercifully, her dream was not of what had transpired only yesterday. Instead she'd dreamed about that night she must have fallen asleep on the couch rather suddenly when Hunter had taken care of her injuries, and kindly offered to knead knotted muscle and tissue for her in further apologies for rudely rousing her from sleep. Had she and Hunter not been startled awake because of Omega, perhaps [____] would have been able to first apologize for dozing off on him, quite literally, but also thank Hunter for being a good sport about it. If she knew then what was made a little more evident to her just yesterday, she was nearly positive that that night probably brought up a lot of strong feelings for him. Feelings, and certain actions, Wrecker had told her their family's marksman had made innuendo of.

Crosshair. He was always meeting her at the door just before she would have to use the buzzer. She hadn't even reached the short stoop this time. "Hey doc." Two cups of caf in his hands, his in a mug, her's the disposable thermos so she could finish it when she got to her clinic and opened for the day. That was sweet of him. "Mornin', Cross." Good as ever, and not quite so hot this time. (Galaxy and all her stars, he remembered that offhand comment? Oh, Cross…)

"Mmm… thanks. How'd-" Crosshair shook his head slowly, laying a slender and dexterous finger to his bottom lip before he nursed his caf, climbing down a few steps before he sat himself on one side. Understanding she was expected, invited to join him, she took the other half of the step and had another sip. While she wasn't sure why he'd stopped her, she figured he just might be waking up still. Understandable enough: he looked pretty tired. Long night taking care of Hunter or staying awake just in case he was needed, probably. 

He was a little like Hunter, in that way; sacrificing precious sleep when someone was unwell to make sure they were taken care of. A watchman, a presence of comfort and care. I've got your six covered, brother. Habits from the war they had adapted in slightly healthier ways since. Habits she'd seen in Hunter when he stopped by the clinic with one of his brothers whenever they'd gotten hurt, or sick. 

I don't want him to feel alone. While… we think we trust you, it's just a promise I made to them on Kamino. 

She'd asked him what promise, regarding the then closed-off leader with a curious look. It was only a follow-up at the time to make sure Crosshair was still on-track after recovering from the parasite, so the fact Hunter had come in with him had her puzzled nearly a year ago. But [____] knew the answer now. That he'd always watch out for his brothers in the Kaminoan labs; it was a promise he still intended to keep even with Kamino lost to them forever. He felt so responsible for the safety of his brothers and sister. He just recognized he couldn't do it alone, sometimes.

She pulled her hard-frame medbag closer, unlatching the lock to the top to reach inside and extract the borrowed firearm. Carefully lowering her voice as someone walked by and regarded the trampled gate laying in the street with confusion, [____] gave her friend a brief nudge with her elbow and passed him the pistol along with a pack of gauze and slim box of toothpicks underneath. "Oughta complete the hostage exchange," she joked, "cause nice as this is - having caf with a friend - I can't sit here all morning… Clinic won't run itself with poor little P4TCH still out of commission…" She really had to get her medi-droid serviced for his broken arms. Eventually… those blasted pirates.

"So get Tech to look at him." Cross grumbled around the lip of the mug, biting back a yawn. 

"It'd break the warranty to go to a third-party for servicing, otherwise I would in a kriffing heartbeat, Cross. Even though I know Tech is good, very damn good, I need to keep that warranty." She admitted regrettably, though sorely tempted; the wait-list for servicing was moving at a moon-slug's pace. The marksman looked like he wanted to say something, watching her from the corner of his eye with a guarded expression. "Spit it out. It's alright." [____] promised, taking another swig of her own caf. She could tell that, for whatever reason, this was upsetting Crosshair. "Tell me how you really feel."

"To hell with the karking warranty!" he barked under his breath, quickly looking as equally startled as the medic. "S-sorry…" Cross offered meagerly, face dropping into the palm of his free hand with a heavy sigh. She knew that sigh. 

Oh, Cross…

"Hey, it's okay. Don't beat yourself up for losing your temper, it happens. But Maker, I thought you were gonna go with "people break warranty all the time, kid: they don't advertise it and nobody finds out." or maybe even "Tech's too good for them to tell any difference." or something. I know most of the Batch isn't terribly fond of rules…" She set down her caf with a light sigh and gave him a leveled look, briefly laying a hand on his knee to give him some gesture of comfort, "How much sleep did you get last night, Cross?" 

"Not enough." Hadn't gotten any, as a matter of fact. Tech had managed to extract himself from Hunter's hold and found the sniper and ARC conspiring in the common room about an hour ago. All parties filled one another in on the events of the night, Crosshair and Echo sharing the plans they'd tried coming up with after Cross had woken him. Tech had filled them in on how he had "tricked" Hunter into falling asleep; how there was a letter, Cross hadn't imagined it, and for some reason not yet clear to the marksman it apparently mentioned him. (Hunter you karking sap… They'd have to be very careful not to mention this stuff to [____] yet, now.)

"Something happen with Hunter?" she needled delicately. "Or… just couldn't sleep without dreaming about what happened?" 

Partly dodging the question, the marksman offered a lazy head shake before taking a long draught of his caf. "Hunter actually slept fine. Echo and I lost track of time working on something..." Crosshair allowed himself to trail off before the word “important” slipped out; let the doc use her imagination and make her own guess that he could easily confirm or use as a false lead.

Crosshair mirrored the relieved smile that played across her face. "Oh, good. Good, glad to hear that... You guys have another intergalactic mission coming up when you say you lost track of time on something?" Were they really planning on working with this Captain Rex figure already? After what had happened to Hunter? She thought they would have been less trusting of this mysterious and unknown "captain" after an incident like that, cut ties altogether; they'd done it before in the stories they'd carefully divulged to the medic to explain why Crosshair was covered in Mon Calamari or Quarren blood and Tech had a concussion, in one instance. 

We're not working with them anymore because they got Tech hurt. So Crosshair lost his temper and repaid the favor. Thanks for letting Omega stay with you at your clinic today… and for taking care of Tech on short notice. Feel bad for bothering you after-hours again, [____]; not sure how to thank you, but-

It's no problem at all, Hunter. You know I'm always happy to help you guys. I can take a look at Crosshair's hand before you go, too; looks like he broke the skin across the knuckles when he punched that deserving nerf-herder in the mouth.

"We're probably not going intergalactic shit for a while after… No. It's something closer to home: one of us has to stop by your clinic around lunch. If that's okay." Cross added quietly, gingerly shaking [____]'s hand free from his knee, spotting something up the street before speaking up to explain why. "Might be certain medical supplies Tech will want to get our hands on that we can't find in a standard shop… Tech, I wrote two bottles for a reason, not three!" 

Grocery sack hoisted in his arms, Tech, power walking, came closer to the stoop so he wasn't shouting back to his sleep-deprived brother. Back from one of the early morning shops already? She hadn't even been there on the stoop with Crosshair for very long, and the shop was in the complete opposite direction of the shipyards. "There was a sale, Crosshair! Plus it's what sounded good to Hunter according to an urgent message from Echo while I was out, so one of these will be his alone. And I see that you're still here, [____]... Are you… not opening your clinic today?" 

Oh, so Hunter was awake? She probably didn't have the time to ask to go see him by now, looking at the time device on her wrist, but it was surprising that Hunter was already up and about if he'd had the sleeping aid last night. Again… probably metabolized it differently. "Well, I-"

"Just break the warranty on the medi-droid, kid…" 

Tech scolded him for interrupting [____], stepping between them to pass the produce and health paraphernalia to Echo who appeared at the door, obscuring all opportunities to take a peek inside by opening the door only part way and standing smack in the middle of the opening. "K'uur, let her talk, Crosshair." 

"Mornin', kid."

"Morning Echo- As I was saying, I will be opening my clinic today, maybe just a little late. So I should get going if I don't want to make it very late. Tell the others I said good morning, thanks for the caf and the borrowed firearm Cross; and yes it's okay to send someone to come bother me during lunch to pick up those supplies. Just send me a list, please." She popped off the stoop and dusted off the seat of her pants before collecting all her belongings to set off down the street in the direction of her clinic from their housing. "Catch you all later."

"Use the shortcut!" 

Right… the Wrecker-made shortcut created just yesterday would shave off travel time. Almost forgot about that one.

"Thanks, Tech!"

[____] made a face at her most initially frightening patient of the day as she fastened off the last of the bandage. There was a small giggle in response to the exaggerated expression of concentration. "Oh boy, this is tricky! Think I almooost…" There. Last of the bandage secured, she could strip off the gloves with a sharp snap and add a giant smiley face to the gauze keeping the healthy layer of bacta gel in place for the still-sniffling youngster. When she put the cap back on the fabric marker and looked at her patient, there was the smile she was hoping for at last.

"Okay little guy, you did a good job! You were so darn brave! All done! How about we be careful around our daddy's tools in the shipyards like he asks from now on, hm?" The little Twi'lek boy hopped off the examination chair carefully and excitedly embraced the medic's leg, giggling. It was like the mild burn injuries from his father's fusion cutter had hardly even happened, the boy's spirits were so bright and perky once again. Nothing like the pained wails when he was first carried into the clinic that made [____]'s stomach sink into her boots. "Thanks Miss Medic! A-and I will, I promise!" 

As she led the Twi'lek father-son duo back to the front to settle the payment, she could hear the door chime merrily as it opened up, and a burst of street chatter before it hissed shut after whoever had walked in. Another emergency client? So much for shutting shop just for lunch and helping one of the Batc-

"Hiya misters! Are you here to see Miss Medic too?" The little Twi'lek toddler raced ahead of his father as [____] took them up to the counter to get them signed out, grinning wickedly at these perfect strangers. Wrecker, who'd been grinning stupidly at the tiny size of the chairs for pediatric patients (not for the first time) while Tech stood stiffly in a corner with a supply crate at his feet and neck bent over the datapad rattling away in his hands, greeted the youngster with the same enthusiasm. "Oh yeah, we sure did; we're friends with her! We came here to give Miss Medic some lunch from home since we accidentally made too much!" 

She'd be called that for a long time now, she knew. 

"That's nice of you, misters! You're lucky, Miss Medic. You have nice friends." The boy stated matter-of-factly as she took the exchanged credits from his father and deposited them into a lockbox. [____] laughed sweetly at the boy before she officially dismissed her patients. "That is very nice of them indeed. They're very nice friends; I sure am lucky." She turned to the boy's father, who'd been watching his little one with a soft expression of relief since his son's injury had been tended to. "Okay, sir, you're all good to go. Thanks for bringing him by. You take care now; if you have any questions, you know where to find me." 

The left lekku twitched just slightly with the father's sincere smile, head dipping with a shallow nod. "Thank you for helping my son. I am grateful." Discharge instructions in hand, he bid the medic farewell and left the clinic, asking the toddler where they should go for lunch as they stepped out into the street.

She'd scarcely gotten the door panel to lock and flipped her cheerfully-lit "It's lunch time! Be back soon!" sign on before Wrecker swept her in a playful hug. Her legs dangled and swung in the air wildly for just a moment with the force of the lift-off. "Hey, ad'ika!" 

"Hahaha, hey Wreck, good to see you too! You guys really brought me lunch?" 

The boyish giant offered a sheepish grin, but his laugh was no less than boisterous. "Yeah! Hunter's gettin' his appetite back and I made waaaay too much for just us, he-heh… So I thought I'd tag along with Tech while he came to pick up our supplies he ordered from ya!"

"That," his brother finally started with a breezy tone, clipping away his pad momentarily, "and I wanted to confirm something regarding yesterday - since I was piloting your ship - that Wrecker had told you."

Without thinking, she blurted out the first possibility that came to mind. "What, that he calls you Techie?" Too late, she remembered that oops, she probably wasn't supposed to say anything about that. "I-I'm so sorry, I uh…" Where on earth could she start with an apology for that?

But Tech wasn't the least bit phased. Quite the opposite of "bothered" if the surprisingly warm laugh was anything to go by. "No matter, Miss Medic. Now: Wrecker told you about our beliefs regarding Hunter's feelings for you, correct?" Maker, how could [____] possibly forget that? The broody, guarded Sergeant of Clone Force 99 likely loved her? 

Broody and guarded, but… often, she found, surprisingly gentle and… hm. 

Rugged good looks came to mind. And hadn't there been an occasion or two where she'd seen him working on the hull of their ship without a shirt on before yesterday or the time they were hosing it down? That awed feeling as she watched the display of strength in each rippling and well defined, healthy muscle… that'd been a delicious sight to see. One she was sorely tempted to keep admiring, but feared the semi-jeering remarks of one of his brothers, or worse, Hunter himself catching her looking longer than was polite.

"Yeah. Wrecker let it slip." She admitted after a beat of silence, Wrecker carefully lowered her to the floor to let her talk to Tech and allow himself to find the food for her he's tucked somewhere in the crate they brought. Something warm and delicious, by the smell of it. "Why do you ask, Tech?" 

There was a plethora to learn by asking her. He wanted to study her micro-expressions, her inflection, tone and vocal pitch for any irregularities, perhaps her gestures as she spoke; and were he his vod he probably could have smelled hormonal and chemical reactions. She'd have to forgive him for theorizing whether or not she would begin transitioning to a state of arousal at the thought of Hunter if he had the means to swap experimental enhancements. 

"I… was disappointed to have missed the moment the Loth-cat was out of the bag." Half a truth. He was not one for engaging in gossip, but a small part of him loved overhearing it. Those out of context phrases were puzzles to solve and oftentimes proved too tantalizing for his exceptional mind to ignore. Made him something of a menace on Kamino as a cadet. Sith's hells, not just as a cadet, in truth. Commander Cody of the 212th Battalion had quickly learned that if he was going to have a private strategy meeting with General Kenobi, and the information discussed was privileged and confidential, his best bet was dunking a damaged helm on Tech's head like he was a disobedient Shiny so he couldn't hear the orange-painted Marshal Commander.

"Oh, I-I see…" the medic murmured, clasping her unsteady hands together to keep them from shaking. Nerves? Was she showing signs of returned attraction for his pining brother? "Ah kriff, I think my blood sugar is really low, not enough breakfast… Might have to eat and pack your order at the same time if that's okay, guys. Only had half a nutrient shake before I knocked it off my desk, like a right klutz, when I got in this morning." 

"We can wait." Tech assured her. "Have lunch first, [____]. Can't have our medic feeling 'off' when she's meant to be helping those who are in a worse way, now can we?" He gave Wrecker a firm and conspiratorial look as a means of reminder. If they stalled her, the longer the rest of their siblings had to convince Hunter of a few things the better. 

"Here, kid! Got some nuna stew, it's a new recipe I wanted to try. Hope you like it!" Cracking open the thermos, Wrecker carefully tipped it into a bowl they'd brought along and passed it along to [____], who took the serving of stew with a gracious and touched smile. 

Tech also hoped that whoever was helping Hunter with his romantic confession was not changing a single thing previously-written until he had gotten back per his very specific instructions, or they'd be in for some real shit.

He hoped it was Crosshair who got roped into Omega's bubbly, giddy desires to find supplies to throw the medic a party for the day she was born. 

Tomorrow. 

Hunter was determined to have the confessional letter ready, just in case. He didn't want to avoid it any longer. He wanted to have control of the situation, if he could. But great flying Aiwhas was it hard to think…

"No-no-no-no-n- That's not the word you want." Returning with another snap-activated cold pack for Hunter's left shoulder, Echo was wagging his head at the sight of the word he'd just finished typing. "While we're being honest with our feelings, I'm not sure it's a good idea to be telling someone that they're a crutch. Not like that, make it sound more poetic!" Hunter could see the flash of a pout from his sister as Crosshair ushered her out the door, the clawing fingers in the fat of her thigh. She had been the only sibling who did not get to read her brother's words. It made her so frustrated. Angry. Left out. 

Why couldn't she read it too?! She wouldn't tell! She was mature enough! She was technically older than them, don't you dare tell her she was too young! It was nothing she probably hadn't heard before in Tipoca City or one of those Holofilms! Just let her read it!

"We'll be back," came the marksman's drawl, "with probably every last party supply they have in the kid's favorite color/s. Good luck." 

"You guys too." Echo returned cheerfully before the door was shut, and the scuffle of feet down the stoop started. "... especially you, Cross." Omega would cheer up over the course of time of the errand, he hoped. But for the time being, Hunter was not comfortable with the idea of letting Omega look at the nature of the letter. Maybe, maybe when it was finished. He'd already been reluctant to show it to Cross and Echo, and especially Wrecker. 

But Wrecker had treated what was written so far almost reverently, handling it like it was holy text laid away in a house of worship. No giggles. No laughter. Not even a smile or wicked smirk like one of Cross's when he read it. How it'd worried him…

Is it that bad?

N-no! It's good, it's good; I think she'd like it! I just didn't want to look like I was makin' fun of you like a real piece'a osik… honest. You're… writing this cause'a me, after all.

It's okay, vod… I'd be… finding some way to tell her, eventually, anyways.

"... -nter? Hey- Hunter?" 

He realized Echo was trying to get his attention. "Wha'?" 

Echo collected the datapad from Hunter's slackened hands, setting it aside before it would fall and clatter across the floor a second time since Hunter had woken up from the nap he'd taken after a light breakfast. "You're spacing out again, Hunter. You need a break?" 

"M'fine, Echo. Just thinking." What he really needed was the next dose of the painkillers, soon. The twinge in his left shoulder as the bacta-gel and stitching accelerated the healing process was starting to get stronger than the ice could soothe. "Hard to squeeze out the right words right now. The pain…" 

"Take a break," Echo encouraged gently, a look of sympathy washing over the paler, chiseled face. Evidence of perhaps years of a lack of sunlight and food and activity in that damn Techno Union chamber. It was taking its sweet time, but the handsome, healthy warmth of his skin was returning. He wasn't the same sickly, melanin-bleached brother he'd rescued with Captain Rex and General Skywalker compared to a… what, year ago? More? The passage of time was a tricky thing to measure with galactic zone changes taken into account even in the best health… "We'll work on it in a bit once you're able to take that next dose. Want anything more before I put the leftovers from lunch Wrecker made in the cold unit?"

Echo nodded nonchalantly when Hunter wagged his head once, laying his head back. "Figured I'd offer. Maybe a nutrient paste tube instead?" That sounded good. Safe. "Sure. Grab one for you in a second, Hunter." Hunter just wondered how Tech and Wrecker's little run for ordered medical supplies was going… How the medic's day at the clinic was going. Uneventful, hopefully. Maybe [____] had a lot of pediatric patients today, or was one of those rare "Q-Days". He remembered the medics of the 501st and 212th and the staff of Kamino were paranoid about the q-word. 

Saying the q-word was thought to invite trouble, believed to cast a spell of mal-intention and ridiculous causes of injury. Healers working under the insignia of the shattered cross were often the sort made of sterner stuff to handle the grisly work and trust in the sciences, but, sometimes, they have some of the strangest superstitions when you knew where to look. 

"Been a real qui-" [____] squeaked in panic, dropping a shrink-wrapped roll of heavy duty gauze. Wrecker had momentarily forgotten she was careful about that word in her clinic without specific context. "Oops. Sorry, burc'ya. Been a real, uh… uneventful day?" She was stacking the last of the Batch's order in the medical crate, swallowing down the jump in her heart rate as Tech picked up the item dropped. "Thank you Tech. Uneventful, yes Wrecker. Thank the Maker." 

"That's good! Not-a-lot-of-patients eventful or just nothin'… uh… stressful? Think that's the word I'm lookin' for." 

The medic pushed a little section of her hair back in place with her free hand, shoulders squeezing up to her ears in an easy movement. "Lots of patients, but a pretty tame day. Most eventful treatment was the pediatric patient who came in before you guys. Just lots of coughs, sniffles and fevers otherwise." It was the typical cold and flu season for this particular travel-hub, so lots of little ones would be coming in and out of her clinic like in years past, she remarked, closing the latch to their supply crate with the last of their order stocked for them. "Nose always burns a bit with all the antiseptic I'm using by the end of the day but I am not spending the rest of the weekend being sick. Taking tomorrow and the next day off." She was going to kriffing enjoy a birthday without being sick for once since moving to this planet.

"Awh yeah, good plan!" Wrecker rumbled warmly, both he and Tech relieved to hear that she planned on being away from her clinic tomorrow without even asking. "Gonna do anything special for tomorrow?" [____] looked at Wrecker with a puzzling expression, but the warmth in her eyes never faded for a second. Tech sighed carefully, re-perching his goggles on the sweet spot of the bridge of his nose. "Wrecker's asking if you've got plans for your birth-day."

"O-oh, well shit, besides take the day off and enjoy my birthday? Not really." she admitted, lazily fixing little flyaways of her hair from her face once again. "I never really have had the chance in past years to make big plans… either had to work here at the clinic or was too sick to enjoy the day. Wanted to change that this year." Take the day off. Sleep in. Relax. No emergency clients, no antiseptic, no obligations and no one to take care of other than herself. 

Aside from Hunter, if he really needed her; hell, maybe even just wanted her to. Or did… she want him to want her? 

"Oh, by the way," [____] started after a long pause, shaking herself free of the last particular thought, "How'd Hunter sleep last night? How's he doing today?" 

"Echo…" Hunter grumbled, clutching his upper arm. The pain in his left shoulder felt white-hot and he couldn't focus on tearing open the blister-packaging all the way once he'd gotten the appropriate dose from the canister. "Need some help." Echo called from the kitchenette over the roar of the faucet. "Hang on, brother. Getting you some water!" He was quick to bring in the water and finish breaking the seal around the capsules for Hunter, cybernetic knees dipping into the seat of the couch on his left side. "Deep breath, brother. You're okay. You'll be okay once the medicine kicks in; the waiting is the hard part." 

Maker, was it ever.

One, two, pearlescent blue. Funny what a small bit of medicine could do. 

Sheath that sharp blade of pain as his body knit itself back together with every second skin of bacta-gel he was applying in lieu of going to the much larger medical center that could offer a bacta tank treatment. It was too far from their housing. It was too much risk to run into Imperial forces or their sympathizers because it could not afford to turn away those clientele without Imperial COs catching wind and making life hell for the medical board of directors there. 

It wasn't her clinic. She'd been trying, applying for a tank for several planetary revolutions, but she was repeatedly turned down approval. Tech… he could forge the approval for her, right? It wouldn't be any different than the times he'd pulled medical forgeries so convincing that the Marshal Commander of the 212th had to (pretend to) scold Tech in front of some of the nastier scientists who threatened to take the perceived "treason" of this act of disobedience to the Prime Minister on a return assignment to Kamino just to save his skin. 

If Tech could just work a little clever forgery… the medical boards in this system that serviced independent clinics could get her that bacta tank. It was certainly a nice thought to distract himself with, if nothing else. Mercifully he could feel the first ebb of relief washing over him. It looked like Echo could see the relief, too. "Feeling better?"

"Much… Gotta hand it to [____]: she knows what works." 

"Thank the Maker. We'll give it a few more minutes and then I'll give you back the datapad." 

"I should be fine," Hunter offered a woozy smile, trying to disarm the usual tripwires of worry Echo was always tangled up in, "honest. Don't worry quite so much. What trouble could I possibly get up to while I recover?" He'd overdone the slightly drunken charm, and whatever uncoiling the smile had done was immediately taut once more. 

Plenty of trouble. The ARC trooper, better than anyone, would know it was possible to get "up to" plenty of trouble while feeling less than his best. If he had felt anything at all when he had been weaponized and used against his own brothers as some kind of mere counterintelligence program and turned him into a brother-killer rather than his own individual personality and the quirks that dubbed him Echo by the fallen Domino Squad… 

Maker, now he felt like he was going to cry again.

Echo only gave the briefest sigh before he sat himself by Hunter's side on the sofa and slowly reeled him in for a tender embrace, mindful of the stitching and gauze. "Are we sure these prescriptions are safe for you to take, sarge?" It was a sheltered attempt at humor. Caution and curiosity. "Sure it helps with the pain, and we want that, but these seem to make you a little weepy. First Tech. Now me. Wrecker next on the rota? Or is Crosshair ahead of him?" 

Echo was dangerously close to making him laugh in a way that wouldn't feel nice on his stitches in efforts to cheer his spirits. He was kind enough and failed to mention the "angry water" incident when Hunter had gotten to the cold unit before one of his vode and started rooting through it for some blue milk and blindly found a bottle of sparkling water he'd tried, hated, and meant to throw away. The mouthful of bubbles and muted, artificial flavor was not what Hunter had wanted and it was spat out into the sink with force, tears in his eyes. He kriffing hated the stuff and it scared him this morning; of course he cried in his half-awake state on a fresh dose of oral pain meds. "Sh-shut up!" 

The arm snaking around his back gave his shoulder blade a carefully placed, ginger double-pat. "Yeah-yeah. I'll get riiiiight on that, Sergeant." Echo gave a mock-salute with his scomp component to go along with the heavy coat of sarcasm in his voice, understanding Hunter wasn't being serious about his order. He picked up the datapad from the low table and put it in Hunter's hands. "Now get back to work. Give Tech a surprise by making some decent headway on that letter." 

Hunter could do that, bolstered by the encouragement once he'd settled his nerves again, and the pain in his shoulder had become dormant. Sentences were written and rewritten, some erased entirely (understanding Tech was likely to check the change-log when he got back) as he tried formulating these thoughts with a clearing head as the prescription kicked in and silenced the pain enveloping his body and nervous system as he healed. 

Even better, by the time Omega and Crosshair had trudged home with large supply bags of party decorations and gifts for [____] from everyone, he'd finished his last sentence and signed off on the letter as someone rapped their knuckles on the door. "Echo, Hunter! We're home!"

"Wrecker and Tech still out?" Crosshair looked weary as Echo opened the door to them, half-lidded eyes sweeping the room instinctually before flicking to the time display in the central area of the house. "Tech's going to keep the kid busy past her lunch hour if he's not careful…" 

"Ah, Tech probably wants to see every last bit of her equipment in her back office this time or something. You know him. Wrecker will drag him home if we just ask." 

"Yeah…" Cross yawned, draining half of a concentrated caf-shot from a travel cup he had tucked in the crook of his arm. "We got the decorations." 

"I can see that." Echo chuckled. He wouldn't tease Crosshair for being uncharacteristically tired, but he would mess with him a little as he saw Omega timidly approach Hunter. She was probably hoping again to successfully get a look this time. Might as well keep the sleep-deprived brother occupied while their sister gave it another shot. Hunter did say he'd think about letting her look, after all. 

Hunter sat up carefully as Omega nervously crept closer, looking at her with that brotherly warmth that always made her feel so safe. Secure. He seemed relaxed, more relaxed than the pain relievers typically made people. She wondered, but didn't look at the datapad yet… The smokey purr of her brother's voice as he made the efforts to clearly focus bode well, for the moment. "Hey, Omega… Have a nice outing getting everything with Cross?"  

She sat down on the seat beside him and curled into his most uninjured side best she could. "Mhm." The weight and warmth of his arm was a welcome presence around the small of her back, and with a brief pull, she took his invitation to snuggle in a little closer so he could better tease his fingers through her hair from root to tip. 

He chuckled softly at the first involuntary shiver he could sometimes coax out of her when he played with her hair. It was always such a treat when one of Omega's tells that she felt relaxed, safe, and loved came out and made themselves known. "Find anything interesting?" 

"I guess so. Hopefully she'll like the presents we got… I still need to find one for [____]." She had spent a long time puzzling out what she thought their medic friend might like, but she hadn't found anything fitting yet, and she felt bad about keeping Crosshair so long when he was clearly pretty tired so she had suggested they go home. Hunter smoothed out Omega's hair soothingly now, a low hum in his chest as he did his best to cheer her up. It always warmed her heart at the very least when he tried. "Don't worry, Omega… I'm sure you can talk Wrecker into going somewhere to find your gift to her after dinner. There's time, yeah?" 

"I guess so…" she shrugged, maneuvering carefully to nestle into his lap when Hunter offered. He looked like he felt better, and was acting like he felt better as well if he was a little less ginger and timid in his movements than this morning as he held her lovingly as ever. "Don't worry, ad'ika. Until then…" Here he picked up the datapad, and sure that he was about to put it away, she was astounded that Hunter offered it to her. "In the meantime, you can see what I've been up to. I gave what you said a little thought; you probably have heard similar stuff on Kamino, and those Holofilms before, so it's probably alright that you see what I've written to [____]." 

"Really?"

"Wellll-" Hunter said quickly, carefully painting his words in a teasing tone, half-heartedly twitching the datapad away from her, "on second thou-"

She swiped it from her brother's hands and whooped with laughter once as a result of his playful tickling, and soon both were stifling their giggles together on the couch as Echo and Crosshair observed from the little dinner table in the breakfast nook with warm smiles. "N-no!! You said-!" Omega forced out through giggles and gasps as Hunter targeted where she was most ticklish. 

Echo watched the marksman as he swiped someone's datapad, probably Wrecker's (given it was left at the table opened to what looked like a recipe when the screen came to life), and aimed it at Omega and Hunter with the capture feature active on the HUD.

 klic!

"What're you doing?" Echo wondered, watching Crosshair now opening the message function and tagging through Wrecker's contacts for something. 

"They're going to want to see this." Crosshair hummed, a little hint of an answer. "Big guy and the nerd should probably come home about now, lunch is nearly over; but if they're still visiting the kid, she's probably asked how Hunter's doing." Proper contact selected ("smarty-pants" in all capitals, another hint of the demolition expert's larger-than-life personality), Crosshair sent off the message.

Just before they bid [____] good-bye and a wish for an uneventful (not explicitly using "quiet") rest of her shift for the fifth time, Tech's datapad trilled with a special little message tone reserved just for communications from his brothers. "Why in the stars did you send me a message, Wrecker? I'm right here." 

Wrecker gingerly patted down each of the large pockets and pouches that were part of his pants in confusion. "Huh? I didn't send anythin'. I… don't even have my datapad on me. Uh-oh. Did I accidentally leave it somewhere; do y'see it, ad'ika?" She shook her head, frowning. As the medic began to look around the front-end of her clinic for her friend's datapad with Wrecker, Tech broke the bubble around the unopened message and skimmed through it. 

"... Ah! It's a message from Crosshair." Must mean that Wrecker never had his datapad on him to begin with, since Crosshair had a tendency to ignore proper use of case-formatting whenever he was not speaking to a superior and only used lowercase and punctuation. "He's reminding us we should be on our way home if we aren't already. But, if we're still at the clinic, he'd like us to show you something." 

"Oh," [____] mused, "show me what?" Tech tapped the little icon to open the image file attachment, and the new expression settling into her face that morphed from the initial curiosity confirmed to Tech what the brothers were hoping for. When discussing with Echo and Crosshair whether they thought the medic had any similar feelings, they were discussing the potential clues they'd seen in the past and had done their best to suss out what had been habits of her profession, and what had been aspects of her interest in Hunter if there were any. Grateful as ever for the impressive attention to detail the sharpshooter boasted, Tech could see something Crosshair had noticed. 

Something he had not stopped thinking of since: [____]'s cryptic marksmen see everything was rather astute.

Just a little color rising to the apple of her cheeks, the little involuntary burst of microexpressions made when she looked at Hunter. They were all there. "Awh, how cute. He looks like he's feeling a little better… good. Looks like they're watching some holo-media together, too!" Wrecker laughed softly in agreement, nodding at the medic. For all they knew that's what Hunter and Omega were doing, the way both were focused on the blue-white glow of the screen they couldn't see from the angle of the camera. 

A faint, shy smile as her eyes habitually glanced over the bits of gauze visible under the loose clothing Hunter wore, lingering longest over his face and the warm, loving smile he wore directed at Omega. "He hasn't smiled like that in a while, I think…" [____] observed mostly to herself, falsely. 

Crosshair had told him the morning she had been over for breakfast and had been listening to Tech ramble on about that intergalactic band, he'd seen Hunter break into that same smile with every laugh she made. The self soothing adjustments when she tidied up a wrinkle in the sleeve of her medical coat as a distraction, either for herself or for anyone watching her. A second, when she tucked away hair that wasn't necessarily out of place. The soft, lingering look when she stole another glance at the image of Hunter with an arm wrapped around Omega's back as she curled up with him, one of his cheeks planted softly on the crown of her head.  

"No, I suppose not," Tech lied plainly, playing into her observation for the sake of Hunter's plan. "It's rather nice to see him smiling again." She had no way of knowing how stressed out and high-strung Hunter had been before Clone Force 99 embarked on the raiding of a prisoner transport ship; how he hadn't been speaking to Echo for a few days after Echo had let Captain Rex know they were finally decided and they would be joining the endeavor, doing the right thing, to rescue their brothers who wanted to desert the Empire. 

The risk-

-is worth it, Hunter! 

Hunter didn't disagree with that or the unspoken we should be helping our brothers who are being held against their will! But he didn't mention that it scared him either. The fear of what would become of them if the Empire learned they made it out of the bombing of Tipoca City. The fear of what might happen to Omega. What might happen to [____] if they never came back. He hadn't been sleeping well; he'd been obsessively polishing, oiling and sharpening his weaponry in lieu of making sure he was properly rested the night before. His food intake was subpar. He kept staring at the comlink device with her communication frequency dialed in, just a button away from spinning a web of lies to request an emergency neuro-suppressor for short-term anxiety. 

He was even avoiding taking his first dosage of the prescription medication after his discharge from her clinic because it hurt to swallow after what he'd been given aboard the Havoc Marauder wore off.

Hunter hadn't been smiling, and meaning it, until Omega punched into the communication line to the independent clinic's medic for assistance and [____] showed up at their house - so clearly tired and fighting the adrenaline crash, but concerned for his well-being - and he realized that she was suddenly there and talking to him. 

He hated feeling like he was lying to her when he could so easily tell her the likely truth of what might be on that screen when she asked him to ask Hunter and report back to her what he was watching with Omega. But that would make the emotional work he was helping Hunter with obsolete, and he didn't want to betray a brother like that. While he could be forgiving, with enough time, with the right people, Hunter may take a long time to forgive Tech for something like letting anything slip too early before, thus far, deciding to stick to the accidental overlap of Echo's deadline falling on her birthday. 

"Sure," Tech agreed happily, grateful that Wrecker was here to mirror the appropriate social cues he should follow, "I can ask. And I'll make sure he takes the medicine to help him sleep tonight." he added with a polite smile. 

She smiled fondly at the memory of the careful story that Tech shared with her and Wrecker how he'd gone to check on Hunter last night and spent some time comforting him, omitting why exactly he was comforting Hunter. He'd tell Wrecker the truth on the way home. 

And hopefully, if Hunter truly felt tomorrow was the right time, or soon after instead, [____] would know the truth too. 

Tech couldn't think of a more deserving person than [____] after all she's done to help, even save, them. 

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @ladytano420

If you would like to be added to the taglist that is currently just specific for Sorry, Wrong Comms!, (I may start a taglist for all Star Wars related fanfiction projects that will be marked accordingly with #frostfics in the near future if there is interest) don't hesitate to shoot me an ask or a comment loves. 🩷

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[bellatrixobsessed1]

Not Again

Summary: Sokka should have listened to her when she said that she didn’t want to go to the beach.

 It is such a quiet night. The beach is so still.

 Everything is so, so very still.

 Azula is so very still.

 “I can’t do this again. I won’t.” Sokka cradles Azula in his arms.

 He has already done it twice now; once with Yue and then again with Suki. They had been such different people but everyone dies the same, at least in some sense–their eyes. That particular glossy haze.

 He can’t bring himself to open Azula’s eyes, he knows what he will see there.

 And he can’t do it again.

 He can’t go to another funeral and mourn another lover.

 Azula wasn’t his best choice, at least that’s what his friends seem to think. She is…was? She was hard to talk to and unapproachable. She was very picky and liked to make offhanded remarks about Katara and Aang. She liked Toph though.

 She was high maintenance, liked everything her way, and everything was a debate.

 “Well she’s pretty.” Jet would often comment of his ex. “That worked for me for a while.”

 Jet doesn’t hate her.

 Sometimes he thinks that Jet is jealous of him–that he can handle Azula’s worst sides. He finds that her worst sides have their charm–there is something about those smiles that she tries to stifle during their arguments.

 He wants her to wake up and start yelling at him for letting her drown. For his stupid idea to take her to the beach in the first place.

 She wanted to go to the movies.

 He has seen Katara administer rescue breathes one time while on duty as a lifeguard. He tries his best to imitate what he had seen. But she is still so limp and he isn’t certain if she is breathing. How can he help her when he is finding it harder to keep his own breaths under control.

 He should have called for an ambulance.

 He can’t find his phone.

 So he stoops down and he tries again and again until he has no more breath left in him to spare.

 Her body is still limp on the sand. He lightly slaps her cheek, one last attempt to get her to rejoin him in life.

 No. He doesn’t want that to be his last attempt. He leans over to try another rescue breath, instead he kisses a palm that is pushing him away. That push is weak and she is choking and coughing. But she is awake no less.

 She coughs some water into the sand and falls over once again. At least this time he can clearly see the rise and fall of her stomach, the heaving of her chest as she takes in all the air that she can.

 He gives her a moment to compose herself before scooping her into his arms muttering apology after apology. “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t swim?”

 “I can swim just fine.” Her voice is strained. “As long as there are no waves…and the pool is only three feet deep.”

 Sokka sighs. “We’re going to have to teach you to swim.”

 Azula looks from him to the water and back to him, she bites the inside of her cheek.

 “Too soon?”

 She nods. “This is the second time.”

 “Second time? Oh! Second time.” He cringes. He wonders what had happened the first time and who had rescued her then.

 “Chan’s pool party.” She says, scooping up a handful of sand and watching it slip through the crack in her fist. “Jet helped me out.”

 She doesn’t look at him.

 Apparently it is an embarrassing memory. But it couldn’t have left much of an impression on anyone else because he has never heard a rumor about it.

 He wraps a towel around her. “Still up for a movie?”

 She nods.

 He helps her to her feet.

 He is so very thankful that he doesn’t have to go through another funeral.

[beauholove]

A Painting For Tymon, inspired by The Fly Agaric @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques

Some of his quotes, from which this painting, from which this painting takes heavy inspiration

Time heals all brain holes it seems

Damp dark soil, filled with all manner of things rich and thriving

Watched her as she dropped each little token of life in its new home

Smoothing the turned soil over her darlings. Only that gardening sometimes feels like i am burying family. Burying friends

It’s a hard ordeal to bury something Erik agreed, tilting his head as he ran his own bare fingers through the dirt, every silvery scar wrapping around them alight with sunshine. But from such plots come such fragrant memories. It was in little exchanges like these, so simple and so mired in her husband’s own queer fashion, that she found herself able to make dinner in peace

I think the best compliment is to remember one’s writings and words

Now no shrub had yet appeared on the earth and no plant had yet sprung up, for the Lord God had not sent rain on the earth as there was no one to work the ground, but streams came up from the earth and watered the whole surface of the ground. Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground

What I love about @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques The Fly Agaric is that he has cleverly used soil and the garden as the central theme to his fiction. Hereby, we see Erik and Christine actually come together naturally amidst their whatever differences that they might have and it is in gardening they have this in common between them, came to an agreement and a certain peace. The author LGF, used the analogy of the soil to signify both the birth of life and death, ironically both found in soil. The soil also held a divine meaning, in which in the Beginning ( of life of mankind ) God first used the dust and soil of the ground to create the first Mankind in The Garden in which God Himself would have a relationship with. The writings of both authors in this case is similar, when we have Erik and Christine bent over sowing seeds of life and God Himself bent over as if in child’s play dough, forming Man from the damp dark soil in the ground. And then we see Erik’s fingers running through the dirt, as LGF has described as every silvery scar in a similar scene as God’s fiction in which Jesus stooping over running his fingers writing on the ground. Both of them in an attempt to bury the past, scarred memories or dead events. We note that LGF has laid the important themes in the beginning of his story The Soil, The Garden and importantly Unfortunately for him, Christine never forgets. Hence this scene is exceptionally touching, as we actually see Erik as Christine’s emotional support, agreeing with her and stopping together beside her, helping her to bury memories of her past, which frequently surfaced in her mind, even as she carried on with the chores of her daily life. I also note this story of LGF described and played heavily on the theme of Christine’s mind. Readers were actually able to read the thoughts of Christine, which was veiled to others. Indeed the mind is so important as it helps us to frame perspectives and truly it controls almost every part of our body and actions. “clinging to her arms like he’d won her at a carnival” was how she really felt. LGF managed to describe real and vivid examples of how although how we can’t help but feel and respond in a certain way towards a certain person or event, due to how our brain perceive and react. Ever since the Fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden, we have lived in a very much imperfect world of suffering. Wounds, scars and brain holes are inevitable due to the imperfections of man. In fact most of these brain holes are inflicted by family or friends closest to us, sometimes knowingly and sometimes unknowingly, for in Jesus’ famous last words, He cried “Father forgive them for they know not what they do” We read online of horror stories of horrible men committing horrible atrocities deserving condemnation, yet the sad truth is most of them turned out this way due to neglect, hardship and similar abuse unto them and the cycle of evil continues. My favourite part of my drawing is the blood clots in the brainholes mired with soil, upon from out of which all baby birches rich and thriving are birthed. My biggest apologies to everyone as I had tried to adapt Van Gogh’s painting for his nephew also named after him Vincent - Almond Blossom but it didn’t look similar. I hope the idea and thriving manner the branch blossoms are drawn make up for gaffes. It is also interesting to note the lives of the three different Vincent Van Goghs “ coincidentally held a very Christian analogy in the first VVG representing the law, the second VVG representing a type of Jesus, the third VVG representing an inheritor, something I learnt together with my soul mate this year as it was he who contributed such readings about VVG that even I didn’t know about.

The brain was also shaped like a fruit of the knowledge of good and evil and spherical earth like. The yellow and blue spiral staircase inspired by my experiences on Tumblr this year, yellow and blue is our theme, and also dedicated to everyone out there who suffers from a spiralling mind ( mental awareness week ) The staircase is painted as royal golden stairways to Heaven as these minds are often beautiful in their ways too. And even if they should fall, they fall into the bosoms of the everlasting petals of The Rose Palm. The Rose did not lie to the Little Prince. It’s true that there was only one special rose of its kind. The blue and white ladder is inspired by the DNA gene 🧬 and spiral staircase which I have learned from Prince’s analogy one first Sunday of the year

There are many amazing details in The Fly Agaric, in which the author LGF has infused in his fic, which should be savoured and understood in depth, which is why I have taken my time to read and re read and let this fic linger in me, instead of hastily reading through and then moving on to other fics. The theme was also my favourite and I think no other author has made me cried so much in my life but Tymon, hence the title of my painting A Painting for Tymon. Thanks @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques for the awesome story. I hope this detailed compliment is the best compliment you have ever received among all the compliments for this work

Forever yours,

Beauholove

[a-wayfairing-stranger]

Birthday.

Its Boromir’s birthday and his friends have dragged him to a brothel.

A/N: I litterally have only seen LOTR ONCE so do forgive me if this is OOC I do plan on watching the movies/reading the books pretty soon purely so I can get charactisation of characters down lmao anyway I am rambling. As Flora carried a large tray of wine goblets through the tables, her body was cold, you would think that considering the Sword and Sheath required their employees to be scantily clad or nude, they could at least spare the money to add extra logs to the fire, but alas, it was a autumns evening and rain lashed against the roof, yet the fires were minimal.

Flora served the drinks to the table of men she was pretty certain were off duty guardsmen and flashed them fake smiles, at least she was wearing a sheer dress, that while barely covered her naked form, she was at least slightly warmer than her naked colleagues, as she placed down the jug, her hands shook, spilling some of the wine on to the wooden table, one of the men clasped her wrist. 

“If you're so cold, love, perhaps me and the boys could warm you up?” 

“Leave her.” The man sat in the middle of the table commanded, his tone stern, which further engrained the idea that they were indeed, guardsmen in Flora’s mind. “She is a serving girl, not one of the whores.” 

The man let Flora’s wrist go and she pulled her hand back

“If you so wish, Sir, I can send over someone to warm you up.” 

“Then do so.”

She picked up the tray and nodded at the man, before hastily scurrying back to the bar, she found one of the girls leaning against the wood, she must be freezing, clad in just a skirt, not even shoes to keep her toes warm.

“Mahni..” She set down the tray “One of those gentlemen wishes to have your company.”

Mahni sighed “At least I can be in the warmth of my bed..” 

“We should all be so lucky.” Flora muttered

Mahni heard, and smiled

“If you were to stoop as low as the rest of us, you could earn yourself a pretty penny and have a bed warmer..”

Flora ignored her, she had told everyone here enough times that she was not a prostitute, not that she looked down on those who were, she was a dancer, a serving girl, a singer, the idea of simply having sex for money did not appeal to her in the slightest, but some nights she wished it did, it would be more coin for her to save to eventually one day leave this place, ironic, that in order to escape the place you dislike you would have to do things you hate.

As the night went on, she found herself at that table again, only this time she was only serving one of the men, the one who had commanded his friend to release her, he looked awkward and out of place, and she had seen him decline many of the girls who came up to talk to him.

Strange, why go to a brothel if not to have sex?

“You look lost.” She commented as she placed the fresh jug on the table “If you don’t mind me saying.”

“I do not.” He paused, “It wasn’t my idea to come here.”

“It's never anyones..they just seem to wander in and get lost trying to find the way back out.” Flora smiled “Like moths.”

“Well you know what they say, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar..” He sipped what was left of his wine “And you are most certainly honey.”

As he set his goblet back down, he frowned

“Ignore me…I am drunk..”

“Drunk men have said worse to me, I assure you.”

“Will you sit with me?” 

She smiled, he look embarrassed

“Just..These women are circling like vultures and I feel awkward at having to keep dismissing them.” 

“And so you want me to fend them off?”

“Please.”

She sat down on the chair, the wood was cold, even through the fabric, the man noticed.

“You must be freezing.” 

He undid the clasp on his cloak and then offered the garment to her, it was a dark green and very thick, and very warm, like a starving street urchin offered a slice of bread, she took it and wrapped it around herself.

“Thank you.”

“I imagine I must be the first man to ever add more clothing to you.”

She laughed “You would be correct.”

She realized what she had implied and continued.

“I don’t…I do not fuck for pay, sir.”

He seemed taken back by her vulgarity, which was funny given the place they were.

“I sing..and I dance and I serve drinks…” She sighed, feeling as coming back to her fingers and toes now at least “Just so I don’t sit here under false pretenses.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything in return, if that's what you mean..” He reached for the jug and refilled his goblet. “I suppose I simply can’t stand to see such a pretty lady uncomfortable.”

“There are worse flaws.”

“True that.”

He took a few mouthfuls of wine and Flora looked around, she was getting stares, but she didn’t care, to hell with them, she had a warm cloak and decent conversation for once.

“If you don’t wish to be here, why not leave?” She played with the hem of the cloak “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you.”

“Because nobody wants to spend their birthday alone, now, do they?”

“It's your birthday?”

He sipped his wine again, frowning

“I wanted a quiet game of cards and what do they suggest? The bloody brothel.” 

“Then sneak away home, Technically your birthday was yesterday.”

“What time is it?”

“Two am.”

His frown intensified “They all have to be up early tomorrow.” 

“And? You’re not their Mother.”

He laughed “You make a good point.” 

He finished his goblet and stood up. He reached into the coin purse attached to his belt and pulled out three gold pieces, he placed them on the table in front of her.

“For the company..” He smiled down at her “And I’ll be back to collect the cloak.”

“But sir it's pouring out there..”

“A little rain never hurt anyone, besides it might sober me up.”  

Before he got to far away, Flora stood up

“Happy Birthday, Sir.”

He smiled, it lit up his eyes, light gray that reflected the candle light

“It wasn’t until you showed up.”

[shadowbriar]

Fred Weasley - Selene and Helios

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader  Word Count : 4k Warning : Mentions of food. Injury. Kinda foul language. Prompts : It’s always been you.” Prompt request is still open. You can find the link to the prompt list here. Notes : If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

The Great Hall was filled with students, trying to fill their empty stomachs before facing the upcoming classes. Some were trying to multitask, finishing the essays that could’ve been done earlier had they not played around too much during the weekend, while the rest were throwing jokes and conversing with their peers in bliss. A very mundane Monday morning in Hogwarts.

Until the couple enters.

She watches the squabble with a displeased look, feeling pathetic to her best friend who’s now begging for his girlfriend’s forgiveness. Fred was chasing her, evidently pleading for another chance. Eversince the two started dating, the talk around the castle would always revolve around them. Not due to their lovely romance, no they were far from being the power couple people thought they would be, but because of the frequent public quarrels the two would hold. She believes for whatever sick reason his girlfriend has, it was no accident that their arguments were always of public amusement. Perhaps the attention and murmurs about their fight brings her a certain degree of pride, knowing that she’s the centre of attention. As if dating the Fred Gideon Weasley wasn’t already a haughtiness to brag about.

“Not again,” Lee rolled his eyes at the sight, turning to George “Couldn’t you do something about it? It’s an embarrassment for us all at this point.”

George shrugs, “What exactly do you want me to do? Send her a Self-propelling Custard Pies?”

“That’s an idea.”

“Fred would kill me.” George snorts and nudges her “The only person that could talk to him out of the relationship would be this Sweetheart right here.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” She scoffs, spreading the jam to her toast in annoyance “I’ve tried talking to him, to break up with that vile wench, for months and he’s yet to do it. At this point I’m convinced that she’s slipped him some kind of love potion cause there’s no way in the seven hells that our Fred would ever stoop so low for some girl like her.”

She clears her throat, realising that her jealousy has bleed out. The envy she’s tried so hard to contain for the past month slightly erupted, leaking the drops of resentment through her words. She mentally cursed herself and tried to keep her nonchalant veneer, hoping that the boys would be as oblivious as they always have.

It is one of the worlds’ greatest unsolved mysteries how none of her closest friends seem to notice her brewing infatuation for the older Weasley twin. Don’t ask her when the butterflies started because she couldn’t recall the time when things were anything but lovely whenever he’s around. It was as if he amplified the colours in her world, blessing her with warmth and laughter that she could find nowhere else. Nowhere but his side.

She knew that being bitter over his love life isn’t a very good best friend thing to do. She shouldn’t feel this much resentment, knowing and seeing him with someone else when she never made any advances with her feelings. But the stories Fred shared with her, the choked tears he always tried to hold at night, and the stunts his girlfriend would make him do in public made her seethe. She couldn’t help but to think of how much better their lives would have been had she been the one he’s dating. She would never let him make a fool of himself in public. She would never make him cry at night. She would never make him think that he didn’t love her just enough.

She wanted to rescue him from the collapsing building before it crushes him whole. No, she could never forgive that devil spawned woman if she ever hurt him that severely. She’d hex her to death if it ever comes close to that, for sure. But she couldn’t find a way to save him without having to break his heart. She’s convinced that Fred really loves her, hence all the effort he’s done to make her stay. As much as she’s tormented, she wouldn’t want to be the reason Fred would have his heart broken.

“I just don’t understand.” George mutters, snapping her back to reality “Why would he be so hell bent on keeping her around when his heart’s bound for another?”

She raised an eyebrow, confused at the younger twin’s comment but before she could ask him to elaborate, Fred joined the table with a forced smile.

“Morning.” He greets the group, taking his seat next to her “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

The group nods, not uttering a word at the awkward atmosphere around.

“Here,” She pushed a plate to him “2 toasts, this time it’s blueberry jam cause you had strawberry yesterday.”

The same thing with not knowing when exactly did she start to fall for the loud and obnoxious boy, she wasn’t sure either when she picked up the habit of doing things Fred would unconsciously do. They’ve done this for years. Whoever came to the table first would be the one to make the breakfast for the other. She knew exactly of his preferences, how he likes fruit flavoured jams better than chocolate or peanut butter. She knew which slice of the bread is his most favourite and the degree of burnt he likes to have on his toasts. And even if there’s no toast served at the table, she knew exactly what to get for the boy.

Sometimes she wonders if he’s simply oblivious of her affection or chose to ignore it all together.

Fred smiles gratefully, “What would I do without you?”

“Die of starvation, most probably.” She comments, brows furrow in fake thought “Or of boredom from the long hours of detentions. Or of critical injuries from your stupid pranks.”

“You love my pranks.”

“That I do.” She agrees, nodding “But not when you get hurt from it.”

Fred stares at her fondly. His facial features were soft, staring at her as if she was the most invaluable thing in his possession. Thankfully before she could over analyse his gesture, before a slight hint of hope blooms in her heart that perhaps he might share the same impressions as her, Fred gave her a friendly nudge and laughed it off. As always giving a clear sign that they’ll never set a toe out of the platonic line. Ever.

—-

Spending the break at the Burrow would forever be something she wished she could live forever in. She loves waking up to the smell of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, the warm breeze and the melodious sound of birds chirping in the morning. But if she has to choose just one thing that made her love visiting the Burrow, it would be the evening drive with Mr. Weasley’s flying car.

She wasn’t sure what kind of sweet talk the Weasley twin did to grant access to the car again after the accident with Harry and Ron back in their second grade, but somehow the prankster has managed to regain their parents’ trust on driving the said car. Fred would always say that it was because they’re driving with her that his mother couldn’t find the heart to say no. She’s been loved by the family as if their own for years and Mrs. Weasley has always had a softer spot for daughters.

“Where are we going again?” She asks as she puts one of her hands out of the window, trying to feel the wind passing by through her fingertips “And why isn’t George coming with us? I thought you twins couldn’t function without the other.”

“I wanted to show you this spot I found.” Fred answers, a giddy smile plastered on his face “I came across this place when I went with Dad, so not even George knew of this place.”

She turned to face him with an amused expression, “So I’m the first to ever enter Fred Weasley’s secret sanctuary? Why, I’m flattered.”

“Well, you are my best friend.”

Her smile dims down. She turns her head away, not wanting Fred to notice her change of demeanour. Best friends. That’s all she would ever be in his eyes. Somehow the title gives her more of a heartache than pleasant these days.

A couple minutes later she finds the car slowing its speed as they reach a grass field. She could see a pond up front with ducks swimming around its surface. The sight brought her bright smile back. She’s always loved lakes and ponds and it warms her heart that the place Fred could find his peace at is somewhere she could feel connected to.

“Pretty neat, isn’t it?”

“Neat? This place is gorgeous!” She squeals, turning to the boy with a joyful expression “Why didn’t you tell me we’re going to the pond, I would’ve brought a swimming suit!”

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?” He scoffs “Besides, if you brought your swimming suit then Ginny would ask questions and she would want to come. And if she comes, Hermione would want to come. And if the girls come, Ron and the rest of the family would want to come and we know how limited the seating is in the car.”

“Well, we can always get here with a broom or apparate.”

“That’s beside the point, alright? This is my spot. I get to decide who gets to come and not.” Fred says as he rolled his eyes, seemingly faking an annoyed tone “Don’t make me regret showing it to you.”

She smiles, turning back to see the scenery. The place was so peaceful she couldn’t help but wanting to get out of the car, yet seeing that Fred had made no move she didn’t want to be the first to get out. Staying in the car would do, so long as she’s with him.

“She hasn’t replied to any of my letters.”

She blinks, not turning to face the boy.

“I’m not sure what I did wrong.” Fred continues, words laced with dejection “I tried so hard to impress her, to show her that I cared for her, but all she did is toy with my feelings.”

She takes a deep breath. Of course, the reason he wanted to bring her to his secret hideout was not to share his little haven but because he needed someone to talk to. Someone who’ll be foolish enough to listen to him no matter how tormented she really is on the inside. Just how ridiculous it is for her to think that she was special in his eyes for him to have shown this place out of spite.

“Do you reckon I made a mistake?” He asked, voice creaking softly “Did I try too hard with her? Am I making her uncomfortable?”

“Fred, listen to me,” She turned to him, placing her hands to his shoulders “You did nothing wrong, alright? She’s just that thick on the head to ever realise how lucky she is to be with you, to be the girl you try so hard to impress, try so hard to love. You’re the best boyfriend any girl could ever ask for, believe me.”

He flashed an unsure smile.

“I mean honestly, the only question you should be asking yourself is why are you still with that wench when it’s obvious that you deserve so much more than that.” She continued “Seriously, you could pick any girl in the castle, any girl. I’m sure they would say yes to you and would treat you much better than her.”

“Any girl?”

“Any girl.”

“Including you?”

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She fakes a laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly in a friendly stunt “It’s hot here, we should get out of the car.”

She fans herself with her hand, hoping the warmth creeping up to her cheeks would soon die down. She prays that he wouldn’t notice her peculiar act nor how crimson she is. His question has taken her aback, completely fallen off guard. Thank Godric her mouth could act faster than her brain cause if she had to wait for her brain to function, the secret will surely be out and she’s certainly not ready to burn their friendship down.

Yet instead of opening the lock of the doors, Fred takes her hand and entwines it with his. He does this ever so gently, the most tender act he’s done to her that made her stomach flips even harder. Their fingers lock each other ever so slowly, as if wanting to savour every passing second that their skin is in contact.

“Thank you,” He says softly with a smile “For always being there for me.”

She nods lightly, smiling as fondly to him, “You’ll do the same for me.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles crisply “I’ll do the same for you.”

—-

She could tell of what her nightmares for the next weeks to come would be. She couldn’t shake the horror, the sight of him falling off of his broom when the bludger hit him right on the head. She’s never felt her heart beating faster, her legs to run quicker than a couple hours ago when she tried to catch his stretcher before it entered the infirmary. After all these years of being the Gryffindor beater, Fred has never had any serious injuries and to have watched him fall from such height indubitably made her worry.

Now waiting for Fred to wake up from his slumber, she finds herself sighing, watching the boy with bandaged head still with worried eyes. Madam Pomfrey assured her that he’d sustain nothing serious and that he could leave the Hospital Wing the following morning, but until she could see his brown eyes and smile again, she would not be able to rest.

“Uh, my head.” Fred groans as he gradually gains his consciousness “What happened?”

“Nasty bludger to the head.” She says, letting out a relieved huff “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit in the head with a bludger.” He retorts, making her smile that his joking side is still intact “Did we win?”

“We did. Did you think Harry would let the snitch slip after you fell from your broom like that?” She asked with a raised brow “But that’s irrelevant now, do you want me to call for Pomfrey? Make sure your brain isn’t all jumbled up inside?”

Fred rolled his eyes as he sat straight up, “I’m fine. No need to worry your pretty little mind for me.”

She flashed a smile, nodding in understanding.

“So, uh,” He speaks again, rubbing his nape in nervousness “Did she, uh, did she come to see me?”

Her brows furrow and smile dilutes, feeling a sense of anger to spark within.

“I mean it’s dark already, reckon it’s late at night and all.” He continues “Did she come at all?”

“No, she didn’t.” She answered short, venom thick on her tone “Doubt she even cared.”

Fred flashed a pained expression.

“Look, Fred, I know this is the worst timing for me to tell you this but you have to get it together, alright? She doesn’t deserve you!”

He watches her with no words, looking baffled at her expression.

She stood from her seat, running her hand through her hair frustratedly. Merlin knows just how much she tries to calm herself, to tell herself to bottle the anger and jealousy in. Fred’s just gotten an injury, for Godric’s sake. The last thing she should do is to project her anger at the poor boy.

But she couldn’t shake the image of him helpless, laying on the ground weakly after the fall. She couldn’t forget the heavy tears falling from her eyes as she tried to follow his stretcher to the infirmary. She couldn’t forgive the fact that even after the match was done, the only people who came were his family and closest friend. No sign of that wretched toad. And to know that he still hoped for her to have come hurts her beyond words.

“She doesn’t care, Fred, she never did!” She yelled, not caring how her words echoed through the empty ward “Just how much more heartbreaks do you have to sustain to see it? She doesn’t care! Why are you tearing your heart apart for someone who clearly doesn’t give a damn about you?”

He gulps, not looking heartbroken but rather appalled at the turmoil.

“It hurts me to see you like this, to see you throw away your pride for someone who always stomped it to the ground with a laugh. It hurts me to see that you care so much for someone who never even returned just a smidge of all your efforts. It hurts me to see that you’re so dead set to love someone who never deserved you in the first place. It hurts me and I can’t take it anymore, alright!”

“Love-”

“You are vexing me to my bones, Fred Weasley.” She says with so much bitter passion, fists tightly curved into a ball “It infuriates me that you could show so much love and patience for someone so wrong when I’m here, standing right in front of you, when I’m here showing and giving you all the love and care you deserve.”

Her eyes widened. No, she did not just profess her feelings to him, she couldn’t.

Fred was quiet. He looks as if he’s just seen the ghost of himself, barely blinking as he tries to digest the words she’s just uttered. He prays to whichever deity out there that he heard her right, that it wasn’t the potion Pomfrey gave him that made him hear things, that it wasn’t due to the fact that his brain is all scrambled to make him hear the words he’s been dying to hear all these years.

“I-” She stammers, looking away from his gaze “I have to go.”

“No, wait-”

She didn’t let him finish his words, finding her feet to run out of the Hospital wing as fast as it could carry her. She wanted to hex herself to death right then and there. How could she let it slip, especially at the worst possible timing? How could she let her rage and envy take the better of her? How could she lash out on him when he needed her to be of his support?

And how would she face him after this?

—-

The following morning she tries her best to avoid the redhead boy. The moment she entered the Great Hall she could already see him seated on their usual spot, two plates of toasts in front of him, one she knew was supposed to be hers. But given their unpleasant exchange last night, she finds herself seated far across the table, joining the group of friends she barely had ever spoken with and trying to blend in with them. Anything to not face her cause of death just yet.

She’s also skipped all the classes that they shared during the day. Having to switch seats with someone else doesn’t feel enough. She has to avoid the man altogether to keep her sanity.

And such effort was successful until he found her sitting by the Black Lake.

“Love-”

“Leave me alone, Fred.” She says fast as his voice enters her ear, packing her belongings “I don’t want to see you.”

“Please, I just want to talk-”

“Not now, Fred.”

She begins to walk away from the boy. Heart aching because of the fear of what he has to say. She knew that he couldn’t avoid him forever, but the event had only happened last night and she barely had processed everything that’s happened. She needed more time and space to think and contemplate.

“I love you!”

Her pace was at halt as she heard his scream, not daring to turn her body to face him.

“There, I said it, okay? I love you.” He repeats, despair evident in his tone “Now you can keep walking away from me, and I kid you not, I’ll keep on yelling until you stop and listen to me, so it’s your choice. We can either be civil and talk privately or I can keep on yelling the three words for the whole castle to hear and you know I have no shame left to my soul.”

She finally turns to see him who now has a bright red cheek, chest heaving in a tidal wave of emotions.

“I love you.” He repeats, this time with a much softer tone “And I’m sorry that it’s taken me forever to say it but I love you, so much I’m going to combust if I have to spend another day not telling you how I truly feel.”

She stares at him with unconvinced eyes, “Don’t joke with me, Fred.”

“I’m not joking.” He says fast, coming closer to her to prove his truth “You can ask George, he’s been hearing my yearnings of you for years. If any of the words I spoke just now were lies I’ll cut my own tongue and feed it to Errol.”

“But-” She stutters, not comprehending any of his words “What about her? You’ve been dating her for years and-”

“I only dated her because I thought you would never see me that way.” He explains, gently taking her hands in his “I thought if I could try to love someone the same way I love you, I could make them fall for me and I would be able to bury my feelings for you. I thought you never loved me that way, so I had to find an outlet to express my affection but Merlin knows that everything I’ve done for her, I pray that I could actually do it for you.”

She gazed into his eyes, trying to find any trace of lies or jest he might be pulling.

“I love you.” He repeats, placing one hand to her cheeks “It’s always been you.”

Her expression softened, accepting his genuine words, “Then why haven’t you said anything? Why did you have to make assumptions about my feelings instead of actually asking me about it?”

“Because I’m not ready to lose you completely if you don’t feel the same.” Fred explains, his eyes filled with guilt “I’d rather get myself crushed by the Whomping Willow than to lose you.”

She rolled her eyes, “What is it with you and wanting to conjure so much injury to yourself.”

“I’m only trying to prove my point.” He grins “I dare say those words because I knew you wouldn’t ever let me get to that point, to hurt myself that severely. You’ve always been my saviour, after all.”

She grins back at the comment. The trouble that’s been plaguing her mind all night dissipates, evaporating into thin air and exchanged into a blissful delight that now sparks every inch of her fibre. For once she could finally embrace the jolt of electricity on her spine and not fight every butterflies exploding in her stomach.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?” She asks, baffled at his question “What about her?”

“I dumped her this morning, I couldn’t care less about her.” He snorts, the typical Fred Weasley bravado’s apparent “She could jump off the bridge for all I care. I only want you.”

A proud and satisfied smile creeps to her face as she nods in approval. Fred grins back, the hint of redness on his cheeks still evident as he leans in. She has to quietly pinch herself as their lips touch, making sure that none of the events happening was a dream. Fred was pulling her so close she could feel his heart pounding in a frenzied rhythm inside his chest. This is really happening.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Fred chuckles as he pulls away “I’ll forever curse my stupidity for having wasted that many years of our lives being a coward.”

“Well you have forever to make up for it.” She smiles, giggling “Now kiss me again or I won’t ever forgive you, Fred Weasley.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

What is everyone's greatest fears and insecurities? (I promise this isn't bully anon and I have no ill intent.)

Going for the big guns uh? Buckle in then, let's see what kind of ammo the Fractos has to work with:

Henry Stein - His anger issues. Henry's childhood and adulthood were fairly turbulent because he's prone to getting fits of rage (an issue that was exacerbated when he was drafted to fight in the second world war). There's never been a moment in his life where he wasn't aware that he can hurt people very easily, and it scares him that this is possibly all he's good at. It's why drawing and gardening meant so much to him... For once he could make something good instead of destroying it...

Sammy Lawrence - That he's a weak-willed follower rather than the master of his own fate, untrustworthy and insignificant. His role as the Prophet disgusts him because it's everything he strived not to be, and the hypocrisy of it all left him questioning his identity and sense of self. What is he if he's not Samuel Lawrence Jr? Can he go back to calling himself that? Or is that just another name he can't ever return to ever again...? Just... Who is he?

Jack Fain - Being unable to protect himself and others, no matter how much he tried to be there for his friends. The sense of insignificance and powerlessness left him fearing that every single one if his efforts is in vain.

Susie Campbell - That she's not good enough. Always second best to someone more talented and beautiful than her. That no matter how hard she tried, she should have just given up and let the world step all over her.

Norman Polk - That he's nothing more than an unwanted and unlovable creepy brute. As a tall bulky man of his age and background, Norman's always had a lot against him. But, even when snapping at people or fighting back just as hard was warranted, he never let himself stoop so low. Becoming the out of control and monstrous Projectionist wounded him deeply...

Allison Pendle - That deep down she's just as selfish and careless as Joey. They got along fine because they had a level of understanding about certain arts they were mutually interested in... Maybe that means she's rotten like him. A danger to others if she ever becomes as jaded as he did...

Thomas Connor - The worst part is the guilt. If he hadn't been complacent to Joey's will to begin with, none of this would have happened. He's stuck in a cycle of grief and what ifs, afraid that he's damned everyone because of his own hubris as a prideful engineer.

Shawn Flynn - His willful ignorance will haunt him forever. He knew something was wrong, but he'd rather ignore it and make a quick buck than actually stop to think. It only struck him that he was in too deep when Grant began to deteriorate, and by then it was too late to stop. If only he hadn't been so selfish and cocky...

Grant Cohen - That he deserves all of this in some twisted terrible way. His life has always been one string of misfortunes after another. Maybe he was a bad person in another life. Maybe he didn't show enough people kindness in this one... Maybe he's just destined to suffer. He's always been and always will be unable to save himself...

Buddy Lewek - That he's too weak and cowardly to be of any help. Everyone has been doing so much to keep him safe, and he doesn't have the strength to do the same for them. He feels guilty about it, but he just... He just can't... He's afraid and he wants to go home. He wants his mom... And he feels bad that he's this pathetic when his friends need him most.

Abby Lambert - Regret, guilt, sorrow... She knows them all to well. Most of all she knows hatred the best... She hates that she was so bad a judge of character that she couldn't see just how bad things got. Just how far Joey would take it... She was blind to it all because she considered him a friend, and she'll never forgive herself or him for it...

Doc Hackenbush - That he didn't leave when he could have. He was aware and against the results of the experiments, but he was also curious. Morbidly so. He could have helped stop all of this before it got to this point... But instead chose to stay quiet. A choice that will haunt him forever.

Bertrum Piedmont - That he'd been too proud to realize he was digging himself and Lacie an early grave. What hurts most now isn't even the state he's in... It's that he damned his closest friend to this terrible fate as well...

Lacie Benton - That she couldn't convince Bertrum to not accept a contract with Joey. She knew something was off with the man... She just couldn't imagine this being how it ended... Feels like she failed her dearest friend.

Emma LaMonte - Her biggest regret is not telling her family how much she appreciated them. She'd been a stuck-up unpleasant and difficult lady all her life and now... She fears she'll never have a chance to make amends.

Detective Sinclair - That he failed Joey in some way, thus made him more prone to becoming less interested in being a law abiding citizen. He knows that something broke when he failed that case... That somehow he taught that young and impressionable puppy-eyed boy that justice only matters as long as you're caught... He's a failure of a detective and all of this is his fault...

The Ink Demon - That his imperfections are the reason everyone is suffering. That he's not good enough to deserve to live. That he's a monster that taints everything he touches... The list goes on...

[edda-grenade]

Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

[hb-writes]

The Horsewoman

Summary: 1913 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Shelby sister, Clara, and her twin are ready to start school, but Clara is a bit hesitant. Thankfully, her older brother knows how to negotiate.

Inspired by this request: Could you write about the twins first day at school? Like Clara is scared but Finn is excited. And because they didn’t have much money they’ve saved for a while to get them new clothes just for school and Tommy helps them get ready and drops them off for there first day x

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, Finn Shelby, Polly Gray, and Clara Shelby (OC)

Tommy was awake and had been for some time now, going back and forth between reading and watching his little sister rest. Her features had finally smoothed out, her face relaxed in a way that only came with a lack of consciousness, the small wrinkle of worry taking up seemingly permanent residence on her forehead cleared away now as slow, easy breaths fell from her mouth.

Clara had climbed into his bed a little before sundown the evening before, burrowing herself in the blankets after claiming an upset stomach and abstaining from dinner. She passed more than half the night awake, her restless body nestled up beside her brother while he too failed to get much by the way of sleep, kept alert by the five-year-old's nervous energy.

Clara's agitation about starting school wasn't something quite congruous with the child she'd come to be understood as. She loved books and learning and was obviously bright. She commonly forced her twin into playing at schoolhouse, so the family was rightfully perplexed. Tommy wasn't so surprised by it though. He knew there was something they were all missing, something about school Clara was fixating on, focusing all her energies on some troubling thought she hadn't worked up the nerve to discuss.

The shift happened when they told her the twins would be enrolled in the next coming school year. If he didn't know the girl better, he'd have called her behavior a sudden disinterest in the idea of school and learning, but Tommy knew she had not spared a thought to anything else during the last few weeks of summer.

Tommy glanced up at a light rapping on the door, Finn pushing it open before he could offer a response. The boy was in his new school outfit, quite a sight considering he spent most of his days covered in a layer of dirt and dust after playing out on the lane.

"She's still asleep?" Finn's words came out as a half-whisper as he noted the lump of blankets on the far side of his brother's bed.

Tommy nodded, glancing down at Clara for a second before looking back to his little brother, a mess of laces tucked into the side of his boot. Tommy beckoned him forward, patting the chair sat beside his bed. Finn would need to learn to tie them for himself soon, though Tommy supposed with the twins being in the same class, he'd get by alright with his sister doing any needed midday shoe tying.

"Aunt Polly says if Clara doesn't come down now she won't get any breakfast." Finn still attempted a whisper, carefully annunciating Polly's message as he lifted his feet to rest on Tommy's lap to deal with the laces.

Tommy looked to his sister again, certain Finn's attempts at whispering would have woken her by now. Clara’s deep breaths had ceased and she laid beside him completely still, her body gripped in an unnerving rigidity. He could see the effort she put into holding her eyes shut, the small wrinkle firmly back in place between her furrowed brows.

"Is she still sick?" Finn asked when Tommy lowered Finn's feet. 

As Finn leaned over his brother to get a better look at his sister, Tommy thought Finn could be right. Clara might be making herself sick over the whole thing, turning over some small misunderstanding in her mind.

"Worried sick, maybe," Tommy answered.

Clara remained still against him though a muscle in her cheek twitched at his words. Tommy snorted lightly before turning back to Finn.

"What's she worried about? It's just school. Everyone from the lane will be there."

Clara shifted under the blankets, moving them up and over her shoulder as she burrowed further still into Tommy's side. He sighed and shook her shoulder. "Alright there, Clara girl. Time to get up."

When she ignored the prompting, Finn reached over Tommy, his pointer finger extended with every intention of pushing one of his sister's eyes open to help her along, but Tommy nudged Finn's pudgy hand away before he could make contact.

"C'mon, Clara. I know you're awake."

Clara shook her head and Tommy scoffed, pulling her onto his lap as he leaned against the wall.

"We can't have you going to school hungry," Tommy said.

"Aunt Polly made a special breakfast."

"See that? Finn says you've got a special breakfast waiting."

"Not hungry," Clara mumbled.

Tommy knew she had to be hungry after missing dinner, but rather than showing any desire to head down the stairs, Clara settled in his lap, pulling the blankets up to cover herself once again and hiding against his chest. Tommy tried again to pull her out of hiding with a different line of discussion.

"Doesn't Finn look nice in his new outfit?"

Clara glanced at her twin and nodded. She had an outfit of her own to get into, something Ada helped pick out, an outfit Clara showed little interest in though it was a red dress she’d usually be eager to get into. Tommy had a feeling it had less to do with preferences and more to do with whatever Clara was worrying on about school.

"Finn, why don't you run and tell Aunt Polly Clara will be right down, eh?"

Clara snuggled in again as Finn closed the door.

"I don't wanna go."

"Sure you do," Tommy answered, "You've got your new dress and you'll be with Finn and –"

"I wanna stay with you."

"What about Finn?"

"Finn has friends."

"Then you have friends too," Tommy answered.

Clara shook her head and Tommy amended his words. "Then you have your brother, and you'll make friends."

Clara released her grip on Tommy intending to slip back into her spot between him and the wall but Tommy caught her and towed her back into his lap.

Clara was a kind child, pleasant and clever, but she also kept to herself and her family more often than not. She didn't relish spending her days out on the lane with the other kids and when booted out of the house for some air, she'd more often than not spend that time on the stoop drawing or reading or practicing her writing. Rather than chase a ball about or get up to the mischief of the day, she liked to follow her siblings and aunt around. She liked to help with Martha and John's babies. She liked to go to the yard and be with the horses. She didn't have a hoard of friends from the lane like Finn did.

"You've got to go to school. And before you go, you've got to eat a good breakfast, and Ada will—"

"But I don’t want to," Clara answered, settling against his chest.

"Well, we all have to do things we don't want to, eh?"

Clara shook her head. "You get to do what you want."

Tommy considered how it must have looked that way to the five-year-old. It must've looked like everyone other than her and Finn had free rein to do as they pleased because they all came and went through the doors of no. 6 Watery Lane as such. Tommy passed his days interchangeably between the shop and the horses, stopping in to play with the twins at seemingly random intervals, devoting his evenings to Greta Jurossi.

"Well, that's 'cause I already finished school."

Clara groaned, sensing the impending defeat, and with Tommy's hands reaching for her sides, she knew he was about to peel her away so she gripped him a bit tighter.

"Alright, how about this? I'll make you a deal. You go to school for one…" Tommy smiled at his sister's pout before continuing. "You give me one day and if you hate it, you never have to go again."

Clara lifted her head. "Never?"

Tommy nodded. It was a lie because she'd need some type of education lest they wanted the parish to descend upon them for lack of attendance, but Tommy wasn't concerned his sister would actually take him up on the offer.

"If you've had the most terrible day and you never want to go back or learn another thing ever again, you can come help me and Curly with the horses for the rest of your life. You’ll be the third-best horseman in England."

"Horsewoman," Clara mumbled.

"What?"

"I'll be a horsewoman."

"Of course," Tommy said. "The very best horsewoman in all of England, then, but you have to try school first."

Tommy's offer allowed him to lift Clara from the bed with minimal argument though she kept her arms latched around his neck as he carried her down the stairs to settle at the table. 

Polly rolled her eyes at the spectacle and tried to usher her niece off Tommy's lap, but Clara stayed put, ignoring her aunt's protests as she took a piece of toast from the plate Polly set before them. It was clearly intended for Tommy, another smaller portion placed one spot over.

"You won't be able to bring your brother with you to school, so you may as well get used to sitting in your own seat now."

Tommy leaned forward to pull the second plate closer and retrieved a piece of toast for himself while Clara tucked into his eggs. "She's not hurting any—"

"Aunt Polly, you're wrong. I am bringing my brother to school," Clara answered, mouth full of food as she pointed at Finn. Polly rolled her eyes before the girl continued. "And Tommy says I only have to go to school for just one day and then I get to be a horsewoman with him and Curly forever."

Tommy coughed on a bit of toast as she said it. He really shouldn't have been surprised, should have expected his sister to air the remark at the first opportunity. She seemed to take a great satisfaction in telling the world all the things her big brother told her he could be, all the things he promised to teach her.

Polly scowled at her nephew, shaking her head. "Well, that's just wonderful, Thomas. Fill her mind with—"

"It's only if she doesn't like it, Pol."

"Only if she doesn't—" Polly scoffed, tossing her hands up before busying herself with the dirty dishes on the table, muttering as she went. "Makes me wonder who really runs this family… the adults or a pair of spoiled five-year-olds?"

Tommy took a breath, meeting each of the twins' eyes in turn as Polly took the dirty dishes to the kitchen. They giggled as Clara continued munching on her toast, the laughter stopping abruptly when Polly stepped back into the room.

"Well, regardless of any deals you've made with your brother, you're due to school this morning. So be off and up the stairs if you're finished. Ada will help you get dressed."

"Ada's still in bed," Finn offered, "Said she doesn't have to be up 'cause she's got her certificate now."

Polly groaned, tugging Clara from Tommy's lap and sending her towards the stairs. "Just when I think it's only the boys I have worrying me, you girls decide to kick off."

Tommy pushed his chair back and stood up. "Let Ada sleep."

Polly's eyebrows raised. "You're going to get your sister ready for school?"

"I'm not a baby. I can dress myself,” Clara said.

“There you have it, Polly. She’s not a baby. She can dress herself," Tommy answered.

“Fine, just make sure it’s done in the next five minutes. I want all three of you out the door by then.” 

They were actually ready to be out the door in under four minutes, but Polly took fault with the state in which Tommy left his sister’s hair so they all waited while Polly put in a neat plait down the girl’s back.

The walk to the schoolhouse wasn’t so long, and by the time Tommy and the twins reached the end of Watery Lane, they were joined by a smattering of the younger kids living along the way, the group of them chattering excitedly with Finn.

Clara deliberately slowed their pace, putting a thoughtful measure of distance between them and the kids. Tommy allowed it, shortening his strides to keep them back. He thought she had something to tell him, but Clara stayed quiet, watching Finn and the other kids and listening to them chattering away.

It was only when they were just outside the schoolyard that Clara finally found her words, tugging on his hand to garner his attention.

"Tommy?" she asked. “What's the catch?”

Tommy looked down at her, neat and prim and proper in her new dress, looking more like she belonged at home with a governess than the crowded classroom she would soon find herself in. "The catch?"

“If I don’t go to school and be a horsewoman instead,” she said, “What’s the catch?”

Clara knew there was good and bad to everything and she had been thinking about the question from the moment they stepped onto Watery Lane, wondering what could be bad about spending her life with the horses and her brother. She knew he came home dirty and tired, but whenever they went to the yard, he seemed happy. 

Tommy smiled, lifting her into his arms. "Hard work, my girl, but you've got that either way. Just have to decide if you want to be mucking stalls or reading books."

Tommy saw the teacher at the steps, saw Finn already off with his friends from the lane, but he offered Clara a few more moments in his arms. He searched for a few words to encourage her before setting her feet to the pavement, but as the teacher rang the bell, the sound still invoking something in Tommy though he’d been out of school for years, Finn raced to their side and reached a hand up towards his sister.

"C'mon, Clara."

Tommy let Clara down when she clasped Finn's outstretched hand, her grip on Tommy lasting just a moment past her sliding down his side. It was a mix of relief and sadness Tommy felt when Clara let him go, his girl taking the hand of another brother for support, the babies embarking on a new adventure all of their own.

Tommy watched them make their way through the schoolyard, already decided that he wouldn't step away until they were safely beyond the heavy wooden doors. They were nearly through it, already offering their greetings to the young teacher ringing the bell when Clara dropped Finn’s hand and raced down the steps, making it back to him in less than half the time it took to get to the door.

Tommy kneeled down to meet her. He had the words prepared now, had finally found the right message to send her on her way, but Clara interrupted him before he got a proper start, whispering into the crook of his neck as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Can I still be a horsewoman with you even if I like school?"

Tommy grinned and pulled back to look into her eyes. "You can be whatever you'd like, but if you don't get up those steps with Finn, the first thing you'll be is late."

Clara hugged her brother again before sprinting back towards the school. Tommy knew it was unlikely his sister would be a horsewoman or a lady barber or any of the number of occupations she'd asked after, but Tommy didn’t have it in him to deny his sister that happiness. He decided long ago not to deny either of the twins that if he could help it. 

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Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

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🏷:

@beautycinders​​ @buckybluebarnes (can’t tag) @cecii22me​​ @lovemissyhoneybee​​ @marquelapage​​ @midnight-dreams-23​​ @mo-onstarrs​​ @ohhersheybars​​ @pollyrepents​​ @unicorndetective22 (can’t tag)

[gravehags]

desinare - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, natalie meeting the papas, natalie and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator fics

Words: 3,791

Summary: Natalie's very kind cardinal friend has invited her for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: take a shot every time secondo pours more wine in her glass

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” Natalie yelps, dropping the stack of folders she was holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while she smiles kindly up at him as she stoops to pick up her papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making her jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

She’s making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror she previously wore when he barked at her like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” she murmurs, pale green eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “This old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees her eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift the corner of her lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Is she flirting with him? Natalie turns to busy herself with organizing her folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of her ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Her mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” she asks, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and her lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” she says and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees her lips silently form the damning word and her cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around her?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “Would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” she looks as panicked as he feels at her wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of her in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting her shapely calves and her decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” Natalie says, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

She’s embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to her talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell her something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her for a month, fool. Instead he gives her a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “It is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” she says softly as he turns and exits her office. He doesn’t see the way she collapses into her desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

She’s going to be late.

As soon as Natalie’s work day ended she hustled up to her apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and she still has no idea what the fuck she’s going to wear. Half her wardrobe lies scattered on her bedroom floor (she knows it’s going to make her insane when she returns later that night but fuck she can’t remember what clothes she even owns) as she stands in the center of the room in her underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of her throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

She eyes a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to her left. She’s been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. She would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To her right is a pair of mom jeans - she picks them up and gives them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. Natalie tosses the jeans onto her bed behind her. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! She spies a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatches it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…her well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. She looks down at her watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once she jumps into her jeans and pulls the sweater over her head, tucking it halfway into her waistband. She doesn’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when she makes it out the door with her phone and keys, it’s five to six. She briskly power walks the entire trip to her office and by the time she’s standing outside the door, she’s clutching her side and heaving for breath. She prays to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so she has a chance to compose herself but before she can even form the thought–

“Natalia?”

Natalie spins on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” she rasps. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives her butterflies, “You’re glowing, Natalia.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To her immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if her odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for her to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks, as the two of them proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” she smiles .

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Shreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

Natalie realizes they’re now in a wing of the abbey she’s never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - she recognizes one of them and the other two are staring in her direction. The tallest (and from what she can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. Natalie’s suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into her.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on her like flies on honey in a snap, pulling her into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces her to the two she’s unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” she murmurs, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” Natalie sighs in relief. He gestures her over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? She tells herself to look that up whenever she manages to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. She knows immediately that this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours her a generous glass which she swirls delicately in her hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

Natalie takes a sip as Secondo watches her carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” she gushes, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into her glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” she smiles, “You’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” she smirks.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers her over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and Natalie blushes as he gives her a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

She’s distracted by Primo softly saying her name and she turns to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. She wants to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at her instantly makes her want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” she says, looking down into her wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives her a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are,” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” she asks, cocking her head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what she assumes is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” Natalie says, setting down her wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of her.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

She’s squeezing the meat of her thigh as hard as she can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in her eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he reaches out to take her hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness she’s never heard from him before. She’s not sure if it’s the wine but she’s definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” Natalie asks, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” she says cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now her face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” she murmurs obediently as she rises from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as she approaches the island, leaning over to pour more wine in her glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

Natalie gives him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” she scoffs, setting down her glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors her with a nod and a half-smile. A point in her favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “Here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here–” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “--is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands her a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, she has not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives her one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as Natalie feels.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as she sniffles, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to her side and Primo steps away to make room. When her head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around her, making soothing noises. 

She doesn’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but she does see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has her choking out a laugh, and she turns to Copia to see him staring down at her with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up her wine glass and gives her yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

She nods, accepting her glass.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and she feels Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of her back. She’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what she got out of it.

“It’s nothing, Natalia, truly,” he says quietly in her ear, leading her back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of them to take their seats in the dining room Natalie is…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, she can feel herself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of her, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

She has to sit on her hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, she’s ready to strike. Before she can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella Natalia. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if she’s heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in her chest that she’s certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” Natalie murmurs with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to hers on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against hers. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes her heart thud in her chest. It’s as if the two of them are in their own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of them openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and Natalie wishes she could put her finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.”

Terzo is staring at her from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at her.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as she politely digs into her chicken and rice. It’s divine, as she knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to her.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Natalie’s brow furrows as she mouths their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at her candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and she’s shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. She’s met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

Natalie doesn’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “You must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Natalie’s cheeks redden at the moan that escapes her mouth. Copia coughs sharply at her side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as she does.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As she exits the room she sees Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

Natalie moves to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

She smiles. If only he knew now how she’d take that request to heart.

[queen-scribbles]

The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven​ Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning  after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat.  “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out  before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history.  “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here.  “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection...  charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be. 

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen. 

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #808: Enter Team Dark (Sonic X SSBU)

10:34 p.m. at Game Guy's Casino.......

'Loud Sirens'

'CRASH'

Shadow, Rouge, and Omega starts running away from an angry Game Guy and his group of security guards and hounds.

Game Guy: DON'T LET THOSE CHEATERS GET AWAY!!!

Guard Hounds: (Barks Angrily at the Running Trio)

Shadow: Rouge, this is the last time we're ever letting you take charge in gambling. Or even going to anymore casinos for that matter....

Omega: I agree to that motion.

Rouge: ('Sigh') Okay, look, before you boys starting pointing fingers, just know that none of this would've happened if that stupid Game Guy didn't try and cheat first.

Shadow: Does the saying "Two Wrongs, Doesn't Make a Right" never occur to you throughout your life? You didn't have to stoop to his level to begin with.

Rouge: (Starts Rolling her Eyes) Well, excuse me for having a weaker moral compass than yours, DAD! But you know just as well as I do that I don't let that kind of thing slide.

Shadow: (Starts Rolling his Eyes Himself) Yet you have no problem trying to steal the Master Emerald.....

Rouge: (Glares at Shadow) Hey! I don't do that anymore. That's all behind me now.

Shadow: Is this all because you're dating Knuckles?

Rouge: You're goddamn right. And as much as love to tell you how much that handsome knucklehead of an echidna means to me, I think now will be a perfect time for you to warp us out of here.

Shadow: Can't. I left the Emerald back at home.

Rouge: (Eyes Widened in Complete Shock) You WHAT!? WHY!?

Shadow: Because I thought since we were going to a relaxing, trouble and stress free vacation, I wouldn't have any use for it. Guess you proved me wrong.

Rouge: ('Ugggh') What are we going to do now? We can't out run them forever!

Omega: Fear not, companions! I have just now thought of a perfect plan for our escape!

Shadow: (Turns Back to Omega Along with Rouge) You have?

Rouge: What's the plan, sweetie?

Omega: (Pulls Something Put From his Fanny Pack) We can use these Dimensional Rings to sent us away from our current location.

Rouge: (Eyes Widened in Shock) Wait. You have them this entire time? How!?

Omega: Futuba Sakura had given them to me before our departure from the airport. She informed me to use them to visit her and the rest of the Smash Family in Isle Defino.

Shadow: Since when did you two started interacting with one another?

Omega: We have interacted on multiple occasions. She even invited ROB and I to Dungeons & Dragons on most nights. (Smiles Brightly) We are known as highly skilled alchemists of our party.

Shadow: (Smiles Softly at the E-Series Robot) That sounds great, Omega.

Rouge: (Already Started Gushing Over Everything Omega Said) Awwwww~ My baby's making new friends!~

'ARF ARF ARF'

Shadow: Okay. (Takes One of the Dimensional Rings From Omega's Claw Hand) I think it's time for us to leave now.

Shadow turns himself back around to throw the ring in front of them, causing it to enlarge itself while creating a portal.

Shadow: You two are ready?

Rouge: Yep.

Omega: Affirmative!

Shadow: Great. Let's go.

With a simple boost in speed, Team Dark has successfully when into the ring, leading them to their requested destination. It wasn't long until the ring itself managed to disappeared right in front of Game Guy's Eyes in time.

1:45 p.m. at Isle Defino......

It was a normal day in the tropical, resort like island....That is until a Giant, Rotating Ring sudden appears in the middle of it before slowing down stopping while showing Team Dark jumping out of it.

'THUD'

Rouge: (Starts Getting Herself Up From the Ground While Stretching her Back a Little) That.....was a close one.

Shadow: (Sighs While Getting Himself Up While Picking the Ring Up From the Ground) Yeah. Too close for our comfort.... (Turns to Omega) Are we at the right place, Omega?

Omega: (Uses his Eyes to Briefly Scan Around the Place) According to my sensors.....(Turns Back to Shadow and Rouge with a Thumbs Up) We are, indeed, in the correct destination.

Rouge: (Starts Looking Around the Place) So this is Isle Defino, huh? (Smirks a Little) Looks lovely.

Shadow: I can agree to that. Oddly enough, this is the place where father has gotten arrested at in the past.

Rouge: (Turns to Shadow with a Bit of a Surprised Look on her Face) Seriously? What did he do?

Shadow: Nothing. According to mother, he was falsely accused of a crime he didn't commit.

Rouge: ('Sigh') Ah jeez..... Well, here's hoping bygones be bygones for then I suppose.

Shadow: Agreed. But in the meantime, I'm gonna find ourselves a hotel room to stay in. (Walks Away) You two are welcome to come along if you like.

Omega: I will accompany you. (Follows Behind Shadow)

Rouge: You two go on ahead! (Walks Away in the Opposite Direction) I'm gonna a take a tour around the place.

Shadow: 'Kay.

Few Minutes Later at the Beach Side of Isle Defino.......

Rouge: (Sighs Relaxingly While Sitting on the Laid Back Bench Tail While Wearing a Bathing Suit) This is true paradise~

????: Enjoying the tour?

Rouge: (Looks up and See Shadow and Omega Looking Down at Her) Oh very. If I'd known this place would be this nice, I would've convince you to come here sooner. Did you boys find us a room?

Shadow: The hotel manager told us that the entire rooms are full. So we decided to rent one of the cottage houses nearby.

Rouge: Neat. So you two have any plans here in the meantime? I'm already planning on relaxing here~

Omega: I plan on exploring and learning about this island as much as possible!

Shadow: (Place his Hand on his Chin) I haven't really about it until now.... But I guess I could start by finding where everyone else is at first-

?????: (From the Distance) HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS! Shadow, Rouge, and Omega are here!!

The trio turns and see a few familiar faces (Sonic, Amy, Tails, The Phantom Thieves, and etc.) making their way to them while sone cheering Shadow's name.

Rouge: There's everyone.

Shadow: I can see thATT! (Immediately Gets Pulled into a Group Hug)

Futuba: (Happily Rushes Over to Omega and Hugs Him) Omega-Kun!~ You came.

Omega: (Smiles Brightly While Gently Patting the Top of Futuba's Head) Yes. That I have, Futuba Sakura.

Futuba: (Giggles Softly) Dude, come on. You don't have to keep calling me by my full name. Futuba is fine enough as it is.

R.O.B.: (Happily Claps his Mechanic Hands Together While Making his Way to the Duo)

Omega: (Smiles Brightly at his Robotic Friend) R.O.B!!

Sonic: (Place his Arm Around Shadow With a Playful Smirk on his Face) It's been a while, faker.

Shadow: Sonic. (Starts Rolling his Eyes a Little) I see that your as hyperactive as usual.

Sonic: And you're just as moody as you've always been.

Tails: What made you guys come here in the first place?

Shadow: Well, due to a.....(Glares at Rouge) "certain" incident that happened back at the Casino.....

Rouge: (Sticks her Tongue Out at the Black Hedgehog)

Shadow: We decided to come here for the rest of our vacati-

Before he could finish his sentence, Shadow suddenly felt something hugging the lower half of his body. He looks down and see that it was none other than his adopted little sister, Hat Kid.

Shadow: (Chuckles Lightly) Hey there, you. It's been a while. (Gently Ruffles the Top of Hat Kid's Head) Did you miss me?

Sonic: Like crazy. The poor kiddo has been like that since we first got here.

Shadow: Really now? (Turns Back to Hat Kid) Is that true?

Hat Kid: (Happily Nodded) Mmhmm.

Shadow: (Chuckles Lightly Once More Before Kneeling Down to Hat Kid's Level) Well, you have nothing to worry about now that I'm here. And I can assure you that I won't be going anywhere else soon. So let's continue to enjoy the rest of the vacation together now, okay?

Hat Kid: (Nodded in Agreement Before Hugging Shadow Lovingly Again) I love you, Shadow.

Shadow: (Finally Hugs Hat Kid Back) I love you too, little siste-

?????: MY BABY!!!!~

And with that, Shadow suddenly gets hug tackled by Mario and Peach. And all was good in the world.

@keyenuta

@caleb13frede

@26shann

@cyber-wildcat

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

@princekirijo

[bioticgoddess]

Summary: "Never said the plan wasn't complex, only that it'd work." - Nymue, a warlock, as she works on some paint touch ups to her ghost Merlin's shell.

Warlock Nymue, her Fire Team, and their friends within the Tower are several flavors of done with watching the slow and painfully awkward waltz that is Saint-14 and Osiris in a post-Sagira world. What else is there to do but hatch a plan...or several...to convince these (very) Old Men to do something other than continue on with their stumbling.

Pairings: Osiris/Saint-14 (O14) [Canon]

--

I. Outside the City, Mid-Afternoon:

She ambushed him. Dragging the senior Warlock out beyond the wall to a cliff overlook not far from the protection of the wall. It had served as an escape route for the then-lightless Guardians and civilians during the Red War. Despite being relatively unsheltered, it was- thanks to the patrol of her fire team - a safe place for now. Her ghost floated close enough that they could have rested on her shoulder. Voice filled with the smile it couldn't give, the ghost spoke, "Nymue, the others confirm, coast is clear."

"Thank you Merlin," she hadn't taken her glowing green eyes off the older Warlock. “Give Iothane and Verity my thanks.” The ghost bobbed like it was nodding at her. Iothane was a broad shoulder but bookish Awoken Titan. Their Hunter, Verity, had a penchant for getting into trouble - the kind that earned accolades and titles and an obscene amount of glimmer. Both had agreed without a second thought when the Warlock relayed her plan.

In his typically composed and regal way, the older Guardian didn’t balk beneath the younger woman’s glare. Behind the scarf that served as a facemask, he returns his own piercing glare. Golden-brown eyes locked with her own and were only visible beneath his Phoenix helm because of their height difference.

Her ghost dissolved away with the kind of groan that accompanied rolled eyes, disappearing for the time. Though they were likely gone to find Glint and Crow aboard the HELM. To warn them that one of the quiet Hunter’s favored Warlocks was going to be in a foul mood.

"I am going back to the City," Osiris snapped, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. He didn’t move or even pretend like he was going to. He remained rooted in place, challenging the younger Warlock to further explain herself. A challenge she’d expected.

“No, you’re going to hear what I have to say first,” she countered, arms folded over the black and violet of her robes. “Or I can get Iothane to come and set up a barrier until my persistence wears you down old man.” It wasn’t a threat, the gentle jibe at the end as glaring as the sunbeams that reflected off his helm.

Snorting he continued to glare, jaw tense. Nymue was certain that, if she squinted, she could see him grind his teeth. “Fine.”

“We’re worried about you. Saint, Zavala, Ikora, Crow, Amanda, our ghosts, all of us. Everyone whose lives you’ve touched is worried about you. None of us can even begin to imagine what you’re going through without,” she caught the narrowing of his gaze and the straightening of his shoulders before Sagira’s name left her lips but said it anyway. “Sagira. She was a part of you and there with you in a way that maybe Crow and Glint comprehend. But...you also broke every rule of temporal mechanics that I can think of in order to save Saint. I didn’t get to see you two together before losing her but...the way Verity describes it...well, she is fond of saying that she wants a partner who looks at her the way you and Saint looked at each other when no one was watching. Or at least when you thought no one would see.”

He swallowed and hung his head. Nymue persisted. “It’s not going to be easy, but...you can’t shut everyone out. It’s only going to hurt more in the long term. At least...don’t shut out Saint. No one can deny what and how deeply you feel for one another.”

The silence returned with the sun’s continued trek towards the horizon.

The Great Osiris stared down at his feet, presumably mulling over how to respond and if making good on his threat to storm off back to the Tower was the right plan all along. There was nothing she could do to stop him, not really, and the both knew it. Yet he stayed there, the focus of the younger Warlocks’ gaze while he (hopefully) thought further on what he could or would say and where to even begin.

Raptors called in the distance, hunting some rodent or warning other birds to stay out of their territory. He’d been doing that for months - posture and snapping at some of the other guardians in the tower. The Old Man’s way of pushing back those closest to him, keeping them away. Nymue had had enough after overhearing the conversation between Saint-14 and Osiris about the corruption that had seeped into the Trials. Sure, Saint had insisted that it wasn’t anything to be worried about but the way the Exo had shifted on his feet told another story. He was more upset, more concerned, than he dared share - with any of them.

Voice heavy and shaky enough that it sounded like he was crying or was about to cry, “I’m going to die Nymue. One day, I will die a final death and leave him alone. There is no Ghost in all the system who can bring me back when that day comes.” He toed the ground with his boot, “Saint is my everything. The only person who understood me half so well was Sagira. She kept me from despair during my exile and again when I did not think he could be saved and now…” He trailed off, hands floating up to hide his shaded face.

“Osiris,” this time the younger Awoken’s voice was gentle, “Talk to him. You know Saint better than any of us.” She rested a hand on one of his forearms, careful not to get caught in any of the wires on his gauntlets. “Let him be there for you. The both of you deserve the chance, no matter what the end may be.”

Head and eyes tilted up to her face. “When did you become so wise,” Osiris wondered. His brows relaxed and eyes, through red with tears that threatened to spill forth, no longer contained the storm that had been brewing for the last several months. It even looked as though he might have let a smile cross part way over his features behind that scarf of his.

“I had a good teacher.”

---

II. The Hangar Bay

He’d nodded. He’d agreed to be less closed off. Every time he looked in the hanger and saw Saint, however, his throat closed and heart hammered in his chest. It threatened to break free of his breast bone and ribs. How had Nymue convinced him to unburden himself out in the wilds? How? What damn fool sorcerery did the girl know that he’d missed in all his centuries!? Oh but she’d been right, damn her. He needed to talk to Saint, he owed him that much and more. No matter how long he had, he needed the Titan in his life. He always had. Then he caught his gaze, cheeks turning a deeper shade of brownish-red when his husband looked up in his general direction. Not for the last time was he thankful for the cover of his scarf.

Like a child caught in Ikora’s severe gaze, he gave a stiff about face and marched off back towards the market and his now Vanguard former pupil.

--

“Third time today; you owe me glimmer,” Verity grumbled from her perch atop her drop ship, watching Osiris scurry away regally. If he’d had a Hunter’s cloak to billow behind him it could have been comical. Instead his retreats bordered on depressing.

Turning her head up and to the left to see her team-leader, legs stretched out along the wing of the drop ship, the warlock grinned wryly, “Not yet. Crow and I have a plan.” Her Awoken skin sparkled with her air of confidence.

“You need to take your own advice when it comes to him,” the hunter rolled her eyes.

Iothane chuckled, raking a hand through his short cropped navy-blue hair, “She’s got a point. Talk to him.” The Titan was laid out on a work lift beneath the same wing serving as their Warlock’s chaise, fidgeting with a wiring harness.

Snorting and rolling her eyes, she glared, “First, shut up both of you. Second, I’ll think about it, after we fix this.” She waved her hand between where they could see Saint-14 and where Osiris had been.

Their ghosts floated overhead, looking between one another, shifting in what resembled shaking heads.

--

Crow and Nymue leaned conspiratorially against Amanda Holliday’s work station in the Hangar. The Hunter occasionally looked over his Warlock companion’s shoulder to see if Saint-14 had moved or if Osiris had returned to the Hanger Bay. “You sure this will work,” he asked the blonde shipwright.

She shook a hand dismissively, not looking up from the interface, “I don’t tell you how to fight, you don’t tell me how to reprogram the Transmat System. Alright?” Her tone was slightly indignant, offended even.

“Yes ma’am,” he stammered, elbowing Nymue when she laughed behind her hands.

After a few minutes of tapping and swiping her fingers across the screen, Amanda warned, “You two don’t want to be anywhere near the City when they get out of there y’know.”

“Got that covered,” the Warlock grinned. “We will be running a recon mission on Nessus with my Fire Team.” Crow nodded, straightening as he kept a vigil watch out for the two senior Guardians.

“And you’re sure Ikora and Zavala are okay with this,” the woman turned finally, rolling her shoulders several times to stretch back out from her stooped position over the console. A confirmation request screen glaring up at her, the work her co-conspirators had tasked her to complete not yet finished.

The Awoken woman rattled, hands waving as she recounted her last interaction with the Vanguard Warlock. “Zavala? No clue. Ikora, well, she said something about turning a blind eye before winking at me, which was weird, and going off to her Library with both Ophiucus and Geppetto.”

“Well, alright then,” Amanda chuckled, her attention returning to the screen. With a few final taps of the console, she finished her work. “We’re good to go. Good luck.”

--

III. The Tower Library: A Private Study

Saint-14 Pushed on the door again. It wouldn’t budge. His ghost Geppetto was nowhere to be found, he’d called for her several times in the hope that she could help them - Osiris and himself - find their way out of the room. To maybe go fetch Zavala or Ikora or anyone of the others and see if they could open it from the other side.

“It’s no use Saint, this room is like Ikora’s library - only one way in or out. Transmat,” Osiris sat with a huff in one of the plush chairs.

“Yes, Yes, but then surely we should be able to Transmat out of here,” the Titan countered. Then the it hit him, like an arc-grenade to the face, that was the problem. They couldn’t Transmat. “Oh no,” he whispered softly, raising one of his big hands to his face. Someone had set a trap and the two of them had walked right into it. He let silence fill the room, occasionally punctuated by a pensive huff or hum coming from his husband’s seat next to the tall skinny window - their primary source of light. It was, upon further assessment as he finally turned around, too skinner for either of them to hope to squeeze through.

Feet hitting the throw-rug laden floor heavily, Saint strode from the sealed mockery of a door to the chair opposite Osiris. Pulling off his helmet as he sat, the Exo asked, “So how were you lured into this trap?”

“Nymue,” The man groaned, his own helm perched like a bird on a stack of books to his left. Saint’s came to rest on the sad little window sill, half balanced on the table between them. “There was some text she and her Ghost were having difficulty with. One day,” he shook his head and sighed, “I’ll learn just how crafty my students can be.” It was applicable to Ikora as well, and every other warlock or Guardian he had mentored over the years.

“Her Titan friend Iothane,” he chuckled, recalling how the stocky Awoken man had come to him earlier in the day with a research request of great importance, or he speculated as such, to the City’s Titan. One that could only be filled by Saint, or so the younger Guardian had said before taking off at what was - in hindsight - a suspiciously brisk pace. How gullible he’d been, letting himself be pulled into such an obvious trap. “The boy has a silver tongue, convincing enough that I believed there to be something of great importance to Titans here.” He snorted.

Osiris laughed. It was a light laugh, not as sharp and dark as it had been of late. “I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he shook his head, “That boy is clever but he is not, as you said, silver-tongued.”

“He must have practiced then,” he was stroking his chin in thought, keeping his eyes on Osiris who sat at an angle that kept them from looking at one another. Some of the lines that had developed over the last many months were fading, thinning. He’d been furrowing his brow less and he seemed, from the other Old Man’s voice, that he wasn’t clenching his jaw so much. “Ay, not that it matters. We are still stuck here, the two of us.” Tentatively, his left hand slid across the table top, closing enough distance that if Osiris put his hand on the table they could meet half-way.

Nodding, his husband added, “Yes, I suspect we have to bide ourtime before the “children” are content to let us out.”

“You don’t think they did this on purpose do you?”

“Absolutely. Nymue ambushed me the -,” he stopped, voice knotting in his throat and body going rigid. Saint had felt the change in him before the Warlock’s shoulders squared and he knotted his hands in his lap.

To hell with this. If they were stuck in here then he was going to make the best of it.

The Titan stood, pivoting around the table so he could stand before Osiris. His shadow loomed over him, even without the cut of his helmet’s fin, he could be more imposing than Shaxx, Zavala, and Saladin combined. Despite his kindness, Saint-14 had earned a reputation on the battlefield. Shaxx’s nervousness over a decades old glint-debt hadn’t been without cause. His hands came to rest on the feathered pauldrons of the Warlock. “I should have been there,” voice soft, “Perhaps Sagira would still be with us.”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated the well-worn refrain, “If you had been there it was just as likely we would have lost them both,” he spoke of Geppetto. Swallowing he shifted anxiously, pulling down the scarf so his closely shaven silver-white beard was visible. Brown eyes flitting up to meet Saint’s luminescent ones, “I told you, I am not willing to let time take you again.”

Giving a shrug of a nod he continued, “Very well, but you do not need to be an island my love. Is that not what you said to me once?” His head tilted to the left as he studied the other man’s face, making one of a hundred-thousand mental imprints of him. The sag of his face as grief that had been left to marinate pulled his lips into a sharp frown and attempted to drag his whole head so that he wasn’t able to meet the Exo’s intense gaze.

Still rigid, Osis nodded. The tightness of his body found its way into his voice, “But what if I do? What if I already am?”

“Then I will be the sea that surrounds and defends you and you will not be alone,” the Titan countered. Brows raised as he shook his head with a loving smile. In the time before Sagira’s loss, it would have made him laugh and earned the Titan a kiss from his husband. The kind that would have had both their Ghosts teasing them in the way that only they could. This time, all he caught was the briefest smile. It quickly disappeared and, voice sad but still kind, he implored, “Osiris, please, look at me.”

The Warlock slowly tilted his head up so his eyes were no longer locked on Saint-14’s chest. As if the movement had been his cue, the Exo’s palms skated across his shoulders and up his neck until they cupped Osiris’ cheeks and lower jaw. “You are not alone. How many times must I remind you of that? Or that I will always support you hmm? No matter how much time we have, you taught me that my Phoenix. And together, there is no obstacle we cannot overcome.”

Voice cracking, the tears he’d held back finally spilling over, Osiris asked, “Even when time takes it’s payment and I…”

“Especially then,” Saint was kneeling now, no matter what anyone ever said he was graceful when he wanted to be. Wedging himself between his husband’s knees so their foreheads could rest against one another he continued, “You will not lose me to time and I will not let you seal yourself away for grief. Sagira would never forgive us.” His nose bumped Osiris’ affectionately. “Besides, we should take advantage of what time is given to us.” He smiled broadly when the other guardians’ hands came to rest over the backs of his own.

The tears trailed down Osiris’ cheeks. His smile shaking as he spoke, “Then we do that. I will endeavor to be as strong a support to you as you have always been to me.”

“You do that every day,” Saint pressed a kiss to his nose, “We do this together then, hmm?”

“Together, habibi.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Encounter Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Edit: This date has been released in EN!

The date begins with MC in her office at 11pm, preparing Victor’s “big surprise”

Over the past two weeks, she has been sending Victor small gifts to express her gratitude for his help in getting her a smooth interview with Mr Sheng, a real estate tycoon

While she’s in the office, Victor calls her regarding the puppy apron he received

Overall, he would give brief comments on these gifts. He would only say a word of thanks when he occasionally comes across a gift which suits his tastes. 

As for the puppy apron I sent today...

Before I can continue asking him about the apron, Victor has already changed the topic. 

Victor: If you’re willing to spend all your time on official business, you wouldn’t need to stay up every day... work is never-ending. It’s about time to go home and rest. 

MC: Eh? 

How does he know that I haven’t returned home to rest yet?

I hastily look out the window. A black car is stationary under the streetlamp. Even though I can’t see the car plate clearly, my instincts tell me that it’s Victor. 

MC: Why are you here? 

Victor: I was just passing by. 

Really...

Victor: Come down. I’ll send you home. 

MC: Okay! I’ll pack my things and head down.

Victor: There doesn’t seem to be a big proposal recently. Why do you have to stay till so late? 

My heart rattles, and I hurriedly find a reason to get by.

MC: Maybe my mood hasn’t been good recently, so I’m always not in the zone when doing work. 

I thought Victor would respond to my words with taunting remarks. Instead his tone slows down, revealing his certainty in me. 

Victor: The interview you did with Mr Sheng wasn’t bad. There’s no need to be too impatient, or give yourself too much stress. The accumulation of work always requires time.

Just before I turn the lights off, I toss another glance at the present on the table. Even though he can’t see my expression, I can’t help but smile and nod. 

MC: All right.

~

The next day, Mr Sheng sends her an invitation to a club to meet some of his friends in the industry, mentioning that MC’s interviews have had a positive effect on his company’s reputation

She agrees because it’s an opportunity to expand her network

When she arrives at the club, Victor happens to be there too

Mr Sheng receives a phone call and leaves Victor and MC alone 

Victor doesn’t let her drink alcohol, and orders her a glass of warm water instead:

Noticing me look longingly at the beautifully coloured tequila sunrise in his hand, he puts a small red paper umbrella into my cup. 

Later on, MC finds herself with nothing to do, so Victor stuffs a cue stick into her hand and suggests they have a game of billiards

MC suggests that if she wins, he has to pass her proposal

She had spent two months on the proposal, but Victor had put it down, saying that it's overly risky

MC: Don’t underestimate me! I’ve won second place in my school’s billiards competition.

While I was prepared for his taunting remarks, Victor grows silent instead.

His interest seems to be piqued, and he sits sideways on the billiard table. 

Victor: You’ve left the nest?

He chalks the tip of the cue stick slowly. Seeing that I didn’t say a word, he lifts his eyes towards me, as though genuinely wanting to know my answer to this question. 

Actually...

These types of situations happen from time to time. After all, no one wants the proposals they’ve worked hard on to be rejected. 

As long as Victor doesn’t completely reject the proposal, I’ll keep on striving.

Come to think of it, this seems to be the first time he has commented on my efforts to keep striving.

Victor: All right. We’ll have one round. 

Without waiting for my response, he has already made a decision. His low voice has a hint of joy in it. 

I hold my breath and find the most comfortable angle to strike the ball. The colourful balls crash and collide, and one of them rolls in a straight line to the lower right corner--

MC: Yes!

Victor looks at the colourful ball as it rolls into the bag. His brows are raised slightly, and he is clearly surprised. 

Victor: No wonder you dared to challenge me today.

MC: The stereotype you have of me is too deep. I’m not really a dummy!

Victor: A dummy’s luck just tends to be better.

My desire to win is ignited. No matter what, I’m going to fight back against his ridicule.

MC: Watch carefully - this is skill, not luck!

Victor leans at the corner of the billiard table, his arms folded. It’s as though he is intrigued, and has an expression which says that he’s going to continue appreciating my “performance”. 

My cue stick moves forward, and the white ball leaves my corner, colliding firmly against a bunch of colourful pool balls, and then gets hit into the diagonal bottom pocket...

At the very same moment, I can clearly hear Victor’s chuckle. 

Victor: Mm, your skills are not bad. 

MC: There’s no need to be too happy. It’s 1 against 0. I’m in the lead. 

Victor takes two steps forward. He retrieves the white ball from the bag, gets into position, and leans down slowly. 

He isn’t anxious to enter the game at all. He adjusts the angle several times before lifting his head to look at me. 

Victor: If you lose, you’re not allowed to cry.

MC: Are you treating me like a child?

Right after the words leave my mouth, the two balls that are hit roll outwards with a “ping”. One rolls into the middle bag, and one rolls into the bottom bag. 

At the same time, he stands in position without a hint of hesitation, and strikes. The “ping ping” sounds of impact reverberate continuously in the room--

I lean against the wall nervously, “appreciating” how Victor makes shot after shot, striking the balls into the hole.

His calm expression and skilful techniques completely strip the game of suspense. 

He stops his movements and looks at the watch on his wrist. He straightens up and arches an eyebrow towards me slightly.

Victor: Do you still want to continue? 

MC: Of course we’ll continue...

My words lack confidence, but I’m someone whose resolve will not die until I reach my goal...

Victor: Don’t waste time. Let’s set new rules. The one who gets the black ball in first wins. 

Victor lets MC go first, but she starts feeling nervous

Victor: Want to admit defeat? 

MC: Not at all...

After a pause, I say what’s in my heart.

MC: I can’t win against you.

Suddenly, a familiar scent surrounds me. 

Victor leans over, pressing himself against my back, holding my cue stick with both hands. 

The cue stick controlled by Victor strikes the white ball cleanly. After a crisp sound of impact, the black ball rolls straight into the middle bag. 

Victor: Congratulations, your proposal has passed. 

Victor’s low voice is at my ear, tinged with a smile. 

Not knowing if I should be happy or not, I mutter softly.

MC: This can hardly be called winning...

Victor: I didn’t say that you won. I already passed your proposal last night. You didn’t check your e-mail after work.

Victor’s breath descends on the side of my neck, bringing with it a ticklish residual heat and water vapour. His embrace limits my movements, and my line of sight is confined to the frizz on the billiard table. 

MC: ...

Victor: This round of creativity is indeed very risky. If you lose against the market-

MC: I will win!

Without waiting for him to finish, I cut him off. 

MC: If it fails, I’ll double this year’s revenue!

I express my attitude decisively. Victor suddenly lowers his head and leans even closer. 

The sudden closing of distance magnifies every small detail between us. I can smell his cool and clear scent, and hear every one of his steady breaths. 

Victor: I’ll wait and see. 

Victor’s body temperature seeps through his thin shirt, covering my slightly trembling back. 

Flustered, I try to turn around. Just as I turn my head, my cheek is pressed against his chin. 

At this moment, the doors are suddenly flung open. Mr Sheng and a group of others are chatting heartily and about to enter the room. Seeing Victor and I, they pause. 

Realising in shock that the position Victor and I are in appears too intimate, I hurriedly squirm out from under his arm, and stand at a corner silently. 

On the other hand, Victor calmly straightens up, looking straight at the audience.

Mr Sheng gives me a knowing smile. There’s even a bit of unexpected fondness in his eyes...

Mr Sheng: CEO Victor, I was going to introduce you to two friends who just returned from Wall Street.

Victor retrieves his business card from his pocket, and a small hairpin falls onto the ground. 

It’s a red hairpin with a small bowknot on it. There are even two coloured diamonds embedded on the bowknot...

Everyone’s attention is focused on the hairpin. 

At that moment, a sentence flashes across my mind: I’m doomed.

With a blank expression, he stoops down to pick up the hairpin, and looks at me without a trace of surprise. 

Victor: When did you put this into my pocket? 

Sensing the playful glances from the crowd of onlookers, my cheeks flush involuntarily. 

MC: I... don’t remember the specific moment, but I did it when you weren’t paying attention...

Victor knits his eyebrows, revealing a perplexed expression. 

Victor: Another gift for me? 

MC: Yes. 

After speaking, I have a “since I’m going to die, I might as well make it worth it” attitude, and continue.

MC: You can use this hairpin to clip up your bangs. I think it’s quite practical when used during work...

Even though I’m certain that I’m speaking in a volume only Victor and I can hear, everybody’s teasing smiles make me feel uneasy...

Victor has maintained the reputation of a thousand-year iceberg for so long. I’m afraid it has been ruined by my hands on this night. 

Victor: What nonsense are you thinking about the entire day...

While saying this, Victor puts the small hairpin back into his pocket. 

Victor’s reputation is still a formidable one. Even if Victor doesn’t explain himself, the gossip of the onlookers end as soon as he takes out his business card. 

All the way till the end of dinner, I obediently maintain a smile, not daring to mention the hairpin to Victor. 

On our way home, after much rumination, I decide to give Victor a solemn apology. Before the apology leaves my lips, Victor brings up the topic. 

Victor: I accept your goodwill entirely. Could you stop giving me gifts now? 

I nod reluctantly, but still struggle with my apology. 

MC: I’m sorry about what happened today...

Victor: What are you sorry for? 

MC: For making a fool out of you in front of so many people.

Victor: No one will think that way.

Victor adjusts the cuffs of his suit with a calm expression on his face. 

It’s as though what happened just now was really not enough to pose an issue to him.

~

After a few days, MC appears before Victor with a exquisitely wrapped present

👀

It’s a 32 page business report...

It contains data from the company’s monthly financial reports, business index data, word-of-mouth surveys from large-scale programs, market share, etc. ever since LFG started funding MC’s company

MC: All the data reflects that our company has had good business this year. We not only filled in the losses, but our profit margin was also 50% higher than expected. 

Victor: So? 

MC: It shows that you have a good eye, and have once again made a successful investment!

I expected him to simply cast a sweeping glance at it. Instead, he starts flipping through the report seriously after hearing my words. 

Every rustle of the paper flipping makes my heart rattle.

I start feeling nervous for no reason, worried that he would be as he usually is, picking out all sorts of mistakes from the report, and fiercely criticising me. 

After some time, he finally closes the report. 

Victor: Not bad. 

MC: ...

MC: !!!

Victor: What kind of an expression is that?

MC: I’m happy! Only a few gifts I gave you received praise...

Victor pulls open a drawer. While he places the report inside, he takes out a few items at the same time and puts them on the desk. 

A salon card, a red hairpin, essential oil for sleep...

Victor: You want me to compliment these things?

I huff, feeling a little guilty. 

MC: I... shall return to my office then? 

Victor looks as though he’s about to say something, but his phone rings. I stand up quietly, silently gesturing an “I’m leaving” with my hands.

Victor: Wait. 

Right after taking two steps, Victor stops me. 

Victor: I’ll pick you up at 6pm.

I turn around to see him covering the bottom half of the phone. I hurriedly nod, and suddenly think of something. 

MC: Have you started using the puppy apron? 

Victor tosses me a glance. After a few seconds of silence, he continues with his phone call. 

Fine...

I’ll record this as an addition to the “Victor Not Saying What He Truly Feels” series.

-

Phone Calls: First // Second