#i may have just copy pasted fresh from another drawing i made

[yostresswritinggirl]

Tales of The Ghost Writer

“You met Xingqiu at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you.”

Pairings -> Xingqiu x Author!Reader

Word Count -> 3518

Theme -> Long Fic, Fluff

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Xingqiu's name might be mispelled at times, also he rambles a lot

Entry Log # 645:

I’ve once again delivered the new batch of books to Wanwen Bookhouse today at 4PM, 30 new books in collection to be sold. That would add up to a total of 420 published books for Legend of the Lone Sword. Despite its old circulation, collectors and avid bookworms still seek out the volumes. In a spur of the moment thought, the 4th volume was finally rereleased for more readers to get a chance to read them. While on my rounds, I’ve met a particularly peculiar fan.

“4th volume?” You nod as you set down the stack of books on the counter where Jifang stood behind with a welcoming smile. “Thank you, everyone has been asking about it for a while now. I don’t understand how people keep missing out on the last volume like so.” There was an exchange of giggles between you continued your idle chatter, busying yourself with recounting the stack to make sure the order placed was exact. Yep, 30.

You picked one up from the top pile as Jifang enters the bookhouse to gather the payment. It wasn't that much of a feat to carry a pile of 30 books when it's only this thick, you thought as you opened the book in the middle and... buried your nose in it, literally. Archons, the scent of freshly printed books had always been such a stress reliever of a kind. The imprints were still fresh as you run your thumb over the pristine white page of page 75, the gravings of the letter bumping it in such an intricate and endearing manner. You suppose it should be prime time you get a copy of your own-

"Ah, the glorious scent fresh books offer are quite irresistible to everyone," your head whipped to the side in a hurry at the embarrassing display. Yet your new company only offered a light-hearted laugh, floaty and flowing swiftly past his lips. You find it enjoyable to listen to. "Fret not, I don't judge such honest guilty pleasure."

His smile was soft and respectful as you return it, watching his hand (wrists largely ruffled) pick up the next book on the pile, his interest shining the more he recognizes the the piece of literature. Such expensive clothing and poise, you thought as you continued to inspect. "I knew Wanwen had a schedule of new releases today, but I was not informed it would be the 4th volume of the Legend of the Lone Sword!"

"A fan?" You mused as you placed back the copy you took, leaning against the counter as you watched him quickly scan the lines of the book. He was intensely staring at every word with such a calculating gaze, that sometimes break when he reads how the character would sometimes reach an impasse, or when a new discovery reaches its peak. His ardent gaze was enough of an answer. When he took a break from reading to pass you his attention, you hadn't realize how red your cheeks had been out of embarrassment. "I've always wanted to get my hands on my own copy of the 4th, yet everytime all bookhouses in Liyue keep running out of stock. Is delivery normally this scarce?" He'd gestured at the not so looming pile.

You nod in response with a forgoing giggle. "Publishing could be running into some... shortness of funds?" Subtle, yet he hums in disappointment at the thought. His little pout, adorable, as he buries his face in the book again. I would gladly fund such glorious writing, you thought you heard past the leather back before the ornate doors past the counter finally opened again.

"Ah sorry it took so long, I couldn't find the exact pouch for the- hey! You again, you've read and been scolded dozens of times already," the woman angrily gestures to the notice board by the table, "Pay first, read later!"

You snorted, thankfully masked by the sudden cry of the caught culprit as he was smacked (hopefully gently) on the head by the owner, forcing him to put back the book to the pile. "Hnghh, but Lady Jifang! You didn't scold her, she was indulging herself with the book just the same," you breathed a fake gasp of astounded betrayal, before you three had laughed in chorus.

The oldest of your trio scoffed in amusement as she placed the bag of Mora unto your waiting hand. "What, her? Why would I scold her, she probably knows every word like the back of her ha-" her rambling was then cut off by a loud smack on her bottom, a book expertly finding its way back to your hand with a perfectly cut smile. Her yelp was not unnoticed by the male as he laughs at the display.

"Let him be, he's really been patiently waiting for the release!" Jifang scoffs at the word patiently as you came to the defense of blunette. You were never really aware of the norm in Wanwen, as you usually come by at a time where you would have been alone. This was a first.

"Quite so! Just the start of the volume had me hooked, setting for the peak of the story climax! The synopsis itself already hinted of another inclusion of a new element into the story I had not expected from this style of a book, surely such a writer would not tread such parallel territory without being an expert teller-" Jifang watched in amusement as her gaze lands on you at the start of the bookworm's rambling, watching the redness touch the tip of your ear with an abashed smile shyly gracing your lips. Behind it she can see the mirth and amusement, something she outwardly shows with her own expression.

"Wow," was the Liyuean woman's only response once the speaker has finished his lengthy speech. His dorkiness stands with pride at his examination.

You cleared your throat before you could mutter your initial words, finally realizing the time. "That was... quite marvelous of an analysis. A-Anywaysss, thank you for your partnership, I hope the books are all sold by tomorrow!"

And with that you swiftly made your exit, wanting to find a place to scream the embarrassment out. Or maybe squeal, just to be subtle.

Entry Log # 15:

As a distant relative to the Guhua clan, the (L/N) clan was not exactly known to be tied closely to the prestigious clan known for their expert martial. However, despite the impure connection, they carry with them still the honor of learning the arts to a meticulous detail.

Your family was one of the living practitioners of the Guhua Arts, twice removed, yet your spotlight was not that obvious as the name would carry. Your father wish to carry a new kind of prestige without relying on the powerful namesake and he had been adamant since birth to grind every teaching and form of the art into his immediate family.

"Misogyny nor feminism will not save you from battle, only your own strength." Something along those lines, was what he said.

Your eldest brother was his main point of reference when scolding you on not taking your lessons properly. A slacker he is, now he lacks not only a means of security but also financial stability, that's what you end up to if you don't treasure the arts of our family. You have no idea how martial arts brings you monetary security, but you can't really state to your own father that his logic was a bit skewed.

Daily during morning and the first touch of evening, you had resigned yourself into training under your father's supervision. As the eldest daughter of the house, you carry with you still a responsibility to be strong. No fraility was accepted, and your mother always argues about your father's ever so masculine lifestyle being imposed on you, a lady that should be taught other customs for means of living.

Yet after every session, at the end of the day under the caress of the lamp by your study table, your hands move with precision and calmness he would have scoffed at in the dojo. The beauty of words and their power to create new worlds effortlessly had drawn you in too easily, ever since you were young you had a knack for the books your mother reads to herself or to you.

Entry Log # 651:

The next time you'd met the Wanwen Bookworm (nickname you gave) was a rare moment when he'd finally looked at you more than the book in his hand. It seemed your little interaction from the bookhouse was attention-grabbing enough to make him seek out your person with a bunch of questions and wonder.

You gulped, patting down your blue skirt before accompanying him. The way he rambles was too dangerous, it was drawing something within you to also do the same, and you feared you may let out something you shouldn't. But a fellow 'reader' is good company, and with the little interactions you had with the same age group with the same interest makes this moment something you can't pass.

"Carrier to the Yae Publishing House?" You nodded calculatedly, after confirming you've said just the right information. "Quite intriguing, especially with such young age to be working in line with the greatest press house in Teyvat." Ohhh, he's surely smart despite the first impression of goofiness.

You giggled as politely as you can remember you should upon the scarce teachings of your mother. "I've always liked literature so I couldn't uhm let the opportunity pass, even if it's insignificant like that." Good, good, piling up the lies. You're grateful you haven't made some contract of friendship and happen upon the wrath of your nation's God. Or Qixing.

"Surely, you must have been in the presence of some of the wordsmiths during your rendezvous! So tell me," there was a dangerous glint in his eyes and you knew exactly what he's gonna ask, "Have you met the legendary Bob Ong?"

Oh goodness, you felt him caress and pat your back as you tried your best to breathe after the sudden choking on nothing, he was so spot on that you were horrified even if you had an inkling of what he was gonna inquire. "I uhm I don't really know what I'm allowed to say." In the inside you were goddamn screaming.

"You don't have to tell me anything about him, really! It's his mystery that makes his character just the most intriguing." You gulped down hard, this time without choking out of nothing. "I don't really know much about who he is since he's, you know, unknown? No clues whatsoever, he could be anywhere right now, maybe you've talked to him already or no. Yeah?"

He held a convincing hum before taking in the cryptic answer, content, for now you assume. "Not many avid readers of the book can place a name to the unnamed author, but how blind they were to see the cryptic signature at the back of the cover. Truly a wonderous act." Xingqiu, you finally learned his name, had took you out to lunch for the trouble and enjoyment. It wasn't really necessary, but you figured it was probably to keep you with him longer to converse about the books more.

A lot of his... analysis actually coincide with the messages that you lodged between the lines. He understands your way of narration more than you do at times, and you were left wondering just how much he had read of the fourth volume despite only having it for a few days then. When evening once again struck, you had bid each other farewell in the promise of another time to hang.

"It's a literature of love and freedom- disguised as a martial arts novel." Was his parting analysis, and you were left to wonder, was that really what you had projected into your works?

Entry Log # 32:

In your young and hopeful mind, you'd sent your first ever manuscript to Yae Publishing House. It wasn't your first work but it was the one you worked hard on the most, with weeks of furbishing and reworks. Your mother, although not directly informed of your whole plan, had provided you with great feedback and generous suggestions. And soon you created the first manuscript of 'String of Pearls'.

With a generous note and what you hoped is enough mora to at least publish a book, your package was sent to Inazuma.

You waited for days, of which turned to weeks, and then to months. You thought by the end of it all, you had been swindled but as young as you still hoped for the best of its outcome.

And then one day, as you were sweeping the outside of your gates in preparation for your father's return from some business in the harbor, a lone man of Inazuman style found its way to your humble abode. He calls himself Mr. Nine, and in his arms cradled two similar looking books, with a familiar envelope.

That was when you had been given the opportunity to write for the greatest Publishing House under the guise of a pseudonym. The great Nine was astounded by your ripeness paired with your prowess in writing. You hid behind Bob Ong, a protection from being belittled as a young child and a woman, to prevent being traced by your father if ever.

Yet you remained as subtle still. Even if your name was not written on the covers themselves, within your heart you were still the writers of those books. You've placed anagrams and mysterious puzzles revealing your name but it was part of the intrigue of the story that they had not thought much about it.

One day, you lost your book when you had gone out to eat. It was the second copy, as you carried the first one in your room, yet it still held a special place in your heart.

Xingqiu was a master novelist too, as you'd expect from someone so enthusiastic on the art of literature too. You'd long since become friends and found out soon enough his true identity. The heir to the Feiyun Commerce Guild, master practitioner of the Guhua Clan Arts, soon to be novelist. He was in every aspect the better half between you two.

One day in his daily reading breaks where he would happen upon you, he had found his eyes wafting over your notebook that you always carry. It was designed to look like a hard bound book specially tailored to your tastes, but it was nothing but mere keepers of your notes and musings.

Your newest page had in it a brand new draft for a brand new story you wanted to flesh out before the success of Legend of the Lone Sword diminishes. Mr. Nine still praised you for the success of your first major publishing and had assured you that there's no need to immediately compensate with another work so early, but your mind was already so eager to work. Your friend had never seen you so- flamed and passionate as the paper caves to the intense pressure your pencil places on it.

So he leans on your shoulder slightly (glad you were still distracted) as he quietly reads the words that articulates on the paper. The more Xingqiu reads, the more he craves, just the same vigor he felt everytime he had read his favorite works when each chapter invigorates him to continue to the end.

"Such a great outline," the blunette breathes out as he leans his cheek at the crown of your head. You let out a cute squeak when you'd finally come to, and turned your head to face him- "I didn't know you were into romance, my liege. Tell me, just where do you get such inspirations?" Your nose softly collided against the smoothness of his cheek, your lips ghosting over the line that is his jaw.

You scrambled backwards to direction opposite of his, yet with his body weight leaning on you, his center of balance quickly shifted on your weight like a net being pulled against the sides of a boat. You both toppled over.

"My, my, I didn't expect such abrupt resistance from you," Xingqiu's arms caged you as it holds him up against the grassland on either side of you. There was a certain mischievous glint in the ocean that is his eyes, which only meant one thing. "No need to be shy," you closed your eyes shut as his face leans in closer to yours, fanning over the frame of your face as he lets out a warm yet teasing exhale, "I'm sure we've gone past our personal bubbles in this relationship." You felt his chest against yours and braced for the inevitable-

as he finally licked your nose(?).

What.

"X-XINGQIUUUUU!" And then a cry of pain after a particularly harmful blow.

Entry Log # 659:

Xingqiu had always been a man of great words despite his chicken scratch of a penmanship. Vivid tales of his manuscript that I'm sure the Publishing House would take great value for, his years of memorizing numerous works in his arsenal. He told me that if I were to one day publish the manuscript, he wants to get the first copy and the first to get it signed. However Xingqiu has one glaring weakness when it comes to the art of words. When I asked him what would be a good title for the manuscript I made, he simply said, "Tales of the Writer!" And he sent a goofy smile. I thought he was joking, and I asked again, this time of what his work would be named. He replied:

"Why, Legend of Sword, of course!" He really sucks at titles.

Entry Log # 660:

Upon returning home with my new work ready to be shipped off for mass publishing, I've finally confronted my father. I had with me the final volume of my first work and offered it to him as first a gift of reconciliation, and my father took it with a mirthful glint in his eyes. He said he has been looking for the last volume of the series he'd been wanting to complete. I... I didn't know father was a fan.

The climax of my entire double-life ended so peacefully and tragically meh. I was expecting a martial arts fight of honor that will go down in history, but instead I ended up signing my own book as my father gushed about how nicely I illustrated the martial arts teaching we had during our sessions. I did not sleep well that night.

October 9th was a day celebrated by others more than the young master Xingqiu. The pavilion was mixed in with people from different walks of life and of faces he doesn't necessarily recognize. He lingers by the open window that shows the grandeur balcony, beckoning him outside. Today was a scheduled new release for Wanwen Bookhouse, and he had heard several chatters from the citizens that a new series would be published hailing from Yae Publishing House once again.

And the virtuoso of literature cannot attend such important matter himself because of his own birthday. How irking, you weren't even there to help appease his grumbling, you should have been here by now upon his invitation.

Suddenly the master of invitations bellowed out a familiar name, as his job to announce the entrance of the invited guests to the banquet. When he looks up, you were already walking down the grand staircase in your creme and blue Hanfu garb, accompanied by a tall man of a different wear—

"(Y/N), M-Mr. Nine-!" He bowed politely to the man as you curtsied at his presence. You looked absolutely dashing yet the man towered your form easily. "It's my honor to finally meet you, sire."

"Happy birthday, Xingqiu, I've heard many great things about you," the blunette opened his hands to receive the book gifted by the man. It had a familiar cover and title to it, Legend of Sword, "Great things, in fact, that there would too be great things to discuss later on." The Inazuman graced him a smile and he almost teared up at the implications, if not for when the author suddenly nudged you forward from your demure state.

Tales of the Ghost Writer

"X-Xingqiu, happy birthday! This is uhm, I've always wanted to- I wanted to give you this myself, I know you'd miss the first batch of releases," an unfamiliar book sits on his palm now. A plume and sword adorning its cover but no title, he shifts his hand to open it to the first page, "You said you wanted its first copy be signed, and I thought it appropriate to be given now at such a special occasion."

There in fresh print and ink he'd finally been revealed the mysteries he had long been searching for.

Against the translucent paper it was written and signed,

Tales of The Ghost Writer

Bob Ong, (Y/N)

@creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @boxofteenageideas @indigodreamtime47

[florbelles]

alright everyone, this is a post that i always told myself i would never bother writing, but in light of the new year and fresh starts and clean slates i decided to go ahead and make it, primarily as a housekeeping post (which may or may not make it to most of your dashes since apparently tumblr has hidden me from a few of you on ios rip).

the tl;dr of it is that i will be on a bit of a hiatus for the next week or so — i still intend to answer some of my remaining asks from a couple days ago and check my messages, so by all means, mutuals please feel free to forward over any updates/posts i might otherwise miss or if there’s an ask/prompt meme you’d like me to send things for. ( i mean it, you would be doing me a favor in not falling completely behind ).

normally i would leave it at that, but since certain aspects of this have already been aired publicly, i’ll elaborate a bit.

it’s no secret that there’s a general lack of respect for creators and their intellectual property in fandom spaces, with art and gif repostings being the most notorious. while fortunately in my comparatively small circle this isn’t generally an issue, just within the past month there have been multiple instances of stolen art being reuploaded, someone’s commission getting traced by a charging artist with the commissioner’s oc getting subbed out, the works.

putting the rest under the cut as it pertains to me and touches on some sensitive content (tm).

plagiarism, and intellectual property, is a bit more difficult to viably detect, particularly when, while rampant itself, there have also been several instances of baseless claims of being “ripped off” or plagiarized leading to harassment, bullying, gatekeeping, doxxing, and so on (in this fandom, very, very famously, for offenses such as “same in-game hairstyle with the same generic love interest” or “background detail intuitive to the source material that explains or relates to something canonically true” or “wears aforementioned popular love interest’s shirt”).

so, no, even when someone makes a 1:1 version of my most prominent character without bothering to file the serial numbers off, even with direct phrases copied and pasted from character asks, even when several of the biographical background details that appear either identically or altered slightly with a search and replace (in one instance very literally, with my exact identical verbiage with the exception of one word, which was the WASPy Sport named) came from a seven year old original project and are not in any way derived, intuitive to, or related to the source material, that’s not something i feel comfortable talking about, complaining about, or drawing attention to, because unlike art or images or something material and visible, claims of plagiarism or the theft of intellectual property are something that have a history of being abused. 

it’s also something that has happened, to some extent or another, to the majority of fandom writers & creators.

some of that comes with the territory of fandom. some people feel that’s a perfectly acceptable form of character or world building in a fandom space because they don’t differentiate between the intellectual property of a fellow fandom creator and the creative property of the source material, despite the fact that the companies/writers/creators of that source material have been both financially compensated and credited for their work. writing about canon characters with their original names attached is not the same as taking another creator’s character, changing their name (if that), and claiming them as your own.

so, yes, i do understand that, whenever you post something for public consumption in a fandom space, you do so with the knowledge it’s likely that work will either inspire (which is wonderful and one of the massive benefits of creating in a communal space!) others or be stolen (which is considerably less wonderful but, again, at the end of the day is more or less a trade-off that’s made, and, most of the time, amounts to an annoyance at worst).

however. in this specific instance i simply did not want to see it. this character of mine — fairly unsurprisingly, i think — came about years ago as an outlet for the absolute rage and despair i felt when i was left with no recourse in the aftermath of traumatic events because of my reputation for being a Certain Type of Woman. i don’t think i need to spell anything out beyond that. so, no, seeing that character appropriated, but now instead of being a serial killer of predators is now a serial killer of a Certain Type of Woman, no, i did not wish to have to see that on a daily basis. 

i also did not want to cause a stir, so i simply filtered that character’s tag and continued on as normal. ultimately filtering wasn’t sufficient, so recently i quietly blocked and went about my business. that should have been the end of it, but unfortunately, upon noticing they were blocked, this person decided to publicly vague me for blocking them (and others who happen to be friends of mine but weren’t in contact for completely unrelated reasons and circumstances).

they complained that i did not give an explanation, so here is that explanation.

i want to reiterate that i am in no respect attempting to come for anyone, call out anyone, or do anything in that vein. i am, however, offering this as an explanation for why tumblr presently isn’t the best of places for my mental health, and reminding everyone to please practice fandom etiquette to keep it fun and safe for everyone.

i will probably regret this novel of a post, but given that i am far from the only person who has had this experience in fandom(s) at large, it’s been gnawing at me for a minute.

love you all, and please have a safe & happy week <3

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Seven

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2684

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love and support for this series! Everyone who has liked or reblogged this week after week means the world to me!

A/N 2: I split their date into 2 parts because I wanted to give perspective from both sides. Enjoy Bucky’s POV first!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

An anxiousness bubbled up inside Bucky as he and (Y/N) stepped out of her office building and onto the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. It was five o’clock, meaning every other yuppie in New York was trying to get somewhere as well. Walking shoulder to shoulder with her felt like a feat in itself. Everyone around them seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, and they were fighting against the current like a pair of spawning salmon swimming upstream.

With his size and stature, most passers-by gave Bucky a wide berth. But with (Y/N), they didn’t. They jostled her like a small boat caught at sea during a storm; they gave her no mind in their rudeness. She fought to stay astride him as businessmen shouldered past her like a runningback fighting to make it to the endzone.

A feeling of protectiveness washed over him. Longing to whisk (Y/N) away from her place on the dirty cement increased with every step. The defensive surge fizzing right below the surface wanted him to tuck her into his side and glower at anyone who dreamed of coming close.

Bucky couldn’t, of course. He had to play it as if they’d only met a few days ago, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he grasped her empty hand and led her through the swarm of fellow New Yorkers.

(Y/N)’s hand was warm inside his, and the very thought of him touching her made his pulse quicken. The reaction wasn’t unpleasant. Though, it fuzzily reminded him of his teenage years. He was nearly one hundred years old! He shouldn’t be acting like a lovesick fool.

But here he was- swooning over a girl like he was fifteen again.

Bucky felt a yanking on his arm as (Y/N) pulled him from the stream of rushing bodies. Unmoving, at the edge of the rush, he found it was easier to breathe again. The fretfulness bled away once they were standing still.

He peered around, questioning why they’d stopped. Wedged between two high-rise buildings was a squat cafe. The shop’s window front beamed onto the footpath like the mecca it was, calling bystanders in from the street. Above the green striped awning over the entrance spelled out Deja Brew in colorful, blocky letters. Bucky chuckled at the play on words.

Towing the door open, (Y/N) tugged him in further.

Stepping inside the brightly lit coffee shop, Bucky was blanketed by the overpowering scent of fresh coffee grounds. It was potent, hanging thick in the air. Taking a deep breath in, he was transported back to a rickety kitchen and a second-hand table, where he and Steve would take their morning coffee and breakfast. The smell reminded him of simpler times. Times before all the trouble Hydra had caused. He let go of a nostalgic sigh.

“Right?” (Y/N) asked, standing at his side. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. “I love it here. It always feels like coming home.”

Bucky grinned down at (Y/N), understanding how she felt. The exposed brick walls, the tidy, destressed floors, and the primary colors being strewn about the space gave him a sense of sentimentality.

“I come in here several times a week,” she explained. “Not just because it’s convenient, but it reminds me of growing up.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, taking in the warm atmosphere of the quaint shop. “I get that.”

The pair strolled up to the counter and, presumably, the barista taking orders. Without looking in their direction, the young man in an apron spoke in a monotone, “Welcome to Deja Brew. What can I get started for you?”

A smile slowly crawled across (Y/N)’s lips. “Hey, Bryson. Didn’t know you were working tonight?”

Bryson’s head whipped up so fast; Bucky thought it might detach from his shoulders. His cheeks dimpled, and the corners of his striking green eyes crinkled into a bright smile. “Hey, beautiful!” Bryson beamed. “I’m doing a double--covering for Kari. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“You know me,” (Y/N) said with a tinkling laugh. “Just can’t stay away.” Bryson replied with his own laughter.

A flare of jealousy twisted unexpectedly in Bucky’s gut. Was (Y/N) flirting?

Bucky supposed he could consider Bryson classically handsome. He was taller than Bucky with short, sandy brown hair and broad shoulders. His muscular frame filled out the black polo shirt he wore, but he wasn’t overly bulky- like he played baseball in college. There was a smattering of light freckles over his high cheekbones and straight nose. And eyelashes to rival Steve’s.

Was this his competition?

Bucky grumbled to himself and gritted his teeth as he watched the two giggle over some inside joke. There was an envious gnawing behind his ribcage as Bryson leaned onto his elbows over the countertop, inching closer to (Y/N). That was his girl!

Without warning, like a shaken soda bottle, his voice exploded from his mouth, dripping annoyance, “I’ll take a medium Americano, a chocolate croissant, and whatever the lady is having.”

Shocked back into the present by Bucky’s gruff words, Bryson shot upright. His startled green eyes shifted from (Y/N) to Bucky and back again. Bucky could barely contain his eye-roll as the other man feigned busyness after being caught slacking. It was apparent Bryson only had eyes for (Y/N), or he would have noticed she wasn’t alone, despite Bucky standing mere centimeters away from her.

Possessiveness tingled at Bucky’s fingertips, and the compulsion to wrap his arm around (Y/N)’s waist was strong. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull her close. Show this punk who she belonged to.

Regardless of his feelings, though, Bucky had no claim over (Y/N). He’d known her as Bucky for a scant three days. He imagined she’d known Bryson a lot longer. He couldn’t profess his desire to be hers in such a short time, no matter the urgency. It would come off as weird and controlling.

So, he resolved to bite the inside of his cheek and grin and bear it. He could bide his time, right? He’d waited seventy years. What’s another seventy more?

Bucky cringed internally at the thought of waiting.

“(Y/N), you know this guy?” Bryson inquired, acting as if he’d finally grown a pair, with a bite to his words.

Bucky’s pulse fluttered as (Y/N) turned to face him, a smile on her lips and something sparkling in her eyes. “I do,” she said. “He’s my date.” She grinned bigger with a cute scrunch to her nose as she said date.

Bryson’s eyes widened in alarm, then quickly narrowed in suspicion as he observed the flowers (Y/N) held. Bucky wondered, momentarily, if he was the first guy (Y/N) had ever brought into the shop. Was Bryson just as jealous as he was?

It wasn’t until he saw the almost imperceivable head tilt to get (Y/N) to step away from Bucky’s side did he realize what Bryson’s genuine concern was about.

(Y/N)’s brow furrowed in confusion as she took a stride to her right.

In a hushed whisper, Bryson asked, “You know who he is, right?” Bucky’s super-hearing picked up every word.

(Y/N) unsuccessfully tried to blink away her uncertainty, causing her eyebrows to pinch together further. “Who exactly is he, Bryson?” (Y/N) pondered, an edge of irritation leaking into her speech. She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her sweater tighter around her body.

Bucky could hear it in her voice. (Y/N) knew precisely what Bryson had meant and was trying to draw it out of him.

“You know,” Bryson said, not even trying to whisper anymore. “He’s that guy.”

(Y/N) cocked her head to the side a fraction. “You mean the guy who the US government exonerated for any and all crimes he may have committed as The Winter Soldier? You mean that guy?” (Y/N) deadpanned, uncrossing her arms. Bryson stared at her blankly.

“What about the guy who got drafted into a war unwillingly?” (Y/N) continued. “Or the one captured by the enemy and experimented on against his will?” Her hands curled into fists as the tension in her body rose. Bryson’s eye contact suddenly became very jumpy, unable to focus on her now and for a good reason.

“How about the guy who fell from a train- survived- and had his arm barbarically amputated?”

Bucky watched (Y/N)’s hands tighten further, blanching her knuckles of any color. He shuffled forward, ready to jump in if need be. Although, she was doing a good job holding her own.

“Don’t forget about that one guy who was tortured and abused, brainwashed, and forced to commit unspeakable atrocities for over seventy years, all in the name of a cult,” (Y/N) stated, pressing her palms flat against the countertop and ducking her head, trying to catch Bryson’s eye. His face flushed visibly in embarrassment.

“In case you aren’t caught up on your current events, Bryson, that guy’s name is Bucky Barnes,” (Y/N) spit sardonically.

Bryson raised his eyes at this, and the look on his face darkened. “Regardless of whether he was brainwashed or not, he’s an Avenger,” Bryson sneered, his gaze sliding to Bucky. “And that makes him dangerous.”

What the hell was this guy’s problem? Bucky wondered, wanting to wipe the smirk off his smug face.

(Y/N) let out a humorless huff of a laugh. Her lips spread into a thin line. “No more dangerous than the possibility of being struck by lightning or getting hit by a subway train.”

Bucky chuckled inwardly as Bryson flexed his jaw in frustration. (Y/N) was really getting to him.

Bryson’s expression morphed into something more sinister. “I mean, are you really going to take the word of some ‘expert’ from a third-world country that he won’t turn into a murder-bot again?” The air-quotes in his tone punctuated the contempt he undeniably felt.

Anger blossomed in Bucky’s chest at the degrading mention of the Princess of Wakanda. He owed everything to Shuri. If it weren’t for her, he definitely wouldn’t be in New York right now but on the run again. Shuri saved his life.

Bucky took a step toward the counter, intending to do something, anything to shut this jackass up. Instead, (Y/N) placed a calming hand to his sternum, stopping him from doing anything rash. The look of disdain on Bryson’s face amplified the longer (Y/N)’s touch lingered on his body, and that was equally as satisfying as causing this prick bodily harm.

“While your concern is unwarranted,” (Y/N) assured, “it’s also unwanted. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She gazed up into Bucky’s blue eyes fondly; a charming smile curled at her lips. “Besides, I don’t think he’d hurt a fly now.”

“It’s your funeral,” Bryson mumbled under his breath. (Y/N) didn’t catch it, or she paid it no mind.

The affection Bucky felt for (Y/N) at that moment swelled exponentially. He was in love with her, he realized. It was no longer just a crush.

No one, other than Steve, had ever championed for him as openly or as forcefully as she had just then. The adoration accumulating in his heart felt like it would erupt at any minute. She made him want to believe in love again. She made him think he might be worthy of that love someday.

He’d have to find a way to earn it, somehow.

Staring into her beautiful face and seeing compassion and empathy made him want to press his lips to hers. He still couldn’t believe she’d found him on accident. It was all so serendipitous.

There was one crucial roadblock obstructing his path to happiness, though. One he couldn’t possibly ignore for much longer without consequences— figuring out how to tell (Y/N) he and James were the same. But how?

Until then, he’d enjoy the ride.

“Hey, Bryson,” (Y/N) vocalized, her timbre a saccharine sweet. “I’ll take a medium iced mocha with extra whip and a white chocolate raspberry scone as well.” She winked at Bucky.

A scoff came from low in the pastry case causing Bucky and (Y/N) to titter in laughter.

“Wow. That was-” Bucky started, trying to find the words to explain how her coming to his defense made him feel.

(Y/N)’s pupils dilated, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Oh, my God!” she said in a near panic. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky smiled at her warmly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He brushed a stray hair from her cheek delicately, his fingers dallying along the soft skin. The palm of his hand settled just below her ear, on the side of her neck. His thumb bobbed up and down with every clench and unclenching of her jaw.

“You must be so sick of hearing the same argument over and over again. People deciding your guilt or innocence based on first glances,” (Y/N) murmured, finally dropping her hand from his chest.

Bucky wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart through all the layers of clothes he was wearing. “It’s nice to have a cheerleader, for once,” he answered honestly.

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll always be in your corner, Bucky.”

His stomach dipped at her words’ implications. He whole-heartedly believed she would. “Thank you.”

(Y/N) shrugged in response. Over her bouncing shoulder, Bucky caught a glimpse of Bryson scowling at the two of them from his spot at the espresso machine. Bile churned in his belly. Bryson was turning into a nuisance, like a mosquito at a summer barbeque.

Bucky brought the hand at (Y/N)’s neck down to her upper arm and rubbed it gently. “Why don’t you find us a seat. I’ll finish up here,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. She returned the gesture and nodded her head in acquiescence, sweeping past him.

Bucky followed her movements through the coffeehouse as she picked a cushioned bistro set positioned near the front windows. The waning light of the day cascaded through the clear glass, highlighting her delicate, feminine features. She was breathtaking.

Turning to face the dreadful barista, the grin on Bucky’s lips faded into a frown.

Bryson set their order down roughly on the register counter and proceeded to punch in the items on the touchscreen. He remained silent, mulishly waiting for payment. The death glare he wore seemed to be permanently etched into his features now.

Bucky could tell he was seething; the vein in his forehead throbbed with every beat of his pulse. Instead of engaging, though, Bucky smirked and slid a twenty-dollar bill toward the other man.

Bryson angrily scooped up the money. He bent his head closer to Bucky, gnashing his teeth. “If you hurt a single hair on her head, I will burn you to the ground,” he taunted, reaching into the till for change and tossing it on the counter.

Bucky’s expression never faltered. His exterior remained composed, cool as a cucumber. Inside, he raged like a bull seeing the color red. He wanted nothing more than to mop the floor with this asshole’s face. Alternatively, he gathered the littered change and dumped it all into the tip jar sitting beside the register. He stared Bryson dead in the face, a ghost of a smile still clinging to his mouth. “And if I ever hear of you treating (Y/N) with the blatant disrespect you showed her today…” Bucky paused, his voice calm and controlled. He leaned forward, pushing in closer to Bryson’s ear. “They’ll never find your body.”

The joy he felt coursing through his body as Bryson’s eyes stretched to the size of saucers and his Adam’s apple wobbled as he gulped in fear was indescribable.

Bucky gathered their drinks and pastries, pivoting towards the table where (Y/N) sat. He shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, “Have a good day, Bryson!”

Chapter Six (Part 2) | Chapter Eight

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[houndsofcerberus]

Apotheosis Chapter 2

Summary: Techno and Theseus arrive to Nimius though the arrival is met with…mixed reviews

No CWs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33386038/chapters/83133148

The rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves and the rolling of the cart wheels had become monotonous and boring by the time they finally reached their destination. The only change from the expanse of identical trees was when they had neared. Nimius was large but it’s capital, settled near it’s southernmost border, was a sight to behold. Nimius was known for its abundance, having been named for its wealth. This of course brought with it lavish lifestyle, but this wasn’t unanimous across the kingdom. The country had many smaller villages and hamlets, a great deal of the Nimian population was in fact farmers and ranchers. The land Nimius occupied was some of the best across the continent for farming, the soil was rich and fertile and the conditions were mild enough and the growing season long enough to have made Nimius an agricultural giant amongst the land.

Technoblade was of the opinion that no description could do the feeling of walking into the Nimian capital justice however. No story, nor poem, nor song could ever compare to the feeling of walking in. The royal family’s crest depicted a peacock, bright and fierce, and proud as all hell, signifying the wealth of the region. The crest was frequent in the city however it was more apparent around the castle. They were a proud people who showed their wealth happily. Techno hadn’t been in Nimius for quite some time, though as the cart rolled into the city it appeared not much had changed. The streets were well kept, clean and had planter boxes lining the cobbled streets, the stones were smooth and the buildings light in color. White and teal were everywhere, along with dull orange terracotta and faux gold shimmer. Murals decorated the walls of several buildings, well kept up and beautifully bright. It was like walking into a painting. Theseus was leaning forward, looking around, eyes wide as he took in the market smelling strongly of fresh bread and other delicious smells from the vendors in the street. People walked idly, moving out of the way of Techno’s cart and looking in curiously. Some frowned and watched Techno, though he didn’t blame them. He had accumulated many many battle scars from his adventures, and several were laid into his face, leaving him looking… rough to say the least. He pressed on, ignoring them and driving the horses to the castle ahead.

It was an architectural masterpiece, within its large gates it was covered in ivy and tile mosaics of trees, peacocks, and farmland. The things that made Nimius what it was. It was beauty and luxury in its purest form, abundance at its most bare and most extravagant. Technoblade had missed Nimius.

“Woah!” Theseus gasped, leaning so far forward Techno needed to grab his shirt and pull him back into the seat. “What are those?” he asked excitedly, pointing at a blue bird amongst several others, it’s tail long as it trailed behind the bird, folded. The feather’s were iridescent and there was a small crest on its head.

“That's a peacock, the monarch has an affinity for them,” Techno said fondly. As his dog passed the bird, clearing the path for the horses, several of the peacocks shook out their tails and Theseus’ eyes went wide once more.

“It’s got so many eyes!” he said, looking at Technoblade in wonder.

“It’s just a pattern, they use it to scare off anything trying to eat them.” Techno said, smiling lightly.

“They’re so pretty,”

“Very, but you can’t pet these ones, they aren’t nice. There’s one inside you could pet though.” Techno said. Theseus nodded excitedly as Techno stopped the cart in front of the castle, looking over each of the guards. As much as he loved it here he couldn’t be too comfortable so he kept his sword on him and stepped off, whistling to the dog and gesturing with a nod of the head to the cart. She jumped up and settled in the back as Theseus scrambled down off the cart, running to catch up. A young man had come out and paused in front of them as they both waited for Theseus.

“Eret is waiting for you inside. Just f-” The young man was cut off by another who had approached, staring at the sword.

“No weapons.” He said gruffly.

“I’m not stupid enough to kill a seer, let alone a monarch. Let me in.” Techno said flatly.

“No. Put the sword in your cart. And that whip too.” The man said stepping in front of Techno, arms crossed. He had a mask over the top of his face but Techno was close enough to see his bright green eyes and furrowed brows.

“And if I don’t?” Techno asked, smiling lazily.

“You don’t wanna find out.” came the reply as he went to draw his sword. Techno copied the move, hand on the hilt of his sword. Theseus grabbed onto Techno’s pant leg, and Techno chanced a quick look, seeing briefly the fear on his face. When his eye darted back up the man had relaxed slightly, eyes focused on the child for a moment before looking back at Techno and glaring twice as hard.

“Boys quit it,” came a new voice, familiar to Techno’s ears. Techno grinned and let go of his sword to smile innocently at Eret descending the stairs to the castle doors, accompanied by a woman a bit younger than Technoblade. Eret was… well Eret. Well dressed in beautiful clothes, somehow looking well dressed and casual at the same time, putting Techno’s outfit of his usual cape, shirt, pants and other gear to shame despite sharing the same style. She smiled and approached, shaking his head playfully.

“What? I was just playing around,” Techno said, laughing easily and relaxing. He bowed to them, head down in a show of respect before standing.

“You’re a bad liar. Come on, we have a lot to discuss with Puffy here, she’s my general that I told you about.” Eret said, gesturing for Techno and Theseus to follow.

“But my liege, he has weapons on him!” The man Techno had just confronted spoke up, looking panicked.

“As he always does. Sam it’s alright, this man has saved my life more times than I can count. If he wanted me dead he would’ve done so long ago. He’s as harmless as a pup.” Eret laughed, shaking their head. The man, Sam, stood there bewildered for a moment as Techno walked by, followed by Theseus who stuck his tongue out at the guard. They walked in through the large doors into a beautiful castle. Polished wood and marble was everywhere, large murals and tapestries of the gods and of old tales lining the entry hall beautifully. Techno felt out of place, dirty grungy clothing, scarred and unpolished, unrefined. Eret led them further, past the large throne room and into a further hall. Puffy opened a door, revealing a round, average sized table, six chairs around it, a teapot and snacks upon it. Eret took their spot and Puffy chose one nearby, Techno opting for one across from Eret, and Theseus clamoring up onto the chair beside Techno.

“You never told me you had a kid,” Eret said, smiling and placing a few sweets in front of Theseus.

“Sorry, I didn’t have much time, I came as soon as I got the letter,” Techno said.

“No no, it’s alright, he’s quite adorable. What’s his name?” Eret asked, smiling at Theseus who was currently enjoying a cookie that Eret had given him.

“Theseus,” Techno replied.

“I go by Tommy.” Theseus interjected, staring at Techno.

“You never mentioned that before.” Techno sighed.

“You didn’t ask.” came the reply. Puffy snorted and covered her mouth, trying to hide her smile. Techno took the moment to take her in. Her uniform was well kept, a deep indigo blue with gold accents. She had very long curly white hair, though it didn’t age her. She looked young, or at least seemed to be younger than Technoblade, though that wasn’t saying much. She had a scar, faint and light, stretching from her jaw to just under her eye. He couldn't decipher what from by the look of it, though it had obviously been taken care of considering it was so light.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Theseus interrupted Techno’s thoughts, loud and abrupt.

“Theseus!” Techno scolded, staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“You can’t say that!”

“Why not?” Theseus asked, crossing his arms. Techno sighed, frustrated.

“I’m so sorry,” He apologized.

“It’s alright, kids are kids, I take no offence.” Eret said. Their eyes which had previously been a bright and vibrant brown had slowly dulled over the years, as though there was a white film over them. Techno hadn’t mentioned it, he had only ever known Eret with the vague film on their eyes. She was a seer, it was a natural part of having Sight. “I have a gift. I can see the gods,” Eret said smiling and looking at Theseus patiently.

“Woah, that’s so cool! I wanna see the gods!”

“Well it’s not all good Tommy. My eyes look like this because it makes it so you can’t see after a while, it makes your eyes turn white and soon you can’t see anything.” Eret explained. Theseus frowned and tilted his head.

“So you’re blind?”

“Not yet. I’ve got some years ahead of me, I plan to enjoy them as much as I can.” Eret said, eyes darting to Techno who laughed.

“You did enough living for twelve lives back in the days.” Techno smiled fondly upon the memories of their journeys together.

“Never enough Blade, never enough,” Eret said, sighing happily at their own memories of the time. “We’ll need to reminisce some other time unfortunately. You’re aware of why I requested your help?”

“Yes, the letter told me all I needed to know.” Techno said, nodding curtly, smile fading.

“Lovely. As capable as our wonderful General here is, we'll need the help. They’ve been making bold moves. We need to be bolder.”

“Are you sure?” Puffy interjected.

“You have no ideas left either. We need him.”

“No, not that. Him. Are you sure about him? I did my research, I know what he sees as ‘bold moves’.” Puffy said firmly, glaring at Techno. Just when he thought he may be able to escape mistakes of the past, here they were yet again coming to bite him in the ass.

“Can we not discuss that? Not right now? I’d rather not defend those actions in front of a child.” Techno said sharply. Puffy looked between Technoblade and Theseus before nodding. “We’ll finish this later.” Techno added. “For now I need your files and information about it. As well as anything relevant to the situation, including border declarations. Anything Nimius and Ecren have both signed.”

“Of course. I have an office for you in the south wing and your room is ready. We can give Tommy a tour of the castle maybe and have some dinner, by then I’ll have a room for him beside yours.” Eret said, pouring herself a cup of tea, and then pouring one for Technoblade. “Puffy, can I ask you to gather the necessary documents while I catch up with my friend?” He asked kindly. Puffy nodded and gave a brief informal bow before leaving the room. “Maybe Tommy would like to go find Calypso in his garden,” Eret said, smiling.

“Who’s Calypso?” Theseus asked,

“You remember I mentioned there’s a peacock you can pet inside the castle? That’s Calypso. He’s a sweetheart, and has his own garden.” Techno said, smiling. Theseus grinned, turning to Eret and nodding quickly.

“Alright, give me a moment,” Eret said, standing and walking to the door. Eret smiled and gestured to someone. “Skeppy, are you on your way by Calypso’s garden?” She called.

“Yeah, gonna go visit Bad in the kitchens, see if he needs help.” came the reply, presumably from Skeppy.

“Lovely, we have a guest, come here,”

Skeppy stepped in, smiling and waving at Techno and Theseus.

“Can you show Theseus here how to get to the garden? He’d like to meet Calypso, maybe swing by and steal an extra treat for him when you go pester Bad hm?”

“I wasn’t gonna steal anything, just… taste test,” Skeppy argued.

“Uh huh. Grab him an extra bite,”

Theseus looked to Techno for permission to go this time. After the last time he went off away from Technoblade he didn’t seem keen to repeat the situation. Techno nodded and gestured to Skeppy.

“Go, I’ll come get you in a bit, kid,” He said reassuringly. Theseus ran off with Skeppy, following him into the hall excitedly chatting with Skeppy. Eret sat and they both waited until they could no longer hear them.

“So… you’re a dad.” Eret said, leaning back with their teacup in hand. “That's… unexpected for you.”

“Yeah. I didn’t plan to be.”

“Past few years must’ve been quite the learning curve for you then huh?” Eret chuckled. Techno froze, not looking his friend in the eyes.

“Well… I wasn’t around.” Techno admitted. “His mom had to track me down to tell me. And we had an agreement.”

“You didn’t…” Eret said.

“I didn’t abandon them… entirely.” Techno said, trying to defend himself. “She knew what kind of guy I was, she knew about them. I told her when she said she was pregnant. She agreed it wasn’t a good idea, but she couldn’t work with a child and no husband so… I’ve been sending her money over the years. Bought them a nice home, money for food and clothes, a repairman, and extra for savings. I made sure she could give him a good life. I swear I wouldn’t just leave, I just…”

“So why is he with you now then?” Eret asked.

“She passed. A few days ago actually. She wrote to me and had the message passed along urgently and when I got there it was bad. She told me to take him and take care of him. I figured I owe her that, but I… have no clue how to do this.” Techno sighed, shrugging and leaning back. He didn’t dare look at Eret, he didn’t want to see their look of disappointment.

“Gods above Technoblade, what a fine mess you’ve made for yourself. We’re a nation at war, why’d you bring him?”

“The other jobs were too dangerous. Tracking down criminals, on the front lines for weeks, assassination, murder, this was the safest. He doesn’t have to be involved in the war, he can stay and if we must evacuate he can go with. This war won’t be fast, Ecren is not going to give in, it’s more stable.”

“What makes you say that?” Eret asked. Techno sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and standing, leaning over the table to hand it to Eret. Eret took it and unfolded the paper. “They requested you as well?”

“Yeah. Offered me the position of General.”

“You didn’t take it. Why?” Eret said, frowning skeptically, eyes trained on Technoblade’s sword.

“I’d be on the frontlines, the pay was worse, it came after yours, and you’re one of my oldest friends. I’m a lot of things, but I am not a liar and I don’t go back on my promises. I told you I’d come back if you ever needed help. I’m here. I have no obligations in Ecren or interest in helping them. This was my home for a while too, I’m going to defend it.” Techno said.

“You never change. It’s nice to have you on the team, old friend,” Eret said, smiling and folding the piece of paper, tossing it back on the table and relaxing. “Like the old days.”

“Like the old days.” Techno agreed

Techno found Theseus in the garden, sitting amongst the beautiful abundance of foliage and flowers, Calypso sitting in his lap fast asleep. It was kind of sweet, Theseus was gently petting the bird, making sure not to wake him, looking around at all the butterflies fluttering above them from flower to flower. The garden was vibrant, it was as though you stepped into a forest, and though it was a bit warm it was comfortable. Theseus seemed at peace there. Techno walked over and sat on the bench near Theseus’ spot on the ground.

“Where’d the name Tommy come from?” He asked quietly, being careful not to startle the bird or the child.

“My mom. She always called me Tommy instead.” He replied in a whisper, transfixed on the bird in his lap. He seemed enamored with Calypso, fascinated endlessly by the brightly colored and well kept feathers. Enough so that he had finally stopped moving and talking for the first time since Techno had met him. He was a lively kid, probably even more so before his mother passed. He hadn’t been sleeping well, crying himself to sleep in the wagon, waking from nightmares. On the worst days when it seemed he truly realized he was never seeing his mother again he had refused to eat, and sat silently in the wagon. Technoblade was not someone experienced in grief, and he hadn’t had even the mildest clue on how to comfort a child who had just lost his primary caregiver, that was never easy, especially not after watching her suffer for weeks on end before dying. Techno hadn’t spoken with him much about it, unsure of how to approach that topic with an adult, let alone a child.

“Do you want me to call you Tommy instead?” Techno asked softly, voice still low to not wake the bird.

“No,” Theseus said flatly, shaking his head. Techno froze, and stared for a moment waiting for him to elaborate. No explanation came. He just left it there. Technoblade decided that it wasn’t meant to be rude, even if it sure did feel like something he should chastise him for. It wasn’t as though it was a big deal, it was just a name. Theseus had the right to say what he wanted to be called.

“...alright” Techno said after a solid minute of silence from both parties. “Dinner’s almost ready, we should head to the dining hall,” he added, gently patting him on the shoulder as he stood to get him to stand up as well.

“I don’t wanna go.” Theseus said. Techno took a moment and decided his curiosity took precedence over his ego bruising from the fact Theseus just outright refused,

“Why not?” He asked, crouching down. Theseus looked away, refusing eye contact. He looked conflicted and uncomfortable, but Techno just waited until he was ready.

“What if it’s bad? Mom always made good food, what if this is bad? And it's so big in there, the roof is so high, and everything echoes and it’s just too much. I don’t like it.” Theseus said, grimacing and glancing at the door back in. “I miss home.” He added more quietly. Techno stood and thought for a moment.

“Come with me,” He said, standing and holding out his hand. Theseus looked at Calypso and hesitated before gently picking him up and scooting him off his lap, standing and brushing the dirt off his pants.

“We’re going anyway?” Theseus asked, frowning.

“Nah, I hate the dining hall anyways, but you can’t just not eat kid. I’m taking you to the kitchens. Did you like Skeppy?”

“Yeah! He’s really funny, he told me about you!”

“...what’d he tell you?”

“That you sucked at the games he played with you!” Theseus said happily, smiling as he looked ahead.

“...huh… well I’ll have to get a rematch then. We can have dinner with Skeppy and the cook, Bad, in the kitchen instead, it’s much nicer there, not as fancy,” Techno said, taking Theseus’ hand and leading him inside, instead of going through the large extravagant halls he took a detour into a smaller homier feeling hallway. It was lined with pictures of the staff and their families, and of Eret and his parents, all the goofy pictures they wouldn’t be able to present in the front halls for guests to see. Techno looked at a few of them and got oriented to where they were. He had always preferred going through the staff halls anyways. The main halls were designed to be long, extravagant and force you to take in the wealth and lavish castle. The staff halls were shortcuts, small and much easier to navigate due to the fact that they didn’t look the same and had labels on all the doors so nobody got lost. Techno finally found the door labelled ‘Kitchen’ and pushed it open.

Beyond the door was a nice looking kitchen. It wasn’t fancy or covered in white and gold. It had a large wood stove that was next to an oven, as well as another separate brick oven in the wall. The brick oven was unlit and cold, and the wood stove looked as though it had just turned off. There were large windows that were wide open, letting in a cool breeze, and plenty of countertops littered in plates and dishes. The room was bigger than a normal home’s kitchen and much better equipped, even having a cooler to store food and a meat locker door off to the side, but half of it was occupied by a large oak table and chairs, a tablecloth spread over top. In the centre of the table was a vase with freshly cut flowers, and beside it was a basket of bread rolls. In the kitchen was a familiar face, Bad. Though Bad seemed occupied trying to get Skeppy to stop trying to eat the food before it was out on the tables.

“Skeppy, quit it!” Bad yelled, exasperated.

“Awe come on, I’m just testing it!” Skeppy laughed as he was chased away from the stock pot.

“You’re being a pest is what you’re doing,” Bad huffed, shaking his head and turning to smile. “You finally came back!” He cheered, smiling at Techno. “You come to visit or to steal food like someone else here,” Bad asked, glaring pointedly at Skeppy who had started creeping towards the other basket of bread rolls for the dining hall.

“But I’m huuuuuungryyyy” Skeppy whined. Techno laughed and grabbed a bread roll from the basket on the table, chucking it to Skeppy to occupy him for a while.

“Actually I came to see if me and the kid could eat with you and Skeppy tonight,” Techno said, smiling and gesturing at Theseus. Bad gasped and leaned over the counter to look at the kid, grinning brightly.

“Of course! Skeppy mentioned we had a little guest! I thought he was lying for an extra lemon tart,” Bad said, smiling.

“I told you he wash real,” Skeppy said triumphantly through a mouthful of bread, smiling smugly as he took another bite of the bread roll proudly.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Bad said, brushing him off with an eye roll and a dismissive wave. “I’ll let Eret know when we send out the food, they may join us but I doubt Sam and Puffy will let him out of sight while they have a chance to discuss things.”

“Speaking of what’s the deal with those two?” Techno asked, leaning forward against the counter.

“Ah not much, Sam is the newer one of the two, he takes his job very seriously, and Puffy is normally a lot more calm but everything going on has been stressing her out. This’ll be her first conflict as General, she’s been in the military for a long time but this time she’ll be calling the shots on the field so she’s just trying to be careful,” Bad said shrugging. “Nice folks, heart in the right place but you caught ‘em at a bad time. Why are you here now?”

“Same reason. Eret asked me to come as a strategist.” Techno said. “War needs experience, I guess that’s why she asked me to come.”

“What’s war? You guys keep talking about it and I don’t know what it means.” Theseus asked abruptly. Bad looked as though he had frozen to the spot and Skeppy was trying not to laugh at him but Techno just turned and looked at Theseus unbothered.

“Y’know how there are countries? Well sometimes they get into fights with lots of people on both sides. That's war.” Techno said flatly. Bad gave him an incredulous look and when Techno made eye contact he shrugged. There was no point in lying. This would be the kid’s life for a while.

“Oh. When will it be over?” Theseus asked, frowning. “It seems like a lotta work.

“I don’t know, kid, probably not for a few years.” Technoblade replied, shrugging.

“That’s a long time. I want it over now,”

“Me too, tell you what though, you and I get to live here with Skeppy and Eret and Bad until it’s over, so that doesn’t seem too bad right?” Techno asked, smiling ever so slightly and ruffling Theseus’ blond hair gently.

“I guess not,”

Dinner had gone well, Theseus ate all his food for the first time in ages, even telling Technoblade as they left the kitchen that it was “almost as good as mom’s” which seemed to be high praise for him. Techno was just glad he ate all of it. They had talked with Skeppy and Bad easily, and despite Eret not being able to join them it was a good time. Afterwards Techno had gone to the stables, Theseus trailing behind him. Someone had put away his horses and his dog wasn’t too far off from them. Techno checked what they had to eat and drink and after deciding it was good enough he grabbed his brushes from the wagon behind the stable. He would bring his books and Theseus’ things up to their rooms when they went back in. Theseus stood just inside the stable door, watching Technoblade brush the larger of the two horses meticulously.

“Why didn’t you name them?” Theseus asked, echoing his question from days earlier.

“I just didn’t.”

“Can I name them?” Theseus asked. Techno made the mistake of looking at Theseus, whose eyes were large and watery as he silently begged. Not even he could last against that look.

“...fine.” Techno conceded, sighing and shaking his head.

“Yay! This one is gonna be.... Andrew!” Theseus proclaimed proudly, looking chuffed with himself.

“That’s a good one,” Techno said, chuckling slightly.

“And the other one is gonna be Carl!” Theseus added. “Oh and the doggie! Can I name her? Pretty please?”

“Might as well,”

“Clementine!” Theseus cheered happily. The dog, who had previously been laying calmly, watching Techno and Theseus from outside the stall stood at that, walking over and wagging her tail at Theseus.

“Well she seems to like it. Nice job kid,” Techno said, smiling fondly. He continued brushing the newly named Andrew and Carl, meticulously picking out their feet and checking for any rocks before he finally let them be. Clementine, also pleased with the new moniker curled up in Carl’s stall, and Techno pulled out some dried meat from the wagon, promising he’d take her hunting the next day for some game. He knew she couldn’t understand but it gave him peace of mind at least.

He took Theseus to the wagon and grabbed his large box of books and other important trinkets within, buried under the pages, and helped Theseus grab his few things. The child frowned as he looked for something, not finding it.

“What’re you missin’?” Techno asked.

“My teddy bear, mom gave it to me, I had it hidden in my bag!” Theseus said, looking distressed.

“You think you forgot it at home?” Techno asked, frowning. His frown deepened when Theseus nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “Hey, hey it’s okay kid.” he rushed, trying to think about what one of his friends would’ve said. Squid had always been better with kids, so he tried to think of what he would say. “Your teddy bear is.... Protecting your house?” He suggested. Theseus paused and sniffed, nodding slowly. It seemed to work. “He has to look after it cause you’re not there anymore.”

“...okay,” Theseus said quietly, nodding. He still looked sad but no longer like he was gonna cry, which Techno counted as a massive win in his favor. Maybe parenting wouldn’t be that bad after all.

They brought in the items, and Eret showed them to their rooms. Eret’s was at the end of the hall and Techno’s was a few doors down. Beside Techno’s room was Theseus’ room and both seemed good, better than the wagon had been. There was a fireplace in techno’s room, and he remembered the layout of it quite well. He had stayed there for some time previously, and chosen the room specifically for the fireplace and the small bathroom attached to it. It wasn’t as large and well furnished as Eret’s washroom or any of the others in the castle, but there was running water, a sink, a toilet and a bathtub. That was more than enough for Techno, who had long since grown used to mostly washing up in rivers. Techno let Theseus settle in his room and showed him where to go if he needed help before slipping into his room. He put his books on the empty shelves and the various treasures were hidden in the room. His jewelry box set on the nightstand.

He opened the dresser and found some clean clothes that he had previously left. That would also be nice, laundry wouldn’t be such a pain. He bathed himself and got Theseus to stop jumping on the bed long enough to catch him and wrangle him into the bath as well afterwards. He had protested heavily until he hit the warm water, sinking into it almost immediately. He still protested as Techno scrubbed the dirt off his face and out of his hair but it was half-hearted and he seemed quite happy afterwards, wrapped in a blanket and wearing clean pajamas donated by Eret from when they were young. They were a bit big but Theseus said they were comfortable. Techno got him settled into bed and blew out the oil lamp in the room, leaving him to sleep. Techno lit his fireplace and stoked the fire until it was roaring steadily, warming the room. He blew out his own oil lamp after grabbing one of his novels, deciding on an old hero tale he had been fond of. He settled into the rocking chair by the fireplace, opening the well worn pages and settling in to lose himself in the story.

He had always cherished the fact he could read, and he was thankful for the escape. Sometimes he found solace from everything around him in the pages of a good story. He particularly enjoyed adventures with a clear hero. He never saw himself in those pages, and though as strange as it may have seemed it was nice. He wanted an escape from himself, not a reflection of him on the pages. He was okay with the fact he didn’t see himself in the heroes, though all too often he saw himself in the monsters the heroes slayed. He wasn’t proud of it, and he’d never speak of those events aloud, he’d never admit to what he’d done to anyone who he cared for. Though he didn’t know how much longer he could ignore it when Puffy knew. He had no doubt Sam knew as well. The hatred and fear in his eyes as they had stood face to face earlier told him all he needed to know. He didn’t know if Eret would still accept his help if he knew, but he had to try to explain himself. Nothing would justify it, but he wanted to help people this time. Not hurt them. He paused, shaking away the thoughts, it would only encourage them to start up once more. He hadn’t gotten a handle on them just for them to pop up now of all times. He had become so wrapped up in his book that he hadn’t realized the door opened until he heard it click shut. He turned, almost expecting Eret, but instead seeing Theseus, blanket around his shoulders, sniffing and wiping at his eyes.

“Hey… what are you doing up?” Techno asked, tilting his head and closing his book, finger on the page he was on, holding it ajar.

“I couldn’t sleep…” Theseus said, sounding as though he had been sobbing. Techno frowned and gestured to him to come closer, and as he stepped into the firelight Techno could see his eyes. They were red and watery, bloodshot and puffy. His cheeks were tear-stained and he looked awful.

“Nightmare again?” Techno asked. Theseus nodded. Techno thought for a moment. He didn’t know how to comfort kids very well. “Is there something you want me to do?” He asked, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to just ask him.

“Mom would always cuddle with me…” Theseus said softly, not looking up to meet Techno’s eyes at all, but he got the message. He leaned forward and gestured him forward. Theseus took a few steps closer and Techno picked him up, placing him down on his lap. He shifted Theseus so the child was laying across his lap, leaning against his arm and chest.

“Does this work?” Technoblade asked, hoping he was doing it right. He’d seen other parents do this, but he wasn’t sure. Theseus nodded and rested his head on Techno’s chest gently. “You want me to read to you?” he asked, getting another silent nod. Techno flipped the book open to the first page, and started reading aloud off the first page. He felt Theseus cuddle into him, pulling his blanket closer around himself while yawning softly. Time escaped him, and what felt like minutes went by before he paused and looked down, to see Theseus fast asleep in his arms. He felt like he couldn’t move without waking him, and looked around to see if there was a way to take him to bed, but there wasn’t. So Techno resigned himself to sleeping in the rocking chair that night, gently putting the book down on the small table beside him. He sighed and leaned back, holding Theseus gently and closing his eyes. He smiled slightly as he felt Theseus grab onto his shirt tightly with his small hand. Maybe it was worth sleeping on the chair tonight if it meant Theseus slept soundly. It wasn’t so bad.

[and-there-were-words]

A Spider Life: Slow days (Chapter 05)

I first wanted to write something out of the Spider Queen’s POV, but struggled to keep it within the narrative I am going for at the moment. I will write something for her after what’s show-canon though. A slow one with some more HCs, but I hope you still enjoy this chapter!

Also “Ask questions” had been enabled, I did not notice they weren’t before /o/

---

Taking place some time before “Minor scale”.

After the last two, rather smooth successes of gathering the artifacts, things had turned… slow. With everyone doing their best to busy themselves, Syntax makes some (for him at least) interesting observations. (Wordcount: around 2150)

---

With the mirror in their possession, the little lady had grown silent while working on the furnace. Aside from that whisper business of course, that had been a constant the last few days. And while nobody wanted to admit it out loud, it put everyone on the edge. Even the Queen.

However, nothing would stop Syntax from working on his spiderbots, even trying to improve the additional arms on his back. Not the easiest thing to do when you don’t have eyes on the back of your head, but making sure they just won’t snap in the heat of a moment felt rather crucial. The additional weight to this upgrade wasn’t exactly a worry to him at all, in the end he wasn’t one of the brawler types.

Something in the air changed, making him halt for a second.

“Yes Huntsman, how can I help you?”, he spoke without needing to look up. The other spider made a frustrated noise at being detected, he had been just mere inches away to give the scientist a poke. With an annoyed huff he turned around to stomp back to Goliath. Syntax would be lying to say if the other's frustration didn't plug on a string of satisfaction. This sort of interactions had been going on for a while now.

Leaning back, just to give his spine a proper stretch, the scientist couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself. Just the progress he had made the last few days was satisfying, and not only the ones on his machines – but himself too. Huntsman had taken a sadistic joy in startling him whenever he could, and he was infuriatingly good at it. Though, Syntax started to pick up on the faint noises the hunter made when stepping on stone, the shuffling of clothes. Eventually he could catch him prior to a scare.

Which only goaded Huntsman to try even harder, becoming more and more silent and careful in his steps. Syntax had taken recordings to measure the changes of skill level (and for his own sanity) – by now, the hunting spider was so silent that even his gadgets could barely pick up the sounds anymore. Certainly a skill Huntsman had all along, but finally seemed to shake off the initial rust after his involuntary slumber. With the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to catch him on that anymore, the scientist tried to focus on other giveaways.

What had started as an obvious attempt on grilling his nerves, developed into a near playful banter. Just the wordless back and forth to get the other to try harder. In an odd way, it almost felt like Huntsman was training him, but he was careful to keep that thought to himself. Syntax knew better than to read too much into the hunter's actions, as chaotic as they were.

Nonetheless, the scientist found himself trying to imitate the hunter now and then. Since the guy was going on about smelling all kind of stuff, he gave it a try himself. At first not picking up much more than the damp air in the cave, the metal of the machines. It took him a while to find stronger differences, trying to casually walk past Goliath and the Queen. He found it rather surprising that they didn't seem to do much to hide their presence, but maybe it was simply the comfort of the cave that allowed them to do so.

Picking up on Huntsman was an entirely different beast. The man always seemingly on guard, always ready to appear and disappear. However with time, the scientist managed to actually pick up on Huntsman’s scent, as faint as it was. Kind of earthy, a little bit mildewed, and Syntax could swear there was the ever lingering hint of fresh blood. Did this guy ever wash that pelt of his?

Of course, he would never claim that his own sense of scent was as powerful as the hunter’s, but it was enough to know who was currently around the cave. The little lady didn't seem to have any telltales like these, which usually would've raised red flags in his mind but… he didn't question it, nobody else did either. Anything else he came in contact with, the scents of the surface… became a mixed blend of too much too quickly. Maybe a task for another time.

Aside from that, scent and hearing weren’t the only senses he had noticed an improvement in! Their lair seemed to have become much less dark, he wasn’t as dependable on his goggles as he used to be anymore. What before had looked like chunky and random bits of webbing, now unveiled themselves as carefully crafted pieces with intriguing patterns, with uses he was still starting to understand. Goliath did his best to explain them in more 'common' terms, and it was always a pleasant surprise to see how excited the large spider became to share his knowledge. The more time Syntax spent within the Silk Web Cave, the more beautiful this place became to him. A pride welling up that he lived here.

However their hideout wasn’t the only thing that was much more layered than he previously thought. Turning around in his seat, he watched the other two henchmen going about their day. Currently sticking their heads together over something he couldn't see from his position. Still, he watched them a little, while he was sorting further observations in his mind.

...to no one’s surprise, when he wasn’t within the lair, Huntsman was hunting. Or at least, somewhere outside doing who knows what for days on end. Yet always coming back with some good pieces of meat, roots and berries (but mainly meat). The first time Syntax saw the hunter preparing food for dinner, he nearly refused to partake in it. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine his meals to taste anything but bland, or worse, be poisoned. Color him surprised, that stew was better than most dishes the Queen would concoct on a daily basis. Another thought Syntax would take to his grave before speaking it out loud.

When Huntsman wasn’t around for dinner, and everyone else felt too lazy to scavenge for some proper food options, Goliath and he would order takeout. The strong spider clearly intrigued by this concept, always wanting to try something new. Syntax often questioned the sanity of the cityfolk, considering that the delivery people didn’t had much care to come down near a spider den. The food from the surface world had something comforting to the scientist, as cheap and artifical as it sometimes was. Though he was really craving noodle soup as of late and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Syntax let out a little sigh while standing up.

This whole food thing had also shown an interesting side on Goliath. While the Queen and Huntsman didn’t seem to particularly care about human food (the latter even openly showing his distaste for it), the strong spider had taken a deep fascination. Especially sweets and candies seemed to have struck his attention the most. More than once did Syntax catch him just trying some new trendy food or colorful jawbreaker that he got from… who knows where. Goliath didn’t make any of this a secret, however he clearly wasn’t one with a rotten sweet-tooth as he barely finished anything. “For science.”, he once said with a wink and didn’t elaborate any further. Okay then.

“What are you two doing?”, Syntax casually asked as he wandered closer to the two. The strong spider looked up in confusion for a second before giving the younger man a smirk, “Secrets”. The scientist blinked owlishly, circling around them to look over the smaller spider’s shoulder. There were parchments of leather, deer if Syntax would have to guess, with Huntsman trying to draw squares and circles. Large black smudges here and there told the story of many previous attempts, letting the edges of the material look almost black by now.

"Get away from me.", the kneeling spider hissed, Syntax complying with an annoyed eye roll. Looking back at the larger man in an unspoken question. "We want to make a new robe for the Queen.", the giant almost beamed with excitement. Only for the big smile to water down in mild disappointment, "Buddy ain't good at designing though."

"If you wouldn't be just so damn picky!", Huntsman shot back, smudging away his latest attempt. "Just let me do what I do best, I know what I am d-"

"No!", Syntax flinched a little in surprise. It wasn't exactly an usual thing for Goliath to argue, or to even interrupt someone. "I want this to be special and you just can't get the patterns right! For the Queen's sake, just follow a plan for once!"

The scientist had to raise a brow. This was the first time he ever saw the two of them actually butting heads and… he had to admit, it was a little bit refreshing. Letting his eyes wander to some other pieces of leather, recognizing the sketches as copies from the patterns all over the cave. This one was a sigil of warding, as he had learned the other day, and a few were the Queen's own emblem. In case some other spider demon decided to come here, they would immediately know who's domain they dared to enter. The rest of those, he had not gotten an explanation yet.

"If I may.", mechanical arms shoved Huntsman unceremoniously to the side. Crouching down to pick up one of the charcoal, he started to draw. He was no expert on how to draw people by any means, but it certainly resembled the queen more than any of Huntsman's attempts. With careful strokes, he designed a fairly simple cut, working in the patterns on how he would think would look good on the Queen. It didn't pass him that the other two were watching with bated breath.

Once done, the scientist sat back on his heels, giving his creation a proper look. Not too shabby, if he may say so himself.

"Oh this is really good, Syntax!", Goliath cheered, looking like he wanted to touch the sketch but didn't dare to. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Huntsman almost looked like he was about to explode.

"The fuck is your problem.", the elder hissed in dreadful silence, whole body tense and twitching. "What do you think you are!", he now became louder but Syntax did his best to just give him a neutral expression and not to budge. Which may not have been the best idea, as it only agitated the other further. The hunter was now standing, looming over him. "You really think you can just come in here and do whatever?! Think you can just be part of this??"

Large and sharp spider legs lashed out, in reflex Syntax let out a startled cry and raised his arms in an attempt of protection. But the pain didn't come. They hadn't aimed at him, instead… having shred the parchment with the sketches to bits. "I REFUSE TO WEAVE THIS."

Like an angry lion, the hunter had bared his fangs in a snarl. For a moment, Syntax was still prepared to be hit by the other, but the hunter suddenly turned around and just. Left. Goliath looked torn between the two men, mouthing a silent "Sorry" before hurrying after his friend.

A breath he didn't know he was holding, escaped his lungs. Syntax crumbled a bit to the floor, bitter thoughts flooding in. Just when he thought things were doing okay. Of course he had to step right into a sensitive nerve for the older spider. Heavy clicking pulled him out of his thoughts, but he couldn't care at the moment to look presentable before the Queen.

Spider Queen looked between the tired scientist and shredded pieces of leather, no apparent expression showing. But of course there was a glint of recognition in her eyes. "Why y'all causing such a ruckus?" Syntax sighed silently, giving a brief summary of the recent events.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, the scientist not entirely sure how his Queen would react. To his surprise, she let out a little tired sigh. "Weaving is something quite personal to us. Especially if we do it for someone else.", she explained without really looking back at him. Instead giving the destroyed sketches another glance. "Just pretend this never happened. He'll get over it." With that, she simply left.

Syntax pulled his lips into a frown. Just ignore this all? If Huntsman got over it or not, it did not matter. His fists clenched a little, looking at the floor, choking and holding back bitter tears he could feel burning in hte back of his eyes. Syntax was more upset that he apparently wasn't allowed to be an actual part of this clan, no matter how hard he tried.

[redrobinhoods]

illicit affairs | Chapter 3, Tokyo Smoke

AO3 Link | 4,500 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, /end

Chapter Summary: Riyo and Fox come to terms with the limits and definition of their relationship

Riyo woke up first.

It took her a moment to remember where the weight on her torso was coming from. She hadn’t slept with another being in her bed in many years, but the last thing she remembered from last night was closing her eyes and focusing on the steady heartbeat of the man holding her. Now she found herself laying on her side with a warm body before her. She didn’t dare shift her position for fear of waking him up, but dropped her head to her chest to look down at her torso. Fox’s arms still crossed around her waist, but his forehead now lay against her chest. She took a few moments to take in the sight.

She’d dated before, back on Pantora, but dating on Pantora and dating on Coruscant were entirely different beasts. She’d been afraid that on Coruscant others would only see her for her position, and so far she’d been right in her assumptions. But Fox was different. He had seen her as a person first and a politician second, and perhaps the latter only because of the bounds of his command. She’d been worried that she may have taken advantage of him in the hospital and in her room when she’d pulled him down into her arms. But now, with his arms still wrapped around her waist in sleep, she felt at ease. She’d never considered dating one of the clones before, certainly not one belonging to the Coruscant Guard. They were supposed to be loyal only to the Republic. Then again, so was she, in a way. Loyalty to the Republic and to her people were supposed to come before all else in her life. That was the vow she had made. But this, this felt right.

She brought one hand over and lay it across his neck, feeling the raised scar tissue underneath her touch. She found herself running her fingers over one in particular, large and ragged. It had to have nearly claimed his life. She could imagine Fox lying prone on the ground as one of the other guardsmen tried to stem the flow of blood from the commander’s neck. The image scared her. She’d known that the Coruscant Guard were all flesh and blood underneath their armor, but knowing that was different than holding it in your hands.

“Some petty thief.” He muttered sleepily. “Didn’t expect them to lunge towards me.”

“Did it hurt?” She continued running her fingers over it, trying to picture the scene in her head.

“For a moment, before shock set in. I lost a lot of blood.” He said it so casually that it hurt her.

“When you saved my life, did that hurt?” The thought had been bouncing around in her head ever seen she’d glanced back at his body in the museum.

He brought one arm up so that he could lay a hand on her hips. He began tracing slow circles in the satin. “Like hell. I almost wish it had been worse so I could’ve passed out.” He looked up to see the despair on her face. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, for you.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain because of me, Fox.” She moved her hand up from his neck and cupped his jaw, running her thumb over his cheekbones.

“It’s what I was made for, Riyo. We clones were born to die for the Republic. I’ve always been fine with that. Or I was, until last night.”

“And what happened last night?” She prodded. He pushed himself up so that his head lay on the pillow next to hers.

“Well, you see-.”

“Fox, Fox come in!” His commlink beeped from across the room. Fox sighed and pressed his forehead against Riyo’s.

“I think you should answer that.” She said, closing her eyes and leaning back against him.

“Fox, this is urgent. I know you can hear me. If you don’t answer in the next ten seconds I’m sending someone in there, Fox.”

Fox sighed again, then untangled himself from the blankets as he rose, leaving her feeling cold in his absence. “What is it, Thire?”

“Got our bounty hunter to crack. Bounty was placed by Lor Hano, a Trade Federation officer. The same one we had flagged as a potential Separatist sympathizer. He has a home on Coruscant and it’s my understanding that he’s still in town. I’m sending you the address and a squad. I suggest the boys bring the senator back to the office so they can swap shifts. Stone can keep an eye on her in the meantime.”

“Copy that, Thire.” He turned off the comm and turned back to Riyo, who was watching him from under the blankets. “Riyo, I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” She smiled up at him. “But we’re finishing this conversation later.”

“Gladly.” He took a moment to push his hair back from his face before starting to assemble his armor over his body. She sat up as she watched him pull it on, putting the pieces together with ease and familiarity; his fingers barely touching the plastoid except to press the seams together. Her eyes followed the flex of his body under the blacks, she couldn’t believe that she had been pressed against that same body just moments ago. She felt a sadness rising in her chest as he prepared to leave her.

“Fox, don’t die for me.” She begged once he had finished the rapid assembly.

He checked over his armor fitting one last time before walking over to her bed and sitting down beside her. He took her face in his hands and pressed a dry kiss to her forehead. Drawing back, he took a moment to look over her body before returning his gaze to her eyes. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that I’ll be fine, but I want you to know that if I had the choice of who I will die for, I would choose you.”

She looked at him in astonishment as she realized that this is how it would always be for them, if there ever was a them. She’d have to watch him leave every day, not knowing if he would come back to her alive. But yet, she couldn’t ask him to not go. She wondered how he felt to leave her.

“Fox, I think that I lo-.” He placed a finger over his lips before she could finish.

“Don’t say that now, wait until I get back and you have a clear head.” She pushed his hand away, holding it tight in hers.

“I have a clear head now, Fox. I’ve had a clear head for the past four days.” He shook his head, the look in his eyes begging her to stop. She didn’t. “At the museum, in the Natural Formations room when you were talking about forests and fresh air and then you almost died but you’ve barely lived and I want you to experience life. I don’t know how to put that feeling into other words than ‘I love you’. I know that it’s selfish of me to say this now, and you don’t have to love me back, but I really, really want to fall in love with you, Fox.”

He closed his eyes as a shudder ran down his body. A look of pain ran across his features and Riyo suddenly felt horrible for the timing of her confession. Fox had been right, it was torture to say this now rather than later, when she had him in her arms, safe.

“This is Lieutenant Bravo, Commander Fox we’re ready for you.”

Fox looked down to the commlink on his glove, then back at Riyo’s face. He gently withdrew his hand from hers and ran it over her collarbones, smoothing back her unbrushed hair. “I think that I would like to fall in love with you as well, Riyo.”

Before she could react, he was sweeping out of her room and she heard the front door close behind him. She was alone.

---

Riyo felt hollow as she walked through the Senate halls with her escort. It was late morning and many of the senators were already sealed away inside their offices, making the building feel as empty as she did. Her escort left her at the Guard office doors, waiting to make sure that she entered before they retired to the barracks. Commander Stone met her in the main office space, looking far more awake than she did.

"Senator Chuchi.”

“Commander Stone. A pleasure to see you again.” She smiled at the commander then looked around the office. It was quiet at the moment, many of those in the room were sleeping at their desks. Stone didn’t seem to mind, and she assumed that they must’ve been up all night.

“The pleasure is all mine. I am glad to see you under these circumstances, and I know that we will all be relieved when you are no longer under threat. Come, I’ve taken over monitoring the comms from my office. Thire was summoned by the Chancellor.” He waved her over and she followed him into a small room not unlike Fox’s. She took a seat in the chair opposite Stone and turned her attention to the computer terminal that sat against the wall. The program running on the screen was displaying the name and vital signs of each man next to the soundwaves coming from each comm on the channel. She found Fox, or CC-1010, with ease.

“This is Bravo, kitchen is clear.”

“Fox, living spaces clear.”

A crash came through Scout’s comm and his rectangle lit up. “Target located: second level, first room left. Assistance required.”

“Coming, Scout. Hang in there.”

Riyo watched in mild fascination as the terminal lit up with sound of their footfalls as the other troopers ran to assist.

“This is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard, Lor Hano you are under arrest for treachery against the Republic and the sedition of violence against a Republic Senator.” There was a click of handcuffs and Riyo couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “Scout, search the bedroom. Kilo, the office. The rest of you, pick a room and report to me when finished.”

The six soundwaves all synched up into footsteps and some vital signs fell back to resting levels as the adrenaline rush faded. She watched Fox’s soundwave blinking twice with the sound of both his and Hano’s footfalls. Then all the lights blinked and vanished.

“Stone?” She turned to see Stone pulling up his own comm.

“Kilo? Kilo can you hear me? Bravo, are you there? Repeat, Bravo, are you there? Fox?”

“Commander Stone!” Jek ran in, looking like he’d just woken up. He probably had. “Commander, there’s been an explosion. Ten south two east. Fire suppression team is engaging.”

“Suspected cause?”

“Hotwired thermal detonators to destroy evidence, sir. It came from the home of a Trade Federation officer we’ve been watching.” Riyo decided that he’d definitely just woken up or had just arrived at the office. She hadn’t seen him in the initial scan of the room. Then she realized what he was saying and she reached up to cover her mouth, stifling the cry rising in her throat.

“I’m going on-site. Stay here with Senator Chuchi.” Stone grabbed his helmet and blew past them, slamming the door behind him. Jek moved to take the commander’s seat across from her. He took in her expression.

“Fox is there, isn’t he?”

She nodded.

Jek reached across the desk to set a hand on Riyo’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll be alright, Senator. Unless he’s the one that triggered the blast, he’ll be okay. We’ve all been caught in these situations before. He’ll be pretty bruised up, but he’ll be okay.” He watched her expression for a minute before he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “You love him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I think so.” She hiccupped. Jek rose and walked over to her side. He stood behind her and began rubbing her back as she tried to steady her breathing to match his. Once she had settled down, Jek disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a pile of face tissue, which she gladly accepted. They sat in silence afterwards; across the desk from one another with Riyo squeezing Jek’s hand. If it hurt, he didn’t say anything.

“Senator?” The door to Stone’s office slide open to reveal Commander Thire, fully armored and helmeted.

“Is he-?” She fell silent as Thire raised his hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

“They’re all fine. Hano manually set off the detonators. None of our men were incapacitated. It appears that you are free to resume your routine without the protection of the Coruscant Guard.” She wished that he’d taken off his helmet so that she could read his expression. Maybe it was as blank as his voice.

“Thank you, Commander Thire, for all you and the Guard have done for me.” She rose and extended her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it and gave her the most formal handshake she had ever had, and as a senator she was accustomed to them.

“It’s our duty, Senator Chuchi.”

“You didn’t come here to tell the Senator that she’s free to go, did you, sir?” Jek asked. He looked puzzled, and Riyo wondered if her gut feeling about the commander acting strangely formal was shared by Jek.

“The Chancellor requests your presence, Senator. I am to escort you to his office. Jek, go get some rest.” His voice softened when addressing his brother. Jek looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it.

She followed Thire out of the office and into the halls of the Senate. It was still empty. She took advantage of the stillness to take a long look at the clone beside her without worry of bumping into another senator or representative. At first glance he seemed fine, but on closer inspection she noticed the slight shaking in his legs and how his fingers twitched.

“Commander, are you okay?” He didn’t respond, keeping his gaze forward. “Thire?” She prodded.

“Lor Hano is dead. He was standing under the detonator when it went off.” He didn’t turn to face her as he spoke.

“But you said that he’s the one that set it off, why wouldn’t he detonate it after he was out of the building?” She couldn’t read his body language; she could always read the clone’s body language.

“I don’t know. Fox is fine.”

“Wasn’t Commander Fox escorting Hano when the explosion went off?”

Thire’s head cocked slightly towards her. “Yes, I suppose he was thrown clear of the debris.” He spoke like he was trying to remember a dream. Riyo was close to tearing the helmet off his head when they arrived at the door to the Chancellor’s office. The two Red Guardsmen at the doors let them in, and she followed Thire to the room with the Chancellor’s desk.

“Senator Chuchi, it is a pleasure to see you.” The Chancellor swept over to greet her.

“Supreme Chancellor, the pleasure is all mine.” She took his outstretched hands and he gave them a reassuring squeeze as he escorted her to one of the lovely couches that circled his desk. She looked back to see Thire standing at attention in the doorway. When she turned back, she noticed the line of red and white standing at parade rest on her left. Each guardsman was covered in a layer of fine dust, some were stained with ash, but all of them stood completely still. She could’ve believed they were statues if it wasn’t for the subtle rise and fall of their shoulders. Fox was the furthest from her and her heart leapt at the sight.

“It is a pity that Lor Hano will not be brought to justice. However, I’m sure that a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders, Senator.” The Chancellor said as he seated himself opposite her.

“Actually, Your Excellency, the burden was lifted earlier this week by the presence of the Coruscant Guard. You should be very proud of their commitment to duty.”

“Oh, I am, Senator. I was just commending Commander Fox on his actions. I couldn’t ask for a more loyal commanding officer. He has never let me down.” Palpatine smiled fondly at the guardsmen, and Riyo felt a little more at ease. “If you will excuse me, Senator, I’m afraid that I must be going. It appears that I am needed elsewhere at this moment.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” She bowed her head as he rose and took his leave from the room, Thire following close behind.

“Relax. You’re dismissed.” Fox said, at least, it must’ve been Fox. She turned back to the line of clones to see them come back to life. A few terse nods were given to her as the five men left the room, leaving her with Commander Fox. He raised his head slightly in her direction, and she took that as the sign for her to make the next move.

“Commander, would you mind escorting me to my office?”

“Of course not, Senator.” He said, moving to her side. They didn’t speak again until they were out of sight from the Red Guards at the Chancellor’s door.

“Are you okay?” She asked once they were away from all ears.

“A bit bruised, potentially concussed. I think I was thrown clear of the worst of the blast.”

“You think?”

“I don’t remember. I was at the foot of the stairs then Stone was pulling me out of the rubble.” He looked down to see the worry on her face. “It’s just a concussion, Riyo. We clones recover from them much faster than humans thanks to the Kaminii. I did lose my blaster though. Must’ve been knocked right out of the holster.”

Having arrived at Riyo’s office, she ushered Fox in before her, making sure that the door locked behind them. By the time she turned around, Fox had taken off his helmet and lain it on her desk, where he at perched on the edge looking over her.

“We never finished our conversation earlier.” She said, moving across the room to him.

“What a pity I can’t remember that conversation, I must’ve taken a harder hit to the head than I initially thought.” He smirked at her worried look that quickly hardened into frustrated amusement.

“You were talking about being born to die, I believe.” She raised her hand to his face, freezing midair as she took in the tiny cuts around the top of his blacks from the debris.

“Oh, yes. I don’t think I want to die. But I can’t remember the reason.” He took her hand from the air and brought it into his lap, where he held between his gloved palms.

“Is your reason a woman, perhaps?” She ventured. Two could play this game.

“Come to think of it, yes. I think I may have accidentally caught feelings for her when she was giving me the full-body pat down. Not to mention ordering me around like a shiny.”

“Are you a shiny, Commander Fox?”

“In love, very much so.” He cringed slightly after the words left his mouth, eliciting an amused smile from her. He stood up and took her face in his hands, tracing over the green arcs with his thumbs. “May I?”

She nodded fervently, forgetting how to speak. She tilted her head back as he leaned down, closing her eyes when she felt his lips begin to brush against hers. The kiss was softer than she had thought to be possible. His fingers traced over her cheeks as he moved his lips against hers, the motions restrained and calm. Her arms wrapped around his hips and pulled his body to hers. It felt so good to hold him. He pulled away all too soon. She ran her tongue around the inside of her lips after they had parted, tasting the remains of smoke and shattered drywall from the explosion that he had left on her.

“Damn.” She whispered, locking her hands behind his hips, refusing to let him pull back all the way. “I’m going to need you to do that again.”

“I’m at your service, Senator Chuchi.” He said, leaning down and finding her lips again. She fought back the urge to pull him in harder as she relaxed against him, parting her lips and letting him push deeper into her, imagining the same gentle kisses in a very different scene.

“Titles will only take us to a dark place, Commander Fox.” She purred into his mouth as he pressed his forehead to hers to take a shuddering breath.

Fox didn’t respond. He pulled her back against the desk, seating himself on the wood and pulling her onto his lap after him, wrapping his arms around her waist. He bent down and began to press the same soft kisses against her neck. She let out a deep sigh and wrapped her arms around him, running one hand through his hair. Still gentle, she was certain that he wouldn’t leave a mark. She considered asking him to bite her, or suck against the soft skin of her neck, but decided that was best saved for another occasion with another wardrobe. She couldn’t be walking around the Senate with bite marks and bruises on her neck. Someone would notice. One day, she’d dress in a high-collared shirt and let him mark her.

“I should be the one kissing you.” She sighed.

“No.” She could feel his lips move across her skin as he spoke. “You did enough last night. It’s my turn now.” He planted his lips in the crook of her neck and pulled her tighter against him. She let out a quiet moan, trying to consider where they were. She wondered how far they could get before it became too much or they were interrupted.

It turned out to be the latter, as she was startled a few seconds later by a hard knock on the door. She pressed against Fox’s shoulders, separating him from her skin.

“One moment, please.” She called.

“Senator Chuchi, your presence is requested in the Cantham House.” Said the person outside the door.

“Tell Senator Organa that I will be there shortly.” She called back. Once the footsteps had faded, she turned back to her companion. “Fox, I-.”

“Duty calls, Riyo.” He planted one quick kiss against her lips and helped her off the desk. “I understand. But we’re finishing this later.”

“My place? As soon as you can get away.” She begged.

“I’ll be there.” He promised.

---

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stone looked over the datapad he was holding to Fox’s bed, where he sat pulling on running shoes that he’d stolen long ago from undercover ops.

“I’m going out for a run.” Fox said, gesturing to the shoes.

“Are you sure that you’re not sneaking out to go back to your office?” Stone scoffed. “Thire, tell Fox he’s crazy.”

“Fox.” Fox paused to look across the room at Thire, who had been trying to sleep. "When you stand up, will you pass me the, uh, kriff, I can’t think straight.”

“Yeah, I can.” Fox tightened the shoe then walked over to the small sink the commanders shared. He filled up a nearby glass with water and grabbed the bottle on the shelf labeled ‘headache’ in bright red.

“Thank you, Fox.” Said Thire as he took the offered objects.

“I think you’re allergic to the Chancellor, Thire.” Stone teased. “You get a headache every time he calls on you.”

“The Chancellor is actually a telepathic Umbaran and he’s controlling you.” Fox shook his finger at Thire in mock agreement with Stone.

“The Chancellor is a wonderful man, you two are just old and calloused.” Thire groaned.

“He’s controlling everything, even now, he moves to destroy the Republic.” Fox shook his head at Thire as he walked backward towards the door.

“I will arrest you for treason, Fox. Go to work already.” Stone was close enough to give Fox a final shove out of the door.

There was nobody in the barracks halls to question Fox. Not that they would, he was their commanding officer and it was well known that he liked to masquerade as a civilian jogger. The light jacket he wore, also stolen from undercover ops, covered up the Republic symbol on his blacks. Of course they had a gym in the barracks, but Fox preferred the feeling of the city air on his face rather than the stale air of the track. In the past, he’d often ended his run at the Senate building, sleeping the rest of the night in his office. But now, this presented him with the perfect opportunity to meet Riyo.

She met him in the speeder lot of her apartment complex. He’d pulled the hood down as he approached and enjoyed watching the look on her face change from apprehension to joy as she ran to his arms. Her hair was down, and he ran his fingers through it as he held her to his chest.

“You scared me, Fox.” She laughed.

“Sorry, I thought this was more subtle.” He rested his head on the top of hers. Her hair smelled amazing, and he wished that he could’ve named the scent or even begun to describe it.

“Come.” She pulled back and grabbed his hand, leading him to her apartment. “How did you get away?” She asked as she turned to lock the door.

“The boys think I’m sleeping at the office.”

“Well then, let’s keep it that way.” She turned back to him and unzipped the running jacket, slipping it off his shoulders and hanging it on a waiting hook. He gasped a little as she placed her hands on his chest and she drew back quickly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just a bruise. You gotta go easy on me tonight.” He pulled her back in, minding the ache across his body. “It’ll be much easier once we get the blacks off and you can see them.”

She laughed, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair away from his face. “Is that really your best bedroom talk, Commander?”

“Probably.” He chuckled as he looked down at her. She was beautiful, and she was his. “I thought you said that titles would take us to a dark place?”

“Yes, but I plan on kissing every bruise on your body tonight.” She brought her hand down from his brow to rest it under his jaw, stroking his cheeks as he had stroked hers.

“Mm. That does sound nice.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture, letting all of the day’s tension drain out of him. The apprehension of last night was gone, replaced by hard resolve. He had sworn an oath- a decision that he had had no control over- to the Republic, to protect the Republic, to die for the Republic. And he would keep that oath, loyal to his last breath. Because the Republic wasn’t the Chancellor or the Senate building, it was the people. Riyo was the Republic, and he would ruin himself a million times for her.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright {5}: Pretend That We’re There

Previous: Baby, Please

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!

Summary: A Christmas tree farm with your love is the perfect way to spend a December evening. 

         Christmas lights are strung across exposed wooden beams. Icicles pinned to the peaks of the exterior, shimmering off the naturally reflective snow. The snow, freshly fallen, is still pristine, unblemished by the people who have just walked through the front doors of the Christmas Tree Farm. The air, ripe with pine and mulled wine and hot apple cider sweeps through the space, engulfing everyone in a sugar-coated induced holiday coma.

          Ho-Seok holds your hand, the warmth from his enrapturing yours. You feel his thumb making circles against the back of your hand, and glancing at him, you can’t help but smile. His eyes are wide, too wide, as if the larger his eyes are the more exposure he has, resulting in capturing the best memories. His mouth is mimicking his eyes, jaw slacked as he takes in the festive decorations and bustle of strangers, all smiling and happy as they engage in their own Christmas traditions. The music is soft, some version of What Christmas Means to Me, and Ho-Seok bobs his head to the beat.

          “Whoa,” He says, stopping in the middle of the space to fully take it in. “This is, incredible.”

          He moves slowly, eyes sweeping over the vendors selling mulled wine and apple cider, the stands of ornaments and Christmas trinkets, the signs pointing towards the animals and Christmas trees. The smells overwhelming his senses as he tries to locate the booth of fresh cookies and sweets.

          “Whoa,” He repeats.

          “Where should we start?” You ask.

          “Animals?” He suggests.

          “Perfect,” You can’t stop smiling, his joy radiating against yours.

          You walk through the venue, making your way quickly to the reindeer, glancing at the sign pointing you towards the full stable of nativity animals. They have a donkey, sheep, a camel, everything that would’ve welcomed the baby Jesus into the world. Squealing as you notice a baby reindeer, Ho-Seok takes a photo as you giddily pay the few dollars for a couple of carrots to feed them.

           “Do you think reindeer are better than people?” You whisper to the reindeer, all gathered to nibble the carrots you are offering. “We’re not all bad, especially him,” You jerk your head towards Ho-Seok, who is busy snapping pictures of you. “He’s pretty fucking great.”

           “Y/N! Don’t swear at the animals!” Ho-Seok scolds, slipping his hand into his pocket.

           “It was a compliment,” You wink.

           “I wonder if they’ll paint one of their noses red,” He asks, taking a carrot from you.

           “Maybe, I wonder if they have the full line up,” You say.

           “Dasher and Dancer and Donner and Blitzen!” He says full conviction in his voice.

           “Do you really know them all?” You ask, amazed he’d retained that tidbit.

           “No, they’re on that sign!” Ho-Seok guffaws.

           “You’re the worst!” You say lightly hitting him.

           “Let’s go see them, maybe someone will take our photo!” Ho-Seok pulls you along to explore the rest of the stables.

           Together you are in awe of the nativity scene, real people seated amongst the animals, a reader telling the story of the birth of Jesus. As you wander past it, you notice an arrow pointing towards Santa, and another reader is flawlessly reciting Twas the Night Before Christmas. Children and their willing parents are lined up to take a picture with Santa, his elves passing out candy canes to waiting children.

           “Did you ever take Santa photos?” HO-Seok asks.

           “No, absolutely not!” You respond, eyes wide.

           “Never?”

           “I think they tried one year with my sister, and never with me,”

           “She ruined it?” He inquires.

           “No, it’s just, weird. That’s not even,” You lower your voice, “The real Santa.”

           “Y/N, are you telling me you still believe?” He asks, shocked.

           “I’m saying that some of these kids don’t know that these Santas aren’t real, they work for Santa and do his work around the world while he’s busy planning the route and checking his list, twice,” Your voice doesn’t waver, causing Ho-Seok to wonder if you truly believe this. Your eyes are just wide enough, innocence fresh as you explain the innerworkings of Santa Claus.

           “Oh, makes sense,” He says nodding. He loved your nonsense stories, your traditions or quirks that made him scratch his head. He didn’t know people like you existed, people who still believed in the magic of the holiday season.

           “Are you thirsty?” You ask, guiding him back towards the main barn.

           “Mm, yes, and hungry,” He says.

           “I’ll get the cider; you get the cookies?”

           “Meet in the middle?” He offers. You nod, kiss him quickly and maneuver through the crowds to the vendor selling hot apple cider. You opt for the traditional beverage, though the temptation for a spiked cider is very appealing. Slowly you make your way through the extra stalls, looking at the gifts and the joy on everyone’s face. This is Christmas, the magic of giving and receiving, the bliss of spending time with family. It was all you wanted, wandering a Christmas Tree farm with someone you love, sipping cider, nibbling cookies, trying not to sing to the carols and songs playing.

           You circle through and find yourself in the middle, where Ho-Seok stood, still staring in awe at the Christmas bazaar. You exchanged your items, a cider for him, a sugar cookie for you, and began to walk through the stalls.

           “We should get something,” He suggests.

           “Like what?” You ask.

           “Something special, to commemorate this trip,”

           “Hmm, something to take out every year?” You clarify.

           “Yes, like an ornament,” He says.

           You agree, knowing full well he will never be able to decide, the temptation to buy them all and trying to find the most perfect one will overwhelm him, and he’ll leave empty handed.

           In true fashion, thirty minutes later, all stalls visited twice, drinks and cookies gone, Ho-Seok stands empty handed.

           “I don’t know why this is so hard,” He’s frustrated.

           “Babe, you knew this was going to happen,” You say softly, lips moving swiftly to kiss his.

           “I wanted to just, find something special.”

           “Maybe you’re looking too hard,” You shrug, hands moving from his shoulders to capture his hands in yours.

           “Maybe,” He says, still pouting.

           “Do you want to dance before we go?” You suggest, eyebrows wagging.

           “Dance?” He questions, no one was dancing around you, no couples were swaying to the tunes from overhead, no one holding their loved one close, absentmindedly stepping in time to the beat.

           “Yeah, listen,” You say, closing your eyes.

          Ho-Seok copies you, and faintly he hears a favorite, I’ll Be Home for Christmas. With your hands, still in his, you pull him closer to a corner speaker. He lets go first, only to place his hands on your hips, pulling you to him. Your hands around his neck, you sway, both singing lightly to the song. Your love, much like a bow on a present, ties you together. The joy of a Christmas spent together, enjoying the festivities brings out the adoration you have for one another. Even when he’s frustrated, even when you’re hopped up on sugar, like the star in the sky, you always find your way to each other.

           Two days later, a fire raging, Ho-Seok sits next to you on the couch, an arm lightly tossed behind you, drawing you into his side.

           “This is for you,” You say, untangling yourself from him and hand him a wrapped box.

           He smiles, beams, as he carefully slips off the immaculate ribbon and tears the paper. He’s careful with the weight, it’s heavy, which confuses him based on the boxes size. He looks at you, confused.

           “What is this?” He asks, opening the box and removing the tissue paper. Carefully he takes out the bulbous snow globe. His eyes are wide, words ceasing to flow from his lips. “When did you, how did you?”

           “You went to take a picture of something, right before we left, and I picked it up,” You shrug. “Do you like it?”

           “I love it,” He says, shaking the snow globe lightly, the glitter and snow swirling around the Christmas trees, mimicking the farm you’d spent an evening at just a day or two ago. On the placard at the base of the globe reads “May every wish come true”.

           “It’s perfect,” He says, still staring at the orb.

           “When you’re alone, you can shake it and be transported back here, to our time together,” You say, leaning forward to rest a cheek on his shoulder. His mind is still absorbed in the gift, the love you have for him… the love he has for you, a marvel.

           “When I’m feeling alone, I’ll have you to remind me of home,” Ho-Seok whispers to the snow globe.

           “Merry Christmas, baby.” You say, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Next: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

[airlock]

so, while I believe I’ve made my stance reasonably clear wrt defending edelgard, I also rapidly find myself annoyed by the slice of the Fire Emblem Three Houses fandom which is bent on swinging that pendulum the other way and accrediting her character far below all proper merits. perhaps it’s high time I dedicate that concentrated manic/spiteful energy to another long analytical text post

thus, the topic of today’s blathering on this blog shall be this: the ending of Crimson Flower, the frequent interpretations on the ways it’d secretly suck for everyone, and, without claiming that it wouldn’t suck (because it would), which of these interpretations simply don’t hold up to less motivated scrutinity

-Thesis: Edelgard can’t/won’t actually purge Such Individuals Who Carry A Snakelike Stride To Negotiate Spaces That Are Void Of Light

one of Edelgard’s most notorious points of discussion is her alliance with Fódlan’s baddest, flattest dudes. more charitable readings register it as either a means of playing her enemies against each other, or as a matter she initially has little say over, but can overturn by building up her power base. less charitable readings may register all of Edelgard’s reservations about the alliance as mere theatre -- includingly when she’s not addressing anyone other than them, apparently -- or cast suspicion on the idea that she really did sever her ties with them in the postgame, being that this crucial event is relegated to offscreen and acknowledged only in the epilogue text, which, on all routes, is notoriously difficult to take at face value

the matter with the former is that, just because Edelgard isn’t always honest with her allies, some of the fandom has gotten obssessed with this idea that anything that comes out of her mouth is passible of decanonization, as though one can only ever be 100% honest all the time or a pathological liar. sometimes Hubert also gets hit with some of it, including colorful theories that he’s secretly working with agartha on a deeper level than Edelgard and ultimately intends to usurp her for the ultimate evulz. it’s almost as if one’s not engaging with the same characters at all anymore. but hey, if we must deal in characterization absolutes, let’s go with this: Edelgard and Hubert are both very pragmatic characters -- why, then, produce so much blatantly unecessary theatre? like, there’s an entire paralogue dedicated to Hubert sowing the seeds of a future St. Patrickening; going through so much more trouble than they’re getting worth isn’t how these two operate

the latter issue will give us a little more to chew on, though, because there have been a variety of arguments made to sustain the idea that, despite the epilogue text, Edelgard cannot or will not hunt down the Dudes Who Do The Worm At The Club once the chips are down. a popular one is that Edelgard wouldn’t have enough resources at her disposal to pursue that purge due to having a fucktonne of fresh annexations to deal with; another frequent customer roots itself in archetypal allusions, arguing that, as Edelgard is a blatant second coming of Arvis from Genealogy of the Holy War, her regime should be expected to be headed for the same ignobile end

on the matter of whether Edelgard can wipe out agartha, I’m moved to ask: are the people who push this angle forgetting everything we do see onscreen of agartha? in VM and SS, one month is all it takes between realizing they exist and ending them; in AM, they’re smothered into dust as unintentionally as Dimitri destroys every sewing needle he picks up, largely because Thales somehow figured it was a good idea to stand squarely between the two factions he’d been trying to play against each other.

these guys are jobbers. they’re some of the most weaksauce major villains in the history of Fire Emblem. furthermore, CF concludes with them down several key members and stuck on the endlag of their nukes, which also tipped Hubert off to the location of Shambhala, because I guess it was that important to throw a nuclear tantrum over Cornelia. why would Edelgard be the only one of the three lords who supposedly can’t vamoose these dudes with a sneeze? is it just because she’s the only one who didn’t do it onscreen? and because offscreening it alerts us more readily to what a risible anticlimax the whole thing is, I guess?

as for archetypes -- it’s entirely correct to claim that Edelgard draws heavily from Arvis, and her tentative allies, from the less completely incompetent (but still really poorly written) loptyrous cultists. it’s also correct to claim that the secret spotlight-stealing squad of doom outplayed Arvis and took over his government. still, what sort of logic is this, where an archetypal resonance means everything will play out the exact same way? Perceval is heavily based on Camus and his other imitators, but you can recruit that dude. Jill is heavily based on Minerva and her other imitators, but she can defect back to nation she’d left, if the player is sufficiently incautious. there’s absolutely nothing to obligate Edelgard to follow the same script as her predecessor, least of all to such a point it’d contradict existing canon

(sometimes the ending tapestry also plays into this, because it features a dark bishop behind the crowd, carrying a dagger behind his back. supposedly, he’s threatening the crowd to stay in line. with the dagger that he’s not holding to them. please, rub those last two brain cells together and figure out who that guy is probably trying to kill in that tapestry.)

-Thesis: Dimitri has a secret unidentified heir who’s going to become the new Seliph and make Edelgard his Arvis properly

in a cutscene in ch17, Dimitri tells Rhea that he’s not too worried about getting himself into a straight deathmatch with Edelgard, because even if that ends poorly for him (as it does), there’s another who will carry on the Blaiddyd bloodline in his stead. the fandom has been scrambling for a while now to figure out just who the hell he’s referring to when he says as much

playing off the whole thing with how Edelgard surely must be a carbon copy of Arvis on all aspects, an ascending theory is that Dimitri went and spawned a secret offscreen baby, who will grow up to become Seliph 2.0, and thus, the blade on which Edelgard’s empire ends

the thing is, Dimitri did not spawn a secret offscreen baby. lo, by the combined forces of occam’s razor and conservation of detail, I give you the true identity of the secret remaining Blaidyyd: it’s just Rufus

remember Rufus? Lambert’s brother, was regent when Dimitri wasn’t old enough to be king, wasn’t much of any good at it? you may have written him off because he was murdered in AM, VW, and SS. you know who else was murdered in AM, VW and SS, but not CF? one of Dimitri’s eyes. and that’s not just a crack at Dimitri, either! the reason why he gets to keep both eyes in CF is because the coup d’etat that nearly killed him -- and did fully kill Rufus -- never came to be.

(sidebar -- canon implies that this difference occours because Byleth cast the elusive Summon Conscience spell on Edelgard; I’d say there’s a much more reasonable reading in that, with Rhea alive and relocated to the Kingdom, wiping out the royal family is a lot of trouble just to give her a pretext with which to rule the roost herself. still, see, we can interpret that reasonably without creating another stupid ass Edelgard Totally Lied spot!)

now, I do have to concede that Rufus isn’t explicitly confirmed to be the remaining Blaidyyd that Dimitri was referring to, and it’s also not totally impossible for Seliph 2.0 to be the product of Rufus’s grand royal womanizing. it’s just, at this point, the supposedly clear-cut archetypal resonance is now nothing more than unsubstantiated fanon direly clinging to that last cliff of technically being possible

-Thesis: Almyra will sweep into the wartorn Empire and crush it like a bug

maybe, if they did, we’d finally learn anything canon about them at all-

but see, that throwaway joke is a fantastic starting point. whenever almyra gets brought up in terms of FE16 endings, it seems to be under this unspoken agreement that they’re able, willing, and intent on unleashing a colossal invasion of Fódlan, effective soon enough to take advantage of the depleted and unstable society left in the continent at the game’s end.

why should we start from that assumption, though? it’s not rooted on anything other than the fact that Almyra at one point in the past was all of able, willing and intent on unleashing an invasion of Fódlan that was fierce enough to force international cooperation. what little we’re told of Almyra at the time of the game consistently indicates that this is no longer the case.

in CF alone, Almyra does attack, twice: once as Claude’s reinforcements, and then again when the usual noncomittal border raid meets the new leadership. Edelgard’s forces trounces them both times. note how that’s just Edelgard’s forces, too, and not the continental coalition that was previously required. but that should figure, shouldn’t it? after all, after the Locket was built, Leicester alone kept any new Almyran offensives from getting that serious. and Claude himself points out to Lorenz, in their supports, that Almyran raids dropped a lot in frequency around the time of the game; that may be just pre-timeskip, but all in all, the increasingly clear picture is that, even if Fódlan stirs itself for a bunch of years, Almyra doesn’t seem to be able, willing, and intent on squeezing that opportunity for another major invasion.

sometimes, the centerpin of this theorama is Claude, and specifically, his fate in Deirdriu. supposedly, there’s a catch-22: if he survives, he’s taking his ambitions and schemes back to Almyra in order to come back to Fódlan a few years later with a vengeance, and if he dies, the vengeance will instead come from his grieving parents. now, I know that correctly interpreting Claude’s character isn’t really in vogue yet, but both of those scenarios fundamentally misunderstand him, his development, and his circumstances.

let’s say he survives -- would he be eager to come back with an army behind his back? he might have all of his ambitions, but he’s a guy who rarely holds grudges, loves being alive, and just found out he doesn’t like war very much at all. and let’s say he dies -- sure, his parents aren’t going to like it, but is that all it takes? think back to Claude’s backstory, and to the amount of people who tried to kill him; didn’t these people just finally get what they wanted?

in fact, if Edelgard wants Claude -- and/or his parents -- off her back, accomplishing such is possibly just as simple as entreating with their enemies inside the country. remember, the paralogue where she fights off an Almyran charge also ends with her expressing a desire to reach across the Throat diplomatically, where previous authorities of Fódlan failed to do so because of their strict adherence to xenophobic dogmas. chalk that up to Edelgard’s naïveté or overconfidence all you might want; the long and narrow of it is that the possibility of exploiting inner Almyran politics to Fódlan’s favor is new ground that she breaks by herself.

of course, when it comes down to it, she might not even have to do any such heavy lifting, because it’s just not a given that Claude and/or his parents would be able to enact this vengeance that’s being expected of them, or would even want such a thing. this is, in fact, the breaking point of a lot of other smaller theses about someone who would hypothetically raise the flag of revenge against Edelgard’s regime. y’see...

-Thesis: any number of polities in Fódlan will never accept being violently subjugated by Edelgard

over the course of Edelgard’s march, a bunch of people die, and a bunch of territories get conquered. any number of the families that lose something in the process will then be assumed by fans to be plotting to retaliate against Edelgard for it. this, despite that the exact opposite of it happens over and over again in canon.

and do note, I’m not even just talking about CF. on all of the other routes, you spend a significant amount of the post-timeskip fighting your own country-of-choice’s forces, because a whole bunch of Fódlan folded to Edelgard without a second thought and another whole bunch is just going to stay on the fence unless you demonstrate enough force to draw them to your side.

in the Alliance, about half of all the most influential families side with Edelgard immediately, to the point of being willing to fight the other families over it. furthermore, it seems that Goneril, one of the families that isn’t a part of this pro-imperial bloc, often gets cast as as a focus of post-CF imperial opposition, because they’re very protective of their baby girl who probably died in the war -- nevermind that they don’t seem to be at all uncomfortable with asking for their dutiful new overlords to take care of the Locket while Holst is having another sick/poisoned fit. as it turns out, Hilda can keep her responsibility for choosing to give her life in that battle (against explicit orders, even), and warrior families can get over the fact that war gets people killed sometimes

the Kingdom is the same story; an entire territorial half of it will fold to the Empire on all routes. outside of CF, this requires a little coup, but if none of the western lords ever stood up to Cornelia, what would make them any sort of eager to stand up to Edelgard? hell, AM shows us Annette’s uncle having to give up his own life just so Cornelia doesn’t so much as get the impression that he’s colluding with Dimitri. and then, in CF, there’s no coup, but that same half of the Kingdom flips like a yugioh card as soon as Edelgard gets past Arianrhod, despite that the Kingdom, with the church’s help, is still exhibiting roughly enough military strength to keep pushing the Empire back.

in case you missed it, that’s Edelgard’s whole strategy: she tries to take the fight straight to the people who would never surrender to her -- because once she’s dealt with those, then everyone else surrenders. most of the authority in F��dlan is held by scattered people who put their own individual interests first, and happily base the side of the war that they support only on where they see the best odds of not getting killed, as opposed to any manner of loyalty or loftier value. this aspect of Fódlan gets called out a lot in the game, too

regardless, though, it sounds like there’s a lot of the fandom that’s still constantly projecting a specific type of loyalty onto these people. some sort of devotion to king and country, an appeal to a sovereignity which none of these countries, not even the Empire, probably really have. most of the nobles in Fódlan don’t actually give a flying shit what government they’re currently operating under, and haven’t given one since Adrestia was whole. even the ostensibly tidy three little country arrangement that we’re presented at the onset of the game is actually historically recent.

(fun fact: did you know that, when Leicester first became its own thing, Faerghus was also two separate countries? those two got back together, but Leicester decided not to get back together with them and they made a whole war about it. I feel like that’s a little less than the stark sense of nationality that folks keep projecting on these territories)

so yeah -- there are still lots of fair accusations to make of whether Edelgard’s regime would be a good thing, and whether it would survive. but here’s some that ought to be discarded, at least for those of us who aren’t in the edelhating bubble

[the-cookie-of-doom]

A Strange Convergence

Mitch walked past the alley as he had all the others, at first believing it to be empty. He would have continued on in that belief if he had no also struck a match at that very moment, to light a fresh cigarette between his lips. There, deep in the alley, he noticed a slice of pale flesh. The match burned itself down to his fingertips as he stared. Mitch dropped it to the damp ground with a hiss of pain, but his eyes never left that strange, still form. It took him longer than it should to recognize the waifish figure, iridescent moonlight catching on his slender limbs.

Deep shadows cast the alley in darkness. Mitch could hardly make out anything around the boy, that single point of light. There was nothing to see, and yet Mitch found himself stopping to watch. He leaned against the nearest wall so that he would not make too obvious a spectator, backlit by the streetlamps behind. Silver smoke filtered past his lips when he exhaled.

As Mitch watched, he noticed the oddest thing. Stiles’ shadow began to move behind him, a long, twisted thing, writhing as if in unspeakable agony. Yet the boy stood still, his face upturned in supplication. Mitch could not see his eyes, but somehow, he knew that if he could, they would be distant. Like the glass-eyed taxidermy in his uncle’s estate.

Shadows pulled away from the wall, moving with the same fluidity as the move Mitch exhaled. His eyes struggled to focus on the rippling darkness. That liquid absence of light that dew everything in; a starving, ceaseless hunger, consuming all it touched.

Mitch stood frozen with his mountain horror, watching as the shadows reached out to Stiles. It was an impossible sight, there was nothing there, nothing to cast such a sinister image, and yet it was happening right before his eyes. And undeniable, grotesque vision. Stiles’ mouth fell open in a soundless scream and Mitch was helpless to watch as they spooling darkness poured itself into him.

The cigarette burned to nothing between his fingers, the only measure of human time that existed in that alley, suddenly filled with the endless, eternal expanse of void.

Then, just as soon as the shadows had warped, they twisted themselves back into order. A reversal of the entropy surrounding Stiles, filling him, devouring him. Like a marionette with its strings cut the boy collapsed. His limbs fell in a loose tangle, and the spell was broken. Mitch rushed to him.

Already Mitch decided it was some kind of illusion, a trick played by his exhausted mind. Grief over his uncle’s death must have reached deeper than he realized, for his eyes to twist things into such horror. Still, he checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find it sluggishly breathing beneath Stiles’ ivory skin.

***

November 26, 1923

My nightly walks have continued to trouble me. I feel as though I am searching for something, although I do not know what that may be. I find myself walking a strangely familiar path each night, but I am certain I have never walked it before. I haven’t seen these streets since I was a boy; they are as foreign to me as the would be the crowded streets of London.

I feel I am not as along during this excursion as the oft-empty streets would have me believe. There is a… malevolence to the shadows. My own silhouette is alien to me. It responds to my every movement as it should, and yet it is not me. Perhaps it is that my shadow lags behind a second too slow; almost like it must consciously decide to copy me.

Sentient shadows. Not a subject I care to entertain. There is enough occupying my mind as it is. I’ll sound like Hurley before long, and I have no desire to follow his path.

It all comes back to pathways. Those trails we follow through life, forged for us by braver souls. Few seeks to blaze their own way. Fewer still find others to follow in their wake.

For some reason, my path seems to converge with Stiles’ time and again. I find myself inexplicably drawn to him. He has made several appearances of late, although I rarely confront him. Half a dozen times I’ve wanted to shake him and demand an answer: id he him following me, haunting my nights like a specter? Or do I follow him, ignorant of where he leads? Either way, I know not where we are going, only that we seem to be heading there together.

I am… troubled by him.

***

“Such a strange thing.” Mitch traced his fingers over the jagged clay figure, messily sculpted and poorly finished. It was certainly done by a novice; the clay was rough and scratched, not worn smooth by practiced hands. More than that, the geometry was senseless and odd; it made his head hurt to look for too long.

“Do you like it?”

“Christ!” Mitch almost dropped the heavy figure—thought it might be better if he had, to destroy the thing before it could cause him anymore sleepless nights—as he whirled around. Standing just outside the doorway was Stiles, with his big round eyes and his lips downturned into their perpetual moue of discontentment. Mitch set the figure back on its pedestal. As soon as it clicked into place Stiles stepped forward, and Mitch was struck by the sudden impulse to retreat, keep the heavy oak desk between them. He didn’t.

“I made it.” Stiles brushed his finger down one of the arching curves. “Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“Me neither. It came to me in a dream.” Stiles shuddered and wrapped his arms around himselves, spindly fingers covering the jut of his elbows. “Do you ever have dreams?”

“Sometimes.” Mitch didn’t tell Stiles how more and more, he featured in them. He wondered if Stiles somehow knew anyway.

“Are they good dreams?”

His mind was forced to turn to Stiles; a strange, twisting creature, writhing in his sheets. From fear or pleasure or both, Mitch could never tell. The shadows were too severe over his features to ever fully make out the expression on his face.

“Sometimes,” Mitch answered again, because some of those dreams left him to wake panting and sticky and unable to feel the shame curdling in his belly when desire still ran so hot through his veins. More than one page in his journal was taken with frantic sketches done in the middle of the night, a hollow attempt to commit to paper what Stiles looked like in his dreams. The delicate curve of his breastbone, the rapturous arch of his spine. The open, welcome line of his legs and the soft, plush shape of his lips, always bitten red. Mitch didn’t know what possessed him to immortalize his indiscretions; perhaps if he could not see Stiles in the flesh, he could at least have this crude rendering.

Stiles pulled Mitch out of his mind just as swiftly as he had dredged up those awful imaginings he kept locked away, only to be examined in the dead of night. Mitch realized he was staring too long at Stiles’ lips when he saw them curve into a small, secretive smile. A rare thing.

“My dreams are nightmares,” Stiles said, possible—probably—for the second or third time. “They’re filled with monstrous creatures. They haunt me.” As he spoke Stiles approached, gliding over the floor, until they were almost chest to chest. Only the pedestal crowned with the crude statuette stood between them, little enough distance that Mitch could feel Stiles’ breath ghost against his jaw, second after it left his lungs. Strangely cold. Maybe he should have put the desk between them after all. “Your uncle was very interested in my dreams. He has me tell him about each one, recording them into his little wax cylinders, taking his notes. My draws as well, and my sculptures. Are you interested in them, too, doctor?”

“Yes,” Mitch breathed. There was nothing else for him to say. Anything else would stop Stiles from speaking to him, break this strangely intimate moment between them.

“Maybe I’ll tell you of them, then. Mr. Hurley always wanted to hear about them straight away. While they were fresh in my mind, he said. He even let me stay here for a time, while he conducted his research, holding vigil outside my bedroom at night.” Stiles leaned in a little closer and looked up through his long eyelashes, moistened his lips with his tongue. “Truth be told, I think he would watch me as I slept. Only to note down anything I said, of course. Things I wouldn’t remember come morning. I think that’s would he would have said if I ever caught him.”

“If you thought he was watching you, why did you let him?”

“I liked it,” Stiles said simply. Mischief sparked in his golden eyes, at offs with his deceptive, innocent demeanor. “Knowing he was watching over me made me feel safe. I haven’t been able to sleep since he died; I still feel like something is watching me. Do you think you could help me, doctor?”

Mitch stumbled over nothing. Mistakenly, he tried to catch himself on the thin pedestal and instead overbalanced it. Stiles sculpture crashed onto the ground and broke; too blunt and heavy to shatter, although the delicate, wispy pieces on the edges splintered away. Thich crevasses cleaved apart the heavy core.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Mitch leant down to pick up the pieces, but the damage was done.

“it’s alright.” Stiles tilted his head consideringly. “Looks better this way. More right.” Stiles left without another word, leaving Mitch to stare after him in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that?” Mitch asked the now-empty room. He picked up the largest pieces of the statuette and tried to fit them together again, to see if they could be salvaged. Mitch couldn’t figure out how to align the pieces. Somehow, the hardened clay was distinctly twisted into a new shape, no longer fitting against itself.

Mitch resolved to throw it away and think of it no more.

[greekowl87]

Fic: After Shock

A/N: I feel like I haven’t had time to breathe since I started the new job and my anxiety has made it so I haven’t been sleeping a lot either. I haven’t been writing either. So decided to rewatch ‘Wetwire’ after some friends were just rewatching and tried to bust out a quick fic. It took two weeks.I don’t know where my head took me with this. Taggin @90saolchatroom because it was one of her comments that started this idea.

P.S. I also make a reference to another fic I wrote called Sure. Fine. Whatever. Also, @90saolchatroom‘s headcanon was also the source of inspiration that well. Heck, she was the inspiration for these fics period.

P.P.S. No beta so mucho apologies for the typos. Between lack of sleep and getting used to the new job, I’m sorry.

Tagging @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @improlificinsarcasm

Scully was free to leave the hospital after a few days of observation with her mother dogging her at each step. She couldn’t blame her, especially after what had happened. Fears of trust and betrayal. Rushing to the only place where she thought she had left. Pointing a gun at her partner. Breaking down in her mother’s arms still grasping her weapon, afraid to give up control. She remembered feeling Mulder’s sad gaze linger as her mother soothed Scully. 

The same moment had entirely had been mirrored months previously with Modell control Mulder and point a gun at her. The pain Mulder realized he couldn’t control his own actions. And then with her, she had shown just the opposite. Fear. True fear. What an odd twist of fate. In shared moments of desperation, both had almost shot their respective partners. Except for this time, something resonated deeply in Scully’s heart. A deep ache that hadn’t healed.

After many promises to call Maggie Scully in the morning and assurances that Scully would be fine in her Georgetown apartment, her mother left shortly before ten. The paranoia was still fresh in her mind, however, that was one side effect she hated from the entire experience. She could remember everything. Logically, she knew there was nothing to be afraid of but that would stop checking the locks on all of her windows and triple checking the lock on her front door. Satisfied that she was safe, Scully retreated to her bathroom to draw a long bath in an effort to relax.

It still bothered Scully that she could have let herself think that: Mulder had betrayed her and broken their deeply earned trust in one another. As she slid beneath the steaming water and bubbles, she flashed back over the past three years. Tooms trying to kill her in her bathroom. Duane Barry breaking through her living room windows that lead to abduction. Then to chasing Mulder down to Puerto Rico and staying with him even after news of Melissa taking the bullet meant for her. 

Scully flinched in memory, a twinge of regret. It should have been her instead of her sister. When Missy and her mother had needed her, she was with Mulder, chasing the Truth with a capital ‘t’, finding her name amongst endless files that should not exist.

But in the hospital room, when Scully arrived at a vacant bed, it was Mulder who wordlessly held her hand in that empty hospital room and then hugged her as she became adrift with grief. But during all this, during these past three years, Scully had come to trust him more than she would have thought possible. But now that regret and anxiety lingered over her current actions. Had she destroyed it? What they had? What was there left to go back to?

Unable to help herself, Scully climbed out to tub, draining the water, and reached for her cordless phone. It was near midnight but she knew Mulder to be up. The man hardly slept. After she dialed his number and reaching is answering machine, she decided to get dressed and drive to Old Town Alexandria, her conscience weighing heavier by the minute. The midnight drive took longer than she would have liked and parking being worse than she imagined. She turned up the radio in an effort to drown out her thoughts as she parked the car. Scully could go back home and pretend she was okay for the next time they saw each other at the office on Friday morning or she could do something.

**************

Scully found herself in front of apartment number 42 with her hand poised to knock but the door was quickly pulled open. “I saw you parking from the window,” Mulder greeted her softly. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Scully tried to look beyond her tall partner and saw a reading lamp on, heard The Cranberries playing, and no blue tv light. “Um, no.” She refocused her gaze. “Um...I called and it went straight to voicemail. I was, uh…”

“Did you? I must’ve missed it. I ran out to get some food. Are you hungry?”

He stepped away from the entryway and opened the door wider so she could come in. “So no tv tonight?” 

He lowered the volume on his stereo. “I thought I would take a break from watching tv, given recent events.”

She chuckled. “Don’t stop on account of me.” Mulder disappeared into the kitchen as Scully picked the book he had been reading up off the table. “I could tell you the ending to the book your reading, Mulder.”

“I thought I would give it a go since I remind you so much of the title character. You remember our conversation when you wrecked the boat,” Mulder laughed from the kitchen. Scully looked down at the library copy of Moby Dick fondly. “And don’t ruin it.”

“Some coincidence, Mulder.”

“I guess.” He came back out with two cans of soda and one hand and two plates balanced precariously on his other arm like a waiter. “I think I remembered. Beef and broccoli with white rice instead of noodles because you want to be healthier, sweet and sour chicken for me and one single egg roll for you.”

“Mulder, that’s our normal Chinese order. I wasn’t planning on coming over tonight.”

“Call it initiation.” He paused and shrugged. “I must have done it out of habit. Now that I have, we can’t let it go to waste can we?”

“I suppose not,” Scully conceded

“So,” Mulder began, passing her the plate, “are you feeling any better? Not gonna draw your weapon at me if the rice isn’t hot enough?”

“Mulder, please don’t. I feel bad enough as it is what happens.” She sighed, looking at the food. “I still feel ashamed.”

“Scully, you can’t let it eat you like that,” he answered. “You weren’t in your right mind. Just like when Modell controlled me. We had no control over the situation.”

They sat on the leather couch so close that they were touching. Scully moved slightly in an effort to make it less awkward. She shoveled the Chinese around on the plate. “I feel like I did, in some way. Why would it make me believe that you had betrayed me?”

“It prayed on our worst fears. I guess,” he paused in thought, “I guess my betrayal is one of yours.”

“Well, it’s true. I thought you would actually betray me, kill me...I can’t believe I let myself accuse you of those things.” She shook her head in disgust. “Mulder, how can you be okay with this? Be mad. Do something. Anything!”

“Scully,” Mulder sighed, “please don’t.” She set the plate in front of her, unable to eat. He sighed and took her hand without thinking. “Please don’t let us go down that road. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How could you be so forgiving, Mulder? I pointed a gun at you. I’ve shot you before, don’t forget!”

“Did you forget I did this same to you not a few months ago?” And he smiled sadly. “And you shot me because I was out of my mind. You saved me, remember? Who else could perform surgery both with a pistol and scalpel?” She bit her lip and tried to pull her hand away. Mulder did not let her hand go. “Neither were you. So why do you hold yourself to a set of different standards than everyone else, Scully? I’m allowed to make mistakes but you aren’t?”

“I can’t afford to be,” she answered after a few moments. She gave up fighting. “I can’t afford to be because I have to prove just as much as the next guy.”

“Not to me, remember? You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“But I accused you of…”

“You weren't in the right state of mind or have you forgotten? Let it go, Scully. Now eat something before your dinner gets cold.”

Mulder forced the plate into her hand and took a few bites of his own meal. After a moment’s hesitation, Scully followed suit. They continued to eat in silence as The Cranberries played. How could he be so forgiving of her?

 “So what’s next?” She asked as she finished her Chinese. “For us?”

Mulder shrugged and picked up the plates. “I’m not letting you travel again tonight, that’s for sure. I know you just got out of the hospital, but it would give me peace of mind. And I don’t fancy your mother’s wrath when she learns you are out and about.”

“You’re no better than my mother. I’m fine, Mulder.”

He knew a losing battle when he saw it when it came to his partner. Her independence and stubbornness matched his own. “Well, at least let me drive you home, using your car and I will catch a cab back here.”

“Mulder, you don’t have to baby me,” she said.

“I’m not babying you. I…” Mulder sighed. “I just worry about you, Scully. And care. That’s all. I’d prefer you stay here honestly. I just want to make sure you are okay.”

For a moment, Scully let her guard down. Maybe she was still tired of everything from the previous ordeal or maybe it was more. Maybe she was just tired of more than the most recent life or death situation. “And what sleep on your couch? It isn’t necessarily that big.”

“I have a seldom-used bedroom, aka the guest room as I call it. You can stay there.”

“Mulder, I’m fine.” She stifled a yawn and wiped the sleep from her eyes. “If you want to mother hen me then come back with me to Georgetown and I will call you a cab. I just want to be in my own bed.”

“Fair enough. I think you may have wasted your gas coming out here.”

“I got a free meal out of it.” 

Scully was mentally panicking. This was not going anyway she had planned. She did not feel any better about the situation. More than anything, she needed to run. Mulder reached for her hand again, and for the second time that night, he grounded her and brought her racing thoughts back to a standstill. “Scully, just stay the night. I won’t bite and you would ease my fears.”

“Mulder, I'm fine.”

“I know you are but I’m not. I worry about you, Scully.”

After a moment’s consideration, she gave into Mulder’s request. Not for her sake of course, but for him. She did remember Missy confiding how much her abduction almost destroyed him. “Okay, Mulder,” she relented. She held up a finger conditionally. “But only for tonight.”

“You got it, Scully.”

He had that boyish smile on his face and nodded towards her. “I don’t suppose you would mind if I run out to my car to grab my overnight bag?”

“Since when did you start carrying an overnight bag with you?”

“When you started to call me at odd hours to travel halfway across the country.” Something flashed in his eyes. “It wasn’t meant as an insult,” she added hastily.

“I know, Scully,” he said softly. “I’ll go make up the bed for you.”

She collected her shoes to grab her bag out of her car before taking the elevator back up to his apartment. In the back of her mind, since she had arrived at Mulder’s apartment, the entire ordeal felt off. She thought driving over Mulder’s apartment would ease some of her own worries and doubt but this entire situation was spiraling out of control. She did not know if she felt comfortable with that at all. 

She turned the doorknob to find the door in Mulder’s living room open. She heard him moving about the rarely sed room. “I hope you don’t mind the clutter,” he called. Scully stood in the doorway and watched him. “Sheets are clean. The bathroom’s through there.” He gestured at the lit doorway opposite of him. “Can you think of anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so, Mulder. I can still go home and get out of your hair.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Scully. If it makes you feel better, I won’t say anything else about the matter.”

He adjusted the quilt on the bed and gave her one last smile. “Goodnight, Scully. And I’m glad you decided to stay.”

She bit her lip as he shut the door behind him. Scully suddenly felt trapped and at odds with the war of doubt that had been brewing in her head. Hell, that was the whole reason why she had made the trek to Alexandria to begin with. Now, here she was, a prisoner in Mulder’s rarely used bedroom. She could make a run for it and go back to Georgetown, but she was tired. Scully decided that she would likely have trouble sleeping even in her own bed and decided to spend the night and try and make the best of a crappy situation.

**************

The second time Scully woke up, she was disoriented and it took a moment for her to gain her bearings. The dimly lit alarm clock revealed it was 3:14 a.m. The unfamiliar bed felt foreign and she could not get comfortable. She tossed and turned before giving up and turning on the lamp. Boxes upon boxes surrounded her and in the dim light, she caught words like textbooks, photos, Samantha, and research. She shifted her attention and saw a dim light coming from the door that separated the bedroom and living room. She couldn’t hear the tv.

With curiosity biting at her, she got out a foreign bed and creaked the bedroom door open. Scully shivered and grabbed a spare blanket off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. She found Mulder wide awake lying on his couch, staring at some fixed point within his fish tank. The mollies swam back and forth and he sighed. “Am I keeping you up, Scully?”

“No,” she answered softly. “I just woke up. You know I have trouble sleeping in different beds sometimes.”

Mulder pushed himself up and patted the leather couch beside him invitingly. “Come sit with me.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already up, Scully.” He gave her a tired smile. “I can turn on a light or something.”

“No, this is fine.” She sat gingerly on the couch next to him. “I just have been having trouble sleeping since this entire ordeal. That’s why I tried to call earlier tonight. And why I came here.” She shrugged and Mulder tugged at the blanket fondly. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he chuckled. “I remember having the same problem after Modell.”

“What problem?”

“The lack of sleep.” He crossed his legs and rested them on the coffee table. “Well, worse than usual. I kept seeing the gun and your face. More than anything it was your eyes, Scully that always woke me up.”

“My eyes?”

He nodded and glanced at her. “It is what you mentioned yourself. Betrayal of trust. I just remember the pain in your eyes.” Mulder sighed. “I know that this...little crusade of mine has cost us both.”

Scully maneuvered the blanket around her shoulders and cast it over both of them. Mulder smiled gratefully in the dim light. She brought her knees to her chest and rested her head against her bicep. “I know,” she murmured.

“I should’ve have protected you better,” he confessed softly. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “The night on Skyline Mountain. The light. You were gone.”

“But I came back.”

“Because they decided they could bring you back to prove a point.”

“Mulder,” she whispered, “I’m not Samantha.”

“I know,” he replied. “You Scully. My Scully.” The way he repeated her surname sounded like an endearment. “But still...I can’t help but think that your sister would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

The silence was deafening. 

“Missy said everything happens for a reason, Mulder. One Christmas, when I was still in medical school, she came home. We went to Old Town Alexandria. Not too far from here. We had a girls' night. I was drunk. She was drunk. We both decided to do palm readings from this little place on the second story off King Street next to a tobacco shop.”

He chuckled. “You, Scully? A palm reading?”

“It was her idea and I was too drunk to disprove it.” Mulder chuckled again. “What?”

“Next time we discuss one of my theories, I’ll bring the whiskey.”

She smiled and moved closer to him to the point they were almost touching. “Missy went first,” she continued, ignoring his loaded comment, “and the fortune she had, well, it was a good thing we were both drunk.”

“What was her fortune?”

“Missy was told she would die young. The fortune-teller specifically said 33 years old.”

“Scully…”

She held up a finger. “But, in the afterlife, she would do her most beneficial work.”

Mulder recalled the night he thought about taking his own life during Scully’s abduction and it was Melissa Scully that had interrupted that horrible attempt. But it was her that made him believe Scully was still there, even if she was in a coma.

“Do you think she is watching over you now?” he whispered.

“I like to think so,” Scully replied. “But what was ironic was my own fortune that strikes a chord...well, at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were both drunk that night and I haven’t actually thought of it until now.”

“What about it?” He moved so he could face her. After a moment, he took her hand and lounged backward. She fought him initially but relented after a few minutes. It was much cozier than just sitting on the couch. “Just relax.”

“This is very unprofessional.”

“Since when is anything we did professional?”

Mulder’s hand drifted to the small of her bag and she relaxed. His fingertips grazed her bare skin giving her shivers. He pulled the blanket up around them. She relaxed. “Tell me what your fortune was?”

“I would meet my other half,” she confessed after a long moment.

“Really?”

“Quit making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

Scully nuzzled his cotton shirt and breathed deeply. The familiar scent of whatever was ‘Mulder’ wafted through her nose. As she reflected on the fortune she had been told, at the time, she thought it meant Daniel but now, after going through the past few years, and Missy’s prodding. Maybe it meant someone else.

“But yeah. False promises on soulmates.”

“I wouldn’t call it a false promise or false fortunes.” He moved a stray piece of hair out of her face. “Maybe you just haven’t met him yet.”

“Maybe.”

His fingers drifted up under her top towards the rest of her back. “It was the trust,” she whispered. He was distracting her. She couldn’t collect her thoughts. “I feel like, after everything, I can only trust you because you know. You understand. I call you first. Then my mother. Or my brothers.”

“So when you thought I betrayed you, you went to the next place?”

“My mother’s.”

Mulder rested his forehead against hers. “You know that I would never do anything to you, Scully. Right?”

“I know, Mulder.”

She licked her lips and kissed him before she could stop herself. Mulder broke away, smiled, and attacked with renewed vigor. Words were lost between them as useless couch cushions were pushed off and Scully gained leverage to straddle his waist. Wait. No. So many no’s flashed through her head but she could not stop herself. It was an urge to feel safe, to trust, and to know that someone was there for her. Mulder was that person. But she felt the rising pressure between her legs that came from Mulder.

“We shouldn’t,” she warned.

“I know,” he breathed.

“So much could go wrong.”

“I know.”

But neither one of them made an effort to stop themselves. “Scully, we can go a step further or we can stop this. I don’t want it to stop. Tell me what you want?”

She slid slowly off his hips and gathered the blanket. “I should, uh, go back to bed. I’m sorry for what just happened.”

“Scully…” he called. 

She disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door, her last barrier to keep her from losing herself control. After the most recent episode with fearing Mulder’s betrayal and being prepared to shoot him in the face. But to her utter horror, Mulder was trailing her. The door opened with a bang and she jumped. “Jesus, Mulder.”

“Please, hear me out. Is it something I did?”

“No,” she breathed. “We just can’t, Mulder. I had a moment, that is all.”

“A moment,” he repeated. “That wasn’t a moment. You can trust me, Scully. I promise I won’t betray you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She brought the blanket around her shoulders instinctively like a shield. Childhood memories of distrust flashed in her head, one of the reasons why she became so private of a person as an adult. But here he was, invading her personal space just like he did the first day they met. He cupped her cheek. Her eyes closed as he gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Sometimes, I don’t know who to trust but I know, deep down, I always can trust you.”

“You can trust me now.”

Scully nodded into his hand. Mulder took that as a sign and gently leaned forward to kiss her soundly. The kiss sent electricity through every part of her body and unconsciously, she grasped both of his hands and held on tightly. Mulder deepened the kiss. At that moment, they were both lost. It was something about being able to trust someone with your entirety, body, mind, and soul, and not have to worry about any fears or repercussions. Just because you knew. You trusted them. The blanket fell from her shoulders. Mulder’s warm hands crept under her shirt and she shivered. They were so close to one another.

“Scully, please.” He sounded like he was begging. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and give him the slightest nod. He was reverent in his movements as he let his fingers trail down her back slowly as if memorizing her. She bowed her head forward and willed herself to move, to do something. Finally, she regained control of her hands and gently peeled off his tee-shirt. She saw the puckered scar on his shoulder that still looked fresh despite it being over a year old.  He smiled slightly and kissed her tenderly. The first time Scully had let herself imagine this scenario, she imagined he would be much more vigorous in his efforts, almost like one of his films. But so fair, he kept surprising her.

“I know,” she whispered.

She walked them backwards until the back of her knees met the mattress. “It’s been a while,” she whispered.

“Same here.”

Scully felt all sorts of insecurity which she thought buried long ago bubble up. As if sensing those insecurities, he kissed her brow encouragingly and she relented. She pulled off her top in one movement and he swallowed hungrily. The small bulge earlier took on a new life. 

 “I know I’m not like…”

“You’re perfect,” he breathed.

She was tired of fighting and without hesitation, she lunged forward to kiss him, and then guide him back onto the bed. Like explorers charting the unknown lands, they began their newest adventure. He left a trail of kisses like breadcrumbs down her shoulder blades and down the valley of her breasts. She shivered at the soft touches from his lips. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she murmured. 

She leaned back into the pillows taking him with her. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Scully,” he breathed. He took a moment to meet her gaze. “I want you to trust me. I want to be the only one that you trust. More than friends.”

“I remember, Mulder.” She played with his hair. “But that was then, this is now. Things have changed between us.”

“That little small town wasn’t that long ago,” he countered.

He was intent on just lazily kissing her right now. She didn’t seem to mind. “But again, neither one of us was in our right mind.”

He paused and rolled to the side so he could watch her. “The planets hadn’t aligned properly.”

“Not then anyways.”

Mulder propped his head upon his left arm so he could watch her. Despite the wall of boxes in the unused bedroom, he had left the sole window free and clear. The blinds were half open and she could see the streetlights and shadows dance across his face. “I know you said you were ashamed during your little episode but you shouldn’t be.”

“How weren’t you affected by it?”

His hand traced down her smooth abdomen in thought and played with the elastic of her pajama pants. “Hmm? Oh. I’m red-green colorblind and according to the Gunmen, it was something like that causing it.” He saw her raised eyebrow. “In one eye. A childhood accident or something?” He switched winking at her with each eye. “My right eye is fine. My left eye...not so much.” He opened both eyes and smiled. “I can still tell you’re hair is red, not green, but it isn’t as vibrant with both eyes versus just my right eye. Now you blue eyes? Those stand out. Isn’t that funny how that is a thing?”

She chuckled. “I can think of any number of reasons how you might have become color blind in one eye, though extremely rare…” She sighed at the sensation as any rational thoughts escaped her as Mulder found her mons. “Jesus, it’s been too long.”

“Good vibrations,” Mulder sang off-key, “I’m picking up good vibrations.”

Scully laughed at Mulder’s horrible rendition of The Beach Boys before she was silenced by one of his kisses. His hand moved with an independent mind of its own as he experimented with a kiss or a slight tug on her earlobe. Each new sensation caused her to gasp and move under him or buck towards him. “Mulder, enough play.”

His fingers dipped into the ‘v’ of her thighs. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

They awkwardly peeled away the remains of their clothes and with unspoken communication, they sealed their union. It was quick, awkward, but all at the same time, unforgettable. Afterward, entangled together like a sailor’s knot, beneath the lightly used blankets, they lay together. It started to rain and Mulder nuzzled her neck and whispered. “You can trust me, Scully...if nothing else, we will always have each other.”

“We’ve been some dark roads,” she whispered into the night air. Mulder coiled around her. “I fear it’s only going to get worse.”

“Mmm.” He vibrated all around her and she tried to pull him closer. “While it may, you'll always have someone to trust.”

“Where does this leave us, Mulder?” she whispered.

“We’re good,” he whispered.  “We’re fine. Nothing will change.”

“We just…”

He silenced her with another kiss and she melted against him. She was tired of being unable to trust anyone and the weight of their work felt crushing in moments like this. “We’re okay, Scully. We’re going to be okay.”

“Do you trust me?”

Scully breathed deeply and tried to memorize the moment. Mulder around her. The unused bedroom that had become their private sanctuary. The rain outside beating against the window. The streetlights and the wind moving their branches. He pulled the blankets around them.

“Yes,” Scully answered. “I trust you.”

[hollenka99]

Kart Competition

Another birthday fic for @septic-dr-schneep . When writing the first one, I realised it would have to take place before Jameson was born. And it didn’t feel right to exclude him entirely. So I ended up writing this too.

There was no denying it, they were in a bit of a predicament. Chase wanted the last helping. Although he was modest about it, Jameson wouldn't mind having it for himself as well. "Alright, this is a problem. I want the last cookie but so do you." "I honestly don't mind allowing you to have it." "You want it, don't try to act as if you don't. I've seen the way you've been eyeing it." Jameson gives a defeated huff at this. "So what do you propose we do? The most sensible course of action is probably to break-" "Rock, paper, scissors." The dapper man ponders. "Well, I suppose that's fair." The first round sees Chase serving a piece of paper, same as Jameson. Never mind, draws happen. Two rocks appear next. And again. They attempt scissors. Draw after draw after draw. Frustrated, Chase calls Marvin to oversee the game in the hope a witness will break the curse. It doesn't. They draw twice more. "Dude, stop copying me. One of us needs to win." "Chase, we honestly should just split-" "How about Mario Kart?" "Excuse me?" "Mario Kart, VS race. I don't think it's possible to draw with them." "Anything that will allow us to have some closure from this matter." Jameson shrugs. Once Marvin leaves them to it, they begin with Rainbow Road. It's not part of the competition. Chase simply wished to see how well they could fair on the track. He teases his brother about being too cautious with turns. The more skilled virtual driver has a shell launched at him. In an attempt to avoid it, he abruptly swerves off the track. Wordless shock becomes exclamations of mock betrayal. Jameson doubles over in laughter at his unexpected success. During one race, Jameson does far better than he predicts. Chase accidentally crashes into a bridge and struggles to maneuver his vehicle out of its situation. Jameson finds himself in first. A panicked yell warns him to be overtaken. He doesn't follow the advice and is blown up. "Sorry Jem, I tried to warn you." Chase apologises as he speeds past Jameson's kart while it recovers from the attack. The others assume Jameson gets his revenge when Chase shrieks out "You hit me with lightening one more time and I am throwing our Switch off Brighton Pier. It's like you're doing this on purpose." Marvin is threatened with a similar type of assault after making a comment encouraging Jameson to get another lightening bolt. Sweet Sweet Canyon is comprised of sweets, chocolate and so many sugary treats one bite of could probably give you hyperglycemia. Chase overtakes him purely so he can drop bananas in his way. Jameson doesn't listen to whatever Chase blathers on about, too busy doing his best to evade the obstacles instead. He misses the joke about getting his 5-a-day that is hilarious if Chase's laughter is anything to go by. The final course is Bowser's Castle. They are not neck and neck. Jameson is 5 places behind thanks to frequent misfortune with rolling boulders, fireballs and a spiked wrecking ball. There is no need for Chase to be fuelled by competitiveness as he gets ever closer to the finish line on his third lap. Just one more second and... "YES!" Chase jumps up in victory. He swings around to point at his finger at his brother. "In your face, Jameson." Jackie pokes his head around the door in response to the sudden noise. "We finally have a winner?" "Yes, I made Jem eat my dust so hard." "I may have had a better chance of success were it not for the projectile Chase launched at me." "For the last time, I was not responsible for that blue shell. I sent a red shell your way, sure. Not like it hit you." Chase frowns. "And I definitely had nothing to do with you driving off a cliff." "What was this competition about anyway? Marv said you tried to settle it by rock, paper, scissors first. What did you win, Chase?" "Oh, the last cookie." "Cookie?" "Yeah. I got this pack of white chocolate cookies on the way home. Only problem, it was a pack of 5. So we've been trying to work out who gets the last one." "Okay." Jackie goes quiet. "You said white chocolate, right?" "...Yeah." Chase takes a cautious step towards the eldest ego. "What about it?" "So, uh... I may have solved the problem." "How?" It is as pointed as it is short. "Look, I needed some sugar, it was there and-" "Oh, come on. Are you serious?!" "I'm sorry, okay. Really. I should have asked before just taking something from the kitchen. If you want, I'll get a new pack to make it up to you." The vlogger looks between his brothers. The confrontation slumps out of his shoulders. "No, I'll go." With an indecipherable mumble about forgetting something, Chase skulks off. "Well, looks like he's going then." "You could have just had a half each." Jackie comments offhandedly. Jameson rapidly twists around and extends an arm in exasperation. "Exactly. I attempted to suggest splitting it but he kept interrupting me." A smile creeps up. "Though I must admit, this may have been the best course of action. I did enjoy our little contest." In the evening, Jameson heads to his bedroom. He comes across a gift on his dresser that is accompanied by a post it note message. You did a great job today. You're really improving your Mario Kart skills. You should have these. Jameson sighs as he glances at the plate of cookies. Yes, he greatly appreciated the gesture. But there was no way he could stomach more treats. Perhaps tomorrow, he decides. Better yet, he could distribute it amongst his brothers so each got their fair share. Now where could he find a cover to keep them fresh?

[outroshooky]

imagine | ksj

⇢ genre: drabble (postbreakup!au) (angst, some fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 2.5k

⇢ prompt: “why can’t you imagine a world like that?”

⇢ warnings: swearing and heartbreak. have fun, y’all.

⇢ a/n: i’ve been listening to thank u, next as an album a lot for the last few weeks. kudos to ariana grande and imagine for this one, as well as she’s all yours by loote.

Nobody ever said pad thai was the healthiest of dinners, but it certainly hit the spot on cold, rainy evenings when you found yourself bent over textbooks, immersed in criminal psychology like the nerd that you are.

Chinese food has become your go-to more and more these past few weeks, the heat on your tongue from Kung Pao chicken and lo mein warming you up from the inside. All it seems to do outside your apartment windows is storm, the world outside rendered a permanent color swatch of gray. Pewter were the clouds that settled low over campus, bellies distended with wrath. Abalone was the muted light that filtered through your bedroom blinds, dim and barely-there. Slate were the bricks of the achy old home directly facing your own, looming in your window, lashed wet and whipped by the never-ending rainfall.

A depressing existence, certainly.

In fact, the weather is not the only thing that seems to have turned a chilled back on you. In one dramatically splintering fragment, your friends have drifted away from you, too. Yoongi no longer comes around to talk some obscure bit of politics with you; Taehyung suddenly finds excuses to spend his time pouring over copies of art manuscripts dating back to the Renaissance. Your cold brew seems to have lost its vanilla flavor; the sweetness brews stagnant on your tongue. Even the majestic portraits of the university’s founding fathers, poised and proud in their frames, appear to be frowning down on you.

It’s as if the universe is trying to tell you something. Which, judging by all of those things plus the daily horoscopes that light up your phone screen, it probably is.

Sunday, 12:47 PM. Your day at a glance. Sometimes, you’re doing the work without being aware of it.

“You missed date night on Friday.”

“I did? Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry. Can we do it this Sunday instead? Or maybe Wednesday?”

“I have work on Sunday and a mandatory civics exam on Wednesday.”

“Well, how about next week?”

“This is the third one in a row you’ve missed, Seokjin.”

Yesterday, 12:53 PM. Your day at a glance. Think of trusting people as an act of generosity today.

“I thought you said you were studying with Yoongi in the library tonight.”

The door creaks closed. “I was. There’s a group project coming up that we’re nervous for.”

A text notification lights up your phone, the gentle ping! way more cheery than necessary.

myg: where’s your boyfriend? he’s supposed to be here. it’s been two hours and his coffee is getting cold.

And, perhaps, your favorite:

Nine hours ago. Your day at a glance. Don’t be scared to tell each other the truth.

myg: there’s nothing wrong with me, but i think you need to take some time for yourself, so we’re giving you some space. we’re all worried about you.

Perhaps this whole message-from-the-universe thing is more obvious than you thought it was.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your takeout, leaning over your textbook with renewed, nearly reckless abandon.

The universe would have to wait. You had an examination on court cases tomorrow that you could not afford to fail.

It’s late the next time you look at the clock, so late that night has spilled over into the early morning, and for once, it’s quiet outside.

The streetlights reflect on the tearstained panes of your window, droplets of gold shimmering tranquil. Branches scratch at the glass with persistence, but not insistence. The lamp’s glow burns soft in the darkness of your bedroom, and the pen flows moot in your aching grasp, working endlessly for four hours- no, five. Your eyes grow heavy in the light that seems to be dying evermore, the bulb fading and flickering, threatening total extinction.

Perhaps a brief, merciful rest is in order.

Your head hits the cover of your notebook and you’re asleep without a second thought.

A single chime resounds in the stillness of your apartment, a sound that conditions your weary head to instantly lift from your pillow of study materials. You blink; your eyes are dry and sticky from exhaustion, but your dark laptop screen is awakened with color, so alive and so brightly blue that you squint for a moment, pupils overwhelmed.

Incoming call: campus-wide handsome💕💕💕

Relief.

Relief floods your system like water pouring from a broken dam, leaking and sinking and filling every nook, every cranny. Relief, ease; the feelings spurt color into your darkened world, the details sharpening as if brought into focus by an empyrean lens. Relief, him. This is normal; everything will be fine, he’s calling to talk it out, finally. He’s ready to come clean, to own up to his mistakes and mishaps and god, you will too, because you are far from perfect. Two broken halves, reunited by the glow of pixels on an electronic screen.

You move, almost automatically, to accept the call.

On the other side of the screen, your boyfriend sits, blurry with a poor connection. He is effortlessly handsome barefaced, an oversized hoodie thrown on casually, brown locks mussed in a style only he could pull off. His brow is more pronounced in the shadows of his dorm room, his almond eyes tired but hopeful. He's never looked so domestically kissable; your heart twists at the thought.

When Seokjin speaks, he’s quiet with the reverence of night-time, that sacred morning space when the world pauses to take a breath of its own. Everything is on the table, but nothing is off limits. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you breathe.

He scratches at the back of his neck, fingers disappearing in the strands of hair that lick at his ears. “I know that this isn’t really warranted and is probably going to sound weird, but I needed to hear your voice. It’s late, but- I don’t know, I missed it. I missed you.”

Your heart soars. “I missed you too Jinnie, more than I’d like to admit in all honesty.”

A smile pulls at his lips, wonderfully plush and sweet. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” 

You gaze into the camera at him. Him, the person with the world in the palm of his hands. Him, the student whom nearly every one of his professors fawned over, the son of one of the most distinguished politicians in the region. Him, who had caught your eye at the nearby coffee shop one late afternoon shift and stolen your heart with a spilled cappuccino all over his brand new slacks. Him, who stares at you with java eyes and a tender heart, so close but so, so far away.

There’s a beat of silence that falls as you stare at him, and he clears his throat. “Baby, I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.”

A prickle of worry in your stomach. “What about us?”

“Do you remember that night when you made your mom’s pasta from scratch for the first time?”

Your brows furrow. “What about it?”

“That was the night we slow danced in the kitchen to Sinatra,” he reminisces. “It was just us and the moon, dancing on the tile while Frank crooned. I miss that.”

Your heart leaps at the happy memory, burning clear in your mind.

Seokjin waggles his brows as he places one hand on your waist, the gentle pressure of his hand on your hip comforting. You’re in sweatpants and an old shirt; he’s in a suit, having just come off his internship at a local firm. But he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, your cheeks pink with the heat of the kitchen and your sleeves splattered with tomato sauce. And in that moment you are wholly, completely enrapturing to him, so much that he just had to ask you to dance, to hold you tight to his chest as the vinyl in the hallway plays and you have carved a moment out of chaos for yourselves, you only.

“May I have this dance, little chef?”

“You may, my handsome lawyer.”

“I only passed the bar exam, like, five months ago.”

“Shut up and dance with me, you coward.”

“I’m shutting up now.”

“And I miss that day we spent at the arboretum a few hours away, walking between the roses and talking about anything and everything,” Seokjin continues. “Or the times we’d bring Chinese food over Yoongi and Jimin’s dorm room and play Cards Against Humanity for hours on end.”

Seokjin kneels to cradle a flower delicately between his fingers, studying the pastels etched like ink into the petals. “You know, your lips are as beautiful as those petals,” you blurt. “And as soft, too.” He blushes a deep crimson all the way to his ears, and you laugh aloud.

Cheeks stuffed round and full with dumplings, you nearly choke at the card you draw from the stack. “Gordon Ramsay’s what?” The room is filled with howls of mirth and this, you think to yourself, this must be heaven.

“Even the moments when you’d cry because the stress was too much, or when I had that emergency hospital trip and you found out in the middle of your lecture.”

Chest heaving, lungs stabbing, fear. Stress and exhaustion and anxiety, bearing down their cruel weight on your shoulders, twisting each thought just enough to make it hurt. You’re crying into your hands, a hiccup punctuating each fresh sob, when your apartment door is opening and he’s stumbling in and then his arms are around you. He’s clutching you so tight you feel as though your ribs are cracking, insisting that he must hold you together when you feel yourself shattering into infinitesimal pieces, finds it in himself to pluck each shard from his palm and put it together to find you again. You, the everlasting heartbeat of his microcosm, a little slice of paradise to which no one else holds the key.

Chest heaving again, but it’s pure panic that floods your veins this time, seeps frigid into your blood. In a rush you’re dropping your phone into your bag, practically throwing your laptop and your books into your backpack with one hand, scrabbling for your car keys with the other. A text from Yoongi you’ll never forget: this isn’t an emergency, but jin had a severe allergic reaction to the seafood we got for lunch. he’s on his way to the hospital right now. Never in your life had you driven twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit before that day, but he was awake and alert when you saw him next, enough to give you a crooked thumbs-up as he smiled behind the nebulizer.

“I don’t know why I’m thinking of all this. I guess I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you and I miss you, and I’m thinking of you. It’s late, but you’re the only thing on my mind, and really, just- I’m sorry for everything that’s been going on lately.” You can hear the earnest pleading in his voice, the ache in his soul. He means what he says, and a pang of guilt throbs at the surface.

“I really do love you,” he continues. “I love you like every star shines in the midday sky, even when they’re too bright to be seen. I love the way your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your eyebrows furrow when you study at night and how your teeth aren’t quite straight; they’re perfect the way they are. I love your little unorthodox habits, your quirks and flaws and your talents too. I love you, okay? I love you for who you are and I promise we will get through this, I swear it even if it takes every ounce of energy I have.”

His voice breaks when he says okay; he says those three words like he's trying to embed them into your soul, carve them into your psyche, promise you that even though this has been falling apart at the seams, he loves you. Somehow, someway, it will last. The end isn’t near; that's not possible. Not while he loves you like this, and you love him too, love him with every ounce of your soul.

“Seokjin, I-” you begin.

CRASH!

Thunder explodes outside your window and you jolt, hand lashing out, knocking over your cup of pens and pencils that sits expectantly on your desk. It is if the sky is cleaving itself in two, lightning splitting the sky with an explosion of light and thunder howling with a cacophony of darkness. Rain pours down, spilling from the gutters down your sill; you can hear a faint dripping from the bathroom and realize the ceiling is leaking again, just like it has every day for the last two and a half weeks.

You raise a hand to your cheek and trace the square imprints in the skin from your laptop keyboard. There’s a kink in your neck that aches like the devil, your spine aching after the uncomfortable position you contorted yourself into pre-nap and you are so groggy at first that nothing seems out of the ordinary, and you move to message Seokjin that you accidentally took a nap, and you loved him, too.

You press the power button on your laptop. No response.

You frown and try again, running your hand across the body of the machine, cold and unresponsive to the touch.

Cold and unresponsive?

But you were just-

No.

No.

Seokjin was just here. He was just here; you just saw him onscreen, you’d call him in a moment and things would be just how they were.

Just how they were two weeks ago, when he’d told you over a caramel macchiato that this, whatever beautiful thing you had cultivated, was beyond repair. That he couldn’t have more of his energy sapped by this relationship that you had put so much of yourself towards, giving him everything he could possibly want, and yet at the end of it all, you’re the one whose face is spat upon with scorn. He promised you that you would get through this, and yet there is no promise because this is already over, and the second time the thunder crashes in your ears like a symphony of pure sound, you cry aloud. It felt so fucking real to have him there, him, the color on your canvas, the brightness of your everyday life turned up like an old television dial.

The lamp still shines buttery gold, all these hours later. Now it matches the tinge of dawn that peeks through a break in the angry clouds, spreading its vibrant fingers like ivy seeking a trellis.

It is so easy to imagine a world in which your laptop merely died, cutting off your proclamation of love to him. So easy to imagine him in his dorm on campus, body crooked as he sleeps curled in on himself, buried under a pile of blankets when your body can’t provide him the heat. So easy to pretend as though none of this nightmare, this hellish denial had never even happened to begin with.

But you can’t anymore.

You can’t hold onto every experience. Give yourself permission to forget.

Your phone vibrates with a notification.

Fortunate are those who can appreciate the basic goods of life with awe, pleasure, wonder and ecstasy, again and again for the first time.

[taradodrill]

Typically the Keys to Success to Investing in Real Estate

Most home professionals flunk within the first few months of trying to come up with a business enterprise out of real estate investing. The trick begins with a favorable marketing plan and then practicing a disciplined effort towards the marketing plan on a even basis. There is a lot more necessary to succeed, and you will encounter more tips, tricks and one of a kind real estate marketing techniques in this article. Is there anyone in your town that will not recognize that you buy homes or that you are a real estate pro? If so, you aren't performing as well at marketing or making real estate investing information about your real estate investing business enterprise in addition you could be. I find out real estate investors telling all the time construct y aren't receiving seller phone calls and subsequently aren't attaining the leads they need to find the real estate business deals they require to earn a living. I say increase the marketing and the retailers will Call. Not only that but if you are canvassing the world (or at least your area) that you buy problem real estate holdings, eventually you will be acknowledged for what you do and owners will telephone you strictly on your reputation. this is what is addressed cost effective marketing. One real estate professional was in a home, lawn and hardware store a few calendar weeks ago and also went past a couple of guys in an aisle. A debate was heard while he walked by, I overheard one state, "That is the real estate man". Now I did never known either of those men and have no suggestion who they are but that experience lets me accept that I must be doing my business at letting the whole world to recognize my business is buying real estate in that place. There are many ways to let the area know that you are in the property investing profession and getting information out there that can help people realize you buy foreclosures, distressed real estate, do housing short sales and have got a lot of real estate information plus experience to flip properties. Some methods are low-priced and some are more expensive. You are going to have to attempt many things and find a feel for what brings about for you the best makes for your region to get the calls you require to transact real estate property deals. I have tried many forms of marketing methods for properties commercial enterprises of all varieties and have come back to a few who consistently create enough leads for me to purchase the 2 or possibly 3 real estate holdings and houses I want to purchase each calendar month. They are as follows: Classified Ads The classified advertising in the most prominent newspaper in the region is by far typically the heaviest producer of leads for local real estate purchasers that I have determined. I understand it is costly and I understand there are instances it does not generate phone calls but if you are likely to persist in the real estate investing business sector just erect it in there and leave it. Get used to it making up part of the toll of performing the real estate business. You may pay back about $350. 00 a calendar month for my contemplate line ad and that is the commercial range. I'd take into account running it 365 days a year to constantly cue everyone that you are a real estate professional and you purchase realty in their region. Over the past few or so years I have watched many "real estate investor" ads come and turn. Most folks put them in for a many as well as just a couple of calendar weeks and then remove them or try just simply placing them in on the week ends. Real Estate Selling just simply does not work this way. Put your real estate ad in your paper and leave it in there. It will more than make up for the price, trust me, and you will see after you finish your own first deal. If you are distressed because there are real estate buyers ads from many other investors in there, don't be. They are right now there because they are getting responses. Just be sure to and actually answer your cellphone and keep it on all the time otherwise you'll be wasting money. When a fresh ad for real estate investor advice shows up in my newspaper, I will always call on the advertising campaign. 9 times out of 10 I get a message equipment or answering service. This is a significant turn off to any individual who needs a resolution to their real estate trouble now. They speak to a person who can quiet their anxiety over the current issues with their home and tell them everything is going to be ok. Your answering device won't do that, they need a human being. As for what to put in the advertising, you will have to work on this place. I have tried various idea and the one I have at this time hast not changed for over 4 years. I just haven't switched it because I get responses. The ad is: We Pay CASH FOR HOMES On 24 Hours! Any area, price or condition Call xxx-xxx-xxxx Now I have had other real estate professionals jockey just for place and interchange their ad copy to be primary of mine in the column but it has not made in the least difference, at least as far as I can discern. Don't worry about those tips, just get the advertising out there and leave it. It could actually take a bit of time, perhaps a several weeks to get going and yet sellers will telephone. As soon as you have your classified selling running, then you should start working on your other marketing ways right away. If you only go through one idea a week, the next few weeks or a couple of months you will have a significantly powerful real estate selecting process. Ads in the "Freebie" Papers You might also run advertising campaign in the freebie papers in your local region or areas you want to conduct real estate investment deals. These are the "Thrifty Nickel", or whatever they are named in your region. We jog both a column ad and a display in this newspapers and expend about $175. 00 or so a calendar month for these ads. They pull in seller sales opportunities reasonably well and have always rationalized the costs. Remember that this business are usually open to talking terms on your rates and you will almost certainly get a better rate if you commit to a longer advertising understanding. Bandit Signs or Road Signs. Bandit signs will be great. They are some of the best lead producing tools around. I had yet to put out a bunch and not be bombed together with calls right after I arranged my marketing. I just won't position them out that often. I might place through a few to a half dozen or so a calendar month and those that continue and don't get taken down continue to pull through phone calls. At an average price of less than $4. 00 per sign, they are one of the greatest real estate marketing and advertising values attainable. Check the net for sign manufacturers for discount signs costs. I use 18 x 24 signs and place them at high traffic crossings around the town I wish to purchase houses in. I also position a sign from the front yard immediately after purchasing any house. I have purchased numerous homes in the same regions as a result of marketing this way. It is easy to either use wood stakes or the wire pegs with your signs. I like the wood stakes because they really don't bend like the wire ones, in addition , they are more more affordable and you can find just about any reasonably sized stick of wood made or stake at your local hardware store for a ideal value. Just get long lengths and trim down and fit. Then just nail the sign to it with the top nails with the orange or green plastic tops and / or you can use screws. There are many variants on what the wording within the sign can say. Keep in mind that traffic will be moving this means you want to keep your message short and simple so it may well be read. Plus your telephone number must be big, large and readable. If you search the sign advertisement content, you will discover that should be same resemblance my paper ad. I like to brand the advertising because I believe that helps with identification that is in all probability why the two guys noticed me as a Real Estate Pro.. You want to have contrast, so a white sign utilizing dark blue letters usually is the best draw. Some folks claim by black on yellow or black on vodafone. Again, I say it's not what or how you tell you it rather simply that you're out there marketing and positioning out signs that counts. You'll build a 'brand picture over time if you stay logical with your real estate marketing tries. When dealing with bandit signs, be sure that your local code enforcement laws are aware of them. In some areas or counties he or she can lax on them but a few miles down the road in a second county or city, they can be super strict and will ticketed you in a minute, pull the signs down as well as lead off looking for your next posters to go after you once more. Some retail merchants in high tax areas just can't put out any A board signage without having them type of and then fined. Flyers and Bulletin Board Postings Flyers and related collateral are another cheap way to purchase the word out that you are a real estate investor buy place, foreclosures or distressed properties. Just create a flyer through any one of the free on-line flyer software internet sites sharing people that your are a real estate investor and how to get touching you. Make copies for few cents apiece and also have some really inexpensive real estate marketing and advertising. It really is that simple. Therefore place these flyers on every bulletin board near your home or region you would like to buy your property, foreclosure or distressed home.. I also recommend that you place some of them on those plastic sheet shielders so the rain won't destroy them and put them up on phone poles all-around neighborhoods I like to buy property in.. While not as distinguished as the bandit signs, on poles actually in the neighborhood they still attract phone calls. I carry a submit with me in my automobile and put them up while I stop at a grocery store or major discount browse or really wherever. Some of the other area to put them all are: · Laundromats · Taped to the inside of call Booths. · On the counter of any business enterprise that will let you place them at. · Bulletin planks at any local or major rebate store (lots in traffic) · Grocery store bulletin boards · Fax for you to Mortgage agents, call first · Fax to Real Estate Agents, call first and they may get a lot of these. · Take these products Door to Door in target regions · A career centre Bulletin board · County Courthouse or general population office Bulletin board These are just a few illustrations. Any place intended to allow you to set one is a good place. You can never help too many people know that you are a real estate investor so are in the foreclosure market. Imprinted and/or Promotional Items Ideal Real Estate Investor Marketing Ideas - These no-lose strategies are sure to get you top hits on leads and entails your Real Estate Investing occupation. These are some of my favourites and most fun. While they are not the top producers regarding leads or the least costly, they will sure position you will apart from the average investor. Pen Knives - These small Swiss army knives are the neatest things. They are genuinely key chains etched with your content, mine being: WE ALL BUY HOMES - All cash or take over installments within 24 hours! Call xxx-xxx-xxx I assure if you produce one of these to somebody they will hold on to it it given that they conceive of selling, they will think of you. There're about $1. 75 each. Key Chains - My spouse and i give these to all my buyers with the keys in their new house on them and leave them all over the destination. They come in the shape of a house or #1 or perhaps whatever style you like and have your message on them. You possibly can guess what mine says. Cost - about $. twenty five cents apiece. Pens - I use these all the time. While I sign a sales receipt or anything When i leave my pen. I cannot tell you how many outcries I have gotten off of these things and since I often demand one, I always possess one to give away. My attorney sometimes has a supply on his closing table. I feature two types printed. One for sellers says "We Buy Homes! " and one for buyers says "Everyone Qualifies". Cost - about $. 26 cents in every unit. Coin Holders - These you hardly come across anymore so everyone is surprised when I have them. I get away from these things everywhere. Mine are bright yellow with white letters and my message. Cost - about dollar. 30 cents apiece. I leave all of these promotional goods everywhere, on the top of gas pumps, on end-cap demonstrates in grocery stores and in department stores. I look at it that way, if I give away 100 pens, 50 knives and 50 coin holders a month, that is only a little over $100 bucks a month. That is still cheap advertising. And with the income you can make in a real estate deal, it is 'no cost' web marketing strategy. You can get any of these promotional advertising products at many big promotion marketing manufacturer, and you can find companies online at the same time. Business Cards I order business cards by the countless numbers and you should as well, there are a lot of great places online which could print up nice (and cheap) cards for you and also specialize in real estate as well. As for business cards, well, there're cheap, mine are about $50. 00 for 2000, and I pass them out and leave individuals everywhere I possibly can. I leave my cards almost everywhere, in pay phones, on restaurant tables, my boys and girls even have their own supply to pass out. Try to get a package a week out. The card doesn't have to be fancy, in actual fact the simpler the better. My card is bright blue with blue letters and says:

[dragonfics]

What’s in a name?

Chapter 1: Patient twenty-two

Ship: Spicyhoney

Tags: Doctor Rus, patient Edge, LV issues, discrimination, dehumanisation, asylum-style setting, institutional captivity, forced institutionalisation, needles, minor medical procedures, unethical medical practice, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Rus's work is... delicate. He wants to help his patients. He truly does. But at what point does being a doctor of LoVe-afflicted patients become unethical? How far is he willing to push his morals? Perhaps further than normal, depending on who he's pushing them for.

Notes: Another WIP to add to my collection! Please read the tags (particularly note the forced institutionalisation one, it’s a pretty strong theme through the fic). If you’re down for some angsty Spicyhoney with eventual hurt/comfort though, then please enjoy!

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

The facility was a good hour’s drive from the city, so Rus was grateful when the large concrete building finally emerged on the desert horizon. The sky was still red, the sun just peeking over the rocky mountains to the east. Dust swirled up around his car as he pulled to a stop at the tall metal gates. The fence that bordered the facility was at least ten feet high, with barbed wire curling over the top. Rus rolled down his window to greet the security guard stationed outside the gate. She put down her coffee mug and nodded at him. “New around here?” she asked as Rus handed over his ID card.

“i was just transferred from the training facility.”

She punched a few numbers into her computer and lifted a brow. “Doctor, huh? Good luck.”

“uh… thanks.”

“Give me your thumb, we just need to do a mana test to ID you.” She pricked Rus’s thumb, drawing a small bead of marrow, which she dripped onto a thin square of tissue. Rus waited, turning up the air conditioning in the car as her computer processed his mana. She gave a satisfied nod, shooting him a smile. “All clear. Have a good day, Doctor.”

The gates swung open with a groan and Rus drove into the facility. It was little more than a big block of concrete, the windows all barred. Rus parked in the area labelled ‘staff’ and climbed out. He pulled on his coat and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, his white sneakers quickly turning red with dust. The smell of baking dirt was already hot in the air.

The sign outside the lobby read ‘SANCTUARY FOR AFFLICTED MONSTERS’ in big black letters. Rus scanned his ID card and the doors slid open. The lobby was sharp with disinfectant—stronger than what he was accustomed to from the training ward, and it burned his nasal cavity. There was a lizard monster sitting at the reception desk, her horn-rimmed glasses balanced on her long nose. She didn’t look up when he approached, and he cleared his throat. “hi there. uh, i’m a new transfer. i was told i’d be starting on ward d?”

“ID card?” the woman said, her eyes still fixed on whatever she was writing. “And sign this timesheet for me, please.” She pushed a clipboard and pen across the counter. Rus scribbled his details onto the sheet, then fished his ID out of his pocket and handed it over. She scanned it and glanced at her computer screen. “Ward D. Down to your left at the end of the hall. Then make a right. You’ll need to check in with security there.”

“security?”

The woman looked up at him over the top of her glasses and smiled. “Extra precaution for the ones with higher LV.”

Rus swallowed, tucking his satchel under his arm. “right... of course. thank you.” He turned and walked down the hall, scanning his card again to get through a set of double doors. The air was cooler inside the ward, almost too cold, and the lights were stark white. Nurses and doctors passed him as he walked, pushing med carts and carrying clipboards. The curtains were drawn over every door, so Rus couldn’t see inside, but on the patient sheets outside was written their species and LV.

In the first hallway, there was nothing over three. But when Rus reached the next one, the numbers started to creep up. He passed an empty room with the door cracked open, and dared a glance inside. There were cuffs chained to the wall, which had scratch marks gouged into it.

When he reached the hallway pointing towards ward D, he came to a halt. The sign directed him towards a set of sealed metal doors with a keypad and various other electronic locks. Two guards were stationed outside. Well. The receptionist had mentioned security. They looked up as Rus approached. “ward d?” he asked, almost hoping they’d tell him he was in the wrong place. To no avail. They nodded and scanned his ID card again, then patted him down and checked his satchel. One of them clipped a small red button to his coat lapel.

“Any trouble and you press this, got it?” Rus nodded, swallowing thickly. They told him to collect extra tranquilisers from the storage cupboard inside. “Look for Sonya. She’ll sort you out.” They punched a series of digits into the keypad and the doors rumbled open. Rus walked through and they sealed shut behind him. The air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

This ward had a very different atmosphere to the others. The hallway was messy, med carts pushed haphazardly against the walls to make room for the nurses and doctors scurrying between rooms. Rus stepped aside quickly, narrowly avoiding a nurse who was dabbing at a dark ichor on her scrubs. For all the mess in the hallway, there were very few staff around. The eerie quiet was stirred by distant whimpering and a faint muttering Rus couldn’t make sense of. He realised it was coming from one of the rooms, and didn’t linger long enough to try and figure out what the strangled voice was saying.

More than anything, the air reeked of LV. Static prickles across Rus’s bones which made his mana tingle. It was heavy and oppressive, and Rus’s soul pulsed erratically. They’d attempted to emulate the effects of LV on the training ward, but it had been nothing like this. The highest LV patients they’d allowed them to work with in training had been five. It didn’t take a trained doctor to realise that the patients here were well beyond that.

Rus sagged with relief when he found the ward’s reception. The ward clerk was rummaging through a box of folders, her feathery green tail poking out from behind the desk. “sonya?” Rus asked. She turned around, assessing him with small black eyes.

“Ah, new guy, right?”

“rus.”

“Yep. Gimme a second.” She scanned the shelf behind her and pulled out a yellow file. “Okay, okay… we’ve got you starting on room twenty-two, but you’ll be covering at least four patients once we know you’re competent.” She lifted her wing in a sweeping gesture. “As you can tell, we’re a little understaffed.” She flipped over the page of her folder. “You’ll be with Jackie. I’ll go find her, wait here.” She hurried off down the hall, her tail feathers fluttering.

Curiously, Rus peered at the folder she’d left open on the desk. A patient was listed. ‘Patient twenty-two’. There was no name, only a small photo of a gaunt looking skeleton with dark sockets and red eye-lights, and a deep crack down one side of his face. The photograph was faded, and folding in at the corners. Underneath, it listed his details.

Patient twenty-two

Species: Skeleton

LV: 13

Rus’s chest seized and he stopped, rereading the number to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. It glared back at him aggressively.

There was a crash behind him as one of the doors flew open. He spun sharply, pressing back into the desk. Three nurses were dragging a muzzled and chained wolf out of one of the rooms. The monster was snarling and struggling, saliva spilling from behind his muzzle, his yellow eyes bloodshot. “Give him another shot of tranq,” one of the nurses said, shockingly calm. Another nurse jabbed a needle into the wolf’s arm and he gradually went limp. They pulled him down the hall and through a set of double doors.

“You’ll get used to that.” Rus jumped, spinning to see Sonya returning with a nurse in tow. She was a rabbit monster, her long ears flattened beneath a medical cap. “This is Jackie. She’s been on patient twenty-two for the past few weeks.”

Jackie waved a soft grey paw. “Hiya.”

“We don’t like to switch our staff between patients too often on this ward,” Sonya said, sitting back in her chair and arranging the folders on her desk. “It can unsettle them. So you’ll just be with twenty-two for now, and then—”

“i’m sorry, but—” Rus cleared his throat as she looked down her beak at him. “i think there may have been some mistake.”

She crossed her arms. “Mistake?”

“i—i’m fresh from training, so i’m only meant to be working with patients under ten lv. this one is listed as thirteen.” He tapped the folder on her desk.

“Darling, this ward is ten and up only. Why do you think we have all this security?”

There was a sick feeling in Rus’s chest. “ward d?”

“D for danger,” Jackie muttered, receiving a sharp look from Sonya.

“Look,” Sonya sighed. “To tell you the truth, you were probably sent here because we’re understaffed. We need every extra set of hands we can get.” She frowned. “If you really want out, I can probably see if they can transfer you to a different ward. But we could really use another doctor here.”

Rus glanced around at the messy hallway. A tired nurse was leading a vacant looking monster into one of the rooms, guiding him gently. He thought of his training, why he’d taken this job… “i—” He shook his head. “no, no it’s alright.”

“Good. Jackie, show him to room twenty-two. Just a check-up, a few samples, same routine.” She handed Rus a copy of the patient’s medical transcript. “Enjoy.”

After depositing his bag in the break room and collecting a few needles of tranquiliser from storage, Rus followed Jackie through the hallway, reading over the patient’s medical sheet. “he’s on a very high dosage of suppressants,” he said, trying not to flinch when a shriek rang out from one of the rooms. Jackie kept walking, as if oblivious.

“Yep. He’s got high LV.”

“high enough for a max dosage?”

Jackie shrugged, hopping over a set of cuffs abandoned outside one of the rooms. “It’s the same with most of the monsters here. Once you get past ten LV it gets kinda hard to calculate how much they need. So docs just give them the max. Or thereabouts.”

Rus frowned, flipping over to the next page. “high risk of violent outbursts?”

Jackie laughed. “They write that on everyone’s sheet in this ward. Wait until you meet him.”

They came to a quieter end of the ward and stopped outside a door labelled ‘22’. The patient sheet on the door was the same as the one Rus had glimpsed in the clerk’s file. Jackie knocked firmly. “Hey twenty-two, it’s Jackie.” Her use of the number struck Rus unexpectedly, and he glanced at her, waiting for her to reveal it as a joke. She didn’t. He followed her inside after she scanned her ID card.

The room was plain, white walls, white sheets on the bed. No cuffs on the wall, but the bolts remained. There was a bookshelf tucked in the far corner beside the window, though the collection was sparse.

The patient was sitting in a shabby green armchair in front of the window, with a book in his lap. He was wearing the same white and grey striped jumpsuit Rus had seen on the other patients, though it looked too loose on his bony frame. The shadow of the bars crossed his gaunt face as he looked up. In the photograph he’d looked fierce, but here he was almost vacant, his bright eyes dim and washed out, his bone discoloured. His gaze wandered over Rus briefly before he returned to his book.

“hello,” Rus said, approaching cautiously. “my name is rus. i’ve been assigned to you, so i’ll be your doctor from now, if things go well.” Jackie wheeled in the med cart and Rus glanced at his patient’s sheet. “we’re just going to start by doing a routine check-up. is that okay?”

The patient glanced at him, his mouth twitching with faint amusement. “If I have a choice, then no.”

Rus swallowed and looked uneasily at Jackie, who rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t. Come on, twenty-two, he only just finished his training. It’s his first day. Go easy.” Rus almost wanted to point out that telling a patient it was his first day probably wasn’t encouraging—especially a potentially unstable patient. But the patient—twenty-two—only smirked.

“First day, huh? I thought you looked a little young to be a doctor.”

Rus smiled pleasantly, pulling on his gloves. “i’m not.” Jackie handed him a mouth mirror and he crouched in front of the—in front of patient twenty-two. Mana rushed through his ear canals but he breathed evenly. “open up, please.”

“We’ve only just met,” twenty-two said, but he followed the instruction. Rus surveyed the inside of his mouth.

“teeth slightly discoloured.” Jackie scribbled on her clipboard. “magic inside the mouth is faded, but otherwise normal.” He withdrew, placing the mirror on the tray. “thank you,” he said, smiling at twenty-two, who didn’t return it. He took his temperature next and told Jackie the reading. “high above average, but normal for his lv. i’m going to do a swab of your mouth now,” he told twenty-two, taking a cotton tip from Jackie. The patient kept his mouth open, sitting still. The swab came away a translucent red, the colour of his magic. “now we’re going to take a blood sample. is that okay?”

Twenty-two’s gaze was deadpan as he offered Rus his arm. There was an array of small puncture wounds in the bone, some shallow and mostly healed, others deep. Jackie handed Rus a needle and he felt his way over the bone until he found a hum of mana. The bone made a faint crack as he punctured it with the tip of the needle.

As a skeleton monster, Rus had never liked needles. Administering them to fleshy monsters was easier. Scales could be tricky, but bone was the worst, from personal experience. But patient twenty-two didn’t flinch, only watched Rus impassively. Rus extracted a small vial of mana and detached it from the needle. “healing balm?” he said to Jackie, reaching out.

“We don’t have any.”

Rus looked up and frowned. “can you find some?”

She shrugged. “We don’t stock it in this ward.”

Rus stared at her. “then what do you use?”

“Nothing. LV usually heals them on its own.”

“that’s only if it’s freshly gained,” Rus said, a touch irritated.

“Well, if you bring me someone who’s been misbehaving, I’m sure we can work on getting this pinprick healed,” twenty-two said with a smile.

Rus ignored him. “antiseptic then,” he said to Jackie. She dabbed a cotton ball in it and handed it to Rus, who wiped it carefully over the fresh puncture wound in the patient’s radius. “aloe vera?” Jackie gave him a dubious look but handed over the tub. It looked new. Or at least, unused. Rus dabbed a small dollop onto the patient’s arm. “okay, we’re going to look at your soul now—”

Jackie tapped his shoulder, shaking her head. “Uh, uh. We don’t do that here.” He frowned, but the look she was giving him was firm. Rus glanced at twenty-two, who still looked vaguely amused. “Too risky,” Jackie murmured, as if trying to keep it a secret from the patient.

Rus hesitated before nodding. “okay then, if that’s the case, your physical check-up for the morning is all done.”

Twenty-two dipped his head. “Pleasure doing business with you, doc.”

Rus glanced over his sheet. “before we finish up, just a few routine questions. please answer them as honestly as you can. have you been feeling drowsy recently?”

“Define recently.”

“last three weeks.”

“Yes. Though no more or less than I have these past ten years.”

Rus heard Jackie sighing loudly, but he pressed on, jotting down the patient’s answer. “headaches?”

“Yes.”

“how bad? one to ten.”

“It varies.” He tipped his hand in a vague gesture. “Fluctuates between a four and a nine.”

“right now?”

He shrugged. “A five.”

“and have you been given anything to remedy your pain?”

Patient twenty-two’s laugh was humourless. “No.” Rus scribbled down ‘pain medication req.’ on his sheet.

“any other sort of pain you’re experiencing? cramps or aches?”

“Yes.”

“can you elaborate?”

The patient leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “My whole body feels like it’s been wrung out through a vacuum.” He considered. “Or crushed in a hydraulic press. Take your pick.” Nodding, Rus circled ‘pain medication’ three times.

“okay, that’s all. thank you—” He scrambled for a name, then swallowed and fell silent, handing the clipboard back to Jackie. “i’m going to reduce your suppressant dosage. i’ll have to process the request, but my decision should outrank theirs.”

“Doctor, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jackie muttered.

“it’s too high,” Rus said. “he’s experiencing symptoms of an overdose. his lv is probably all that’s fighting off the more serious consequences.”

Jackie tugged on his arm, coaxing him to lean down. “No offence Doctor, but you do realise he’s probably lying about his symptoms, right?” She glanced over Rus’s shoulder. “They always do it.”

Rus stared at her in disbelief. “we have to give our patients the benefit of the doubt.”

“I dunno, doc…”

“it’s my call,” he said firmly. “he’s my patient. bring him down to forty milligrams.”

Jackie sighed, scribbling it on his sheet. “Alright, your call.”

Patient twenty-two was watching Rus, the corner of his mouth turned up. “You aren’t worried I’m going to go on a rampage and kill everyone, doctor?”

“i’m not,” Rus said flatly, and the patient smirked. Rus scribbled a few more notes on his clipboard before tucking it under his arm. “press the button if you need anything. i’m sure you know the drill.”

“Too well. I don’t suppose you could swing me some better food, doc?”

Rus studied him before following Jackie through the door. “i’ll see you this evening.”

  By evening, Rus was caught between exhaustion and adrenaline overdose. The day had followed a routine of check-ups and sample examinations. Every minute he spent in the same room as a patient was like electricity through his mana. He idly wondered if being in the presence of so much LV was bad for his health.

When he scanned his card and entered room twenty-two at the end of the day, the patient was sitting in the same spot by the window, this time watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted red and pink, wisps of cloud glowing the same colour as twenty-two’s eyes. “jackie has gone home for the evening so you just have me now,” Rus said.

Patient twenty-two turned around slowly and smiled. “Doctor. Come to watch the sunset with me?”

Rus pulled his gloves on, glancing out the window. “it’s nice. how are you feeling? any better?” Twenty-two turned away from the window and watched Rus without a word. “i’m going to administer your medication. do you want it with your food? or do you prefer to swallow?”

Twenty-two grinned. “A bit soon to be asking me that, doc. We haven’t even been on our first date.”

Rus’s cheekbones warmed and he dropped his gaze to the bowl of soup on the tray. “i’ll grind it into your food.”

“Actually, I’ll swallow, thank you. I prefer being able to see what’s going into my body—innuendo not intended.” Rus resisted the urge to roll his eyes—until he had his back turned, that was. He poured twenty-two a cup of water from the sink and watched him swallow the pills. Magic suffused the joints of his neck, hot red like the sky outside.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed hold of Rus’s wrists. Rus tried to step back on instinct but twenty-two’s hold was firm. He was grinning and Rus’s soul leapt into his throat. He was too stunned even to scream. “You know doc, you really shouldn’t have come in here by yourself.” Rus squirmed, trying to reach for the panic button on his collar, but the patient’s grip was like concrete.

“let me go,” he hissed.

“I could snap your neck before you even had the chance to scream for help,” twenty-two said, gazing at him. “It would be easy. Too easy.”

“don’t—”

“And your HP is so fragile, you’d barely put a dent in my EXP. I wonder if I could clean up your dust before they grew suspicious. Maybe.”

Rus could feel tears burning in the backs of his sockets, panic bubbling in his chest. “don’t,” he whispered. “please—”

Twenty-two let him go. He laughed as Rus staggered back, putting the medical cart between himself and the patient, for all the good it would do. “I won’t.” Calmly, twenty-two got up from his chair and picked up his tray from the cart. Rus stood stock still, watching him until he sat down. “Cold,” he said, sipping on a spoonful of soup. “I suppose it could be worse, though.” He glanced at Rus and smiled. “I would never hurt you, doctor. I don’t want to.” Putting the spoon aside, he tipped the bowl back and drained it. “I can’t say the same for everyone else here.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t take stupid risks. Never go into a room alone. You’re lucky it was me.”

Rus’s breaths were still coming in soft, sharp pants. Magic prickled at his fingertips, and he tracked the patient’s every movement, flinching when he laughed. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding your fear.”

Rus swallowed, steeling himself and taking a step closer. “what’s your name?”

For a second, the patient’s smile faltered. “My name?”

“well it isn’t twenty-two. i’m not calling you that. i want to know your real name.”

The patient leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.” He spoke lightly, but there was a warning in his eyes.

“and how do i earn it?” Rus pressed, daring another step forward. He stopped when the patient cast him a dark look, all traces of amusement gone.

“You don’t. It’s mine.” His voice was low, dangerous. Rus’s courage waned, and he took a step back.

“i’m sorry—”

“You know how you can earn it? By getting me out of this fucking place. Think you can manage that?”

Rus shook his head, a tremble running through his bones. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i wasn’t trying to—”

“You can go, doctor. I’m sure you have work to do.” Twenty-two returned to his food tray, picking at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit. Rus backed away to the door, tugging the med cart along with him. He scanned his keycard and hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him. The ‘22’ printed on the door glared back at him.

[cinnamaldeide]

#Hannigraham Meet-Cute Challenge: Infos

After having successfully concluded our Accidental Hannigraham sex initiative, and survived Christmas holidays, @fhimechan and I decided to promote another monthly project to fill this 2019 with delight and amusement in the form of fanfiction. This may not become that kind of party, but there’s still some promising ideas we recently found out, and we can’t wait for you to see them as well!

As you can read, this challenge will focus on meet-cute scenarios, universes where Will and Hannibal meet for the first time in an entirely different way. No analytical ambush, rather a serendipitous meeting in a coffee shop, an awkward moment in the libraty, a casual encounter in the middle of a fresh crime scene. We know you are very creative, there would be no need for us to provide prompts for your imagination to work, but this is a challenge after all (˘⌣˘ ) there should be something challenging. We selected twenty prompts from @meetcuteprompts for you to choose. You select one, you write your wonderful story, we collect it and promote your work in a post with the other entries of that month (◕‿◕)☆

#22: A is having a quiet night at home – that is, until A’s apartment neighbour begins blasting music. Frustration levels rising, A goes to knock on the neighbour’s door to ask them to keep it down… at the same time B, the resident on the other side, is about to. Need more detail? Click on the post.

#32: A checks into a cozy inn while on a cross-country road trip, beyond tired and ready to collapse. When A gets to the assigned room, he or she is in for a surprise! Someone else, B, is already in the room. Uh-oh.

#117: A is a professional assassin hired to take out a client’s cheating husband. But the client also spoke to B, a close friend, who has made it his/her’s own mission to also kill the husband. Unfortunately, both A and B have chosen the same night to do so, and it just so happens that B is a bit clumsy… and keeps getting in A’s way.

#143: A’s blind date just left, mumbling some sort of excuse about leaving the stove on. Confused and feeling rejected, A sits orders another beer at the bar, wondering where s/he went wrong. B, who had witnessed the situation, goes over and says sympathetically, “I think I know what went wrong… there’s something in your teeth.”

#162: A is interviewing potential roommates and is having very little luck. When it comes to B, A says, “I’m so sorry, I don’t think this is going to work. I can’t live with someone that I’d like to ask out.”

#166: A is at a coffee shop and sits down at a table, only to find a book on the chair. Intrigued, A starts flipping through it, and realizes it’s actually someone’s journal that had been left behind! And it’s fascinating. Unfortunately, B, the journal’s author, rushes back to retrieve it… and is horrified to see A reading it. But A, having gotten a feel for this person through his/her writing, asks if they want to go out sometime.

#176: A works at a pet store and is utterly surprised when B bursts through the door in a hurry and walks up to the cash without looking around. Out of breath, A says, “Please don’t ask why, but what do capybaras eat?”

#180: There has been a series of recent break-ins in A’s neighbourhood. B, a cop, knocks on A’s door to recommend safety measures and to ask if A has noticed anything peculiar — A hasn’t really seen anything, but invites the cop and his/her charming smile inside for coffee and a bit of false information so s/he might stay a while.

#207: A meets B and falls immediately for them, but B clearly doesn’t feel the same. After being rejected, A calls on Anteros, the avenger of unrequited love, to exact vengeance on B.

#210: A is a writer struggling to find inspiration for their next book. The publishers are breathing down their neck and the pressure is almost more than A can take. When A comes across an old Greek book in a thrift store, A brings it home and flips through the pages.... only to come across an old chant that was supposed to bring inspiration to those who read it out loud. A gives it a shot and... oh dear. Oh, oh dear. Somehow that summoned B, one of the Muses, to A’s living room.

#215: A is brought in to the police station for questioning about a crime they know nothing about and is put in an interrogation room… with B, who is another suspect in this particular case.

#231: A is hanging out with a friend but ends up stopping to look at some lingerie in a shop window. A is still chatting away, thinking that their friend has stopped with them also, and turns to where they assume their friend is to jokingly ask: “Wouldn’t I look sexy in that?” But it turns out that the friend had kept walking and it was B, a total stranger, who A had spoken to.

#232: A is in a public place and temporarily leaves their things where they are seated so that they can use the bathroom. When A returns, A notices B, the person sitting at the next table, putting A’s phone back on the table. A demands to know what they were doing with their phone, and B tells them that the phone was ringing non-stop and it was bothering everyone. Also… “Your friend is drunk and I think they want to sleep with you.”

#234: A and B are both looking for a movie to rent and, coincidentally, they have the same movie in mind! They reach for it at the same time and, oh, there’s only one copy left! After a few minutes of ‘oh, go ahead, you can have it’ from both sides, they agree to rent it and watch it together.

#239: A is sitting in a cafe trying to casually read their book, but is distracted by B’s loud phone conversation at the table over. B tells a joke over the phone, which makes A crack up unexpectedly – B looks over at A, annoyed that they were eavesdropping, but also appreciative that at least someone liked their joke! B hangs up and offers to tell A another.

#240: A stops at the pub near their house to pick up some food on the way home (they make the best fries in the neighbourhood) when A receives a phone call – and some terrible news. A starts crying and B, the bartender, asks A what’s wrong. As A opens up to them, B gives A a drink on the house, and helps talk them through it.

#246: A was fatally wounded in an accident and suddenly finds themself looking down at their own lifeless body in confusion. B is a reaper and offers A guidance… but A doesn’t want to do the whole follow the light bullshit. A wants to flirt with the cute reaper.

#248: A is a barista and has come to recognize the regulars and their orders. One day, B walks in and A greets them, starting to prepare their order, when B stops A with a sigh: “I’m not who you think I am.” After receiving a blank stare from A who has no idea how to respond to that, B continues, “I have a twin. I’m the other one.”

#251: A is in their backyard enjoying the nice weather when an animal saunters into view. A looks for a collar and finds nothing, but it lets A have a few cuddles before going on its way. The same thing happens for the next few days until one day, B appears trailing behind! “Aha! So this is where you’ve been running off to.” Ah, one more thing. The animal is B’s familiar.

#252: A is in the public library and notices a strange book that looks like it doesn’t belong in this section. A moves along to another genre, but it seems that this book is in every section… almost like it’s following A. How peculiar! When A finally picks it up to see what exactly it is, B appears out of thin air, and simply says, “I’ve been waiting fifty years for you.”

These awesome ideas have been selected arbitrarily among many others, which are as great and intriguing. If you’d like to fill a prompt we haven’t included, you’re free to do so; let us know and we’ll welcome your work in our collection, if not in our monthly update post. But if you’re willing to fill one of our choosing, you can choose the next: we will in fact substitute the filled prompt with another (of your choosing of ours, if you don’t have a particular preference), gradually running as many of them as possible, always trying to propose something new for you to sink your teeth into :D Our mission will be to achieve as many stories as we can obtain during the whole year with your help, our beloved fanwriters and fanartists!

That’s right, you’re welcome to provide fanarts as well as fanfictions, my deers ♥

Everyone can write or draw as many fanfictions or fanarts as preferred, and as long as you like, but please remember this is still about the meet-cute trope, so every work shall involve the tag Different First Meeting. Any rating, any length, any warning, if adequately tagged, will be accepted. We only ask of you to not be disrespectful and to stick to the prompt you choose, and honour every part of it :9 please include a link to it in your work, so anyone can read it!

We won’t book prompts, but we’re confident you’ll find something inspiring among our selection ;) and if you don’t, we’ll appreciate your reblog and hope for the following month to be more fortunate! In respect of our past initiative and our own preference, we’re concentrating on Hannigraham works. We know this is not as exciting as the Accidental sex, but don’t forget there’s no reason you can’t evolve the situation into something more... compromising ;) you’ll decide if there’s inevitable sex in store for us this time around!

Since we all know how Tumblr works, I’m tagging everyone I tagged in my last Accidental Sex post and hope that some of you are interested in pursuing this project with us. So here we are @a-hannibal-mess, @allionne, @ambar-gris, @andiemerizein, @angelchild1302, @avegetariancannibal, @ayden5956, @blackrose34, @bloodyilaria, @blueeyednightwing, @bonfire-choir, @cinelitchick, @crisisoninfintefandoms, @cutaneousmarginalpouch, @diemetzgermeisterin, @doyouacheforhim, @electrarhodes, @erodingthebluff, @eonblueinmay, @evolvingmydesign, @ethicsbecomeaesthetics, @fleeingdawn-blog1, @fragile-teacup, @gampire-thoughts, @gaycannibalbuddies, @grahamsdogs, @h4nnibalism, @hanfangrahamk, @hannibalatemyheart, @hannibalsbattlebot, @hannibalsimago, @hannigramfam, @hannigramfanfic, @hannigram-a-b-o-library, @hannigramwich, @hanniwinsagrahamy, @hunter-and-star-chaser, @ishipthemsogoddamnhard, @jadegreenworks, @jackalope-in-glasses, @janespetticoat, @kiyofan, @kobayashihatori, @krey-9-jorce, @louistennbookmarks, @mazephoenix, @maxaminkle, @mefistox, @mcsci4518, @midnight-stag, @purplesocrates, @saralecter77, @shaeshae-style, @slashyrogue, @snakesnlace, @stagswag, @sweetthingwithfeathers, @thatredbean, @thesilverqueenlady, @the-winnowing-wind, @tiggymalvern, @tinyenthusiasttriumph, @thenecronon, @whimsy-by-joja, @wiith-my-hands, @wlectergraham, @xcheekbonesandblueeyesx, @yes-yeah-yesh, @zigzag-wanderer many thanks for having indulged us so far, please bear with us a little longer if you please ^^ In @fhimechan’s or my next post, those who reblogged this one will be tagged again, and so on, trying to keep involved those who show their interest and support to us, leaving alone those who’d prefer not to be involved any further. I hope this will prove an efficient strategy, everything considered. We’ll handle things differently on Pillowfort, where we created a special community for anyone interested (o´���`o )

In the hope of having said everything I needed to say, let me with you all a promising New Year, rich of amazing experiences and the loveliest fanworks. Fannibals are not done yet!

[ritualmichael]

picnicking with michael

It was finally fall, your favorite season. The days were getting cooler and the leaves were turning burnt orange and red. Everything just seemed more peaceful. So did the boy who had his head in your lap, his eyes closed as you read to him.

Michael had suggested you both go on a picnic today, he could tell you had the urge to get out of the house and be outside for a while. You always loved the fresh air and sunlight, often times finding yourself sitting out on the balcony to your apartment. You had both finished the sandwiches that Michael had messily prepared in the kitchen before you left, both getting comfortable on the blanket spread out beneath you.

He had his head in your lap as he laid down and you had your book in one of your hands and the other running through his blonde hair. The sun was warming you both and the cool breeze brushed past you, making Michael’s hair blow onto his face, which you kept brushing back.

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall,” you read from your tattered, overused copy of The Great Gatsby. Michael hummed and his eyes fluttered open, gently pushing the book back so he can see you.

He mumbles a soft, “C’mere” and reaches up, slipping his hand behind your neck and pulling your head down to give him a quick, but gentle kiss.

“Are you sick of listening to me yet?” you asked, sitting back up and running your fingertips over his cheekbone. He looked ethereal in the warm sunlight, it amazed you that you were with someone like him.

“I could listen to you read that book forever and never get tired of hearing your voice,” he said, giving you a relaxed smile and closed his eyes again. He turned over so that his nose was brushing against your shirt, one of his arms wrapping around your waist. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled on your lips, pushing your fingers through his wavy hair a few more times before going back to your book.

You lost track of time, reading through numerous chapters until the sun started setting. As you read, Michael would shift around or draw shapes against your thighs or back, slipping his hand under your shirt. You looked up from the pages, noticing the dimming light and seeing the colorful clouds.

“Michael,” you whispered, setting your book down and gently resting your hand on his cheek, your thumb grazing his smooth skin.

He looked up at you with sleepy eyes, turning onto his back and stretching out his body. It kind of shocked you that he was able to lay there for so long, just listening to you without wanting to get up.

“Are you going to finish the book when we get home?” he asked, sitting up with a little groan as he straightened his posture.

“You really like it that much?” you asked, grinning at the boy in front of you. The sunset was turning everything around you pink, and the warm glow casted itself onto Michael. He nearly took your breath away.

“I really like you that much,” he said, leaning closer to you and pressing his lips to yours with a smile. Mumbling against your lips, he continued, “which means I like listening to you read your favorite book.” He spoke between kisses which made you giggle, blushing at his words.

“Even if I do think you may have a bit of a crush on Gatsby...” he continued, pulling away and raising a brow at you, biting back a smile.

“Is someone jealous of a fictional character?” you teased, giving his shoulder a gentle push.

“He may be some rich big shot, but at least I can do this,” he said, pulling you closer to him and grabbing your face, kissing you once again. It was gentle and even though you were both jokingly teasing each other, you could feel how much he loved you through the kiss. Pulling away, you bit your lip as you smiled, shaking your head at Michael.

“Don’t worry about him, he dies anyway,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning into him.

“Yeah, I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon,” Michael retorted, leaning in for another kiss.