#i considered shading this piece but it started getting muddy immediately so i just left it as is

[whoviandoodler]

[Image description: a digital drawing of Thomas and Varian from Transatlantic in sepia tones. Thomas is sitting on a sofa smoking, one leg bent and resting on the couch. In his right hand he has an open book and in his left he's holding Varian's glasses. He seems to have just looked up from his book at a new arrival. Varian is lying on the couch, his head on Thomas's thigh, and sleeping while covered by a cardigan. End description.]

that awkward moment when you boyfriend said he'd just lie down for a second and totally wouldn't fall asleep (he has so much work to do, he can't take naps), but now he's been sleeping for an hour and your leg is cramping so badly but you don't have the heart to wake him because he's been exhausted for weeks

[moonchildsaurora]

Garden of Words

✤ prince/king!Yunho x tailor!reader ✤ genre: Prince AU // angst, fluff ✤ t/w: sfw, lots of bittersweetness, rated PG ✤ count: 3.5k+ ✤ [ part 2 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - look, when I was writing my plan out for this, my notes only centered around the garden scene. . .and here we are 3000+ words later hahahaaaaaa, this is what happens when the mind goes “what if” and gets invested in the before/after rather than just the now 😔 one day I’ll be able to write shorter, sweeter pieces but today isn’t the day. I’d like to whole-heartedly thank anyone who reads through this entire piece, for your time and hopefully it was worth it. Also I’ve decided to have a little bit of fun with subtly featuring other members in each others’ mini stories, so see if y’all can spot who the next character we’ll be visiting next! 💙 P.S. paragraphs in all italics are flashback scenes!

“Excuse me, are you the fae of the garden?”

The watering can of butterscotch shade in your hands tilted back to pause in the sprinkling of water droplets on the freshly bloomed red gardenias. Turning around, you found the source of the small tinkling voice.

“Good morning Young Prince,” you greeted him, setting the watering can down on a nearby bench before making your way over. Sunlight shone abundantly down on the Royal Glasshouse, some areas where the stained-glass windows stood were bathed in colourful hues. Where the light hit your peachy robe made of georgette-silk gave an ethereal glow to your figure.

The Young Prince looked at you with wonder as you bent down to his level before speaking to him again, “and how did you manage to find your way here, little one?” You recognised the mahogany velvet capelet that wrapped around his form; after all, just two weeks ago were you tirelessly hand-sewing those dainty pearls that left a trail of constellations across the velvet surface.

“Hmm…I followed the pretty blue butterflies!” the Young Prince excitedly pointed to where several of them were fluttering over the yellow hibiscuses. Of course he would, he is the King’s son after all and his smile was perfect proof of that too.

Your eyes soften and the sides of our lips tilted further up, “Well they definitely have led you to a special spot haven’t they?”

“Please don’t tell anyone!” the Young Prince turned to look behind him quickly, as if to check if the coast was clear before taking a few shy steps closer to you. He brought up his little hands to cup them around his mouth and anticipating that he was going to whisper, you leaned in with a listening ear. 

“I’m not supposed to come here on my own but Father brings me here sometimes and always tells me that the flowers here are most happy because of the fae who cares for them. I wanted to meet the fae because they never are around when Father and I are here.”

With great effort you suppressed the giggles that threatened to spill out, not wanting the Young Prince to think that you were laughing at him but rather at how adorable of a pout he formed by the end of whispering his little secret to you.

“Who told you that you couldn’t come here by yourself?”

“Everyone says that this glasshouse is Father’s most favourite and no one should come in without him saying ok. Even Mother doesn’t come here.”

Now it was all starting to make more sense to you, trust him to give you a title like fae of the garden. Letting out a gentle sigh, you gave the Young Prince a reassuring smile and held out your pinky.

“I promise not to tell, if you don’t.”

His eyes sparkled immediately as his little pinky was quick to curl around yours, “Oh thank you great fae!”

The soft spot in your heart grew once more.

“Would you like to see what fresh blooms will greet us today, Young Prince?” 

The initial shyness he had melted away and the eager tug on your hands with a delighted laugh was a clear answer to your question. You let him lead you down the cobblestone pathway, patiently answering his questions whenever he’d point out flowers to you along the walk.  

“Ah! Father’s favourite flower!”

The both of you slowed to a stop where the sea of multi-coloured freesias clustered, like a protective circle, around the Juliet Rose bush. With glowing apricot coloured petals that looked tender to touch, the rose bush stood dignified in the middle. Oh, the amount of care and love that went in to growing these roses, it truly is the treasure of the Royal Glasshouse.

You could still feel the phantom prickles on your fingertips from when you’d accidentally catch on one of the thorns whilst pruning. But you also remembered the warm hands that used to encompass yours and those same hands fought many more thorns to build this piece of Eden just for you.   

“Shall we get some to give to him later on?” you suggested, having swiftly gone round the corner to retrieve the pruning knife from the crate.

“Yes, yes! Oh but won’t our shoes get muddy going in there?”

“Your Father didn’t mind losing many good white trousers to the dirt when he used to tend to the garden.”

“Father did that?” gasped the Young Prince, his eyes locked on as you moved with practiced ease. Still unsure as to whether he should risk a scolding from his tutor later on, he stayed behind the pebble border.

You hummed in reply, tip-toeing to avoid disturbing the freesias to reach the rose bush. “He drove the palace tailors mad with the amount of buttons he’d lose…but it was all worth it in the end.”

Your hands cupped one of the larger roses, observing the intricate layers of petals within the heart of the bloom. Just like the layers of memories that stirred within you in that moment.  

”Not again Your Highness!”

Shoving the tunic you had been sewing to fix up a rip at the seams to the side, you hurried over with a handkerchief towards the Crown Prince as he came out of the Royal Glasshouse. When he wasn’t attending his classes or royal duties, all free time was spent on the garden. The only rule was that no one but the Crown Prince was allowed inside.

“Blossom, we’ve talked about this. You know I’d prefer it if you used my name.”

“That’s the last thing you should be worrying about now! The Queen won’t be too thrilled to know that you–“

A snow white camellia was tucked behind your ear, distracting you to a pause. Your hand immediately reached up and your fingers were met with the morning dew still upon the petals.

“This is first of the few that have successfully bloomed.”

“You’re distracting me on purpose, Yunho!”

“Well it got you to say my name, did it not?” he laughed, crouching down slightly to allow you to help wipe some of the soil off his cheeks. Even as you continued to fret over his mess of a stained blouse that certainly will cause a ruckus over afternoon tea, Yunho looked at you with so much affection that it would’ve made the rest of the flowers blush.

“You are impossible,” with no real bite to your words.

“And yet you’ve stayed by me all this time.”

You weren’t just the child of the Queen’s personal seamstress, no, you were Yunho’s first real friend within the palace. He treasured the friendship, for being with you meant Jeong Yunho could breathe freely. 

The hallway had a woeful chill despite the midday sunlight streaming through the arched windows. Perhaps it was reflecting your current state of mind, your feet scurrying with haste to carry you to the safety of your chambers. Only behind closed doors did you allow your walls to crumble.

“It’s settled then, we shall entrust you with the task of creating the wedding gown. After all your sewing skills are immaculate and the Princess herself personally requested for you.”

Your mind kept replaying the announcement, echoes taunting the reality right in your face. Extremely confused at the absence of feeling on top of the world that you’ve been tasked with such a prestigious request nor were you jumping with joy knowing that Aethevintis and Cilon were officiating a strong alliance through a royal engagement.

“Every tailor in the kingdom would’ve killed for this job! Soon you’ll be making a name for yourself!”

The palace staff showered words of encouragement and your mother couldn’t be any prouder…

...yet it did nothing to ease the piercing cold emptiness that invaded your shattered heart.     

“Blossom that would be considered as assault against the Crown Prince.”

You threw an unamused look his way, right after you had nearly kneed Yunho in the face when he effortlessly hitched you over his shoulders. Without so much as giving you a valid explanation as to why he arrived unannounced at the tailors’ room, only to whisk you away from your half-sewn bodice.

“Some of us need to work, Yunho!”

“You’ve been working a fair bit lately, I simply miss spending time with you.”

Now that you have actually acknowledged your feelings towards him, you couldn’t afford to let such words feed the false hope; not when you knew there will be an inevitable split in your pathways. You had been purposely avoiding him since preparations for the Engagement Ball have started, under the guise that you needed complete focus on your commission. It numbed the hurt inside temporarily, but you couldn’t deny that you’ve missed him.

Terribly so.

“Where exactly are you taking us?”

Scrunching your nose slightly at the smell of hay and heavy worn leather upon entering the stables, you noticed the saddle was already on Yunho’s Friesian stallion. Had he planned this beforehand?

“On an adventure!”

Of course, Yunho may have forgotten to notify you that he was supposed to be at a council meeting at that moment instead of bolting out of the stables like your lives depended on it.

He needed to breathe again and you decided to run with him for once, rather than away. The faint shouts of his name could be heard in the distance but consequences be damned if it meant seeing his radiant smile be set free and feeling the steadiness of your entwined hands.

“Watch your step.”

For whatever reason you couldn’t fathom, that Yunho somehow managed to sneak away from his own Engagement Ball without getting noticed and now was guiding you through an alternate and poorly-lit route towards the garden. Had it not been for his insistence that this matter was of great importance, you would’ve dragged him back in to the Grand Hall yourself.

Not even daring to think about the implications of his future wife being left, having to wait inside and what should happen if any of the guests or palace staff saw you with the Crown Prince in this questionable state?

“I’ve already talked to Captain Song and requested for his guard unit to ensure this area is kept clear for tonight, so you needn’t worry.”

His warm hand that held onto yours gave a reassuring squeeze, dampening your anxiousness just a little. You ended up facing the entrance to the Royal Glasshouse, the window panes were crystal clear in the dark that you could see the stars that hung above in the night sky in the reflection. Admittedly this place hadn’t graced your mind in months and you immediately felt disappointment towards yourself for not checking in with Yunho over time about his progress.

As you were about to speak, your vision suddenly goes pitch black.

“Hope you don’t mind but it’s a surprise,” Yunho whispered softly and only then did you realise that those were his hands covering your eyes. Wordlessly you nodded and allowed him to lead you in, an array of floral scents hitting your senses almost immediately, indicating that you both have made it well in to the glasshouse.

Something brushed against the top of your head unexpectedly and you flinched back, hitting Yunho’s solid chest.

“It’s ok, it’s just the blue jade vines. I’ve got you.” You wished your heart would stop fluttering as you felt him shuffle around you.

“Had it been anything else, I would’ve been right out the door and never stepping foot in here again,” you murmured.

You heard Yunho’s low chuckling before, “And leave me behind? That’s harsh. Who would I ever share this with then?”

His hands lifted and you blinked a few times to settle the initial haziness. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the view; there were lanterns both hanging from the roof and ones scattered around to illuminate the interior with a soft glow, fireflies danced about unbothered and even with the vast amount of plants it wasn’t a suffocating space.

Taking tentative steps to look at some of the flowers up close, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Just when you thought Yunho couldn’t get any more incredible than he already is.

“Yunho, this is…you really did it! From which fairytale did you pull this garden out of? All of this is exquisitely stunning!” you said, gently running your hand over the pink and white baby’s breath bushes.

Unbeknownst to you, Yunho’s barely keeping himself together under his calm façade. His heart has been yearning to just go against all odds and take you away with him but that meant condemning you to a lifetime of hardship, in a world where tradition doesn’t take too kindly to change.

He would never do that to you.

If he couldn’t be free to love you openly, then he’d love you in all the ways that required unspoken words. He poured his time and love into creating something, untouched by others and solely from himself, that he could give to you.

Just like he already has with his heart.

So when you heard him call your name, rather than the usual term of endearment he’d use, it set off the butterflies in your stomach. He reached out for you and you met him halfway.

“Did you know these are my favourites? They’re still young but as they grow, you’ll see that they aren’t just ordinary roses. They’re called Juliet Rose.”

Yunho showed you around the garden, telling you of the different flowers and their meanings. Peruvian lilies for lasting bonds, bluebells for devotion, gladiolus for strength, chrysanthemums for happiness, carnations for faithfulness. You were so caught up with keeping track that you nearly missed what Yunho had said next.

“–for an undying love or you’re the only one…”

“What...did you say?”

A barely-there whisper as you choked the words out. The running water from the mini fountain in the lily pad pond was the only sound among the silence that stretched between you both. And then there was the feeling of dread again, that you needed to run. Far away. Now. “W-We should go, th– your future fiancée is wait–“

You barely made it past 4 steps before Yunho caught your wrist and this time, he wasn’t going to let go. He called your name again.

“Please look at me.”

Perhaps it was the desperation in his voice that got through to you, telling you that you’d deeply regret it if you were to leave. So you willed your heart to stay through the pain and to stay for Yunho. It wasn’t until you felt damp velvet against your cheeks that you realised it was from the tears that cascaded down from your eyes and soaked in to Yunho’s suit, for he held your shaking form close to him.

“I’m such a fool.”

“Well, I guess we’re both just fools very much in love then.”    

And then it dawned on you.

This entire garden being Yunho’s vow to you, which made you cry even harder than if he would’ve just confessed out loud to you right from the start. 

Your hands grasped onto his back, fisting the fabric as you buried yourself further in to him. Noting that he smelled of clementines on a cool breezy summer day, you ingrained that scent to your memory. Wishing upon all the stars above that time would stop and allow you both to just live in your little garden.

“And with your permission, could you allow this fool to be selfish for a while more?”

A light kiss to your forehead before your face was tilted up, sore tear-stained eyes meeting his matching ones. “You? Selfish? Impossible.” Keeping your voice soft, partially from not wanting to break the peaceful ambience as you clumsily wiped his tears away.

Yunho knows he already has been selfish especially with time, he can’t stop it but he can draw it out at least. And he’s selfish in wanting to take from you when he knows he cannot give back entirely. But if it’s once in this lifetime that he gets to have you before having to return to the cruel world of normality, then he will get on his knees to beg for your forgiveness for being selfish.

He pours out everything in to the searing kiss he places on your lips and whilst you never imagined your first kiss to be like this, at the very least you finally have closure. Swollen lips, rosy cheeks and warm hands that refused to part until the very last second. Words that you both have been meaning to tell each other over the years are woven into poetries.

The garden kept it all, kept your love safe and your hearts safer.

“Do they make you happy too?”

Just like that, you’re brought back to the present. “What gave it away little one?” you asked, glancing to smile at him before focusing on cutting off two large roses.

“You were making the same face at the roses as Father does when he’s happy…when he tells me about you and the garden,” replied the Young Prince with honesty. The blue butterflies from before came fluttering around the roses that you held in your hands, much like the ones that stirred inside you once more when you heard the words.

Some things never change, do they?

You started to take the thorns off the stems with the pruning knife before replying, “They do, and this is my happy place.” Once you deemed the stems were safe enough for the Young Prince to hold, you made your way back over to him. You knelt down and presented the roses to him, “What do you think?”

He cautiously took the flowers that dwarfed his small hands, peering in to the layers curiously and taking a whiff of the delicate scent. “They’re really pretty! I think Father will like them very much!”

“Shall we go look for a few more blooms? You can create your very own little bouquet.”

The Young Prince made little noises of excitement and rushed to hold on to your hand once more, continuing on the quest to pick more flowers. It wasn’t until awhile later when you were showing the Young Prince how to arrange the flowers he picked to tie them together, that you heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Father!”

If Yunho hadn’t already learnt how to harden his heart these past years, the scene before him would’ve surely made him cry with happiness. For a second he could pretend that this was real, that you were the one with the aquamarine diamond band around your finger and that he was coming to join his actual family for tea in the garden. His eyes never wavered from yours, even when his son came barrelling in to his legs waving his bouquet merrily in the air.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted with a formal bow, not missing how Yunho’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  

“Father, I finally got to meet the great fae! We spent all morning finding these!”

Only when you subtly flicked your eyes down towards the child did Yunho respond, quickly reaching down to take the bouquet from his son’s outstretched hand and bringing him in for a hug too.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here, sneaking off from your tutor again,” amusement lacing Yunho’s tone, “and what an intriguing choice of flowers you’ve got there.”

Father and son both adorning mirrored grins on their faces, “they’re for you, do you like them? And I’m sorry for sneaking in here Father!” said the Young Prince, little brows furrowing slightly.

“Very much, thank you…the both of you. And it’s ok as long as skipping your lessons doesn’t become a habit,” said Yunho as he ruffled his son’s hair affectionately and drew his gaze back to you.

“Unfortunately we must take our leave now.”

“How come? Do we really have to go?” The Young Prince seem to have inherit the puppy-dog eyes from his father, putting on the best pout he could muster as he looked between the two of you. Yunho shook his head, bending down to pick his son up. “Remember Grandpa and Grandma are coming by for lunch? Your Mother even asked the cooks to prepare our favourite dessert,” as if attempting to appease him.  

“But…I wanted to spend more time here!”

“You’re always welcome back here little one, if His Majesty is ok with that–”

“Of course, although I hope it won’t be too much trouble?”

You gave a gentle smile and eyes twinkling with mirth, “Considering he hasn’t lost more than two dozen buttons within the last two weeks nor requires daily stitch repairs, I’d say it won’t be too much trouble at all Your Majesty.” That drew out an apology and light laughter from Yunho.  

You walked the King and the Young Prince back to the entrance of the Royal Glasshouse, and just before stepping out Yunho turned to you once more. “Have you stopped by the pond recently?” the random query puzzled you.

“I thought I saw something interesting growing there the other day.”

Please go.

Right after waving a goodbye to Yunho and his son, without a care of making it obvious you hurried to where the lily pads floated at. It wasn’t hard to miss the bundles of serene blues nestled in the damp soil near edge of the pond. As you got closer, the realisation of what those were made your heart soar and ache at the same time.

A couple of tears fell onto the sea of blue petals as you reached out to cradle them with your hands.

“As if I could ever forget…my beloved King,” you whispered to the forget-me-nots that silently delivered Yunho’s words for you—

This garden is forever yours and so is my love, always. Never forget that.  

[kaeldra]

六 (Six)

Summary: The Wizard is skilled in many fields, but the domain of growing and raising things almost solely belongs to Hikari. Even so, he gives it a shot for her sake and the results are... not quite what he had hoped. She loves him anyway.

Another entry in the Hikari and the Wizard: A Hundred Words series! Once again it is very very late, but what can you do. Also once again it is very very out of order, but I do not care. Enjoy!

This fic can also be read on Ao3!

As wide as the scope of the Wizard’s skills is, he is not particularly adept at growing things.

It’s a bit ironic, considering he’s married to a farmer. He understands the principles, of course, and gets to see Hikari’s methods first-hand. She has such success with her various crops, and so he takes diligent notes. He pays close attention to the temperature of the soil when she plants the seeds, how much water she gives each seedling, and the exact shade of the fruits when she deems them ready for harvest. It’s a bit frustrating when he asks her how she knows all of these things and all she can do is shrug, telling him it “just feels right” with an apologetic smile. He supposes that this is Hikari’s own type of magic, one that he may never understand.

That doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

She pours her soul into her farm, and while he does his best to assist her by collecting eggs or pulling stray weeds he finds in the plots, his efforts pale in comparison to hers. Of course he knows that he will never be able to match her in farming ability, but he wants to make a gesture for her in her own language, so to speak. And so he hatches a plan to secretly grow an assorted bouquet of her favourite flowers and give them to her as a gift.

The Wizard realizes he’s lucky that he occasionally goes down to Marimba Farm to buy Hikari’s seeds as he’s walking there one sunny afternoon. No one blinks an eye as he makes his way across the river and into the shop, exchanging a few simple pleasantries with Ruth before stepping back out and realizing that he doesn’t know where he’s going to plant them. Certainly nowhere around their home -- Hikari knows every inch of her farm by heart, and she’ll immediately notice the turned earth where he’s planted them, let alone when they start growing.

Perhaps he can go back inside and ask Ruth if he can rent a small plot of their land to grow them on? He quickly dismisses the idea, knowing that if he does he risks someone seeing him tending to the flowers and telling Hikari before he’s had a chance to give them to her. He’s not sure if he could be charming enough to convince the sharp-tongued farmer anyway; she’s kind enough to him when he comes by on errands for his wife but it’s clear that she would prefer Hikari’s company any day.

So he goes to the only other place he can think of: the depths of Fugue Forest. While he still doesn’t exactly enjoy the Witch’s company, he can admit that they have come to a sort of understanding in which they tolerate each other’s presence for Hikari’s sake. Ever since she had rescued her from her unfortunate amphibian state and subsequently brought her assorted blackberry sweets, the Witch has developed a bit of a soft spot for the young farmer. She just happens to think she has poor taste in men.

When the Wizard finally shows up on the Witch’s doorstep (having collected a Fugue mushroom on his way to give her, just for good measure) and explains his situation, the hag has the audacity to start laughing. Absolutely cackling. He stares at her with an unimpressed glower, and she finally replies as she gets her breath back in gasps.

“You? Grow flowers? In my garden, of all places? I mean, I know you’re still all googly-eyed over her, but this is just too good,” she lets out another giggle, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d willingly get dirt all over yourself, and for a girl no less.”

The Wizard sighs, supposing she’s a tiny bit right. If someone had told him a few years ago that this is what he would be doing today, he would have suspected a head injury. Even so, he can’t let her have the satisfaction. He simply levels a steely gaze at her.

“You didn’t... answer my question. Can I use your garden... or not?”

The Witch shrieks another laugh as if he’s said the funniest thing she can imagine, and the Wizard winces at the volume.

“You’re serious! You’re actually serious!” She slaps her leg in amusement. “Sure, fill your boots! It’s not like I use it much, and it’ll be hilarious watching you get yourself all muddy trying to care for the things. As long as you don’t expect me to do anything,” she adds with another snicker.

And so the Wizard begins making daily trips through the forest to the Witch’s house. Again, he thanks the Goddess for his good luck that the forest is not an unusual place for him to be and it doesn’t cause any suspicion on Hikari’s part. He does wish he didn’t have to deal with the Witch herself -- whenever he visits to care for the little seedlings, he can feel her amused gaze on him from her kitchen window, and occasionally she’ll even lean out and heckle him before going back to whatever it is she does all day -- but all things considered, it’s not so bad.

That is, until he notices the seedlings are starting to die off.He had originally purchased a rather large amount of seeds, causing the witch to cackle at him again when she saw just how carried away he had gotten.

“You’ll have more than a bouquet with that many seeds! You can start your own flower shop instead of telling fortunes!” She had squealed before devolving into another fit of giggles.

But now he’s starting to worry if he’ll be able to pull together enough blossoms to give Hikari at all. It seems every day there are fewer and fewer plants left, and he feels a pang of dismay every time he has to pull up a withered set of leaves.

After weeks of careful tending, he’s left with just a handful of sad-looking flowers. He counts them as he plucks them gingerly from their stems, doing his best not to damage them. Six. He managed to grow six flowers out of the dozens of seeds he bought. It’s definitely not what he had hoped for, but he still wants to give her something and he figures it’s too late in the season to start more seeds now.

He carries the little bundle home, half wondering if he should just give up entirely and find a different sort of gift. Standing outside their front door, he runs through a list of possibilities. He could cook her a nice dinner. He thinks he remembers her mentioning some new calves she saw at Horn Ranch the other day, and considers asking Cain if he’d be willing to sell one. But before he can settle on an alternative, the door opens and warm light spills out into the evening air.

“There you are! I was getting worried when you hadn’t come home,” Hikari says, relief evident in her tone. Her eyes drop to his attempted bouquet, then bounce back up to meet his own startled gaze, full of questions. “What’s this?”

The Wizard rubs a hand on the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. He feels like a child presenting his mother with a piece of macaroni artwork.

“These are... for you. I tried to grow them myself, but they aren’t... as beautiful as I hoped. I hope you like them... anyway.”

Hikari’s face breaks into a blazing smile, and she reaches forward to take the offered flowers. Before he can so much as blink she’s scrambling around in the cupboards for an appropriate vase.

“You grew these on your own? They’re plenty beautiful, I love them. Thank you,” she kisses him softly before turning back to her task of arranging them.

Somehow, her deft hands manage to make the six little blooms look purposefully minimalistic in their vase. They sit proudly on the kitchen table, and Hikari admires them with glowing eyes.

“I never knew you had such a green thumb,” she says later, tucked into his side on the couch. “Maybe I should get you to help me with growing my flowers next season.”

He knows she’s joking, that she doesn’t expect him to actually take her up on it. But he finds himself attracted to the idea. Caring for the little plants was relaxing, in its own way, and of course he’ll use any excuse he can to spend time with her. Even having been married for a few seasons now, that impulse hasn’t gone anywhere.

He squeezes her close, feeling content despite his fumbled attempt at a gift.

“That... sounds lovely.”

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part seven

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

     Posting new chapters on Wednesday and Friday!

  Operation Whistle-blower

As the first tendrils of sunlight curled through her bedroom’s blind shades, Sarah rolled over in her bed, still unable to fall asleep. Her mind was crowded with thoughts surrounding her evening encounter. What was she going to do? The lines always grew muddy in these situations, and she still didn’t know what to think of Black Noir. If anything, their interaction only added to her confusion.

She was so tired. But nevertheless, she pulled herself into a sitting position and waited for the pounding at her temples to subside. Once it finally did, she stretched and rose from the warm bed.

And so, her morning began. Looking in the mirror, she wondered what had changed. She’d been training for these moments, preparing to execute her plan. When had she gotten so tired? When had she lost her edge? Wherever it went, she needed to find it immediately.

Sarah’s morning routine was precise, meticulous even. First, she made a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up for the day. This was followed by a morning workout, consisting of either jump-rope hiit or strength exercises. She stretched and drank her lemon water. At that point, she always took a shower and decided her look for the day. Outfit, hairstyle, and makeup. Once she was prim and proper, she would head into the kitchen and make herself pancakes, which she considered to be the best start to any morning.

Once she’d cleaned up, she’d gather her things and head out.

On the other hand, Black Noir needed no more than three hours of sleep and often found himself awake throughout the night. He’d spend his time reading, prowling the city, or watching movies. He wasn’t quite sure how it’d started, but one movie every now and then turned into one or two movies a night.

When the sun begins to rise, he starts his routine of suiting up and eating breakfast. He would then enter the combat training room Vought had built for him and that only him and the company knew about. He clocked many hours in that room, constantly training and sharpening his skills. He’d freshen up before heading out for meetings or events.

Sometimes even missions. Now those were his favorites and he often found himself craving one just to be able to let go, to use his abilities. He was a master martial artist and interrogator. He was a spy supplied with strength, durability, and knife proficiency. When they assigned a target, it always ended up classified as ‘terminated’. He never missed, he never failed.

But that morning was like any other, and he had yet another string of meetings. And so, with great composure he completed his morning routine, slipped his mask on, and left his living quarters.

He found that the only thing he might look forward to as much as a mission, was meeting the woman who had captivated his attention that fateful night at the gala. She was different from what he’d originally imagined, still radiant but imperfect. Up close, watching her while she spoke, he had noted a sadness, a maturity in her eyes he wasn’t expecting. For the first time, he was personally invested in another human being, watching over her like a guardian. She was hiding something, and he’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

..

The day went by in no rush, the hours slowly dragging along. The burning in her eyes and the heaviness of her limbs were nothing when compared to the pounding in her head.

Massaging her temples, Sarah tried to focus on the task at hand.

Someone hovered over her desk, “Long day?”

Sarah hummed before granting her friend some attention. She didn’t like the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Or should I say long night?”

“Hell no, don’t start up with that,” Sarah immediately rejected the image she had conjured up at Martha’s words.

Martha merely huffed in disappointment but respected her wish to keep quiet about it at the moment. You could never really know who is watching or listening.

“All right, all right,” the blonde swept at her bangs. “Are you sure you’re up for tonight?”

Sarah immediately nodded, “Of course, we need to go over a few things.”

Martha watched her closely, “You hide it well, but you really need to slow down.”

She knew her friend meant well and was probably worried over her fatigued state, but there was no time for rest. She could sleep, but it never truly replenished her. It only kept her going.

And who could blame her for it? People who slept well weren’t constantly looking over their shoulder, afraid of being identified and murdered in cold blood. They weren’t leading a plan to take down one of the biggest, most successful pharmaceutical companies in the world. They weren’t being watched by an enhanced, murderous ninja who could tear their head off. Most of all, they didn’t fear burning up and clearing a block in their sleep.

As a little girl, she’d always sleep curled up at the center of the bed, far from the edges. Under no circumstances would she allow a limb to fall over the side. Now, she always slept with an arm hanging out, her fingers inches away from the backpack holding all the necessities to disappear at a moment’s notice. New passport, keys to a safe house, change of clothes, snack bars, lighter, knife, flashlight…

Sarah stirred herself from her thoughts, “It’s fine, I’m just not sleeping that well.”

The other woman pursed her lips.

..

What Martha had been referring to was their weekly night out every Friday. They would either go for dinner at a restaurant or go clubbing if they had to discuss anything in secrecy. That night, they were heading to one of their favorite clubs for dancing and plotting. A club is the perfect place to talk about sensitive information if you find the right spot inside. The loud music masks your words, and most of the people are drinking, buzzed, or completely wasted. And seeing them out together raised no suspicion because it simply looked like friends going out and having fun. Additionally, they got to dance which was always a plus in the two women’s eyes.

Martha often complained that at twenty-seven they were rapidly approaching the deadline for going to clubs, dancing events and such. She was often very dramatic about it, claiming they had to enjoy it before they got labelled as cougars. Sarah always brushed it off with a laugh, not even attempting to reason with her friend’s logic.

And while she enjoyed going to clubs or bars, that night she truly was regretting it. She slipped into a small, refined black dress and hopped into her heels. She’d already done her eye makeup and moved in front of the mirror to apply a rich, dark red lipstick. Her hair was left down, cascading over her shoulders in tight kinks and curls, a cloud of dark brown locks. She pulled her bangs to the side and took in her appearance in the mirror.

Alluring and mysterious, perfect.

Her phone vibrated from an incoming call. “Hey, I’m two minutes away, start locking doors or whatever it is that always makes you late.”

Sarah laughed and started to, indeed, shut her windows and lock the backdoor. She finally made it to the porch where she stood waiting for her friend’s Honda.

Little did she know, a certain someone was hidden on her roof, listening to her move around on the porch beneath him. Black Noir could smell the enticing perfume she’d applied and could hear the characteristic click of heels on wood. He breathed in deeply and restrained himself from jumping down.

She was lightly humming to herself, and he found the tune oddly familiar, but he couldn’t recall when he’d last heard it.

A light grey car rolled around the corner and came to a stop in front of the house.

When Sarah stepped down from the porch and onto the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but hold his breathe. Frozen in his spot, he grew hot at the elegant form-hugging dress she wore, her hips swaying from side to side. Ringlets of dark hair reached down the curve of her back. Where was she going looking like that?

As the car sped away, Black Noir took a few moments to collect himself. She’d completely clouded his mind, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. One of the things that made him so efficient was his ability to focus, always. In any situation, he selected and categorized his surroundings with an ease unlike any other man or woman. He was controlled. No distractions, ever. His outlet was killing, but even then, it was methodical.

But now he felt an underlying tension grow, right under the skin where he couldn’t reach. She was stunning, and he was sure others would think so as well. He’d gouge their eyes out. If he caught anyone catcalling, he’d rip out their tongues. Yes, that’s appropriate.

He shook his head, almost in an attempt to concentrate. Mostly, he was angry with her. Who was she meeting? He sneered at the thought of another man entering the picture.

And so, fueled by possessiveness and an unfathomable jealousy, he followed from the rooftops with an ever-watchful eye.

..

Having already been there multiple times, Sarah and Martha were quick to settle into their usual spot. Taking in the masses of moving bodies around her, Sarah glanced at the people within hearing range. A good rule a thumb was that if she could he hear them speak, so could they hear her.

She moved closer to her friend as Martha started, “I think this is a good time to proceed with everything. I mean, we’re only missing the codes to the lab.”

Sarah snorted, “Yeah, as well as infiltrating the lab, taking the samples and data—like the whole rest of the plan.” She mused, “Oh and don’t forget, we have to live through it and get everything to Max.”

Martha rolled her eyes, “Okay, you’re right but still…,” she took a sip of her drink, “it’s time. There’s a lot of confusion and change at Vought, it could easily be someone else.”

Sarah thought about it. “The plan is pretty solid. It has its risks, but I don’t think there’s any potential plan that doesn’t have any.”

Martha approved, “Exactly. Plus, it fits in with the timeline so we’re good.”

“Yeah….” Sarah trailed off before finally deciding, “I’ll do it next week. I get the algorithm and you crack it.”

Martha high-fived her and downed her drink. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“To Operation Whistle-blower.”

Sarah smiled, “To Operation Whistle-blower”

After such extensive planning, it felt good to finally act, to make Vought pay. She would just need to hold it together for a little longer, focus and get the job done.

Looking over at the blonde she searched her eyes for doubt or remorse. After all, this wasn’t her battle and she’d gotten wrapped into it almost accidentally. They had met at Mallory’s house as teenagers and had been inseparable ever since. And they made a good team, always looking out for each other in the dangerous world of lies, conspiracies and death they grew up in.

Martha snapped her fingers, “You still with us?”

Laughing at her friend’s impatience, Sarah nodded and focused on the drink in front of her.

“Have you told Mallory how we’re proceeding?”

Growing serious, the brunette shook her head, “I only call at our scheduled time on Sunday. I’ll hint at it then.”

Martha leaned back in her seat, “Yeah, it would be great if she could muddy the waters even more, feed false information here and there.”

“You know she’ll help where she can, but I don’t want her involved,” Sarah repeated for the hundredth time, “She already doesn’t want me doing this, and she’s suffered enough.”

Watching her friend retreat into her thoughts, Martha made the snap decision to get up and literally force her to be present.

“Let’s dance.”

Sarah sputtered, “Well okay.” She stared wide-eyed at her friend, “That was sudden.”

“Well you know all that crap about,” she paused for emphasis, “Ces la vie”

The young brunette stood up and laughed at her friend’s antics as she was swept into the crowd.

Losing themselves to the music, they joined the mass of moving bodies, shaking hips and hands raised. The pounding music had since reached into their chest, their bodies almost vibrating to the fast tempo of the music. It was exhilarating, until Sarah’s head felt like it split open.

Martha touched her neck.

“Oh my god, Sarah what happened,” she yelled over the music.

She dragged her over to a less crowded corner and checked her over for any sign of injury. The bleeding woman could feel her agitation grow and spread throughout her body. Had someone nicked her? She looked back into the crowd, wondering who was hiding in there, waiting to finish her off. The dim lights over the sea of moving bodies concealed everything, both action and sound.

Martha found the source of her bleeding, “Oh god Sarah, it’s your ear, it’s bleeding.” Looking up with knowing eyes she placed her hands on the brunette’s shoulders, steadying her. “Look at me, we’re fine. You need to calm down.”

Sarah’s eyes were traced by thin glowing veins, and her breaths were increasingly shallow. She could feel her heartbeat at the tips of her fingers, her whole body on edge.

When Sarah looked from side to side, Martha lightly shook her to catch her attention. “Hey,” she warned.

Slowly, the net of glowing light blue retreated.

“Are we cool?”

Sarah swallowed, “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

Martha tugged on her hand and led her to the exit. They both knew she needed to go home and fully slow down—come down from her high. The moment of danger had triggered a response that she thought had long went dormant.

“It’s been a long time since I last saw you like that.”

Sarah merely wrapped her arms around her waist. After the moment of scalding hot, she was now left cold, almost shivering.

“Has it happened since last time.”

Sarah stared ahead. “Not really.”

“What do you mean ‘not really’?

The brunette kicked at a small rock on the sidewalk. “When I sleep and I remember things, I feel it. But I wake up each time.”

“Jesus, no wonder you’re not sleeping.” Martha looked over at her pensive friend, “I’m staying over tonight. It can be a sleepover like the old days.”

Sarah smiled at the thought of their wild adventures. Their sleepovers were not what people commonly thought of. There was no braiding, nail polish or barbies. It was training, sparring, and eating abnormal amounts of ice-cream.

“You’re going to rest, and I’m going to make you some tea,” Martha decided.

“So a different kind of sleepover,” Sarah pointed out.

Martha looked over, worry in her eyes. “Yeah, a different kind of sleepover.”

When she stayed silent, the blonde made a light-hearted comment, “You know we need to branch out, get out of our comfort zones so that we can grow as human beings”

At Sarah’s laugh she proceeded, “Maybe we should try braiding your hair, too.”

The brunette raked a hand through the ends of her curly hair, “Please, you don’t have what it takes.”

Laughing, Martha agreed. From behind them, someone called out.

“Hey, girls, wait up.” A stocky man with hard eyes but a blinding smile came to stand way too close for comfort, and they both took a step back.

“Can I get your numbers?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can I get one of your numbers” he asked again, but slower.

They were both getting bad vibes. Sarah sized him up, still rattled from what happened in the club.

“Yeah, we understand English, we just don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here.”

Martha interjected with a disbelieving tone, “Are you trying to get both of our numbers?”

He smirked and ran a hand through his hair, probably thinking he was cute.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get. One or both.”

Martha smiled widely, “Yeah, no, that was the worst attempt to a get a girl’s number in the history of pick-up lines.”

Sarah agreed, “We’re leaving.”

She promptly spun around but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist and shook her. She looked back at him and down at his hold, feeling the energy bubbling right under the surface.

“Come on, I know you want it, no way you weren’t dancing for attention in there.”

And for an instant she got a glimpse into his mind, pictures clouding her thoughts. Her own mind was now spun up, running a thousand miles per hour as her body grew increasingly hot. Martha attempted to catch her attention.

“Come on, let’s go, we’re leaving now.”

But Sarah stood stock still, staring at the man as he grew more and more uncomfortable. Not as bold as before, he tried to back out. When she felt a looser tension on her wrist, she twisted and grabbed onto his, pulling him close.

Her temperature surpassed what would commonly be considered a fever, and she felt the characteristic burning warmth pervading her chest, like ribbons of fire and smoke swirling though her ribcage.

The man started to feel heat on his wrist, and, confused, he tugged. Sarah never moved. And Martha was terrified, not knowing how to knock her friend out of her trance-like state of focus on the disrespectful man in front of them. She had already been on edge, and him grabbing her like that must have sent her barreling over a metaphorical cliff.

Growing scared, he tugged even harder, to no avail. She saw Jason in his features. And suddenly, her skin was so hot, he was burning. She seared the shape of her fingers onto his wrist and ignored the smell of burning skin in the air.

“Oh god, Sarah that’s enough.”

She pressed harder, and he kneeled to the floor, trying to twist out of her grasp.

“Sarah, you’ll blow our cover,” she tried, and finally pleaded, “Marianna.”

That got to her, somewhere in her mind. It shook her and distracted her from the surge of energy building up inside.

Leaning down, she whispered. “You need to learn to respect women. We’re not weak playthings, you hear?”

He nodded insistently, and she finally let him fall back onto the sidewalk, clutching onto his wrist.

Martha watched her, “Now, are we cool?”

Sarah couldn’t quite meet her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Martha was slightly fuming, but it was worry that truly consumed her.

“You better do some jumping jacks or flap your arms to cool down, because you will not burn my leather seats.”

..

Once they left, the silence in the car was suffocating.

Sarah finally pierced it, “I saw what he was thinking, Martha. Not like I could in the past—just a glimpse.”

She peered out of the window into the night.

“And it was horrible.”

..

Up on the rooftops, Black Noir had watched the interaction with growing frustration.

Ready to make his way down to kill the man, he stopped in his tracks. Was this the secret she’d been hiding? She too was enhanced.

She wasn’t on any of Vought’s lists or indexes, which confirmed the fact that she was using a fake identity. So, if she was hiding, presumably from the company that had made her into what she is, why was she working there? So many questions, and no answers.

And why had the other woman called her Marianna? Was that her true name?

His patience was growing thin, but he decided he wouldn’t advance on her until he had a better understanding of where she stood. He found himself proud of how she’d handled the man. Disappointed that she hadn’t killed him, but proud, nonetheless. If she had simply given over her number, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Violent thoughts danced behind his eyes but he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry them out, not on her.

He leapt down from where he was perched and followed the man without a sound.

And in the dark of night, one can only imagine what happened when he finally reached him.

-Giulia

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724​  @proximio-5​ @damiminator

[papermoonish]

when the weather changed

"Wait for me!"

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

autumn brings weather changes and simple sweetness. for kirishima and bakugou it comes first in the shape of friends and then each other

read on AO3 or keep reading here

Kiri is on the roof of the school building. There are mesh fences keeping the small spot up in the air secluded - safe. He's sitting on the floor, his back to the wall hiding the staircase, eyes closed and head leaning against the concrete.

The air tastes like crisp autumn, fresh and cold with the promise of warmth tingling. Maybe tomorrow, maybe later. The door opens and Kirishima straightens up, opens his eyes and reaches for his water bottle. With two quick movements he looks busy. Nothing weird going on here.

"Hey man," he smiles, and Denki waves back.

"Yo dude. I was looking everywhere for you."

Denki drops besides him, loose and easy. His shoulder brushes Kirishima's as he’s reaching for the food in Kiri's lap, stealing a small piece of pre-cut sausage. He's warm, body slumping against his friend with a content sigh.

"Ah sorry! What's up?”

Denki pops his lips, pulls up his phone and scans the screen quickly before tapping away on it. He's sitting cross-legged, his knee occasionally bumping against Kiri's thigh. He steals another piece of sausage and chews it a little too loudly but it’s okay. Kirishima appreciates the company.

"Didn’t see you at lunch and thought you might've run away with a hot girl into a future unknown.”

Kirishima snorts and shakes his head, red hair doesn’t move an inch. Next to him Denki cracks his knuckles, but only the ones on his left hand.

"In the middle of a Monday?”

"Who am I to question the timely manners of love, bro."

"Bro."

"Bro."

They laugh and the wind picks up a bit, messing up Denki's hair. As he tries to fix it he lets out a loud groan. Kiri reaches up to tuck a few strands back with the others.

"Nah dude, I'd never leave you behind."

"You better won’t. Blasty would have my ass if he heard you got away and I knew."

There’s an implication between the words, simmering right in the space left after them. Kirishima blinks and shakes it off, smiles until the dimple on his right cheek shows up.

"He has your ass for everything. He owns it."

"HE DOES NOT OWN MY ASS!"

Kiri giggles, downs the rest of his water and rubs his nose. The movement causes Denki to sway a bit, still leaning on his friend. He catches himself and sits up, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's gay," he snickers.

"Denki-"

"No Ei,” he raises his hands in defeat, pouting, “I simply do not wanna think about Bakugou in a sexual way."

"That’s not even close to what I said."

"It was IMPLIED!"

"IT WASN’T!"

They’re shoving at each other now, laughing and the water bottle drops, rolls away across the deck. The rest of Kirishima's lunch nearly falls too, but just at the last second he remembers and puts it aside. Seeing an opening, Denki throws himself at Kirishima and they both topple over. Denki is snorting, Kiri is chuckling. The sun shines.

"EW, DUDE!"

The wet stripe Denki licked across Kirishima's palm glistens in the autumn weather and Kiri is fast to wipe it at Denki's dress shirt.

"You're so gross."

"Excuse me? You have a crush on Bakugou, that's nasty!"

"Ughh,” Kirishima hides his face in his hands, “don’t bring that up."

"You can't censor me, this is a free country."

Their laughter fades at the same time as the sunshine, covered by a few thin clouds moving across the blue. Lunch is coming to an end and Kiri hears Denki's bones pop from stretching his hands. A rumble in the sky makes a few birds fly up and the boys look up.

"I- … uh-"

Denki rolls onto his side and makes a whole show of getting up, like standing is a dance he owns. He cracks his neck and Kirishima cringes at the sound, worrying his lip.

"I won’t tell him. Drop the pout, lovebird."

He reaches out a hand and Kiri grabs it quickly, and then he gets pulled up from the floor with the sun reappearing. Warmth immediately spreads across their skin.

"Thanks, man.”

Denki waves his hand, grins mischievously.

"Bro, you've got so much more dirt on me. This is self-protection.”

"Bro I’d never tell any of them anything."

"I know, I know. You’re just good like that,” he laughs. "One day either Shinso, Jirou, Sero or Tetsu will notice me. I'm not giving up yet."

"You're helpless," Kirishima shoos away a mosquito. “You should pick one of them to work your charm on.”

"I’d go for you, but your little monkey brain is already wired in the wrong direction, babe."

Kiri fake gags and Denki shoves him, hard. They gather their stuff - meaning Kirishima grabs all his things and Denki starts breakdancing next to him. Denki opens the door and bows, giving him the, "After you, good sir." and Kiri bows right back with a, "Oh my, thank you darling."

The door falls into its lock and clicks shut. A gust of wind picks up and moves the water bottle Kirishima forgot on the deck. It clatters against the mesh fence and rolls a few feet across the floor. It’ll be found later by someone else, surely. Not everyone has a bright red metal bottle with multiple stickers of pictures of his friends. They get back to class and the sun still shines.

* at the same time *

The cafeteria is too loud. There's laughter and screaming, talking, shuffling, things dropping and people running. For Bakugou the cafeteria hurts, it rings all the way through his ears to the bottom of his brain and he furrows his brows while poking chopsticks into rice.

"You want a spoon for the rice soup you’re making there?"

Bakugou flinches, knuckles turning white before the colour slowly creeps back, blood flow released.

"Watch your mouth," he barks into the direction of the person sitting across the table.

"Can’t, I'm eating. You should try it, it’s supposed to be good for you."

"I fucking know, Tapeface. What’s your issue?”

Sero grins before digging back into his chicken, his legs long under the table right under the window. His feet knock against Bakugou's ankles. Neither of them moves.

"What's yours? You're usually not that grumpy at lunch."

Bakugou looks at him for a few seconds, like he's considering, waging something in his head.

"'s loud here," he finally settles on.

"Oh."

Sero blinks, then he grabs his backpack and tray and Bakugou flinches again at the speed of it.

"What are you-"

"Come on big guy, grab your stuff."

"Huh?"

"There's tables outside, next to the gym building."

Oh. That’s right.

When they settle again Bakugou's forehead is still crinkled and Sero pokes him, index finger smudging against his skin. The wrinkles smooth out a bit. Sero puts his phone on the table, screen up. Bakugou can see the small notification LED blinking yellow.

"Ya still look grumpy."

Bakugou shrugs, finally eats his rice like a normal person. Sero hums, low and deep, then rustles inside of his bag and pulls out a juice pouch. There's a drop spilling when he puts the straw in a little too forcefully and Bakugou hands him a napkin.

"I have a goddamn headache."

"Ah."

The wind picks up and the sun vanishes behind thin clouds. The building casts enough shade to cover them and their table fully now and it’s a little colder.

"Maybe Ei can do his magic hands thing later. Doesn't he help sometimes?"

Bakugou shrugs but he averts his eyes, dipping his rice into sauce before shoving it into his mouth. He knows Sero can see through it but he also knows Sero is gentle. He hums again and Bakugou breathes.

"Yeah.”

Sero finishes his food and sips his juice, offering it to Bakugou but obviously being declined. He just shrugs.

"Denki texted me he's on the roof if ya wanna go up and ask."

Bakugou shakes his head, puts the lid back onto his bento box. He catches the way Sero checks at his phone, types away an answer to a message that made him smile.

"Lunch is over in a few anyway."

"You have some rice on your shirt."

"Ah shit."

The sun comes back out and Sero's phone chimes. He glances at it and sighs, swiping the little alarm notification away.

"Back to class then, wonder kid."

"You're on thin fucking ice, Hanta."

"Aw with the first name? You make me blush today."

"Bitch."

"No need to sweet talk me after you had a lunch date with me."

"Oh my fucking god I despise you."

He grabs his bag and then puts the trash from Sero's tray on his own, sliding them together. He carries both. Sero holds the door open for him and Bakugou grunts a thank you. The wind starts howling and the cafeteria is still filled with laughter when they enter.

*later*

The school day ends and the sky is grey. There are dark speckles between heavy clouds and the light turned a muddy yellow. The sun isn't visible and you can’t feel it either, all the warmth traveled further away into other days, future hours. Bakugou's kicking the door to the sky deck open with his foot, the sole squeaking against the heavy metal.

"Fucking bullshit."

There’s a rumble and then rain hits his face and there's a giggle right behind him, echoing in the halls of the stairway.

"Wait for me!"

Bakugou keeps the door open with a snarl.

"Shit, it was so nice out at lunch," Kirishima whines, stopping in the doorway.

"That’s fucking autumn for you."

"Don’t curse a whole season, you'll get unlucky."

Bakugou looks at him, getting soaked more every second, hair slowly plastering itself against his forehead. Water gets caught in his lashes and drips into his shoes. His socks get wet. He blinks once and Kiri rubs his blushing neck, laughing.

"Yeah," his lip pulls upwards, "wouldn't fucking want that, hah?"

Kirishima bolts out into the rain, Bakugou looks after him before following. There are small puddles on the floor and Kiri steps into them intentionally, grinning as he notices his boots are waterproof enough for his shenanigans.

"All right, where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are," Kirishima sing-songs.

"You're so stupid."

"Shhhh maybe it's hiding from us."

"Your water bottle?"

Kiri nods. “Maybe it feels your negative vibes, bro."

"Maybe I’ll make you feel a negative vibe in a second, bro."

It’s an empty threat and Kirishima laughs.

He keeps running and the sky doesn't split open to let light through. Bakugou licks his lips, rainwater on his tongue, and walks towards the fence to the south side. It’s like Kirishima forgot where he sat with the way he's buzzing through the rain, arms spread and face tilted towards the sky.

Bakugou spots his bottle immediately, picks it up with his pinky hooking through the loop on the cap. He inspects the stickers and none of them are peeling. When he turns, Kiri is standing still, looking up at the falling rain, hair bending and bowing under the weather.

"You done with your moment?" Bakugou yells over the noise.

"It’s so nice."

"The rain?"

"Hmh."

Bakugou comes up next to him, holds up the bottle but Kirishima’s eyes are closed. So he bumps the cold metal against the exposed skin under Kirishima’s rolled up sleeves.

"Got the goods."

"Ah! thank you, Blasty."

"You'll never drop that name huh?"

Kiri shrugs and Bakugou watches his shoulders move.

"It’s a good name."

"It’s old as shit. Come up with something better."

"Stop exploding into our faces then," Kirishima turns his head and grins.

"Never."

"That’s what I thought."

Kiri's quiet until Bakugou pulls up his nose. The sky keeps making noises that hint ever so closely at a thunderstorm coming.

"Ah shit, okay let's go back inside. You're soaked!"

"Duh."

"Thanks for coming to look with me though."

They both know Kirishima would’ve found his bottle on his own. They don’t address it though and somehow the knowledge settles between them in the form of physical contact. Bakugou simply accepts the wet arm that’s thrown over his shoulder, it soothes the tension built up in his muscles.

"You can thank me by doing your hand thing."

Kirishima’s head snaps towards him, eyes big and round. There are water droplets in his eyebrows.

"You have another headache? Man, why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Kiri grabs his bottle from Bakugou, their fingers touch. Kiri smiles and walks towards the door. His hand reaches for the handle and it creaks under the movement.

"School," Bakugou says, voice calm while he shrugs.

"Let’s get dry and then I can come over? Whatcha say?"

Bakugou nods, brushes past Kirishima holding the door open. The arm that was around his shoulder slides off and it’s immediately cold where it lay. It’s now freezing in the hallway, especially dripping wet.

"D’you think Sero has a crush on Denki?"

Bakugou huffs, towel rubbing over his ears. They’re in the baths, air warm from their recent shower. The mirror Bakugou stands in front of is fogged up and Kirishima reaches over, hand smearing across the glass until his image is visible.

"I don’t care."

"Come on, gossip with me," Kirishima pokes his finger into Bakugou’s shoulder and the blond doesn’t even turn to look.

"No."

"But you always have the best takes."

"Shut up."

"Katsukiii please."

The towel drops. The sky breaks open and a few late sunbeams work their way through the clouds, illuminating UA in the softest glow. The boys are inside though, the warm bathroom shielding them from the outside, they can’t see.

But Bakugou looks at Kirishima and he simply knows, knows the grey is making space for evening blues and purples, knows the muddy yellow will turn into clear orange.

"I won’t spill Tapeface's secrets."

"Not even to me?" The puppy eyes get ignored.

"Especially not to you, you can't keep your big mouth shut ever!"

"That’s not true! I never spill secrets."

Bakugou unlocks his dorm room door and watches Kiri walk in before him. Bakugou smells his shampoo, it’s a mix of something woody and sweet.

"You're spilling right now."

"Yeah but to you, that’s different."

He sits down in the desk chair, swiveling around a bit. Digging the heels of his feet into the beige carpet. He’s barefoot in Bakugou’s room and it feels intimate. Bakugou snaps a laugh, it’s dry. Kirishima perks up at it.

"It’s not different, you’re making shit up."

"Uh yeah? I like sharing with you?"

"You like talking to everyone."

He drops himself on the floor, back pressed to Kiri's shins and tipping his head back over the redhead’s knees. It’s a bit uncomfortable but it gives Bakugou enough control over the situation. Not that he’d need it here. Kiri's hands gently weave themselves through towel dried blond hair, fingertips pressing against his scalp.

"I like talking to you most though," he says simply.

"Ew."

Kirishima laughs, Bakugou closes his eyes. He lets Kiri work his fingers through his hair, lets his nails scrape and scratch in all the right places and with every minute passing by he feels the headache less and less.

They're quiet for a bit and then he goes, "Hanta's whipped as fuck."

"I KNEW it!"

The ceiling light bathes them in warm white and the sky outside is hidden behind curtains.

[loopyhoopywrites]

How Does A Hermit Accidentally Get Published? (A TLD excerpt)

Okay so this is kinda long, and minorly spoilery? But if anyone is interested in how The Hermits’ Guide to Friendship (Vol 1-4) came to be, I just finished typing up it’s origin story. For context, Cedrix and Tim have just been escorted to a private VIP booth at Ye Olde Nightclub by CJ Themir, the author of the guides, who is begging them to help him.

Tag list: @kryskakikomi @shattered-starrs @ifonlyicouldwrite @sybil-writes @raevenlywrites @sunlight-and-starskies @notwritinganyflufftoday @chauceryfairytales @writeblrfantasy @dazed-night-lights

* * * * *

Of all the critiques one could accurately make regarding Prince Cedrix, an unwillingness to help his subjects would not be one of them. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cedrix was, to the despair of his diplomatic advisers, extremely hands on when it came to sorting his kingdom’s problems.

(Rescuing damsels was, perhaps, the only exception to Cedrix’s willingness. Given, however, his sexuality, the lack of male damsels, and the strange cultural expectation that a Rescue equated to a proposal of marriage, this was understandable.)

Despite his willingness, Cedrix looked at CJ, with his fans, fame and, presumably, fortune, and found himself with one question.

“What could someone like you possibly need help with?”

Tim, it turned out, also had a question.

“What happened to your accent?”

CJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. Unlike his previous suave swoop, this time the gesture was a clear sign of stress, turning his artfully arranged curls from a masterful oil painting into something more akin to a child let loose with twelve fingers and a bucketful of muddy paint.

“It’s a long story.” He said, deftly managing to answer and evade both questions simultaneously.

“We have time.” Said Cedrix.

“Okay.”

CJ ran his other hand through his hair. It didn’t help.

“Okay,” He said again, “I’ll- I guess I’ll start at the beginning?”

“That is how most stories start.”

Cedrix crossed his arms impatiently. Tim, always eager for story time, swapped his empty tankard for a new one and snuggled into Cedrix’s side. CJ was twisting his hands nervously, and his left leg was bouncing as if possessed by a particularly hyperactive jackalope. Coupled with the way his eyes darted nervously around the balcony, Cedrix wondered CJ should be the one with a tankard in hand.

“Beginning,” CJ finally repeated, looking Cedrix in the eye only to immediately glance away again, “Well, um, my name isn’t actually CJ.”

As far as beginnings went, this one was hardly a surprise. Cedrix crossed his arms tighter, hoping the story improved. Quickly.

“My name… it’s Daigo. Daigo Ramirez.”

Here, CJ paused, the silence lingering a moment too long, and then a moment longer.

“Sorry,” He said eventually, smiling sheepishly, “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to say that.”

Unsympathetic, Cedrix merely fixed him with a glare that clearly meant get on with it. Tim slurped his drink through a brightly coloured curly straw that hadn’t been there when he started.

“I am – well, I used to be – a hermit,” CJ – Daigo – began, “People have always been a bit… much, for me.” He smiled wryly, as if amused by some private joke. Cedrix snuck a glance at Tim, suspecting that the wizard would be far more sympathetic than Cedrix himself. Tim, however, didn’t seem to be listening, instead busy attempting to balance the cherry from his drink on the tip of his nose. It was only when Daigo cleared his throat that Cedrix realised he’d been staring.

“Continue.” He ordered, dragging his attention back to the author.

“I lived in a rented room above an antiques shop,” Daigo seemed to shift more comfortably into his chair as he settled into his story, although his leg still jiggled distractedly, “It was about as close to solitude as I could afford, given the high demand for isolated towers and caves amongst royalty these days. The store’s owner would leave groceries outside the door once a week, and in return I left rent money under the unwelcome mat. I never had to leave, and no one ever came to visit. Even the store below hardly ever had customers.”

Cedrix couldn’t help but wonder how using the privy fit into this self-isolation situation, but he was far too proper to ask.

“The room I lived in had one window,” Daigo continued, “That looked out over the beer garden of a local tavern. In the summer months, between my daily meditations, I found myself in the habit of watching the patrons who sat out there. Not in an inappropriate way, of course!”

Realising how his penultimate sentence might have sounded, Daigo raised his panicked eyes. Cedrix looked back with impatient indifference. Tim was still struggling with his balancing act.

“I started, um, making notes,” Daigo hesitantly continued, acutely aware that this was not helping his ‘not a creep’ argument, “I wasn’t – I’m not – interested in actually interacting with people myself, you understand, but watching people interact was – is – intriguing to me. I supposed it turned into a sort of… research project.”

“Research project?”

“Um hm.” Daigo agreed, his nervous hands easing from a jerk into a mere twitch as he hit his stride, “I ordered some books, ending up with quite the extensive library, and when I’d learnt all I could from those I began to talk to people.

“Not directly,” He quickly clarified, “But I cultivated a decent number of quill-pals who provided valuable insight into the field of social interactions. It turned into quite the thesis.”

“Am I to assume that this rather lengthy attempt at an explanation is the Guide’s origin story?” Cedrix asked.

“I- well, yes.” Daigo responded, his fidgeting returning with a vengeance as he avoided Cedrix’s gaze, “Only, I didn’t mean to get published.”

“It seems to have worked out fairly well for you.”

“Well!?” Daigo exclaimed, momentarily forgetting just who he was speaking to, “You have to be joking!?”

Cedrix just gave him The Look.

“Sorry,” Daigo’s cheeks quickly turned a rather unflattering shade of horrified pink as he realised he’d just yelled at royalty, “It’s just, all this-” He waved toward the edge of the balcony, where they could just make out his crowd of admirers below them, “-is the last thing I wanted. I hate it.”

“Why did you publish The Guide then?”

“It was sort of… an accident.”

“How does one publish four books by accident?”

“Five if you count the autobiography.” Daigo reluctantly corrected. He caught sight of the copy of From Cave to Rave that Tim had repurposed into a placemat and shuddered. “Here’s the thing. As part of my research, I was writing to a great many people-”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“-Which meant I was sending a lot of mail. It was agreed that I would leave it outside my door along with the gold pieces needed to cover postage, and my landlord would drop it off at the postman’s guild for me.”

“So?”

“I, um, accidentally left my thesis with my outgoing mail.”

“And it got delivered.” Cedrix surmised.

“I don’t know how!” Daigo stammered, letting out the type of laugh that people only ever laughed if it was a choice between that or crying, “It didn’t have an address on it. It wasn’t even in an envelope!”

Daigo’s leg was now bouncing so fast it was almost a blur, and Cedrix had the sudden bizarre image of it becoming detached and flying across the room.

“Next thing I knew, publishers were practically breaking down my door.” Daigo said, so stressed by the mere idea that beads of sweat were starting to gather in little committees on his forehead. Cedrix would have offered him a handkerchief, but given that Tim had given up on balancing his cherry and was now onto his third cocktail, he had a feeling it might come in handy later on.

“You still had to have given permission.” He pointed out instead.

“They, um,” And here, Daigo looked almost guilty, “Offered me money.”

No almost about it, that was definitely guilt. Cedrix neglected to comment, instead choosing a far more effective rebuttal that he’d long ago picked up from his stalwart knight; the Raised Eyebrow of Disapproval.

“It’s sort of hard to earn money as a hermit,” Diago said, his immediate jump to excuses proving once again the effectiveness of the Eyebrow, “Plus, they said it would be a one time thing! Rewrite a few sections, sign a piece of paper, get paid. They never mentioned all… this!”

Once again, Daigo waved an arm in an attempt to encompass his fame, fortune, and what could almost be considered an army of fans, his face plastered with unbridled horror and despair. Cedrix sighed.

“This piece of paper,” He said, putting the pieces together and creating an all too common portfolio of the utter stupidity of the average commoner, “Am I to assume it was, in face, a contract?”

“…Maybe.”

“And did you, perhaps, happen to read this contract before you signed your name at the bottom of it?”

Daigo’s silence was answer enough, but Cedrix was still going to make him say it.

“Pardon?”

“I skimmed it.”

“I see.” Cedrix said, pursing his lips in thinly disguised disapproval. Luckily for Daigo, Cedrix had never been in possession of anything even close to a generous amount of patience, and he wasn’t about to waste what little he had left on a lecture on the importance of reading the terms and conditions.

“And CJ?”

“My publishers wanted to prove that the advice outlined in my books worked,” Daigo sighed, “And that meant I had to be their first success story. They created this persona for me. It was only supposed to be for a week or so, whilst they advertised The Guide, but, well, my books proved more popular than previously anticipated.”

“An effective marketing technique.” Cedrix couldn’t help but comment. He leant back in his seat, fixing Daigo with a cultivated stare of indifference.

“So,” He asked, finally returning to his original question “What do you expect me to do about it?”

For the first time, Daigo didn’t look away. Instead he leant forward, meeting Cedrix’s gaze with a confidence nobody would have imagined he could have possessed, and Cedrix was suddenly certain that he was about to regret asking.

“I want you to help me fake my death.”

[sirro85-blog]

Humans are Space Orcs: Improvising

So as I have described humans are ingenious and curious and they have the ability to look at a piece of fruit that tingles while you eat it and see a weapon. It goes further than that though. Humans can even look at a mistake and see success in another guise.

Major Kovac looked at his fellow officers and gave a gesture I had never seen him make before he spread his hands slowly and then brought his shoulders up.

"I think, that when we sent the last order the message got scrambled," ventured Captain Gillespie.

"Well I fucking hope so because I don't see how a request for 'artillery ammunition, medical supplies, rifle munitions and fuel' became 'water bottles, uniforms, pens, pencils, notepads, paperweights!? 150 Nyrex, assorted foodstuffs; and fuel'..." Kovac trailed off, "add to that the only supplies we have to begin with are food and for some reason paint and plaster."

"Munitions supplies code: 83-C; recruits basics supplies: 8-DE...medical supplies code: 14-P office supplies: 40-B" Gillespie said in a monotone voice.

"Whoever was on the other end didn't think to question or ask for a repeat order, it's the new civillian company running logistics they don't speak phonetics so they relay it normally so our order "Eight-Three-Charlie" becomes "8DE" in a busy office and we end up with new water bottles, nyrex and uniforms." Captain Becca said, "the wonders of privatisation." she laughed.

"Alright Bex, no time for your socialist rants now, we're going to have to make do. Wolf, What do you think?" Kovac enquired

"Surrender," Wolf replied immediately, "No seriously sir, I say we surrender." He raised his voice as the other officers shouted him down, "these aren't a horde of barely trained fanatics we're facing down these are the cream of the crop, the zealots who have served these crackpots long enough to become battle hardened and true veterans." He gestured around himself a little wildly, "what do we have? a squad of combat engineers, one squadron of wet behind the ears infantry, Gilly's auxiliary troop, and the second half of our forces are fucking weekend warriors, the strategic planetary defence reserves, other than the 88th and Gilly we can't count on two thirds of our forces. The OC is so far past it even he has realised it and I don't trust Major Picklefarts as far as I can throw her."

Kovac clicked his fingers a few times and hummed the bars to "Catfish Blues" Captain Becca gave a soulful hum.

"Woke up this mornin'," growled Dorman in his best blues singer voice, "my dog was dead; no food in my fridge y'all; ate my dog instead."

"Got idiots above me; got morons below; if it gets much colder; it'll start to snow" finished Becca.

"Feel better?" Asked Kovac.

"How can it possibly snow here? It's 35°C in the shade! We're in a god damn furnace!" Wolf drew a calming breath.

"Now that we've made Wolf feel better let's clear up a few things," first...it's Major Portbury and I don't much like her either, second the other two squadrons will hold their line until they don't not much more we can ask of them. Third, Gilly hasn't just got a troop he's got Staff Sergeant Frank King and his units could bring Muddy Waters back from the dead to slap us all for ruining blues, and he's got Griffin Battery out there and we know what those boys can do with a connonade. So it's us, it's us the 88th, 3 Squadron Combat Engineers, Fighting Fit and Fucking Ugly, the real first in last out, the infantry may hold the front line but we fucking build it." Kovac pointed a finger at his map, "everything we know says the Xhost are going to try to capture the peninsula, they do that they gain the remote base within a week and they neuter the Fortress Moon, then they have a foothold in another system and who knows how long before the Galactic Council decide to take them seriously, they'll have another million "converts" by then. So we stop them here, we hold the Isthmus, we send them back to their ships or we send them to hell."

"With glass paperweights?" Wolf asked in a scathing tone, "Kovac I love you brother but without the supplies we're going to lose."

"Want me to show you what I can do with a paperweight?" Becca said with a growl.

"That gives me an idea," said Kovac, "Wolf, Becca, who's the nastiest soldier you've got?"

"Barbie," said Wolf.

"Knickers," said Becca.

"Dorman? What about you?"

"In a fist fight? Bickers is a nasty piece of work but for one of your ideas? Well Bickers again but you'll have to let him know just how nasty you want him to get."

"Alright have those three, Buckets, Footsteps and Corporal Chloe meet me in my office, Wolf you can join us too, just keep your eyes off the Panther's arse, Becca go see what you think of Portbury. Dorman go with Gilly and see what you would do to our defences if you had a wish list."

The meeting in the Major's office went on late into the night, unusually for human military Major Kovac was not just respected by his soldiers he was well liked. In the early hours of the morning as the soldiers left the office Kovac "high-fived" Knickers as the two achieved success in their experiments.

The following morning Kovac was found striding across the top of the fortifications gesticulating enthusiastically. "Here, and down there, it'll provide good cover for your men," he explained to the dazed looking infantry officer.

Around him infantry soldiers were carefully ripping paper from notepads and sliding them into each pocket in the nyrex they held.

"You see," Gillespie was explaining enthusiastically, "we use the left over plaster and water, and soak the new uniforms in them to create a sort of plaster cast...glacis, something to absorb damage and line the enemy up to expose them to your attacks, then we fortify it with these nyrex, filled with paper they have pretty impressive stopping power and the whole thing is made of leftovers and things wrongly delivered instead of medicine and other useful supplies. It's genius really." Major Portbury looked unimpressed but that didn't stop Gillespie, "Griffin Battery have taken the paint pots that was clever too, I think Footsteps deserves a raise Kovac ha ha, then Kovac has come up with some really nasty tricks with the water bottles and paperweights."

"Unfortunately we're out of fuel," cut in Kovac, so we'll be walking a lot," in his head he played back Becca's statement from earlier this morning, 'she resents being promoted to Major late and resents having to join a new regiment of raw recruits to do it, she resents the idea that she can't cut it and resents her men, also the girl can drink but... she may be a good officer one day, if she can ditch the chip on her shoulder.'

"Major I think it's probably best if you and your men hold the centre, we need infantry not engineers playing at infantry in our middle to steady our line, we'll put the SPDR on the far right flank where the attack should be weakest, my 88th will take the left flank, they'll hit that flank harder as they're coming from the South. Better us than the militia, sorry the SPDR, but with you a rock on one side and the water on the other we should be ok."

Portbury appeared to consider this and then nodded, without the Lietenant-Colonel there Kovac had seniority anyway.

"OK then, I'm going to send my engineers out to rig up some welcome wagons for the Xhost when they arrive" Kovac gave the Major a nod and walked away.

Kovac kept his men busy that day, he pushed them to work hard and they responded, the Major himself was tireless, he moved up and down the line talking with the men of the reserves on the right flank and then spending time with the infantrymen always talking positively about the situation, at midday he organised a competition, platoon against platoon and as the men ran up and down their line, stopping and firing at specific targets they realised how the improvised glacis exposed those before it to fire from a range of fields. Their confidence grew.

Late evening saw the first lines of Xhost troops pull into view, they had started to set up camp when Griffin Battery, buried further back behind enemy lines opened fire, explosions on their base caused chaos and when the dust had settled through omni-goggles Kovac could see the smoking ruins of three air support ships, the surprise of Griffin Battery had been lost but there was no air support for the Xhost tomorrow.

When the Xhost advanced in the pre-dawn gloom they did so in near silence, Griffin Battery stayed silent, they crept forward until the silent guns filled them with confidence and the advance sped up, they crept closer until in the middle of their lines explosions tore through the ranks.

Crouched and looking through the omni-goggles, Captain Becca called out ranges as more detonations shredded the advance. The Xhost fell back.

"Improvised nailbombs, water bottles with fuel and gunpowder salvaged from rifle rounds, strapped to two glass paperweights each." Kovac nodded to Becca, "That knickers is a nasty piece of work."

"They're advancing!" Yelled Becca from her vantage point, "two divisions on the left flank, one division in the centre, half a division moving to the right."

Again the Xhost advanced cautiously, and again the guns of Griffin Battery stayed silent, the few remaining paperweight bombs detonated but this time the Xhost were ready for them, and did not recoil in shock.

The advancing army looked vast in comparison to the thin like of troops dug in to oppose them, they drew nearer still nearly in rifle range when the guns of Griffin Battery sounded, amongst the shells shattering the Xhost lines were improvised shells which erupted on impact and appeared to contain liquid fire, Lance Corporal Bickers knowing that fuel and polystyrene - a packing product for the "useless" paperweights - could combine to create a highly flammable viscous liquid was the sort of information that earned him considerable "side eye" most of the time, but on occasion proved extremely useful. The fact he had known at least four other methods to make "napalm" was considered concerning.

The advance lines caught in the firestorm disappeared into the flames, the rest of the Xhost retreated.

"They're done for the day," said Kovac harshly, he looked out at the killing zone as if forcing himself to watch what he had done.

Kovac was correct in his assessment night fell and the Xhost made no movements to advance, the human forces bedded down and the sentries fought heavy lids as they watched the enemy lines.

Morning broke with a stiff breeze sweeping in from the northern shore bringing moisture and freshness to the air. The Xhost drew up and then stood watching the human defences, they stood and sang their hymns, Major Kovac ordered his men stood down but the infantry and SPDR stayed in their positions on guard while the engineers slept. The Xhost stood and sang all day, and late into the night and while Major Kovac had his men keep sentry and the others slept the less experienced troops stayed in position.

It appeared as though the Xhost might try to sing their way to victory, depriving the troops of the Galactic Council Defence Force of sleep until they were defeated but Kovac appeared to have a plan, as dawn broke the second day on the singing Xhost, the wind tugging at the ceremonial robes if their battle clerics rifle fire sounded and commanders of the Xhost began to fall, over a dozen shots sounded before the shocked Xhost rushed forwards. Half way between the two armies Hemmings and Richards the two finest shots in the engineers ranks broke cover and sprinted for the safety of their own lines.

While the two humans had a significant lead they were stiff and cold and amongst the massed ranks of the Xhost were species significantly faster than humans. As the massed ranks of the Xhost surged forward some shapes raced ahead, fastest of all were the unmistakable forms of Rhul converts, surging across the ground in their four legged posture.

Griffin Battery opened fire and still the two snipers ran with the Rhul closing the gap every stride. Hemmings was 30 yards ahead of his fellow sniper when he stopped, turned and fired three shots, the two Rhul yards from Richards dropped and Hemmings turned and sprinted for home.

The Xhost kept coming and for the first time reached rifle range, the Xhost drove on over their falling comrades as the defensive lines cracked with rifle fire. Flashes of colour appeared in the Xhost lines as Kovac's next trick was revealed. Artillery shells, robbed of half their munitions weight attached to left over paint tins rained down on the Xhost causing damage and spreading paint across vast swathes of Xhost numbers, coating rifle sights and eye stalks in blinding paint.

Still the Xhost pushed forwards until they were close enough that the faces of the myriad species of the Xhost converts could be seen. Kovac's last trick was played, empty paint tins and empty food tins, packed with the wrongly delivered pens and pencils and the munitions taken from the paint-shells were fired from the infantry's portable howitzers.

As the thin metal reached muzzle velocity of 180m/s it shredded spraying thin slivers of metal and wood out into the Xhost lines.

A shudder went through the fanatic troops as their advance slowed and they paused, no shot fired in return and over 3/4 of their own number laying in carnage.

Kovac stood up and walked to the lip of the human defences, "now, bullet bomb, bayonets!" He bellowed and the left flank suddenly hailed grenades followed by a volley of bullets and then the 88th 3 Squadron Combat Engineers launched forward in their own advance.

By days end the Xhost were defeated and driven from the planet.

I have multiple examples of humans turning errors into victories, vulcanised rubber, antibiotics and even the low resistance substance they coat their ships in but these are often seen as unique events, they aren't. Human achievements all across history have been accompanied by two phrases. "I have an idea" and "What if?"

I'm assured "hold my beer" is a crucial part of their success too.

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion

For a moment Kevin clearly didn’t know what to do. His eyes went from his car to Peggy and Howard to a restaurant next door to the Roxxon station.  Then he took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said.  “Get in the car.”  He stuffed his phone in his pocket and tucked his receipt from the repair shop under his chin so he would have his hands free to put the key in the lock.  “But on the way,” he added as he climbed in, “you have to tell me what’s going on, so I can kick you out if I think it’s stupid.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Howard promised him.

They crammed themselves back into Kevin’s blue Gremlin, and he drove them out of town, back up into the National forest and back into the rain.  On the way, Peggy began telling an abbreviated version of the story of how she and Howard had come to be here.  Toulouse had accepted the time travel part without questioning it, but Peggy’s gut told her that Kevin was likely to be less credulous.  Toulouse had also said that HYDRA had been in the news in the last couple of years, so Peggy started there.

“We’re being followed by people from HYDRA,” she said.

“HYDRA?” asked Kevin.  “Like, the Neo-Nazi group that infiltrated the government?”

“Yes, them.”

“Geeze.”  Kevin shook his head.  “I looked up their hitlist when it went online.  One of my professors was on it.  She said it means she must be doing something right, but… yeah.”

“They’re searching for a lost super-weapon called die Glocke,” Peggy went on, “and for some reason they think we know where it is.  We went to investigate a site in the Sierra Nevada mountains, outside Los Angeles, but they ambushed us there and took us up to near where you found us so they could throw our bodies in a deep pit.”

Kevin glanced over his shoulder.  “You mean that great big hole in the woods that looks like something in space just shone a big laser down?”

“You’ve been there?” Peggy asked.

“Twice,” said Kevin.  “The first time I just got lost and kind of blundered across it. They hadn’t put up the fence yet at the time, it was just this clearing in the woods with a giant hole in the middle of it.  It scared the shit out of me so I left, but I told Leah – I mentioned Leah, she’s a park ranger – I told Leah about it a few days later.  She basically said pics or it didn’t happen, so I went looking for it again. It took me a couple of weeks to find it again, and by the time I did there were people there building a fence around it.  I didn’t want to get too close in case this was some sort of national security thing. I didn’t want to get arrested.  What’s it for?” he asked.

“We’d be happy to explain, but we don’t know, either,” Peggy said.

He was disappointed, but not surprised.  “I wondered if it was something to do with the volcano.”

“We thought that, too,” Howard put in.

“I mean, it’s pretty much the biggest in the world and it’s supposed to be overdue to erupt,” Kevin went on, half to himself.  “I thought maybe somebody was trying to drill into it, to let off steam and maybe keep it from blowing.”

That was not an illogical conclusion, but Peggy’s mind immediately went to the opposite extreme.  If it were possible to prevent a volcanic eruption, perhaps it was also possible to cause one.  Would HYDRA do that?  Natural disasters could strain a country’s resources, leaving fewer people to fight back during an invasion.

Howard’s mind went somewhere else.  “The biggest volcano in the world is in Yellowstone?”

“You didn’t know that?” Kevin’s eyes lit up.  “Oh, man.  Yeah, the entire park is basically one giant volcanic caldera, thirty miles across.  It last erupted about six hundred and fifty thousand years ago, and the pressure’s been building ever since!  When it goes, if humans are still around then, it’ll pretty much take out the entire western half of the country!”

“You’re joking,” said Peggy.  “Or at least exaggerating.”  He had to be.

“No, no, I do this for a living, remember?” Kevin asked cheerfully.  “I work right on top of the biggest time bomb on the planet, and study the pond scum that lives in it!”

Peggy had been considering the eruption of a small volcano.  This sounded like an apocalypse… the sort of thing nobody would survive except perhaps for people hiding in a bunker under a hotel a thousand miles away.  She looked at Howard, and could tell by the expression on his face that he was thinking the same thing.

“You said die Glocke might be a sonic weapon,” said Peggy.

“Right,” said Howard.  “Shaking up a volcano could cause it to erupt if you hit the resonant frequency required to break up the rocks.  Why would they do that, thought?  HYDRA wants to rule the US, not destroy it.”

“Well, what else would they be trying to accomplish?” Peggy asked.

“I don’t know,” said Howard, “but it’s not a victory if there’s nobody left to acknowledge that you won.  Even HYDRA’s not that crazy.”

He had a point, Peggy thought.  As he’d said, HYDRA’s goal was to control the world.  If Kevin were being literal about the volcano annihilating the entire west coast, that seemed counterproductive. At the same time, though, she couldn’t help feeling that they had another piece of the puzzle here.  If she could only figure out how the bits all fit together.

It was another long, wet drive up muddy, winding roads to reach the safe place Kevin had in mind, which turned out to be a little ranger’s cabin within smelling distance of the sulfur springs he studied.  The inside of this was extremely spartan – there was a small bed, a desk, a fridge, and a bathroom.  The closest thing to a kitchen was a pan and kettle sitting on the desk, each of them with a cord to plug in.

“I’ll go get the generator started,” said Kevin. “It gets pretty cold up here at night but I’ve got some extra blankets.  There’s no phone or internet at all, though, not even a land line.”

“That might be all for the best,” said Peggy, thinking of what Howard had said about satellites that could find people anywhere. If they had no way to contact anyone, then nobody would have any way to track them down.

Supper that night was hot dogs and beans, cooked by Kevin in his electric pan.  Peggy and Howard, both starving, devoured it as if they hadn’t eat in weeks, and Peggy couldn’t remember the last time something so plain had tasted so good. For dessert there were fruit-flavoured marshmallows right out of the package.  Then Kevin made himself a cup of instant coffee and sat down to do some work on his own laptop computer, while his guests decided to go to bed early.  Peggy took the sleeping bag, while Howard just wrapped himself up in blankets with his folded-up jacket for a pillow.

“Well, it beats sleeping on the floor of a delivery truck,” Howard muttered, trying to get comfortable.

“It’s quieter than being in the same suite as you and Toulouse,” Peggy replied under her breath.  She hoped Toulouse would make it safely, and she hoped Kevin wouldn’t suffer any consequences for helping them.  Peggy was beginning to come to the conclusion that the only way to keep her friends from getting hurt in the process of her entirely-too-exciting life was not to have any, and that really was a dreadful idea.

In the morning they got up early, ate cold cereal with milk, and drove back down to the town of Badger.  There was no guarantee, of course, that the HYDRA men wouldn’t still be there, but when they drove up and down the main road on what Kevin declared a ‘surveillance run’, there was no sign of the brown truck.  They therefore felt safe to park outside a Mom and Pop grocery shop, where Peggy borrowed Kevin’s phone to call Toulouse.

Once again, Toulouse answered right away.  “Hello?” she said timidly.

“Hello, Toulouse,” said Peggy.  “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way,” Toulouse promised.  “I couldn’t get a flight to the nearest airport so I ended up landing in Sheridan and I’m driving from there.  The GPS said I’ll be there around noon.  Is that okay?”

“It should be,” said Peggy.  She looked around.  “I can see a place called the Huckleberry Restaurant.  We’ll be waiting for you there.”

They sat in the diner all morning, drinking coffee and watching the cars go by outside.  Peggy and Howard were on the lookout for suspicious vehicles, but unless the HYDRA people were to show up in the exact same brown UPS truck, how were they to recognize them?  Kevin tried a couple of times to make conversation, but quickly realized that Peggy and Howard were too distracted to keep up their end, and took out his computer to continue working.

It was closer to one o’clock than to noon when a dark green car parked in front of the restaurant, and Toulouse got out, looking around furtively as she did so.  She must be worried about being recognized, Peggy observed, because her clothing today was downright drab – jeans, a black shirt, and an oversized sweater vest with a hood.  Her rainbow hair was stuffed underneath a knitted cap and her lipstick was a relatively ordinary shade of nude.  She spotted them, and hurried over to join them at their table.

Kevin looked up from his computer and did a double-take as she sat down across from him.  “Your Toulouse is Toulouse Sandhill?” he asked.  “The hotel heiress?”

“Ssssh!” Toulouse told him.  “Yes, I am!”

“This is officially the weirdest week of my life,” he declared.  “The only thing that could make it any weirder now is Bigfoot.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Peggy. She turned a bit in her seat to put a reassuring hand on the other woman’s shoulder.  “Toulouse, it’s all right,” she said.  “We’re all okay?”

But Toulouse put her head down on the table. “You didn’t see what was in that bunker,” she moaned.  “I’ve been waiting for the Men in Black to jump out and erase my memory any moment. They’ve got pictures of cows with their heads on backwards, and there’s things in the freezers that if they’re not aliens they’ve gotta be people, and that’s way worse.”

“Did you see anything like the machine we described to you?” Peggy asked.

Toulouse sat up again and shook her head.  “I did think about calling Cass,” she said, “even though you told me not to.  I thought I’d bring it up casually, like did you know the people who work here think there’s Area 51 in the basement.  Maybe he’d have an explanation for it… but what could the explanation possibly be, right?  It couldn’t be anything innocent.”  She rubbed at her nose.  “I didn’t know what to do.”

Deformed cows, Peggy thought… and possibly deformed humans as well?  Could it be that not everything transmitted through the machine made it to the other end of time in one piece?  If so, she and Howard were far luckier than they’d thought, and there was now a whole extra layer of complication to the idea of going back.  They would have to deal with that when the time came, though.

“So you didn’t call your father or brothers?” Peggy asked.  “Nobody knows you were in there?”

“Nobody,” said Toulouse.  “Unless somebody saw me.  I don’t know.”

“Then take us back there, and we’ll check it out,” Peggy said.  “It’s going to be all right, Toulouse.  You looked us up, remember, and it said that we get back safely, so it must turn out all right in the end.”  At least, Peggy hoped that was how it worked.

“That doesn’t mean it turns out all right for me,” Toulouse said.

She had a point there.  “I’m sure it will,” Peggy repeated – although she couldn’t help but think of Anna Jarvis, still alive but robbed of one of the things she’d wanted most in the world, all because she’d gotten involved with Peggy’s work.  “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.  When we find whatever clue Howard and I have left for ourselves, I’m sure it will tell us how to keep you safe.”

“I… I already thought about that,” said Toulouse. She reached across the table and stole Kevin’s can of Dr. Pepper, and gave it a shaky sip.  “I looked up where you are now and I tried to call  you.  And…”  She swallowed hard.  “You didn’t remember me.  I tried to remind you, but you just started babbling about Captain America and how the world had changed.  You didn’t know who I was at all, and I had to tell you my name over and over.”

Peggy had a sudden memory of her grandfather. He’d been a very sweet man who’d enjoyed telling fantastic tales about adventures he pretended to have had on the planet Mars, but towards the end of his life John Carter’s memory and personality had begun to decay.  By the time he was seventy, he’d done very little anymore but sit quietly in a chair staring off into space, and had no longer known who Peggy or her brother Michael were. Did such things run in families? Would Peggy’s father have turned out that way if he’d lived long enough?

“If you’d died on my watch, I would definitely remember you,” Peggy said.  “So in all honesty that’s a good sign.”

Toulouse nodded, but she was breathing in shudders. Peggy gently patted her back.

“Uh, excuse me,” said Kevin.  “What did any of that mean?”

Toulouse blinked.  “You didn’t tell him about the time travel stuff?” she asked.

“The what?” asked Kevin.

“Well, no,” Peggy admitted.  “It might be best if we didn’t.  You’re not coming with us to Los Angeles, after all.”

“The hell I’m not.”  Kevin folded his laptop and stood up.  “What if somebody knows I gave you a ride and finds me all alone in the middle of the woods?  I don’t wanna get thrown down that pit.  Or eaten by Bigfoot,” he added.  “At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised if I saw Bigfoot, and with my luck, he would eat me.”

“Don’t worry,” Toulouse said.  “I’m pretty sure Bigfoot is a vegetarian.”

[wri0thesley]

Being the Adult (Narancia)

You’re happy with Narancia. Really, you are - you just wish he’d take things a little more seriously. 

almost angst turning into definite fluff! sfw, fem pronouns (but i think its just one instance of the word ‘girlfriend’)! this was a commissioned work!

Sometimes you do feel like you have to play the role of the adult. You don’t really mind; honestly, knowing what you do about Narancia’s past and everything that’s lead up to this moment, you’re glad that he feels like there’s still some good and light left in the world. In so many other people, the way he’s been treated would lead to apathy. In Narancia, it’s lead to seeing everything around him through a sunny glow, a grin on his face, making the most of every moment he has. You suppose the business with Diavolo (insofar as you know about it) had also taught him to grab life with both hands, and you’re glad about that--

But sometimes, it just gets to you a little bit having to be the responsible one.

Sometimes you find yourself talking down to him, and you hate it. He’s probably seen more of the world than you; hell, you didn’t help defeat the mob boss of the most powerful mafia in Italy - and yet, you just can’t stop yourself. He pauses whilst you’re walking to point at someone’s dog across the street, already taking off to give it pats and call it a good boy. He grins and bounces around whilst he talks, hands moving as quickly as his brain, his train of thought jerking to a stop and resuming again until you’re not entirely sure what your conversation was about to begin with. And you find yourself, every so often, holding your hands up and telling him to slow down and let you think.

Or you find yourself calling across a busy street to tell him to be careful. Or grabbing ahold of him before he walks into a lamppost, telling him to calm down, rolling your eyes if he suggests doing something like catching a superhero movie at the cinema or playing video games.

And every time, you see his face fall just a little, and you feel like your heart is cracking into two pieces. You don’t mean to be so boring! You don’t mean to try and stifle him! You want to have fun too!

But you try and reassure yourself that one of you two has to be an adult, one of you two has to think things through, consider the consequences. If it has to be you, you guess you’ll have to accept your new role.

It doesn’t seem to work at all when it comes to making Narancia calm down. If anything, you trying to be the one taking control and acting like an adult makes it worse. It’s almost as if Narancia’s trying to prove something to both himself and you; trying to joke around, get people to laugh with him, get people to look at him in wonder about how cool he is and how much they’d like to be like him.

When you go to dinner with all of Passione’s inner sanctum, it’s always Narancia who tries to make the waiter laugh (no matter how improbably fancy the venue, and with Giorno at the helm, the restaurants are often improbably fancy). It’s always Narancia who makes a joke that just falls a little flat; a little too blue, or a little too rude, or just so off the mark that Abbacchio rolls his eyes and breathes a sharp sigh and calls the waiter over to bring him an extra glass of wine. It’s always Narancia who runs his mouth; who blurts out something that is clearly not intended for a public place. It’s always Narancia who’s toeing the line.

Even when you’re alone--

Even when you’re alone, you’ve noticed that Narancia can get a little bit over-excited. That his touches on your waist and his kiss are fumbled a little, that he presses a little bit too much without understanding what he’s doing, that he’s overcompensating with big talk and attempts to make bigger physical overtures to you; once he’d bit down so hard on your lower lip you’d started bleeding. Once he’d given you a nosebleed because as he’d launched himself at you to kiss you, his forehead had collided with your nose. More than a few times, there’s been an awkward scuffle as you two try and get in a comfortable position for cuddling and you’ve been bruised by elbows and knees that never seem to stay where Narancia puts them to begin with.

It’s the elbows and knees that do it for you, in the end. Narancia’s knee connecting with your midsection as you crawl across the bed to try and rest your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder and he rolls in an attempt to get into the position he thinks is optimal for snuggles; in his wriggling, he hits you hard on the stomach and you roll away with a soft ‘oof’, pain blossoming from where the two of you had collided.

It had already been a stressful day. Narancia and you had gone out for lunch with Mista, who is not a calming influence at the best of times - your food had been a little cold, and you’d mentioned it to Narancia, and he’d made a huge deal out of it when the server had returned for the bill. It’s not something you’d cared about that much, and you’re sure that Narancia had felt like he was doing you a favour, trying to be the big man or whatever - but it had just made you feel embarrassed and awkward. Narancia probably wanted to be a knight in shining armour. But that’s not what you want from him! You just want him to be himself.

“For God’s sake,” you find yourself snapping, the words coming out before your brain has time to think about how your boyfriend might react to them. “Can’t you just think about what you’re doing for once in your life?”

Narancia stares at you for a moment as the words sink in, before his face twists into distress and he replies to you, sounding a little breathless;

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“It’s not that and you know it!” The words are spilling out of you after being held back all day. You know this is not a smart move. You know, for all he tries to bluster, Narancia is actually kind of sensitive; but you’ve spent the past months of your relationship trying not to let your frustrations show because you can’t believe how lucky you are that Narancia even wants you back. Months worth of vitriol comes out of you now. “It’s everything! You’re always trying to prove something, a-and I don’t know who you’re trying to prove it to! but it’s damn well not working on me!”

Narancia’s eyebrows draw in, full mouth twisting into a pout.

“Maybe if you took me seriously I wouldn’t have to try and prove anything to you!” He replies, his own voice rising in pitch and volume too. You’re used to his particular rises in volume being to do with excitement rather than anger, and you’re actually kind of scared to find out how hard Narancia sounds when he’s not being good-natured. You know Narancia is dangerous; you know Aerosmith isn’t a purely defensive stand. But Narancia has always been nothing but kind to you. Hearing this side of him is a little bit harrowing, honestly. Your fingers twist and untwist on the covers of the bed, the place where his knee had collided with you seeming to pulse in time with the beat of your heart.

“I do take you seriously,” you say, a little softer than before. Is that really what he thinks? “But you act like a kid all of the time--”

“You don’t,” he replies, forcefully, and when you look up to meet his eyes. Ordinarily, they’re a bright shade of violet; almost laughing, happy, eyes that make you feel lifted just to see them. Today, though, their colour has been muddied somewhat, and you know why; because they’re practically swimming in tears. Narancia’s always seemed so tough. He’s been through so much, and you don’t know how much of it he cried for, but plenty of it seems tear-worthy; that he’s crying now, because of you . . . It makes your stomach twist in discomfort and makes you feel like the worst girlfriend in the whole world. “You don’t take me seriously. Nobody takes me seriously, and I’m kinda used to that, but when it’s you doing it--”

“All of us take you seriously,” you say, trying to placate him and rid him of the tears that are threatening to roll down his cheeks. Oh, you don’t know what you’ll do if he cries-- “I take you seriously, and you know Buccellati does, and Giorno takes everything everyone says seriously--”

This time, Narancia’s voice is a little bitter.

“Of course you’d mention them,” he says, and you don’t miss the scorn lacing his words. You know he’d never be scornful of Buccellati, or Giorno - so does that mean, then, that the scorn is directed at you?

“I--I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, face creasing into concern, and Narancia lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. In a different time and place, the huff and the way his mouth turns into a pout would be cute, but it’s hard to find anything cute right now.

“You know,” he says, “I mean. I know. It’s obvious you’d rather be with one of them than me. And I get it, I guess. I just--”

“Narancia,” you say, and you lean over. Your hand comes to rest on his, and you look into his eyes with a look on your face that you hope he sees as earnestness. You need him to believe you. “There is literally nobody I would rather be with than you.” He looks at you, lip trembling, and you get the impression that he doesn’t really believe you. That’s fine, though. You’ll convince him if you have to.

You take his hand into your lap, and try and think about what you’re saying.

“I guess I get a little bit worried about you,” you admit. “I don’t like feeling like I’m ruining your fun, y’know? Sometimes I feel like I have to be the adult. But I promise I’m not looking at Bruno or Giorno or any of your friends like that! That’d be a shitty move by me, right?”

“I’d get it,” he mumbles, a little shamefacedly. “They’re all suave and handsome and good and shit, and I’m just Narancia. Y’know. Lovable comic relief. Not to be taken seriously. Cute and not handsome.”

“Whilst I do think you’re very cute,” you say, a smile beginning to tug at your lips now that Narancia has stopped looking like he’s in immediate danger of sobbing. “I think you’re exceedingly handsome too. I mean, Bruno and Giorno are good-looking, I suppose - but they’re not you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out as a grumble that’s so soft you barely hear it.

“I jus’ want you to think I’m cool too.”

You squeeze his hand again, and he meets your eyes looking a little bit more hopeful than before. The hope in his eyes makes your heart and your stomach do a little somersault; this is the Narancia you fell so hopefully in love with from across the crowded halls in meetings with the Don of Passione. This is the Narancia that you watched from afar and wished would notice you. The Narancia that you’d felt so special when he’d smiled at you and known your name and asked you if you wanted to maybe get gelato together (he’d forgotten his wallet and you’d paid, laughing)--

“I think you’re cool already,” you tell him earnestly. “I think you’re just about the coolest guy I know without having to try. But when you do try . . .” Your face screws up, nose wrinkling. “I think when people try and be cool it’s probably the least cool thing they can do.”

Narancia looks a little shamefaced. Someone who cares as much about their coolness as he does knows what you just said to be an irrefutable truth, you think - you give him an encouraging smile anyway.

“I just want you to think I’m the coolest,” he repeats. “I’m tryin’ my best here!” He’s getting a little agitated, knee bouncing up and down; mindful of what happened last time Narancia’s knees got out of control, you shift a little closer to him so you’re almost touching. You try and imbue every ounce of feeling you have for him into your next words; try to channel how much you love him, how glad he’s made you in the past few months, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with him by your side;

“You don’t need to try.”

“But if you leave me because I fuck up--”

“I’m not leaving. I promise.” You’re struck suddenly by the thought of the boy who took advantage of Narancia’s nature; the one who convinced him to dye his hair and sent him to juvenile detention in his place, and your heart aches. You and all of the rest of Passione are not going to leave Narancia, of course - but Fugo had come so close, and Narancia didn’t grow up with too many figures whom he could trust, and of course he’s afraid that you’re going to up and abandon him. “I know that things are hard. For you. For everyone. But I’m here for good.”

“I’m just tryin’--”

“Narancia,” you say, and the stern tone in your voice finally makes him seem to take notice. His shoulders square, his mouth twisting, as he looks you full-on. “I promise, you don’t need to try. You can let go of the walls around me a bit. You can just be you.”

“What if . . . What if the you that you think I am isn’t the you that I am?” He replies back with, a challenge in his tone. “What if it’s the wall or whatever that you like and not the me?”

“You just like being contrary,” you tell him, with narrowed eyes, and you win a bark of laughter. Narancia’s lips when he laugh look so inviting. You want to lean into him, to kiss him until neither of you remember your own names-- no, concentrate. Narancia’s fragile, for all of his thunder. You need to pick up his pieces again first. “I fell in love with you. Not the wall. And I know it’s you and not the wall because I can tell when you’re putting it up.”

Narancia sighs.

“Is at least a real good-looking wall?” He asks, and it’s your turn to laugh. His face turns serious even as you stifle the giggles. “Are you really in love with me?”

Fuck, was that the first time you’ve said it out loud?

You’d hoped that your admission of love to Narancia would be somewhere a little nicer. Somewhere a little more romantic. Your six month anniversary is coming up, and Giorno’s got enough connections to get you tickets for a concert Narancia would like and a reservation at a restaurant you’ll like and entrance into an exclusive club where you know Narancia will have an amazing time dancing. You’d planned to do something special for it! You wanted Narancia to remember it!

But it looks like you’ve already put your foot in it, so you may as well accept it. You breathe out, slow and steady, and make sure that you’re looking Narancia square on into his - handsome, beautiful, real fucking cute - face.

“Yes.” You say. “I love you, Narancia Ghirga. Probably more than I should. You’re kind of annoying, sometimes? But mainly you just make me happy and feel like I could do anything I wanted to do. And . . . And I want to spend as much time with you as I can, and I don’t want you to be mad at me, and I really really don’t want you to cry. Ever.”

Narancia blinks at you for a few moments, clearly taking some time to process this new announcement. It’s clearly not something he minds, though - as he stops, his face splits into a grin, and you could cry with relief. You don’t know what you’d have done if he’d stumbled over his words and said you were really great and all, but that’s just not where he imagined you two going and it was just fun and was never meant to be serious or anything--

“Aww, amore!” He says, and he opens his arm wide. “Come here! Let’s cuddle! I love you too!”

This time, he waits for you to crawl over the bed, and you thankfully manage to avoid any of the Narancia’s knees related pitfalls that had befallen you earlier. You’re still a little slow as you rest your head on his chest (just to make sure, of course), but when you do, his arm goes easily around you. His movements are slower, and less frenetic, and although it’s not the Narancia you’re used to, it’s a good Narancia that makes you feel soft and warm and wanted.

“I’m glad,” you say, and then you wrinkle your nose as you settle closer to his heart. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically in your ear, the noise soothing and making you feel closer to him than ever. “I wanted to tell you somewhere special. I wanted to make it feel like it was important.”

Narancia’s hand comes down, resting lightly on the top of your head before he begins to pull strands of your hair out as he strokes them. You’ve always loved having people play with your hair, and you relax into the touch - you’d always suspected, from the small but perfectly formed inner workings of Aerosmith, that Narancia had a side that was a little more concerned with details. Your suspicions are proved correct by the gentle way he handles you as you lay there in his embrace.

“Amore,” he murmurs, beginning to sound a little bit sleepy, “anywhere I’m with you is the most important place in the world.” He stifles a yawn at the end of the sentence, and you can’t resist the chance to tease him a little bit. This will be the true test of whether you’ve upset him beyond compare; Narancia is always up for a good laugh.

“That was real cheesy,” you tell him, “put the wall back up.”

The words hang in the balance for a brief period of time, and you think you’ve fucked up - and then, the sound of Narancia’s laugh fills the air, and you relax once more.

“Get used to it!” He tells you. “This is the real me! Cheesier than Mista at his worst! I’m gonna - uh - I’m gonna fuckin’ serenade you! Gonna buy you a hundred red roses and fill the entire fuckin’ house with them-- gonna . . . gonna . . .” He yawns, again, and the arm around you tightens. “Gonna fall asleep cuddlin’ you. Real romantic, huh?”

“Real romantic,” you affirm, settling into him. Narancia is warm, despite the bare arms, and his bed is really very comfortable. He’s a little bashful when he speaks next, though.

“Jus’ . . . jus’ don’t go spreadin’ around how romantic I am to everyone, huh? It can be our little secret.”

“Okay,” you reply to him. You’ll happily keep his secret, if it means you’re the only one who gets to share this soft, warm, cuddle tousled Narancia with the messy hair and the dusting of a blush on his cheeks.

Sometimes, being the adult means getting to be a little selfish.

[martinscardigan]

A Year in The Making

Jack Kelly x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,474

AN: Abuse TW, Death Mention TW, tbh though its mostly fluffy

The reader is a singer at Medda’s theatre where she meets Jack while he’s painting a back drop for the theatre. She moves into an apartment above the theatre, and when she can’t sleep she wanders down to the stage, where she finds Jack can’t sleep either. 

IDK Y’ALL its a little angsty, mostly fluffy, and I’m super nervous about posting this so yeah sorry my summary is kinda awful!

Shout out to Trevor @hopeful-broadwaybaby for reading this and helping me be chill with posting it. You a real homie for listening to me screech about this for honestly like half an hour?? <3  

You will never forget the first day you saw him, Jack Kelly. You were walking backstage at Medda’s theatre, looking for Ms. Medda so you could get some help with part of your costume when you ran into him.

He was covered in paint splatters, most notably a long blue streak right across his forehead. The blue brought out the shade of his eyes. And rendered you almost speechless.

“Oh- uh, sorry,” you blushed taking a step back.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You lookin’ for somethin?” His voice seemed not to match the soft artist that was in front of you.

“I’m just looking for Ms. Medda, I need some advice with this thing,” you gestured to your costume, one of your sleeves was falling off because it hadn’t been stitched correctly. If you went on wearing this, it would not bode well for your career.

“I hear one shoulder dresses are in fashion,” he joked a smirk on his face. You dead panned, knowing that your life was at stake. He seemed taken back, “Uh, I saw her that way.”

You walked the direction he pointed, putting a hand to your heart nervously. You felt your heart racing, what was that? More accurately who was that?

“Hey, uh,” You heard his unmistakable voice, “The name’s Jack Kelly.” You turned back to him and smiled.

“I’m known as Glitz around here, thanks for the help.” You had regained some of your confidence as you had walked away from him, being not as close broke the spell a little.

-

You continued to see Jack around the theatre, which was basically your home. Medda let a few of her girls stay in the apartment upstairs, you included. Your family was a little, rough around the edges. After the first few times you showed to work with bruises Medda insisted you move in.

You knew Jack stayed the night at the theatre sometimes, and one night being unable to sleep was one of those nights. You wore a white nightgown and wandered down to the theatre. You sang for your act, much like Medda. Holding a candle you sat in the center of the dark theatre, humming to yourself the song you sang for your act.

“Why can’t I sleep?” You wondered out loud, laying back on the stage.

“Rough night?” You heard Jack Kelly’s voice rise from the shadows. You immediately jump up from your relaxed position, vividly aware you are in nothing but a nightgown.

“Dear god Jack, don’t scare me like that. And come down here, if we’re both here, we might as well talk,” You ran your hands through your hair your heart racing loudly in your ears. You heard his steps echo in the empty theatre, and he appeared in his undershirt. You had seen it before, but always when he was painting, and never in such close proximity to see the myriad of bruises lining his arms.

He sat across from you, his dark hair splayed across his forehead and a sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked quietly, the candle light made him look almost angelic though you knew he was anything but.

“No, there’s a lot on my mind,” you shrugged. He raised his eyebrows asking you to continue speaking. “Tomorrow would have been my little sister’s birthday, it weighs heavily on my mind.”

You pulled your knees to your chest as Jack studied you for a moment, his blue eyes turned a shade darker.

“She still around?” Jack asked quietly. You shook your head in response, hair falling in your face. Jack gently pushed the hair that fallen in your face, the touch brought blush to highlight your cheekbones. Quietly he apologized, unsure of what to say next.

“It’s okay, I mean, nothing I can do now right?” You swallowed down the lump that took residence in your throat.

“Hey, don’t say that, I miss my mom and dad every day,” Jack tried to comfort you. You drew away quickly.

“How do you deal with it?” You ask after a few moments of silence.

“Look around ya, I paint,” Jack shrugged, you looked around at the backdrops that he had painted, glowing dimly in the light of the candle.

“Can you teach me? All I can do is sing,” you shrug sending him a half smile half expecting him to just laugh.

“Sure,” Jack looks around for a moment, then stands, offering you his hand. You take it hesitantly, he leads you to an old backdrop, one of his first as Medda had explained. “Stay here for a moment.”

You stay, looking at the well done painting of mountains, trees standing out and blue and purple flowers lining the bottom edge of the painting. The way the candle lit the canvas it could almost be misconstrued as sunset. You could hear Jack’s footsteps backstage, along with the sliding of various objects. When he reappeared, he held a few cans of paint and several paint brushes.

“Oh Jack, what?” You gasp, taking a surprised step back.

“You asked if I could teach ya, and we won’t find any time in the day with me sellin’ papes and all, so nows a good a time as any,” Jack shrugged, placing the things on the ground.

That night was the day you consider your friendship with Jack to have started.

-

Fast forward 3 months, and Jack had invited you to lunch at Jacobi’s. You wore a plain blue gingham dress, the hem was muddied up from walking in the bowery in it. You fidgeted with a loose piece of hair as you walked to the deli.

You saw his figure leaning against the building and your heart jumped. You had a huge crush on him since that night he first tried teaching you to paint, but unwilling to ruin your friendship, you never acted on the inclination.

“Aren’t you a sight to behold?” Jack drawled when you were in earshot. A small blush lit your cheekbones. You had met a few of the boys before, Crutchie, Race, Specs, but knowing that a boatload of Newsies waited for you behind the door made you nervous.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” You teased, smiling at him in greeting.

“Well,  you know what they say, Ladies first,” Jack offered his arm, and you took it, rolling your eyes as you were sure he was flexing. He held the door open to you and inside the Deli was a messy group of Newsies. Most of them paused at you entering, Crutchie smiled at you and Race waved. Jack rolled his eyes at everyone.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” He called to the Newsies who resumed their previous conversations. “Sorry, they ain’t used to girls.”

“It’s okay, I ain’t used to boys,” you laugh. Jack leads you to a table a little ways off from everyone else. Jacobi comes, carrying two sandwiches. You look at Jack with surprise, you had never discussed it, but it was pretty well known that you were better paid for working at the theatre than Jack was selling papes.

“Jack! What is this?” You gasp, thanking Jacobi for the food.

“I invited ya, I just wanted to treat ya to somethin’ nice.” Jack lifted his hat from his head and ran his hand through his hair as a bright blush lit his face.

“Well thank you,” you smiled timidly. You panicked and changed the topic to the weather, but you would never forget the look in Jack’s eyes at that moment.

-

Things truly started to change a few days after the strike. You noticed how Davey mellowed him out, and how adorable Jack was around Les. Romance was in the air as Katharine and Sarah hit it off right away, and Davey had an interest in a girl from Brooklyn.

You found yourself in Jack’s penthouse one night, the newsies had not stopped partying for almost 3 days straight, and Papa Newsie was damn near exhausted. You had never seen him so tired, and you took the evening off to make sure he also took the day off.

“Jack, sit down.” You grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to push him down. He resisted you, laughing at the attempt.

“I’ll sit when I want to, I need to make sure the boys don’t kill themselves,” He tried to push past you. You stood your ground sending Jack a look that said if he even tried he would regret it.

“Davey, Katherine, Sarah, and Specs are all down there, and I asked them to make sure to watch them. Crutchie is down there too, and you know that he mellows them out.” You explain, crossing your arms, continuing your glare.

“Fine, fine, but you have to stay with me,” Jack drawls. You couldn’t smell any alcohol on him, he stopped drinking months ago when you told him that your abusive father was an alcoholic. But he was damn straight loopy with exhaustion.

“That’s why I’m not singing right now, doofus,” you laugh. “Okay, now go lay down, do you need any help?”

“Help laying down?” Jack asks, his eyebrows arching.

“Jack you’re damn near drunk with exhaustion,” you eek out, you try to avert your eyes as Jack starts to peel layers. First the suspenders, then the vest, then the button up. He pauses for a second, glancing back at you before peeling off the dirt and paint stained undershirt.

“I need to take it off, so I can air out my wounds,” He looks at you, and you have turned bright red. You take in the cuts and bruises from the fights over the last several days, and immediately want to start crying.

“Jack,” you whisper, coming closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Jack freezes as you investigate his back, your fingers lightly grazing the larger cuts and pressing a little more firmly into the bruises. You reach a bruise on his left shoulder.

“Oh, Shit, don’t do that!” Jack yelped in pain turning back around to face you.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Does your shoulder hurt?” You ask, concern in every word.

“Y/N everything on me hurts,” He sighs sitting down. He holds a hand out and you take it, sitting down next to him on the wooden floor of the fire escape. In the recent months you had become more comfortable with touching each other, Jack placed his arm around you.

“Jack, don’t.” He looks at you with hurt in his eyes and you quickly make an amendment to what you have just said. “I mean, I don’t want you to hurt yourself if doing that hurts you.”

“I’m fine,” he just tightens his grip and you can feel the heat radiating off of his skin. “Hey uh, Y/N, can I ask yous a question?”

You felt your heart leap, he only ever really called you your real name if it was serious, and you gathered that it was this time.

“Sure,” You responded simply, not really looking at him.

“Is it okay if I like you? Like really like you? Like want to kiss you?” The words tumbled out of Jack’s mouth quickly, so quick that for a moment you were unsure if you had heard him correctly.

“Go home Jack, you’re drunk.” You mumble under your breath, but he’s looking at you and listening so intently that the comment really stung.

“I’m not, I just, I’s just got feelings. Lots of them,” Jack says. You decide that he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning, so you turn to look at him.

“Jack, of course it’s okay, I’ve had a crush on you since we first met backstage at Medda’s.” The truth leaves your lips for the first time and all of a sudden it’s like reality itself has come crashing down around you.

“Now I know I must be dreamin’, because the Glitz I know she’s too shy to ever tell me her real feelins’” Jack says in his loopy half asleep voice. You had slept up here with him a few times, just curled in his arms when you were anxious, so you knew what that voice sounded like very well.

“Jack, go to sleep.” You lean down with him, and almost as soon as he’s horizontal, his eyes fade closed. When his arm around you goes limp, you sit up and study him. Jack is ripped, more so than anyone you had ever seen before. He’s also covered in bruises, and has a black eye that is just barely starting to heal.

The words you said kept bouncing around in your head, having a crush on him since that first day at Medda’s. You knew he was out like a light, so you leaned down and slowly pressed your lips to his cheek. Your movement was soft, barely any pressure involved, but sure enough, you saw Jack’s eyes open.

“Oh crap,” You say as you pull back. “This is just a dream?”

You fail at convincing him and he sits up, staring at you with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Jack presses a hand to his cheek in disbelief. You can tell he’s still wildly tired, but more aware now than before.

“I wasn’t lyin’ Jack.” You state simply, preparing yourself for the heartbreak you knew that you were about to experience. Jack pauses for a moment, cocking his head to the side for a moment, his eyebrows asking a question. He leaned in, and you caught your breath.

When his lips were mere centimeters from yours, you heard a strangled, “You sure?”

“Yes.” And his lips crash into yours. In moments, his hand is at the small of your back, pushing you closer, and your hand knots into his hair. It’s a wild kiss, a kiss that’s been a whole year in the making. You shift so you can be closer to him- to your Jack. Breathing in his scent and just feeling the texture of his skin beneath your finger tips.

His hands move from your back to your hair, finding the pin you used to keep it up, and pulling that pin out. You shivered as you felt your hair cascade down your back.

After a few moments, the kiss softened and Jack pulls back from you. A smile on his face that almost outshines the moon.

“You sure this ain’t a dream?” Jack says, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You grin and attempt to straighten his hair.

“It better not be, I better wake up in your penthouse to the sun rising in the east, and Jack Kelly- my Jack Kelly by my side.” You grin, your brain barely functioning.

“Your Jack Kelly, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“I do too.”

[elejah-verse]

I Can Dream About You/3

Fanfiction

Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Another time...another place... A Rock’n’Roll Fable

AU TVD/TO story

With Klaus Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson, Caroline Forbes, Rebekah Mikaelson, Stefan Salvatore and others

a/n: I just want to say thanks to everyone liking this story and reading. Love you to bits. xoxo

tags @rissyrapp20 @dendrite-lover @elejahforever

_____

Stefan arrived at the Salvatore Mansion parking his bike in front of the main entrance, together with his biker mate Enzo. The walked inside in their muddy biker boots, smelling of machine oil, not caring about where they now took off their jackets. Lily Salvatore, having heard the bikes pull in got out of the lounge to meet her son.

 "How I've missed you"- the woman now moved to her son giving him a kiss on the cheek, which Stefan let her, just to please her. He didn't like her molly-cuddly ways, so he quickly moved away.

"Can you please put the jackets away- if your father sees them with that sign on the back, you know how furious he would get"- Lily asked in a sweet mellow voice.

The jackets had a black reaper sign at the back with the name of his biker gang- RIPPERS.

"I really don't care if he sees it or not. I am not staying long. I just came to get some stuff"- Stefan walking now up the stairs to his room. 

Lily was now slightly agitated and she hurried after her son, trying now to talk to him to reconsider leaving the family altogether.

"He didn't mean it. You know how furious he gets, but then when he calms down, he sees sense"- Lily said referring to the very heated argument Stefan had with his father Giuseppe the day before, adding-

"Your brother is getting married tomorrow. Will you not be standing as his best man?"

"I am. I promised Damon, and I will do it. But that's the last family thing I will do."- Stefan said.

"Oh, Stefan, why are you so stuborn. See, how Damon changed. He found a good girl, he will start a family- what will happen to you?"

"Come on, mom. Damon is doing this for the money." - Stefan said.

"It's not true. He loves Rebekah."- Lily said.

"Keep telling yourself that."- Stefan shot back at his mother.

Lily's eyes now watered. She could not believe, or accept that her sweet little boy changed so much. She blamed it on the bad company he kept, turning him into, what she considered, bandits. She tried to get him away from the bikers and get him back to be her golden boy. But after having felt the taste of freedom, and not having to live according to his father's rules, there was no turning back. 

So, how did Y/N get involved with the likes of Stefan Salvatore? 

Well, after Elijah left, without  giving her any particular explanation, she went from shellshock mode, into sadness, which transformed into anger and then not caring much. And at that point when she was lingering between anger and not caring  much what will be, she hooked up with Stefan at a New Year's party in the Diner. Which was roughly some six months after Elijah had left. And so they went from seeing one another on occasion, to seeing one another quite frequently. He treated her good when they were together. They had fun. It was nothing heavy, and she didn't want it to be, and neither did Stefan. She swore to herself she would never fall hard for a guy, like she fell for Elijah. 

She was in love with the dapper SEALs marine from the first hello they had exchanged when they met at the Mystic Fall's Lake Fest, nearly four years ago. And it was bliss, even though her parents had reservations about her dating seven year her senior. When they met, Y/N had just turned 18. But since he was the most responsible Mikaelson, they didn't mind. He had already had a rank of commander in the Navy Seals. And he was reconsidering retirement and getting out of the force. But there were not many people like him around, so very capable, honourable and reliable, and the Navy couldn’t  let him go just yet, granting him only free time till further notice. It was unheard of, but in certain occasions, certain operatives got more than some ordinary military officer would get. 

After hellish five years of service as part of the special operative forces, living a life that was strictly about the operations, returning home to Mystic Falls, he plunged into what some would call just a normal life, completely giving himself into all that it offered. He enjoyed the time with his family, his sister and brother. Letting himself fall in love. Same as Y/N, he had fallen hard. The military and his operative life seemed to be a different universe, he had blocked out, as if someone compelled him to do so. 

He had told Y/N bits and pieces of what his military past, but he could not tell her exactly what he was doing and definitely not about the ops. And whenever she would start to ask more questions, he would override the conversations kissing her, or talking about some every days stuff, her stuff- or his family's, like he wanted to completely erase that he was a navy officer. 

"Let's talk about how beautiful this sunset is"- he would say as they sat down at their favourite spot at the pier-"navy life is so boring. We're like robots sometimes, everything is 9:00 this or 15:00 that- I love to watch the colours the sun paints tonight- or - how the rays play out the brown shades of your eyes"- looking at her like no other looked at her before. Kissing her like no other did before, making love to her like no other made before.

And then all was gone one day- just like that. Puff. Only a letter remained and a heart that stopped beating with the love. At least with the love it beat for him. 

At the Mystic Falls Lake, now, Y/N  stopped crying. She looked at herself in the review mirror. Her eyes were all puffed up. 

“No more crying over him. This is done.” - she now put the engine on and drove away from the place. As she got back to the house, she tried to wash it with extremely cold water, hoping to reduce the puffiness. She hated feeling the way she felt. All mushy. But, it could not be helped. The emotions she had bottled up for a very long time now played like someone let million butterflies boxed up loose. She now flashed back at the brief moment earlier as his hands on her arms, him being so near her. She now gulped shivering up inside. 

A knock at the bathroom door, hearing Caroline's voice brought her back to reality. She answered her friend that she would be out in a minute. Y/N now wiped her wet face off with a towel. Running her hands through her hair she took a deep breath, and then got out to meet her friend.

As she got out, Caroline noticed immediately that she had been crying.

“What’s happened?”

Y/N now had to tell her what had happened earlier at the Mystic Lake.

"He went there? Oh! That means he is still hung up on you"- Caroline said enthusiastically.

"And so what if he is. What's the point. He will leave again. Maybe already in a few days when the wedding is done. And I am so stupid to even cry over someone like him. I wish I had never met him."- Y/N said with an angry tone.

"And what if he is not"- Caroline said.

"Please can we talk about something else- like are we going out to the movies."

Caroline was not so happy about Y/N swaying of the subject. She would want to now dissect every detail of the conversation, of the move he made, her friend made, what his facial expression was. And, of course make an elaborative plan how to get the man of her friend’s dream back. But, she understood that Y/N wouldn’t want to rake through her heartache involving this particular man, and she now said somewhat resigned with a huff-

"We can do. Streets of Fire are on. Or rebel without a cause"- Caroline said.

"Streets of Fire"- Y/N chose.

"So- how about the non-bachelorette party?"- Caroline asked-"she didn't invite you even though you are Stefans +1"- by she the blonde meant Rebekah.

"Are you kidding me? She would rather have her head shaved than invite me. And who wants to be with those five fakes anyway"- Y/N now referred to Rebekah's female clique. 

"You're right"- Caroline said.

"Plus, I don't think I will go. He will be there"

"Elijah is her brother, of course he will be there.”

"Exactly"- Y/N said.

"But, you are Stefan's +1"- Caroline stressed out again.

"I can't be around Stefan now. Last night-  when he kissed me and we started - you know- but- when he touched me- I could not be with him. I don't know why- I pushed him away- and he left pissed off-"

"Seriously? Did you really push him away?"

"I did. Told him that I was tired and - never mind. I really have a headache. Can we have a rain check. I really don’t feel like going anywhere.”

"Oh, no. You can't stay at home. It would look like you are pining over him- Elijah I mean. And everyone will be out on the town tonight. It’s the bachelor and bachelorette night of the year I also heard there will be a chickie run tonight. De Martels are organizing it. It's all a hush thing- but everyone who is everyone will be there. You can’t miss this.”

Chickie run or a chicken race was a illegal race thing, where guys test their gall and bravery by taking their cars to the cliff and racing them towards the edge. The first one who jumps out is considered chicken.

Y/N hated such things. And she only went once to it back in High School.

"I am not going there."- Y/N said-"it's such an immature thing to do."

"Right. Movies then"- Caroline said.

"Yes, the movies. Ok. Let me change." - Y/N now went to her wardrobe and started looking at the dresses and sweaters. Finally she got her skinny jeans out and decided to wear a white shirt with it. She put her new red high heel shoes, and wrapped a short red scarf around her neck. Deciding after a while what to do with her hair, she pulled it up in a ponytail.

“Ready”- she said to her friend as she got out of the bathroom, giving herself one more look in the mirror.

_____

Earlier, at the Mikaelson Mansion

After the meeting with Y/N at the Lake, Elijah went directly back to the Mansion.  And straight to their gym, down in the area of the cellar. He took his jacket off- put the boxing gloves on  and got all of his frustration out on the punching bag.

Klaus walked in the gym having been told by the many wedding staff that they saw Elijah go down to it. Elijah was still kicking the soul out of the bag.

"I gather you were with Y/N"-his brother remarked. 

Elijah stopped for a second, sweat dripping down his forehead now looking at Klaus-

"What is it? You don't have to check upon me. I just- I will be fine."

"Sure you will."- Klaus said-"ahm- well, Kol and I are going to the bachelor thing. Well, we are crushing it. Wanna come- you can actually punch the real face out of Stefan Salvatore"

"Not interested. We may not like the Salvatores, but Rebekah does. At least one of them. If he comes to the wedding with a busted lip, she will have your guts for garters."- Elijah now took the boxing gloves off adding-"This is my mess. I left the girl broken hearted. It has nothing to do with him." - Elijah grabbed his jacket now and walked out of the gym. 

Klaus followed him continuing to talk him into going out with them anyway. Maybe he would find someone else. Y/N could not be the only woman, surely, Klaus egged him on to look somewhere else.

"Not for me" Elijah said as they walked upstairs to their bedrooms-"why are you bothered so much about me. How is your love life? Kol tells me you and the bartender got close more than once. Forever playing the field? She seems a sweet woman"

"Camille? Well, yeah, she is sweet. But she doesn't move me"- Klaus said.

"Father will expect grandchildren soon"- Elijah said.

"Are you serious? What I am supposed to put shackles on just because he wants an heir. Rebekah is giving him one"

"But you are the first born"- Elijah now joked at the expense of his brother adding-"you know what he is like. Old school- Rebekah will be a Salvatore tomorrow, so- "

"So, you go and find someone and make him loads of grandkids. You're the marrying kind, which brings me to the point- you were so in love with Y/N, and I know she was crazy about her- how come you didn't ask her?"

Elijah now gave Klaus a serious look-"You're seriously asking me this"

"I am seriously asking you this"- Klaus said.

"Did you not see me the way I was when they got me out of that wretched place? By some strange providence I made it alive. And with my body limbs in tact"

When Elijah was rescued from the Burmese prison, Klaus went with Mikael to the Navy hospital in California where they transported Elijah. They could barely recognize him. He was skinny, malnourished. Had broken arm, leg. Beaten severely and mentally tortured. The op went horribly wrong as one of Elijah's squad was a traitor. Elijah spent more than  a year and a half recovering in California. No one knew about it, except for Klaus and Mikael and they were sworn to secrecy. The real truth was kept from Esther, as well as Kol and Rebekah.

Klaus now just nodded his face serious as well, muttering a sorry.

Elijah hated bringing all of that up and now told his brother that he would go get a shower and joined them a little later. 

All the time in California, he worked hard on his recovery. Mental and physical. All that time, as well as in prison, Y/N was always on his mind and in his heart. The thought of her had made him survive when he thought he would break down completely. Many times, during his recovery he would go to the phone and stand there wanting to make a call. But what could he say. And it would not be fair to her to drag her into his messed up world. She should be free to live a life without difficulties and study. He didn't want to take her away from her studies. Little did he know that she would abandon her pre- med and settle to be a nurse instead.

As he was leaving the Mansion, he caught up with Rebekah, who was going out herself-

"Please, make sure they don't get drunk like skunks. Damon, too. I want a nice day tomorrow. That goes for you, too "

"You have my word Miss Mikaelson"- Elijah saluted the blonde.

"Don't joke, Elijah. I'm serious"- Rebekah slapped him across the arm.

"I'm not joking. That's my mission for the night. I know what they are like"

"Good. I'm so happy you're back."- Rebekah said scampering away as her friends now arrived in a car to pick her up.

Elijah got into his Porsche and drove off as well.

💗💜❤️

The full moon smiled down at everyone that night. The bachelor party as well as the bachelorette party started off as usual. Drinks, dance, strippers appearing in each party. Elijah keeping a watchful eye at his brothers, till the De Martel brothers and friends appeared- crashing the party and causing everyone to  end up on the Mystic Hill on a dare. It was, of course about the Chickie race thing.

No matter how hard Elijah tried to convince Damon and Kol not to get into it, nothing could be achieved.

"You of all people know what honour means. This is not the navy, but I have to keep my honour up there"- Kol spat drunken at his brother.

Klaus, who had a bone to pick with Tristan anyway now said that he would go against him.

In all that craziness, Stefan arrived with his biker mates. Y/N and Caroline followed having heard in the diner about the race taking place.

She was a bit surprised seeing Elijah there, but it was soon clear that he tried to stop all of them involved from doing something stupid. And then, something extraordinary happened. One of Stefan's Ripper biker mates punched Lucian as he spat at the biker about something, which blew into a big punch up. In all the madness now Stefan, who was fuelled earlier by Enzo about how he saw Y/N and Elijah together talking sweetly to one another,  went  to Elijah swinging a punch at him. Elijah gave the biker as good as he got. Seeing what was happening, Y/N could not keep away as she knew this was about her now went to separate them, wedging herself between them- "STOP IT"- "ARE YOU MAD- ENOUGH! "

As both men felt their jaws now looking at each other with raging eyes,  someone shouted that cops were on the way, Stefan looked at Y/N meaning are you coming and she shook her head slightly meaning  a no. He just waved with his hand at her a whatever running away to his bike disappearing in the night with his friends.

Elijah now grabbed Y/N’s hand and they ran to his Porsche, her now shouting at him that she has to get Caroline.

"I saw her get away with Klaus"- Elijah said-”come on. We got to get away”

"Are you sure?"- Y/N asked.

"Yes. Don't worry. He'll take care of her."-Elijah replied.

"Ok"- Y/N said slipping inside Elijah’s Porsche now. Him pressing the gas full on, with the car screeching, they literally flying away from the place into the night.

-to be continued-

[daveywankenobie]

(Author sips coffee and sighs…)

February so far appears to be going pretty well.

Life is coming together very nicely – and with the possible exception of employment still being AWOL I have to say I’ve rarely been happier. This is more than mildly surprising because it’s fair to say that there was a time when I felt I’d never truly be accepted by the world or fit into it.

The truth is that I now feel a part of my surroundings and community in a way that I honestly never have before.

It’s never completely plain sailing mind you.

I guess it’s a feature of life (if it goes on long enough) that just when you think you’re sorted, on an even keel and have dealt with all of your demons that you find more of them popping out of the closet completely unannounced.

Amazingly – as painful (and deeply personal) as some of these can be to face up to – this time there is a significant difference. Now I’m not only, fitter, stronger, and more resilient – but I’m no longer dealing with them alone.

With a new relationship has come a gradual realisation that I no longer have to be the sole guardian of my self worth and belief – and that (in the same way as I hope I am in return) someone else now has a spare set of keys to my emotional vault.

That doesn’t mean they’re controlling of that element of me – it means that they are demonstrating again and again that they’re capable of not only enhancing but supporting me too.

Already I’m acutely aware that this is regularly making me think in ways that otherwise I would not have if I’d been left in splendid isolation.

It’s a pleasure (although sometimes also challenging) to see parts of myself that have been dormant for so long slowly whir back into life as I explore what it’s like to become ‘us’ rather than just ‘me’. Furthermore it’s great to have someone with many of the same – but also a continually surprising and divergent range of interests.

Again and again though I’m confronted with a pleasingly similar set of likes and dislikes.

I’d always thought in the back of my head that my taste in clothes (which is developing into a more colourful and flamboyant one all the time) would be a tough sell for a person that liked a more ‘buttoned down’ mode of dress.

All the designs I covet in shops however seem to not only meet with approval – but are greeted with enthusiasm – which is something I’m completely unused to.

Furthermore I’ve been introduced to a new set of clothing passions – which are (in some cases) things that I would never have previously considered – but now I find that I’m an ardent fan of as well.

Whilst I’ve never been particularly keen on high heels (the potential damage they can do to feet has always scared the living heck out of me) if they’re worn occasionally and they’re both unique and beautiful I find that I am inexplicably drawn to them.

At the weekend I was introduced to ‘Irregular Choice‘.

Oddly a regular twalking buddy had mentioned the online version of this shop before – but until I’d walked through the physical door of its premises in Brighton I’d not connected the dots and realised that it was the same place.

As regular readers will know I’m a seriously thrifty person.

My charity shopping habits are a matter of public record and I don’t like paying high street prices. Something has to either be heavily discounted in a sale or ‘pre-loved’ for me to consider buying it.

This has enabled a lot of experimentation – and I’m still going through a ‘developmental’ period in this respect.

However – there are some things that are so individual and beautiful that their cost is offset in my mind.

Sure – very little has changed in the ‘can Davey afford this kind of thing’ stakes (the answer is I cannot) but honestly there are some items that with the benefit of a regular income I’d definitely consider worthwhile.

Although I can wear nothing in this store it represents taste choices that I’ve never really considered – but that I suddenly love to bits. These shoes are the kinds of truly wonderful little pieces of art that I’d happily mount on my living room wall and admire from afar – yet they’re not much different in price from a pair of Clarkes or a mass produced pair of brand name trainers.

It blows my mind that I not only think this way – but that my opinions are shared. Not only is my experimental side okay but it’s suddenly something that’s being embraced with gusto.

Furthermore the nerdy geek in me (which represents a HUGE part of my personality) no longer feels the need to lurk in the background – which if I’m honest has not always been the case in the past.

Now when I linger peering excitedly into cabinets such as this there’s a murmer of approval nearby – and it’s nice to not feel like there’s any element of my personality that appears to need muting or modifying. The newly collaborative element in my life is also compatible when it comes other things too too – and thats great because something that I cannot do without is twalking.

This is so fundamental to who I am that without it I immediately feel like things are sliding in my life – or that I’m somehow heading for failure. It’s been so instrumental in my recent success that it’s forever going to dominate who I am as a person – and to know that I don’t have to hammer someone else’s square peg into my round hole is a joy that’s next to impossible to explain in words.

To know that when I’m navigating through a rainswept, muddy, miserable landscape framed by a grey sky with someone by my side that really doesn’t care what the weather is like as long as they’re outdoors is fantastic.

It’s much better though when the weather is just right and you can enjoy a cloudless blue sky while you sit down to look at the view whilst you sip your respective flasks of coffee and tea.

This weekend I’ve been exploring Birling Gap and the Seven sisters a little more.

However on Sunday I started at the other end of their span (last time I began my walk in Seaford – link) and I’ve decided that not only is it a really pretty little part of the world, but that I’m rather falling in love with it.

Despite my amorous inclinations though it’s also rapidly becoming the place in the world that I’m most likely to fall on my ass.

Although I never mentioned it in my previous posts this is the second time when I’ve unceremoniously felt my legs slip out from under me in the chalky mud around these parts. This glue like covering on the cliffs and in the nearby estuary has the habit of gumming up the tread on your boots and making it much harder to maintain a reliable grip.

When it’s combined with ice (as it was in the shaded parts of the seven sisters on Sunday) then it can result in a sore posterior and wrists – both of which invariably take the brunt of any sudden downward trajectory.

Thankfully it seems that another major benefit of me being a lot smaller these days is that my arms and ass remain unbroken when this occurs. All that gets damaged is my pride or the material in the rear of my trousers.

I don’t care though.

Muddy pants and boots are badges of pride – and I actually find it quite amusing that recently I’m slipping and sliding more than usual. As I headed home with the sun slowly going down over Cuckmere Haven the event barely even registered in my memory of the day.

My train of thought only moved on from the wonderful light and reflections when I started to think about what I was going to cook for dinner – which in this case was going to be for two.

This is a really positive new element in my life – because when I am preparing meals for someone other than just myself I eat noticeably less than I normally would when I’m on my own.

Not only am I more likely to keep to plan when I’m in company but during such evenings I typically spend much less time trying to modify or deal with the inevitable impact of solitary ‘boredom eating‘ – which if I’m honest has always been a big problem for me. It’s something that’s never really changed in all the time I’ve been attending Slimming World – or since I reached target.

My evenings have at times been a wasteland of cottage cheese pots, Aldi Benefit Bar wrappers and plum seeds or apple cores. I’m no different to anyone else with dietary demons in this respect.

It’s never really been a case of whether or not I will go off the rails – but how much I can limit the damage when I do.

Replacing this is a new push into making lovely meals that someone else can enjoy too – and thanks to many Slimming World food tasting sessions (and a willingness to experiment a little when they come around) I have a number of easy to make but delicious healthy meals in my cooking lexicon.

This ‘baked stuffed peppers’ example is something I first cooked (following guidance in a SW magazine) back in June 2016 (link) and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone that likes its ingredients.

I can confirm that it went down very well with its intended audience – and it’s so nice that this recipe is actually the reason that I started using 5% fat pork instead of beef mince in my chilli con carne.

It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt at the time that not only was it a significant upgrade from beef (I find that it’s far less chewy for one thing and almost identical in terms of calorie content) but the resulting taste was way better.

Furthermore its value (usually around £1 less than beef per 500g) seemed far more appealing because – since I cook a chilli every week without fail – this represented a saving of £52 per year – which for me is an entire week’s shopping in Aldi.

With all this good behaviour I’m well on track to being in target for my diamond member award – and last night when I attended one of Angie’s groups locally in Warwick I hit the weigh in nail squarely on the head.

After nearly a month out of group gallivanting around the country I managed a maintain – meaning I’m still smack bang on my target weight. 

I’m still squarely in the middle of my target range – and this also means that the last entry in my book will hopefully be when I secure my diamond target member status.

I’m not sure I could have planned that if I’d tried – but when I do my Slimming World book will contain an entire and complete record of my journey from my first weigh in to this very significant milestone.

If you want to see the entire history of my losses (and occasional mis-steps) you can find them here (link) or have a look in my homepage menu.

If you’re on your own journey then I can’t overstate how important it is to keep a log of what you’ve done right (and wrong). If you’re following Slimming World I also urge you to take the time to update your progress online in the app or on their web page.

Their graphing tools have kept me on the straight and narrow throughout my time following the plan – and it never fails to fill me with a sense of pride when I see its variations slowly smoothing out into one long gentle curve downwards – followed by a (relatively) straight line.

Looking at a history of where you’ve come from and where you’ve ended up – as well as recognising that sometimes things will go a little topsy turvey and that if they do it’s totally normal is a real help in times when you really don’t feel like you can be strong or focused.

Anyway – my day is ebbing away internet and I need to get walking. I can’t sit here talking to you all day long, regardless of how nice it is to catch up.

Let’s do coffee again later in the week x

Davey

  Shared flamboyance (Author sips coffee and sighs...) February so far appears to be going pretty well. Life is coming together very nicely - and with the possible exception of employment still being AWOL I have to say…

[tmiquotepage]

SILVER WAR: AN OFFICIALLY UNOFFICIAL FAN FICTION

Description: War has come. Mare, Cal, and the rest of the Rebellion against King Maven have taken the final step and an all out war across the continent ensues. Blood will be drawn on both sides of the fight. But whose side will run dry first? **This is my fan fiction version of what could happen in RQ4. Spoilers for all the previous RQ books!**

One

Mare

I fight the urge to punch yet another wall. Pain radiates from my scarlet-marred knuckles all the way up my arm and my shoulder, not doing anything to dispel the thoughts plaguing my mind.

Cal chose his crown. More than that, he’s chosen it over me. After swearing up and down for months that he didn’t want it, the smallest promise of getting his kingdom back has lured him away from whatever I thought we had. He didn’t choose me. He’ll never choose me.

I wish the thought would hurt more. I wish I could bring myself to cry or scream or even punch the wall one more time. But I don’t have any emotion left. All I have is the twinge of my abused hand and the sense of utter and complete emptiness. Between the battle, and Cal, and everything else that’s happened to me in the past year, I’m simply drained.

“You’re not saying anything,” Farley states plainly, arms crossed over her chest. “Not like any of the Barrows to keep their mouths shut.” Though her face is a mask of disinterest, I’ve known her long enough to recognize the slightest concern in her voice. It should infuriate me, but the lick of anger that shoots through me dies before I even really feel it.

“What am I supposed to say?” I mutter. When I said it in my mind, it came out as a haughty retort. Instead, it comes out flat. The muddy ground slops around my boots as I turn to slink back against the cool rock wall behind me. I can’t meet Farley’s gaze—not right now, not like this—so I cast my gaze down to the battered flesh of my hand.

I poke at one of the dark bruises, nearly black beneath the skin. The pain is biting, but momentary, and I barely have time to wince before it ebbs back into a dull ache. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve fractured a bone or two. Maybe even broken one.

I’m reminded of Gisa’s hand, after that chaotic day in Summerton, what feels like a lifetime ago. Her slim fingers, better suited to sewing than thieving, catching on a Silver’s bag as she tried to rob them. To help me, I recall. To help steal the money Kilorn and I would need to pay Farley to escape conscription. Gisa’s been healed since, as I’m sure I’ll be soon enough. But I don’t think the image of shattering bones and bruise-painted skin afterward will ever be purged from my mind.

“This alliance had to happen, Mare,” Premier Davidson interjects, breaking me from my reverie with his patented calm tone. I meet his impassive gaze with a glare. How dare you lecture me on what had to happen? You don’t know me. You don’t get to talk to me right now. Ignoring the flurry of messages I try to convey through my eyes, Davidson just continues. “With the war in the Lakelands over, the King is finally able to dedicate his time and forces to defeating the Revolution. With a King on our side, the rightful King that Maven helped usurp, we will be more powerful than ever. And with the Reds and Newbloods and Silvers behind him? Tiberias will be undefeatable.”

His name is Cal, I want to snap at the Premier. Tiberias is his father. But the words don’t make it past my lips. I can’t find it in me to fight for him right now.

“Fighting together,” Davidson continues in his placating voice, “we can wipe Archeon off the map, and the boy king along with it.”

Even the thought of Maven cuts through me, sharper than any blade of Evangeline Samos. After all he’s done, the pain he’s caused and the blood he’s spilt, I want nothing more than to storm the capital and separate his twisted head from the rest of his body. I want to display it on a pike for all in the kingdom to see that true evil can be defeated.

But the Premier doesn’t know Cal like I do. He doesn’t know about our conversation, about Cal’s musings on whether or not his brother could be fixed. If, by some miracle, someone could reverse the irreparable damage Elara inflicted on him growing up. Davidson wants Cal and Maven to kill each other. He doesn’t know that Cal, for all his posturing and planning, can never hurt his brother if there is any chance that he doesn’t have to. Even a miniscule chance. Even this fool’s chance.

He believes Cal is a weapon to be wielded. He doesn’t know that Cal will break with the Guard and go his own way the moment his needs aren’t being met. But again, I don’t tell Davidson my thoughts. I’m too exhausted. Instead, I simply shrug at him and drop my gaze. “Whatever.”

To my side, Farley scoffs. Though motherhood has softened her at moments, I can tell she’s getting fed up with my angsty teenager bullshit. I’m surprised she’s tolerated it as long as she has, actually.

The Premier stares at me, awkwardly fidgeting with one hand. His lips work overtime, trying to form words before he can even figure out which he wants to say. In the end, he says nothing, as we are interrupted by subtle whoosh of air as Arezzo appears beside Davidson. Once, I might have jumped at the sudden intrusion. Now, I barely notice. So much time with Shade helped me in that regard.

My gaze falls on the teleporter’s shaking hands and wide eyes as she reaches out and puts a hand on the Premier’s shoulder. Her voice trembles as she speaks. “Sir. You’re needed in Command.”

He furrows a brow, a question forming on his lips. But, before he or anyone else can get a word out, both Arezzo and the Premier disappear. I’m left alone in the street with Farley. Both of us wait a moment before speaking, still processing what’s just happened.

Farley takes a step in the direction from which we’ve come. “Come on. Let’s go see what the fuss is all about. I’ll be damned if the Princeling shuts me out of a meeting now that he’s got his crown back.”

She’s already a good distance away before she realizes I haven’t moved with her. She halts, turning back to me with a questioning gaze. “Mare?”

His crown. His crown. The words swirl in my head incessantly, taunting me, driving me as mad as the boy who currently wears the dreadful crown of fire and flames.

It was easy to label Maven as the evil brother the night he snatched that blasted piece of metal from his father’s still-cooling silverblood. A child driven by a lust for power. Strength. It was easy to make him a villain. But right now, I can only think that Cal may be exactly the same, if not worse. A man promised the throne his whole life, only for his brother to steal it out from under him. He's vengeful. His bloodlust unmatched. If given the chance, would he be a better ruler than Maven? Worse? Or, in the worst of worse possibilities, could he be exactly the same?

“I wish I’d never met him,” I mutter under my breath. I only realize I’ve spoken aloud when Farley cocks her head to the side in confusion.

She crosses her arms again and steps back toward me. “Cal?”

I nod. “Don’t you think about it? How different the world would be if I had never come into the picture?” Maven had asked me something similar one day at Whitefire. The day I’d had the opportunity to drown him in the bath. The day I’d been too weak to end all of this. He’d asked me if I would take it all back. Going to the Palace, losing my brother, causing so much death. My answer had been easy then. No. So what’s changed?

Cal, my mind taunts me. Cal’s changed. I’ve felt true heartbreak, and it somehow hurts more than anything else I’ve endured so far.

Farley shrugs, though I can see her composure slipping. She’s pissed at me for even thinking about this. Join the club. “Dwelling on the past is pointless, Mare. We can’t change what happened. And even if we could, nothing that’s happened is entirely on you. This revolution would have happened with or without you.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledge, leaning my pulsing head back against the wall and shutting my eyes against the beaming sun above. Exhaustion and the migraine poking needles into my brain make my bones feel like nothing more than dead limbs on the winter trees back in the Stilts. “But not with the Newbloods.”

Farley pauses, considering this. To my surprise, she doesn’t argue. “You’re right. We would have built our forces, but never enough. It would have been a bloodbath. Especially for the Reds. Without you, without the Newbloods, no one would have thought any sort of revolution possible.”

Tears prick my eyes, though I don’t know if it’s from sheer emotion, the throb in my head, the biting ache in my hand, or all three working together against me. “Do you ever wonder if maybe it would have been for the best?”

The ugly question hangs stagnant in the air for a moment, neither of us willing to touch it immediately. Eventually, Farley tries. “You don’t mean–”

“I mean,” I cut her off, “that a lot less blood would be running in the streets of Norta, of the entire continent, right now if I’d never gotten that job at the palace. If I’d never gone looking for a way out of conscription.”

Farely bristles at the insinuation. She’s the one who gave us the astronomical price for escaping conscription. I guess in her mind, by blaming that for all our troubles, I’m also blaming her. I’m not, but I don’t get the chance to explain before she’s doling out her words, each sentence like another blow. “If you’d never gone looking, you’d be dead by now. Kilorn too, probably. The boy’s great at fishing and talking, but not exactly fighting. Not to mention the dozens of other Red soldiers, murdered every day on the front lines.”

“Are they any better off now?” I shoot back. “Look around. Blood flows in rivers all around us. It’s everywhere. That’s all I see anymore is blood. We kill them. They kill us in retaliation. It doesn’t even matter where it started anymore. It’s blood for blood for blood for blood until we’re all bled dry. Red and Silver.” I take a breath, recomposing myself. I hadn’t meant to say this much, especially not to Farley. But it’s been a thought dragging on my mind for far longer than I care to admit. “We know the price being paid. But what’s the cost? The real cost?” I open my eyes to look at her. Anger, confusion, and a deep, profound disappointment fight for dominance on her face. “Do we fight to make sure that everyone knows loss equally? So no one goes to sleep at night without fearing to not see the dawn the next morning? You can’t tell me you don’t think about what life would be if I’d never fallen into Queenstrial.”

“I try to focus more on the here and now, the people I’ve sworn to protect and fight for, instead of moping about,” she retorts, her calm façade from earlier quickly melting into nonexistence.

“I’m sorry,” I scoff. “Are you saying that you haven’t noticed that, even after all the bloodshed, we’re headed straight back to square one here? Cal on the throne? Silvers in charge, or completely wiped out. Neither side even considering a happy medium.”

“Mare–”

“No, you know what?” I continue, so far gone, I don’t even care anymore. “Forget all of that. Forget the Reds and the Silvers and the Newbloods for five seconds. Think of yourself. If I’d never met Cal, Shade would be alive.” His name sticks in my throat, but I continue anyway. “Clara would have a father, and you’d be happy, no matter the war’s outcome.” I shrug, shoulders and head growing ever heavier with the headache eating at the base of my skull. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Farley’s contemplative grimace twists into a positively feral snarl, and it is at this moment that I realize how monumentally I have overstepped. She stalks across the street to me, looking like a woman possessed. She pulls me forward by my good arm, so harshly I fear she might dislocate my shoulder, and slaps me clear across the face.

I stifle a gasp as the crack resonates through the empty streets of Corvium. Farley may not be Silver, not a strongarm with muscles of steel, but her blow still sends me staggering backward. I bring my uninjured hand up to my face, the touch cool against the hot blood flowing to the handprint burning on my cheek. When I finally meet her eyes with my own incredulous stare, her lips are set in a thin line and her eyes shoot daggers through me.

“How dare you.” She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t need to. Her quiet, perfect articulation is lethal. “Shade gave his life for this cause. Because that’s who he was. If this particular chain of events hadn’t happened, he’d still probably be dead sooner or later because that’s just who he was. Same as me.” She gestures to the scars on her face, stark in the harsh sunlight. “I wear my scars, even knowing a healer could take them away, even knowing that they’re not the prettiest, because I earned them. Because I am a fighter and, like Shade, I would die for this cause. That’s who I am.”

I gulp, suddenly cotton mouthed. I want to speak, to tell her I understand, that I’m sorry. Where I can’t find the words to interject, Farley seems to steal my diction for herself and continue. “And Cal is taking that crown because it’s who he is. He may be kind, and brilliant, and decent looking. But, stars above, Mare, he’s a Prince. A Silver Prince. It’s who he has always been, whether you’ve forgotten or not. The crown of Norta is what he’s been working for his entire life. It’s his birthright. And as much as you want this to be some pretty little fantasy world where the boy sacrifices everything for the girl, it’s not going to happen. Because Cal knows, in his heart, who he is, Mare.”

She pauses, features softening as the tension in her shoulder seeps from her muscles. She reaches out to touch and I almost flinch, before I realize she’s just reaching for my hand. “I know it hurts right now. It hurts like a bitch, because you really did love him.” Love. I bristle at the word. Of course I loved him. I’d admitted as much to him. But it was so much stranger to hear someone else say it. “But you can’t give up everything about yourself chasing after him. He knows who he is,” she reiterates, squeezing my hand. “But do you know who you are, Mare Barrow?”

No. The answer pops into my head immediately, much to my despair. I am only eighteen years old. I’ve spent the better part of the past year trying to save everyone I care about, and trying to save the world from falling into ruin in the meantime. I’ve trusted people and I’ve been betrayed. I thought I knew people, thought I knew what drove them, only to find out that my instincts could not be more wrong. And now, staring into Farley’s eyes, hearing her question, I wonder if all that pain and confusion is because I don’t know myself at all.

Her words still echo in my mind when a runner dashes around the corner, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he approaches Farley. Not a Newblood, but rather a Red soldier. Judging by the sun embroidered on the sash around his wrist, he’s one of Farley’s men. Well, a boy, really. He can’t be more than sixteen. Farley catches him by the arm as he tries to stop, slipping in the mud. “Coulson,” she acknowledges him. “What’s wrong?”

Coulson coughs, still trying to reign in his breathing. “Command, ma’am.” I think I catch a glimmer of irritation in Farley’s eyes at the moniker, but it’s gone before I can be sure it was anything more than a trick of the light. “They need you in Command.”

“What’s going on?”

The boy’s eyes fall on me, but flick back to Farley almost instantly. “The king,” he stutters. “There’s a broadcast.”

“He’s on the screen more than he’s on his throne lately. What’s different about this speech?”

Again, Coulson’s gaze shifts to me, an accusatory glare flaring behind cool grey. “It’s not just a speech.”

* * *

The door to the administrative tower is ajar when we reach it. Premier Davidson, Colonel Farley, Queen Anabel, and the entire Samos family await us. And Cal, of course. Only Evangeline seems to notice our arrival, which she acknowledges with a short dip of her head in my direction before nailing her eyes back to the video screen which enraptures the room’s other occupants.

Maven’s familiar features do, in fact, grace the screen. Harsh shadows below his eyes—the ones so like his mother’s—age him, making him seem far older than just seventeen. The crown of flames, that cursed piece of metal that everyone seems so obsessed with, weighs down his carefully styled curls. But he does not seem weighted. He seems strangely happy.

He speaks animatedly from a podium, though the frame is too cropped for me to tell anything about where he is, other than the fact that he certainly isn’t at Whitefire. Still, the lights, the pale white color of the vaulted walls and ceilings behind him tickle the edges of my memory with a vague sense of recognition.

“What’s he doing?” I ask the deathly silent room. Cal is the only one to even notice my words. He tears his gaze away from the video screen to meet mine, searching for something in my eyes. An answer, I guess. Resolution. Something to say that we’re okay after our fight. Subtly, I shake my head at him. This isn’t the time. Farley’s right. Cal has his duty, his life. And I have mine.

“Just watch,” Davidson mutters. In his hands, he holds a smaller video screen. A flick of his wrist brings the volume on the larger screen up, and Maven’s voice fills the space.

“Even in the face of betrayal, Norta is strong as ever,” he announces, to the cheers of thousands. The way the sound echoes brings forward flashes of memories from the not so distant past, but I can’t put two and two together. I’m too distracted by the words befalling the little King’s mouth. “We rise, ever more powerful.”

The camera pulls back slightly, allowing the person beside him to come into view. Iris Cygnet. Princess of the Lakelanders and now, Queen of Norta. Maven’s wife. Like the first time I met her, she does not wear the dripping jewels or ostentatious clothing of a courtier. Rather, she wears a simple light blue gown, tied with a garish sash of red and black around her waist. A crown of golden flames interspersed with sapphires in the shape of water droplets adorns her dark hair. Though I try not to notice, my eyes also fall to the wedding band on her finger.

Cal’s voice cuts through the room. “Who the hell is that?”

“Your new sister-in-law,” Ptolemus sneers.

“The Lakelands and Norta stand now, united as one,” Maven continues, gripping Iris’s hand. It’s not the awkward touch he occasionally shared with Evangeline, but it’s also not the comforting touch he shared with me. It’s political, kind. But not loving. “And together, I give you my word that every last member of the Scarlet Guard will be hunted down and destroyed within the year. Soon, the peace we’ve worked to create will no longer be threatened by these terrorists!”

The crowd cheers, and suddenly the room around is stifling. This time, I can’t tell if it’s Cal’s doing, or my own lungs failing me.

“And, my dear people, I assure you,” Maven adds when the crowd dies down a little. He turns to the camera with a fierce expression, one not meant for anyone around him, or anyone else that may be watching. His look cuts through the screen directly into me, as if he stands only a few feet away. Whatever is about to happen, it’s for me and me alone. “I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

Maven claps, shattering the moment. I have to force myself not to jump at the sudden intrusion on our moment. “But enough talk. Let’s get to it. The real reason you’ve all tuned in today.” The camera cuts from Maven’s close-up to an all too familiar sight that sets my teeth on edge. Judging from the tension in Cal’s shoulders, I can tell he recognizes the arena as well.

When I lived in the Stilts, arenas full of people were a weekly occurrence. Feats in which Silvers fought each other with abilities helped to keep would-be rebels from hoping and dreaming of ever defeating the Silver elite. But this isn’t any arena. It’s the Bowl of Bones. And this is no ordinary Feat. “The Scarlet Guard may soon be extinct, but to the Newbloods only, who I’ve welcomed into my home, who have betrayed both myself and the country, I provide these small mercies.”

On one side of the arena, from a doorway I recognize intimately, a man steps forward, an Arven Silent ghosting behind him. One hand grips a shiny sword, while a few inches above, his wrists are wrapped in familiar Silent Stone manacles. I vaguely remember him from my time at Whitefire. But he’s not a lord of one of the High Houses. He’s not even Silver. He is one of Maven’s Newblood recruits. A Wrecker, I remember. Like Nix or Damarian, with virtually indestructible skin. A feeling of dread pools in my stomach and I pull into myself as the realization dawns on me. The change in posture does not go unnoticed by Farley, who glances from me back to the screen with an increased sense of anxiety.

A woman around my mother’s age enters from the other side of the Bowl of Bones, looking small in her ill-fitting armor. The small battle ax weighs her tiny arms down more than the manacles or the Arven woman behind her. Her familiar features are another slap in the face. Her, I certainly remember. Halley. She’d been a servant for an Eagrie family. I was there the day she came before Maven and showed us her ability–detecting the abilities of other. It was this ability that allowed her to expose Nanny, the shapeshifting Newblood Cal had sent to court to keep tabs on me. Nanny had chosen the Scarlet Guard’s way out and swallowed a suicide pill before she could be interrogated, much to Maven’s dismay. The memory makes me shudder.

Maven’s threats from months ago wander back into my mind. While I stayed at Whitefire, the Newbloods I helped lure there would be safe. Cared for like the soldiers Maven wanted to turn them into. But if I went against him, fought him, they wouldn’t be so lucky.

I didn’t just leave. I escaped, along with fifty other Newbloods, and the entire Samos family. I’d humiliated him on his wedding day, of all days. And now, with his second defeat at Corvium, he’s facing an uprising. Watching the video screen now, it seems that he hasn’t exactly turned the other cheek. He knows what he’s doing. And somehow, though I’m not sure how, he knows I’m watching. He knows how much this will hurt me.

“Lords Arven, if you please,” Maven says in a booming voice, gesturing to the two Newbloods’ Silent guards. They follow his cue, backing out of the arena and leaving the two terrified Reds alone to face each other. The guards don’t, I notice with a lurch of nausea, remove the Silent Stone manacles.

“I don’t understand.” Farley squints at the screen in confusion. “If it’s an arena fight between Newbloods, why does he leave the manacles on?”

“Because it’s not just a fight,” I answer in barely more than a whisper.

Cal inclines his head in my direction, nodding without looking at me. “It’s an execution.”

No one answers. We can only watch. Everyone in the room is painfully aware of just how far away from the capital we are. How useless we are to stop this.

Along the wall of the arena, dozens of Silvers step forward. Judging from the colors emblazoned on their uniforms, and the fact that they all wear the same face, they—rather, he—hails from House Tyros. Clones. But they don’t attack. They merely seem to guard the exits, ready to stop any attempt at escape.

“Begin,” Maven bellows. The Bowl of Bones surges with the cheers of thousands of Silvers. Both Halley and the Wrecker hesitate, staying where they are in confusion. Even from here, I can see the tremors running through them. I did this. My words brought them to Archeon. And my escape put them in this prison of death.

The moments of inactivity in the arena are broken by a sudden flurry of activity as both the Newbloods fall to their knees, choking and clutching at their throats. Among the sea of Tyros faces appear two tall Silvers with dark skin and equally dark eyes, clad in the blue uniforms. Lakelands windweavers. The ones who survived or didn’t make it to the battle at Corvium only a few hours ago. Maven certainly is quick on his feet, I’ll give him that.

Maven waves a hand at the Lakelanders, and they release Halley and the Wrecker instantly, allowing the air they’ve stolen back into their lungs. Both champions collapse into the fine sand.

“Come now,” Maven condescends to them, as if they are nothing more than stubborn children refusing to listen to reason. “Play nicely. This does not have to be the end. For one of you at least,” he adds with a cruel, cold smirk.

My heart sinks as his words rattle me. Small mercies, he’d said.

Cal was wrong. We both were. This isn’t an execution. It’s so much worse.

This is a fight to the death. And there can be only one winner.

There will be no martyr tonight. No Red blood spilt by the unmatched Silvers. This won’t be ammunition against the elite, as the executions of the old days may once have been. This is different. The only Red blood spilled tonight will be drawn by another Red. Newblood versus Newblood.

The Feats of First Friday delighted in shedding Silver blood to show us that we were inferior beings. To keep us in our place. But now, with this little show, Maven has unlocked an even worse way of smothering the rebellion, one that replaces the all-too-valuable Silver blood with the disposable crimson blood that flows in our veins. His message speaks volumes, even without him speaking a word.

Even with abilities, even with power, we will always be Red. We will always be disposable. We will always be inferior. Tonight, one Red will die, and one will walk out of the arena alive, if only in body. As I turn to leave the administration building, I wonder which would be worse. To die at the hands of someone you thought was your friend? Or to be the one forced to take that life, and then live with it for the rest of your own existence?

[acoolguyscoollife]

Chapter 24: Parasite

Unlike those two and their dirty jokes, Seth and I found ourselves in a predicament, which, much like the last world we’d been in, ended up with us having to fight our way out. Some things led to another, and the jungle was set on fire. I want to say that I didn’t start the fire, and that it was always burning while the world had been turning, but that would have been a lie. On the bright side, it worked fairly well to deal with the things that were attacking us. Or at least, I assumed it did, because I couldn’t actually see them. Seth had said that he caught sight of one of them, saying that the shadows seemed more liquid than anything else, so I had done the natural thing and taken getting rid of the shadows to the extreme. Weirdly enough, Seth seemed to handle being surrounded by fire fairly well.

“Hey, do you ever stop to wonder if we’re all just hallucinating everything we’re doing?” He asked, running alongside me as we tried to get away from the slowly spreading fire. I had a plan of how to stop it, but we needed to find water first so I could use it. Fire was easy to create, a little bit of friction and some chemical reactions with a snap of a finger. Water, however, was… wait, it was all around me! I planted my feet firmly into the muddy ground, feeling myself skid slightly as I turned to face the fire, and concentrated on the small particles of water that I was sure resided in the ground. A few moments of that, and I had some water small enough that I could surround us in it. The fire would pass soon enough, and now we just had to sit around.

“Well I mean, the absurdity of the things we do sometimes does make me wonder if it’s all a big dream, but hallucination? We’re not CG, we don’t take psychedelics.” I replied, planting myself onto a log. Now that the bubble of water was surrounding us, it would be easy to sustain. We just had to wait, as aggravating as it was when I wanted to find where Uchen had gone.

“Didn’t he stop taking stuff now?” Seth said, having sat next to me. “I remember that he decided to give up on acid, at least, what with how much he was spending on it.” CG had a history of trying all sorts of drugs, more for casual purposes than anything else.

“Seth, it’s been a very long time since I talked to any of you, you’d know CG better than me.” I reminded him.

“Oh, right.” Seth said, staring at the fire. “Jesus Tab’, this kinda feels overkill.” He gestured to the fire that was still raging. “Do you think we should like… try and stop it?” He asked, glancing over to me, but I was already back in my own head, trying to piece together the puzzle Uchen had left me. There was some way of finding where he had gone from here, but so far, all we had found was jungle and fire. What could he have left for us? Seth continued talking, possibly trying to get my attention, but I completely missed it. I could hear him saying my name, but it wasn’t reaching my brain. Eventually, he put his hand on my shoulder, and I suddenly snapped to attention.

“Sorry Seth, I was just…” I began, but he cut me off before I could finish.

“Tabitha, I understand. This guy was really important to you, and we need to find him.” Seth’s smile was warm, and in that moment, I remembered why he was such a close friend. He always knew what to say to me to calm me down and get me out of my own head. “How did you find where he went next before now?” I sighed, thinking back to Despair and how I managed to get further.

“There are usually elements left over from his travel, but for whatever reason, I’m struggling to zero in on them. Like, there’s residual energy from the machine, but it’s like he’s using another way to travel out of nowhere.” I cursed under my breath, looking at the watch that was synced to the machine we’d used to get in. “Damn it, what am I missing?” I asked, more to myself than to Seth, who sat there without an answer to give.

“Is there any other anomaly you can look for?” Seth offered, which I’d already considered, but I went to check again. Nothing. No trace elements of multidimensional travel, no particles from another universe he could have travelled to getting pulled back as he left, no sign anywhere, and I vocalised as such to Seth. He seemed to take a moment to think, before looking back at me. “What if he didn’t leave?” Seth said, and I opened my mouth to respond with something like that’s stupid or don’t you think I would have noticed that, but I quickly began to realise that in my haste, I hadn’t checked for any signs of him in this dimension. A few taps, and I had a lock on a life sign that was definitely foreign to the world. He was here! Despite the fire surrounding the bubble, I forced it outwards, sucking up as much water from the ground as I could and extinguishing the fire surrounding us in a large radius.

“Come on!” I yelled to Seth, who wasted no time jumping to his feet and catching up to me as I broke into another sprint. I made sure that I was looking directly towards where the life sign was coming from, before turning back to look at Seth and make sure he was keeping up. He gave me a cocky grin, speeding himself up slightly to catch up with me, and I smiled back at him. I was just turning my head back when I caught it, and whipped my gaze back towards him to see if I was wrong. As much as I wished that I had been, I had definitely seen something in the shadows of the trees, and it was following us. “On your left!” I called out, and Seth quickly understood, not even looking behind him as he cracked a shot off. The flash of the gun’s barrel illuminated what was chasing us, and I was given evidence that it was the shadow itself following, or some kind of manifestation of shadows. Whatever it was, it was keen to follow us, which I could easily say I didn’t reciprocate.

“What even is it?!” Seth yelled to me, before crying out again. “Straight ahead!” I turned my head forward, seeing the tree and the shadow creature in front of me. Chemical reactions, friction, and focused energy lit the air in front of me on fire, crashing through the shadow and dissipating it immediately, before splitting the tree in two. A quick concentration on the air, and I pulled it apart with my mind, chucking one side over Seth’s head at the shadow that was following him, which scrambled over it like a wild animal. The closer it got to him, the more I was able to see its teeth, sharp and coated in what I could only assume was the blood of something. My watch dinged as we got closer to the life sign we had been following, and I focused my attention back in front of me, making sure that I didn’t miss any signs of where Uchen could be. All I was able to see was more shadow creatures, watching me from the side-lines of the jungle we were running through, which only served to unnerve me more. What were these things? From what I knew of this dimension, they sure weren’t native, and their appearance definitely seemed out of place. Was this something the protégé had created? I most likely would have continued with this line of thinking, had my feet not been surprised by a sudden absence of ground. I had about enough time to look down and see the sharp decline before falling, eventually falling against the steep slope and skidding against it, and a yell from above told me Seth hadn’t noticed my sudden disappearance. My vision blurred as my skid down the hill turned into a tumble, and it was all I could do to use magic to numb myself to anything my body hit. My body hit the suddenly flat ground as quickly as it had fallen down the slope, giving me a few more painful rolls before slowing to a stop. I wasn’t sure how Seth had fared going down the same slope, since I couldn’t know that he was able to do the same magic that I could. However, when he arrived near me, quickly jumping up and pulling at the substance on him, it didn’t take much for me to put two and two together and learn how he survived the fall with no damage. It was the same thing that had been chasing him, and now that I was able to get a closer look, I could see it was some sort of shifting liquid, looking the same as the King had; a black goo spreading over his body, refusing to come off no matter how much he pulled.

“Seth, this is going to hurt!” I called out, moving close to him before he even had time to respond. Manifesting fire in my hand, I pressed it to his chest, burning at the parasite trying to take him over. It let out a shriek, ear-piercing, but I refused to pull away, even when the shrieking was matched by Seth’s own screams of pain. It was recoiling slightly now, pulling away from him, and I tried my hardest to work the fire between his body and the parasite, not relenting until it finally began to peel away. I had focused on one side, opting to do his other side after finishing the first, so I didn’t see the punch coming until it was too late. Seth’s fist slammed into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me and pushing me to my knees. I looked up at him, and his free hand was holding back the liquid covered one, face straining from exertion. Tears were in my eyes as I stumbled away from him, desperately thinking of what I could do to help him. It was possible to see his body through the liquid at times as it shifted across his body, and his clothes were being stained with the same shade of black as the parasite, shifting to cover him more and more.

“N…No!” Seth yelled out in anger, falling to his knees and yanking at the goo that was now around his neck, having gotten control of his other hand back. The parasite screeched again in response, but Seth didn’t falter. “No!” He repeated, slamming his fist into the ground in anger before returning to his neck. The liquid seemed to almost be listening to him, as if he was controlling the parasite more than it was able to control him. I moved to get closer, but he held up a hand to stop me, wincing as he did so. Without him letting me do anything, I could only stand in awe and watch him as it began to fade away, almost like it was disappearing from existence. Seth’s face was still contorted in pain as the parasite came off of him, with a few more moments being all that was needed for the creature to be gone altogether. He took a few deep, rattled breaths, before slowly and shakily getting to his feet.

“Is… is it gone?” I asked, looking around him for any sign of where it might have gone. “Into the ground, or something?” I added, looking to his feet, but when I glanced back at his face, he shook his head, saying nothing but bringing up a hand, pointing to his chest. The burn wound wasn’t there. Neither was the hole in his clothes, which were now even darker than they had been before. Oh shit.

“So…” A voice said from behind me, and I spun on my heel. Amy was leaning against a tree, Aki wide-eyed and peeking over her shoulder. “Is Seth’s new name Eddie now?”