#i take pride in being given more hours in that week than any other non-management part timer

[large-penises-sporting-goods]

Y'know that poem on here about being the priests favorite sacrificial lamb? That's how I feel about being given 30 hours worth of work in the 4 days leading up to Christmas

[safetycar-restart]

Clingy Charles wanting to take showers with you is so cute. I was thinking as well about him getting really frustrated whenever he has to shave alone. From pictures it seems like he often has a smooth chest and legs, he rly likes the feeling but hates all the effort so much, it always takes so long and he feels really lonely. Maybe one time you notice he’s been showering for longer than usual and you go to check on him. He’s letting out little sobs after giving up on shaving, he’s given himself a couple of little cuts on his legs by accident and hates being alone for all that time, so he ended up just sitting on the side of the bath all frustrated. You go to comfort your poor baby and ask what happened. When he explains how much he hates shaving, you offer to do it for him and Charles just completely lights up. Now it becomes standard in your relationship and Charles loves the intimatacy of it. Sometimes you even shave his face, Charles loves how he can just trust you with anything, all he has to do is sit still and be a good boy. You even try waxing with him, but you have to hold his hand throughout so he can squeeze it when it stings.

(Maybe with poly!Piarles it’s Pierre’s job afterwards to put lotion and body cream all over Bunny while you clean up in the bathroom. You just kind of deliver him to Pierre after you’re done.)

OH GOD I ADORE THIS?? I feel like it’s been a while since we’ve done a really fluffy non sexual poly!piarles thought, so I’m gonna make this poly!piarles right from the start. It’s so so cute I love it.

Firstly, Charles loves feeling all nice and smooth. You and Pierre would NEVER force him to shave, but he loves it and he’s been doing it since long before he got with you and Pierre.

The first time he slept with you two, he spent HOURS shaving before, making sure everything was perfect and he was so proud of how well he managed. He’s always prided himself on it.

The issue, however, is that you and Pierre see Charles naked so much more than any of his previous partners. He’s never gotten fucked as often before, has never been as endlessly horny. And more than that, he just loves skin on skin cuddles? He always used to shy about that with other partners but he loses all shame with you and Pierre.

He’ll wriggle into bed completely naked and slip his hand in r Pierre’s boxers, whining because there shouldn’t be any space between them!! Pierre will just chuckle and give bunny a kiss before removing his clothes for cuddles.

Obviously this is all amazing, but it also means that Charles has to shave himself a lot more then he’s ever had to before? Even when he doesn’t have sex for a week, he’ll still end up cuddled up with his mommy and his Pierre without any clothes, cause he just loves it so much.

And he just… he hates shaving. He hates it so so much.

Especially when you and Pierre are there? Cause why on earth would be want to be holed up in the bathroom shaving for an hour when he knows his mommy and his Pierre are in the living room?

And he’s always had this weird thing where he doesn’t want you and Pierre to realise how much effort he puts into shaving? Which is ridiculous but he still tries.

But then one time you and Pierre are cuddling on the couch, waiting for Charles to finish showering so that you three can start some new ridiculous drama series charles has been wanting to try. But he’s taking way longer than usual so you decide to go check on him.

And what you find breaks your heart.

Your sweet little bunny sitting at the edge of the bath, his razed in his hand and tears in his eyes. He’s just so sad! He wanted to finish shaving and get cuddles but it’s taking so long and he tried to hurry and ended up nicking himself and now he’s so sad. He feels like such a failure, like he can’t even manage to make himself look nice for his mommy and his Pierre.

He’s so sad when he admits to you that he hates shaving, like somehow he’s a bad sub. Of course you kneel down and kiss him sweetly, wiping his tears away and reminding him that he never has to shave for you and Pierre. That you and Pierre will take him exactly as he is, would never expect him to shave, especially not if it makes him this upset.

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t want that!!

So then you offer if you can help him shave, and he looks at you in disbelief. You would… you would help? His mommy would help him shave??

His whole fade lights up!! That’s everything!!

So quickly run to the living room to tell Pierre what you’re doing, and of course Pierre offers to come help too. He’s equally as upset at the image of Charles crying in the bathroom, even though he didn’t actively see it himself.

But you shake your head. You’re worried about overwhelming Charles. So Pierre says he’ll be waiting in the bedroom to put lotion on him afterwards.

Charles is just so happy as you shave him. His mommy is helping!! You’re so gentle with him of course, making sure to not cut him by accident, taking care to use warm water so that it feels nice and letting bunny babble on about his day while you do it. He’s so smiley, just in awe that he’s lucky enough to have this.

Once you’re all done and you’ve wiped him down, he starts to help you tidy up but you stop him. He’s a good little bunny and good bunnies don’t need to help you clean up. Instead, you tell him to go to the bedroom because Pierre is waiting for him.

Charles is a little confused, but he goes (completely naked of course because he just got shaved and he wants to show it off). He’s so surprised to find his Pierre sitting on the bed with two different types of lotion out, one scented and one in scented.

He tells Charles that you helped him shave and now he’s going to put lotion on for him so he must just come lay done and let Pierre do it. Naturally, little bunny just bursts into tears because this is simply too much soft attention in too short a time for him to not start sobbing.

Pierre used the scented lotion on his arms, legs and chest, and then the unscented lotion on his public area. Of course charles becomes a complete mess as Pierre does this, becoming increasingly horny and whiney. By the time Pierre is doing his public area, he’s having to hold Charles’s cock out the way because he’s hard and leaking.

You finish cleaning up and join them in the bedroom just as Pierre is finishing up, and are greeted with the the image if Charles whining and squirming, cock hard in Pierre’s hand as he finishes with the lotion.

Naturally you have to join them on bed, letting Charles settle between your legs and letting Pierre have his fun with Charles’s cock.

It becomes a weekly tradition that Charles loves so much.

[copias-thrall]

How would Mary goore react to hurting someone he genuinely cares about? I absolutely Love your writing!💕

Hello, nonny! Thank you, I love this ask!

This was going to be  alist, but it got away from me! 😅 

Enjoy 😘 

It wasn’t anything big.

Just a few of Mary’s favorite beers (the craft kind—not the shitty beer he drank on his shoestring budget), some of that chronic shit you’d scored and have been saving for a special occasion, and a VHS box set of horror movie classics.

***

Mary comes in and out of your life at will, and that was something you accepted—knowing he was As Is or not at all. And honestly—no, really—you liked that. You had your own shit going on, and being Mary’s expected caregiver was NOT something you wanted to add to that list.

(If someone else wanted to try to tame him and pick up after him, well…kudos to them. Less work for you.)

Mary showed up on your pivotal days and he rubbed your feet and always invited you out to trivia. You'd held him when he was coming down from a bad trip and listened to his grievances and gave him a place to stay when he was persona non grata at his own. And in a way, that made you always feel like #1 in Mary’s world…and that was good enough for you.

***

A few months ago, Mary had been lying on your couch, picking the label off his beer bottle.

“I’m gonna be away for a bit,” he’d said.

“Oh?” you’d responded as you’d mashed the controls on your gaming controller.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll be around…but I got some shit going on.”

You’d paused your game.

“Bad shit?”

He’d waved you off.

“Neg. Just tryna get myself out there. Signed up for open mics and shit.”

He’d shifted, his long legs receding from around you and folding under him.

“So, like…I got my job at the bowling alley…but nights and weekends are kinda shot.”

You’d tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. You supported Mary’s dreams, and that meant not making an issue that he was finally trying to do something about them.

This wasn’t against you. It was for him.

When you’d taken too long to respond, his face had scrunched.

“But if you want—”

“It’s fine, Mare,” you’d said as you’d made yourself smile. “This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

You’d unpaused your game.

“Just don’t expect me to not beat this game without you.”

He’d grabbed the controller out of your hands with a snarl, causing you to cry out when you died.

“Fuck the game.” His hand had fisted your shirt. “Give me a night to remember.”

You had. Twice.

***

Mary had texted you occasionally over the next few weeks—a few memes, a few drunken key-smashes, a dick pic, and 2 grainy videos of his performances for critique—but such contact was sporadic, and you’d never seen him in real-time. 

He’d blown in one night, five weeks in, with a box of pizza just as you'd been heading out to meet your crew. When you’d told him you’d made plans, he’d looked so crestfallen that you’d caved and canceled on them.

While he’d been there, he’d given you a date in 3 weeks.

“That Saturday I have nowhere to be,” he’d said as he’d chewed. “I can spend the whole day with you.”

You’d been careful not to seem too eager.

“Oh yeah? Should I plan shit?”

He’d crammed the whole crust into his mouth and had given you a doughy grin.

“Why ’’ya think I told you?”

You didn’t know what you’d expected, but when he’d had to bounce 90min later, you were still surprised. (That was hardly enough time to digest!)

“Sorry,” he’d winced. “I gotta be on a bus in 45min.”

He’d left, and you’d been too embarrassed to join your friends who were only just going to the second bar.

Having fun with your man ;) ? one of your friends had texted.

What do you think? You’d texted back before changing into your pjs and turning on Netflix.

***

So maybe you were low-key excited about your day with Mary.

Perhaps you’d spent those 3 weeks figuring out the perfect date—something that said, “I missed you,” without saying “But in a clingy way.”

Beer and horror were two things the both of you were totally into, and you knew he’d be exhausted, so it seemed perfect. You’d bought the boxed set off of eBay and splurged for expedited shipping; you’d borrowed your brother’s old dual TV/VCR from his college days; and you’d forgone your weekly Chinese takeout for the craft beer funds. (And if things got steamy, well…even better.) 

***

A few days before The Date, you’d run into Mary on the bus. You were coming home from a shift, and he was going to his.

He’d brightened and waved you over—as if you weren’t already on your way—and you’d plopped down beside him with a tired grin. You’d told him of the latest entitled asshole, and he’d showed you another clip of him on guitar.

Before your stop had come up, you’d tentatively placed your hand over his.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He’d blinked at you a few moments before grinning.

“Yeah.”

“Should I plan a whole day for us, then?”

His arm had crept around your shoulders before pulling you into him to kiss your temple.

“Yeah, why not.”

***

That morning, you wake up happy. 

Mary will be over soon.

You roll over and grab your phone.

When should I expect you? :-* 

It takes him an hour to respond. You aren’t surprised—Mary isn’t known for being a morning person—so when your phone dings, you grab it up excitedly.

An excitement that dies when you read his text. And reread. And re-reread.

not 2day 

goin upste 2 show 

You blink.

What show? Didn’t we confirm? 

yeah. got me thinkin 

why no show? 

so i chked 

i missed one 

gotta do it 

Rage blooms hot, then cold behind your eyes and down your cheeks.

But you said we had the whole day. I made plans. 

save em 

ths is impt 2 me 

We’ve had this planned for weeks. 

i thot u suprted me 

on a bus cnt tlk 

You send a few more irate texts, but he doesn’t respond, and you toss your phone across the room with a shout of frustration. You scrub the hot tears from your eyes before they can fall.

And…on paper, Mary isn’t wrong. Nothing you had planned won’t keep: movies, beer, takeout.

But…

It gives you a stark look at what you mean to Mary. He gave you this date and confirmed it. He knew you were making plans.

How long was he going to wait to tell you he wasn’t even in the city anymore?

You fight the urge to kick the VHS tapes across the floor, but you open the fridge and grab a beer. If Queen Elizabeth could have beer for breakfast, then it was good enough for you.

Once you’ve downed all eight, you move on to the jug of vodka you keep for cleaning.

When you empty only liquid from your stomach into the toilet, you grab your frozen fries out of the freezer. You roll a handful of the cold ones in your mouth as you wait for the others to crisp in the oven, and once you’ve consumed the cooked ones, you go right back to the vodka.

***

Opening your eyes the next morning is a mistake, so you take a few deep breaths and go back to sleep.

When you wake again, your heart is fluttering, your stomach turns, and it feels like there’s an ice pick behind one eye. Shuffling slowly, you make your way out to your kitchen where you take some painkillers, drink some pickle juice, and eat two slices of plain bread.

The sense that you did something awful stays with you, but you’re in no condition to find your phone and see what you’ve done. Instead, you go back to bed. It takes more deep breathing to settle yourself, but once you do fall asleep, you’re out for hours.

You don’t feel amazing when you swim to consciousness again, but you feel at least like a human being. 

Your phone is dead when you find it under the sink, and waiting the 5 or so minutes for it to charge feels like waiting to face the executioner.

It’s both better and worse than you expected.

You breathe a sigh of relief to see that there are no vague social media posts, and you didn’t drunk dial any of your friends, but…

The texts to and from Mary are ugly.

Apparently, you’d managed not to send him angry texts until he’d sent you another clip of his performing. But then the floodgates had opened.

You’d started with telling him you didn’t give a shit about the show, how he was an inconsiderate ass, and then you'd devolved into incomprehensible, typo-ridden texts that accused him of using you, that you were only something to do when he didn’t have anything better to do, that he was an entitled man-child and if he didn’t apologize, you were done.

Mary’s texts in response range from him being angry at your disregard, to heated retorts you were blowing this out of proportion (and he didn’t appreciate your “ad hominem” attacks), to a cool detachment that this wasn’t working over text and he’d finish this in person.

You put your head in your hands but are too dehydrated to cry.

***

Mary doesn’t text you again during his self-imposed time frame.

You don’t text him either, but that’s more out of self-preservation than pride. There’s no point exacerbating the situation…and you’re pretty sure there’s no coming back from this, so why speed up the inevitable?

The horror tapes taunt you every time you walk by them, and you wonder if you can return them (you can’t). You give the TV back to your brother, and when he asks you how it went, you plaster a smile on your face and say, “Great!” with forced enthusiasm you hope comes across as genuine.

The primo weed goes over to your friend’s house, and the two of you wax poetic all night about existential claptrap as you devour two cheese pizzas and a bag of bbq chips. You talk about Mary without talking about Mary, and you get a heartfelt, “Sorry, dude.”

You beat the video game anyway, but it’s mostly because you needed something to occupy your mind and less out of spite (though that’s there as well).

***

Despite waiting on tenterhooks to hear anything from Mary, you truly don’t really expect to. You know you’d been atrocious, even if it had been prompted by his careless disregard, and you know Mary isn’t really the kind of guy that troubles himself with relationships that are hard.

Not that you’re in a relationship.

So when there’s a knock on your door a week later and Mary’s behind it, you’re genuinely surprised.

You gape through the peephole in shock.

“Fuck. If you’re there, just let me in, ok?”

Fumbling with the chain, you unlock the door and crack it open.

“Mary?”

“You gonna let me in?” he rasps.

You shrug and step away from the door, and he shuffles inside. He looks around like you’ve changed anything (you haven’t), before turning around to face you.

You close the door and stare back.

He folds his arms. “Breaking up with someone over text is tacky.”

What you think is, So you’ve come to do it in person, but what you say is, “Can’t break up if you’re not together.”

He winces and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah…apparently I’ve ‘taken advantage' of you.”

This…isn’t what you’re expecting.

“I…what?”

“Can we sit down?”

You nod, and Mary sits rigidly on the edge of your couch. You curl up in the chair on the opposite side.

He rubs his palms down his greasy jeans before he speaks.

“I mean…you pissed me off, ok?”

You nod.

“But, like—you weren’t wrong, ok? I kinda knew that deep down, but I’m a dumbass, you know?”

You don’t nod.

“And I kinda bitched about the whole thing…but the resounding response was that I was the asshole.”

He angles his body toward you.

“I guess I’ve kinda been treating you like my best friend that I fuck sometimes.”

Your entire face flushes—you’d always thought you’d maybe ranked a little higher than that—and you duck your head so he can’t see the tears that you blink back.

There’s a swish of fabric, and you startle hard when Mary’s hand is at your chin. He jerks back with a Sorry.

“Shit—that’s not what I…” he blows out a breath and puts his hands behind his head before looking back up at you.

“But you aren’t, and…fuck this is harder than I thought.”

So this is it.

Waiting for him to do the deed is clearly going to be excruciating, so you take charge of this whole shit-show.

“I understand,” you say flatly.

“You do?”

“It’s ok, Mare-Mary. It’s my own fault for reading too much into it. I just…I saw what I wanted to see, I guess. I know you don’t need…” you look down into your lap, “…my shit in your life.

He makes a noise low in his throat, and then he’s squatting in front of you, his hot hands planting on your knees.

“But I want your shit in my life.”

You squint your eyes at him.

“But what I said…”

He grasps your hands in his.

“Pissed me off, yeah…cuz I wasn’t fucking thinking, ok? You’re like one of the only people who gives a crap about what’s important to me. And all I could see was you suddenly…not.”

Anger wells up in you again, and you yank away your hands.

“Weeks, Mary…weeks of you all over the tri-state area, and you thought I didn’t care because of one night?! A night you promised to me?”

He sits back on his heels. “I know…fuck. Ok? At the time, it just felt…like the show couldn’t be rescheduled. Our night could.”

Because you’re what he does when he’s bored.

You curl in on yourself.

“Shit.” He leans forward again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ok? I’m fucking on my knees here.”

You blink at him. 

What? 

“Please, please don’t break—say we’re done.”

“What?”

“Look, we can go into my shitty fucking psychological profile on why I fuck around later…but right now I need you to know that I knew it was you before I fucking knew it was you.”

You uncurl.

“That…’what’ was me?”

He knees forward and presses your hands to his face.

“The one I wanna spend my free time with. The one whose opinion means the most. The one who was the first person I wanted to share all my good shit with. You’re the one I missed, and—after that awful fucking night—everything felt pointless because I knew I couldn’t come over and jam about it.”

“Mare—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m saying I thought I was pissed at you, but I was pissed at myself for fucking it up.” He sighs. “I’m saying no fucking one was on my side and they all told me to get my shit together.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, and for the first time, you can see how they’re outlined in red, his subtle crow’s feet more pronounced.

“So, you’re not done with me? I’m not…too much trouble?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “What? Shit, no. I’m asking you to not be done with me. I’ll give you all the nights you want. Fucking text me, and my ass’ll be here posthaste.” He shifts up, and his thumb ghosts over your lips. “Anything to get you to give me that secret smile again.”

“Secret smile?” you ask while trying to perform the action.

Mary actually blushes.

“Uh…yeah. You get this…” he makes a motion across his face, “…when you’re giving it back to me.” His fingers shove back through his hair as he casts his eyes down. “You don’t give it to anyone else.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve made a study of it.”

You’re a swirl of emotions. Mary’s apologized—has admitted he was wrong and has asked for…more—but you’re still hurt. And embarrassed.

But he’s looking up at you with wet, hopeful eyes.

“Do you…” you start carefully, “…do you know why I got so mad?”

That statement was clearly not what he was expecting, and he blinks at you a few times before nodding and looking down at the floor.

“I made a…uh, commitment…to you. And I treated it like it didn’t mean anything.”

He gives you a look like, Did I get it right? and that’s close enough—even if he’s missing some of the nuance.

You nod. “And I know I…wasn’t…the best.”

His face contorts, and your heart sinks.

“You…” he shakes his head. “You said some awful things…some hurtful shit—and it really got in my head.”

Mary gives you a complicated look.

“Shit that you’d been pissed about for a while.” He traces your knee. “Shit you could’ve said to me…but shit I should have noticed. Fuck.” He presses his forehead into your knees, and you can’t stop yourself from sinking your fingers into his hair.

He takes it as encouragement and presses into you before looking up again.

“I just kinda wanna put that whole night behind us. It feels like a fucking ouroboros of fault. And like maybe I created it. But let’s agree to like…not do that again.”

You look down at him, and his eyes search your face.

“Ok…but what does all this mean, Mare? I can’t…I need to be something to you, ok? More than just your friend.”

Mary nods emphatically, and he takes your hand and curls his into it.

“No more fuck-ups, and no one else…can we start there?”

He’s saying all the right words, but you’re still trepidatious—you know Mary, and he doesn’t like constraints.

“I…just…how can I believe you?”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He rises and awkwardly reaches out to touch your face before drawing his hand back.

“Cuz you’re important to me. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

And yeah. Ok.

[rosesisupposes]

Objections, Your Honor

Two lawyers are across the aisle in open court once more. But today something is off, and no one is happy with the result.

read on ao3

characters: mainly Logan & Janus; background Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, Remy, and Emile

pairings: soulmate Loceit; QPP Analogical; QPP Moceit; romantic soulmate Royality; romantic soulmate Dukexiety; romantic soulmate Remile

content tags: non-traditional soulmate AU; courtroom drama; arophobia and acephobia; shameless self-pandering with legal arguments about the MCU; gushing about QPPs; couples therapy

reader tags: @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @potestessemagishomosexualitatis  @mariniacipher @vintage-squid

word count: 10,386

⁂

The day it happened was no normal day for Logan. But not, of course, because of that.

He cared because it was a trial day. Months of motions back and forth, weeks and weeks of preparation, and today was oral arguments. He normally avoided open court, particularly against such an opponent, but nothing could be done.

His case files were impeccably arranged in his padfolio, his grocery list of arguments annotated in precise writing, blue ink dotting the page with emphases and connections, his notepad prepared at his left.

He glanced to his right out of the corner of his eye at his opposing counsel. He didn't want them to see him looking. But he sneered internally at the haphazard stacks of papers spreading across the table and the garish gold ink that looped and curved across sticky notes.

The judge finally came out, and Logan stood, crisply buttoning his tailored jacket as he did so. At the signal, he identified himself clearly. "Logan Finch for the appellant, Your Honor." 

And then, from his right: "Janus Alighieri for the appellee, Your Honor."

Logan rolled his eyes internally. Janus was, unfortunately, a very familiar foe at this point. But then, they were two of the most respected lawyers in their state, with opposing specialties and reputations for innovative tactics.

Logan was self-aware. He had another reputation, too: as a black-and-white thinker, unshakable, unalterable. He preferred to think of it as a particularly strong conviction. Versus "The Snake" against him, who coiled and twisted the facts of his cases to benefit his clients.

And of course, that was the issue today - Logan strove to show that his client had a straightforward, airtight argument that should clearly prevail, while Janus found miniscule details that he said should be enough to distinguish the case at hand and make it different from previous decisions, enough so to allow the case to be decided in his favor. He'd charmed the jury at trial, and now argued against Logan's appeal.

Logan prided himself on keeping a cool head, but listening to Janus' speech just got under his skin. His neat handwriting started to get messier and messier as he furiously scribbled notes of counterarguments and responses to his opponent's points. Then Janus turned slightly, just enough to see frustration's color burn in Logan's cheek, and he smirked.

Logan barely heard the gasp from the observers behind the bar, because he'd just snapped his pen in his grip.

He looked straight ahead, somewhere slightly to the left of the judge's head, but he saw very little, his furious thoughts too loud to allow any else to be processed. But the audience was murmuring and talking, far louder than any judge usually allowed - what was going on?

A clerk from behind him hurried up to the judge's dais and whispered urgently in her ear. Logan had yet to look around, but he was slowly coming back to himself, enough to be confused at this disruption in normal procedure. He refused to look over at Janus' probably-still-smirking face.

The judge cleared her throat. "Counselors, we will recess for the day. Please join me in my chambers now."

Logan frowned, but cleaned up the broken pen and gathered his file neatly back into his leather briefcase. He didn't look over, but he heard the flurry and crinkling of papers as Janus threw his notes into his own bag. Without glancing over, Logan followed the judge to the small office at the back of the courtroom.

"Mr. Finch, Mr. Alighieri. I do hope there's a good explanation for this breach in propriety, not to mention the code of conduct," she said sternly as they both stood before her heavy desk.

"Breach, Your Honor?" Janus asked. He sounded just as confused as Logan felt.

"As barred attorneys, you are expected to know the code as well as I," Judge Kasel said severely. "No soulmates may be involved in a trial together, except as co-counsel."

Logan's ears roared. "Your Honor, I apologize, I must have misheard. Soulmates? How is that relevant-"

"Mr. Finch, don't play dumb with me - the entire courtroom saw!"

"Saw what?" Janus asked. His voice was oddly distant and strained from its normal silky tones.

Judge Kasel stared at them in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you both managed to not see that? I'm quite certain the entire county saw the glow just now, through even the back of your suits!"

"Glow?" Logan asked. His chest was suddenly very, very empty, a vacuum of air or substance, and had he not been sitting he was sure he would have fainted.

"Yes, glow, both your marks on your shoulders. Given your mutual surprise, I will assume that this was indeed unknown, and will not declare this case a retroactive mistrial. But you will both need to send in replacements from your firms."

Janus spoke up, his voice tinny. "Replacements, Your Honor? I should think even in light of this- development, only one of us would need to withdraw-"

"Mr. Alighieri, while I appreciate your dedication, I will not delay this trial for the entirety of your bonding. I will give you both 3 days to propose counsel to take over, and scheduling will proceed with them."

Oh fuck. Bonding, Logan thought, unable to speak. That absolutely ridiculous expectation.

The clerk poked her head in. "If they need to speak privately, this side office is empty."

"Yes," Logan responded robotically. "Yes, I believe we need to speak."

They filed into the small room. The clerk closed the door behind her, whispering "Congratulations!" as she disappeared.

Janus sat in one of the chairs heavily. Logan remained standing, staring blankly at the bookshelves built into the wall.

"I can't believe this," Janus said finally. "We've known each other for years, how could we possibly be...?"

"Soulmarks frequently emit a barely visible glow from proximity alone, particularly when located on skin that is generally covered. Heightened emotion or situations with high levels of stress lead to brighter glows that were invisible or unnoticed previously," Logan recited dully.

"Oh yes, how could I forget, I'm talking to Encyclopedia Brown," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "Of course you've memorized that too." He unbuttoned his suit vest dexterously despite his trademark yellow gloves, slumping forward in his chair as he threw his vest over the arm carelessly.

"At least one of us actually has a factual basis for this event, rather than us both being in the dark," Logan snapped back.

"Yeah, your vast knowledge of facts really helped! Did your misguided quest to know everything somehow miss the detail of who's your fucking soulmate?" Janus said, nearly whisper-screaming.

Logan whirled to face him, a fiery reply already on his lips, when he suddenly saw a blue light showing through Janus' white shirt, bright enough to glint off the polished chair back and off the glass of the picture frames on the wall.

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Yes. That was a detail I had not learned. It felt trivial, unable to affect my work. But now that it has, we're better off resolving this."

Janus deflated too. "Yeah. We should. If we can just get through this part, at least we'll stop glowing like horny teenagers."

Logan focused on a tiny flag displayed on the desk as he spoke, not looking over. "I know of a very respectable landlord who rents bonding apartments in the city. Nothing overdone or kitschy, no 'honeymoon' suites, just furnished apartments for indefinite stays."

"Fine. Not like we can't afford it, whatever the price."

"I have some arrangements to make at home-" Logan began

"As do I, unless-"

"Unless what?"

Janus took a breath. "How would you feel about living with a snake?"

"I rather thought that was the entire idea," Logan replied coolly.

Janus shot him a withering glare. "I mean a python, you absolute cotton-headed ninnymuggin."

"Ah, my mistake," Logan said calmly. "That should be fine. A pet, I assume? Or your chosen co-counsel?"

"Let's get one thing straight, Finch," Janus said, rising to his full height, looking down at his infuriating opponent. "I don't like you. I don't expect or particularly want you to like me. We are going to be residing together up until, and only until, our illogical marks have decided in their weird cosmic energy to stop lighting up like neon signs whenever we experience strong emotion in each other's company. I fully expect to be pissed off the entire time, which will make figuring that out easier. But you do not get to speak to me that way, or I'll-"

Logan looked up to meet Janus' eyes. "Or you'll what, Alighieri?"

"I'll report you to the bar for breaking the code, and convince them you already knew," Janus replied smoothly. "And you of all people should know- I am very persuasive."

Logan's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Fine. And yes, you may bring your python. I'll be leaving my cat at home, however."

"Fine with me," Janus said curtly, deflating back into his normal slouch.

"I will send you the details of the landlord I mentioned. I can make the arrangements within the hour."

"Sure. Wait-"

"What?"

"How are you going to send me the details?"

Logan paused. Their only real contact over the years had been in person or by professional communications. He could hardly use a process server or subpoena to give Janus his key. "Ah. Right. Your contact information, then?" He pulled out his notepad.

Janus pulled out his gold pen and scribbled his phone number at an angle, entirely crossing the college-ruled lines. Logan cringed but took it.

"I will contact you shortly, then. And I will may sure to look for pet-friendly apartments."

Janus nodded. "Right."

"Right."

They both paused.

"Uh. See you soon, then," Janus said, and left the room abruptly.

⁂

Janus had to hand it to him - the apartment was all Logan had promised. Clean, sleek, and spacious. The landlord had even left a spare heat lamp, so Janus' sweet Monty would be comfortable.

Best of all, there were several separate rooms in the suite - two bed, two bath, and two offices.

The kitchen was also well-furnished, and came stocked with staple foods. Logan had arrived, however, with extra bags of groceries.

"I brought my own additions," he said. "The landlord is a friend, but he doesn't buy from the shops I prefer."

He proceeded to pull out several large jars of kimchi, what looked like at least a gallon of soy sauce, and various bright packages that Janus couldn't read.

Janus resolved to take pictures and look up what these things were later. Not while Logan was standing here, glaring up and over as if daring him to comment.

"I've picked the smaller bedroom," Janus informed the shorter man calmly. "Monty is set up in there, so if you're weird about snakes, just avoid it. Actually, feel free to avoid it anyway. I've got a brief to write."

Logan made a noncommittal sound in response.

Hours later, Janus emerged from his office to eat something. His brief was finished, sent off to his senior partner. He hadn’t yet told the firm about the day’s events- only that the appeal would need to be handled by another partner with his associates’ help, he needed to take emergency leave, and he would let them know soon how long he expected to be unavailable. H

e found evidence in the kitchen that Logan had prepared, eaten, and cleaned up dinner for himself.  That was fine by him. He made his own food, grabbed a bag of candy, and retreated back to his room.

The next morning, he woke up at his normal late time, stretching in the sun. The kitchen once again showed evidence of Logan's presence- particularly the currently-soaking coffee pot.

When the sun started to descend once more and Janus had yet to see his new roommate, he grumbled. Guess he'd have to be the fucking practical one.

He blew Monty a kiss for good luck and stumped down to the rooms Logan had claimed. He rapped on the door. "Finch. We need to talk."

He waited. There was silence, then a slow drag of a chair. The doors cracked open.

"Yes? What about?"

"No. We need to talk. Or, fuck, I don't know. Be in the same room occasionally."

Logan sighed deeply, and opened the door more. "Fine."

Janus went to the living room and sat on one side of the couch. Logan followed him and settled on the chair facing him.

"So." Janus began.

"So what," Logan replied flatly.

"Sew buttons," Janus replied automatically.

"What?"

"Just something one of my friends says," Janus muttered.

"Ah. So what was it you want to discuss?"

"I don't know!" Janus snapped. "But I'd really like to get back to my life, eventually, and that can only happen if we bond." His lip curled.

Logan sighed heavily. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Janus fell silent. He had very few ideas. Pop culture made it very clear that bonding was an extremely romantic event. First kisses. Proposals. Or, in the less sappy movies, it seemed to consist purely of falling into bed together. None of which appealed in the least, particularly not with Logan.

Logan stared expectantly. "Nothing? You just pulled me out with no ideas?"

"If you're the fucking brilliant one, you come up with one then!" Janus spat out the suggestion with a glare, but then he saw it - a soft gold glow shining through Logan's tee, reflected in the tasteful mirror behind him.

They both deflated again, glows reducing down to hidden beneath their clothes. 

Logan adjusted his glasses. "I. Ah. Apologize. I realize you are attempting to resolve this issue."

"But you're right. I have no idea how to," Janus admitted.

Logan took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Unfortunately, neither do I. Perhaps just coexisting will be enough."

"How long will that take, though?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

They lapsed into silence.

Finally, Janus suggested, "Maybe we can do our work in the same room. Set up in the dining room with all our stuff. Coexist but in proximity."

Logan glanced over. "That seems relatively painless. Let us make an attempt, then."

⁂

Logan had not had any particular expectations for how well they could share a work space.

And yet, it was still far worse than he'd expected.

Janus talked to himself. As he read, as he wrote, as he researched. Not loud, but a constant stream of soft muttering, disjointed words and full sentences. 

It was the most distracting thing Logan had ever been suffered to experience.

"Will you please be quiet," he said tightly, after an hour passed with no signs of letup. 

"What do you mean?" Janus asked.

"That infernal whispering, please, could you stop?"

Janus looked at him quizzically.

"You're talking under your breath," Logan said. He felt a headache coming on. 

"Oh, am I?" Janus asked. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

It lasted all of half an hour, and then the muttering started again. "SCOTUS said yes but that was a city sidewalk, 2nd says no but that was Lincoln Center, hm, decoration, use, separation, intent?" 

"You're doing it again!"

Janus looked slightly guilty. "It's barely conscious, it's how I process things. Could you just wear headphones?"

"I need silence."

"Noise-canceling, then?"

"Fine. Do you own a pair?"

But the headphones didn't help. The sensation was too odd, of being closed-in, and he kept bumping then as he went to lean against his hand. Finally, Logan stood. "I'm going back to my office. This experiment has failed."

Janus' eyes narrowed. "Well, thanks for deigning to sit in my presence for a full three hours before giving up."

"I'm not giving up, this is just not tenable!" Logan insisted. 

"Well, you asked for ideas, and I came up with one. If it's not working for you, you come up with a better one. Come find me when you're done thinking, I know it could take you a while."

He stood and grabbed an apartment key, and stalked out to walk off his frustration.

As he walked, he called his best friend.

"Hey Pat, it's me."

"Jan! Hi buddy, how are you?!"

He sighed heavily. "I want to go home."

"But you only just got there?"

"Yeah, and it's going shi- I mean, badly. Really badly."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Patton said confidently. "You're a brilliant and wonderful human, and anyone smart enough to argue against you will be able to see that!"

"Thanks, hun," Janus said. "The fact remains that I also don't like him."

Patton hummed tunelessly. "It doesn't have to be instant, Jan. These things usually take time."

"Unlike you and Ro."

"Well, yes, but that's because we were meant to be!" Patton soft, his voice taking on that soft, besotted tone it always did when he talked about his soulmate.

"Isn't the whole point that all soulmates are meant to be?"

"Well, yes..." Patton faltered. "But it doesn't have to look like us, we're just hopeless romantics!"

"I know. How's wedding planning going?"

"We started watching movies for inspiration and got distracted with a Disney marathon," Patton said fondly. 

"But you had fun?"

"Absolutely!"

"Good," Janus said, meaning it. There were very few people, in his opinion, who deserved happiness the way Patton did.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Pat- what if it was a mistake? What if we just have defective marks or something?"

"I'm sure that's not true!" Patton insisted.

"It just seems like - I mean, we're not even friends. Most people get to start from strangers at worst, but we've been antagonizing each other for years, what if, I don't know. Neither of us had a soulmate and so they glitched out?"

"You just need to find some common ground," Patton said confidently. "You can't both be so passionate about being lawyers without something more in common. I believe in you, buddy!"

Janus sighed. "Thanks, Pat. Say hi to Roman for me, tell him Monty misses him."

"Will do, nephew! Call any time you need, okay?"

"Love you, Pat."

"Love you tooooo!"

Janus realized he'd circled the block and was back at the apartment entrance. He steeled himself, then went back up. He repressed the petty urge to bang open the door to disturb Logan's quiet as much as possible.

Logan wasn't in the common spaces, but emerged not long after Janus returned.

"I feel I must apologize," he began. "It wasn't my intent to denigrate how you work. It is just clear that sharing a workspace is not going to be preferable for either of us."

"Yes, I'm aware I had a bad idea," Janus said, overly patient. "Kind of an odd apology, but I accept. Can I have lunch now?"

"Yes, of course. May I join you?" Logan asked.

Janus raised a distrusting brow.

"The idea of spending time in the same space was a good one. I thought we might try a context in which we don't need to focus."

"Fine."

They prepared food around each other, both managing to bite their tongues when they needed the same counter space or cooking implements, which Janus was proud of himself for. They ate in silence.

Janus heard Logan sigh in exasperation and braced himself for yet another snippy comment. Instead, he heard an unexpected question.

"Do you enjoy superheroes?"

"To eat? No, they upset my stomach," Janus replied drily.

"I mean to watch. Superhero movies and shows."

"Occasionally, yeah, why?"

"Perhaps we could watch one this evening. At the same time."

"Sure."

And they parted to continue working on their own.

⁂

Logan had been correct that, as far as superhero movies went, the MCU was a safe choice.

In retrospect, though, perhaps Civil War had been... less so.

It had started when Steve first objected to the Sokovia Accord plan- and Logan had scoffed.

Quick as a cat’s pounce, or an adder’s strike, Janus’ head whipped around. 

“You disagree?”

Logan glanced over briefly, screen light blinking off his glasses. “Well, of course. Didn’t New York and Sokovia show that some control is needed? Lawlessness leads to more civilian casualties.”

“And yet, if supers are controlled so much that risk of liability keeps them from acting at all, casualties would be just a tad higher, don’t you think?”

Tony and Steve’s voices raised on the screen as Logan replied, “What would the difference be of the villains and heroes if they all act with complete impunity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we lose mens rea when we switched over into Marvel-land?” Janus asked, voice clipped. “Isn’t the entire basis of our modern penal system based on culpability, not just the act or harm done?”

Logan looked down his nose. “Of course culpability matters. But you well know that one of the factors for absolute liability is when an act is inherently and extremely dangerous. Say, for instance, displays of superhuman force in a densely populated area.”

“So you don’t think there can be any space for personal judgment on the heroes’ behalf?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Look what that space did already! Does the name Ultron ring a bell?”

“So of course, the one who made a terrible call is the one who now wants to be restricted? That sounds like asking for the global government to save him from himself instead of taking responsibility.”

“Better that those with actual accountability be the ones bearing the responsibility!”

“Oh, yeah, and we can definitely trust this government’s judgment! A Hydra infestation was all part of the plan!” Janus’ voice was raising, far louder than the movie that still flickered on, ignored.

“There still needs to be rule of law! Steve wants to abandon it all for one person, and a war criminal at that-!”

“And that’s incomprehensible?”

“Of course!”

Janus fixed his supposed soulmate with a glare. “And you mean to tell me that there’s no one, no one, that you would be willing to burn the world down for?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Janus continued quickly before he could. “No one who won’t fight for themselves, because they think they’re not worth it, but you know they’re so worth it that you would be willing to kill for them?”

Logan, about to spit out an impulsive reply, paused, momentarily speechless. As clearly as if they were sitting on the edge of the couch next to him, his best friend from childhood filled his mind. Virgil, who never believed their worth no matter how many times Logan and their soulmate Remus told them so.

Janus saw the pause and continued softly. “I’m not saying rule of law isn’t important. But the trouble with laws is they’re only as tailored as legislators make them. And they’re human, and therefore fallible. We need exceptions, for those situations that they didn’t imagine.”

Logan struggled for moment, then replied, just as quietly, “You’re right.”

Janus’ mouth fell open in shock, but just as he did, the tv’s faint blue glow throughout the room was washed over with two beacons in blue and gold, blazing from their backs.

At the sight, Logan’s face went from contemplative and open to stony. He stood abruptly and stalked off into his room. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, and Janus was left staring at the wood in confusion and anger.

⁂

“I just don’t get it!” Janus whisper-screamed into the phone. He was power walking through a nearby park, moving so fast he’d passed a skateboarder and a particularly leisurely biker. “Does he want to keep on glowing forever? What is his problem?!”

Patton made sympathetic noises in response, quite familiar with the sound of Janus in full rant mode. Roman was lying with his head in his lap, listening on speaker, so Patton was settled in to be as receptive to his friend’s complaints as he needed.

“I mean, we finally agreed on something, besides the fact that we want to get this fucking resolved, and then he just, what, shuts me out? Literally and figuratively? I literally can’t even catch him leaving to the kitchen for food now!”

Patton winced. “Not since? But it’s been two days!”

“Two and a half, yeah,” Janus replied. His voice suddenly sounded weary. “I can’t keep doing this. The trial’s going on without us anyway, I might as well just give it up and make sure I never have to argue against him again.”

At that, Roman sat bolt upright. “Janus, my dear esquire! You cannot abandon your quest! This is your soulmate!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe some soulmarks are broken. Or we just met at the wrong time. Maybe if we’d met in law school we would have been a team, but now it’s too late.”

Janus sounded contemptuous, but Patton could hear a distinct note of regret.

“Maybe...” he started, but trailed off, thinking.

“Maybe what, Pat?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve heard of soulmates who, you know, take an abnormally long time to bond, or manage to un-bond after years together, but they can fix it. Do you remember my old roommate?”

Janus wrinkled his nose. “Patton, are you suggesting couple’s therapy? I’m fairly certain that only applies to couples.”

“Well, you’ve kinda been forced to be one, right? At least to figure out bonding? They could probably help, or at least let you know if it’s not worth the effort.”

Janus sighed. “No, you’re right, it’s a good idea. I just have no idea how I’ll get Finch to go along with it.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” Roman asked politely. 

“Sure.”

“Perhaps try calling him ‘Logan.’”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Worth a shot, I guess. Love you both.”

“Love you Jan!”

“Best of luck with the love of your soul!”

 Back in the apartment, Logan was pacing in precise squares in his bedroom. He half-expected the rug to be worn down by the repeated impact at this point. 

“L, I don’t know what to tell you, buddy,” the gravely voice on the phone said. “You really have only two options here: find a way to avoid him forever, which will probably involve having to turn down cases you’d like-“

“I bet he’d stay on them just to force me off,” Logan interrupted, growling. 

“That is a possibility,” Virgil replied, their voice overly patient. “The other option, though, is to work this out,” they continued. 

Logan scoffed.

“Lo, that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta turn into a Hallmark movie! But it’s clear this isn’t just going away, and it’s not like you’ve got nothing in common.”

Logan groaned. “Virge, I don’t-“

“I know, man. I know. But you can’t just hide in your room until he just decides to move out, which means you’re gonna have to talk to him at some point.”

Logan didn’t reply, just continued pacing. 

“You know I’m right, Lo,” Virgil said patiently. “You don’t have to say it, just promise me you’re not going to keep being a hermit, okay?”

Logan sighed. “I promise.”

“There we go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

About to hang up, Logan heard a voice in the background and Virgil asked him to wait.  Then, “Reme wants to say hi.”

Logan let out an exasperated sigh, but he was smiling. “Fine, I’ll allow it-“

“Loooogggyyyyy! How’s the soulmate boning going? Have you figured out that you’re a power bottom yet?”

“Hello, Remus. I take it you’re well.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re my brother-in-law because I may have some need for a lawyer soon.”

Logan couldn’t conceal the grin from his voice as he replied, “As I know you know, I am not a defense attorney, nor would I ever be so unwise as to take you as a client.”

“Aww, you’re such a smart cookie! And by cookie I mean a snack, because mmmm-MMMm you’re a snacc!”

“Always glad to know I’m appreciated,” Logan replied drily. “Goodbye, Virgil. Goodbye, Remus.”

“See ya, L.”

“Byeeeeeeeeeee!”

⁂

When Janus returned, he was a bit taken aback to see Logan sitting in an armchair, reading. At the sound of the door, he looked up. 

“Ah, Alighieri. I- I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”

Janus paused. It was a good sign, but still so unexpected as to be unsettling.

Logan cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have left you in a lurch. You did not cause this situation anymore than did I, and you have not been unkind. I have a suggestion for how we might move forward.”

Janus winced internally, thinking of another disastrous attempt at a movie or workspace. “I actually had a thought on that as well, but um. What was yours?”

Logan cleared his throat again. “Well, since we have been... brought into this situation together, but as a pair are struggling to adjust, it seems logical to consult with an expert, much as we would in our work. Therefore, we should consult a professional on personal relationships.”

“Oh, thank god,” muttered Janus. “Yeah, I was gonna suggest a couples counselor too. I think that would make sense. And I actually have a personal reference to a very experienced therapist.”

That settled, they found the earliest possible appointment, only two days later. 

“I do need to warn you-“ Janus said as they walked up to the office. It was their first time out of the apartment together, and it had been a very quiet walk over. “The methods of this therapist are- unorthodox. But they are highly acclaimed in their field.”

“Oh, are they an enby?” Logan asked. 

“Yes and no,” Janus replied. “You see, there’s two of them.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, they’re a couple therapist that is also a couple.”

“I don’t- well- I mean, that’s odd, right?”

Janus grinned. “Yeah, odd is a common word to describe them. But they’re highly praised and like I said, they were recommended personally.”

“Right,” Logan said, squaring his shoulders. “An open mind is helpful for effective therapy, after all.”

“That’s the spirit! I think,” Janus replied, holding the door open.

A gothy receptionist showed them to a private room with a comfortably large couch. Logan looked around in trepidation and slight alarm at the decorations. There were countless Funko-Pops, posters, stuffed animals, and an alarmingly high number of travel mugs from what looked like every single cartoon that had ever existed.

Janus was slightly more prepared then Logan, but he still jumped out of his skin by the sudden singing coming around the door. A deep voice was booming, “Duhhh duh-duh-duh-duh-da-DUH!” in a building crescendo that went on and on, until both lawyers were staring in a mixture of confusion and irritation.

Then a tall, lanky man slid in the door and lowered his glasses to wink at them both. “Hey babes. Welcome to therapy.” 

The singer followed him through the door, their bright pink hair a sharp contrast to their warm brown skin. “And thank you as always for the intro, honey!”

They smiled, big and toothy. “Welcome indeed! I’m Dr. Emile Picani, pronouns they/them, and this tall drink of coffee is my partner, Dr. Remy Picani, pronouns he/him! And you are Janus and Logan, correct?”

Logan looked a bit stunned still, so Janus took the lead. “Yes, I’m Janus Alighieri and this is Logan Finch, pronouns he/him for both. And I was referred by Patton Corwan-Augustus.” 

Emile smiled even bigger, if that were possible. “Oh Patty! Best roommate ever, I still miss his brownies. It’s lovely to meet you both!”

“Best roommate? What am I, chopped liver?” Remy asked, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Best friend, best coffee-maker, best of men and best of husbands,” Emile replied, and said husband immediately blushed.

Logan coughed politely. “Have you been married long?”

Remy smiled, still pink around the edges. “We’ve actually been married almost 10 years. The minute we graduated university, actually, when we knew our parents had not a shred left of financial control. We went through our PhDs together, which is why, of course, we’re qualified to help out other couples, because let me tell you, would not recommend.”

“Which brings us, of course, to you two!” Emile said brightly. “What is your goal in coming to therapy?”

Janus and Logan both began speaking at once.

“Well, it started in court-“

“It was completely unexpected, we’ve known each other for years-“

“-dreadfully embarrassing, not to mention the professional ramifications-“

“-it just feels like something’s missing-“

“-really want to just sort this out-“

“-just want to figure out the disconnect-“

“-and we can forget about the whole thing.”

“-want to make this work.”

They looked at each other, shocked, as their words both sank in.

Emile was tapping their Powerpuff Girls pencil topper steadily against their lips, eyes wide behind their pink-framed glasses. 

Remy, at their side, leaned back and took a long, loud slurp of his iced coffee, rattling the ice around until the room’s attention was on him. Then he looked up and said, “Hoooo-wheee.”

“So I’m getting a lot of differing goals here,” Emile said delicately. “Let’s start with you, Janus. Can you expand, please?”

Janus tried to speak, but felt like his voice had dropped into the cold pit that was suddenly his stomach. “I, um,” he started with a shaky breath. He barely noticed when Remy pushed a cup of ice water into his hand, but a sip steadied him somewhat.

“You can look just at me, if that helps,” Emile said softly. “Or at my buddy Kaa here.” They gestured to the stuffed snake on the shelf behind them. 

He looked like a fuzzy little Monty. That would do. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Janus said, acknowledging the water from Remy. “So. We’ve been rival lawyers for years, because we’re both the best at what we do. It was shocking, to suddenly be glowing in open court, but I thought we just needed to find common ground that’s not arguing. That’s why I’m here, at least.”

“And Logan?” Emile asked, still in that kind voice. Logan wouldn’t meet their eyes, though, or anyone’s.

“I thought- we both seemed so upset by the news. Or at least, I was, and perceived you to be as well.” He didn’t look up as he addressed Janus, but his eyes shifted over and took root on Janus’ polished loafers. “My plan was to spend whatever time was needed to stop glowing, then get back to our respective lives.”

“Do either of you have a question you’d like to ask of one another?” Remy asked. “It can be as large or small scale as you’d like, serious or frivolous.”

Both men looked up at the lanky therapist, who’d actually removed his dark glasses, revealing slightly foggy-looking irises. “Logan, it looks like you have one.”

“Oh- yes. So, Alighieri- I mean, Janus. To be clear- you were not upset by the news?”

Janus took a breath. “I mean, I was shocked, and upset to be removed in the middle of a case. But not about the soulmate thing, specifically. And I have a question too?” He looked to the therapists, who both nodded.

Janus looked over, and saw the Logan was watching him in his periphery. “When you say you were upset about the news- was it about the soulmate thing, or about me as your soulmate?”

Logan actually sat up, looking shocked. “Oh, goodness gracious. Absolutely about the concept of ‘soulmate’ in general, not personal in any way. Did I-?”

“Well, yeah, a bit,” Janus said.

“I am- I am so sorry. I would have absolutely have been equally upset, no matter who I found to be an accidental soulmate.”

Janus felt his stomach unclench just a bit.

“Logan, what about soulmates in general upsets you?” Emile asked.

Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and he stayed silent for a moment, then two. Finally, he said curtly, “I never asked for one. And no one asked if I wanted one, either.”

“No one asked if I wanted to be trans, and yet here I am,” Emile said with a cheeky grin. “We don’t always get a say over the circumstances of our birth.”

“But Emmy, you’ve found self-acceptance and happiness deriving from coming out,” Remy put in. “Logan, were you content with life before this reveal?”

Logan nodded. 

“So there was no sense of dysphoria prior, or absence of a euphoria that was gained since.” 

Again, Logan nodded.

“Couldn’t-“ Janus began. His throat felt a bit stuck. “Couldn’t there be something to be gained, though?”

Logan picked up a small figurine of Dexter from the table next to the couch, and fiddled with it in his lap as he spoke. “It’s not impossible, there could certainly be gains from a better acquaintance with you. But that’s not what a soulmate is supposed to be, is it? They’re supposed to complete you,” he said, his voice dripping in disdain. “Because you were incomplete before. Because you weren’t enough, alone, you were just waiting for the One. And of course, you can’t be trusted to find them yourself, some cosmic force determines it for you.”

Remy rested his hand in his hand, elbow propped on his knee. “Spill it, sis.”

Logan stared in confusion. 

Remy smiled. “It means, approximately, ‘continue, you’ve got something good to say’. I’m getting a lot here- but a lot of the frustration seems to be with the idea that forces you can’t control are messing with your life, is that fair?”

Logan shifted. “Well, yeah, but that makes me sound like a control freak.”

“Not at all,” Janus interrupted. “Of course you don’t want something incomprehensible to make decisions for you. That’s not controlling, that’s perfectly understandable and human!”

Logan managed a small smile in response.

Emile beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

“But I am def gonna poke some holes in your thought bubble,” Remy said cheerfully. “Starting with this: what do you mean when you say a soulmate is intended to be The One?”

Logan stared in disbelief. “Come on. Really? Look at, I don’t know, any piece of media ever. Or at you two. Or at my- friend and his husband. Or any other pair of soulmates!”

Janus added, “I mean, that’s what’s intended, right? With the whole ‘marked from birth’ thing?”

Emile looked at them both very seriously. “Did you know that Remy isn’t The One for me?”

“But he’s your soulmate?” Janus gasped out.

Emile nodded gravely. “He is my soulmate. But he is not my only soulmate.”

“I was designated female at birth to very traditional parents. They wanted me to marry my soulmate at 18, like they had, and they assumed he’d be a man. But my other soulmate was a girl, and I loved her with all my heart. And when I realized I wasn’t a girl, I thought my parents might accept us more. I was wrong.” They took a breath. “We were separated. I don’t know what happened to her. But it was enough to know that my parents didn’t care about my happiness, soulmate or no.”

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said quietly, and Janus nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

“I was lucky, though,” they continued. “I found Remy only two years later. And he accepted me as I am, both my gender and my other soulmate. And the cartoons, of course.”

“I never got to meet her,” Remy said. “So we will never know if she was my soulmate, too. I choose to believe she wasn’t. I think she could have been Emile’s one and only, had they been able to stay together. And that doesn’t make me feel any less lucky to be Emile’s husband, nor any less loved by them.”

“And not to shock you even more, but not all soulmates are romantic,” Emile said. “I know that’s the media portrayal- but well, the media is also pretty straight. And cis. And white. And neurotypical. And-”

“What they’re getting at,” Remy interrupted, “is that common portrayals miss a lot of the variety and complexity of humanity as a whole, let alone the complexity of relationships.”

Logan was sitting very still, and not speaking. Janus was trying to wrap his mind around this, and spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty as he asked, “So- for instance, um, you could have soulmates who are, uh, queerplatonic partners?”

Logan’s head snapped up, staring at Janus with wide eyes.

Remy grinned. “Yes, of course! I was worried I was going to have to do a vocab lesson, but you both seem to know what that is.”

“But-“ Janus began, brows furrowing.

“But that means-“ Logan muttered to himself.

“Why isn’t he my soulmate?” Janus asked, at the same time Logan asked, “Why aren’t they my soulmate?”

Lit by the twin glows reflecting against the wall, the therapist couple exchanged a pregnant look. Emile reached out and took a hand of each patient. “I know this is a lot to process, but I really want you to keep something in mind: a soulmate is not the only way we can love someone. It’s not the ‘best’ way or only valid way to love someone. The same way the platonic love you clearly both hold for a significant person in your life is no less valid than romantic.”

Remy sat up straight. “I want you both to think about this when you go home. Your love for your QPPs is wonderful, and worth cherishing. And I know you are both lawyers, so here’s a question for you to brief. We cannot know the actual intent of whatever force gave you marks that respond to each other. So I want to you look for what evidence there might be, in each other, for your connection.”

Emile added on, “You have a link, and it’s worth exploring. It doesn’t have to ever be more important, more meaningful than another connection you have. But understanding it is critical to bonding successfully.”

“I think we should wrap there, for this week,” Remy added. “But you can talk about this, of course, without us.”

Janus and Logan nodded, and left. The walk home was as quiet as the walk there had been, but this time the air thrummed with thoughts and ponderings.

⁂

Janus and Logan made dinner with relatively little talk, only quiet asks to pass a spice or a cooking implement. It wasn't an uncomfortable quiet, but one where their minds were far too loud to vocalize just yet.

Janus quietly suggested putting on TV, and picked the game show network as a neutral, unobjectionable option.

They ate as they watched, still burdened with their own thoughts, but slowly started to murmur the correct questions under their breath before the Jeopardy contestants were able to.

Final Jeopardy, as luck would have it, was on Latin - but specifically, Latin as used in law. Both attorneys chuckled at the contestants' answers, some of which weren't even close to correct.

Janus directed a cautious smile in Logan's direction, and found it reciprocated. But as he saw that familiar glow start to reflect off the walls, he tensed, waiting for Logan flee once more.

For the first time, though, he didn't. His eyes widened as he took in the lights, but he didn't move to stand or leave.

"About today-" Logan began. "I don't know that I am quite ready to discuss it all, but I did want to once again apologize for my handling of this situation, and its emotional impact on you. It was entirely unintentional, but I regret causing you distress."

"Thank you," Janus replied softly. "And thank you for being willing and open to go to counseling. I learned a lot today, all of it important."

"I'd like to talk about it tomorrow, if you'd be willing," Logan added. "There are some additional details I need to share, but I don't think I'm able at the present moment."

"Sounds good," Janus nodded. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Sleep well."

"You as well."

But despite feeling tired, Janus found he wasn't at all sleepy. He ended up sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, stroking Monty gently and thinking a great deal.

⁂

The next morning, Janus woke up much earlier than his usual habit, but he needn't have worried - Logan was clearly waiting for him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and idly solving the entire Sunday crossword.

He looked up at the sound of Janus' door, and indicated the mostly-full coffee pot with a nod. Janus gratefully filled a mug for himself and lightened it thoroughly with cream, drinking deep as he stood angled so that he could offer critique and suggestions on the crossword.

"No, shush," Janus said, though Logan had not spoken. "It's gotta be White. Y'know, Betty? C'mon. Most-loved Gold? It's obvious."

Logan just smiled and penned in “White” in the horizontal boxes, immediately able to fill in the Down clues crossing them.

Once the puzzle was complete, Janus refilled his coffee and sat properly at the kitchen island. 

"So, if you're amenable-" Logan began. "I believe I'm prepared to discuss yesterday in more detail."

Janus nodded. "Did you want to start off?"

"Yes, I think I must. Because there was one detail that I wasn't quite prepared to share that I think will be quite helpful in securing a full understanding."

At Janus' encouraging nod, Logan closed his eyes to take a breath, and said, "The truth is, I'm an aromantic asexual. That's why the concept of a soulmate was so upsetting to me, particularly because up until this week I had assumed I didn't have one."

Janus looked down. "I'm ace, too, but not aro, and... yeah, same boat, mostly. I thought I wouldn't have one, but when we started to glow, I assumed it must be romantic. But that must not be the case."

Logan tented his fingers together. "So you're not aro, but you do have a QPP?"

"Yeah - I definitely can experience romantic attraction, but what I feel for Patton has always been stronger, and different."

"I'd like to hear about him, if you'd be willing," Logan said softly, and was rewarded by a smile that seemed about to glow as brightly as his soulmark on Janus' face.

"Oh, he's just the best," Janus gushed. "I met him at the perfect time in my life. I'd just been dumped by an asshole because he couldn't deal with the fact that the asexual part wasn't just me being a tease. I was feeling pretty low, post-college, all alone in a new apartment, and then this beam of sunshine turns out to be the kind of neighbor who brings cookies as a greeting. Even though I wasn't exactly receptive, he just kept coming back, even just to check up on me, and soon I found myself looking forward to it, and then inviting myself over in return."

Logan paused. "Wait, your ex broke up with you because you were ace? Was it a surprise?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "No, not in the least. I'd told him, and reminded him, and he'd just been assuming I would 'get over it,' the fucker. Right after the breakup, there were times I wondered if he was right, if I should have just powered through my repulsion to make him happy. But Patton was amazing about that, too. When he heard what happened - oh my goodness, he was so angry on my behalf, he looked like he was going to Hulk out. And then he made it his mission to make sure I was being validated in my identity and knew that I was eminently lovable both in spite of and because of my aceness."

Logan smiled. "That's wonderful. I can see why you love him so much."

Janus sighed happily. "And it hasn't changed even though he's met his allo soulmate. Roman knows that our bond isn't and will never be a threat to theirs, and he makes Pat so happy. They're planning their wedding right now, but they've already signed all the papers and it'll just be a party where they gush about each other in public."

Janus sat for a moment, basking in the glow of his affection for Patton, before he turned to Logan and asked, “You have a QPP too, right?”

“I do,” Logan said, a smile stretching across his face unconsciously. “Their name is Virgil. And they’re also married to their soulmate.”

“Tell me about them,” Janus said, when Logan fell silent. 

“They’re- they are just amazing. They’re my best friend, have been since about fourth grade. ” Logan’s eyes went a bit misty as he considered his childhood. “We bonded over being surrounded by idiots, after a debate simulation where we were on opposing sides.”

Janus smirked. “You mean I’m not your first? I’m heartbroken.”

Logan shot him a glare, but it had none of true anger’s heat.

“I guess we always had the feeling that we weren’t quite like everyone else. Besides the introverted tendencies, it wasn’t really a shock when they came out as nonbinary. They’d been online, discovering new terms, and in learning about their identity I ran into the aro and ace labels. I felt seen, do you know what I mean? And then Virgil just compounded that feeling by immediately understanding and accepting me. They call me a brother, just to explain that our relationship isn’t “just” friends.”

“What was it like when they met their soulmate?” Janus asked. 

“It wasn’t nearly as smooth as your experience seems to have been,” Logan admitted.

“Their husband is... unique. Prone to rather odd fixations and interests. But he’s also demisexual, and like us, had thought he wouldn’t have a soulmate. And part of his defense mechanism against that kind of rejection was, well. Embracing his off-putting side. Being disgusting for the sake of it. Grossing out others before they could judge him for his orientation.”

Janus grimaced. “I know that feeling, all too well. Donning a mask, so that a rejection won’t be of you, just your persona.”

“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “I don’t think it helped that both Virgil’s and Remus’ soulmarks were in their hair. They’d both dyed their hair many times over the years, but it wasn’t enough to hide it. And once they had shown up- there was no more pretending.”

“Was it hard for them?” Janus asked. 

“Accepting it was. But then they started actually talking and then it just- clicked. All those macabre interests that overlapped, the mutual obsession with MCR. They fell in love the minute they both let their walls down. And like you said- it never really changed what I had with Virge. They didn’t meet Reme until college, and didn’t get married until last year. So Virge told Reme that I was here to stay, and part of their life, and he accepted it without a blink. He’s a forensic archeologist now, to Virge’s forensic detective, so they’ve actually both been helpful in cases, too.”

“That’s... kind of adorable, in a weird way,” Janus said, scrunching his nose. 

Logan chuckled. “‘Adorable in a weird way’ is the best possible description for their relationship.”

Janus tapped his finger on the island. “That sounds so familiar, though, and I can’t quite place it.” He closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. “Wait! Is Virgil’s husband an Augustus?”

“That was his surname, yes, though now it’s Angelico-“

“Oh my god!” Janus burst out. “That’s Patton’s brother-in-law!”

“What?”

“Roman Augustus! That’s his soulmate’s name! And he had a twin, but they had a falling out and haven’t been in contact for a couple of years. But he said he’d been in forensics!”

Logan blinked. “Well, it is certainly a small world. Not that Remus has ever talked about his brother, but I knew he had one.”

“That’s kind of crazy. What are the chances?” Janus asked, laughing. 

Logan looked pointedly over. “Do you really want to know? I could calculate them-“

“Thanks, calculator watch, but I’m good.”

They both chuckled quietly, sitting side by side at the kitchen island. 

“Hey, uh- thank you for trusting me, with the other day, and with this,” Janus said softly. 

“I owe you thanks as well,” Logan replied. “I don’t frequently have the opportunity to talk about Virgil in detail and it’s- it’s nice.”

Janus just beamed, returning the sentiment without words. 

In that moment, the sunlight of the room was tinged with colored light, gold and blue overlapping into rich emerald.

Logan hesitated, seeing it, but after a moment lifted his arm. Janus smiled and leaned in, accepting the offered side-hug.

“Hey Finch- I mean, Logan?”

“Yes Janus?”

“I may not be sure yet why we’re soulmates, but I’m definitely not disappointed that we are.”

A beat.

Then a soft murmur replied, “Neither am I.”

⁂

Later that afternoon, Logan returned from stocking up on more food to find Janus lying upside-down on the couch, lanky legs dangling over the back. His face was red enough to show that he’d been sitting there for a while as the blood rushed downward.

“I cannot imagine that is at all comfortable,” Logan commented drily, neatly putting away the packets of noodles and snacks he’d purchased.

“It helps me think,” Janus replied. “Especially when I’m trying to see something from another perspective.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “This better not have been a set-up just to make that terrible pun.”

Janus looked over, grinning. “It actually started that way, not gonna lie. I’d been venting to Patton about an oral argument simulation in law school and he suggested this as a joke. And then it actually helped.”

Logan huffed in what sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh and came to sit more normally in a chair next to the couch. “So what is it that you’re trying to change your perception of so literally?”

“Our case, actually - Gomex.” At Logan’s quizzical look, he replied, “The partners aren’t letting me onto new cases until they know I’ll be back in person. I’m getting bored. So I thought, you know. Why not figure out what I was missing in this one.” He shrugged, an odd contortion for an inverted torso.

“You were missing something? But you won at trial.”

“And I was caught off-guard by your appeal - or at least, the part where it survived my motion to dismiss.”

Logan allowed himself a satisfied smirk. “Surprised you with my impeccable research, did I? All my rock-solid precedent pointing out the clear error in the original jury instruction?”

Janus’ legs kicked idly in the air. “Your research is always impeccable. Of course you were able to find precedent on-point for the general issue, you’re good at this. But the facts of the case are just so different that how could any of those past rulings be definitive?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, tapping the arm pensively. “Wait, so you really believe that? It wasn’t just a tactic to make Gomex feel like they’re getting their money’s worth for your legal fees?”

Janus finally righted himself, sitting upright with a leg balancing on the coffee table. “Well, yeah , of course I do. I don’t take the time and effort to go to trial for bullshit unless the client can’t be talked down from combat mode. Racking up charges for unnecessary trial prep is only fun when they don’t take my advice.” He looked quizzically at Logan. “So you really didn’t see the difference between Gomex and, what, Sourgoutsis?”

“No material difference, no. It’s in the right circuit, it’s recent and binding, and it established a test that clearly applies here.”

“But the test requires knowledge!”

“Knowing includes reckless disregard for the truth, and Gomex had that.”

“Oh, you can hardly say it’s reckless when all the claims were paid without issue for a decade!”

Logan leaned forward, counting off points on his fingers. “The guidance is updated each year. The commentary points out the changes. Gomex has to certify as a company that they accept all current guidance and direction. If they didn’t actually know they were submitting false claims, they should have known, and had a duty to know.”

Janus’ eyes were flashing, but more with excitement than anger. “But even the commentary didn’t clarify that these specific claims would no longer be accepted in the future. Doesn’t the agency have a duty to be clear about changes in accepted policy when the code is so vast and companies used past claims as standards for future approval?”

“But the companies are the experts in their own industries. They should know that these kind of differences are significant and material.”

Janus sat up fully straight, pointing enthusiastically. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“I figured it out! It is a matter of perspective. But not the perspective of side versus side, like I was thinking. It’s time.”

Logan leaned in, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Expand, please.”

Janus nodded, mirroring Logan’s pose even as his hands remained free to gesture. “So you’re looking at this as: company knows their procedures best, they’re the ones making profit off it, so their duty to know details is higher than the public agency. Right?”

Logan nodded.

“Here’s where I’m coming from - it’s not a question of if this company knew or should have known this distinction, or even if this industry has the expertise that the agency lacks. It’s about what this case would do to the Sourgoutsis test for cases in the future. If the agency doesn’t have to clarify a policy change now, why would it ever? If it’s not enough that companies rely on a long history of approval here, when will it ever be? Do you follow, Logan?”

Logan linked his fingers, tapping the tips of his forefingers gently. “So your concern is about using a history of compliance as evidence of good faith?”

“Exactly, yes.”

“But Gomex knew that the change meant the compliant history was no longer relevant.”

“Only because they had insider knowledge of the change process. Not from the public information.”

“Wait, so you agree that Gomex knew?”

Janus grinned sheepishly, baring all his teeth. “Well, we’re both off the case now, so- yeah. They knew or should have known their claims would get rejected and banked on the agency not noticing for just long enough.”

Logan gasped. “But you still went into court and got the jury to agree with you that they didn’t!?”

Janus shrugged pragmatically. “It’s not about Gomex, it’s about the precedent this will set. I’d rather one bad actor get away with it now than have who-knows-how-many claims get screwed in the future for a good-faith misunderstanding.”

“Especially if that bad actor is paying you millions to help them get away with it?” Logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

Janus raised one of his own. “So you’d rather let a bad test become binding because the agency is paying you millions to get it set in stone?”

Logan, about to respond hotly, paused. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. I didn’t think it was that bad a test until now - I assumed the insider knowledge would be baked into the standard.”

“You gotta think cynically, Mr. Finch,” Janus said with a chuckle. “Picture the worst-faith application and work backwards from there, cause you know it’ll end up happening.”

“Hmm,” Logan said with a quiet laugh. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Janus fluttered his lashes. “The great Logan Finch thinks I’m right about something. My life’s goal is achieved.”

“Hey, I think you’re correct quite a lot!” Logan objected. “Infuriatingly precise and pedantic, sure, but ultimately right. There’s a reason my firm sends me against you - no one else wants to fight what’ll be a losing battle half the time.”

“Only half?”

“Even you must admit I’ve been correct on more than one occasion,” Logan said with a smile.

“That is true,” Janus admitted. “Knowing that you’re going to be the opposing counsel always makes me up my game.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Logan said wryly. “I’d never admit it to the other partners, but you make me a better lawyer, Janus.”

The flattered glow of Janus’ grin was immediately dwarfed by two other, brighter bursts of light. Gold and blue pulsed from their backs in a flash, then settled into steady light. The colors lit the stylish room, blending to emerald as they pulsed in time with each man’s heartbeat. Logan looked at the glow reflected on the white couch cushions with wonder as he realized that Janus’ back  was no longer shining blue, but green. He caught his eyes and realized his own glow must have changed colors as well.

The lights pulsed more and more gently until they dimmed and went out, leaving Janus and Logan sitting across from one another just as the last of the sunlight fell below the horizon and the room went dark. 

The silence stretched for several moments, until Janus finally broke it with a bemused, “Huh.”

“So that was-”

“I think so.

“So now we’re-”

“Bonded, yeah. I think.”

“That would be a logical assumption.”

The silence returned, each man lost in his own thoughts. When they spoke again, it was at once.

“Maybe we should-”

“Perhaps we could still-”

“-make sure it’s permanent?

“-take a few days more?”

They shared a grin.

“A couple more days couldn’t hurt,” Janus said. “After all, it could be a fluke. We wouldn’t want to set a standard from a mere fluke.”

“Oh, of course not,” Logan responded with the same tone of amusement. “We want to confirm the integrity of the test.”

Janus stood to flick on a light, then turned as a thought occurred. 

“Wait, Logan - even once we go back, we won’t be able to be opposing counsel anymore. The soulmate code will still be applied, even though we’re not romantic or QP soulmates.”

Logan’s face fell for a moment, then lit up once more as he stood. “Well, we’ve got a couple days at least. I think the two best lawyers in the state might be able to argue that every precedent has an exception, don’t you, Mr. Alighieri?”

Janus’ smile mirrored Logan’s own as he replied, “Why yes, Mr. Finch, I think we might.”

[spaghettiandart]

memories in three

Originally posted this on the aminos sometime during march, but decided (as of may 3 at 12 am) to post it here too! Yay spur of the moment decision! The rest of the post is from the blogs on the UT and UTAU aminos, and the story is under the cut.

author's note: this was mostly made to be part of my oc's backstory, but then i realized it could exist as a nice character development thing. the art was done on medibang paint and took 2 weeks.

characters: w. d. gaster, grillby, oc

categories: fluff, angst, friendship.

warnings: non-graphic violence, death, blood, mild language. 

word count: 4092

[I] |        one - the calm 

The time they had was always finite. Even at the genesis of it, they knew. They'd look at eachother, a circle of three, assigned to stick together and be loyal to one another, and they knew there'd be no way they'd get along. 

It was so easy to pretend, but with five months gone and passed it was getting harder to feign ignorance. 

The violent crackles and pops of Grillby's flames match the rapid beating of his SOUL, colors rising to the white and lowering until it was a pathetic red in uneven jitters of anxious panic. He focused on pouring the rum into the barbarously crafted wooden mug, the familiar motions soothing his shaking hands until he felt some semblance of normality surround him. 

The background quiet set him on edge, still. He could feel the flames on his shoulders worming their way through the openings on his armor, fingers immediately twitching to cast a flame ball, or reach for his sword, or pour another drink, or so something so that they weren't empty and susceptible to the whims of his ever-twisting emotions. 

The tension- oh, how he hated the tension. Being silent was his favorite sport, his carefully cultivated talent, but he was a creature born and bred to exist in the midst of warm chatter and noise. He was not the type of man to be relaxed in silent, cold hate, and neither was he the type to mediate it. 

Grillby picks up the three mugs by their handles, two hanging precariously from one hand, cradled to his chest, and the other already making its way to his mouth. The liquid stung at him, but not in the way human beverages did. While their concoctions were tasteless and lowered his HP by decimals, this was warm and fuzzy and the bubbly froth filled his mouth like cotton. 

His team was already there. WingDings Gaster, Grand Arcane Battle Artificer of the Deltarune Legion, and Igneous No-Name, Grand Arcane Battle Mage-Scribe of the Deltarune Legion. The names were long in Human English, even longer in traditional Monster languages, but Titles had Meanings and must be Specific and Precise so as to grant Monster the Respect they Deserve. Said verbatim by his own King when he was given his title. 

(Grillby No-Name, Fifth General of the Deltarune Legion, was what was inscribed on the back of the wings of his own silvery Deltarune-Symbol pendant. Every Monster soldier got one, regardless of their station and their specific designations. His own was cold enough for precipitation to collect on the metal, enchanted to withstand heat damage.)

His enchanted helmet is resting on a stack of parchment like a paperweight, turned away from the table so that its face was pointed at the wall. The silence was turned up tenfold the minute Grillby sheepishly walked into their section of the "room", and the two magic-users turned their mutual cold shoulder on him as well.

It shouldn't hurt, but Grillby had to stop himself from reeling as if he were struck by a physical hand. Oh, this wouldn't do. 

They were a team, after all. Of the same Legion, of the same Fifth Division, of the same status. The silence killed him, repulsed his being down to the core because it was so very anti-him. Anti-Flame Elemental, even, because even when they were quiet the crackling of their flames were enough to communicate their feelings to another. 

He only had body language to go off of the two. They may be masters at putting up facades, but he was a master of interpreting them, so the minute he sets the mugs down on the table he immediately pushed the stack of books piled in between Gaster and Igneous like a great wall crumbling to the ground, uncaring of the way the two jumped and jolted at the noise. 

His SOUL pounded, filled with anxiety and slight reprieve at the sound, but he needed more. He hated speaking, he much rather would be the one spoken to, but there are little people to be found who'd like to ramble for hours on end to a stranger save for drunken heretics at the little old tavern he used to manage decades ago. 

"What in the goddamn are you doing?" Igneous exclaimed, hood haphazardly slipping off her head and catching onto her big ears, holding on for dear life in a losing battle. 

"I concur. What on Earth is wrong with you?" Gaster snapped the large tome he was pretending to read shut, the sudden action too surprising for him to not address.

Grillby takes the time to sip from his mug, before setting it down lightly. "... You're both acting like children when we are all adults. Talk out your problems."

Igneous glared at him with an impressive amount of venom. For someone with only two eyes to convey emotion, she knew how to convey it. "I am not talking to a child murderer."

The remaining monster in the room scowled at Igneous, and then at Grillby. "Tell the Mage that human children are the easiest and most reliable source of SOULs to harvest to bolster our ranks."

Igneous' eyes narrowed and her glare intensified. "Tell the Artificer that by killing the humans' children we'd only encourage them to attack as harder. Also tell him he's a shitbag for suggesting it in the first place."

"Tell the Mage that she's a naive twat if she thinks that war can be won with no sacrifices."

"Tell the Artificer that sacrifices of that degree are uncalled for and that he smells of elderberries."

"I do NOT smell like elderberries you-"

Grillby clapped his hands once. A burst of flame shot out from the vents on his shoulders and the palms of his hands, making the bickering pair freeze simultaneously from where they were slowly turning their heads to face each other. 

"This is what I am talking about," the Swordsman looked at them both with a disappointed gaze from behind his crystalline glasses. "... Children, we are adults. You're going to apologize to each other and agree to disagree, or else I will burn one of the books you collected from the Human Mages."

Gaster slammed his hands down on the table and began to stand, expression thunderous. Igneous' eyes widened to such a degree that they threatened to pop out of her head, and she snapped her head back as if he struck her. 

"Child number one, sit down. Child number two, stay quiet- I know you will say something and I will make you regret it," Grillby steepled his fingers, the effort of speaking for so long already taking the energy out of him. He heaved in a breath, the air making his flames crackle with strength. "... Child number one- it may be hard to realize this, but killing children is inarguably immoral and degenerate. Child number two- I advise you to set your pride aside, else your inability to accept the flaws of your naivety may cause you more harm than good... Now apologize, because I am becoming very annoyed at having to speak so much..."

The two stared at him as if he sprouted a second flaming head from his shoulder. Grillby lit up a single finger and held it over a stray paper on the table that escaped his rampage on their books. 

Gaster was the first to break. "... ahem," he shifted uncomfortably, and stuck his nonexistent nose in the air so that he looked down at Igneous. "I suppose that I will have to concede at that. Your... interesting... worldview is something we can't quite see eye to eye on."

Grillby stared at him harder, and his shoulders slumped as he hunched over the table.

"And I apologize for my unprofessional conduct," he sighed, picking at the knicks and scratches in his hands in a nervous manner.

The Spirit Remnant stared at the- Skeleton? Shadow Creature? Wraith? Gaster never disclosed what kind of monster, exactly, he was- with clear contempt that faded away into uncomfortable and annoyed vulnerability. She rolled her shoulders, tail curling around her left ankle protectively.

"You're still a terrible creep, and I cannot deny that I would sooner pound you to dust with my bare hands than see you harm a child of any kind," she said, quietly, "but I understand that... things must be done for the greater good, sometimes. I apologize."

The air became heavy with guilt and frustration at that, but at least they weren't outright holding each other in contempt. Grillby prepared himself to speak for hopefully the last time that day. 

"... Good. Adult One, Adult Two, may I present to you your rewards for acting your age," he slid over the mugs of wine to the both of them, glad that he couldn't physically let out the relieved sigh he would have released were he able to breathe at the sight of the suddenly bright expressions the two had.

Igneous casted a furtive, unsure glance at Gaster, who angled his body away from the both of them and glared at the papers beneath him. He didn't cover them from her view when she leaned over to glance at them, her brows quirking in question as she took another sip. 

The mood didn't instantly change to comfortable. They didn't relax around each other, not immediately. But Grillby could feel the tension in his shoulders drift away as he watched Igneous quietly shoot the other with a question, and Gaster exchanging it with one in return. 

The stress of the war was taking its toll on him, but seeing the two gratefully take small sips of his homemade rum and shyly exchange words about their respected professions made the weight on his chest lighten just a little. 

|        two - the storm 

The battle is disorganized chaos, and he hates it. Not for the slaughter, not for the blood shed, not for the dust carried by the wind. He hates the sheer animalistic frenzy everyone on the battlefield was sent into- it's as if the second the fight began the primal instinct in their minds seemed to suddenly reveal itself, possessing their bodies and taking away their willpower to keep their hidden urges hidden. 

Such was evident in the human shoving his sword into the throat of a bunny monster, rendering them to dust before the blade could slice its way out. Or a monster with a dragon's muzzle unhinging its jaw like a snake and snapping up a human mage, their spine crushed under the pressure in an instant. 

Or even his own... companions, battling back to back against a frenzy of knights, swords gleaming and magic spewing around them. They were beaten down, armor covered in mud and muck, and from the minute trembling carried across their bodies it seemed as if they were ready to topple at any moment. 

Gaster's fists tightened as his Special Attack blasted yet another beam of energy to render a pitiful human to ash, the conjured hands twisting in midair before flocking to his sides like a pair of dogs. He looked down from the cliff he was standing on at the clearing they were fighting in, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn't let it overtake him, not yet, but the exhaustion was close to killing him. His limbs hurt to their very core. 

Igneous and Grillby were practically attached at the spine with how closed in they were. Igneous had snaked a hand around a human's neck, crushing his windpipe before resting her weight on Grillby's back and launching herself in the air. 

Her conjured wings flung out from her back, and she slammed her foot into the chest of another knight, caving it in from the magically-reinforced pressure. 

Despite the human bodies piling up around them, more seemed to flood the two as if recognizing them to be the heavy hitters they were. A human swung out with his sword, and Grillby caught it with his own flaming one, pushing it back. The two were neck and neck, heels dug into the ground as the gleaming blades fought against each other. The human's head shifted forward, as if they were saying something, and Grillby's flames burst into a column of blue, indignant fire. 

The human took the opening his anger gave them by twisting their body and throwing their weight into Grillby's chest, pummeling him into Igneous and the ground. 

Igneous flipped head over heels, wings dissipating as she lied face down. Grillby was shakily getting up, but the human struck out and suddenly there was a hole in the side of his armor, frost creeping around it. 

Gaster scowled, and took a few steps back from the cliff in preparation. A voice behind him interrupted his motions. 

"You meet your end, monster," a voice hissed from behind him. He tilted his head slightly, and upon seeing that it was only a mage he scoffed. 

"Do tell the clouds hello," Gaster flicked the human mage away with little pressure and much disdain from one of the conjured hands, and set his jaw as he hopped onto the back of one of his hands. There was no time to be wasted with meaningless banter.

Hell would sooner freeze over than him seeing his fr- companions, his companions- Fall Down. 

Smaller hands materialized around his body, hitting and punching and swatting away oncoming attackers as he rode the hand down the side of the cliff. The fingers stretched out, and he bent his knees ever so slightly. 

As the end of the cliff was reached, curving into the clearing, he jumped with all his might off the hand and to the side, landing in a roll before hopping to his feet. 

The hand continued on, and barrelled into the human slowly approaching Grillby with the force of a stampeding bull. 

Their sword flew out of their hand and embedded into the bark of a nearby tree with a 'thunk!' and Igneous quickly picked up the slack as the hand dissipated, energy coalescing in her hands. Feathers caged the human in.

"... God... no, no," the human moaned in pain, attempting to get up on their elbows. They glared up at the three just as Grillby picked up his sword from where it lay discarded on the ground, grip trembling. 

"You dirty freaks," the human weakly said, their chest heaving and breath wheezing. Perhaps that hand broke a few bones... oh well. Gaster found that he didn't much care about not knowing, this time, taking much pleasure in watching Grillby advance at the human with his own sword held aloft. 

"You're not m-monologuing, right?" Igneous spoke up, her own breath wheezy. Catching the brunt of Grillby's weight must have hurt, because her entire body was trembling with poorly hidden pain. Almost unconsciously, Gaster shifted his body so that he was in front of her. Her body was trembling in shock and indignation, eyes wide and animalistic as they focused on the human. She looked ready to pounce. "Goddamnit... what are you waiting for, Grillbz? Just end them already!" 

The human ignored her, slowly getting on their knees. Their fists clenched. "Y-you... you won't win this war. Kill me, but my brothers and sisters will avenge me! Our mages, our knights, our horses, our citizens- they'll all fight, all against you monsters!" 

"Please kill them," Igneous practically begged Grillby, her wispy 'hair' flickering piteously. "They’re not useful. They’re not- just- kill them, please.”

"No, wait," Gaster found himself muttering, suddenly. Igneous snapped her head in his direction, eyes wide- and he almost flinched back at the desperation in her eyes. What did that human say? "I want to see what he'll do."

Grillby was examining the human curiously. His masked head tilted this way and that, his hands exchanging the swords as he stood in front of the human, looking down at it. Music, unidentifiable in genre, played in the distance. 

The human looked up at him, glaring through the slits of their helmet. "You know... you know this. And... y-you know what I said before... I w-was right. Kill me, but you'll have to live with that... and that's enough for me to die happy."

There was silence. The two stared at each other, carefully. 

"Well?" The human barked. "You're not going to end it? Take me prisoner, then! Flaunt me around! I still won't-!"

Their head was on the ground in a SOULbeat. Gaster and Igneous took a simultaneous step back as blood stained the grass underneath the human, the armored Flame Elemental examining the corpse before kicking it on its side, stomping back to them.

"... Wasn't going to let their dying words be them telling me what to do," he muttered once he reached them. 

Igneous' shoulders seemed to drop suddenly, and she looked around them. Corpses, bodies, dust- they were all strewn about the battlefield haphazardly. There was no art behind them. No grand imagination from the divines above. 

Just the reeking scent of death lingering over them all. 

She took this in, much like Gaster was, and then looked at him. She had no mouth to smile with, but her eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges. 

"You saved our skins back there," she said, voice still quavering from the quiet horror carried within it, and reached out a hand to him. Gaster hesitated, but let it land on his shoulder. The tall monster gripped it firmly, resting her weight on it. "I won't forget this, you know."

"You can start bothering me about it tomorrow," Gaster said, feeling a bit lightheaded. 

Igneous shook her head at that, and gave it a few pats before moving away and CHECKing herself, digging around her small inventory for food. "I don't mean it like that. I mean- yes, I am absolutely going to tease you about this for the next month, but... you... you really do..."

Grillby sheathed his sword suddenly, and looked up at the cliff from where he rode down from. There was a quiet surrounding them. "... care about us."

Gaster shifted from foot to foot. He was no child. He was an adult, for God's sake. Why did he feel so... embarrassed, all of a sudden? 

A cheer rose up in a crescendo of voices from beyond the cliff just as the sun made its way to the top of Mt Ebott and began to hide behind it. The battlefield was painted in a swath of gold and pink, and suddenly he wasn't so much focused on the chaos of it all as he was on the way the colors seemed to highlight the edges and curves of the two in front of him, how it made them all the more... real. 

Gaster stepped closer to the two. "The humans have retreated. We should be... getting back, now."

It was Grillby who set a hand on his shoulder this time, his face pointedly looking away and at the sunset. "... five minutes."

"Ten," Igneous chimed in, brushing his arm with her own. 

The trio stood there throughout the sunset and into the night, and Gaster woke the next morning with his friends resting on either shoulder, the dewy grass fresh underneath him and the battle feeling as if it took place years ago instead of the evidence of it being right behind him. 

He watched the rising sun and smiled. There's the peace he was waiting for. 

|        three - the pieces

The last time Igneous woke up from her  Hibernation Pack, it was to a boss monster with kind eyes looming over her. 

She panicked, at first. Scrambled back, and then turned to alert the Spirit Remnants that she was resting with that there was an intruder in their den. 

All that she was met with was piles upon piles of dust. 

"I was able to stop him from hurting you, too," he had rumbled from behind her, " but I'm afraid that I was too late for your companions."

She turned back around, eyes wide with outrage. 

He held a paw out towards her, offering comfort. It was stained with the humans blood. 

She took it, and pulled him close, demanding that he give her a way to get revenge. His paw clenched involuntarily from surprise, and his dark claws nicked her ethereal skin. 

Her essence joined the human's blood, and in the budding tears in her eyes an agreement was formed. 

Centuries later, Igneous wakes up in a comfortable, warm bed inside a comfortable, warm home underneath the large mountain that she fought for her life on. 

The nightmares were long gone, and memories were reserved for the day to sort through. All that was left for her dreams was darkness and static and white, mutilated hands reaching out for her with holes dug deep into their palms.

She never remembered them, and woke up each morning with the sense of loss lingering heavily in her chest. 

In the room over, the sounds of chatter and the dinging of a bell signifying the front door opening and closing began to grow louder and more frequent. Igneous was frozen in the hallway connecting her and Grillby's bedrooms, curled up in a small armchair haphazardly placed there five years, seven months, and six days ago when the two were refurbishing the building and couldn't decide in which room to put it. They decided to share instead, setting it outside and in between their rooms. 

She pulled her knees up to her chest, the chattering growing louder in her ears. Soon she'd have to step out and start taking their orders, but breakfast doesn't officially start in another… ten minutes, or so. 

She can take her time. 

The swaying pendulum hanging on the wall across from her demanded all her attention, grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes and reflected her past to her. Her stomach flipped with each sway of the object, hands traveling from her knees to her ankles and gripping them tightly.

It's been centuries. But that loss… was it only from the monsters dusted? Was it only from what that human revealed to Grillby and to her during that fateful fight? Or was it from that missing piece, the hole that separated both her and her friend, the dust-ridden and empty guest bedroom untouched that rested at the end of the hall? 

Her fingers clenched tighter, digging holes into her pants that would be covered up by her boots later. 

Was it the unfortunate fates of her pack? The piles of dust she woke up sleeping on, almost ready to join them before Asgore interrupted their murderer? 

Was it what the human said? The quiet words, so low but loud enough at the same time to be heard from miles away, repeating in her ears? The truth, maybe even the sneer in their voice when they spoke, "Don't worry. We didn't dust all of our prisoners… but you will never find them." 

Or the missing piece? The unknown factor that frustrated and scared her to no end, the pounding in her ears whenever she looked at the words unscripted on that silvery pendulum swinging back and forth and back and forth in a maddening rhythm from where it hung on the wall? 

Her claws dug deeper, caught onto fabric, pulled. The seams of her pants ripped at the ankle, and her flickering, pseudo-fiery essence darted out in quick licks at the air. 

The words stayed in her mind whenever she looked at it, dissapeared when she looked away, reappeared with all the context behind them when she looked back.

Every morning was the same routine. The same, desperate staring at the Deltarune-symbol pendant hanging from the wall. The same hope that she'll remember the name after she looks away. 

The dread of not knowing if she'll remember to do it tomorrow. 

She reread the name for the four hundred and thirty fifth time, desperately imprinting it on her mind. Grillby had long stopped even glancing at the thing decades ago. She won't forget. 

She looks away. 

"Shit, I'm going to be late," Igneous muttered, staring at the clock instead. She stood from the chair, confused and wobbly in the knees. "I could've sworn I was just sitting for a few seconds…"

She hurried off down the hall, pulling on her boots as she walked through the Fire Exit. 

The pendulum swung on the wall, shaking as the door slammed closed, its name forgotten. 

Wing Dings Gaster

Grand Arcane Battle Artificer

Deltarune Legion

Division V

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 5.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend… and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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There was a major difference in the way Robin approached this summer break in contrast to the last years. The dread that usually overcame her even before she stepped onto the train back to London was still very much present and accompanied by a deep sadness at the prospect of not being able to have coffee with Snape every night, but she didn’t feel quite as desperate about the length of the break. This year, she actually had something to look forward to.

It had come as a surprise on her last evening at school, when she had been talking to Snape about summer plans, that he had handed her a letter that had originally been addressed to him. At first Robin had been understandably confused why he’d given it to her, but after a moment of explanation, things had started to make sense. It was an invitation to a one-day conference in London, taking place two weeks into the holidays. According to him, it was an ‘insignificant’ event with a series of lectures and discussions about anything related to the overall subject of potion making. While the invitation was meant for Snape himself, he had made it rather clear that he had no interest in attending and thus wanted to give Robin the opportunity to listen to some of the lectures if she cared to go in his place. Obviously she’d been absolutely delighted by the possibility, and assured him that she would do her very best to lay low and make a good impression for once. He’d told her where to be on which day, then spoken a brief warning about some people he couldn’t stand but who likely would be attending, and at last they had changed the topic, talking about the book Robin had just finished that day.

On the train ride home the next day however, she had wondered if he really didn’t want to attend or if he merely wanted to give her the chance to go in his place, but seeing as she couldn’t answer that question, she had let it go after a while of pondering. But she did take pride in the fact that he obviously believed she would understand whatever would be talked about at this conference, and even more that he trusted her to not embarrass him in his absence. She would definitely try to learn as much as possible from this event, and be noticed as little as possible in return.

The two weeks until the anticipated day passed by slowly, but with something to look forward to, it wasn’t quite as dreadful as wishing and waiting for the end of the holidays already. Robin did actually end up telling her parents about the conference a few days before it would take place, and they seemed rather delighted about the fact that Robin was indulging in the same kind of academic endeavours they themselves thrived in so much. To be honest, Robin had merely told them because spending the entire day in London meant that she would be home very late if she took the train after the last lecture would be over, and she didn’t want them to worry. They however seemed fairly unbothered by the fact that their daughter would be out and about in the middle of the night, and Robin gave up on trying to get them to take interest in her person as much as they did in her 'career’. Thus they merely talked about proper behavior at an event like this, how to ask questions without being rude or make suggestions without sounding braggy, and Robin did in fact appreciate the advice for once. Who knew… maybe it applied to the wizarding world just as much as to the muggle world.

When the day finally arrived, Robin was nervous and delighted at once. Seeing as she would indeed have to stick to public transportation like the muggle she was pretending to be during the holidays, she opted for a more mundane choice of outfit too. Still, she wanted to make a good impression, and thus she chose to wear dressier clothes for once, which turned out more of a challenge than anticipated, due to an underwhelming amount of options. Eventually she ended up with a black, high waisted tube skirt that ended a little higher than a hand’s width above her knees, and an olive green blouse with long bishop sleeves which she tugged into the skirt. Paired with some dressy flats and her usual leather backpack, Robin deemed it fancy enough. Her mom also gave her approval, calling it 'appropriate enough’ for someone Robin’s age, and thus she was off to London even before it had properly started to dawn.

Finding the place where the conference would take place was actually easier than she had expected, especially if one considered that she had to rely on an ordinary, non-magical street map of London to find the correct building. This rule forbidding underage magic outside of Hogwarts was bullshit, in her eyes, but she also figured that not everyone was being as responsible with their magic as she was… so it maybe did make sense for some people. After finding the right building however, the next obstacle was being allowed in.

“Can I help you?” The first person she tried to simply walk past, once inside the entrance hall, already stepped into her path.

“I have an invitation for the conference.” Robin replied as self-assuredly as she could, portraying nothing but calmness on the outside while yet on the inside she felt rather overwhelmed by the whole thing. Too many people, too many strangers especially, and in addition to that a place she wasn’t familiar with and a situation nobody believed she belonged into. Great…

“May I see it, please?” At least the man was polite, even if a bit too condescending for Robin’s liking. Without protesting though, she grabbed the invitation card out of her backpack and held it under his nose with an indifferent expression.

“I apologise for the inconvenience, Miss. The conference room is on the third floor. Just follow the signs and you should find it with ease.” He said after but a brief glimpse at the paper, and stepped out of Robin’s way while pointing her to the staircase.

It really was beyond easy to find the correct room by following the signs, but before she even could set foot into it, she was held up yet again by a man sitting at a table in front of the room.

“Good morning.” Robin actually addressed him first, with a polite smile, as she came to stand in front of the table. Somehow she had rather hoped that she could just sneak into this like she had done in some lectures at university in the past years… but obviously that wasn’t the case.

“How can I help you, Missy?” The older man raised his eyebrows at her with a small smile, and Robin found herself conflicted by his disrespectful way of addressing her in contrast to his kind face.

“I am here for the conference.” She stated calmly though, and handed the invite to the man in front of her.

His eyebrows rose even higher as he read over the card, before he finally turned back to Robin with a surprised face. “What does a lass like you have to do with Severus Snape? You surely know that this is his invite, don’t you?”

“Of course I am aware of that.” She bit down the snarl and kept her tone polite and neutral like the adult she was trying to be here. “I’m his… friend. He couldn’t attend and therefore sent me in his place.” There was no need to tell him that Snape had called them an old bunch of idiots and hadn’t wanted to come here because it would bore him out of his mind, was there? No, certainly not.

“From what’s said about him, he doesn’t have a lot of friends I believe.” The man mused, but handed the paper back to Robin with a smile nonetheless. “Well, he still seems to have a decent taste in people if he sent you here today, huh? What’s your name? For the list of attendees, and the name tag.”

Robin almost would’ve snorted at the statement… Snape and good with people? Best joke she’d heard in weeks. But at least she wasn’t questioned any more than that. She would’ve hated to elaborate on her 'friendship’ with her professor. One sided as it was, especially…

“Robin Mitchell.” She answered with a small smile, and a moment later accepted the sticky tag he was holding out to her. Without questioning why it only read her last name, she stuck it onto her blouse a little below her collar bone, and then was granted entrance to the room at last.

If she’d had any hope to just not be noticed before, it definitely was gone by now. The room was crowded with wizards of all shapes and sizes, mostly of the older generations, and Robin spotted exactly two females other than herself. Age and gender… first things that drew quite a few eyes to her. But then there also was the small but very obvious fact that she was the only one not wearing robes. Hell, even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have sat in the train for two hours looking like a kid dressed up for Halloween and not panic. Well… she could’ve changed once she got here. Too late for that idea now.

Many eyes followed her indeed as she walked across the room to sit down as far to the back as possible. At least there were many people scattered around the room, chatting and laughing currently; surely they would just forget that Robin was here at some point. Hopefully, if they didn’t ignore her, these people would actually treat her with some professionalism at least, even if she looked like she could be their grandchild. Well, at least she got why Snape had called them a bunch of old idiots now.

After her initial discomfort, the situation improved (fairly little at first) once the actual event began. Robin tried to somewhat keep up with the smalltalk the man next to her was trying to make, but he ended up spending more time staring at her mostly bare legs than listening to what she said in return, so she eventually just gave up on trying to converse in the first place. The lectures however were well worth the trouble, as Robin discovered, and she took plenty of notes about anything that seemed interested or useful to remember. In fact, she did understand most of what was said and even recognized a lot of it from her extensive readings. Events like this generally seemed to function more by knowledge than by experience, and Robin had theoretical knowledge in the plenty. Thus she actually had a pretty good time for the majority of the lectures, as it allowed her to completely ignore the fact that other people were present in the same room.

Only when they took a break at noon, she was approached by some people who probably only wanted to be kind and involve her in the conversation, which however served to make Robin feel rather nervous in the beginning. They asked her about her young age, of course, and she tried to politely convince them that intelligence wasn’t a matter of age, and neither was passion for a subject. At least the lunch break was spent with conversation this way, rather than awkward silence, and Robin actually found herself enjoying the polite and professional conversations they engaged in soon. Throughout the talking she got involved in however, she tried to share as little information about herself and her knowledge about potions as possible, for she feared that she would only embarrass herself anyway if she said something wrong. She was here to listen, not to talk.

That however changed drastically in the afternoon. After one particularly long lecture about medical potions and strategies of use, the following discussion was a furnace of opinions and arguments. Robin merely listened to the many arguments and counterarguments in silence, just as she’d been doing for the past few hours, and kept her own thoughts to herself. That worked rather well for her, right until the man who had held the lecture in the first place, Kenneth Crowe, said something undeniably wrong and everybody in the room seemed to agree with him. Instantly the desire to at least ask about it jumped to the very front of Robin’s mind, but she bit the insides of her cheeks to stay quiet. It wasn’t her place to say anything at all, and definitely not to correct a well renowned professional in the field. But it was such an obvious mistake… such a stupid but important little detail. And leaving it in the wrong might actually result in very much real consequences for people, especially in the medical field. 

Crowe had introduced a new kind of healing potion in his lecture, a revolutionary invention of his that might cure yet untreatable curses… and Robin believed to know that it wouldn’t work. At least not in the way he was suggesting. Bloody hell, she just wanted to tell them, but she was also desperately scared to say something stupid. It wasn’t her place to speak up, it wasn’t her goddamn place to doubt these people!!! But the knowledge that she might be right sufficed to torture her mind more with every second she didn’t at least voice the doubt. At last Robin’s mind won over her churning stomach and racing heart. She raised her hand, was called on almost immediately, and after one deep and shaky breath, she started explaining to a room full of professionals why they were wrong about the subject.

“I… would like to ask a question.” She started, hoping that her criticism wouldn’t come off as such if she phrased it this way. “You, uh… You stated that the petals of the Varilion flower are a key ingredient, and so is the essence of Canticor, yes?”

“Yes. And?” Crowe looked down at Robin from his pedestal with a humored, but undeniably deriding smile. He probably thought that she didn’t even understand a word of what they were currently dealing with… oh, how wrong he was. A bit of the reluctance to possibly insult this man fell off Robin’s mind at the stupid look on his face alone, and she decided to continue more directly.

“I just wanted to be sure I didn’t misunderstand you.” She replied with a polite little smile that was born out of her newly arising wish to wipe his own smile off his stupid face. “Because as far as I’m aware, Varilion –as a plant in the family of nocturnal vinca breeds– would very likely cancel out the effects of the Canticor which are needed here. Without the Canticor however, the entire product would likely be unstable and thus lacking the functionality you have described.”

“That’s ridiculous, I tested the potion myself and it was perfectly stable. You shouldn’t make assumptions like that without prior knowledge of the subject, child. This potion will be perfectly stable.” He almost snapped back, and a few people frowned at his admittedly harsh reply. Robin didn’t let it impress her at all; she was just getting started. Somehow, now that the dam was broken, she really didn’t mind speaking up all that much anymore.

“Well, it is stable if the potion is made in a common testing quantity as opposed to an average production size. If one would try to make a sufficient amount of it in order to be able to give it to a human being with the desired healing result, one would run into severe problems, seeing as the Varilion and the Canticor start canceling each other out at an amount that is way smaller than what would be needed indeed. Thus it is not possible to use this formula to even make enough of the potion for one single person. Which, in return, renders the potion quite useless.” People stared at Robin with all kinds of mixed and shocked expressions as she spoke, some whispering and turning pages, but she used the opportunity of having the word already to lean just a bit further out of what she had thought to be her place. “However, seeing as the core problem is merely the radically dominating nature of the vinca breed in the Varilion, I would suggest replacing it with Plangentine. As another nocturnal flower with almost the same properties, as far as I’m aware, it might make a functional replacement even in larger quantities. But that, of course, is only my humble opinion. Thank you.”

With that she shut her mouth, leaned back in her chair, and observed how about thirty jaws dropped. Geez, it was hard not to smirk. This really shouldn’t be so much fun… What she had done wasn’t exactly considered polite, even if she had phrased it politely. Her parents would be disappointed. Snape however would likely be proud. Robin decided to focus on the latter.

For the long moment that followed, nobody said anything at all, and people merely seemed to think about what Robin had suggested. When the discussion was finally continued however, every single person who contributed something spoke in favor of Robin’s opinion or at least seemed to accept it as correct. Thank goodness… she would’ve hated to feel so smug and then be proven wrong. Thus, seeing as she had done her part in voicing her doubt and wiping the stupid smile off the man’s face, Robin went back to simply listening to what was said, and meanwhile noted down the discussed healing potion in her journal, with her own suggested change. She’d have to ask Snape about it when she went back to school. Maybe they could even test it, for fun.

The rest of the afternoon flew by just as the morning had, but with significantly more glances at Robin. One time she was even directly asked for her opinion on something, which freaked her out quite a bit on the inside at least, but she still was able to give a reply everyone seemed to be accepting as a contribution as valuable as any other person’s. Maybe she had finally gotten herself out of the grandchild box in their minds after all.

After the last lecture was over, fairly late in the evening, the entire group of attendees was asked to come to the podium to pose for a photograph. At first, Robin had respectfully stepped aside to let the real attendees take the stage, but upon multiple people insisting that she had played an important role in this meeting, she had found herself among the group as well. Right in the front. Definitely not as subtle as she’d planned to be today, but seeing as she was a good head shorter than almost everyone else, it did actually make sense to put her up front. Once all pictures were taken, Robin planned to head home, but she was quickly (and more or less against her will) pulled into a discussion about the very same healing potion once more. Now, in a smaller group of far less hostile people, she felt more comfortable with repeating her suggestion and explaining how she had gotten to the realization in the first place. Many people asked for her name, her age, her profession… and some went even further and asked for her opinion on all kinds of topics related to potions and even herbology. Robin did her best to answer with knowledge and educated guesses, but seeing as she was actually taken seriously by the people who bothered to talk to her in the first place, she also didn’t hesitate to say when she didn’t know about something. In those latter cases, she asked the person she was speaking to for suggestions on books or articles on the topic, so that she could one day maybe answer their question on a more profound basis. Finally, some time after eleven at night, she made for the train back to Oxford with a long list of things to read up on, and an even longer one of people she had left an impression with.

… … …

The days after the conference were as dreadful as the summer usually was, and any opportunity to make something out of the free time stayed ridiculously absent. Thus Robin was bored out of her mind even more quickly than usual, therefore spent more time reading than likely was good for her, and generally found herself desperately wishing to be able to return to school already. Every bit the usual summer.

After two weeks of this mind numbing madness however, Robin’s days became a little more bearable with an unexpected turn of events. She was sitting at breakfast, her parents about to leave for the day, when her mom came back into the kitchen to hand Robin a letter, saying it looked like her friends from school had finally thought of her after all. Robin didn’t have the heart nor the time to tell her that she didn’t even have friends, so she just took the letter out of her mom’s hand with a quiet thank you, shrugged at the question who it was from and merely tossed it onto a stack of books in feigned indifference. Then she wished her mom and dad a nice day at work, and continued to sip on her black coffee.

However, the very second the front door fell shut and the house silent in return, Robin had the letter in her hands again and flipped it over to see her name written on the envelope in the familiar spidery cursive she’d missed seeing in the past few weeks. Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know if she should be scared or excited about this letter. Both, probably. Without wasting another second, she opened the envelope with a kitchen knife and fiddled a folded piece of parchment out of it. Yup, definitely scared and excited at once. But if she was in trouble, it surely would’ve been an official school letter, right? Not just an average envelope with nothing but her name on it… bloody hell, her heartbeat was louder than the silence around her. With a deep breath, she unfolded the letter at last.

Miss Mitchell.

You might find yourself wondering what led me to write to you in between terms, and you will find the main answer to that in the envelope with this letter.

Robin stopped reading at that point and took another look into the envelope she had carelessly dropped onto the counter. There was another piece of paper in it, folded in half as well, but Robin could already tell by the look of it that it was a newspaper cutout. Once she unfolded it, she found herself both smiling and feeling too warm in the face at once. It was the photograph that had been taken at the conference, with a short article beneath it. It was nothing special, just a little text about how many people had attended and which topics had been discussed, and thus Robin found herself looking at the moving photograph for a longer moment instead. Really, she’d known that she had somewhat stood out from the crowd, but the picture made it undeniably evident. About fifty much older people in thick and flowing robes and with the most serious faces, and Robin right in the middle with her short skirt, victorian style blouse and a small smile. Oh dear… she almost dreaded going back to Snape’s letter. He surely would be complaining about her choice of clothes, but she honestly hadn’t known better. Her attire would’ve been perfectly ordinary in the muggle world. Oh well… at least the photograph was a lovely reminder of the admittedly amazing day she’d had at the conference. Careful not to crease the picture any more than the folds it already had, she put it into her most recent journal and then finally went back to the letter.

Miss Mitchell.

You might find yourself wondering what led me to write to you in between terms, and you will find the answer to that in the envelope together with this letter. The picture was published in the Daily Prophet the day after the conference. This cutout was sent to me a few days later, by an acquaintance who you should have met at the event, Patrick Isaac. I assume you are not keeping up with the news, not with the Prophet at least, which is why I decided to forward the picture to you directly. Perhaps you would like to keep the cutout, you certainly have more use for it than I do.

Furthermore it might interest you to know that Mister Isaac, together with the picture, sent me a fairly long letter to gush over a certain young witch by the name of Robin Mitchell who attended the conference with him and who obviously was rumored to be a friend of mine. I will spare you the details of his disconcertingly detailed elaborations, but overall it appears that you have earned yourself quite a few admirers among the attendees, if the other six letters that I have received in your praise are any indicator of that. It seems that you have surprised me yet again, which indeed does not surprise me at all.

However I still would like to know more about the 'remarkable incident’ involving a certain new potion that was discussed. Multiple people reference it in the context of your astonishing intellect, yet without ever elaborating on the issue. What did you do this time that rendered competent professionals quite so speechless? I expect your timely reply, seeing as you do not have further plans for the summer anyway.

Snape

Robin frowned at the last few lines, then sighed to herself and dropped the letter on the counter to make another cup of coffee first. Well, at least writing a letter would give her something to do. And writing a letter to Snape would give her something enjoyable to do indeed. A smile spread on her lips as she set the kettle on the stove. He could’ve waited until after the holidays to give her the clipping, and even to ask her about the conference, but he had sent a letter instead and that made Robin smile even more. Maybe, in some reality, he actually enjoyed talking to her too. Seriously enjoyed it, that is, not just because she kept on talking to him first. Once the kettle whistled, she added the boiling water to her instant coffee and then balanced the letter, the envelope, her book, her journal AND the coffee mug up the stairs and towards the desk in her room. She had a letter to write after all.

… … …

Robin received the next letter three weeks after she had written to Snape about her experiences at the conference. She’d been careful in her explanations to always leave some things unsaid so she would have something to tell him in person, but she had elaborated on the conversations she’d had with people he might possibly know.

This time his letter was dropped off by an owl on a Sunday evening, which almost gave Robin’s dad a seizure when the poor animal landed on the windowsill next to his armchair. Somehow muggles just couldn’t get used to the post being delivered by owls… People have used pigeons to deliver messages for decades; what was so weird about owls now?!

“Oh look, it has the same illegible handwriting on it as the last one.” Her mom smiled as she picked up the envelope that again just had Robin’s name written on it. “How come your friend didn’t write to you in the last years?”

“We, uh… we’ve only been friends since rather recently.” Robin replied evasively and snatched the envelope out of her mother’s hand. “And his handwriting isn’t illegible! It’s just… kinda squiggly.”

“If you say so, sweetie.” Her mom shrugged, and turned back towards the living room. “You must have a lot of practice deciphering his handwriting if you find it legible.”

“We work together. A lot.” Robin mused and thumbed over the rough corners of the envelope. “On… essays.”

“Well, if I had to grade his essays, he surely wouldn’t come very far.” Her dad replied with a snarky expression while he didn’t even look up from his book. “I’m surprised that you write essays in that school in the first place. Not just bunnies in top hats then, huh?”

“You are who wouldn’t come very far.” Robin whispered to herself with a roll of her eyes as she made for her room with her letter still clasped tightly in hand, not even honoring her father’s remark with a reply. Honestly, her dad wouldn’t understand a single word about anything magical at all, seeing as he made every attempt not to, nor would he ever understand that she wasn’t attending a clown’s college but a serious magical academy. And… oh bloody hell, he would probably hate Snape with a passion. Well, good thing they never had to meet. Hopefully. Unfortunately. Ugh… that crush of hers wasn’t getting any better, rather on the opposite. But she usually could ignore it pretty well these days.

With a sigh she sat down on the carpeted floor, leaning against the post of her bed as she opened the envelope at last. This letter was a lot shorter than the first, but she didn’t mind. The sole fact that he had replied even though he didn’t have to was enough to make her skin crawl in excitement.

Miss Mitchell.

I cannot believe that you told off one of the best renowned potioneers in the country, and obviously were in the right to do so. What I would give to have been a witness of the incident indeed; I have always had a rather strong distaste for that man. You will need to tell me more on the specifics of the circumstances once term starts.

Furthermore I have come to the decision that I would like you to assist me in my practical work and studies from now, seeing as I deem any other mode of teaching you insufficient and thus pointless. Your knowledge is already on an acceptable level, as you have once more proven at the conference, and I believe it is time that your practical capabilities keep up with both my standards for your work and your own. You will assist me in my work, and in return I will do my best to teach you everything I possibly can. Seeing as you have run out of books of mine to read, I believe this addition to our already prevalent nightly meetings to be in your best interest as well. I am looking forward to the new term.

Snape

Seconds ticked by and Robin stared at the letter in her hands with a positive numbness, until at last her lips curled into a smile, then a grin, and at last she felt an overwhelming excitement at the opportunity that had just opened up in front of her. Well, and the fact that he had in all seriousness written 'already prevalent nightly meetings’ without any care in the world. It was amazing how absolutely serious and yet casual he was about it. A pleasant shudder ran up Robin’s spine, all the way into her neck. He couldn’t mind her presence all that much if he suggested her to spend even more time perched into the minimal space of the laboratory with him, could he?

She had been helping out in the lab on a few occasions since their endeavour with the restored page in her third year, but it by far hadn’t been a regular thing nor one that could be described as real practical experience. While she’d been desperately wanting and wishing to do this kind of practical work with Snape again, for a multitude of reasons, she had never actually believed that she might. And now she would. God, she couldn’t wait for the holidays to be over already.

______________________________

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[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 12: Definitely Broken Something

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 12. There are certain things about his time on Dragon's Edge that Hiccup doesn't want his father to know. The Dragon Riders think otherwise and what is supposed to be an effort to help their friend leads to friction instead.

NOTE: Nothing explicit happens in the fic. The non-con elements are referenced and implied, little is stated literally.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut

Pairing: None

Words: 3 151

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Broken Down” + “Broken Trust”

Whumpee: Hiccup + The Gang

Author’s Notes: Kinda nervous to post this one because I don't really delve into this particular territory. That and a little nervous that Hiccup will be way too out of character.

Also had to choose between this idea and another one that also involves the Riders breaking Hiccup's trust, but I think I'll be writing that one someday in the future.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Extra Author’s Notes: What Astrid is talking about is actually a reference to a previous fic of mine that I wrote a long time ago by now.

It talks about the event during Midnight Scrum that is brought up in this fic.

Ao3: Actual Fic

Ao3: Midnight Scrum Fic

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"So, we're really doing this?" Tuffnut's question hangs in the air as an uncomfortable silence weighs on the shoulders of ever Rider present in the clubhouse. That being every Rider except for Hiccup, who is up in his forge and not a part of this conversation.

He doesn't even know they're all gathered here, believing them to be doing their own thing.

Toothless, however, has taken a brief break from his human to be present. There are certain concerns the Dragon Riders have that they wanted to discuss. And with their close bond, it seems right to have him here as well.

The Night Fury looks almost uncannily human the way he's sitting on his hind legs, his forelegs crossed on the table between the six of them, and his head resting on top of them.

He doesn't like being here, but after the past week, he agreed to come when Astrid managed to tear him away from Hiccup.

A week ago, they'd been captured by Viggo. It was one of many times, too many times, more then they'd like to admit. And just like with every other time they've been at the hands of Viggo Grimborn nowadays, Hiccup tends to be affected for days afterward.

They all are in one way or another, of course. Being captured, having your friends captured with you, and not know what's about to happen to any of you is a terrifying thing. Despite their tendency to survive the unsurvivable and get out of every nasty situation, they get in somehow, getting captured is something that will never stop being a scary thing.

But once they get out, what they usually suffer from the most is a hurt pride, a sleepless night or two, a feeling of powerlessness that is soon overtaken by the need to do better and finally best the Dragon Hunters once and for all.

And then there is Hiccup and the way he behaves after a private audience with the Hunter Chief himself because Viggo rarely lets him stay with his friends. Whenever he gets his hands on him, he never fails to separate Hiccup from them.

Whatever goes on when the door to Viggo's cabin closes is a gap in their knowledge that only their imagination can fill. And seeing the way Hiccup acts afterward, what they imagine isn't nice.

He jumps at shadows, he's so tense you can see his muscles growing stiff from being overworked. The natural way the Dragons and Riders alike touch each other is no longer wanted. At least, no longer from the latter. One time it even got to the point that Hiccup was reluctant to let Fishlegs take a look at a rather nasty bruise on his side that worried them, not wanting to be touched by anyone. That he refuses to speak about anything that happens when it's just him and Viggo doesn't sit well with them either.

This time it's particularly bad as he's barely getting any sleep, he's not eating, he keeps looking over his shoulder, and he's well on his way to work himself to death. The worst part about this? This isn't even the worst Hiccup's been.

There is this one moment, it happened after Hiccup had been kidnapped for the bounty on his head, Astrid only knows about it because Heather told her and then she ended up telling the Riders. They don't like to even think about it.

So the Riders have decided that enough is enough and that is why they have gathered here tonight. For Hiccup's well-being, they have decided, unanimously, to tell Stoick.

Hiccup doesn't want his father to know and he's not going to be happy when they tell him, but they feel like they have little choice.

The Viggo obsession was already bad enough, but with every capture, Hiccup is worse off. It's gotten to the point that Hiccup would rather choose death than be captured again if he had been given a choice.

That is a terrifying thought. So naturally, they want any and all help they can get to keep that from happening, and who better to help than Hiccup's own father?

They've discussed this decision, quietly, they've come to an accord, and now they sit in silence while the past half an hour slowly sinks in.

Tuffnut's question; "we're really doing this?" are the first words spoken in the past five minutes. That they have been quiet for that entire time is an accomplishment for a group as talkative as theirs.

There is no answer because they all know that it remains the same. They are doing this. Stoick might not take it well, Hiccup certainly won't appreciate it, but they are still doing this. They have to. For Hiccup's sake, they have to.

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

They told him. They told Stoick the Vast the one thing his son has been keeping from him. It went... better than they expected it to go.

They'd expected him to shout, to scream, go on an angry tirade about Viggo Grimborn and his son and about what he would do to the former for hurting the latter.

Instead, Stoick had sat there in his chair and listened to every word they had to tell him. He was strangely calm, more than they would ever imagine him to be. Considering his temper and his love for his son, it was truly bewildering to see him take everything so... well?

That is the only word they can use for the way their Chief reacted to the information given to him. And it wasn't even given to him by his son, but by his son's friends a little over three hours ago now. Although, it could very well be the calm before the storm that they dealt with. The shock may have even kept him from taking it all in, maybe it all still needed to sink in.

When he dismissed them, though, Astrid had taken a look back to find the mountainous man sink in his chair. The news had hit hard, despite Stoick's calm reaction, and he'd covered his face with a big hand as he seemingly  and quietly collapsed.

They're all in the former Dragon Academy now.

"You know, I think he took it well." Snotlout breaks the silence as he brushes Hookfang's scales. Nightmares can set themselves on fire on command due to their flammable saliva, which coats their entire bodies. It helps to get old gel off their hides so an entirely new layer can take its place. The dragon is thoroughly enjoying this pampering.

"Yeah, I suppose. Stoick usually gets so angry so easily, I was afraid he would explode right then and there." Fishlegs responds, thinking back to how nervous he'd been before the talk. He's sitting on a stool with Meatlug's saddle on his lap as he polishes it and keeps the leather fed.

"I think what we really need to worry about is him exploding on Hiccup." Astrid joins in on the conversation as she helps Stormfly preen. It goes a little quiet again after that. For at least a good couple of moments.

"But he won't, right? Stoick knows none of that is Hiccup's fault, so he won't get angry! Right?" Tuffnut asks hopefully. His sister shares his worries.

"Well, only one way to find out," Ruffnut speaks up as well, voice going softer as her eyes fall on the gate leading out of the dragon training ring.

They all look over and see Hiccup coming down with Toothless following close behind. Just from the way he walks they can tell he's angry.

The Dragon Riders share a look and the Riders approach to meet him halfway, hearts pounding with anxiety. They've dealt with Hiccup angry before, but they can tell from his expression that this is something entirely different.

"Hey Hiccup, did you see your-"

"Oh, I saw him alright. Went in right after you guys left, which I thought was suspicious because what was your business with my father? Can't believe I was actually right to be worried, you guys... you guys... I believe any of you!" Hiccup cuts off whoever it is that attempts to talk to him, something he already doesn't do often. His voice trails off after it is already threatening to rise in volume and the pacing starts.

The Riders share another look. This already doesn't look like it's going to be pleasant, but hopefully, it won't be too bad.

"He interrogated me for the past three hours! Three hours! Asking ridiculous things like "what did he say?", "has he ever made you feel a certain way", "did he touch you?", "did he ever try to force..." Hiccup's fists tighten at the mention of the questions he needed to endure. He's angry. He's so, so angry. He throws his fists down, frustrated with the lack of relief.

"Thanks a lot for that, by the way. For not just breaking my trust, but telling my dad of all people!" He stills as he gives them his false gratitude, glaring at them. The kind of questions his father asked him over and over and over again... Sometimes he just used a different kind of wording to still trick him to get a confession out of him.

"Did he ever make you do things against your will?"

"Did he ask for certain things in trade?"

"How far did he get?"

It's all too much for him to bear. His dad was never supposed to know! His friends were never even supposed to know.

He has to pace, he's too restless to stand still.

It's humiliating, that's what it is. This is something between him and Viggo. His father has no business knowing any of this. And so it turns out, neither do his Riders.

"We're breaking your trust?" Fishlegs asks, hating the sound of that. If there is something even worse than disappointing Hiccup, it's tainting his trust in you.

Hiccup briefly looks at him, contemplating if he should answer.

This is, was, a purely private matter. There is such emotion in his eyes, tears mixed with boiling anger. The former he refuses to show. They can all see the tension in his face as he tries to hide them.

"I can't believe that you guys would conspire against me like that!" He tells them with a finger up in disbelieve, his voice unnervingly soft.

The Riders' eyes nearly bulge out of their skulls.

"Conspire?!"

"Why phrase it like that?"

"Hiccup, we aren't doing this to hurt you."

The amount of protests almost makes it impossible for anyone to hear what anyone is saying and who's saying it.

"Than tell me why it feels that way? This was private and I told you guys to leave it alone, that I would deal with this myself, that my dad never needed to know, and what did you do?!" He raises his voice, throwing a hand up.

"Hiccup, we really weren't trying to hurt you. We thought it would be for the best if your dad knew what was going on with you." Astrid comes forward, wants to place a hand on his shoulder, but Hiccup shrugs it off, and goes back to pacing.

"I worked so hard to get to where I am now. To have this relationship with him and you guys know this and you just went and-" He stops himself, fists balling in frustration. The pacing, the balling, the wild gestures, he can't stop repeating them, it's like he's stuck in a loop that he can't escape from.

They could've destroyed everything. Everything he's done the past three years, everything he's achieved, they could've ruined it all just because Viggo is a little too creepy with their leader for their liking. The good reputation he has in his father's eyes, his father's trust in him, their entire relationship! Everything that he finally has after it was denied for so many years and they don't even realize it.

How can he still trust them after this? With anything? His want to cry grows, these people are supposed to be his friends.

The Dragon Riders watch him pace, watch him have the closest thing to a mental breakdown as he walks nervous circles before them. No energy and yet at the same time too restless and angry to stand still.

Seeing that he may need to intervene, Toothless coos at him, daring a few steps forward, but Hiccup wants little to do with him at the moment, too.

"Oh, don't even try, you knew! You knew what they were planning and you let it happen!" With an upset rumble, Toothless backs away. He knew Hiccup would be angry, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt.

Toothless knows Hiccup won't hate him, their bond is simply too unbreakable for that, but that look of betrayal is more than he can bear.

The Night Fury tried to keep him from going in before he managed to slip past. He knows exactly what Stoick has been told and this is how Hiccup knows he knows.

"What did you tell him?" Fishlegs asks carefully, as if any of them even want to know.

"What do you think, Fishlegs? The truth!"

"How did he take it-"

"-That you guys were seeing things and that I'm just stressed out." As Hiccup adds that before they can finish asking, the Riders are given a second surprise this late afternoon.

"You told him what?" Ruffnut asks, dumbfounded.

"Dude, did you... Did you gaslight us in front of your dad?" Snotlout has a hard time formulating his question, but he's the only one who dares ask. It seems too crazy to even think about.

No one has ever seen this side of Hiccup before, has ever even thought him capable of such a thing, but apparently, reality is indeed stranger than fiction.

"Well, what other choice did I have? Tell him that everything you told him was true? Which it isn't, by the way. Viggo's implied some things, nothing more!" There he goes with another wild gesture. They don't believe his claim that it's all just words, but they also have no prove, Hiccup hasn't told them anything, after all.

"But it's enough to hurt you! We've all seen it, Hiccup!" Astrid tries to argue, emphasis on "tries".

"No, you haven't! What you guys have been seeing is stress! Stress because I want to beat him and be rid of the Dragon Hunters! That's all! Why can you guys see that?" He asks. Why can't they?! That's all it is!

"Hiccup, you don't eat, you don't sleep, you jump at the smallest of things-"

"Stress!"

"Sometimes you can't stand being in the same room as us because you're terrified of something you don't tell us about!"

"Stress!"

"Stress doesn't make you try to jump ship when your hands are tied and kill yourself!" Astrid, having had enough, snaps back. Her eyes are watery as well, well on their way to becoming red. She's choking up.

Hiccup stares at her, this time it's his turn to be in shock again. And looking at the others, he can see that they aren't surprised to hear her say that. They know.

So that explains why his dad tried to ask him if he had any "certain bad tendencies or bad thoughts". That's the way Gobber made him word it because, oh yes, his other father figure was there, too. He'd come to welcome his student back when he caught him and Stoick in a heated talk.

This day couldn't get any worse.

"We know about it. Astrid got worried and-"

"And went behind my back apparently, I'm starting to see a pattern. Tell me, how does Heather come into all of this? Or is she the only one I can actually trust?" Hiccup cuts Snotlout off when he, for once, jumps to the shieldmaiden's defense. Nobody answers and he doesn't know if that's a yes or a no.

Astrid approaches.

"You know what, I'm done with this. We're not talking about this anymore. Not about Viggo, not about what happened on Savage's ship, we're not talking about anything." Hiccup cuts Astrid off, throwing his hands up as if in defeat. He rubs in his eyes, wiping some of the tears away.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some damage control to do with my father. Because that is what happens when your best friends tell him something he was never meant to know." The truth is, he's ready to burst and he wants to be far away from him.

He wants to cry and shout and kick the nearest object to him, which so happens to be a barrel. And he's honestly not sure if he wants his Dragon Riders to see that after what they'd done.

They could've ruined him, could've finished digging the hole Viggo has begun to dig since the start of this war. If he doesn't fix their mess now, he might never recover.

And he doesn't want to go back to those days before Toothless, not for something as stupid as this.

With no more words needing to be said, the Riders certainly don't want to try anymore, Hiccup turns around and leaves. Toothless knows better than to follow him this time. He'll have to go to him eventually, they share a room. But for now, his human obviously needs his space.

They watch him go, hearts broken and bleeding. It is silent for a good while before someone dares to say something again.

"Well, that was...."

"Horrible? A disaster? Devastating?" Ruffnut finishes Snotlout's sentence, using all kinds of words to describe what this exchange had been like to them.

"Yeah,"

Fishlegs approaches Astrid and lays a hand on her shoulder. She's trying to suppress her tears, they all are, though Fishlegs and Tuffnut are failing to do so.

"Hey, huh, we're going to be okay, right?" He asks with genuine worry that this may cause a rift between them and Hiccup.

There was one before, they would rather not have it there again.

Astrid looks at him, but doesn't respond.

"Of course we're going to be okay! This is Hiccup we're talking about! He's the most forgiving person ever. We'll talk about it again, he'll understand our side, and then its bygones are bygones." Snotlout doesn't sound as hopeful as he's trying to make his words to sound like.

"That's not how that saying goes..." Fishlegs mutters.

It grows quiet again and the Dragons go to their respective Riders, but which side has to comfort which is up for debate.

Hiccup's words that afternoon hurt them, but then, so had their decision to go behind his back to reveal sensitive information to the center of that information's father. It was all without his consent.

Whether they are going to be okay, is something only time can tell.

[ritsunaru]

palettes and princesses

hi! here’s my entry for day 5 of @doubletroubleweek. it’s a bit unique, since it’s not a one shot, but a part 2 to my fic “feeling blue” on archive of our own. before you read this, please check out the first chapter on there! my username is estrellaaa. check the reblogs for a link! no trigger warnings for this fic but major spoilers for everything after season 2! if you haven’t watched season 4 i don’t know why you’d be reading double trouble fanfiction, but you never know ;) i hope you enjoy! 🦚

Double Trouble took their assignments very seriously. Well, as seriously as they could manage. The only thing that really mattered in the end was that the money ended up in their palm by the end of the job, and their gig as Prince Peekablue certainly paid the bills. In addition to imitating the handsome heir to the throne of Pavonia, they had crafted several all identities based on random Etherians to populate the stage. The poor stage manager never seemed to notice that only one of the performers was in the same room as him at any given time, and they received an individual paycheck as each person. Considering how little a non-Peekablue performer was paid, it wasn’t a lot, but they made enough.

Unfortunately, they had been caught by the princesses and effectively held captive until the war was over. Scorpia of course had to sting them (despite all they had been through with the Horde and their mutual abandonment of Catra), and for some reason they, of all Etherians, had to react abnormally to it. They wanted to reconcile with her, but it was really their fault that she had been chipped in the first place. However, it wasn’t all that bad back in the reimagined outpost, and they were protected from the threat of being chipped (although the princesses argued that it was because they would be too dangerous in the hands of Prime)—but they were a wanderer, and rejoiced when the war had ended if not only because they would be freed.

With the royalty on Bright Moon, however, things were never so simple. In order to repay the time and people lost due to their mimicry at the Enchanted Grotto, Queen Sparkles had ordered them to track down the real Peekablue and bring him back to her castle. There was no time frame, but they would be required to check in nightly with the “Best Friends Squad,” consisting of the aforementioned Sparkles, Blondie, and Bow. Kitten had been invited, considering her and Blondie had finally become a thing, but she declined for obvious reasons. Thankfully, they had some basis for the Prince’s whereabouts. Locals reported seeing a hooded figure within Pavonia’s borders (it was technically a territory of Plumeria at the time, but Double Trouble didn’t care to get into the intricacies of land division). Sparkles seemed convinced that it was who they were looking for, and even if they disagreed, they were at her mercy.

The first week of their stay in Pavonia consisted almost entirely of observation, perfecting disguises of several locals to blend in while they got into the more active portion of the quest. Double Trouble managed to catch a glimpse of a cloaked citizen running into some secluded doorway but ultimately decided to wait a few days before breaking into someone’s living space unattended. They likely only had the one shot at identifying Peekablue; otherwise, they could be arrested for breaking and entering. Technically, Sparkles’ very mission encouraged crime, but she wouldn’t like having to bail them out.

A few more days of observation and Double Trouble had concluded that no normal Pavonian citizen wore a cloak around during their daily tasks. This left them with only one suspect, and they had to make their move when the door was still unlocked. Peekablue didn’t usually go out, except for when he purchased food from time to time, leaving few opportunities to strike. The shifter remained vigilant, however, functioning on small amounts of sleep and finally spotting the prince as he returned from a late night haul.

He looked almost panicked, checking the surrounding area to see if anyone was watching before unlocking the door. Clearly, he was still paranoid. Did he even know that the war was over? The chances were slim, but that wasn’t important right now. They shifted back into their true form, nearly breaking their ankle upon landing. Cobblestone paths really did not work with three-inch heels, but fashion is fashion. The door was ever so slightly ajar, and Double Trouble opened it as quietly as they could muster, which elicited an atrocious creak.

The figure turned as soon as the door made a sound, eyes widening as he backed against the nearest wall. Definitely Peekablue.

“Please don’t kill me, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me!” the prince shouted, squinting and rummaging around on his bed for something. His voice grew softer, more desperate. “Please.”

The shapeshifter looked around, taking in the sight before them. The missing Prince Peekablue, long blue locks tied into a messy ponytail and wearing an oversized tunic. Upon closer inspection, he was trying to grab a pair of glasses. His living space wasn’t terribly messy, but there was barely anything there, just the essentials. He certainly had deteriorated since their last meeting.

Before doing anything, Double Trouble picked up the glasses and clunkily positioned them on the seer’s face. Once he recognized who they were, he certainly would stop resisting. Perhaps he would even greet them with a smile. They were still waiting on that next Princess Prom, which had been graciously awarded to Frosta as retribution for what had happened with the Horde at her first ball. Scorpia had been promised the one after that, but that was long in the future, and they didn’t like planning ahead.

Much to the shifter’s shock, the prince only struggled further, shoving them away and blushing a deep violet. “Get your hands off of me!” That certainly wasn’t the reaction they were hoping for, but they could work with it. That was one of the many things they prided themself on—masking their true emotions in favor of a very convincing facade—so they plastered a smirk on their face and set to molding this interaction, an artist in their own right.

“Darling, really, you live like this? I would’ve expected better from the prince of Pavonia—but then again, you aren’t really the prince of anything anymore, are you?” Double Trouble made themself comfortable on the edge of his bed, watching as he finally caught up with the situation. It was a little amusing, seeing him so disoriented, but it wasn’t like he would normally be any more sociable. The old man glasses suited him, though.

“Wait, you?” Peekablue finally made out the intruder, and it was definitely not who he was expecting. Why would Double Trouble want to see him again? All he did was waste their time at Princess Prom years ago. Not to mention the rampant identity theft he had witnessed on their part. “How did you even find me here? Show me your neck.”

The reptile burst into a theatrical laugh, throwing their head back. “Oh, haven’t you heard? Big Brother took a tumble. Whole empire’s gone. I heard She-Ra used all that new magic to plant some trees around the ships. Oh, and Blondie finally got together with Kitten. Did you see them at Princess Prom? I have no idea how they couldn’t realize earlier.”

Peekablue stood still for what felt like hours. The war was over, Horde Prime had been defeated, and he was still here? As for “Blondie” and “Kitten,” those names had no significance to him. He figured that was a question for a later date. There were more pressing matters to attend to. “Why are you here? To kidnap me for ransom?”

That same laugh chimed through the room, and the prince felt his heart melt. “Oh, not exactly. I’m on assignment from Bright Moon. Repayment for my war crimes. Sparkles wanted me to find where you were hiding and bring you back to Bright Moon. I’m getting paid, so I suppose you could call this kidnapping for ransom. No need to worry, darling, I treat my captives well. But if we’re going to be bringing you to an audience before the Queen, we have got to deal with all of this.” Double Trouble gestured vaguely at the man before them.

“You’re supposed to be kidnapping me.” The gravity of the situation finally sunk in, and Peekablue’s heart rate spiked almost instantly. “Just get it over with. Please.”

Double Trouble raised an eyebrow. “Me-ow. I didn’t think you would’ve developed a death wish in solitary.” The prince scrunched his face defiantly, but the shifter didn’t budge. “Let me make this clear. If you want to have an audience with Sparkles, you have to let me make you look presentable. To be considered a prince, you have to look like one, and I have to say, solitary chic really isn’t working for you.”

“What are you going to do if I say no?”

“Darling, no isn’t an option. Now, where do you keep all of your things? We have a lot of work to do.”

Peekablue didn’t like the idea of Double Trouble wielding a pair of scissors near his neck and face, but they were insistent. What did he have left to lose? They were the only one who had bothered to check in on him, and they hadn’t threatened him at all. “How do I know I can trust you?” 

“You can’t, darling. That’s the fun part.” The shifter worked gently, far more gently than the prince would’ve imagined. They seemed to know what they were doing. Perhaps that was something they had learned from their shapeshifting—the delicate intricacies of the body, the exact way the vocal cords of a person develop their voice, the way that the composition of muscle contributed to strengths and weaknesses in combat. Any other person and he would’ve been squirming in his seat, but Double Trouble had an almost soothing presence. He didn’t think they would try to hurt him.

Peekablue felt a significant amount of weight drop off of the back of his head and flinched the slightest bit. He had asked Double Trouble to go for the haircut he had at Princess Prom, but the actual experience was something different, and it was far more significant than they would probably ever know. He was finally going to see other people. He was going to be a prince again. He could see Perfuma and ask Scorpia what had happened before the Fright Zone had fallen. If the Horde was gone, would that mean that she was restored the control of her kingdom? By turning back to Princess Prom, could he repair the damage he had done?

“Hey, uh—thank you. For this. You really didn’t have to.” The seer turned back to look Double Trouble in the eyes. “I know I’m the prince everyone’s given up on, but...I want to make things right with everyone. Hiding was wrong.”

The shapeshifter flinched, pupils widening and refusing to meet his gaze. For as much as they shopped around when it came to finding a partner, the idea of genuine intimacy was one they were wildly out of touch with. It was commitment, and when they chose their profession, it was the first thing they had let go of. “Yeah, well, you enjoy that. I’ll probably head back to the Waste once I deliver you to Sparkles anyway. There’s nothing left for me in Bright Moon.”

Something shifted on Peekablue’s face, but Double Trouble couldn’t pinpoint it. He shook his head, turning back and standing up. “I can do my own makeup.”

The shapeshifter watched as he worked, erasing the dark circles under his eyes and practically becoming someone else entirely. “Believe me, darling, I know.” They hadn’t really bothered learning how to do makeup, considering their abilities, but he was likely just as good at replicating a face as they were. He had gone from an exhausted disaster who hadn’t seen people in years to someone who could pass for royalty, all with just a few creams and powders. Blue finished with that same shade of lavender lipstick and a pair of contact lenses and stood, shoulders rising as he inhaled sharply.

Wordlessly, he walked to the closet, pulling out the infamous outfit and making his way to a separate room. This was it. Put on a leotard and a jacket and it would be like nothing had happened.

He wished it was that easy. He had a lot to fix. He would probably never be the same person he was before all of this. Peekablue eyed the binder staring back at him from the other side of the room, weighing his options. On the one hand, Double Trouble had said that he needed to look like a prince for his audience with Princess Glimmer (he assumed that was the identity of “Sparkles”). On the other hand, he hadn’t worn his binder in years, and he didn’t really feel uncomfortable without it. What were the rules for this kind of thing? Turning away from the binder, he dressed in the outfit, finishing with his shoes and holding the jacket in his hand as if it would disappear the moment he let go. What was he waiting for?

Prince Peekablue pulled his arms through the sleeves, smoothing out any wrinkles. That was who he was again. A prince. He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, turning to Double Trouble.

A blush rose up and covered Double Trouble’s face, and they didn’t even attempt to hide it. For the first time in years, the shapeshifter was rendered speechless. It was like nothing had changed, and they were just going to continue their conversation. The Horde wouldn’t have shown up, and they could have maybe shared a dance.

Neither of them spoke on the walk through the shadows of Plumeria and back to Bright Moon. By some miracle, Blue’s jacket wasn’t torn to shreds by briars, and after a trek through the foliage, they stood on a ledge looking out on Bright Moon Palace. The prince instinctively grabbed for Double Trouble’s hand, and despite their initial reaction, they didn’t let go. The two walked across the bridge, grip tight and steps succinct, arriving at the doors after what had felt like an eternity. Double Trouble confirmed their identities and led him through a labyrinth of hallways, stopping only before what Peekablue knew was the throne room.

Double Trouble pulled him close, whispering, “You still remember how to address royalty?” The prince had to stop himself from laughing. He doubted that they would even consider using formalities, regardless of the stature of the person they were speaking with.

Prince Peekablue rounded the corner, dipping into a low bow and holding for three seconds before raising his head to gaze upon the throne.

“Your Highness–” he rasped, managing to maintain his composure despite the difficulty breathing he was experiencing. “Queen... Glimmer. My condolences.”

“Thank you, Prince Peekablue. Thank you, Double Trouble. You’re dismissed now.” Without any sort of formalities, the shapeshifter complied, sauntering off and leaving him alone to face the younger woman. “Prince Peekablue. How do you intend to answer for your inaction during the war against the Horde?”

“By putting all I… all I have into my kingdom. I’d like to… strengthen our trade agreements with Salineas and Bright Moon, and I’d like to assist Plumeria in whatever way Princess Perfuma requires. I’d also like to offer my services to other kingdoms, to protect against any unprecedented threats. That is, with your consent, your majesty.” The prince took another deep breath. Glimmer was younger than him, but she also had more power and was far more intimidating. “I think I could be of help to the Princess Alliance… if you’d let me join. Hiding was cowardly, but I choose to do everything I can to help Etheria from this moment on.”

Glimmer’s stern gaze broke, and a smile took the place of her frown. She stood from her seat, stepping down the miniature platforms and approaching him. She stuck out a hand, and he accepted it, shaking gently. “Thanks, Peekablue. We really need you.”

[muddyhippy]

A Tangled Problem

So today is my birthday and I am still working on Night Terrors chapter 6 which fighting me rather impressively but I had this little scene pop into my head and demanded to be written. 

Please enjoy this little bit of fluff from the Lily ‘verse! 

Lily padded into the common room still quite sleepy but with a single goal in mind. She’d got up out of Jonny’s bunk whilst he was still fast asleep determined to wash and get dressed and make a nice breakfast for everyone. She’d had another bad nightmare and Jonny had stayed up late with her telling stories and singing. He made her feel safe and cared enough that the nightmares stopped being horrible and scary in her head for the rest of the night so she wanted to let him sleep and make a tasty breakfast. Her plan was going quite well when she washed and dressed but got stuck, literally, when it came to brush her hair.

 Lily’s hair was a thick mass of candyfloss-soft silvery tangles at the best of times but last night’s upset had obviously made it ten times worse.

 Her brush got stuck and no matter what she did it wouldn’t come free.

 It hurt when she tugged and pulled and struggled. Enough to make tears prick her eyes.

 So she headed to find the one person who’d probably be best to help.

Without ceremony she headed directly to the person sat on the sofa completely absorbed in their music to the point they didn’t notice her approach until she climbed into their lap.

 Tim physically startled to suddenly have a lapful of Lily appear between his chest and his guitar and stare intensely at him.

 “Um hello Sweetness?”

 “Tim! Help!” She pleaded.  

 He tensed, fully poised to murder the shit out of whatever that had prompted this response.

 She pointed.

 Tim’s eyes alighted on her very tangled-in-hair brush caught up in her tresses. His eyes ran a quick diagnostic that helpfully returned the report ‘Ouch’.

 “Oh.” He considered why she was showing him this and came up with nothing, “Um why—?”

 “Because Jonny’s asleep,” She explained simply, “and you’ve got the prettiest hair, you tangle it all up in your goggles but it always ends up nice and untangled again so you’ve got to be good at hair-brushing.”

 That, that was an impressive leap of logic he had to give her that.

 “But Raphaella…?” He began weakly

 “She has really pretty hair too and it’s even longer than yours but it’s never tangled! Yours does so you’ve got more practice at fixing it. Please?” She sniffed, “I’ve tried and tried and it only hurts more.”

 Tim took pity on her, that snarl up did look painful and it was obvious everything she’d tried had made it worse.

 Plus, she was doing the look that Jonny warned him about, the whole ‘her-eyes-take-up-half-her-face-look’ that made his insides get twisty and him want to fix whatever the matter was.

 He suddenly understood why Jonny was willing to do as much stuff as he did. Lily was bloody hard to say no to when she looked like a particularly sad octokitten.

 “Um, alright then.” He carefully put down the guitar to give the small sad child his full attention.

 It really was a disaster. Tim considered his approach whilst ignoring the growing warmth in his chest at the idea that the little who’d joined them not that long ago apparently trusted him enough to ask for help with something personal and left her vulnerable. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably Bertie. Best not think about that then.

 “Okay Sweetness, can you turn around for me so I can get to the brush please?”

 “Ok, thank you Tim,” she pressed a heartfelt kiss to his bearded cheek before turning around obviously utterly convinced that he’d got this and she trusted him implicitly that he’d make this better.

 Fuck he hated Jonny for not being awake.

 Tim, not for the first time since Lily joined them, regretted being an only child with absolutely no sibling experience to deal with situations like this.

 Ah fuck it, he’d do his best.

 Using his enhanced vision, the patience he used when cleaning and repairing his weapons and the comb he kept in his coat pocket but would never admit to, he very carefully, painstakingly, detangled her hair.

 After half an hour he managed to free the brush from her head then proceeded to comb all her locks clear so she would be tangle free for the next five minutes at least. Maybe he’d have to ask Ashes to show Lily how to plait properly since he’d seen Ashes wear some excellent styles over the years.

 He’d never bothered to learn, he liked having long hair, it was something that was his own rebellion after school and whilst he was completing his mechanical engineering apprenticeship. It was easy to tuck it up under a cap after all.

 He’d tried not to show how heartbroken he’d been when he’d been constripted and shorn short again. Bertie had known of course and told him he was still just as handsome. During the time in the tunnels his hair had grown out again since no one was really paying attention to uniform rules in the depths of the war.

 He’d kept it long ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was out of defiance or as tribute to Bertie who’d never been able to keep his fingers out of it when they were alone together.

 Tim mentally shook himself, now was definitely not the time to start down that track. That route led to months locks in the armoury building non-stop. Or murdering Jonny repeatedly. Neither of which were viable responses right now.

 “Right then, I think we’re done, turn around for me Lily.”

 The little girl shuffled around on his lap to face him, she shook her head slightly. “It feels so nice! Thank you!”

 Little arms engulfed him in a grateful hug, enveloping him like the octokitten she masqueraded as half the time.

 “You’re very welcome Sweetness, now, let’s show you how to brush your hair without it getting all tangled up. Sound good?”

 “Yes please! Jonny helps me a lot but he doesn’t know as many tricks.”

 “Jonny doesn’t have as much patience, he’s had longer hair a few times but mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cut it.”

 “Did he have hair as long as yours?”

 “No. Just to his shoulders.”

 “Oh.” She considered, “Mine’s already nearly that long.”

 “I had noticed.” He couldn’t help grinning.

 “I want to grow mine more.”

 “Oh yes?”

 “Yes! So I can be as pretty as Raphaella and you!”

 Tim felt both the blush and lump rise.

 “That’s, that’s kind of you to say Sweetness, but you’re lovely just as you are. You don’t have to look like anyone else to be better in some way.”

 Lily paused and thought about it.

 “Well, I won’t be exactly like you and Raphaella, my hair’s a different colour.”

 He couldn’t argue with the statement, she was a lot lighter than even Raphaella, “That’s very true.”

 “But I still want it long. I think it’ll be even nicer long.”

 Tim couldn’t help but smiling at that very familiar conviction, “Then I best show you how to look after it then shouldn’t I?”

 Lily beamed, lighting up the way she did whenever any of them took time to show her something. It was why they all, without exception, took time to show her things. They might be immoral, immortal space pirates but none of them were above wanting to feel like a hero for teaching a kid to tie her shoe laces, flip pancakes or make belt holes. “Yes please!”

 Which is why Brian walked in twenty minutes later looking for his fellow chef to find Lily and Tim in the middle of a hair brushing lesson, The child sat on the master-at-arms lap facing him, little tongue poking out in concentration, a long hank of Tim’s glossy tresses held reverentially in Lily’s tiny hand, her other carefully brushing it through as Tim talked her through the method of working in stages, his hands guiding hers, starting at the bottom and slowly working up to the roots.

 “This isn’t what it looks like—” Began Tim, colour rising dramatically in his face.  

 Brian raised an eyebrow.

 “Tim’s teaching me to brush hair properly so my brush doesn’t get all tangled up in my hair again because that hurts!”

 Tim sighed.

 “You know,” commented Brian, attempting to sound innocuous, “that looks exactly like what’s happening.”

 Lily looked puzzled, “That’s because it is.”

 “Quite right too,” Agreed the pilot, “looks like you’re doing a good job.” Brian took closer notice of their youngest crewmember, her usually wild mass of waves looked decidedly neat with that glossy sheen that only came with extensive grooming. “Did Tim do yours earlier?”

 “Yes! He’s really good! I got my brush stuck in my hair and he got it out and brushed it really nicely! I asked him because he has really pretty hair and is good at getting tangles out of it after he wears his goggles. He’s really gentle and clever at it!”

 Brian was amused to watch battle of emotions war over Tim’s face pride, pleasure, embarrassment and fury all crossed his face, clearly annoyed that this moment of softness with Lily was being witnessed.

 Brian found he didn’t care all that much for Tim’s comfort, this was more important. They were bonding over something other than guns, completely unprompted. This was good progress. The fact that Tim was obviously trusted enough by Lily for her to ask his help and that he’d clearly given it freely said at lot how comfortable they were becoming together which wasn’t bad for barely three weeks on board for Lily. Then again, last week her nightmare-stricken visit to his room that night she couldn’t find Jonny had probably cemented him as a ‘safe’ adult she could go to when the first mate wasn’t available.

 Brian hoped the rest of them would become as easy to approach eventually.

 It was nice to be reminded that deep under everything, he and his crew, at a push could remember how to be kind.

 “Right well, I’ll leave you to finish. Would you like me to start breakfast Lily?”

 The child paused looking conflicted.

 “I am more than happy to.” Brian clarified.

 “Oh um, yes please.”

 “Did you have a plan?”

 “Scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes.”

 “Sounds good to me!” Approved Tim, feeling that she shouldn’t feel all that bad about not cooking one meal.

 Brian smile widened, pleased she was deciding to spend more time with Tim, “Me too, right then, I’ll get started, you can join me when you and Tim are done. See you later.” He left the scene as the two continued their lesson.

 “Right then, reckon you can do the rest before Brian finishes?”

 “Yeah!”

 Tim arrived to breakfast on the table, Lily holding his hand, the two looking decidedly neater than normal.

 As the others began to gently tease and pass the pancakes Brian overlooked the group, his family and couldn’t help but beam.

[seeaddywrite]

vampire au ficlet #1: 

see this post for an explanation. this one was supposed to be domestic, & i think it still fits the bill? but as usual, some angst, h/c, & non sexual intimacy snuck in there while i wasn’t looking. ficlet is set post main ‘verse, assume Jesse has been taken care of, Malex got together & Michael moved in with Alex. (in the cabin, because i’m sorry, WHEN were we given any indication he had a house last season??) warnings for blood, mentions of blood drinking, & the usual vamp fic stuff. not beta-d or even proofread because i am a mess. 

Cohabitation doesn’t come easily, despite their best intentions. Both men have been alone for too long for that – Alex has built a routine for himself, one he’s dependent on for both his mental and physical health, and including another person in that routine can’t happen overnight. For the first week, Alex doesn’t bother. He sleeps late instead of obeying his dawn alarm, tangled up with Michael in the bed that’s felt too big since he bought it, but now is comfortable and warm. He eats when Michael does, giving up on the rigid three meals a day he’s forced himself to follow, and escapes to the basement to gulp down a bag of blood here and there, when it becomes absolutely necessary. Instead of stretches or yoga, Alex lets Michael drag him back to bed and pull him out of his head in other, more interesting ways, and he pointedly ignores the voice in the back of his head reminding him that he can’t keep it up.

It works ... until it doesn’t. 

Two weeks after Michael moves in, Alex wakes up screaming. When his eyes open, there’s a tell-tale crimson tinge to his vision and a lingering burning in his neck, his sire’s fangs emblazoned in his mind’s eye.

His first thought is that Michael is too fucking close, too sticky against him, too overwhelming. Alex rolls away as quickly as he can, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and slow his rapid breathing. He hates the affect nightmares have on him; even when he barely remembers them, they ruin everything for hours afterward.

“You okay?” Michael asks, voice rough with sleep as he gropes for the lamp on the bedside table.  A hand lands on the sweat-soaked expanse of Alex’s bare back, and he flinches away before he can stifle the instinct. He hates being touched so soon after a nightmare; he’s thrown more than one guy out of bed after a one-night stand for less. But this is Michael, Alex hasn’t made any effort to explain his boundaries. So he forces himself to turn over and give his boyfriend what he hopes is an apologetic look before pushing himself up and beginning the laborious task of untangling himself from the blankets he’d twisted in the throes of a nightmare. 

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” he tells Michael, lisping a bit around his fangs. They’re still biting into his lower lip, and he knows he hasn’t quite managed to regulate his breathing, but he can’t help but hope Michael will just let it go -- let Alex go, until he can pull himself back together. 

But the mattress shifts under Michael’s weight, and Alex can tell he’s getting up without looking at him. “Bullshit,” comes the flat reply. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make you.” Alex’s enhanced hearing picks up every sound as Michael gets out of bed and slides into the discarded pair of jeans he’d dumped on the bedroom floor before they went to sleep. In another minute, he’s walking around the bed to stand in front of Alex, shirtless and rumpled, Alex’s crutch held out in one hand. 

Alex takes it with fingers that tremble, and he swallows, trying to figure out what to do next. This could easily turn into a fight; he knows, intuitively, that any move he makes to distance himself from Michael will be taken personally. Alex isn’t the only one with emotional baggage in this relationship -- Michael’s been pushed away and abandoned more times than anyone should be in a single lifetime, and until recently, Alex has only added to that list. If Alex isn’t careful, he’s going to rile up all of those negative emotions all over again, and he doesn’t think he can stand a fight right now. But the longer he thinks, the longer he’s silent, the more obvious the distance between them becomes, and Alex struggles to keep thinking logically. 

“Michael,” he says desperately, but Guerin is already moving toward the door. Panic starts to creep into his thoughts, scattering them into a spiral of He’s walking away, and What if he doesn’t come back this time? And Why can’t I ever just tell him I want him to stay? The crutch is still in his hand, and Alex could pull himself up and follow Michael if he chose -- but what would he say? Getting into an explanation of all the things he doesn’t want after a nightmare is too heavy, too much, right now, and he doesn’t want Michael to feel guilty for offering comfort. So he stays, frozen in indecision at the edge of the bed, until Michael reappears in the doorway, two cups in his hands. 

Alex takes the cup offered him without thinking, staring at the calm expression on Michael’s face and trying to read the intention behind it. He doesn’t seem upset, and he came back, but he left. Why would he do that if he wasn’t upset? Alex drops his crutch back against the wall to rub at his eyes, brain foggy and slow now that the immediate panic has passed. After another moment of silence, he scoots to one side, hoping Michael will take the hint and rejoin him. 

Thankfully, he does, and Alex’s side warms quickly when pressed against Michael’s bare skin. 

The acrid scent of acetone burns his nose as soon as Michael is close, and Alex makes a face. He glances into his own -- not because he’s worried that Michael put the stuff in his glass, too, but because he’d assumed the cups held cocoa or tea for both of them. He blanches when he realizes that he’s holding the poured-out contents of a blood bag in his hands, and shoots a sidelong look at Michael, once again doing his best to parse what the other man might be thinking based on his posture and facial expression. The relaxed slouch and placid look don’t give him much to go on, though. 

“You always have nightmares when you only eat food during the day,” Michael says finally, brows drawn as he looks at Alex. “It’s never been this bad before -- usually, you calm down when I start talking to you. But it always happens.” 

Alex blinks in surprise. “I -- do?” He’s never noticed that correlation, but if he trusts Michael -- which he does -- then he’s been having nightmares without remembering them fairly regularly for the past few weeks. Putting the puzzle together would have been impossible if he was missing one of the pieces. Even as it bothers him, the knowledge that Michael notices these things, spends enough time watching and thinking of him to put it together, banishes the last, lingering cold from his nightmare. 

Michael nods. “Yeah.” He looks away for a moment, taking a long sip of acetone, then drags his gaze back to Alex’s face. “Is there a reason you’re not drinking blood? When we talked about it in the desert, you said you had a schedule or something, but you’ve been sneaking down to the basement when I’m not looking, like a guilty kid trying to steal his parents’ booze.”

It’s a pretty accurate description of the way he’s been acting, Alex supposes, even if it stings his pride. He huffs, then shrugs. “It’s hard,” he admits eventually, swirling the blood in his cup and watching it move rather than look at Michael. “Since I’ve been back, I had to build a life for myself, you know? I had to figure out how to make it work when I didn’t have anyone. Otherwise I didn’t get out of bed.” Aware that he sounds pathetic, Alex shrugs again and forces himself to look at Michael, who’s expression has gone soft with understanding. “And until you found out, the blood -- all of this --” he gestures vaguely toward his face, which still isn’t quite human. “It was the most shameful secret I had. I was so careful to hide it, to pretend that I was normal. So now-” 

“You still feel like you have to hide,” Michael finishes for him, his frown deepening. 

Alex clutches the mug in his hands a little bit tighter, careful of his strength -- it had only taken two shattered glasses to learn that lessons, early on in his tenure as a vampire. “It’s habit,” he answers. “It’s not you. I just need to figure out how to live with someone who knows everything and isn’t freaked out.” He tips his head to one side, smiling slightly. “Drinking nail polish remover is still a step down from blood.” 

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Michael takes another pointed sip. “Man, alien from space beats vampire in the freak department any day,” he retorts, knocking his shoulder gently against Alex’s. The teasing dies away, then, and Michael slowly drapes an arm around Alex’s shoulder, tugging him toward his chest. Alex goes willingly, the desire for distance long gone, and lets himself be maneuvered into sitting between Michael’s spread legs, back to chest against the headboard. 

“So,” Michael says, his voice rumbling pleasantly through his chest and into Alex’s back. “Are you going to drink that, or are we going to do all this again in a few hours?” His own mug is empty, discarded on the bedside table. 

But Alex’s cup is still full in his hand, and he can’t really argue with Michael’s point. Plus, he hasn’t looked human for the last half an hour; if Michael was going to be disgusted, it would have happened already -- probably two weeks ago, when Alex was fang-deep in his carotid artery in the middle of the desert with no self-control. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable drinking bagged blood from a glass in front of him at this point. 

And yet ...

“C’mon, Alex,” Michael murmurs, apparently reading Alex’s mind -- or maybe just noticing the tension in his body from where they are pressed so close together. “I love you, remember? And it’s just you and me here.” A calloused, warm hand cups Alex’s where it’s wrapped around ceramic, guiding the cup toward his mouth. Alex lets Michael lead, though something tells him he should be embarrassed by such a display. That’s a thought for later -- much later, when the scent of blood hasn’t turned his stomach into a hollow, aching pit, and Michael hasn’t blown through his every defense and made him forget that he’s supposed to be uncomfortable with such strange intimacy. 

The cool edge of the cup touches his lips, and Alex is the one to tip the contents down his throat. Liquid energy flows through him, sizzling along his veins and nerves and easing an ache to which he’d grown so accustomed that it barely registered anymore. It’s not as good as blood from Michael’s veins, but since Alex has promised himself -- and Michael -- that he won’t bite him again, this is the next best thing. Drinking with Michael’s arms around him, an anchor in the sea of sensation, a reminder that he’s no longer alone in this . . . it’s everything a younger, lonelier Alex had wished for after the accident in Iraq, and he hopes he’ll never start to take it for granted. 

An invisible hand lifts the empty mug and deposits it somewhere in the room; Alex’s head is lolling bonelessly against Michael’s chest, and he can’t be bothered to lift it to find out where. Gentle fingers comb through his hair, and a haze of contentment takes over, chasing away the last of Alex’s more monstrous features. His face relaxes after the transformation, and he lets his eyelids drift closed. “Thank you,” he murmurs, knowing Michael will hear it. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.” 

“Thank me by giving up hiding in the basement,” Michael suggests, his voice as gentle as the fingers still moving in Alex’s hair. 

It’s not hard for Alex to agree to that. He nods easily, then turns his head to tuck his face into Michael’s shoulder. “We should probably talk about the nightmares, tomorrow,” he says, the words muffled by skin. “And -- some other stuff.” His routine. Boundaries. Michael’s hatred of letting Alex know where he’s going and when he’ll be back, and the anxiety it causes when he doesn’t. The messes on the bathroom floor that make navigating the small space hard for Alex, especially in the morning. Whatever problems Michael’s run into in the last two weeks; Alex knows there are bound to be some. He’s not the easiest person to live with, either. 

Those problems don’t seem nearly as insurmountable as they had earlier in the evening, though. Alex doesn’t know if it’s because he’s finally fed or because Michael has proven yet again that he’s not going anywhere, but he’s optimistic for their future together for the first time. Vampire, alien -- those words don’t matter. Here, in their bed, neither of them are anything but men wanting to be loved. 

That’s enough to carry them through.

[leanarg]

((Warning!: I might have let my imagination run a little too freely haha but I think it’s not so bad... Hope you enjoy reading it and then please forget about it ;P  Thanks! <3 [5.4K] ))

Practice Challenge Sense of duty

Everything was gray. Everything always is at this hour of the day. Dozens of messy draft notes on my desk waiting to be finished, but I knew if I turned even for a second I could miss this.

I stared into the rising sun in the distance, it looks as if an enormous golden eye was spying on us. It’s rays somehow starting to paint the sky of soothing lavender and brilliant amber colors that reflected on every building tall enough to escape the shadows; fortunately, The Globe building qualified among them.

It’s not like I owned the building or anything but just being able to work here has always -since last year- made me feel a sort of pride, and looking out at the city at dawn while the strong smell of coffee flooded the entire office, has become a special habit of mine to reinforce that feeling.

While traffic sounds managed to filter from outside through the thick, fancy glass of the building I’ve always found it hard to fight the childish impulse to try to spot any delivery truck among all the vehicles that look so small from up here. Our bulldog edition was printed and sold to the distributors the previous night to be out first thing in the morning and by now the Daily should be already in the stands, stores, and even at the front doors of our subscribers for them to know what’s going on in this and other countries. Like a window to the world. It makes the long process worthwhile.

That’s right, physic solid newspapers. I sighed. What I wouldn’t do to see my name printed on a broadsheet, under the tailpiece of a “hard news” story and announced on the first-page headline. That’s the dream, The goal.

But surprisingly, in that particular moment, all those thoughts were replaced by something else.

Herson Grant, editor in chief of The Globe - or like I call him, dad -summoned us to give us “off the record” information. We got the news we all, in some way, knew they were coming. Illèa’s prince had reached the age required to have a selection and since his scandalous engagement brake off last year, the country was expectant. There hadn’t been an official announcement yet, but as press, we had our sources.

We were told to be prepared for the changes this big event would signify for the newspaper. Of course, as soon as the selection starts, or even before, the complete broadsheets will be covered by it. From “Business” to “Society” and of course “Politics”.

The Selection was important for every Illéa citizen in one way or another, that was made clear years ago by the general shock caused by the news of Queen Anjali canceling hers. I remembered reading about it on some old newspaper editions. The country was divided; some, supported her demonstration of independence and capacity to make decisions even against what's expected, and others organized strikes to show their discontent.

I thought Her Majesty’s decision might have some selfishness in it, considering a lot of people were affected by it, but when it comes to putting duty and love on the same scale…  

Is choosing love selfish?

I wasn’t the most capable person to answer that question, considering that every guy I’d dated in college had ended up in horrible disappointments.

“You definitely have a thing for jerks, Lea” Liv said to me once before suggesting I should date the guys I would never even consider dating, as a solution, but honestly I preferred to focus on my career and all the things I wanted to achieve professionally.

That way the only one who could disappoint me is myself. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.

The news of the upcoming event was circling my head, causing uncertainty and anticipation feelings inside. As an entertainment reporter and writer on the digital platform of The Globe, this whole thing was going to give me a lot of work to do. The public would want to know everything. And I would have to know about dresses, sponsors, twos applying, twos not applying and

If I listen carefully I will be able to hear the crashing sound of all those famous relationships breaking. I laughed for myself.

I might have been joking about it, but my brain was already listing the prospects and the interviews I would have to schedule in the next few weeks. But, my mind went even further this time, I caught it considering an application. I wouldn’t have to write about gossips and chatter but most of all, the idea of taking part in one of the most important events of our time suddenly sounded incredibly appealing.  

All the lives, all the stories. The real stories.

My curiosity was taking control.

“Leana.” I recognized the annoyed voice behind me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes, Rita.” I turned, her exasperated face didn’t surprise me.

Rita was my editor, one of the several ones around here, she was in charge of the digital side of The Global, more specifically the “socials” department. She was a non-natural blond, middle-aged woman, and not very fond of me.

“Just came from the upper floor, the boss wants to see you.”

I smiled on the inside. Her common ways with me used to be unsettling a year ago but with time they had become somehow amusing for me. “Can I just mention, that new tone of yellow on your hair... compliments your skin tone?” I said, keeping the overdue polite tone, but always careful of not giving any hint of sarcasm.

She had a slight moment of content on her face but then she switched for a glare. “Didn’t you hear me?”

I snickered, I had an appointment for an interview and no time to get on further with the teasing.  “I do, but…” I frowned and stopped to check my watch, my eyes widened at the hour. My father was always aware of my exact work schedule, so it didn’t make sense he was sending for me when he knew I wasn’t even supposed to be here anymore.

I started, more to myself than to her. “That’s strange, my dad knew-”

“No, girl, I’m talking about the real boss.” She interrupted me with an amused expression. Of course, she had intentionally hidden that little detail to mock me.

I wonder how she knew I wasn’t going to tell my father about her using the words “real boss” in that sentence. He would definitely take it as a disrespect to the position he had earned with years of work. Though some might think it wasn’t that hard for him.

During his time as a reporter, he had given Maxwell Loyd, - the head chief, and owner of the editorial-, a lot of profits with his excellent nose for scandals and exclusives.

Unlike me, my father used to have his vocation among the showbiz world. He’d got a certain charm, the eloquence to talk and enchant people, so the celebrities used to spill the whole tea about their personal lives and relationships to him, just like that. Probably that same irresistible charm was what made my mom fall for him.

I know, more than a charm sounds like a superpower.  

 Anyhow, I didn’t think the later discredited his achievements. I liked to think I have inherited some of it, but the society and entertainment world were not the kind of journalism I’d dreamt to do and I wasn’t planning to keep doing it.

“Coffee?” Mr. Loyd offered with serious countenance. I had been sitting in front of his desk for almost 5 minutes and he hadn’t said anything. He was just walking around his office moving papers from one place to another, then plugging his laptop and doing what seemed to be his daily routine in his incredibly fancy office. Meanwhile I was following him with my eyes, as if by staring, I could somehow make the words burst out. I cleaned my throat before, “I appreciate your offer, Sir… I wonder if you had considered my request?” I asked, daring to guess this whole thing was about the proposal I had sent days ago attached to several reports of stories I had been investigating. They were not finished, but I knew that with the support of the editorial office, more specifically,  its resources I could find the missing pieces and they would be ready to publish. On paper. Because they were worthy of it. He leaned forward supporting both of his arms on his desk and I could swear I saw a little smirk on his face. “I have read it, Miss Grant, but you are here because the selection is almost here and as a writer of entertainment on the digital platform I wanted to know about your plans to cover everything related to it. Of course he did.

My shoulders slumped and I bet my face showed all my disappointment. “Well, I already have a list of the twos that I think would be participating …” He reclined on his comfortable chair, pensative. “I was thinking about more original content.” Before I could answer anything he added, “have you considered applying?” “Excuse me?” Was he suggesting what I think he was suggesting?

“I mean, as a young Illéan citizen it’s only natural that you want to give it a shot.” He shrugged innocently. “I just wanted to know how many people I can count on, during that time.” The suggestive tone hadn’t left his voice. “Even to know when to schedule a meeting to talk about your interesting proposal.” So that’s where his smirk came from. I swallowed my surprise and played along. “The idea crossed my mind when we were informed this morning, but I have projects here that I’m not sure I would want to put on hold. So, nothing is decided.” I gave him what I hoped was a short relaxed smile. “Miss Grant, you are quite a smart girl.” He sighed. “I rely on your discretion about this.” It wasn’t even a question. He left from his seat and I followed him to the door. “One thing, I had an appointment to interview Gerald Ross, I was supposed to be there now.” I checked my clock again. “Don’t worry about it, I sent someone to replace you.” With a short nod he closed the door behind me.

I stayed there for some seconds, taking everything in. This floor had a stronger smell of coffee, surely it was from a better quality.

I didn’t know what to feel. Should I’ve been feeling angry? Insulted? Then why was I considering it?

No! I was already doing that before this conversation happened. I thought, trying to reassure myself and to bury my ambition.

I looked around coming to my senses, everyone was focused on work, the sound of their fingers typing on the keyboards resounded on this floor level as they did on all the others, luckily no one had seen me there, standing like an idiot. Except for...

My eyes spotted my dad walking towards me, with a smile in his eyes.

“Miss Grant, I was informed you were in a meeting. Is there a problem?”

My father and I had a strange strategy to keep the professional talk during our work hours and the father and daughter moments at home, but honestly we almost never succeeded.

“I rely on your discretion about this” I remembered the boss’ words.

“Uh, yeah-no… It was about a proposal I sent Mr. Loyd” I chose to answer, doing too many hand gestures. I always have always hated that horrible habit of mine. I looked up at my dad and I noticed the unmistakable guilt all over his face. I frowned, as my brain connected the dots. “You have been talking with him about my proposal, didn’t you?” “Miss Grant...” He said with a warning glare. He didn’t want to do this now, not in front of his subordinates. I didn’t want to make a scene either, I had a professional reputation to maintain too, and almost everyone in the building already thought I had gotten my job only because of my father’s position.

I’ve had to live my life proving myself to them, to my exes, to my boss and even to my dad.

I clenched my jaw. “I should have known it.” My words were full of anger but I kept the steady tone. My father and I had a beautiful relationship, we understood each other, we supported each other, except that he had never wanted me to change the entertainment journalism for the hard news. And I just had found out that he not only didn’t support my dream but he probably had prevented it from happening. And maybe this wasn’t the first time, I had sent letters and requests to the boss more than once. He remained silent, but his expression was almost apologetic.  

“I have work to do.” I said after calling the lift.

Back in my workplace, the sky at the other side of the glass had lost its colorful tones to show a light tone of blue. I could sense a headache coming, but the dress wrapped in plastic and delivered to my desk was a reminder that I didn’t have the time to be miserable. My mother had helped me to choose it the previous day and we asked the store to send it here today. The thought of my mother made me want to call her and vent about all the thoughts that were  bothering me, Virginia Grant was the only mediator that had always been able to fix any argument between me and my dad.

“How could you marry him?... I mean, you were a two!” I asked her one day.

She smiled. She knew I didn’t mean it. It was one of those exasperating times when you can only remember the negative things about a person, and even make a long list of them. Of course my mother had a list on her own, but hers was completely opposite from mine. She loved my dad but based on my experiences, that kind of love was something I was far to understand.

The call would have been a delay as well, so I picked the dress, my backpack and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

The dress was black and long, without my high heels its border would sweep the floor. Elegant enough to make me feel pretty but somehow simple and comfortable with hidden pockets at its sides for my pen and journal. Ideal to go around covering an event from the red carpet until the last two would leave the party.

For a moment I wished I was the kind of girl that brightens with a nice outfit, but I had a lot to think about and a headache, with nothing but my professionalism to hold on to.

I checked my reflection on the mirror a couple of times before a couple of ’dings' on my cell phone announcing a message.

“YEAH YEAH YOU LOOK DECENT, LET’S GOOO!”

I walked outside to the busy city, the honking of cars and the strolling people; just an ordinary day. The sun rays and clear sky forced me to squint and narrow my eyes, but even then I could easily spot Harris' wild long curls tied on a small ponytail back at his neck. He was facing the street, but looking down at his camera screen, probably getting it ready for the upcoming red carpet.

Photographers gadgets is probably the only topic I avoided asking about since that one time I dared to inquire about camera settings. He gave me a complete lecture about all the tools that could be used to fix the light before taking a picture, and I ended up more clueless than before. 

“Wow!... no one can ruin a nice dress like you do, boss”  He said when he turned around. 

 I rolled my eyes “Says the boy with the twisted bowtie” We had to speak up so our voices didn’t get lost among the noise surrounding us, but beside that, my tone sounded more harsh than intended. 

Harris and I had been working together since we both entered The Globe editorial office. He was assigned to be my assistant photographer, and he was a great one. We made a good team at the beginning and after a year I would say we had become good friends. He’s always mocking about how everyone hates me for my last name and I mock him for ...being him. 

He let his camera hang from his neck and fidgeted with his bowtie trying to fix it. “Hmm… I guess the meeting didn’t go well”

I turned my head almost too quickly at his remark. “Which meeting?” “You all reporters had a meeting this morning, right? You texted me about it.” He frowned, I wasn’t sure if it was because he had noticed something was going on or because he was giving up on making his bowtie look presentable. 

“Oh, yes that one. It was to-” I massaged my forehead slightly “to confirm Prince Arin is sending application letters before long, so the selection will happen” 

He shrugged. “I already see all the extra work complaints coming” he said sarcastically. 

He knew I was always working on not assigned notes and sometimes I dared to drag him into helping me, even when that was not included on his paycheck. 

But right now he had no idea what he was talking about and I couldn’t tell him; even if I could, he would have started to ask questions I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Besides, I hadn't made my decision yet. I scoffed a laugh. “Come on, let’s find the Vespa before we both lose our jobs for being late to the PET gala.” “Well, my charm would have to do.” He shrugged looking down at his still twisted bowtie. “It won’t.”

When we arrived at the old Festerman mansion the place was already bursting with energy. The large carpet was placed across the garden and part of the street. The celebrities hadn’t arrived yet and the fanatics were being held somewhere waiting for the time they could access their special place closer to their idols, even when it was too early we could listen to their cheering screams from time to time which I guess were more for them to bear the waiting than to anyone else.

Cast, crew and the carpet runners were coming and going from one place to another taking care of last details and keeping the order among the press people; always being careful not to step on the soft fabric on the floor, otherwise it’s bright striking red tone would turn into crimson before the guests’ arrival.

The media pen was already open so after parking my yellow Vespa we quicken our step towards our designed slot. Along my first year as a reporter I had to make important acquaintances and no matter what other people could say the most important ones are not the celebrities but the backstage people, the ones that could be invisible for the majority and essential at the same time. 

“Tom!” I shouted and waved when I spotted the red carpet runner. He was in charge of supervising the press on several red carpet events. 

We’d met once at the Angeles movie awards, he blocked my way when I wanted to get close to Serena Davis but I took an expensive pin off my hair and convinced him she had dropped it and she would want it back. It was one of those times I felt even more thankful for my grandmother’s fancy presents. Of course he got mad when he saw me doing an interview almost in the middle of the carpet but his attitude changed as soon as I started to interview him to do a behind the scenes article.

Actually, it turned out to be a success.

“The new guys!” He greeted us. “Who do you want me to send your way this time?” hHe asked. Our colleagues at our sides, stopped arranging their things for a moment and gave us a glance, we pretended we didn’t notice. “Umm, Angelina Brown, Meryl Miller, Brady Tylor… I think Lin Yang has some drama going on right now and the Lane-Cadwell couple would be great, if you can He let out a long whistle. “The couple would be hard but I will see what I can do.” He fixed his eyes on Harris' neck and pointed. “Your bowtie is all … wrong.”

“Harder than Estelle Dawson?” Harris asked with a smirk, leaning on the structure that was keeping us at the edge of the carpet ignoring completely Tom’s observation. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scolded. It was not that my grandmother was hard to reach as the celebrity that she was but she would never, under any circumstances, get close to me while I’m on duty. 

She still hated my father for stealing her daughter and resented my mother for marrying a three, but she seemed to be fond of me and my baby brother. At least that’s what I felt when she made us visit her at her home. She used to send the limo just for the two of us. Tom looked confused at our talk so he just excused himself and left to continue with his chores. 

“Light test!” Harris let out suddenly. He always used to say that when he needed me to turn to the camera to take me a picture, it helped him to prove if it was set correctly according to the lights in the place. I tried to smile a little for it. 

“So, I need an update... and the plan,” he continued casually, while he took a look at my recently taken picture. 

Harris and I were sent to cover the PET event, interviewing the celebrities and updating the people live on the newspaper's new blog. I asked him to capture a moment or person with his camera and sent it to my cell phone then I posted it with a caption and the people enjoyed the content from the comfort of their houses. It wasn’t so bad, but I had other motives. 

The host of the massive PET event, Lanna Winster was a splendid, exotic retired actress; lovely to the public eyes; generous. She had the enough power, connections and money to organize this traditional gala to raise money for the animal shelter Paw-Prints animal shelter. Of course, her friends and celebrities adore, and support her. When you googled her name you could find an infinite amount of pictures of her posing with all kinds of lovely animals. 

We had the honor to meet her for a short interview a few months ago at one of her luxurious mansions for the newspaper’s blog. Not even at the most prestigious hotel we were treated that well. Harris was desperate to come back for a second interview someday. For me, she was only a wealthy woman doing some good with her loose change. 

My real job started when rumors started circulating around the office. An  anonymous source had seen talking with the main organizer of some sort of hunting convention. Everyone was shocked with the news but in absence of evidence we couldn’t make anything public. I spend a lot of time searching documents, watching her old interviews, and reading information on antique papers. I even swallowed my disgust and tried to apply for the hunting convention myself, but applications were closed until next year. 

Who would think that murderers were that organized?

I didn’t have anything, until a few weeks ago The Globe received a press invitation for the PET gala, we were informed it had been moved to the old Festerman mansion, which seemed very unusual. 

National events with that level of importance always took place in Angeles; and the old mansion was… very old and until she decided to make small repairs “just for the event”, it had been pretty much forgotten. 

As soon as I knew this, I made some visits to the Festerman mansion, the first time I wanted to get inside, but someone had posted a guard on the entrance, I also spotted security cameras around the property. 

The rest of the time was just there to have some nice chats during my lunch breaks. The guard was just a few years older than me, basic humor and didn’t seem amused with his job. And I was supposed to be some neighbor on my way home stopping to say hi three days in a row. By Friday I already had what I was looking for. A name. 

“... just… I think you should send a complaint note or something” I said lifting a shoulder. “Hard workers have some rights and you should be allowed to get out for a drink or something during the day, I mean besides the lunch break that you have to take in here.” I made a grimace for emphasis. He laughed a little and after some seconds he said, “I don’t think Miss Jean would mind if I-” I recognized the name as soon as I heard it, I had it written on my journal. She was Lanna’s maid. I checked my watch before he could even finish his sentence, “I’m so sorry, I’m running late, but I really think a complaint note could work.” Harris didn’t know the last part of the story so when I finished he was amused. “I can’t believe he fell for that one!” “Yeah, that’s not the important part of the story, Harris” I said. My mood was a bit better after telling him the whole story so I didn’t mind his teasing. He never seemed interested in my clandestine work, but for some reason he was always willing to help. 

This was the closest I’d ever been to have a complete story worthy of the front page of a newspaper. Loyd would have another option but publish it and I wouldn’t have to apply for the selection.

At least not under his terms.

As the light and warmth of the day ebbed, the bright light of the big reflectors filled the place, the red carpet went on as usual. 

The celebrities paraded along the garden matching their fashionable expensive dresses with their pets. We saw dogs, cats, rabbits, even horses -which had to remain parked outside- The carpet had to be cleaned more than once during the night, but the staff seemed to be well aware of that since the beginning. The afternoon passed between flashes, short interviews and fans alternating between shouting names and expressing “awwe’s” at the sight of their favorite people and their cute companions. 

I got almost all the interviews I wanted and Harris captured all the relevant moments, but the event was far from the end.

The night had arrived by the time we got inside the mansion. Lenna Winster had made several repairs on the property but I suspected she had kept an ancient look for aesthetic purposes. The interior looked old but solid. They had placed several tables around a big room, decorations on the walls and bar for drinks at the end. The press had their own place to eat, but it wasn’t forbidden to wander around or get a drink as soon as  we didn’t follow or bother the celebrities with any more questions. Although we were permitted to take pictures  and record videos to keep the public updated.

“This is good, but not as good as I expected.” Harris complained as he took a break from the camera to finish his blueberry trifle. “We haven’t tasted better deserts than the ones that gave us at that restaurant inauguration, remember? I said with a small smile as I looked around the room, noticing every movement.

My eyes were mostly on Lanna and her people, but I couldn’t make it obvious, so I just took some time to make annotations on my journal. Who was chatting with who, which celebrities were friends now, which were friends and now they were not. No that I cared about gossip, but those kinds of details could be very useful sometimes. My eyes crossed with my grandma’s a couple of times, but the most I got from her was an acknowledging nod and she got a smile in return. What would she think about me applying for the selection?  I laughed inside. Of course she would love it!

“Are you kidding? I will never forget how sick I felt the next day for eating that much...”  

Harris continued talking, but I couldn’t hear the rest of his story, because right at that moment a tall, black haired young man, who I recognized at the guard of the mansion, entered the room and whispered something to one Lanna’s bodyguard. He leaned towards the table where his employer was sitting, interrupting her chatting and laughing with the people at her table. They exchanged some words in what seemed to be a low tone and then both of her custodians started to walk away, leaving her unprotected. I raised from our table trying to conceal my rush. I kept my journal back in my pocket and took my purse from the table. “I will be right back.” I said to my friend, I couldn’t quite catch his reaction because my eyes were set on our host’s guards. I quickened my steps among tables and people, turning back slightly. I guessed since neither I was any celebrity nor I was bothering any, no one paid attention to me. 

I followed them out of the room and across a long corridor, just a few waiters passed by but they kept focused on their duties. The music and laughter was fading behind us, the house outside the main room looked genuinely old, but fortunately, this floor had been fully carpeted, otherwise my high heels would have been a problem. 

They finally stopped after rounding a corner by what it seemed like a back door. I stayed hidden behind the wall but ventured to peek my head to see what they were doing. Both guards were opening a big wooden box that based on what they said it had been delivered to the wrong house. One of them reached down and picked out something that at first it looked like some ...kind of... soft material, but when it was out completely I was sure it was fur. Real fur.

I stared at it for some seconds, not quite sure what to do.

I need a picture. My hands were shaking while I opened my small purse while I kept eye contact with the fur of a dead tigger. I managed to get my cell phone out but as soon as I lifted it to shoot, it slid and dropped on the floor making a “thunk” sound against the carpet.

Damn! I didn’t stay to know if they had heard me. I picked up my phone and walked as fast as I could without looking back heading for the main door. 

Outside the night was dark and starless, it was late but there was still some traffic on the street. I texted Harris to meet me outside with my clumsy fingers. I was still shaking but this time it was out of anger and frustration. How could I be so stupid?!! I was so close?!! 

On our way home, Harris sensed my mood and didn’t ask me anything, he knew I would talk about it tomorrow before or after we get scolded for not staying till the end of the event to cover it completely.  But I wasn’t worrying about that, all I could do was to drive while I questioned myself. A day that had looked so nice in the morning had gone so wrong. What was I thinking, risking myself for nothing! I shouldn’t be doing any of this. Maybe my father was right, maybe everyone was right and I wasn’t made for this work.

In the middle of my messy angry thoughts the selection came to my mind again, or maybe it had never left. I decided I was going to fill that application letter as soon as it arrived home. But why was I doing this? To accept my boss’ proposal? To satisfy my own curiosity about Illèas biggest tradition? Or maybe, like Queen Anjali I needed that... something to even my life scale, which so far was fully inclined to the “duty” side. 

[happyvoidharmony]

Just a look.1

rating : M pairing : Miraxus (Mirajane/Laxus) found : fanfiction.net 

Chapter : 1/7 (proof-read by @aconstellationofmemories)

Unfortunately for her, defeat was not something he was used to. If she wanted to play that game, then he would play with her and only God knew who had the most experience in this area.

Chapter 1

The mage turned the page wearily. It had been several hours since her magazine stopped provoking the slightest interest in her without her knowing what else to do. She was sprawled on her couch with a warm blanket, a mug of steaming hot tea in hand and the unappealing magazine on her lap. It was one of the few days when she was released from her role as a barmaid, cook, waitress and manager of the guild so that she could take a break and get some rest.

Only this rest was unnecessary for her. She had never had any trouble fulfilling her duty because of fatigue since a good night's sleep was enough to her to be able to do the same the next day. But when prompted by all the members to have a few days off each month, she could not refuse. Despite everything, she appreciated these moments disconnected from the rest of the world taking care of herself or hanging out in her shared apartment with her brothers and sisters. At least, it was enjoyable in the beginning.

It had been a long time since the article in women's magazines had stopped entertaining her. Her eyes glided over the pages of glossy colored paper without finding a single catch. The printed words had lost the appeal that once captured her interest. Sometimes her name appeared, sometimes along with one or two photos of her posing. She admired the beautiful stranger who smiled magnificently at her with all her white teeth.

She had stopped modelling months ago out of a need to distance herself from that life. The editors of the magazine had recycled her old photos. They turned up everywhere, in magazines, fashion catalogs… It was not disturbing for her, for she was neither complexed nor followed by a horde of paparazzi ready to damn their souls to know her favorite tea brand. But this majestic smile that lit up the population like a sun was seeming more and more terribly artificial to her.

She had stopped modelling suddenly to avoid becoming superficial. So that this row of carefully brushed and aligned teeth always and forever remains sincere. She had offered it to the whole world and to strangers whose silhouette she didn't even know just as much as she did to her guild, her friends, and her family. She had given it so often that no one saw her without it. This comforting row of immaculate soldiers which she ended up freezing on her angelic face.

Now all her time was entirely dedicated to the guild. Her adorable younger sister wanted to offer her the freedom of any source of stress imaginable during the holidays, thus Lisanna had taken over her barmaid duties. She was so successful that the eldest Strauss had to crack her head in order to invent new occupations to kill the boredom. She had read, hummed the tunes she knew by heart, strummed the strings of guitar to accompany them, took extra care of her skin that didn't really need it, and stared at the ceiling to witness the agony dreaming of tomorrow. Of her comforting routine that would resume.

Suddenly, she heard the doorknob turn and a cold breeze drifted in from the entrance, making her shiver. A white head quickly slipped through the opening and closed the door behind her. The young Strauss took off her surprisingly thick coat for this mid-autumn season and headed to the living room where her eldest sister was waiting for her.

"Hey Mira-nee," she called out, taking off her boots. "How was your day ?"

"Restful." She replied with a peaceful smile fixed on the lips.

"I'm exhausted." The youngest sighed. "The boys were very excited today. I thought they were going to start the third great war."

Her sister chuckled.

"Were they so terrible?" She asked tenderly.

"You can't even imagine! Natsu and Gray were so unbearable that they didn't even wait until Erza's back was turned to start insulting each other again, and I'm not even talking about Gajeel…" the youngest said, sprawled in the armchair in front of the sofa.

"Poor Erza, she must be tired of always doing the police." Mirajane's breath puffed out.

"Not so much, if you ask me. She does it so well that I sometimes believe she trains at night."

The two young women were taken by a laugh at the idea of Erza in pajamas, standing on her bed, studiously repeating with her most theatrical air the lines intended to calm her friends.

"She really doesn't need it.", replied the eldest between two hiccups of laughter.

Lisanna straightened up and took a deep breath to calm her heartbeat. She looked at her elder sister with a smile as she tried to calm down from her laughter. Her gaze was attracted by the mass of colors that she held in her left hand. A Sorcerer's magazine that must have dated from last week. And she thought her sister now found these readings boring and terribly superficial. Perhaps she was bored enough to find them amusing.

"What did you do today ?" She asked, not looking away from the magazine.

"Oh, three times nothing," the other replied. Then she noticed her sister's gaze and abruptly closed it before placing the magazine on the coffee table. "I didn't want to go out so I just stayed home."

"I see…" The youngest Take Over mage exhaled, looking down. "you never want to go out ?"

The woman was surprised at this question and turned her head thoughtfully.

"Sometimes. I like going to the park and well someone has to do the shopping." She said, laughing.

The youngest smiled and tried again to express her thoughts.

"I mean… you don't want to go out ?" To meet people other than the guild members or even just go out with Cana or Kinana to do something else ?" Lisanna questioned.

The demon mage opened her mouth to answer but no answer crossed her mind. She looked at her younger sister without knowing how to answer her. However, her ideas did not mix or contradict each other. The only answer that came to her mind was so obvious and simple that she never bothered to even think about it. No. She had no desire to go to a bar for a drink and to meet new people – not in the slightest. She was already contented with her calm life and her comforting routine.

"No," she finally replied. "Not really." She paused, then stammered out her explanation, which was so obvious to her. "I don't really see the point."

Her younger sister smiled gently at this answer. She was sort of expecting it. Her elder sister was not one to consciously deny herself pleasures for others, even after her personnality change. When you paid attention to her behavior, you could see that her main character traits had remained intact. Her desire to protect others, her energy, which she now spent behind the bar and in the service to the guild, her pride that was well recognized during her fight against Jenny at the Great Magic Games – they were all unchanged from the old Mirajane. The only thing that had changed was the way she expressed them.

You couldn't really say the same about her tastes.

"You used to like this before. Going out, going to concerts… "

The young woman sighed at the insistence of her sister.

"You don't go out any more than I do even if you're quite old enough now, you know," she replied with a slight smile.

The woman blushed at this remark, clasping in her hands the tea she had poured from the teapot her sister prepared earlier. Another trait that had persisted in her. Her ability to divert the conversation when it bothered her.

"It was never my thing," she thought it good to attest.

"It is no longer mine," her elder sister gently and firmly closed the conversation.

Lisanna glanced at her – she was enjoying her tea quietly, closing her eyes. There hadn't been an ounce of wickedness in her response. Just a deep desire to close the subject. Nor had she seemed to be lying to avoid it. She was even deeply sincere and honest with her younger sister.

Lisanna took a sip of her tea. The silence that had taken hold disturbed her a little. Usually, she enjoyed these peaceful moments with her eldest, welcome after spending the day in the midst of the guild's incessant hubbub. But at this time, she felt uncomfortable. As if this silence had settled at the wrong time.

"Elf-nii-chan is coming back from his job tomorrow, right ?" She ended up asking.

She obviously knew the answer. She just wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible and break that awkward silence. The eldest Strauss nodded as her smile widened. She was grateful to her younger sister for not insisting ; she didn't want to create any friction between them. She couldn't stand the idea of disappointing her or having to impose silence on her.

"and it's only eight o'clock, so we still have time to watch a movie without being too tired for work tomorrow !" She said cheerfully, winking at her younger sister.

The sun struggled to rise on this autumn day filled with fresh air. Shivering from the cold, the demon mage wrapped her coat around herself. She enjoyed the mornings when the city woke up little by little, starting with the bakers whose smell of hot bread and pastries already perfumed the shops. The young woman always ordered an astronomical quantity to feed the mad rabbits of the guild.

The inn provided the restaurant function for the mages but also for the non-mages who wished to benefit from the warm environment. It was one of the main sources of income for the guild and the barmaid. Like a true cook, she filled the stocks, cooked, ran the bar and served customers, accompanied by her younger sister, Kinana and a few extra wandering hands.

The master had entrusted her with the entire management of the restaurant except for the accounting part which he kept. So she got into the habit of doing some shopping in the morning to get fresh produces and ordered the most from a supplier she was used to now.

With her shopping bags in hand, she went to the second large building that overlooked the city after Kardia Cathedral, turned her old key in the lock and pushed open the huge wooden door. The atmosphere was so different at this hour. The shutters were closed and the vastness of the empty room gave it a somewhat disturbing and religious aspect, like a church waiting for its faithful ones. She put her purchases in the kitchen then went to the windows to let the soft light of day invade this much too quiet space for her taste.

She settled behind her counter and began to prepare the first drinks which would soon be ordered. In just an hour, excitement and provocation would reign supreme.

She remembered the evening before. After a meal closer to a picnic, she and her younger sister had watched a cheesy romantic comedy. Two hours during which a handsome young man, rich, charming and slightly macho, finally discovered the meaning and love of his life after meeting a beautiful young woman, vainly presented as banal, who opened his eyes to the world thanks to her kindness, her gentleness and her determination to make the world a better place.

The young woman gave a small laugh at the memory of the final act when the hero finally declared his love in a quavering voice but just as inflamed while his future fiancée – because he was proposing to her – listened with teary eyes before accepting – not without a terribly fake sob – the fabulous ring – surely plastic – that he was offering to her.

Admittedly Mirajane was a big romantic. She dreamed of a happy ending with a loving man who would kiss her like it was the last time throughout her life. She liked to look at the couples in the guild – already decided in her mind – and imagine the life they would surely have in a few years, without however clearly imagining her own possible future.

She did not see herself with anyone and did not feel the need to live a passionate love with any lover. She dreamed of course, but these dreams had never taken on concrete dimensions. They remained as a fantasy out of reach, while all tried without success to make her understand that it would only take a few efforts to make them real. She knew that life was not a romantic comedy that two sisters watched in the evening to relax between two giggles.

Never had she really hoped for passionate declarations of love. If given the choice, she would choose a love as simple and pure as a snowball, although part of herself would yell at her that it would be far too boring for her to thrive there. Perhaps it was a sign that she hadn't changed so much from the adventurous teenager as she had been in the end.

In any event, she had no serious candidates for the position of great love and was not really looking for one. Perhaps it was the parade of heavier contenders who tirelessly presented themselves to her every day pretending to buy a drink. This day would be no exception.

It did not miss. When the frenzy had followed the disturbing calm that reigned a few hours earlier, the barmaid - constantly on the move - slid from one table to another with her high heels and relentlessly distributing orders. She offered her biggest smile to each face she crossed and gently rejected the many advances that many made to her.

Advances, she had heard it was normal for a young barmaid or waitress to be hit on and stopped by consumers. It was commonly accepted by all. Of course, it always bothered her when a man whose face she saw for the first time came to offer her a drink after closing, or when Macau and Wacaba kept reminding her that she just had to blink to have a date.

Although the latter stituation had become more of a recurring joke than a real invitation. It was, but without the hope of a positive response.

The door opened slowly as four mages appeared on the doorstep. A brunette with wavy hair and rectangular glasses, a man wearing a large knight's helmet, another smaller with long and green hair and the last, a tall, muscular man with blond hair. The latter went upstairs and collapsed on one of the sofas.

The barmaid brought the blond-hair man his usual beer and went downstairs to resume her activities. He followed her with his golden eyes and detailed her as usual. His bangs took in her bangs restrained on her head, her warm blue eyes, curly lengths at the end of her white tresses. They continued to roam over her fluttering black dress which hid her generous chest, her slim waist, her hips, her long tapered legs.

She was beautiful, maybe even more than beautiful. She served her customers while singing in the middle of the guild. The noise did not bother her – on the contrary, the noisier it got the louder she sang. Surely convinced that no one could hear her behind the yells of her friends. It was wrong – he heard her very well.

Her black dress twirled around her fair legs as they danced between the tables. Her arms, constantly in action, kept moving from the two trays to the top of the tables. One would have thought it was a dance from India, one of those where the entities were provided with a multitude of arms.

Her snow-white hair waved around her angelic face. She put each foot in front of the other, swaying slightly subtly so that only people looking at her for a long time could see it. He noticed it. Even though she knew he stubbornly stared at her to decipher her gestures, she didn't throw him a glance.

It had become a game between them, to communicate without words, without ulterior motives. He watched her from his pedestal without anyone paying attention to him. Several pairs of eyes were focused on her as she moved in the center of the huge scene that was the guild. She responded with her brightest smile but did not hesitate to discreetly caricature her gestures in order to make fun of the attention that was offered to her.

No one paid attention to him. He was sitting on one of the few sofas on the first floor where no one ever went. He liked to retire there to take a break, find some relaxing solitude and be able to watch the other mages as he pleased from a higher level. Especially the demon mage. He didn't have the same hopes as her suitors, but to see her making fun of their behavior was somewhat distracting.

We also had to admit that she was far from being unpleasant to look at.

She had turned her eyes to him only once today. she had served him his drink and he had glanced at her with a suggestive look. Nothing serious, just to annoy her. Because seeing her cheeks flush under his gaze was just as much fun as enjoying a little of her false prudishness that she tried to pretend was real.

But her reaction was different from what he expected. Instead of being embarrassed that he stared at her like that, she had stared back at him and smiled. Not a fake smile, but a playful and amused grin. She straightened casually and turned slowly to continue her activities.

She knew he was trying to play with her. After all, he had been doing this for a few weeks, and it had to be said that being able to have fun with his own behavior and that of others was refreshing. She also knew that none of these so-called silent advances were serious. He just wanted to push her to the edge as he always had.

She has reached her limits – she was finally tired of seeing him play with her daily. The young woman didn't like allowing people to laugh at her embarrassment. After some time looking for the solution to tell him about it, she concluded that he wouldn't stop, especially if he realized that it was actually working.

So the mage decided to act the opposite of what he expected while knowing that he would not stop his actions immediately. She had to get into his game if she wanted to get him out, but the consequences of such an act were still unknown. Was he going to be surprised ? Amused ? Satisfied ? How could she even have a clue ?

From that moment, she began to move differently, softer and more fluid. She took her time and danced between the tables. She looked and offered her brightest smile to everyone except him. She was completely ignoring him.

A strange ballet that intrigued him a lot, as if her angelic side had escaped her and her demonic side suddenly revealed to him. He was never going to see her again, this sweet Mirajane who smiled benevolently at him. Instead he would see something else that only he could see, a more evil and seductive side of her. He could say that the old Mira had returned but that was not entirely true. The old Mira would never seduce him like that.

But it didn't bother him – on the contrary, it greatly amused him. A new challenge that she launched to him, a secret game, beyond the eyes of others. How to win ? He had absolutely no idea and he knew she didn't either. He just didn't know something : just exactly how far she was ready to let this thing go and what she wanted out of it. Until then they had only jokingly played with each other, but this game was much more complex.

He went downstairs sighing. He wanted to think about it in a more private place. He headed for the door but something warm touched him in the opposite direction. He turned and his gaze fell on her cyan eyes, her irises shining with mischief and amusement. Her demon smile was teasing him on her angelic face. He raised his eyebrows and continued his way out.

The young man understood she just wanted to take him by surprise and make him fall into his own trap. Unfortunately for her, defeat was not something he was used to. If she wanted to play that game, then he would play with her and only God knew who had the most experience in this area.

[ofstormythoughts]

What Happens at the Toy Box Part 1 with @OneCheekyGal

Raine

••I wasn't quite sure what to make of my non-grand-opening Grand Opening, but Birdie's had done surprisingly well in the first few months, even considering the challenges that came with 2020. I had sorely lacked in marketing myself but it seemed I had garnered enough local fanfare by word of mouth, I’d even sold out of some of what I had on offer. I felt greedy in my happiness despite all the effort it took to realize this dream that spanned more than my own lifetime. The only way in which I had announced my arrival into the scene was via introduction to the surrounding business owners and shop managers. There was a sole location that had evaded me.  The Toy Box had managed to both pique my interest and stoke a sadness when I tried to stop by. Clearly it was not a store for children as the name would imply by a glance from afar. Thankfully it was in my nature to cast a deeper line into the sea of curiosities. I wondered the story behind its extended closure and during some lulls in my own foot traffic, I was prone to imagining its caretaker had been swept up into a torrid love affair and was sailing around the world with an incomparable lover. The wind held the secrets of The Toy Box at bay, sadly, so I was left to my own musings. It had become a habit to glance across the way before I opened and I held a silent yearning to see the sign switched from “Closed” to whatever elusive welcome alerted the passer by the store was open for business.

This was why when I stepped out to tend the garden and saw the door open that hadn't been since my arrival, excitement quickened my pulse. It was silly, really, but I wouldn't feel my induction into the local scene had been completed until I met this last neighborhood retailer.

My next appointment wasn’t scheduled for an afternoon and I could use a technology break. Setting up the online store was not on my list of favorite things to do. Locking up Birdie's temporarily, I sprung into action, lest I miss my chance and face that closed sign. I nearly skipped across the street before happily crossing the threshold that had been to date a gatekeeper to my curiosity. A bright but genuine smile curved my lips as I approached the petite and pretty girl behind the register, sure to keep a proper distance since I wasn’t wearing a mask.  Maybe it had been my daydreaming of her whereabouts, but on sight of her alone, I found my interest in her story piqued even more than all the wares for sale. I tried to keep my gaze from wandering and my eyes from widening at all the things, some which I wasn’t completely naive to, others that had me clueless about their potential use.••

Camille:

*The decision to temporarily close my shop so I could take a vacation had given me heaps of anxiety and a weight of worry on my shoulders that felt heavier than the Costco sized bag of cat food I liked to buy for Betty. I had considered hiring someone temporarily while I was away, but the efforts of training them for such a short period of time seemed like more of a hassle than losing the week’s worth of sales. 

What had started out as being closed for a short holiday had unexpectedly turned into something much longer. I had been out of the country enjoying the sand and sun when the travel restrictions and the COVID pandemic had been declared, and upon my return home, a mandatory quarantine had been instituted which meant the shop doors would unfortunately be staying closed.

Fortunately, my online shop was already well established and after an emailed Newsletter to my customer list indicating orders could still be placed during the brick and mortar closure, the lull that my vacation created gradually picked back up. My rainy day savings had helped during the months where in store purchases were entirely obsolete. In my time away and then the subsequent closure, the small cluster of businesses in the area surrounding mine seemed to stay fairly stagnant, with the exception of a new shop that I had completely missed opening, I could only assume it happened while I was away. I hadn't planned to make the time to introduce myself. New businesses tended to avoid mine. God forbid someone admitted to knowing the owner of a sex shop...not that it phased me anyways. The day I had been phased to re-open the shop, I used a wedge of wood to prop the door open to help get rid of the stale air while I dusted for the first few hours. I didn't expect a rush of customers even though I had made a re-opening announcement on the shop’s website with the new hours, and had sent out a discount code to my email list in the hopes of drumming up some more sales and maybe even some foot traffic. It felt good to get back to my old routine of keeping busy and taking pride in what I had built up over the years. It was while I was in the middle of organizing a new countertop display of novelty single condoms that someone walked through the open door. My smile, the one that was reserved just for customers came back to my lips easily, just like old times and as I angled the stand next to the cash register just so, I greeted the lovely looking redhead and tried to guess in my mind what she might be here for...a game I sometimes liked to play with myself just for fun.* Hello, how can I help you today?

Raine

•• I was immediately disarmed by the friendly body language of the girl that I was meeting at long last. My eyes betrayed me by stealing glances at the various displays which were successful in drawing the attention of a complete sexual novice, hoping the color of my cheeks was not as evident as the warmth I felt there. I could only imagine that someone with more experience would be quick to spend their savings based on the appealing presentations alone. I felt oddly at ease and out of place all at once, perhaps the impressive and colorful water wall behind the shop’s mistress was at work. I couldn’t help but appreciate that her store had its own water feature befitting its personality just like my own at Birdie’s.••  First, apologies for my barging in without paying mind to whether or not you were actually open. I saw from across the street that you were no longer shuttered and I was too excited for any patience. I’m Raine and I just opened up across the way. •• As I smiled, I caught a glance of a beautiful and fluffy white cat circling her legs, wrapping its tail around her, perhaps to state “She is mine.”•• I have been eagerly awaiting your return, there was a void because you’ve been nowhere to be found. Maybe the universe wanted me to save the best for last.

Camille

 *The way the girl looked around with wide eyed curiosity as she approached had me titling my head and feeling momentarily stunted when it came to a guess of what she might possibly wish to purchase. She had the look of uncertainty until she spoke and then surprise took hold of my features before I could school them back into place.* Oh! You don't have to apologize. *As I peered through the window in the direction of where she indicated, I mumbled to myself how I hoped the welcoming committee had been nicer to her than they had been to me before I turned back to her and extended my hand to shake hers out of habit before I could stop myself, I laughed awkwardly and pulled my hand away, remembering to keep my distance.* It's very nice to meet you, Raine. I'm Camille and this here is Betty. *I bent down to pick up my cat and lifted her up into proper view.* Usually she hides away in the back but since today is the first day back after closing, she hasn't left my side. *As Betty nuzzled against me, I smiled for the comfort she brought then sat her back down and made my way around to the other side of the counter.* It's very sweet of you to want to introduce yourself...so did you open pretty recently, then? I was closed briefly for a holiday before the pandemic started and had to stay closed.  

Raine

•• Nodding in immediate reaction as not to interrupt Camille before she was done speaking.••

Yes, three months ago, but we must have just missed each other for your sabbatical because I have been here for about five renovating. If you need any help settling back in, I’d be happy to volunteer. I haven’t made too many acquaintances and I am just getting my bearings, really so there are no social distractions to be had.•• I hoped I hadn’t been too forward. I had never much been desperate for human contact, but there was a smidge of isolation seeping in on the year anniversary of losing my Birdie. I tried to concentrate on the sweet of the bittersweet at my opening, but of course had been confronted with pangs of my loss. Daring another peek around, smiling as another blush warmed my cheeks. •• Not that I think you and Betty don’t have it handled. Do you mind if I take a look around? •• I was a mermaid out of water but that didn’t mean my curiosity was not at a healthy level. The range of items in my immediate view offered plenty of options for my perusal without my naivety making me completely foolish in front of my new kitty-corner shop neighbor.••

Camille: 

*I couldn't help the smile that took hold of my lips when Raine offered to help me settle back in...and it clicked in my mind that I should have been the one to make that offer given how long the shop had been opened. I was starting to feel like I didn't deserve her kindness for how oblivious I had been to the renovations across the way. Thankfully her question brought me out of my mind and the pondering of what else I might have missed while my toes and head were in the sand.* Please, take your time and browse as much as you’d like. *Not wanting to make her feel like I was hovering or being one of those nosy shop owners, I moved back around to the other side of the counter to continue with the display I had been working on, speaking loud enough for her to hear without being intrusive.* I don't have much to do in the way of settling back into things, but I’d love to take a look around your place when you're not too busy. *As I waited for Raine to reply, the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside the shop demanded my attention, and an old familiar feeling of what it was like to be busy returned along with a pang of guilt for being away so long. That feeling slowly faded and was quickly replaced with interest as I watched the gentleman exit his truck and begin to walk across the parking lot, headed straight for the shop Raine had pointed out as hers. Turning back to see if she noticed, I called out to warn her.* Hey, um...Raine...I think you might have a customer…

Raine: 

••My reaction of a sigh to the call to duty was uncharacteristic, but spoke to the fact I instinctually would like to get to know Camille and the setting of her shop was too perfect to urge me out of my hermit comfort zone. With the slightest reluctance I turned towards the door. I also knew whoever it was hadn’t made an appointment. While I was still allowing walk-ins, I had to limit the number of people in Birdie’s to three.••

You’re welcome to come across the way with me, if you’d like? I am not done exploring your shop, so either way, I will be back. 

••With a little more quickening in my steps, I exited, hoping Camille might follow. I passed the man as casually as possible, but was greeted with thoughts that made my nose crinkle, as it was plain he was looking at my ass with graphic intentions of what he’d like to do to it. I flushed again, this time in embarrassment and anger, and not at all out of flattery. My eyes pinched closed just before I unlocked my door, the sanctuary and water feature running through the floor calmed my wild emotions and allowed me to form a smile that though unauthentic, would fool the man when he caught sight. He didn’t hesitate to return the smile, though his was dripping with sleaze. “Just back from lunch? Maybe next time I’ll get here earlier so you won’t have to eat alone.” I gagged at the back of my throat and wished to shove politeness aside, but with a little more cleverness than the man deserved.•• Too bad my lunch table is reserved for one and booked months in advance. 

••I focused on the blessed sound of the water while he honed in on my chest with beady eyes, I turned out of view when he pestered me with more intrusive questions. “Boyfriend? Husband?” His pause was not long enough before he added, “Girlfriend? I’m more than willing to share.” I ignored his utterly insulting insinuations, refusing to satisfy any of his base curiosity, instead I fetched a bottle of Camphor essential oil, known to be used by monks to suppress sexual urges, smiling as I took his hand, dotting the top between middle and ring fingers with the oil.•• This is on special today. ••winking, though I felt like I must immediately return home to scrub myself clean for providing him any kind of returns to his advances•• Just for you. 

••I made a show of using my own, house made blend of hand sanitizer as his smile somehow got creepier. It seemed like at least an hour had passed since I left the Toy Box, though I knew for certain it has been a short few minutes. “Oh, I didn’t come here to make a purchase. I’ve been watching you come and go and… decided today was the day I’d let my fiery little redhead crush in on the secret.” My eyes flared wide and the creepy crawlies multiplied from head to toe. Stupefied and appalled, I shook my head vehemently.••  I suggest you leave, go home and clean those binoculars you’ve been using, that way the next time you look you’ll see I’m not interested. 

••”I wasn’t using binoculars --” Pointing out the door, my lips in a set in a stern line, frustrated with myself for entertaining any of this stupidity.•• 

Camille: 

*I nodded at Raine when she excused herself with haste for her customer. I understood completely. New businesses were hard to turn a profit the first handful of years and each sale was important toward ensuring one’s livelihood. Not wanting to encroach on her sale, I took my time gathering my keys to lock the door but before I could, Betty snuck her fluffy white self out, circling my feet and curling her tail around my leg. With a smile, I scooped her into my arms and locked up my own shop, not at all concerned about missing out on a customer. There hadn't been any all day while I had been cleaning anyways.

As I approached Raine’s store front, I could see her speaking with the man then pointing toward the door with a look on her face that was unmistakable. It was an expression I had used more than a few times, I had perfected it, really. Generally it was used on under-agers, and despite my petite size, worked very well. I was no pushover. But this guy was old enough to know better and to know he wasn’t welcomed.* Oh man, Betty. I wonder if our new friend needs some reinforcements. *Squaring my shoulders, I pushed the door open and painted on my brightest smile.* Hey, Raine. *I took my time looking around while holding Betty, her purrs from being in my arms and having her head scratched slowly began to fade with each step I took closer to the man who still couldn’t take the hint.* 

I just adore the water feature you have here, it’s so lovely. *Satisfied with being close enough to my new friend, I picked up a jar on a nearby table, pretending to look at the label as he spoke again. My nose scrunched at his blatant disrespect and I waited to hear how she would handle herself. Betty, ever the excellent judge in character, hissed in warning from my arms, and I caught Raine’s gaze briefly, winking as I quietly let my guard cat jump down from my hold. It seemed she had very quickly taken offence on Raine’s behalf and moved to circle around her legs as she always did with me. From my spot out of the guy’s view, I mouthed at Raine to pick Betty up, if he got any closer, I knew the claws would come out.*

Raine

••I knew we’d only just met, but Camille and Betty were both quickly becoming essential to my survival. Their audience reinforced my backbone, especially when I witnessed Betty hissing. Animals were the best judge of character and I caught Camille’s wink and easily read her lips.•• I’m afraid you will have to go now. I have a private consultation. ••I wasn’t prone to lie, but I also wasn’t an idiot. I needed to ensure this man got the message the first time lest he think there was any question in my denial. The encounter was new to me, I hadn’t ever really been in this position, but I was in a new locale and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last time.•• I’m so sorry, Camille, he was just leaving… 

•• “Before I go, can I set up a private… consultation?” My stomach absolutely turned over, most especially for the way he rolled over the words private and consultation.•• Consultations are for customers intending to make a minimum purchase of five hundred dollars. You can call to set it up when you decide you are interested in my inventory. Now please leave.

••I watched as Betty sauntered closer to me, stopping right by my feet. I was flattered by my newfound feline friend’s quick warming up to me. When she nudged my calf with her nose, I dipped down, gingerly picking her up and surprised when I was greeted with a purr of her approval before she turned her head to the man and let loose a low growl. I watched as the sleaze put his hands up in relent and started backing towards the door. “I’ll see you soon, beautiful.” Disgusted, once he left I let out a sigh of exasperation.•• Please tell me they aren’t all like that here? And thank you, complete lifesaver. You too, Betty. 

Camille

*As I waited for the jerk to get the hint Raine was trying to send his way, I found myself biting my tongue. She was being too kind, in my opinion. And if this guy was in my shop acting like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him off and kick him out. Then again, I could recall when my shop was new, years ago and I had to have a few similar experiences in order to find my grit. Raine would find hers, too, I was certain of it. 

Setting the jar I had picked up back down, I slowly made my way closer to Raine, just in case dickwad decided to do something dickwad-ish. Fortunately, Betty had done exactly what I had hoped, and helped reinforce Raine’s request that he leave. As he moved past me on his way to the door, I smirked when he made eye contact, which probably wasn’t the greatest idea as we were left with his promise to return. 

Ew. Gross. 

I really hoped not. Moving toward the door, I smiled over my shoulder at Raine as I twisted the deadbolt...just in case and watched as he climbed into an older truck and slowly left the parking lot. I’d make sure to keep an eye out for him over the next week or so. Something about him felt...off.

Raine’s voice brought me back from my thoughts and I laughed lightly at her question, giving a small shake of my head.* Not all of them. Usually I get the creeps at my store given what I sell... and even then, it’s not very often. *Moving closer to Raine, I reached out to scratch behind Betty’s ears* A casual mention of knowing how to use a whip is enough to get them to leave pretty quick. Want me to show you how in case he returns? *My offer was mostly a joke...mostly.*  

Raine

••I laughed at the offer while simultaneously blushing. I liked Camille, a lot, but to say I wasn’t intimidated by all her wares would be complete fabrication. Still, my world was fairly lonely and my desire to branch out and make friends well outweighed any embarrassment over my naivety. For truth, Camille was the first person I’d felt comfortable with and conversation was coming too easy. It had always been Birdie and me and I’d never had true friends, only passing acquaintances. I couldn’t live a cloistered life anymore, and though it made me nervous to open up, I had already made the first steps with Camille, I could only hope she wasn’t just being polite.••  Do you offer beginner courses or something that comes before beginner? 

••Laughing again, I sat Betty down on the counter top and turned to reach for a bottle of a special elixir that I didn’t typically share with someone I’d just met, it was more reserved for requests of a special nature. I couldn’t help but recall that I’d blushed, too, when Birdie had first brought up the idea of concocting this particular blend of extracts, mostly for the reason behind it.  She had gently encouraged me, in a way only she could get away with, to come out of the nunnery and embrace my sexuality. She’d imparted her blunt wisdom, insisting I didn’t need a partner to learn what I liked myself. I probably didn’t quite crack the mold of my prudishness in a way she had hoped I would, but I dared to believe that my entry into a sex shop and making an acquaintance of its proprietor would have both made her laugh and proud. 

I snapped out of my happy reverie back to the present before turning to face Camille with the bottle in hand.•• Since you so kindly served as my protector and have additionally offered me whip training, perhaps you will indulge me in sharing something of mine with you?

Camille: 

Pre-beginner course? Hmm. Let me think...maybe a paddle or a soft flogger to start with before we get you yielding a whip then. *My laughter joined hers and it left me feeling good despite the lingering creepiness that she wasn’t afraid or too intimidated to joke around with me. Sure I had a handful of friends, but it had been a long while since I could claim anyone as a close friend or a best friend for that matter. And after the encounter with the disgusting guy, I felt a bond of sorts with her, and had already decided she was someone I wanted to be around. Her humour, while it skirted the edges of an obvious innocence gave me the impression she already appreciated my brand of unapologetic crass. It wouldn’t take long before I would help break her free of that shell, and I was confident it would be without much effort, too. 

When she put Betty down on the counter, I reached out to run my hand over her arching back, scratching through her white fur all the way down along her tail, letting it twist around my fingers the way I always did as I watched Raine grab a small bottle. My head tilted in curiosity at what the contents might be. A smile grew easily at her offer and I nodded without hesitation, not caring in the least what it was.* 

You know you don’t have to pay me back for doing what any friend would do. That guy was gross on so many levels! *laughing with a shudder, I shook my head continuing on so she didn’t  think I was being rude.*  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to say no. What is it? 

Raine

••Laughing openly at the softened suggestions, I continued to be at ease in Camille’s company. It had been too long since I’d laughed in such an organic way, the feeling rising with a genuine rush. Even if I had no use for anything at all in her shop, I was interested in what more I could discover from her expertise. Though I was verging on a comfort level that had me wanting to leave the mask down, I pulled it up out of respect for her and in order to share a more intimate distance. Leaning across the counter, circling my fingers around her wrists and turning her palms upward, I smiled behind the silk of my mask.••  This is called… Awakening. Think of it as a bridge from my world to yours. ••My brow lifted to communicate the intrigue I hoped was translating. I twisted the top of the bottle off, the scent of lavender and ylang ylang blooming in the air.  Retrieving a dropper from my sanitized tray and filling it with the oil. I dabbed each of Camille’s wrists and then circled my thumbs over each drop, gently massaging it into her skin before another application to my own fingers. Leaning slightly closer, I brought my fingertips up and behind her ears to dab just behind them before the last application to either of her temples. There were other pressure points for full effect but asking even her permission to do that would not be appropriate and would involve removing clothing.••

The effect will be subtle but this blend should allow you to clear out stale energies while refreshing you and opening you up to new and arousing potential. ••I could feel my cheeks warm again as I struggled to find the words to basically say what it was without blurting that it was basically like opening up a dam for energy that could block a libido. I wasn’t being presumptuous about her circumstance, my intention was to have fun.••  It will leave you attracting complimentary energies to your own. ••Betty meowed and butted her head against Camille’s arm, drawing another laugh.•• Looks as though Betty approves, unless I am reading her wrong. ••Lowers my voice though we are alone in the store.•• You can use it in other erogenous zones… the dimples on your back, the sternum, the inner part of your knee… 

Camille: 

*I found myself slightly surprised when Raine pulled her mask back on and leaned closer. Seemed I was getting an up close and personal demonstration of whatever this “Awakening” stuff was. My grin grew as she spoke and began to massage the small drops of oil into my skin. It smelled lovely and light, which was nice. 

As soon as she moved her hands to my ears I couldn’t help the soft laugh which was immediately followed up with an apology and explanation of being ticklish there. My laugher was short lived however because the gentle circling of her fingers at my temples earned her a sigh for how nice it felt. I was so focused on the beginning of what felt like a slight warming tingle on my skin that I nearly missed when she explained what the oil was meant to do. 

Now. I wasn’t normally someone who lived any kind of holistic lifestyle but damn if Raine didn’t have me rethinking that with the way she spoke and the way the oil felt as she applied it to my skin. I wanted it to do exactly what she said it would. I needed a complete and thorough cleansing of all stale energies. The whole world needed it really, but I didn’t think she had that many bottles of her oil.* 

Complementary energies? Hmm. 

*I was considering just how that could ever be possible given the whole social distance pandemic thing, but Raine’s laughter at Betty’s usual demand for affections drew me from my thoughts and I laughed with her as I gave my cat a scratch beneath her chin and returned my full attention back to Raine. Her lowered voice despite the fact that we were the only people in her shop had it dawning on me. Suddenly the warm tingling sensations on my skin and her mention of erogenous zones had me laughing. Loudly.* 

Oh, Raine. You are quite the surprise. I just clued into what you’re trying to say this stuff is. *laughing some more and giving my head a shake, I lift my wrist to my nose to give the oil a proper smell.* You just put arousal oil on me. How forward for you. *winking with a teasing grin so she knows I’m not bothered at all, I point at the bottle* I hope it works with the whole complementary energies. And if not, I do enjoy the way it feels. 

Raine

••I beam for the compliment of being a surprise, while I twist the dropper into the bottle, sliding it Camille's way•• I insist you indulge in the rest of the bottle. Maybe not all at once. ••laughs again, finding the atmosphere having lightened considerably from just earlier.•• 

Dare I suggest you try it somewhere I didn't? ••bats my lashes in acknowledgement of my less than innocent rhetorical•• 

If you're open to it, I think you may find it delivers on its promise with time and in its own way. Match.com it is not. ••a laugh bubbles up for how silly I feel talking this way and about things I've never conversed about.••

I only ask your honest feedback. ••biting my lip behind my mask before I pull it back down for a reprieve•• And maybe we could get together socially some time? I would be grateful for your company in the expanse of my wide open calendar. 

Camille: 

*Giving Raine a bright smile, I take the bottle and laugh with an understanding nod.* I promise not to dump the whole thing on my nipples in one go. *My snort is loud as I laugh again, entirely unable to keep a straight face at the idea.* 

I also promise to give you any and all honest feedback and I would be happy to be your guinea pig for anything else in the future. Unless it’s meant to dry me up like a prune in which case, no thank you! *While still holding the bottle in one hand, I reach for Betty, holding her in my arms as I consider Raine’s question to hang out.* I can do you one better than just getting together some time. Which, let's be honest here...people only say that to be polite and never actually plan to follow through. So, there’s a food truck that usually parks about a half block away, it’s amazing! Let me buy you lunch for this? 

*Giving the bottle a little wiggle, I let Betty down next to my feet and nodded firmly, not leaving her an opportunity to decline.* There are even a few scattered tables we can eat at. I will just take Betty back to my shop, lock up, and meet you out in the parking lot in a few. And then you can tell me all about the other kinds of concoctions you have made.

*Moving to the door, I twisted open the deadbolt I had locked earlier and opened it for Betty to walk through first.* See you in a few! *Giving a quick wave as I let the door close behind me, I grinned when I saw Raine nodding back at me, not that I had given her any choice to object.* Look at us making a new friend, Betty. And on the first day back at the shop.

[sluttyprincessinarizona]

Holy shit, alright.

So, first off, hi. I’ve been having a tough few days because of various reasons that I may or may not get into in this post. I’ve been bottling up all of my feelings for too long and writing things down has always been easier for me than talking about them. Basically, this is me spilling a lot of my secrets so I can get them out of my head. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you expected or wanted from me, please skip this if you’re not okay with a post like this. 

TW//: Talk of anxiety and depression, mental and emotion manipulation(?), mentions of death and suicide, and just dark shit in general. Proceed with a lot of caution.

Hello. My name is Malachi. That’s not my birth name but it is the name I choose to go by. I am a non-binary African American person that is trying their absolute best in the life I was given. Admittedly, I’m not fairing very well but I continue to try everyday.

I come from a fairly large family. 8 siblings in total, 1 on my moms side and 7 on my dads. My mom and dad never married, they broke up when I was five years old, and when my dad moved out, I stayed living with my mom. My mom is bipolar and manic depressant and my older sister, my moms daughter, was a spoiled brat until I was born. From very early on, my sister would constantly tell me that I ruined her life, that she wished I was never born, that she hated me, etc. Unfortunately for me, my mom wanted me and my sister to get along so I was always around her. She would read books to me and have me around all the time. Because of this, I’m pretty sure anyway, I grew up to be very gifted. I entered kindergarten a year early, and all of my school life felt easy. I was never challenged. Even the gifted classes I was out in were hardly anything to me. Now, I know this sounds like I’m bragging, but I take no pride in these words or my talents. I’ll tell you why later.

Growing up was surprisingly difficult for me. My mom was struggling to support both of us so we moved house a lot. We moved into our grandma’s house at one point. That was when it was the worst. My sister would constantly tell on me, but when I turned the tables on her, she’d beg me not to. She’d promise that she’d ever tell on me again, and then turned around and threw away said promise as soon as I let it go. I was the “problematic” child. My sister berated me constantly, telling me that I was bad at dancing and singing, which is still one of my passions to this day. It stuck with me. Everything does.

Fastforward to middle school. I had spent the last few years of my life with a less than agreeable sister and a difficult to approach mother. I’ll get into my father’s deal in a little bit. Elementary school hadn't been good either. I was at a higher level than lost of people, so I would occupy my free time with books. PE and outside activities never intrigued me as much as most kids, and so I was then deemed the class outcast all the way until about 7th grade. Up until 5th, I trusted others way too easily. Someone could walk up to me, tell me their name and say they wanted to be friends and within a week I'd be telling them all my secrets and family troubles. It was stupid really, but no one taught me any different. I was betrayed a lot, and everyone in our grade knew things about me that I'm embarrassed to admit. It was heartbreaking to 5th grade me. Why was everyone so mean?

I was always more of a tomboy, even as a child. The girls were too "girly" for me and the boys didn't converse with girls so I was, again, alone.

By the time I got to 6th grade, I had already adapted a system. Go to school, do well, read in your free time, go home. No friends, no acquaintances, nothing. It was how I kept my heart safe. And it worked for a while. Luckily, I moved schools when I came up with the system, so no one was too keen on approaching me in the first place. Then, 7th grade came around. And holy god, was it horrible. For some reason, I made a friend. Now, she was nice. Very nice. We bonded over Undertale, she was great. We're still friends to this day. But I kept her at arms length, cause I had just broken the system. That wasn't apart of the plan. Even worse, I made two more friends. And worse than that, I developed my first ever crush on someone. All of my plans were failing, my walls were crumbling. But when these walls fell, my heart grew weaker still, cause having friends isn't as great as it should be. Especially in middle school.

Our small group was riddled with mental illnesses, and we'd joke about wanting to die at least twice a day. It was how we coped, even though none of us made any effort to get better. It wasn't the best, but 8th grade was somehow worse.

Our group split right down the middle. Half of the group wanted nothing to do with the other half. And I was stuck in the middle. I liked everyone, they were all my friends. How could I possibly choose between them?

And then, as if things couldn't get worse, one of my closest friends in that group called me out. Apparently, I had become so dependent on them, on her, that I was becoming "too outgoing" and annoying, and she stopped responding to me. I had let her inside my walls and she still hurt me deeper than anyone else. I apologized profusely. I had gotten so used to not being a bother that losing her trust was one of my worst fears. It scarred me. I spent days sulking, just wanting to properly apologize to her. I wanted to hear from her, I needed to. Eventually she forgave me, but the damage had been done. That was when I had come up with a new idea. Another system. I didn't execute it, but the idea sprouted in the back of my mind.

8th grade was the year of my first panic attack. It was dumb, really. I woke up, got ready for school, and realized there was an assignment I forgot to do that was due later that day. I had had a perfect record. My homework was never late, and it terrified me to no end to think that my streak would end like that. I sat against the wall of my bedroom, covering my mouth and hoping that I was crying quietly, so I wouldn't wake my dad. No one to help me, no one to ground me. I was spiraling for too long. The only thing that snapped me out of it was myself. I had to go to school or I'd be late, that was how I got myself out of that darkness. Pathetic, I know.

High school was a different battle field in and of itself. Sophomore, Junior and Senior year were pretty good, so I'll only talk about Freshman year.

I was very scared of high school. All the middle school teachers said high school teachers were ruthless, mean and impatient. They kicked people out of class, out of the whole school. School had been easy but high school was different. The mere mention of it made me nervous. Oh yeah, I haven't mentioned it before, but I have pretty bad anxiety. It's primarily social anxiety, but it gets bad at the worst possible times. I think I might have depression but I'm too scared to bring it up with my therapist, so that'll probably stay unsolved.

Freshman year wasn't very bad. It wasn't worse than 8th grade at least. What really got me was the workload. Self discipline, time management, all the mature people things that I had to learn. It made my anxiety skyrocket. I would be finishing assignments during lunch, mere hours before they were due. I was a rightful mess, on all accounts.

I had a big fallout with my dad, and that just made all of my problems worse. I'll get into that another time, seeing as this post is already too long.

Finishing high school was a breeze compared to earlier years. I made a small group of friends, many of which are onto bigger adventures in life. I haven't started college yet, but I haven't talked about what it is that I really wanted to talk about. The thing that's really been on my mind.

I'm nobody. I'm not just a nobody. I'm nobody. I honestly don't know who I am. My entire life, I had forfeited finding myself in favor of catering to others. I relinquished my personal freedom to make others life easier. I listened to everything my parents told me to do. No question, no complaints. I bend and broke myself to make my sister happy. I gave her so much of myself that I didn't have any left for me, yet she's still not happy with me. My friends don't know who I am. My mind is constantly thinking, I'm constantly drowning in dark thoughts and harmful words but they don't know. I hide it from them, I hid everything from them. I told them not to worry about it. And eventually, they did. It hurt. It stung. But it was my fault entirely.

My dad called me a robot once. I followed orders with feeling or hesitance. He was right. My constant thought process is all of my responsibilities. All of the things I need to do for someone else. Taking a break is impossible. Mt family needs me to function properly so they can live freely and without regret. I can't do that.

I can't eat what I want without making my mom angry in some way. I can't say or do or buy or receive anything without getting into an argument with my sister about how I'm somehow the spoiled one. Hell, I take a nap for too long and my mom gets upset at me. My dad is another ball game all on his own, so I won't talk about him right now.

What I'm trying to say it that my life isn't mine. My life is spent caring for others. Listening to other people over myself.

I'm horrible at taking compliments. I brush them off, deny them, pretty much anything other than saying thank you. It's not that I'm not grateful. I'm just tired of them. I've been showered with praise all my life, but it's bittersweet when you're taken advantage of every day. Taken for granted endlessly. They start to fade together.

Generic, everyday praise infuriates me to the highest level. Don't you dare say that cookie cutter bullshit to me. You think I haven't heard "oh you're so smart" before?? You think I haven't heard "you're beautiful" before??? I understand that you're just trying to be nice, but fuck off with that run of the mill fuckery.

Compliment me

How about you say, thank you for trying so hard for us?

Or, I see you helping out. I appreciate it.

Or, god forbid, you cab relax for once, I can take care of it.

Because god knows that I need a fucking break sometimes!

Oh, take a day off? Unless you want to come over here and handle my 101 responsibilities for this day alone, I suggest you shut that shit up right now.

Telling to take it easy doesn't fix the fucking problem.

One thing I know I do have are some major anger issues. That's not easily solved. None of my problems are.

At this point, I feel like I am my problems. Without my anxiety and my anger, who am I?

Who would I be?

Would I be better? Worse? Who would I have become?

I don't want help because help would change me. Help would get rid of me.

Whoever that me may be.

[reeree1500]

The Return-Part 4

Okay y'all here's Part 4. OMG I cannot believe the amount of love that this story has gotten😍 it truly warms my heart, that an idea I had a while ago and have now just started writing has been loved by so many of you:) And with that lets get on to the storyyyy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @camatsuru @amy8220 @cutegyrl927 @cindy-exo @cainismyname @affection-rabbit @ragnarssonsbitch @mel0nch0ly @wuxiesalt

Disclaimer: My sucky ass writing as always:) Some slight insinuation of incest; Fluff (an attempt anyway);  And bad grammar and spelling (sorryyyy); Heart palpitations according to @yanii-the-hippie 😂 Hope you all enjoy☺️

Your POV

My head hurts so much that I feel as if I've just been hit by a carriage. The sounds of arguing around me do not help the situation at all.  So I try to not focus on the pain or the voices around me that won't subside and remember what happened. Images of Mira surface in my mind. Her corpse on the floor and the death rune carved into her back. My best friend and most trusted subject was killed because of me. I can't help but wince at the realization that I will never be rid of the death and chaos that I bring everywhere with me.

Fluttering my eyes open, my eyes wander looking for the source of those voices. As I begin to stand up from the very comfortable bed, I scan the room trying to find any trace of the people who were in here earlier. My eyes land on a pile of shirts neatly placed on the table. Walking towards them I come to notice that Im not in my dress anymore, but in what's seems to be a mans shirt. “Nice pair of legs you got there (y/n), wanna trade with me for a while?” At the sound of Ivars voice, I shriek and turn around whilst trying to pull down the shirt that is covering my body. “Ivar what the hell!” At the sound of my screaming Ivar just walks closer to me with a smirk gracing his perfect face. “W..what are you doing?!?!” His hands grasp onto mine and all I can do at that moment is stare back at him with my eyes and mouth open wide in shock. “You're gonna ruin my shirt if you continue to pull it down. Plus, you don't want me to see your breasts now do you?” At that, all the blood from my body rushes to my face. Turning me as red as an apple. 

Ivar grabs my face in his hands and his eyes scan over it. “I know we’ve just met. And its probably really wrong for me to feel what I‘m feeling, considering you're my sister. But, when you were unconscious it was probably the hardest thing I have gone through so far in my life. Not knowing if you would wake up was a nightmare that I could not wake up from.” Ivar says with an exasperated sigh. “Ivar....” I begin to say, but am soon interrupted by his lips placed on mine. I know I shouldn't reciprocate his feelings towards me or his kiss for that matter. But, the fact of the matter is that even in this short amount of time, this man has made feel things that I have not felt in my whole life. This man however is my brother and that is something that will not change. Soon the warmth of his soft and plump lips leave mine. Before I can say something about how inappropriate that was, Ivar is already walking towards the door. You know for a cripple he’s fairly fast. 

“You know (y/n) I’m so excited for what's in store in our future.” He says as he reaches the door. Rearing his head to where I still stand in utter shock of what just transpired seconds ago. “Especially, since we now share a room.” At that Ivar winks at me and leaves the room, with that smirk on his face. Once the door is closed my legs give out from underneath me. “Lord what have I just gotten myself into. It is wrong for me to have these sort of thoughts and feelings for my brother. Please give me the strength necessary in order to get through this.” As I look up and close my eyes I can only beg that he hears my prayer and somehow gives me the power to get through this. But knowing the almighty, something will happen.

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

As the weeks went on by, we had buried Mira the Christian way. Although nearly no one shared my beliefs, it felt nice to be able to have Mira been given the respect she deserved. People had brought flowers and different types of gifts to me in order show me their condolences. On the outside I had to be strong and show them that whoever did this had not gotten to me. However, my family knew all too well the toll it took on me. Especially Ivar, who would hold me at night and whisper sweet nothings into my ear when I had the recurring nightmare of that night. The raid that was supposed to occur after the festival was cancelled. I had expected many people to be upset at the fact that it was. But what I saw was a community come together for someone they did not know. And that is what I missed the most about Kattegat. The people. My people.

Ragnar, Bjorn, and Ubbe had decided to lead an investigation into who had murdered Mira. So far they had gotten a couple of leads, but nothing that would certainly pinpoint who the culprit was. In his worry my father had decided to teach me how to fight, so that I would be able to defend myself if it came down to it. He knew that this was a personal attack on me. And a personal attack on a son or daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok was an attack on him too. “Come on my beautiful sister, we have some more training to do.” I can hear Hvitserk say as he comes up from behind me. “Is that really necessary Hvitty? We trained yesterday!” On the weeks that went by I could say that Hvitty and I got really close. Closer than probably me and Ivar are. After the kiss with Ivar, I had tried to put as much distance between myself and him. What we had done was wrong and a sin. And I could not allow myself to give in to such temptations. 

However, that doesn't mean that Ivar still didn’t try to get closer to me. Every chance he got I var would hold my hand or hug me from behind. I knew that people where beginning to get the wrong idea, as I had caught Margrethe talking about how “close” we were for siblings. As soon as I heard that I began to make sure to only talk or look at Ivar if necessary. Waking me up from my thoughts Hvitserk takes my hand and leads me out of the hall. “Im coming. Im coming. Calm down!” I cannot help but contain my laugh at Hvitserk’s desire to want to train with me. Its probably the cutest thing I have ever seen. “You look like a child anxious to play with a brand new toy, Hvitty.” At that Hvitserk lets out a chuckle. “Only of you're the brand new toy and I get to play with you everyday.” he winks at me as he says this. “Come on you're distracting me, let’s get to work. Legs shoulder width apart and make sure you have good balance...” 

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

Bjorn POV

“We must have gotten somewhere by now! I want whoever is responsible dead!” my father screams at Ubbe and I. “Father, we've searched through and through, but there are no certain leads! Its a he said she said situation thus far!” Ubbe yells back at him. “Do not tell me what I already know, boy! I just cannot help but feel useless and like I am not able to protect my own. We all know that that was supposed to be your sister dead, not that poor girl.” at that he trails off. My father has lost way too much over the years. Many friends have come and gone. But the way we buried Mira, could only remind him of his best friend Athelstan. The Christian priest that changed his life (and mine believe it or not) for the better. He was murdered too, and that has always been a constant reminder to him of someone he could not save.

“What I think that we should be doing instead of arguing is perhaps, finding someone who is good at unmasking people. Since none of us can seem to find who it could be.” I tell them both, getting tired of their back and forth arguing. “And who would you suggest Bjorn. No one can know that (y/n) is here, besides the people of Kattegat. Our enemies will know how to get us. Hell one of them probably was behind this!” my father reciprocates. “I think we all know who I’m talking about. Im just wondering if you'll be able to reel in and control that bitch of yours, when she gets here. Since I’ve already sent word to her.” I bark back at my father. I don't know if its because im sick of him treating me as if ill never be good enough. Or because (y/n)’s life is on the line, but I had never found the courage to stand up to my father, until now. At my words my father becomes silent. It might the loads of ale Ive had today, but I swear that I can see what seems to be pride in his eyes. “How long?” “One day’s ride” It is then that my father shouts to the thralls...

“Prepare the great Hall! The Queen is coming home!” 

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

Your POV

As the hours went by and my training had somewhat gotten better, I pleaded with Hvitserk to do something else. “Okay!Okay! We’ll stop training! But what else do you want to do?” Hvitserk's says shielding his sword. “I don't know, back in Frankia Uncle Rollo used to take me to the lake and taught me how to swim. Is there a lake nearby?” At that Hvitserk looks at me like I‘ve grown horns and a huge smile breaks out. “Come on, let’s eat quickly and then I have somewhere I wanna take you!” Rushing towards me Hvitserk grabs my hand and we quickly run off towards the great hall. Once we both quickly swallow our food, we head to the stables. There we find non other than Ivar in what seems to be him being pleasured by a thrall. 

“Oh, Im so sorry. We didn't mean to intrude.” I say whilst quickly turning around. “Awww you're so cute (y/n), you’ve never seen or been pleasured before?!?!? Is that why you're as red as a tomato right now?” Hvitserk chuckles at me while trying to pry my hands away from my face. “Shut upppp!! Hvitty, get the horse and lets goooo!!” I chuckle nervously at him. “Its ok (y/n), you should take notes from Margrethe here. Who knows you might have to use them some day.” Ivar manages to say through his... compromising position. “Well Ivar, (y/n) and I are gonna go on a little adventure. Don't wait up...” At that Hvitserk grabs the reins on the horse and passes them on to me. “You know how to ride (y/n)?.” “Of course, Hvitty. Its literally my favourite thing to do.” “I’m glad to hear that. Now lets go!” And with that Hvitserk and I were off to God knows where. But one thing I knew for sure was that if Hvitserk was involved, we were sure to have a good time.

Bjorn POV

Soon the day had gone by and it was just a matter of time before my mother was here. You could hear a pin drop in the great hall. The anxiousness that lingered in the air was so thick that you could probably cut it with a knife. My father could not stop bouncing his leg, some thing he did when he too was nervous or didn't know the outcome of certain events. My head quickly towards the doors when I heard the neighing and hooves of the horses. At that we all stood up and thats when both Ubbe and I noticed we were missing certain people. “Ivar, where's (y/n) and Hvitserk? They're supposed to be here or did you not tell them that we would have company tonight?” I whisper at him trying to not get noticed by father or Aslaug. “Probably fucking somewhere. You know they've gotten pretty close these past few weeks I wouldn't put it past them.” At that I just look at him shocked. “Are you sure it’s just him Ivar? Don't act like I haven’t caught you staring at our sister when she's taking bath or when she's walking around the market.”  Sigurd chimes in. “Whatever we will resume this conversation after this. But send someone to get those two here. NOW!” 

When I turn back I am able to see my father already walking towards the door with the family behind him. Making my way outside I catch a glimpse of my mother on horseback. The most beautiful woman to grace the earth and the most skilled in combat. She taught me everything I know and for that I could never thank her enough. Behind me came up my wife Torvi, I smile down at her and hold her hand. She knows that I will do anything for my family, especially my mother and sister. And I will protect them at any cost. As my mother gets down from her horse I immediately go towards her and give her a hug. “You know that surprise I told you about in the letter. Well, I have an even better one now.” I say whilst chuckling in her ear. “My son, how many times do I need to tell you that Im not so easily surprised.” She laughs back at me. You don’t know what's in store mother...

After much due catching up with my mother. It’s time to get down to business. Father fills mother in about the fact that there has been a murder the night go the spring festival. My mother begins to ask questions on how we've conducted the investigation, to which Ubbe fills her in. I cant seem to pry my eyes away from the doors. Hoping that my sister and brother walk into the hall safely. It’s been hours and no one has heard or seen of them. “Bjorn, are you okay? You're not really focused on the matter at hand?” Torvi says while placing her hand on my knee. “Yeah...Yeah, Im fine just a little anxious thats all.” At that she leaves it alone. It is then that we hear some jugs fall over and loads of laughter. “Hvitty get upppp. Everyone is gonna knowwww....” I can hear the slurs of my younger sister.  “Pfttt.. Like they careeee, were just having some funnnn....” Great these two are drunk of their asses and dropping shit everywhere. It is then that they both enter the hall. (Y/n) is carrying Hvitserk, in what seems to be a futile attempt to act normal. But when her eyes land on the blonde graying hair of our mother she drops Hvitserk and immediately you can see that she sobers up. 

“Mama...”

At that my mother stops talking. And her eyes begin to well up with tears. “No. it cannot be. It’s the gods playing tricks on me.” My mother says whilst looking down, refusing to turn around. My father gets up from his chair and kneels beside my mother. “It is true. She is here, come with me. I promise you she will not be taken from you again.” My father’s voice cracks at the end. As I truant where my sister stands I can see the pan and suffering coursing through her body. Her eyes show a small child that was ripped from her safe place and placed in an evil and hungry world, that only wanted to make her suffer. As my mother and father stand up I catch a glimpse of Aslaug and her stone cold face. That is filled with rage and what seems to be a predatory glare towards my sister. Trying to put it to rest and not say anything, I turn towards my parents. My father holds may mother in his arms as to keep her from falling over. “ My baby girl. Tell me that this was not dream that Ive had for the past 6 years and that you're actually here with me.” My mother manages to say through her tears. But,(y/n) is barely able to get anything out through her sobs. All she does is run to where my mother and father stand and embraces them. At that they all fall to the floor in their embrace. Hvitserk is now standing beside me. Watching, with the rest of us the reunion of a mother with her child. In my daze of being focused on my parents and sister reuniting I fail to realize that both Torvi and Aslaug are missing......

Aslaug POV

“She should have been dead!!! What part of kill the insolent bastard child do you not understand!” I scream at Torvi. “You did not tell me that she was the daughter of Ragnar and Lagertha. Much less Bjorn's sister!” I had ordered Torvi to kill (y/n) so that what I had done that night many years ago, would not come back to haunt me or my family. I did this in order to protect them. That insolent child will only bring death with her. The death of our gods. And that is something I will not allow. I had faked to not have known about her existence all that time ago, but I cannot put past me the prophecy that was foretold by the volva. I will do anything in my power to make sure that she gets nowhere near my sons. For I rather die then see an era were Vikings and Christians alike are one people.... “When Helga and Floki get to the dock. Report back to me immediately and tell Floki that he has an unfinished job from 6 years ago.” As I stare at my husband and his so called “family” I cannot help, but get a bad feeling about this. 

That Christian child will pay for coming between my family....

[apriorisea]

BTS Imagine Series: Safety First, Pt 6

Yoongi x You

You’d made yourself leave the house again, committing to getting your grocery shopping done even though nothing sounded remotely appealing. Halfway home, you feel your phone go off in your back pocket; you’d purposefully kept it on silent, tucked away, so you wouldn’t have to see every time the others texted/called you. So you wouldn’t have to see that he hadn’t texted or called you.     The day had passed so slowly, but you prided yourself on the fact that you hadn’t cried yet. The thought sparks a million more, and you have to take a very careful breath as it swarms you: I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.     You park, get out of the car, and gather up your groceries, all while your phone buzzes away in your pocket. A part of you is dying to look at it; the others hadn’t updated you on Yoongi’s state today, and the worry you kept trying to push down was gnawing away at your peace of mind. Stop.     As you draw close to your floor, you realize that it’s packed with people. Your natural anxiety kicks in, and all the ‘on-the-job’ training you’d gotten from a year+ of dating Yoongi makes you freeze, preparing to drop everything and run.     Before you can do anything, you hear your name and see Hoseok’s face behind the sea of scary-looking men dressed in black. “...Hobi?”    He pushes through the security team---because now that you’re not panicking, you can clearly see that’s who they are---and wraps you in a hug. “Why didn’t you answer your phone??” he demands.     You’re taken aback by his intensity. “It was in my pocket,” you say, inhaling sharply in surprise when your shopping bags are taken from you by the security team. “I haven’t...I haven’t really been looking at it.” He’s hugging you tightly. “What’s wrong?”     “Kyepichui.” You hear Namjoon before you see him, but he soon strides into view. He offers a nervous smile. “Let’s get you inside.”     You pull back from Hoseok’s hug and look at him. “What’s happened?” Your heart sinks. “Yoongi---” you inhale. “Is he--is he okay??”     Namjoon grabs your hand, tugging you carefully towards your apartment. You’re surprised to see your door already standing open, a few security members already inside. Your mind is bursting with questions, but you allow Namjoon to guide you inside; as soon as you’re settled on the couch between him and Hoseok, the security team closes the door, locks it, and then stands guard on either side.     “Guys,” you say quietly, your entire body sagging with anxiety. “What is going on?”     “Over the past 3 weeks, we have received threats.” The security team leader stands directly across from you, hands clasped in front of him rigidly. “The intensity of which increased recently.” You feel Hoseok reach out for your hand as he keeps talking: multiple posts on Instagram/Twitter/fansites, all of them threatening your safety, demonstrating knowledge of your schedule and possibly even your address. You feel your stomach clench tighter by the second, and as the team leader goes on to detail the exact wording of some of the threats, you feel your mind slipping away. Yoongi was right.     “Hey.” You feel Hoseok shake your hand a little. “You okay?”     “Everything’s going to be fine,” Namjoon says quickly. “They’re already close to resolving it, we just came by to make sure you were okay until then.”     The team leader murmurs something to his teammate, then clears his throat. “We’ve got to go,” he says, looking at Namjoon and Hoseok.     You feel a sense of relief. “Protocol?” you ask, waiting until he nods before looking back at the others. “So someone is with him?”     “Yes,” Namjoon is getting slowly to his feet. “And someone will be with you.”     At Hoseok’s silent insistence, you look over at him. “And you guys need to go.”     “I think it would be fine if I stayed,” Hoseok tries. “There would still be security here, and---” He meets Namjoon’s eyes and falters. Sighing, he leans over and kisses the side of your head and then gets to his feet. “I’m really glad you’re okay. Stay here and try not to worry too much, okay?” He waves his phone at you. “We’ll be in constant contact.”     You nod. “Is....is he still at the company?” you ask, reaching for your own phone, and starting to scroll through the missed calls and texts.     “Yes. With his own bodyguard,” the team leader says, clearly getting antsy.      You try to answer, but before you can, you see his name listed amongst your missed calls. The guilt bubbles up immediately, and you barely have enough wherewithal to smile faintly up at Namjoon, Hoseok, and the majority of the team as they leave.     The man left behind---your usual personal security member---eyes your phone. “We want to keep the lines clear for official communication.”     You look at him vaguely. “Even my personal phone?”     He gives you a kind smile. “Just for now.”     “....can I text Y---people?” You can’t forget his name listed next to the big bold letters MISSED CALL. He’d tried to call me, and I didn’t answer. He must be.....     “Yes,” the bodyguard answers. He’s standing awkwardly in your living room, waiting for something.     You pull up your message conversation with Yoongi and glance up at the other man. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?” You realize the others had put your groceries on the table. “I just got some apples, chips, and salsa, if you’re hungry.”     He smiles gratefully. “I’m okay.”     “Feel free to sit,” you add. “You can turn on the TV, grab a book, whatever...you know the WiFi password.”     “Thanks.” He wanders over to check the door, then goes to the kitchen and pulls out a chair. “Do you want me to put these away?”     “Oh, you don’t have to, I---”     “It’s all right.” He’s already un-bagging the things, his familiarity with your apartment allowing him to put things away easily. You know he’s trying to give you some privacy, and for that, you’re grateful.     I’m okay. It’s the first thing you type into the text, the first thing you know he would want to see. I’m not alone, the door is locked, I’m safe. I’m so sorry.     You’re not sure what else to say, so you send that and chew on your lip, staring at your phone, waiting for a reply. After a few minutes, you realize the sounds in the kitchen have gone silent. You look up to find him looking at you.     He smiles faintly. “Things are going to be a little crazy right now,” he says mildly. “Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from them for a while.”     You know he’s probably just trying to make you feel better, but you nod anyways. “Right.” You study him for a second. The two of you knew each other fairly well; he’d been assigned to you since the start, and you’d spend plenty of time around each other in everyday life and critical situations. You trusted him. “What’s the risk level to them?”     He sits down. “Low.” He meets your eyes honestly. “The threats that were received were very specific.”     “As in, they only mentioned me?”     “Yes.” He’s watching you, trying to gauge how you’re taking it. “But the protocol is put in place for that slim margin of possibility.”     You take a small breath. “I--I know.” Glancing back down at your phone, you stare at the non-existent text message. “....Do you know why I wasn’t told?”     He sighs heavily. “I don’t know for sure, but I think he---they---didn’t want to worry you.”     There’s nothing to worry about! You hear yourself saying to Yoongi. You’re being dramatic. Over-protective. The pit in your stomach aches. I’m sorry. “Right,” you say again. There’s a moment of silence, then you turn on the TV and extend the remote towards him. “Do you have a preference?” He shakes his head, so you turn on a rerun of a game show and exchange the remote for your phone: still no message.     “I think this will be handled quickly,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “Everything will be back to normal soon.”     You stare at your phone screen. Normal, you think. I miss him.

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It’s been years since he’d gotten the news.     He glances blearily at his watch: it had only been a few hours. He reaches for his phone, which is difficult given how much his hands are shaking. When he finally manages to get it, he opens up his messages, and stares at it: I’m okay. I’m not alone, the door is locked, I’m safe. I’m so sorry.     A part of his mind starts screaming for you, but as he peers at the message through his swollen eyes, he shakes his head again. “No.” It can’t be real. She hates you right now. You’re making things up. He reads the text again, and he wants it to be real so badly that it’s hard to breathe.     But once again, he talks himself down. You’re exhausted, his mind whispers. You’ve been seeing things. It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s not real.     He drops his phone back to the desk and sinks back in his seat, his vision going blurry as he sits there. Please be safe, please be safe, please be safe....

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It’s a couple hours before you hear back from anyone, and then, as the text messages roll in, you feel the anxiety swallow you up when it’s not him.     JIMIN: u ok? everything is ok. hopefully i can come see u soon     JIN: Hang in there. Maybe we should do pizza tonight when we’re free??     Still no response from Yoongi.     HOSEOK: I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. Are you mad?     NAMJOON: I just spoke with the team leader--we’re close     TAEHYUNG: <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3     JUNGKOOK: Yoongi’s fine.     JUNGKOOK: I mean, he’s SAFE. He’s still not fine*     92 minutes past that, you get the all-clear. “The suspects were apprehended,” your bodyguard says, smiling at your clearly relieved expression. “Protocol has been lifted.” He glances at his phone. “The boys are all headed back to the company for a briefing.”     “That’s...that’s really good,” you manage. “Do I need to---?”     He shakes his head. “The local police are going to keep an eye on your house for the next few days, we have scheduled continuous drivebys, but everything should be back to normal now. I can stay for a while if you want---?”     “No.” You smile at his expression; you both knew that you didn’t want him here any longer than he had to be. “Thank you,” you add, reaching out to squeeze his forearm.     “I’ll keep you updated,” he promises, then pulls on his shoes, and with a final smile, leaves.     There’s still no reply from Yoongi.     You stay on your feet, pacing nervously as you type a group message: Glad everyone is safe. I texted Yoongi and haven’t heard back. Can someone please check on him and let me know?     JUNGKOOK: We are glad YOU are safe. Can we come by and visit after our meeting?     JIMIN: YES, we will check on him. don’t worry <3     JIN: We’re not back yet. As soon as we see him, we’ll tell you.     You take a small breath, but your apartment feels stifled somehow. Wrapping your arms across your stomach, you try to isolate the cause.     “You knew,” you whisper. “You knew there was something wrong. Why didn’t you just tell me?” Feeling your heart ache, you realize that even though you’re still a little angry, you’re mostly just guilt-ridden. I’m so sorry. You look at your phone again. “Please just text me back.”     You force yourself to sit down, changing the channel on the TV to something more interesting, and promise yourself that you won’t check your phone again until the next commercial break.     45 minutes pass and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.     You text the group again: Guys??     16 minutes later, you jump out of your skin as your phone starts buzzing. You nearly drop it in your attempt to look at the screen: your heart starts racing as you see Jimin’s contact. “Hello?”     “I need you not to panic,” he says immediately, and your world starts spinning. “We can’t find Yoongi right now.”     “What?” You get to your feet abruptly, your anxiety thundering out of control. “What do you mean you can’t find him?”     He releases a tiny breath and his own worry bleeds through. “He was with us for the meeting, and then at some point he slipped out and now we can’t find him and he’s not answering his phone.”     “Why didn’t you text me as soon as you saw him?” It comes out more accusatory than you meant.     “He....He didn’t look very good. We didn’t want to worry you until we were able to get him---”     “What do you mean he didn’t look very good?”     There’s a commotion and suddenly Jin’s voice is filtering through the speaker: “He’s exhausted, dehydrated, hasn’t eaten much, and the stress has obviously gotten to him. He looks like a zombie.”     For the first time in 24 hours, the tears crawl back up your throat. “He’s...he....Jin, where is he?”     “We’re not sure, but we’re going to find him.” Jin manages to sound calm, even though you know he is panicking. “Some are checking the whole company building, some of us are headed back to the dorm, some are checking out his apartment. We’re going to find him.”     “I’m calling him,” you say shortly. “Please tell me immediately if you find him.”     “He’s okay, you---”     You don’t hear the rest of Jin’s explanation. He hasn’t slept. You feel like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t had enough water. He’s not taking care of himself, he’s stumbling around like a zombie. You dial his number and hold the phone to your ear. He could be anywhere. “Please answer, please answer, please answer.”     It rings and rings and rings. You hang up, and then try again immediately. “Answer your---” You freeze suddenly at the sound of a familiar ringtone. You pull the phone away from your ear and listen as hard as you can and---there it was again.     Two weeks into your relationship, he had insisted on changing your ringtone to something special, “so I’ll know when to answer the phone.” You’d teased him at first, but he’d been so sincere that you’d finally taken his phone from him, browsing through the ringtone selection faux-seriously.     You picked the worst one---the most obnoxious, jarring one on the whole list---and called his number right away, giggling at his irritated expression. But just to get back at you, he’d kept that stupid ringtone, the one with the robotic-sounding horns and annoying beeping.     The one you can hear in the hallway right now.