#i will try my utmost to poke you privately about it

[rosietrace]

〈 アイドル! 〉 Track 07 — Interview-ready

〈 天才的なアイドル様!! 〉

「↺ 概要 ↻」— 「 ↺ Overview/Synopsis! ↻ 」

❐ With the idol scene on the rise, Night Raven Entertainment found it opportunistic to promote their new and improved idol group; (Co)-Connect! Though the group has a lot to go about, the members are still in need of dire improvement before they can truly shine alongside their peers.

Fortunately, NRE found the perfect mentor for the job; The ex member of Poisoner — and long-time solo sensation — Shōri.

[ Apologies for any out of character moments ]

[ Reblogs > Likes ]

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

“So, Ellis, what do you like to do to pass the time? Y'know, aside from being a part of a talented idol group with a voice like an angel!”

Ellis put on her best smile, putting what she'd learned to the test.

“Well, I quite like to make my own fashion designs,” she stated, projecting all her sincerity into her talking point. “I've been meaning to submit them so we can wear some of them for our stage outfits.”

Yuuta smirked, poking her cheek. “That'd be nice if you actually did do that.”

She sent him a playful scowl, pushing him away and continuing to answer each of the ‘softball’ questions thrown at her.

Their interviewer, Monica, proved to at least be nicer than their previous talk show hosts.

Juvia shifted in her seat once Monica turned to her, fully expecting a question thrown her way.

“Juvia, we've heard there have been rumors surrounding the relationship between you and Deuce Spade of Hearts & Roses,” and there it was. “What do you have to say about that?”

“There isn't much to say,” Juvia shook her head, with Yuuta quickly wrapping an arm around her to come to her (technical) defense.

“We hardly pay attention to any rumors nowadays,” he sent Miren a brief wink. “Unless you include rumors of me and my fellow male colleague.”

Miren scowled, but not so much as to not make it seem like he was genuinely annoyed.

“Whatcha lookin' at?” Yuuta asked softly, his eyes only on Miren.

Miren huffed, slightly endeared, and slightly annoyed. “Nothing.”

Monica chuckled. “Well, there's certainly a lot of commotion going on in X, regarding a certain multilingual green owl.”

Chizuko snorted. “It's a hassle, let me tell you,” for the most part, Chizuko remained quiet for most of the interview, only ever saying anything that she could comment about.

“I can agree with you on that,” Miren rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “Then again, it's mostly Yuuta that initiates most of the drama.”

Yuuta rolled his eyes playfully, shrugging his shoulders and not bothering to deny a thing.

“Yes,” Carol nodded, sighing a bit with a tired smile. “We try to steer clear of any unnecessary commotion, but alas…”

She shrugged, erupting soft laughter out of Monica.

“On the topic of commotion,” Monica continued, “I'm guessing it's also quite a hassle concerning the number of scandals you're caught in, yes?”

“I say don't pay much attention to those scandals,” Carol could've been convincing enough, had it not been for the slight flush on her cheeks.

“Yeah,” Yuuta drawled. “Rumors and scandals like that only go so far as to try and hurt the individual that's targeted.”

“You seem quite familiar with that,” Monica tilted her head.

“I guess,” Yuuta shrugged. The key to a conversation in a sit-down interview is to make it seem like a casual conversation between friends — and despite his amusement at how ridiculous that was, Yuuta seemed to be the best when it comes to answering interview questions.

“Many have been wondering over that single person you've been following,” Monica leaned against her desk, intently locking her eyes with Yuuta. “A girlfriend?”

“A friend who is a girl, yes,” Yuuta chuckled. “But, just like everyone else in (Co)-Connect, I'd prefer keeping things private.”

Monica giggled. “You're protective of them?”

“Yes,” he raised his chin, an expression adorned with utmost confidence.

“A protective brother figure, it seems,” turning her head to Juvia and Ellis, Monica asked: “How do you feel about that? The protectiveness of your colleague, I mean.”

Juvia chuckled a bit, a hand over Ellis' to hide her own nervousness. “Yuuta's confidence in everything he says is something that I think all of us admire,” she said. “And as for his protectiveness, I don't really mind it.”

Ellis snorted. “Me and Yuuta have that in common, I guess.”

“And what would that be?”

Ellis let Monica's question hang in the air for a second, and only a second.

“If you try to mess with (Co)-Connect,” Ellis smiled, leaning against the couch with crossed legs and arms. “You'll have to go through us first.”

She and Yuuta gave each other a high-five, which made everyone on the set chuckle in endearment.

•↻°─────────°↺•

Behind the scenes, Victoria hummed, impressed.

Keres tilted their head. “Well,” they turned to Victoria. “What do you think?”

“They're doing well,” Victoria supposed. “A little more improvement, and they'll be more than interview-ready.”

Noriko shrugged, leaning against the studio door frame. “They could use more work.”

Ignoring what Noriko said, Keres smiled a bit. “I'm glad.”

Victoria smiled back at them. “And I, as well.”

Silence surrounded them as the minutes passed by, but Victoria found a good conversational icebreaker to, well, break the silence.

“Have you and Nori gotten anything on ‘Mayuu’?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Keres hummed, checking their clipboard. “We couldn't find much,” they let out a breath. “Mr. Crowley's surprisingly thorough in keeping things inaccessible.”

Victoria cursed under her breath. “I see,” she scoffed, silently cursing at Crowley. “What did you find?”

“All we could find was that Maria Clara — aka, ‘Mayuu’ — has been publicly managing (Co)-Connect for the past several months, before going radio silent a month or two before the debut of Yuuta's solo album.”

Victoria mumbled a ‘Huh’. “Peculiar,” she whispered.

She gave Keres a firm nod, as thanks. “Thank you, Keres.”

Keres nodded back, smiling somewhat awkwardly. “Anytime, Vic.”

Walking further down the halls of the studio, Victoria looked at Noriko.

“I need more information on Mayuu.”

“We'll do whatever we can to assist you, my lady.”

“It just doesn't add up, don't you think? She's been publicly managing the group for months, and then suddenly going silent.”

“It is unusual, yes.”

Victoria sighed. “Well, whatever the reason, we'll figure it out.”

Noriko nodded in agreement, then heard the buzzing sound of their notification. Checking their phone, they hummed nonchalantly.

“It's time to head out.”

Victoria's face contorted into slight surprise. “This soon, already?”

“Apparently,” they shrugged, “Freyah’s written a couple of songs for you and your ‘students’.”

Victoria hummed. “Interesting…”

“I'm sure it'll work out. It always does.”

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

〈 New Years Send-off! 〉

↳ The only thing that hasn't been proofread /hj

Hello everyone! Rosie here, and thank you for reading the last track of this season of ‘The show must go on’! Otherwise known as the rewritten version of; ‘Melodic Misconceptions’!

Thank you so much for all the ongoing support throughout the time I've been on Tumblr, and to my moots; You're all awesome! I love you guys so much, it's unbearable /j /j

As much as I loved the original version of MM, it was in desperate need of a rewrite with all the weird plotlines and… x reader fanfiction 😨😨

So, I'm really proud with how this rewrite is going, so far! And hopefully it'll continue to be like this moving forward!

To the members of Coconut: Thank you so SO much for being there for me when I needed it most. You guys are all so talented and SO amazing, I probably wouldn't have continued posting on Tumblr or making my own stories in general without the motivation you guys give me!

I hope you guys have an amazing year in 2024, have a great time, and Happy New Year!

Sincerely,

— Rosie 🌹

•↻°─────────°↺•

〈 Taglist 〉

(Co)-Connect

@starry-night-rose || @jasdiary || @authoruio || @nem0-nee || @fumikomiyasaki || @sakuramidnight15

Others

@geminiiviolets || @terrovaniadorm / @hallowed-delights || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @abyss-wonderer || @twsted-princess

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

[habibialkaysani]

because I haven’t seen a whole lot of discussion on this so far...

…we kind of really need to talk about zari attempting suicide twice in one episode (first with the gun when sara manages to stop her, and then with the bomb when she is convinced she will actually die and won’t come back and then she finds out it’s all a ruse from gideon).

I bring this up for two principal reasons. first, because mental health issues have never been addressed on the show in a sensitive way (take nate referring to kuasa as a “psycho water witch” and amaya comparing her to a gorilla - which has racial undertones too, btw - or nate telling mick that self-harm is “completely insane”, and those are just from season three). it’s unlikely zari will talk about her suicide attempts to anyone on the team, even though sara can relate, having taken the tibetan pit viper venom when she was on arrow to save her family. 

my second reason is that zari is canonically muslim. aside from zari’s family, the only other person who you could say was muslim across the flarrowverse (please do correct me if I’m mistaken) is an unnamed assassin who appears in 2x13 of arrow, who says part of the shahadah (which is the islamic declaration of faith) before he kills himself with poison to avoid giving information to sara, oliver and quentin.

I hope you see where I’m going with this. I’m uncomfortable with seeing a muslim character trying to kill herself for the greater good (in some way). I don’t like that, intentionally or not, that is the default for the paltry number of canonical muslims in flarrowverse (and don’t even get me started on the league of assassins and the way error casually borrowed actual islamic prayers to accompany gross acts of violence and to be the backdrop of an organisation of literal killers), to either attempt or commit suicide in such a way. and if I need to spell it out for anyone, yes, this made me as a muslim highly uncomfortable because people already think “muslim” is synonymous with “terrorist” and “suicide bomber”, and so seeing a canonically muslim character think she’s about to face death by bomb is just not okay with me.

and, okay, maybe the assassin’s suicide isn’t comparable to zari’s. the assassin would rather die than give up intel to team arrow. zari, meanwhile, carries that bomb to part of the waverider to save the others from the blast. put simply, the assassin is an antagonist and zari is a protagonist. the assassin is the coward. zari is a hero.

but I don’t understand why zari needed to do this to be a hero in the first place. she’s shown to have a knack with kids, and she’s helped the team on missions that have meant saving a lot of people - a whole city, at one point. why did she have to be subject to this kind of psychological torture (and before anyone tells me I’m exaggerating, zari relived that hour so many times she knew what everyone was saying by heart and also tried to kill herself. twice) by an ai who doesn’t trust her for reasons unknown? (like come on. mick has betrayed the team a couple of times now. rip has been full on brainwashed and gideon still listened to him, jeopardising the team’s safety. and look, I have friends who like rip and friends who like mick, so to be clear, I’m not trying to hate on either of them, but you have to at least see what they have in common - white, male, not of a religious minority. compare that to zari who is a persian muslim woman of colour. hmm. qwhite interesting, right?) it’s like gideon made her go through some sort of sick initiation to be considered more than an acquaintance and a “proper” member of the team. and I get that gideon isn’t really a person. but again, when you compare how zari is treated with the white men on the show, it says a lot.

and this isn’t about intention. I don’t care if @marcguggenheim didn’t mean to offend because it makes no difference to the actual offence caused. but when I heard a muslim character would be introduced to the flarrowverse, while I was obviously happy, I was also apprehensive. I now see that I was right to be.

okay so to be clear, my intention with this post is not to piss in anyone’s cornflakes, or rain on anyone’s parade. I don’t want to guilt anyone for not seeing this, because even for me as a muslim it didn’t click immediately. it was only really on reflection, having taken the time to digest the episode and try to put my finger on why something was off about it, that I realised the terrible connotations of the episode. that’s not to say that zari didn’t have some good moments that were lighthearted and funny, or that she didn’t grow as a character in this episode. but I don’t like that she needed to prove herself, so to speak, and I like even less the fact that she felt the only way to do that was to end her own life.

[yushox]

WINGS

Quackity wakes up one day with this horrible itchy feeling on his back, with something liquidy running down the already sticky feeling skin.

The feeling is horrible and alarming.

Looking at his bed he nearly empties his stomach, instantly recognizing the liquids of a bad infection, also most of his feathers have fallen off in his sleep.

Panic sets in quickly and he is quick to grab his phone. Racking through his brain why he grabbed it.

Finally he remembers a private little comment, a promise from certain someone.

He punches in the number, hoping it still will work.

A couple of rings pass by.

"Hey Q, didn't think you would ever call me-"

"I don't have time for chitchat, do you still have the Las Nevadas chip I gave you and told you to never show it to anyone?"

"Yeah man, you sound sick.."

"Well, yeah, I am... really really sick. I need help with something. And I would only trust another winged person with something like this."

"Don't tell me you're in he-"

"I'm not, I'm actually genuinely ill... please use that chip as proof that you can visit and get one of my people to escort you to my room... please hurry, I'm panicking really bad right now."

"Okay man, I'll see you in about half an hour away, im pretty far away right now so please try to be patient.. I'll help you."

"Thank you..." he hangs up, he never thought he would ever let that person in his country. But he'd rather avoid seeking out Philza if he can avoid it.

His phone pings "I sent Tommy your way, he's closer and has better knowledge about medical stuff, don't worry, he's winged too. I'll hurry as fast as I physically can, but right now I am held back by a pretty big herd so I had to send tom."

"Okay. okay... does he know... about my past, about what you know?" he asks.

"Filling him in as we speak. Apparently he's experienced something bad with wings too, so he can comfort you and will understand you.... oh.. it involves dream, its always dream huh... fuck, cant talk anymore!.. see you in a little bit!"

The response comforts him. Inadvertently his hate towards Dream increases just at the implications that the mad did something to Tommy's wings.

Someone knocks "Sir, Saint Tommy is visiting."

"Let him in.." and Tommy walks in with a medical bag and everything "why do you look like you saw a ghost and were on the run?"

"Doesn't matter, but I will say that you have really good defenses. Also "Saint Tommy"? Really?"

Smiling he continues the conversation as the young adult gets his medical stuff ready "Thanks. Also yeah, felt like you needed a good title to be known by in my lands. Didn't want to use something like sir or someshit, saint seemed cooler."

"Cool, lets go to the bathroom and let the cleaners change your sheets." the younger speaks seriously.

"Okay doc," he stands and goes to the bathroom while Tommy instructs the cleaners on how to clean up the bed properly.

Soon Tommy walks into the room as well and gets the nearby stool "Take off your shirt and sit down, I need to see how bad the infection is."

He does as told and hisses at the little pokes at his wings "When did you become a doctor? Do you even have any certificates?"

"Big Q, I can't even read in the first place, what certification do you think I could ever get. Nah, I just forced Techno, Phil and Wilbur to read me biology and medical books instead of fairy tales as bedtime stories. I was obsessed with that shit. I've practiced alot of stuff on animals and myself alot. treating you will definitely be a breeze." the blonde laughs.

Tommy stops poking "Looks like a regular old dead limb necrosis, it's surprising it hasn't gone to this stage sooner. But you were smart about calling for help. Any longer and it would be a certain death. I'll just have to cut out the rotting parts... I have a bad feeling that your preening glands are also going to have to be removed. I'm unsure. All I need is your utmost consent to do these procedures."

"Erm, I assume bedrest..?"

"Nahh, I'll wash and desinfect the wounds at the end and then hold them close while drenching them with some regen. I don't want you to be forced to sleep on your stomach for days on end, besides I'm sure neither of us can afford to be on bedrest anyways."

For a few seconds it's silent as he thinks.

"You don't have to tell me anything Tom... but, can I see what that bastard did to your wings?"

"Oh, no I'm fine telling you. He kinda ripped them out along with the muscles and everything. Didn't clean the wounds just dumped alot of regen into them and left. I barely managed making a good enough antibiotic, had to rely on natural ingredients too. But my back has been fucked up ever since in all kinds of ways. There's more, way more than just that, but I want to talk to Wilbur about everything first."

"Fucking hell man... yeah, ofcourse, as long as you trust Will I won't stop you, just be careful."

"Ofcourse, anyways lets start the procedure. This will certainly hurt alot, but you are strong enough so."

---

After it's all said and done, Tommy helps Quackity go back to the bed. The younger walks out of the door and a much olde man walks in "Hey Q..."

"Hey asshole.."

They smile to eachother painfully, for once not finding it in them to yell and argue. The silence is comforting and familiar.

Q looks at the feathers collected and put into a box by his cleaners per Tommys instructions.

He picks one out, fading love pheromones still clinging to it.

Without a single word spoken he hands it to Wilbur. He will never say those words out loud again, not wanting to jinx it after getting his heart broken so many times.

Wilbur accepts the feather and pulls his only wing out, carefully preening the gifted feather into his own feathers. He silently pulls out a love feather of his own and sits besides Q.

"I don't have wings dumbass..."

He just chuckles and gently preens his feather into the shorter mans hair.

Quackity stares into Wilburs eyes, their faces coming close to one another.

And Quackity is the one who breaks the distance, crashing his lips into Wilburs.

Wilbur easily lets it happen, falling backwards and letting the other get on top. He notices the worried question in the charcoal haired mans eye "You're not Sally Q. You can never compare to her... I trust you."

Q smiles and puts his lips against Wilburs once more.

Together they create the true colors of Las Nevadas.

Wilbur raises his hand and slowly, carefully touches Quackitys scars, both of them discovering that the mans preening glands are still intact by the sudden bite into Wilburs neck.

Neither talk through the night, but they certainly will not forget the warmth they shared.

---

Days later Quackity walks into a important meeting, Wilburs feather proudly displayed in his hair.

Someone asks if he and Wilbur are an item.

"No" is his only answer. But in private, his heart, while still shattered and bleeding, has found it's final home.

[shadyteacup]

Hi I’m back (I’m the person who asked about Ranpo and Poe),, so what about both of them with a s/o who has a habit of flattery and/or complementing people too much!! Hewdcannons if you don’t mind! Thank you so much, have a nice day!!!

Hey there!

I'm still working on Poe's half of the request, but I was done with Ranpo's part, and I couldn't help but posting it... I'm impatient af 😛

Here they are! I really hope you like em... this is my first time writing hcs, so I might have been too sloppy.. also I kinda wrote a lil too much...😖

The Sweetest Candy

Ranpo x s/o that has a habit of complementing others

• If you compliment and flatter the people you love a lot, then you two are probably made for each other.

• All that ranpo wants is someone to praise him. Or atleast thats what everyone thinks.

• In reality, ranpo considers it to be his mission to make you feel loved, and often flatters you.

• Ranpo has a constant need to be reminded that he is worth it, and that he is better than everyone else. It is his way of boosting his confidence. So when u flatter him, his confidence and ego skyrocket.

• He loves having an audience, and you, being the appreciative person you are, always prove to be an amazing audience

• He really loves having you around.

• Inspite of all this, ranpo isn't looking for a fangirl or a fanboy. He wants a partner that is capable of keeping him grounded, yet makes him feel valued. And you do just that.

• Although, you might sometimes overdo the encouragement, he doesn't mind as he makes it up to you by praising you equally.

• Ranpo never, and I mean NEVER, speaks highly of anyone.

• The closest he had gotten to that was when he had said,"This is like going against Dazai." While plotting against fyodor.

• But this man will PRAISE you.

• You make him feel so loved, so he will return it equally, if not more.

• You get special treatment. You are the sole human being on this planet that gets to have his candy.

• You are also the only person who, according to him, tastes better than candy ;)

• He treats you with utmost respect.

• Whenever you praise him, his brain short-circuits.

• "And that, is how you solve this murder!" Ranpo grins as he solves the mystery.

• "Thats so cool, ranpo! I'm so proud of u!"

• You say as you hug him.

• Ranpo blushes and hides his face in your hair.

• He is soft boy

• Protect soft boy at all costs.

• "Y/N, you are the most amazing person that I have ever met. You are so amazing, that only I deserve to have you!", he says when you two are at the ada, or somewhere public.

• He loves boasting about being the guy you chose, saying things along the line of you being an angel that chose him because he is the best man alive.

• In private, he would have deep meaningful conversations with you, where you both would appreciate and value each other.

• Cue appreciation battles

• "You have no idea how much I love you."

• "Everyday I see your smile, it makes my day ranpo. You work so hard, I adore your determination "

• "You are the most beautiful person ever "

• "Your emerald eyes drown me into an eternal abyss of love. "

• "Your hair is so silky, I want to eat it."

• You blush and laugh it off.

• "No, really. It reminds me of my favourite candy."

• Ranlo says as he brushes your hair with his fingers.

• "A-are you being serious right now..?", you ask.

• He humms.

• You couldn't be more grateful to have him.

• While he seems like a childish guy, he actually is quite mature, but in a fun way.

• He just needs someone who can understand him. And you do. You are the only one who understands him.

• He loves you more than his candy.

• And thats really something.

• Ranpo needs candy and sugary foods to keep his mind working. His high intelligence requires quite a lot of energy, and sugary foods provide it to him.

• Not many understand this, but you do. So you try your best to constantly provide him with small amounts of candy at regular intervals of time.

• You write tiny notes for him too.

• "Hey handsome, got this donut for you. Hope u like it! ;)"

• Ranpo is a smart guy. He notices all of your little actions of affection. You voice your affections, but you also do small things that make his heart flutter.

• Like when you peck his lips randomly, or link your hands with his when he gets confused and doesn't know which route to take. You gently intertwine your fingers with his and guide him through the city, effectively getting him to the destination.

• You are also overly clingy. He loves that. When you randomly come up from behind to hug him, he goes crazy. When you two are lazing around on the couch, and you place his head on your lap, stroking his hair and humming sweet melodies to him, he realizes just how much he loves you.

• You mean the world to him, and he means the world and some more to you.

• You two are honestly made for each other.

• The story completely flips 180 degrees when you complement other people, though.

• Ranpo turns into angry ranpo.

• 'How dare they steal my candy?!' Is all he can think of when someone is getting your attention.

• He would constantly poke your cheek, or call your name to get your attention.

• "Y/NNNNNNN"

• "Yes, love?"

• He would simply smile innocently and act childish.

• "Hug me please."

• "Ok, honey, just give me a minute. I was just about to tell 'random person' how amazingly they handled the situation today."

• "Hug me. Now. They can wait. Can't they." He says while glaring at the concerned individual.

• Kinda gives me dazai vibes ngl

• You would be all confused, though. But would apologize to them and give ranpo a well deserved hug. I mean, he had to suffer so much. He had to see you saying good things about someone other than him. How heartbreaking!

• I think if I continue any longer, I'd end up writing a novel... so now I'll stop..

• Ok just one thing..

• When you both get ready for work, you suddenly nuzzle his neck and mumble a soft," You smell so good, love."

• Then you pull back and check him out.

• "Ravishing."

• And you leave.

• Just like that.

• Things like this make Ranpo fall for you over and over again.

• He loves every bit of your affection.

• Ok I'm going.

• For real now...

[everlarkficexchange]

Naked To the One You Love

by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt #46: They really do toast privately in CF – Katniss wearing an orange dress for Peeta and Peeta making cheese buns for Katniss.  They wanted something their own.  No one knows about it and there’s no baby (as far as they know) but how would this change their relationship? How they make their decisions? Would anyone actually believe them when she gets to District 13? [submitted by anonymous]

Peeta, with the help of Prim and Rye has the perfect day planned for he and Katniss.  This is the day they will finally have their toasting.  Will everything go as perfectly as Peeta planned it?

This story goes hand-in-hand with my current WIP called, “Another Way Out.”  If you want to read more, you can find it on AO3 and FFN.

Word Count: 5768

Rated: M for fluff and smut and lemons.

Warning: Adult content below

Un-beta’d, all mistakes are mine

 Naked To the One you Love

| Peeta |

“What are we doing?” Katniss asks as I lead us toward the meadow.  It’s early still, the sun barely making its presence known along the horizon as it bleeds its hues of purples, oranges, and pinks into the morning sky.

“Having breakfast,” I tell her simply, shivering from the cold.

“In the snow?” She quibbles, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.  I sneak my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.  She allows it, pressing her popsicle nose into my neck.

“Just be quiet and follow me,” I tell her, which grants me a scowl— no surprise there.  When we finally reach our tree, we climb up and I surprise her by opening the door to our tree house.

“Wow, it’s a lot bigger than last time,” she smiles, looking around the tiny room to inspect my handy work.  It was only a little more than a week ago when I found a large plank and, with Rye’s help we got it to the top of this tree.  Using some of my dad’s tools, I nailed the plank to one of the sturdier branches.  Each day since then I have come out here, adding more planks to it, and now it looks like a tiny little house.  Or well, well … more like one … very small room of a rather tiny house.  It is just spacious enough for the two of us to stretch out comfortably, but it’s a place of our own, somewhere to go when we need to get away.  It’s the closest we can get to the woods since the fence is electrified twenty-four-seven now.

We spend the morning in our little makeshift tree home, enjoying the breakfast I packed and watching the miracle of another sun rise.  After surviving the games with the love of your life, you learn to appreciate the little things in life.  Like sunrises and sunsets.  Like sharing meals with your loved ones.   Things you didn’t think were important before suddenly become of the utmost importance.  So, Katniss and I bask in the warmth from the sun and just enjoy being together like this.  With no cameras and no Haymitch.  No Effie or prep teams chasing our tails and scolding us about schedules.  As much as we love and adore all of them, it’s nice to have a break from them.  Finally, it’s just us, which is just the way I like it.

“I think it’s time to get Prim,” Katniss tells me when she sees the sun positioned above the bakery.  It always amazes me how she knows what time it is by the position of the sun.

I frown and jut my lip out, exaggerating my disappointment.  “No, not yet.  Just one more minute,” I whine, leaning in for a kiss.

“Come on Peeta, I don’t want Prim walking home alone.” Katniss contests, squirming out of my arms.  As much as I don’t want to leave right now, I know she’s right.  We leave everything in the tree and climb down, deciding we’ll most likely return once Prim is safely back at home.  Together, we walk to the school and wait for Prim just outside the gates of the school yard.  I’m not sure how much Prim knows much about what’s going on, if anything, but Katniss and I are too afraid to let her walk anywhere in the district alone.  Afraid of what Snow might do. 

Everyone, even Katniss’s mom said her father’s death was just a stroke of bad luck— that he had an aneurysm that no one knew about, that ruptured.  That if they’d had the technology the people in the Capitol have at their fingertips, they could have caught and treated it.  But we know better.  There was no Capitol technology or any fancy device that would have spared his life.  There is no doubt in my mind— or Katniss’s that Snow was the cause of her dad’s untimely death.  Of course, it wasn’t him per say, because he was clearly safe inside the President’s Mansion in the Capitol, but more than likely one of his spies here in 12.  The timing of everything was just too coincidental, not to mention the fact that he offered his condolences before it even happened.

“Oh, I told Rye we’d stop by the bakery on our way home today,” I tell Prim and Katniss, giving Prim a little wink.  It’s a lie, but Katniss doesn’t know that.  When I clued Prim in on my master plan just the other day, she was more than happy to go along with it— knowing that we all need something positive in our lives— something to celebrate.

We stop by the bakery and I breathe a sigh of relief that my mother is nowhere in sight.  She isn’t supposed to be here for another hour or so, but that hasn’t stopped her from making an unscheduled appearance before.  Rye has trouble keeping a straight face as he prepares a bag for us, filled with Katniss’s favorites.

“Hey, I uh … I was about to head out and stop by to see Dad, I can walk Prim home,” Rye suggests, also aware of my plan.

Katniss squirms in place, uncomfortable to even the thought of letting Prim out of her sight but I assure her it’s okay.  Rye will protect Prim and keep her safe.  They have grown rather close over the last few weeks … or, well, ever since Mr. Everdeen got sick while Katniss and I were still on the Victory Tour.

I remember thanking him for being there for my surrogate family and he rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, like you’d ever let me hear the end of it if I was there and didn’t help if I could.”  

‘Right,’ I thought to myself.  ‘It had nothing to do with you actually caring about them, let alone that you are a decent human being,’ but I kept those thoughts to myself.

“Prim is safe with me, I assure you that I will take extra good care of her,” Rye assuages.  Katniss squirms uncomfortably, so Rye adds, “Katniss, I promise.  You have my word.”

“Extra good?” Katniss smirks after a second, her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Maybe on your way there, Prim can teach you some grammar,” she says in that snarky tone of hers.

“Katniss, we’ll go straight home, I swear!” Prim decrees, clasping her hands together and poking her lip out.  Katniss narrows her eyes, which is preceded with a scowl, but then she finally concedes.

“Fine.  Go straight home.  NO detours.”

Prim wraps her arms around Katniss’s waist and squeals, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Katniss!  You are the best sister ever!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Katniss remarks, trying to hide her grin.  Like me, she finds it extremely difficult to deny Prim anything.

After Katniss and I collect our stuff from the treehouse, I get an idea.  “I want to make a snowman,” I tell her with a cheeky smile.

“A snowman?  Seriously?  But it’s cold Peeta,” she whines.

“That’s the point.  You can’t make a snowman when it’s warm.”  So, that’s what we do, we build a snowman until she gets the bright idea to chuck a snowball at my face.  And then— it’s on.  I scoop up a ball of snow and sling it at Katniss, hitting her square in the shoulder.

With her impeccable aim, I should have known that I had no chance in the world of besting her in a snowball fight. 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she whines when she sees the pile of snowballs I have hidden behind the snowman.  She might have impeccable aim, but I am the youngest of three boys— I had to work twice as hard to keep up with them.

“You started it,” I tell her and chuck another ball of snow at her.  For the next hour or so, we have fun, smiling and laughing while getting snow blasted in our faces.  Katniss tackles me from the side and slams me down on my back.  She straddles my hips, pinning my arms to the ground.

“I win, you lose,” she says triumphantly, planting a victory kiss to my lips.

“That may be true, but I think it’s me who is the real winner here.”

Her eyes knit together in confusion, “And just how exactly do you figure that?”

“Well, you’ve got me pinned to the ground, I’m trapped underneath you.  I’ll gladly lose to you if this is my punishment,” I tell her with a crooked grin.

“Come on, let’s go home.  I’m cold,” she says, climbing off my hips and helping me up.  Under normal circumstances I do not need help getting around with my prosthesis.  However, the snow adds many challenges to my already uneven gait.

No longer able to feel either our fingers, toes, or our faces, we make our way back to my house to warm up.  Rye and my dad are hanging out two doors down, at the Everdeen’s, so I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in on us.  Once I get the fire started, we curl up on a blanket I spread out on the floor, soaking up the heat from the flames.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Katniss tells me once the feeling in her fingers returns and then she makes her way upstairs.  Her absence gives me the perfect opportunity to get everything in order.  The moment she is out of sight, I begin creating a mental checklist of everything I need to do.  Once I hear the water splashing against the tile floor, I zip into the kitchen and get to work.  I begin by filling a tray with the cheese buns from the bakery— Katniss’ favorite, and pop them into the oven to warm them up.  And then I take out the dough of the white bread I prepared a few days ago, made for this exact occasion.  I open the drawer that contains the papers and pull them out.  “Certificate of Marriage,” I whisper the words aloud.

“Please be okay with this Katniss,” I anxiously tell myself. “Stop it Peeta.  She loves you, you love her; that’s the only thing that matters.” I remind myself, trying to talk myself up so I don’t chicken out. 

Once all the bread is ready to go, I place them on a table next to the couch and wait for Katniss to come back down.

I am not waiting long when she comes gliding down the stairs in an immaculate floor-length orange summer dress.  The straps holding the dress up on her shoulders are skinny, and for some reason they remind me of spaghetti noodles.  It is snug at the top and gets looser the more the light orange fades into a deeper orange.  My eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight of her.  She is beautiful, she is exquisite and stunning and just … WOW.  It must be one of the dresses Cinna sent back with her, because I’ve never seen this one before.  And although this one is clearly a dress meant for days with bright sun and scorching heat— it’s not like we’ll be going outside.

It is so unlike her when she twirls around once, a huge smile on her face.  “Do you like it?”

For a moment, I’m speechless, “I … I love it, it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, joining me on the floor and I prop some pillows up for us to lean against.

“Are you hungry?” I nervously ask her.  Dammit, why am I so nervous?

“What do you think?” She huffs, her eyes narrowing with her trademark scowl, which forces a chuckle to escape from my throat.  It’s a stupid question to ask anyone who is a resident of 12.  Everyone is hungry, even those of us who are more fortunate than the others.  I hand her the platter of cheese buns, but she’s eyeing the other tray.  “What’s that?” She asks, pointing behind my back.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tell her and shift my body, hoping to block her view.

“Oh my God, Peeta; is that—” The papers are all but forgotten as her eyes go saucer eyed when she catches sight of the bread behind me.  She crawls over me and picks the bread up, delicately turning it over and over in her hands.  “Is this—”

I bashfully look away and nod my head, “It is,” I admit.  Her head snaps to the right— and then to the left as she surveys the room.  And then it all hits her at once as she realizes what this is.  For a moment, I am afraid she’s going to go running for the hills, but instead, she reaches for the bread knife and begins sawing at the loaf.  She frees the piece of bread and impales it on a poker before placing it over the fire.  While she rotates the poker to evenly toast the bread, she looks over to me, her silver eyes glistening with the flames and smiles.

“Do I ever tell you how much I love you?  H-how important you are to me?” She asks as her eyes meet mine.  And maybe it’s just the heat from the flames, but her cheeks suddenly flush into crimson.

All my anxiety dissipates into her gray orbs as I extend my hand out, curling a strand of her hair around my finger.  “It is implied every single day, in everything you do,” I tell her softly.

She pulls the poker back and places it down next to the hearth, but not before removing the slightly toasted bread from its prongs.  She juggles the bread from one hand to the other— again and again as she waits for it to cool.

My eyes are cemented on her while my anxiety rises to a new level as I await her next actions.

“Peeta … you are … the most amazingly incredible person I know— have ever known.  And … I never thought I wanted this, but you— you changed everything for me.  You changed the way I see the world, and I … I can’t imagine a life without you.  And … even if I could, I don’t want to.”

Woah, wait a minute, what is she doing?  Those are supposed to be my words.

‘Katniss, what are you doing?’ I ask her in our silent form of communication.

‘I think you know,’ she smiles mischievously at me.

“Uh-uhn, no, that’s my job, I had this all planned out.”

“Oh, so that’s what today was all about?” She exclaims with a bright smile on her face.  I can’t help but return the smile as I lean over and press my lips against hers.  Using my weight, I push her down onto her back and kiss her deeply— thoroughly running my tongue along her lips, sucking … pulling her bottom lip into my mouth until she shivers.

“I love you Katniss Everdeen,” I mumble through our connected lips.  “I love everything about you; even the things I hate about you, I love.” I crawl up next to her, our bodies continuing to absorb the heat from the flames as I stare longingly into her beautiful grey eyes.

“You ruined my plans, I’m not sure if I can forgive you for that,” I quip, smiling and gazing into her perfect eyes.

“What if I …” She intentionally hesitates, lifting the seam of my shirt up and tracing her fingers lightly across my stomach, “do this?” She finishes, sending goosebumps prickling against my skin and I squirm from side to side with her touch.

“Nothing’s ruined,” she promises.  “All I said, was I wanted for it to be ours; that I didn’t want the day I became yours, and you mine to be in front of a Capitol audience.  As long as it’s just us, I don’t care about the rest.”

And she says she’s not good with words.

I take her hands into mine, our heads sharing the same pillow as we stare into each other’s eyes, “Katniss, I was mesmerized by you since I was a five-year old, snaggle-toothed little boy.  I can’t even remember a time I didn’t love you; and for so long, I never thought you would give me the time of day.  I thought … for so long I thought that just being your friend would be enough, but after having your love— after having your heart … I can’t imagine a life without you.  I know you only said yes because of … well, because of everything, but I swear to you, I will be the best husband you could ever hope to have.  I—”

“Peeta, I—” She interjects, but I stop her.

“Please Katniss, please let me finish,” she nods, not pushing it any further.  I glance down to the bread and then back at her, “I offer this toasted bread to you with the promise of being your best friend.  I will listen when you need someone to talk to; when you just need to vent, my ears will be open, or if you just need a sounding board, I will be that too.  You will never have to be alone again because I will be by your side.“

‘Always,‘ I add in our silent way.

“Even when you don’t think you want me there, I will be.  I will hold your hand when you’re scared, and I will be right here, right next to you, scared with you.  I will tell you that everything will be okay— because even if it’s not, we will have each other.  I will always, always be there to catch you before you fall.  And … and I’ll give you a push if that’s what you need, too.  Because I love you.”

Her eyes are pooled with tears and her chin quivers as she reaches for our toasted slice of bread and holds it up between us. It is the only thing separating our lips.  And then I part my lips and allow her to feed me the bread, our bread.  Our little slice of heaven that signifies our love.  I sink my teeth into the perfectly toasted bread, as does she.  Our teeth sink into our promise to the other and then we seal it with a kiss.

“I love you Peeta Mellark, my husband.”

“And I, you; Katniss Everdeen; my wife.”

“I think that would be Katniss Mellark now; get it right,” she tries to scowl at me but fails, erupting in a giggle.

“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Katniss Mellark— Oh, that reminds me!” I exclaim jubilantly, nearly bursting at the seams as I jump up to collect the papers the mayor had given me earlier this week.

“What’s that?” Katniss asks me.

“It’s um … they’re the papers.  To um, make it official.”

“Seriously?  When— How?” I breathe out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t object.  That she seems genuinely excited.

“The mayor.  But … we can’t tell anyone; she’ll be in a load of trouble if anyone finds out.”

“My husband … conspiring with the mayor,” Katniss beams, glowing with pride.  I am incapable of concealing the cheesy, shit-eating grin when she calls me her husband.

As I watch her grip the pen in her hand and sign her name on all the dotted lines, I pinch myself to see if I am dreaming.  I can’t believe it; I am actually, really, truly and officially married to Katniss Everdeen— Mellark.

“Wait!  I have something for you,” Katniss says and rushes up the stairs.  I hear her run into my room and then a drawer slams before she is sprinting back down the stairs.

“You already gave me a ring, and I um … I want you to have this Peeta,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she reaches for my hand.  Refusing to meet my eyes, she slips something onto my finger.

I pull my hand up to look at what she’s placed on my finger to see a ring adorned to the pointer finger of my right hand.  Then she takes her ring off the chain of her necklace— (the one I gave her in District 4 the night of my true proposal to her— the one that once belonged to her mother, given to me by her father) and does the same.  

It’s a tradition in 12 that goes along with the toasting.  Everyone knows that your wedding ring is typically worn on the fourth finger of your left hand, but in 12, it starts out on the pointer finger of your right hand.  There was a tradition from before the dark days that said you start off like this because there is a vein … or maybe it’s an artery that runs from your finger to your heart.  And since marriage is the ultimate promise, by doing this you are connecting your hearts together.  Once the ceremony is over, then you switch it to the fourth finger of your left hand.

Katniss leans over to kiss me and we switch the ring to our proper fingers while our lips are still conjoined.  For now.  I will eventually have to find a clever place to keep mine until … until well, I don’t know.  But the Capitol cannot know we are already married.

After all the traditions are complete, I take our marriage papers to the office room upstairs and tuck them away in a safe place.  Then, with a little extra pep in my step, I find my way back to the main room and scoop Katniss into my arms.

“Peeta!  What are you doing?” She squeals like a giddy schoolgirl, encircling her arms around my neck.  Carefully, I make my way up the stairs and into my room— our room.  Who am I kidding?  It’s always been our room— no piece of paper or ceremony was needed to decide that for us.

“I am carrying my wife over the threshold.  The toasting isn’t complete until that’s been done,” I remind her with a kiss.

“Okay,” she says, nuzzling her head against my chest.  No thanks to my artificial leg, we make it up the steps successfully.  I press my lips against hers as my foot passes the threshold.  Now, all the standard traditions of 12 are complete, except for the final one.  The one that really seals the deal.  Consummation.

Just thinking the word in my head causes me to stumble.  My brain seems to forget how to gracefully put one foot in front of the other and I fall face first onto my bed, my body nearly crushing my beautiful wife.

She giggles; a foreign sound, but it is one that I cherish.  “I love you,” I say, pressing my forehead against hers.

“Smooth,” she says, and I can feel her lips forming into a smile against my mouth.

“So, now, we’re supposed to um …” There is a nervous energy between us; she’s scared, as am I.  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life, and that’s saying something— having survived an arena and all.

“Katniss, you know … we don’t have to do this, we can just—”

“What? You don’t want to?” She interjects defensively.

“No, no— I mean, yes, I do.  I was just saying … if you don’t want to, it’s okay.  We don’t have to, we can wait,” I stumble over my words trying to reassure her.

“I want to Peeta,“ she says certainly, never taking her eyes off mine.  "I have wanted to for a while now, and I think we’ve waited long enough.  Will you … will you help me unzip my dress?” Her eyes flit to the floor as she smiles nervously, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.  While Katniss and I have done many things, getting caught up in heated kisses, touching in places I would rather not mention, we have never gone this far.  We have never gone all the way.  She turns around and pulls her hair to the side, granting me access to her zipper.  I scrupulously glide the zipper down until it refuses to budge another inch and delicately slide the sleeves down her arms.  A frown of disappointment encases my lips when she begins to braid her hair.

I press my lips to her bare neck and kiss my way to her shoulder, which causes a moan to expel from her lips.  “Leave it down, please.”

“Mmm hmmm,” she moans.

“My God, you are so beautiful,” I tell her, my lips trailing down to the crest of her shoulder.  Finally, I sling her dress into the chair next to my bed and she nervously flips onto her back, incredulously facing me. 

‘Oh my God, Katniss is naked, bare to me and in my bed,’ I think to myself as I stare her up and down.

Feeling self-conscious … probably due to my ogling her, she reaches over and pulls the sheet to cover her near-naked body.

“No, what are you doing?” I ask her, tugging the fabric back.

“I just … feel so … naked without my clothes,” she says, flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Well then … be naked with me,” she says, tugging on the hem of my shirt, eager for me to remove it.  I slide my shirt off and it joins her dress in the chair.  I am hesitant to remove my pants, still self-conscious about my leg.

“Pants too,” Katniss whispers in a raspy— so, so sexy voice.

“I … I—”

“Peeta, I love all of you, even the Capitol-made parts,” she takes charge and flips me over, undoes the button of my pants, and I am too paralyzed to refuse; not that I would want to.  She removes my pants, then sits up and straddles my hips.  With nothing but our underclothes on, we are completely bare to each other, and I understand what she meant about feeling naked without her clothes.  There is nothing to conceal our insecurities, both physical and emotional.  But that’s the point, right?  To be completely open, bare— naked to the one you love.  To have nothing— no secrets between you.  However, underneath all my anxiety, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything quite this amazing before.  We slip under the covers and I click the lamp on that sits on my nightstand.  It emanates a soft glow, perfectly lighting the room, while producing a shadow over the insecurities.

“Can I take your leg off?” Katniss asks me.  She must be in my head again— I was just too embarrassed to take the initiative— afraid she would find my mutilated leg … repulsive.

“Okay,” I say.  For the first time I realize she’s had a lot of practice helping me put it on and take it off as she slips it off with ease.

“I don’t want any part of the Capitol here for this,” she says, placing kisses against the scar on my leg.  I pull her up to me and flip her back onto her back.

We are a tangled mess of arms and legs, our tongues dancing together in a frenzy, yet in perfect synchronicity.  As if they’d been practicing for years and years until they reached utter perfection.  I trail kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and across her shoulders.  I want to kiss every inch of her body; I don’t want to miss a single bit of her skin.  I reach down and cup her perfect breasts in my hands and she moans out in pleasure, which causes my cock to pulse until it is fully erect.

“Touch me Peeta,” surrendering to her every command, I stroke her arms, and then add light touches to her perfectly flattened stomach.  I caress my hands up and down her legs, trying to muster up the courage to touch her there.  Finally, I do, and she’s so hot and wet for me.  I slide one finger inside her center and keep it in there while I use my thumb to rub circles on that little bundle of nerves that I know has the power to make her come undone.

Her body tenses up and I know I’ve hit the right spot when she pants out my name.  “I could be satisfied … happy, just doing that to you … every second of every minute, of every single day,” I tell her once the intensity of her climax has subsided.

“Then how would you make me cheese buns?” She says with a heavy breath.  Smiling, I inch up to her face and kiss her.  Soft and light at first, and then harder, deeper— as if I am starving and her lips are the only way to satiate my hunger. 

“I need you Peeta; I— I need you closer,” she breathes into me and I instantly know what she means. She wants me to be inside her.  We have both wanted this for such a long time, I almost can’t believe it’s actually happening.  I kiss her softly as I fumble my way on top of her.  Using one elbow to prop myself up, my other hands grips onto my cock as I tease her entrance with my hardened member.  Even without being inside her, I can feel how wet she is.  Which only causes my already rock-hard cock to pulse even harder.  She spreads her legs open for me and I fumble nervously, guiding my cock into her entrance and sliding inside her— slowly at first.

“Is this okay?” I ask her, recalling an embarrassing conversation with Rye as he gave me the intricate details that a girl’s first time can be painful, and that it’s important that they are “ready” prior to penetration.

“More Peeta, I need all of you,” she demands, locking her legs around my hips and digging her heels into the back of my calves.  Slowly, I push myself deeper into her, impaling her, until finally, I am fully submerged into her heat.

“Holy FUCK!” I gasp, crying out when my cock is surrounded by her walls.  “Is- is this okay?” I ask her again, not wanting to do anything that might hurt her.  It is taking every bit of willpower that I possess to keep my body still— to prevent my hips from ramming deep— and hard, into her.

“Oh God, Peeta, you feel so good.  Please … please, Peeta—” she begs me, and I’ve never been very good at denying her anything as I submit to her will.  Slowly, I partially retract myself from her center and then slowly, slowly push myself back inside, our pelvises grinding against each other.  Her nails dig into my back, finding their way to my ass and then she squeezes—

“Holy FUCK, how did you just do that?” I ask when her walls tighten around my cock.

“What … this?” She grins, repeating the action, “You like that?” She says in a teasing, seductive voice.

“Katniss— stop … or I’m going to … or I won’t last, and I want … this has to be perfect,” I beg her and then she reaches up, encircling her arms around my neck and pressing her mouth to mine.

“It’s already perfect because I’m with you,” she tells me in-between heated kisses.  And once again, she stupefies me with her words.

“Oh God, I love you too, my perfect, beautiful, amazingly gifted wife,” I tell her, while gliding in … gliding out of her sex.

“Katniss … I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last if you keep doing that … where do you want me to—”

“Right where you are,” she tells me, knowing what I am trying to say.

“But,” I question her with a raise of my brow.

“I took that pill Effie gave you— I mean, me,” she explains, running her tongue along my ear.

I shiver from the contact and lose all control as I slam into her— again and again before grinding into her center once more.  We both grind; hard and slow, and deep— achieving the perfect rhythm until I feel that familiar stirring deep in my stomach— and then we’re both moaning, and yelling, and whispering— shouting— gasping the other’s name and I’m spilling into her, filling her with my seed; both of us believing that Effie’s miracle pill from the Capitol will prevent any watering of said seed.

0 – 0 – 0

Curious about their “unspoken language”?  Or Katniss’s father’s untimely death?  Or who the mayor of 12 is since it clearly is not Mayor Undersee?  Come check out my THG re-writes: Changing the Game (Complete) and Another Way Out (In progress) (The final book/story is TBA).  Told in multiple POV’s.  AND, find out what happens once Katniss reaches District 13.  Does anyone know they actually and officially got married in 12?  Does Katniss get pregnant?  Does Effie’s miracle pill work for them?

[satingrove]

there is no maker

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: you secretly watch obi-wan teach a group of younglings. one senses his feelings of love, prompting you to leave. he seeks you out.

wc: 2.258k

warnings: some angst, sad and lonely obi-wan, fluff, RAIN

“There is no emotion, there is…?” Obi-Wan Kenobi sits before a half-circle of younglings, waiting patiently for a signal and the completing word of the sentence. “Yes, go ahead Gungi.” He smiles warmly.

“There is peace?” Gungi watches the Jedi Master timidly, though he knows his answer is correct.

“Very good, little one.” Obi-Wan affirms the tentative reply from the Wookie, offering a second cozy grin in his direction. He recalls the repetition of the Code from his own youth, the endless chanting of the same words that deny the existence of emotion, ignorance, passion, chaos, and even the wicked hands of death. But it doesn’t hurt him to revisit it in the lesson he teaches now, with the bright and shining younglings of the next generation of Jedi.

Gungi’s sigh of relief does not go unnoticed, the sound of air pushing out of lungs prominent in the quiet Temple room. Continuing through the mantra, Obi-Wan recites the poetic form of the Jedi Code, leaving out words for the younglings to add in themselves, a symbol of their understanding.

They reach the final lines, There is no chaos, there is harmony, and he feels his chest swell with honour.

“Can I do the last line, Master Kenobi?” An enthusiastic Tholothian, Katooni, chimes in. Obi-Wan agrees, calmly but showing encouragement for her.

“There is no death, there is the Force.” She flutters her eyes closed as she delivers the line, a level voice and a sense of dignity.

As Katooni mentions the Force, an additional pair of robes sweep into the clear room, unrecognized by any of the members within. You watch, arms crossed against your chest, leaning against a large marble pillar.

It’s his fault, you think, watching Obi-Wan with the children. It’s his fault that they love him so dearly, that he looks much too fatherly with them not to be a father. It pulls at your heart so deeply, the patience he holds for those prone-to-trouble juniors.

“Lovely words, yes Katooni?” Obi-Wan questions with a raised eyebrow, making the little girl giggle and cover her mouth. His fault that they love him so dearly.

“Now, I’d like you all to try and reach out with your feelings. Tell me what you sense in my direction.” Obi-Wan instructs the younglings who sit cross legged with straight backs. All is still, no shifting or fidgeting. Their eyes are closed in profound concentration.

“Master?”

“Yes, concentrate and tell me what you feel.” His eyes flick to the source of the voice, and then land on what he knows are your robes, poking out from behind a pillar. Tilting his head in dazed fondness, the corner of his lips turning upwards, he lets his shields down.

“Well… it’s changed.” A puzzled Rodian speaks. “Before, it was just serenity, but now I sense…” Love? No, surely Master Kenobi wouldn’t feel such a passion as love. 

“Go on, Ganodi. There is no judgment here with your friends.” Obi-Wan assures, vaguely gesturing to the rest of the group, and turns his stare to the fabric looming behind the pillar next to the archway, chastising himself for his wavering focus.

“Love, Master. Passion…”

You take a step outwards. Love… for what? For who? It’s something you’d rather not know, and while the domestic sight of Obi-Wan with the children is exceptionally pleasant, you’d still prefer not to know.

The Master becomes frigid, only on the inside; his exterior shows poise. He’s aware of your quick exit, the speedy flash of a cloak whisking through the archway, and he’s not without cherry blossom blush upon his cheeks.

It’s morally wrong to deny the Rodian, who guessed truthfully. He knows that. It would merely cause confusion for the poor thing, but he also knows better than to let it be known, his love and passion aren’t information which can be relayed to anyone, save for himself. And so he does save himself, by doing neither.

A soft “aww” sound, the disappointed kind, echoes when the lesson is cut short. Gungi tugs on Obi-Wan’s sleeve.

“Please, Master Kenobi? I was finally getting the hang of it!” His pleading, furry face splashes a hint of guilt into Obi-Wan’s.

“Another time, Gungi. Another time.” Looking like a tired grandpa for a split-second, he manages a forced chuckle.

-

What? and who? sit aboard your clouded train of thought. The tracks are a circle and it rides full speed, fuming and steaming. Smoke rises in your head. The vast hallways of the Jedi Temple turn into the wide exit path, and then to the winding streets of Coruscant, where it rains angrily from the skies. You suppose it’s how you feel inside. Downcast. Sodden. But rain doesn’t feel confusion. In your frenzied state, you’re smart enough to remember that. The rest of common sense is drowned with the plummeting rainfall and you don’t know where you’re headed. You don’t know why you feel jealous. For who? For what?! The wet and cold stick your robes tightly to your skin. 

Passing through a small market sector, there’s the smell of blumfruit and something even sweeter. It’s soon forgotten as you weave through groups of species you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before. A few looks are tossed your way. Jedi. You’re no stranger to the apprehensive attitudes that some hold. 

As the looks are tossed, you pay no mind to throw them back. Your emotion makes for a brisk stride. There’s little manner down in the streets of this planet, only one or two polite people making way for your trek. It’s dirty and grey and exactly the colour of your useless longing. The Maker above is thanked in a whisper when you find a private spot, covered from the rain and up a fair amount of stairs.

At this moment, you don’t feel like a Jedi. At this moment, there is passion and chaos and a generous slab of envy. The kind that has long green vines that grow and encase your heart and shield it from the sun. It takes all the golden light for itself. And for now, so do the clouds in the atmosphere, that overlook a second Jedi roaming through the streets, following the traces of a Force Signature.

-

Obi-Wan’s hood is drawn over his head, his arms tightly wound across his chest. The rain does the same to him as it did to you, making his robes cling to his body. It’s not something he has the time to care for, but whether or not he could care, did not matter. Obi-Wan is one for stormy weather, lifting his face upwards to feel raindrops trickle upon his cheeks into his light-coloured beard. The chagrin of letting the younglings down in their excitement bites at him. His hood slips off from his tilted head. 

Your Force Signature is apparent; Obi-Wan knows your sign, the sensations and presence you leave behind to other Force users to pick up on. He figures he knows it the best of all. He hopes he does.

Tracing the loops through the same market, he becomes almost grumpy with the crowded spaces that are too dense to let him keep up the pace of his urgent march. The foot of the staircase, its metallic steps gleaming with the rain, shows itself to Obi-Wan by degrees, the lethargic gaggle of strangers finally dwindling away. The passion surges.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like a Jedi.

-

You sense him long before he appears in front of you, soaked through all layers. It’s at your bewilderment that he remembers - you didn’t know he caught you hiding behind the pillar, so to find him at the edge of the steps, despondent, tells you something about the “who?” question that crippled your thinking patterns remarkably. The realization paints across his face and makes him turn sheepish. A revelation that, in his own desperate madness, could have been kept under the wraps of his cloak had he not suffered a lack of wit to follow you.

The cloth sticks to his body in a way that is so modestly handsome, yet simple enough for Obi-Wan’s own looks to work their charm and make it appear ethereal.

He closes his lips tightly, nodding to you as a greeting, choosing to stay in the fall of rain. Rising, you walk to meet him from a foot apart. 

“Your younglings give you away, Obi-Wan.” You offer the start of conversation with the shyness that Obi-Wan found himself yearning to be met with.

“What were you doing in there?” He replies, an air of calm leaving with his words. His tone is quizzical, and it affirms all that you love about the Jedi.

The behaviour he administers standing there, displaying the utmost respect with which he regards all things, the softest touches of compassion and fortitude looming behind his barriers. His courage is in the face of adversity, your face, and he doesn’t know how to respond to it. Adversity, its misfortune, staring him in the face through the colour of your eyes and the curve of your lips. It smiles at him and he wants to kiss it.

The war he fights, to the far reaches of the outer rim, was enough for him before, yet he’s here now, damp and cold in the maze of Coruscant, with another war inside of himself. A heart duels with a brain.

“I like to watch you teach.” Your lips are wet.

“Is that so?” He answers fast enough, as if he already knew. There is a comfortable pause with the pitter-patter sounds of water. “What made you leave?” Obi-Wan asks this and he, in fact, did know the answer to that question.

Love. Passion. Before, it was serenity.

The present was serene, wasn’t it? Obi-Wan could think so.

“Felt like intrusion.”

“The younglings handled it well.” His lips work the sentence out, but the rest of his face says and you couldn’t? 

Except, it’s pained.

Except, it’s despairing and hopeless and all things that Obi-Wan refused to show to the world. And you wonder why. As grim as it may sound, he is beautiful. In his pain, he is beautiful. To you, to anyone who might see the way his hair is unkempt and falling into his face, the blue eyes looking fixedly, expectantly at their focus, his hands at his sides and his laboured breathing bringing his chest up and down, rhythmically. The only way he comes to that appearance is because he doesn’t care to fix it, because he’s too worried about fixing everything else. 

Then, you think of how much you hate seeing him like this, intimate and secret as it is. You figure you’re among a mere two or three who have seen him sad. He’s more beautiful when the sunshine peeks from his grin. That much is true. 

“Because you’ve taught them well.” Your compliment soothes him briefly, but he adopts that unhappy look that makes you think there’s no Maker above, although you’ve just thanked it, because no Maker would have let Obi-Wan Kenobi feel the way he does right now. Forlorn. Not like himself.

And, not like himself, he loses some of his reserve.

He makes the distance minuscule. A cautious hand reaches his face and brushes over his beard, your thumb brushing kindly back and forth across his cheek. Obi-Wan absent-mindedly leans into it and he thinks of how healing it feels when you touch him. How he longs for you to keep touching him. 

You catch the sun peeking through the crack of his lips as they smile.

All he knows is that it’s been lonely. The way you speak to him, touch him, feel him, tells him that the rough edges of life and war can be softened. They can be buffered. That he can love freely, and that he’s glad it’s you.

It’s impossible for either of you to get any more wet, and the thought of shelter, even now, is abandoned along with his fear of unrequited feelings.

Obi-Wan raises his hand through the misty air, letting it fall upon and envelope yours. He brings it close to his heart, and closes his other around it. Gentleness is about the only thing you can register -  his soft movements as he becomes himself are profound and calculated. The remnants of his loneliness that had come out of hiding are already disappearing, as if he breathes it out into the air to be lost, as he himself is found.

Your hand remains clasped by both of his when his lips touch your forehead, a pillowy kiss that says what he cannot. The sun shines within him, as if kissing the moon or the stars, his perfect counterpart.

The sun softly lights the moon, and what a comparison it is, because you know that Obi-Wan is golden as he takes you in his arms and you press against each other in a burst of rays. The kind that keep you warm through all the layers of drenched robes. His nose is pressed into your shoulder, your arms wind tight around his neck. A thought of his presses into your mind, spoken in his voice, be my comfort, I seek you everyday.

Passion is in the gestures and love is in the feelings shared, one Jedi to another. 

There is no passion, there is serenity.

It’s left up to the rain to convey the serene qualities in this exchange of two fond people, who look at each other the way that lovers do.

[jusvibbbin]

Act like a Human

Phlox x Reader

//For my friend yet again @the-sleepy-sheep​

//Read her work @starfleet-jelly

Life on the Enterprise was often full of excitement and adventure. But even out in the final frontier, there were mellow days. On one such day, you were heading towards sick bay to visit your resident Denobulan. It had been a few days since you had seen him, and from what you heard he’d barely left his work space. You often assisted with his animals, being the xenobiologist you were but he hadn’t called to see you in quite some time. Your curiosity was beyond peaked as you got closer to sickbay.

The doors swished open when you pressed the button, and the sound of waltz music drifted out into the corridor. You looked around and not seeing the doctor, you walked behind the wall built in the middle of the room. The music was coming from the console on the counter and as you rounded the corner, you were greeted with a spectacular sight.

The renowned Doctor Phlox was dancing. It looked like a traditional waltz, only he was completely alone. You only had a few seconds before he turned to face you and hastily shut off the music. You stifled your chuckle with a cough and walked back around the wall. After a moment Phlox appeared, looking more than a little embarrassed.

“Ahem, (Y/N), I would appreciate your utmost discretion with what you just saw,” Phlox said quickly.

You smiled at him saying, “Of course, doc. But why were you dancing?”

His eyes refused to meet yours as his hands fidgeted awkwardly. You waved your hand and started to walk out.

“That’s alright. I don’t want to pry into… whatever it is you’re doing.” You pressed the button to open the door and strolled out. This was far from over.

--

A couple days later you saw Phlox sitting with Hoshi in the mess hall. You grabbed your tray and took a seat at their table. Hoshi continued their conversation, barely giving you a wave as she prattled on about something. 

But the doctor looked immediately uncomfortable with your presence and started to eat faster so he could leave. There was a small pause in talking so you jumped in.

“Doctor, I would love to hear more about your experiment,” you said, a smirk on your face. Phlox’s eyes went wide and he was about to say something when the Captain’s voice interjected from above.

“All senior staff to the bridge.”

You heard Phlox mumble, “Saved by the bell,” and he and Hoshi took their leave. As they walked away, and you started to eat, you heard Hoshi question the doctor on his experiment. He shot a look back at you before they disappeared into the corridor.

--

You had messed with the doctor before. He was easy to joke around with and was often carefree when they were sometimes at his expense. But this time he really did seem offended when you poked fun at him. You felt bad.

So to make up for it, you snuck into the kitchen and made him one of your favorites: Tres Leches. It took about two hours but your hard work paid off. It looked delicious. You had finished pretty late but you knew Phlox would be up. 

You carefully walked to sickbay, thankful there were less people to run into than normal.

You walked into the mostly darkened room, the only light coming from a few of Phlox’s pet cages. You set the dessert on a table and looked around for the doctor. After a moment, he came out from where his private quarters were, jumping slightly when he saw you.

“(Y/N)! You scared me,” he chuckled as he walked over. His eyes fell on the Tres Leches and he looked at you confused.

You rubbed your arm and avoided his gaze.

“I just wanted to apologize for, sort of, bringing up what I saw the other day. I didn’t realize how important it was to you so I’m sorry.”

Phlox looked surprised and you felt more and more embarrassed.

“Well, enjoy!” you said, quickly turning and walking to the door.

You were halfway out when Phlox called to you.

“Wait, maybe you can help me with my… experiment.”

You turned back to him and he gave you a slightly more relaxed smile. You walked back over to him and he handed you a PADD with a list on it. You read it, occasionally looking up at him with confusion.

“What’s this for Phlox?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve noticed that the crew here seem to be much more comfortable with my presence than some of my colleagues in San Francisco. I figured it would be good to learn some more human activities, customs and history.”

“And you want my help to check off this list?” you asked, smiling at some of the things he had written.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Some of them are a bit difficult to do alone,” he said, a small blush appearing on his face. At least it looked like he was blushing, you couldn’t be sure with alien physiology.

“I’d love to! What’s first?”

--

The next few days your off-duty hours were spent with the ship’s doctor. You cooked some authentic earth foods (pasta, burgers, pizza, you name it!) in your quarters, occasionally swiping from the kitchen. Once each meal was cooked, you watched some classic earth cinema. While Trip’s movie nights were fun, he didn’t really deviate from movies he enjoyed. So you compiled a list of movies that were beloved at the time of their release. Everything from the Matrix to Snow White, and Phlox liked almost all of them.

But the most fun you had was when you spent an evening trying on earth clothes from other eras. The 40s suits, the 70s hot pants, and the 90s denim on denim; all of it looked ridiculous on the hanger and on the two of you. The amount of laughter that echoed through your quarters was immeasurable.

You showed Phlox lots of weird earth sports and the odd things humans did in greeting, passing or in celebration. He found the high-five to be particularly strange, but by the end of the night you two had a secret handshake.

The list had gotten incredibly small and you soon found yourselves back to what started your odd little hangouts.

Dancing.

Phlox had told you that while the Denobulans had many lovers and were a tight-knit race, they did not usually show appreciation for one another with physical affection. The idea of dancing was completely foreign to him.

“Dancing is just, dancing,” you said. “I don’t know how else to think of it! You just kind of feel the music, you know?”

He looked at you, quite puzzled.

“I’ll show you,” you exclaimed as you looked through the computer to find a playlist of yours. Once you found a song with a fast enough beat, you began to dance. You weren’t good or bad, more so focused on the feel of it than the technicality. Phlox simply watched in fascination as you bumped along to the music.

When the song started to change to another one you said, “Try it!”

He looked a bit uncomfortable but he moved over to the open space you had made in sickbay and attempted to copy you. You laughed and he soon joined you, realizing how silly you both looked. After a couple songs you were both exhausted from dancing and laughing at one another.

The song changed once again, to something slower and softer. A waltz. You looked over at the Denobulan and smiled, offering your hand.

“How would you like to try it with a partner?”

You were surprised when he grabbed your hand and quickly pulled you flush against him, positioning both your hands to make the frame. He seemed to shock himself as well since he paused after doing so, looking at you, searching for some kind of objection. He found none.

Gently you both began to sway to the music, eyes never leaving each other. 

His box step was pretty good from all that practice and he was amused every time you stepped on his feet. The song ended all too quickly, but neither of you let go.

You put your hands on his chest and leaned your head against his neck. Phlox ran a hand gently up and down your back. His other hand came up to lift your chin.

“May I?” he asked gently.

You nodded and he quickly captured your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. After a moment he pulled away and you looked up at him, smiling. You touched his cheek softly, and he smiled at you.

“This is my favorite human custom,” he said as he kissed you again.

Tag List: @elen-aranel​ @livenerdyandprosper​

[cosmicsunsett]

911 Week 2020, Day 4: “Do you believe me?” + love

Read it on AO3

Los Angeles, September of 1979

It was unusual on Fridays to have so little movement in the store, Bucky thought.

Faithfully fulfilling his part-time job, Buck thought he couldn’t have found a better work, not only for his love of music, but by the conditions to which he had moved in to Los Angeles. To leave his hometown had been harder than he anticipated and planned ever since he was a teenager, inspired by dreams shared with Maddie of leaving his parents’ house to build a new life, find out what he wanted and who he was.

Puffing out his cheeks while he scratched his beard, he shook his head when he heard the voice of his older sister warning him that he needed to ground himself and stop daydreaming about a place where everything was perfect and people were good by default. Buck knew that sometimes his own heart deceives him, and that he preferred to believe in the kindness of people, but he also wasn’t an idiot. Before becoming a guest in the Grant Nash’s residence, Buck went through situations he’d pretty much love to erase from his memories forever. Still, he used to joke with Maddie, saying that he had this thing, which allowed him to sense the energy in people.

And it wasn’t exactly because of that that his eyes were attracted to the familiar singing of the bell when a man entered the record store.

Don’t go breaking my heart by Elton John played low on his earphones while he cleaned one disk shelf until his eyes returned to the person that just came in, the unfamiliar man’s pace was calm as he walked the main aisle. Embarrassed, Buck caught himself trying to memorize the smallest details of the stranger. Well defined jaw, unruly beard, brown hair tamed with gel, and hands inside his jeans pockets, jeans that highlighted well his…

Well Buck, not the proper time.

Especially when those brown eyes, which were curious before, now stared at him.

“Hi.” Buck blurted, suddenly nervous.

“Hi.”

A moment of silence followed their exchange before the man arched one eyebrow.

“What?”

“Are you buying anything or what?” Buck crossed his arms under the constant stare from the man.

“Well, with this reception I’m not sure.” The man shrugged, smiling a certain way that, on Buck’s eyes, was a tad arrogant, very different from those eyes, that shone with a silent defiance, outshining some of the curiosity that was still there since he entered the store.

“Dad!” A kid’s voice flooded the silent store. Buck observed as the boy walked with utmost happiness to the man he was just now talking to. Looked foolish, but at that moment a open smile appeared on his face. “You were taking too long! We came to fetch you.”

A smiling lady soon entered following the small kid, but she moved her attention from the Diaz boys to Buck’s isolated presence near the record players.

“Good afternoon, feel free to look around.” Buck greeted, approaching the woman and shaking her hand.

“Apologies for this nosy kid, he enters everywhere as if it were his own.” She laughed, gesticulating towards Eddie and Chris.

“Which one?” Buck gave the lady his best innocent smile as he watched the other man’s expression turn skeptic and slightly enraged a few meter away. For Buck’s own joy, the lady next to him laughed, conscious of Buck’s sass.

“Oh, both. But I’m already used to it.”

“Abuela!” Eddie’s eyes widened while Chris laughed, hugging his father.

“Isabel, it’s a pleasure meeting you.” Isabel smiled at Buck, oblivious to her grandson’s drama. “When we have more time, I promise that Edmundo and I will be back to buy some records.”

“Oh, please, I’ll be around to help you. It’ll be my pleasure!” Buck approached the kid, almost completely hidden between Eddie’s legs. He crouched to Chris’ height. “Same goes for you, kid. Chris, right?”

The boy nodded and smiled wide, making Buck feel an intense affection for him.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Buck.” The blond could feel evaluating eyes over his head, but his attention was a hundred percent on the little sunshine in front of him.

“It’s a funny name,” Chris laughed, leaning against his crutches and briefly pointing to Buck’s face. “Did you get hurt?”

“Chris.” Eddie’s voice resounded around the store with a warning, but Buck only chuckled.

“It’s ok, Buck is a funny name. And this,” he touched his own forehead next to his eyebrows, “it’s a birthmark. And hey, you wanna know what? You can come here any time and listen to any music, or even just to talk, okay?”

“Okay, very well, you’re going to miss your class and no one here wants that. Let’s get going. Don’t forget to say goodbye, okay?” Eddie tousled Chris’ hair affectionately.

“Bye, Buck!” Chris said, loving all the attention the adults were giving him, “I’ll come back!”

Eddie sighed, closing his eyes. Buck’s own met Isabel’s, who only shrugged.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. A high five!” Buck stretched out his hand and smiled  sweetly when Chris high fived him. “That’s it kid, I’ll see you soon.”

Isabel went ahead with Chris, both waving a last time to Buck, who was observing them with a smile, utterly infected by this entire family sympathy.

Well, almost the entire family.

His wide smile diminished a little, turning into an almost malicious little thing as he held a look with those brown eyes. He could even rival it with the arrogant smile that Eddie gave him not long ago.

“Goodbye, Buck.” Eddie deflected his gaze, going in the direction of the exit.

“See you, Eddie,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes still resting on the figure, that, save one last look towards Buck, exited the store without turning back, leaving something inside Buck that he would only find out later.

-

As the party globe spun slowly on the ceiling, the flashes of colorful lights danced around the floor and the walls of the almost empty nightclub, illuminating briefly the place that normally was swimming with people. That was one of Buck’s favorite places. He remembered with a small smile the rare occasions when he and his friends managed to meet up and come to this nightclub to drink, talk and dance after a long day at work.

However, his smile became faint, becoming more melancholic as he thought that the nightclub would be an appropriate place for a meeting with a friend, masking as a potential date. His blue eyes, priorly excited and anxious, gazed woefully at the table that he had prepared for himself and Eddie. He sighed, remembering earlier in the week when he surprised his best friend in his own house.

“So,” Buck let it slip, maintaining his face as neutral as possible, a far contrast from his heart, which was beating so strongly, he could hear it if he wanted. “I was thinking-”

“Dangerous, Evan.” Eddie smiled while drying the plates Buck was passing him after he finished washing them.

“Shut up,” Buck laughed, nudging Eddie with his shoulder. Gulping drily, Buck tried to pay attention to the glass jar he lathered under tap. “Are you free friday night?”

“This friday? I think so, yeah. Why?” Eddie creased his brows, clearly not missing the way Buck’s ears became tinted in pink. His eyes rested a little longer than they should on Buck’s birthmark, a weak spot for all the feelings Eddie was useless trying to dodge for more than a year. “Do we need to bury someone?”

Buck whined, laughing while giving Eddie the jar, who promptly caught it and dried it clean with a dishcloth.

“Can you take me seriously for only one instant, I’m trying to say something serious, Eduardo.”

Eddie poked Buck hard on the hips, bringing up a laugh from Buck.

“Go on.”

Buck gulped again, preferring to stare at the glass in his hands as they apparently are more interesting than the hazelnut eyes staring at him intently. He knew his own face was hot, probably blushing, especially when he recognized, on the background, Our Love by Bee Gees playing on the old radio of the small kitchen at the Diaz’ household.

“I wanted to know if you…” Buck sighed, rolling his eyes and throwing the cautious he didn’t have with other people in moments like this away. But Buck knew pretty well why he was walking on eggs on that moment.

It wasn’t just an occasion. It wasn’t just any other person.

Buck could be a cheesy person, but deep inside he knew Eddie was his one. To discover this love, fight against it and coexist with it for so long, even knowing about the obstacles, didn’t make the feeling disappear. It only grew and grew until it became unbearable sometimes to stand by his friend’s side.

“Buck.”

You alone are the living thing that keeps me alive

And tomorrow if I'm here without your love

You know I can't survive

Only my love can raise you high above it all

His blue eyes pursued Eddie’s calloused hand, which, now, was covering his own full of foam. He knew his best friend was only trying to calm him, but the intention had another result.

“Do you want to go out with me friday night? I mean, we’ll still go out on Thursday with everyone else, but on Friday would be… only you and me.”

If Buck tried to specify how long it took for Eddie’s eyes to leave his own, he wouldn’t be able to say. Even knowing his best friend as well as the palm of his own hand, for the first time Buck couldn’t decipher the feelings behind Eddie’s expression.

Eddie’s hand hesitated over his, pulling away for a moment before Buck almost broke the glass he held while he reached for Eddie’s hand back.

“Listen, listen” buck squeezed his hand, pulling Eddie close, “I know, alright? I know you, Eddie Diaz, and I know a little about your story and I respect it. I know you and Shannon are still married and I know that you respect your marriage and I don’t want to interfere-”

Buck was surprised to see Eddie scoffing, almost incredulously.

“Buck, you’re interfered since the first time I saw you in that record store.”

He didn’t know how to respond.

“I… sorry?”

Eddie shook his head, his smile turning more intimate, private, the one Buck loved the most, because he liked to think that smile was one that Eddie only ever smiled on moments like this between them.

“Don’t be. But Buck, you know that I… Chris-”

“Eddie, you know I’d give my life to that kid and I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt him. He’s my favorite Diaz, after all.” Buck smiled as he remembered the three of them listening so some records on the living room after dinner. “I wouldn't dream of ending up destroying anything, but I just…”

Eddie knew. He knew, every day, even when Buck wasn’t with him, Eddie could see on that moment what he and Buck try hard to hide from one another, and from themselves. It took a long time for Eddie to escape the auto denial bubble, and that Buck and he were more than simply best friends with a greater intimacy. But damn, after a year, that feeling, ever since that pair of blue eyes faced him from the back of the record store, Eddie had to deal with that certainty, even if he tried to destroy it by pulling away from Buck, ignoring him, denying him, fighting against what he feels when Buck catches his eyes, how he laughs when telling a horrible joke, when he seems confused by the malicious comments their friends say about them, when he cries observing the commercials on the TV, when he closes his eyes, immersed in the song in his headphones or simply when he carries Chris and dance with him throughout the entire house.

Eddie tried and failed by missing that he was falling in love with Buck, but it was there. As clear and pure as daylight. And he knew the feeling was mutual, because the love that Buck gave to others was difficult not to notice.

But them… they were something else. Both always knew, but had never taken a step foward.

“Eddie Diaz, are you with me?”

Eddie blinked, snapping his attention to the tall man in front of him, apparently very nervous, because he begun feeling his hand being tightened, now also full of foam.

“It can be what you like, a date or a date between friends, we can go to the nightclub, just the two of us, drink and talk about nothing in particular.” Before he could notice, Buck begun speaking faster, “I don’t even know why I said that, I completely respect you, Eddie, I know how it’s hard and new to you, damn, even to myself, but look, you know what? We can totally-”

“Okay.”

“-go out with Chris an-”

Buck choked, his words interrupted  with surprise. His blue eyes wide, almost as scared as when Eddie and he would go to the cinema with their friends to watch some horror movie.

“It can be whatever I want, right?” a nervous grin bloomed on Eddie’s lips, “A date or-”

“Of course! Yes, of course.” Buck nodded frantically, licking his lips suddenly, his heart threatening to spill from his mouth. “Wait, Eddie, are you sure?”

Smooth, Evan. Very slow and smooth.

“No, but what the hell. After all, it can be whatever I want, right?” Eddie came closer, the height difference forcing his hazelnut eyes to look from Buck’s pink lips up to the crystal blue eyes again, staring intently. “What we want?”

“Well, what I really want right now is to kiss you.”

Buck 1, Smoothness 0

“Buck!” Eddie shoved the taller man slightly, shaking his head when he caught a glimpse of the wide smile growing on Evan’s face. “You can’t be real.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll always go slow for you, don’t worry. Just, well, you know, it slipped.” Buck laughed, pulling Eddie in for a hug, melting when, after a few seconds later, Eddie’s arms circled his hips. “Everything on its time, alright?”

Eddie didn’t answer, but his arms brought Buck’s body closer yet, resting his face in a prefect fit under Buck’s neck, forgetting for a moment of the world around them and feeling good for listening to his heart instead of his head for the first time in a long while.

Evan checked his watch and sighed, thinking that after two hours from the agreed meeting time, Eddie had probably forgotten.

Or after the great disappointment his best friend suffered yesterday, he realized that he wasn’t ready. That it wasn’t the right time. And as he remembered the pain and hurt embed on Eddie’s eyes when their gazes met, he knew it would be a bad idea to keep pressing on something that maybe would be for the best to continue as it was.

Even if his heart broke into pieces when Buck though how much he wanted them, how he wanted Chris. Bitterly, he looked to the backdoor of the nightclub and he flinched as he remembered of the exact moment yesterday, sitting together with Hen, Chim and Maddie on the sabe table as he sat today. Almost involuntarily, he could feel the familiar pull of Eddie’s eyes over him, even in a room full of people, dancing, drinking and smoking.

As he snorted a laugh next to Maddie while chatting, the beer bottle that came to his lips never arrived at its destination when Buck lifted his eyes up and stared as a familiar figure came walking by the side door of the nightclub.

“Oh, finally arrived the real reason for Buck’s eyes to outshine the globe over our heads.” Chim joked, laughing with Hen, who followed his intense gaze at Eddie’s direction as the man tried to dodge the people on the dance floor.

“This ain’t a nice surprise!” Maddie smiled while greeting Eddie when he approached the table, looking apparently uncomfortable with the Night Fever’s noise that echoed around. Buck smiled, remembering Eddie mumbling the other day when he invited him to meet up with their friends.

After everyone greeted Diaz, he approached Buck, who was still sitting, his azure eyes almost shining under the colorful lights. Eddie always thought he was being discreet while admiring Buck’s obvious beauty, but everytime, it felt like the floor under his feet moved on its own accord when he let himself stare at the details most people didn’t notice in Buck.

And, well, in Buck’s opinion, to be the target of such a powerful stare as the one he was receiving now, and had received over a long time, was a privilege. It wasn’t intimidating, like how it felt when they first met, but it was close to feeling…

Desired. Truly.

“Buckley.”

“Diaz.” the taller man stood, pointing to the empty chair next to him and Maddie on the table.

“What’s this? Preliminaries?” Chim asked, whispering over Maddie’s ear, and she nudged her boyfriend with her elbow.

“I should have pressed Karen to come with me, at least that way I wouldn’t have to be the third wheel.” Hen pointed out bitterly before taking a sip of his drink. Chim and Maddie exchanged a smile before both set of eyes turned to Buck, who cleared his throat and weaved his hand through his blond curls, almost messy.

Ignoring the small murmurs next to them, Evan leaned closer to Eddie as he sat down.

“Want anything to drink? To eat?”

“A beer would be great, thanks.” Eddie smiled pleased for the beer that Buck opened for him, “So, Bobby bothered you a lot today? He doesn’t stand your late arrivals much, from what I know.”

“Oh, please, Buck only needs to give him the puppy eyes and Pops forgives him like that, easy.” Hen replied, aware of the fact that friend got twenty minutes delayed at the fire station that morning. And by the huge smile on his face that same morning, she suspected the reason why.

Well, the reason was practically sitting next to him. With teeth showing off on a beautiful smile, darker skin and brown eyes.

“Hey, and Chris’ science project? How did it go?” Buck turned his attention back to Eddie as they fell into their own little bubble.

“With the extra help he got, he couldn’t have gotten a better mark. Buck, he was almost jumping when I went to get him from school. Showing off his big mark to all his classmates.”

Buck laughed, enjoying the image of his little man happy with his conquest.

“I can’t imagine from whom he got that exhibicionism.” Buck joked, and Eddie rolled his eyes, not missing Buck’s sass, “Really, I don’t know why you complain so much when I invite you out, I know that deep inside you like it”

“I just…”

“live home. Living the exciting life of an eighty years old man.” Buck added, sipping his bear.

“I may be a eighty years old man, but at least I don’t wear flare pants.”

“Hey! They are trending, okay?” Buck shoved him with his shoulders, laughing in unison.

“I spent too much time dodging from this kind of fun, that I simply forgot how one lived aside from taking care of one’s son and working. After I enlisted, my life became my obligations and-”

“Eddie,” Buck placed a hand on the man’s thigh, trying to calm him. “I know. You are an amazing dad. And luckily for Shannon, an amazing husband. And unfortunate for me.”

Eddie didn’t answer, he only stared at Buck in answer, knowing full well of the implications of his best friend’s words. He could imagine what was going through in that blond head, and he couldn’t even count on his fingers all the moments that they could have taken the next step, but Buck never tried to push the limits, even if both knew that Eddie and Shannon were getting closer and closer to a divorce. Eddie hadn’t spoken that morning with Buck about it, but his (still) wife was arriving Los Angeles on the next morning for a chat.

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, when the Disco Inferno echoed on the background, together with the excited shouts from the people on the dancing floor.

“Ok, let’s go, Maddie, it’s time to show what we a capable of.” Chim pulled his girlfriend by the hand when they rose from the table.

“Don’t hurt yourself on the dancing floor, Chim.” Buck said mockingly, and Hen cheered him with her drink. Turning to Eddie with a invitation to dance on the tip of his tongue, Eddie’s eyes got caught to a distant point, far from the dance floor and close to the bar.

Curious to see what had caught Buck’s attention, Eddie made to turn his face, but was stopped by two large familiar hands on either side of his face, preventing him from turning.

“What’s happening?” Eddie frowned, confused while he stared at the shocked eyes of his best friend, before they turned back to him, “Buck, what is it?”

“Eddie, I-”

The older man pulled out from the hot squeeze of Buck’s hands and turned to see what had happened to have gotten Buck so disconcerted, until he saw it, and on that second, he regretted it.

Far away on the dance floor, even through the darkness only illuminated by the colorful lights blinking on and off, Eddie could have recognized that flowery dress anywhere. Male arms were a contrast against the yellow tone of the dress as they circled around the waist he had memorized for almost thirteen years of marriage. They looked like any other couple around them, dancing and kissing happily.

Meanwhile, Eddie felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Before Buck could react, his eyes widened to see Eddie stand up and march towards the bar, where Shannon and the unfamiliar man were dancing closely.

“Eddie, Eddie! Wait!” Buck followed, ignoring Hen’s protests as he tried to catch up with his friend, but it was difficult to dodge so many people on a crowded space.

Only a few steps before Eddie could reach them, but Buck managed to intervene, pulling the man by the hand to his direction, completely aware of the powerful tugs Eddie was doing to free himself. Until that finally both managed to exit from the side door of the nightclub, being greeted by the chilly fresh air of the night.

“What the fuck was that, Buck?” The expression on Eddie’s face was furious, and if it wasn’t from the firm hold Buck had on his arms, he would have already turned back inside. “Let me go!”

“No, Eddie, I know full well what you plan to do, but please, don’t do it. It’s not worth it.”

“And so what? I’m not worth it?” Eddie shouted in the middle of the almost deserted street, aside from a couple of youngsters smoking next to the nightclub’s corner. Finally managing to get off Buck’s grip, he panted for air, but his heart was far from being tight. He wasn’t going to cry, he didn’t want it. “I was trying, Buck, trying really hard for our marriage, and she was betraying me all this time and I-”

“Eddie-”

“No!” Eddie took two steps away when Buck tried to come close. “I’m tired, Buck. I even thought we could have tried again, who knows, maybe we could have gone traveling, or tried having another child, I don’t know.”

Buck gulped dry, nodding as he felt the chilly breeze touch his face. He hated seeing Edde like that, completely defeated as his eyes shone, betraying the tears his friends tried to hold back.

“I wanted to do it because deep inside I knew it was the best thing to do” Eddie scoffed, running a hand down his face. Biting his lips, he shook his head. “In the end, you’re right. I placed my happiness so low and I only hurt myself. I placed us both last, and for what? And Christopher? I only ended hurting my son and you.”

“No, Eddie, is not like that.” Buck answered, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes even when he looked far away from Buck. “ You wanted what’s best for your family, and I get that, and I support you. This was not your fault, none of what happened is.”

“So why don’t I feel any better?”

Buck opened his mouth but promptly closed as he watched as the sorrowful hazelnut eyes stared back. His shoulders slumped, brown hair sticking out in every direction due to the breeze, alike Buck’s. Eddie searched for answers Buck couldn’t give. And it hurt, it hurt seeing someone he loved being wounded.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Wait, Eddie-”

Buck followed Eddie quickly as they distanced themselves from the nightclub.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“I think I prefer walki-”

“Look, I’ll give you all the time you need. And your space. I won’t pressure you. I promise.” hesitating, Buck cupped Eddie’s cold hand with his. “Just, please, let me take you home.”

Eddie’s expression told him he would clearly fight to contradict Buck’s request, he seemed ready to pull away and leave, but he was too tired to do much. So, he let himself get gently dragged to the green beetle car that was parked only a few blocks away.

After a few minutes, both were parking in front of the Diaz’ household. The silence was immense in the beetle, but soon Eddie’s fingers searched for the latch on the door. Before he could leave, Buck asked, voice almost a whisper.

“Tomorrow’s not a good idea, huh?”

Eddie looked at him confused before he closed his eyes, clearly remembering their ‘date’. His stomach folded into itself as he remembered the scene at the nightclub, and he didn’t have energy to stay close no anyone.

Not even Buck.

“I’m so sorry,” he averted his eyes, not bearing to see the sadness on those blue eyes he had learned to love in so little time.

“Hey, I need to keep the hope up for us, right?” Buck smiled, barely reaching his eyes. “Give Chris a kiss for me”

Eddie nodded, opening the car door and leaving.

“And Eddie?” Buck waited Diaz to turn around and face him. “You know where to find me. You’re not alone.”

Not trusting his voice, Eddie climbed up to his house. When he closed the door behind himself, he smiled sadly as he heard the faint sound of the green beetle fading away, leaving only then the tears to fall, submerged by the darkness of his house.

Shoving his thoughts away, Buck rose and walked towards the exit. His fingers were ready to pull the power lever and close the place when his eyes betrayed him, falling on the side door. His heart almost dropped from his chest when he saw a figure entering the empty nightclub, his hesitant steps coming his way.

“Eddie?” Buckley walked to the center of the dance floor, recognizing the curves and traces of his best friend, soaking wet, probably because the rain was heavy outside the nightclub and Buck hadn’t notice. The eyes he admired so much, now puffy and wet and he was sure it weren’t from the rain. “Are you okay?”

Brown eyes stared on only a few steps away. Eddie flicked his eyes away for a moment, briefly sparing his attention fo the table set for two behind Buck before they flicked back to the blue pair that were set on him. Eddie approached, seeming smaller and different from the usual Eddie Diaz he knew and loved.

“Evan…”

Buck waited.

And waited until the other man’s shaking voice echoed over the room.

“And if one day you realize that I’m not enough for you?”

Oh, Eddie.

Buck gulped dry, closing the distance between then until he felt the warm breathing of his friend against his. He closed his eyes as he felt a cold and wet hand cupping his face, and smiled as he felt the familiar carressing on his beard, so alike the gentle touch of Chris when Buck told him stories.

Opening his eyes, he tried to transmit truly what his heart longed to tell Eddie all the time.

When he smiled.

When he played with Chris.

When he mocked Buck for his stupid jokes, only to make him smile. Or even when he say the green beetle was too small for a man almost two meters tall like Buck.

When he tried to hide is sigh when Buck hugged him, most times without his consent.

When he got angry and fumed in spanish as he tried to cook, or when they thought about minor things.

When he noticed a stranger on the record store he worked at months ago.

“I love you, Eddie. And I think this feeling inside me will never leave.” Buck murmured, hugging the man’s waist. “You are more than enough. You and Chris are family.”

With his hand still cupped on Buck’s face, Eddie pulled him even closer, touching their foreheads together. Eddie could try naming what it felt like being surrounded by the huge arms of his best friend, isolated inside an empty nightclub while the rain poured outside, yet all seemed wrong.

But safety and trust was everything Buck gave him, and so, he meant to retribute for a long, long time.

Aside from that special word. His head was still swirling with the three words spoken by Buck with such an ease, so different from even himself, who holds them closer yet to his chest. The heavy feeling only grew.

“I have your back, Eddie.”

“I have yours.”

Buck squeezed Eddie’s arm, as if nothing else mattered aside from that moment. A few moments go on like this before Don’t go breaking my heart started playing on the amplifiers and Buck laughed low against Eddie’s temple, feeling the wet locks of his hair against his lips.

“What?” Eddie asked, suddenly curious to know what was going through Buck’s head.

Slowly, Buckley swayed them from one side to the other, and Eddie let himself be taken away, hugging and being hugged in return, smiling genuinely for the first time after what occurred last night.

“Don’t go breaking my heart, you take the weight off of me” Buck sand under Eddie’s ear. “Come on, Diaz, gimme what you got.”

Eddie tried to ignore the baits Buck was leaving, until the taller man swirled him around, making him laugh surprised with his dance moves. It wasn’t the first time that he observed Buck dance, but alone, it seemed that Buck would let himself act more foolish than he normally would act. He observed in ecstasy his friend close his eyes, laughing and singing, moving his hips awkwardly before opening them again and sing the chorus line from Elton John’s song.

Woo hoo

Nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Woo hoo

Nobody knows it

 “Hey now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not nice.” Buck pulled him back by his hand, making Eddie laugh freely. Diaz’ arms enveloped his large shoulders, letting himself be guided by the lyrics of the song and Buckley moves, feeling his own breathing against the neck of the taller man. “I know you have talented moves, don’t you hide it.”

“You are way more talented than me, I would say.” Eddie said sarcastically, laughing at the contrasting expression on the face of someone so tall and strong that more looked like a seven years old boy mentally.  

“Right from the start, I gave you my heart” Buck hugged Eddie again, getting back to following the song’s beat together, wishing more than anything to freeze this moment.1 The feeling took hold of him when his best friend chanted the following words from the song.

“Do you believe me?” Buck asked, holding Eddie on his arms.

“Oh-oh, I give you my heart.” Eddie answered singing against Buck’s face, swinging from one side to the other, letting himself act foolish and enjoying the moment. Like he had thought so many times before, tomorrow’s not promised. When he felt Buck’s laugh, he smiled, fool and in love.

But today, on that rainy night as Elton John echoed around them and Buck was in his arms, it was all he could have wished for.

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

They’re Funny That Way

Chapter 3

A/N: Hello, lovelies, I’m rolling out this chapter about a month after I had originally planned to! Wonderful!  Honestly, though, I’m really happy with how this one eventually turned out, and I hope you all enjoy it.  We’re gonna be getting to that good shit soon, y’all, I promise.  What can I say, I love me a good slow burn.

(cross-posted to my AO3 @ marie_deneuve)

Summary: Emma finds herself locked out of her apartment, leading to an unexpected meeting with her next-door neighbor.

Arthur's mission to conveniently bump into Emma again is proving incredibly difficult.

It's hard enough simply pinning down her schedule, with how sporadically she must leave the apartment. However, luck is on Arthur's side today, and he spots her in the hallway as he is leaving to run some errands that morning. His heart stutters as he recognizes her figure just before she reaches the stairs and descends out of view.

Heaven help him, she's even more beautiful than he remembered. He hasn't seen her since that time in the elevator - well, not in person, at least.

She has visited him every night in his fantasies - watching Murray with him while resting her head on his shoulder. Comforting him when harsh nightmares jolt him awake. Telling him that she's proud of him in that soft, melodious voice. That voice that's been echoing in his head and taunting him, driving him mad because he can't recreate her tone exactly, can't match her precise cadence on his own.

Last time they met, she had shaken his hand without a second thought. Arthur had been wearing gloves at the time as part of his work attire, and he'd been kicking himself for it ever since. She reached out and touched him, and he didn't even get the benefit of feeling her hand against his! Pressing that glove to his face as he slept that night had been mildly comforting, but it was no substitute for the real thing.

It's his one day off this week; he definitely has time for a little detour. Maybe if he runs into her somewhere along her way, makes it seem natural, she'll touch him again? He imagines how soft she must feel, how warm. He wants to pull her into his arms, tangle his fingers in her blonde waves, bury his face in the curve of her neck.

Those are the thoughts propelling him forward as he accompanies her through the streets of Gotham that morning, hood of his tan windbreaker up and obscuring his face. "Accompanies" may not be the correct word if one person is unaware of the other's presence, but Arthur isn't too caught up in semantics at the moment. No, he's much more preoccupied with following that streak of golden hair weaving through the foot traffic at a frustratingly quick pace. It's a good thing Emma doesn't share Arthur's talent for disappearing into crowds, he thinks to himself.

If anything, it's the opposite. Gotham City has a perpetual storm cloud hanging over it. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say that Gotham City is the storm cloud. Everything is a different shade of gray, the streets, the smog in the sky, even the people. She is the only splash of color for miles - all reds and blacks and spun gold, shining despite it being overcast.

He maintains several yards between them, knowing that if he gets caught prematurely, he risks scaring her off for good. The last thing he would ever want is for Emma to feel unsafe around him, and there is really no explaining this one away. Hi, I know this looks bad, but I'm that clown you were really nice to on the elevator a few days ago. Anyway, it's been a few days, and I just had to see you again because I can't stop thinking about you, even though we barely know each other. Have coffee with me?

Yeah, real smooth.

His insecurity is gaining on him, when suddenly, Emma slows in front of a store window - Cypi's Bakery, to be exact. Arthur swiftly ducks into the nearest alleyway, poking his head out to see what it is that captured her attention.

Her gaze is fixed on a chocolate croissant on one of the display shelves. She steps right up to the glass, transfixed.

It's the perfect opportunity to approach her. She's so close, it's nearly impossible not to make himself known and reach out to her. It's like the universe is dangling her right in front of his nose, teasing him. Look! She's right here! Come and get her!

What would he say, though? Scratch that, what would a normal person say? Try as he might, he can't quite find the words.

Seconds tick by, and Emma finally checks her watch, rolls her eyes, and with one last forlorn glance at the pastry, continues down the sidewalk. Several feet behind her, Arthur is rolling his eyes as well - he dawdled too long and missed his chance.

She has already rounded a corner by the time Arthur trudges out from his hiding spot, defeated. He tugs his hood down and attempts to straighten his ruffled hair with a sigh, Gothamites shouldering past him without so much as a glance.

Oh, well. Like he could have held the conversation without royally fucking it up anyway.

Perhaps this isn't a total loss - he can still buy her a gift. He knows what she wants now, after all. It will stretch his budget a little - unless he can ration out his cigarettes until the end of the week - but if it will make her smile, it will all be worth it.

He decides he'll wait a little while after she returns home, and then leave the box on her doorstep. With an anonymous note letting her know it's for her, of course.

Can't have that noisy brother of hers stealing her gifts.

______________________________________

One week.

One week, and Emma has already reached the end of her fucking rope with this building.

If it isn't the deathtrap elevator, it's the water heater. If it isn't the water heater, it's the absent staff. If it isn't the absent staff, it's the rusted spare key she's been given breaking completely off in her deadbolt, leaving her stranded in the hallway with five bags' worth of clothing and hygiene products.

Today, it's the spare key thing.

For a while, all Emma can do is stare in disbelief at the piece remaining in her hand, the way one might stare at someone running naked between the floats at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. She knows there's no one downstairs at the moment to let her in, or even to get the old key out of the lock. Eddie has the afternoon shift, so he's definitely at work right now. She could just wait at Sophie's for him to return, but she won't even be off for another hour.

It's a perfect cocktail, she thinks. And then she hates herself even more for making an alcohol metaphor when she just took that damn bartending job she doesn't really want earlier today.

She's meant to start working at The Harlequin this weekend, which means two more nights attempting to sleep on that awful air mattress before then. Her new one is set to be delivered sometime after that, and she had to pawn her wedding ring just to afford it. Despite the foul memories behind it, that ring was the only nice thing she had left. Now, she truly has nothing. She can't even get into her own home.

So what does she do? She thinks of the only honorable thing a lady can do in this situation, which would be to march back downstairs, go out to the payphone on the street corner, and call Eddie for help.

And then she does the opposite of that.

With a defeated groan, she throws down her bags and slides down the wall until she's seated on the floor. And keeps sliding until she's lying fully on her back, her bags strewn around her, pathetic puddle of bad luck that she is.

A part of her is ashamed of this private tantrum, and another part of her couldn't give less of a fuck anymore. Hasn't she earned the right to a couple meltdowns?

Emma is broken out of her reverie when the door to the adjacent apartment swings open. The person must not look down in time to notice the mess of a woman lying right outside the door, nor the shopping bags scattered like land mines.

It all happens so fast after that.

The person trips over one of the bags, and Emma has no time to brace herself before their entire body weight slams down onto her at full force.

She lets out a pained whine as the person's bony elbow meets her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Her head instinctively jerks back, colliding clumsily into the wall behind her, and she briefly sees stars.

Clearly not expecting to effectively elbow drop some woman like a WWF wrestler, the person scrambles wildly on top of her, not helping her discomfort in the least. They flail backwards until they're sitting up on the floor next to her, and Emma finally gets a good look at them as she gasps inelegantly in an attempt to refill her lungs.

It's a man, older than she is, possibly in his early forties. The wrinkles adorning his gaunt face tell a story of utmost exhaustion, and he's dangerously thin, like he hasn't had a proper meal in ages. Brown curls float a touch above his angular shoulders, and his sunken green eyes...look quite familiar. The sudden hypoxia could just be playing tricks on her, though.

Those same eyes finally seem to focus in on her, and he looks at her like he recognizes her as well. She watches his expression quickly shift from confused shock to abject horror.

As Emma finally gets her diaphragm under control, she does her best to sit up, her abs screaming in protest. That'll be a nasty bruise. "Ugh," she groans out. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry! Are you all right, sir?"

The man pauses, thick brows furrowing. "I...I landed on you, and you're apologizing to me?" he asks, perplexed, as if the person who tripped him being repentant about it is the wildest thing he's heard all week. Here in Gotham City, it probably is.

His voice is soft, and upon hearing it, Emma shaves ten years off of her previous estimate of his age. He stares at her guiltily, as if he's just waiting to be reprimanded, despite the whole ordeal not being his fault.

Damn, where has she seen him before?

"What do you mean? Of course I am, I was in your way." Emma goes to gather up her things, still seated against the door to her apartment. "Let me just move these..."

"N-no, it's...it's okay!" the man stutters out. He rushes to stand, and even helps her to move the rest of her things up against the wall.

There's a long and awkward pause before he continues. "If you don't mind, um..." His eyes dart between her and his shoes. "What were you doing out here like that?"

"Oh! Ha, good question." Emma shows him the key - or rather, what's left of it. "It would appear that I'm locked out. It was either do this or throw myself off the roof, and I'm too tired to climb any more stairs today."

Emma briefly wonders whether she should be joking that way in front of a stranger. To her relief, he doesn't seem the least bit unsettled by her dark humor. He simply grins at her bashfully. His eyes briefly light up in turn, the spark so dim and fleeting that, had she blinked, she would have missed it altogether.

And that's when it hits her.

"I've got it!" she exclaims, clapping once. "I know where I've seen you before!"

"Y-you do?" The man appears startled.

"Yeah! It was bugging me, but I remember now." She points one red-painted fingernail at him. "You're that clown! The one I saw in the elevator on my first day here!"

He actually looks relieved at that for some reason, and he visibly relaxes. "Oh, right! I, um...forgot about that." He scratches at the back of his head. "I'm surprised you recognized me - or Carnival, actually. That's my clown name at work."

The irony makes Emma giggle. This skinny, timid man in a knit sweater and loafers puts on greasepaint and dances around at parties for a living... Somehow, she can't picture it, and she's even seen him in full costume. Right now he looks like a sad accountant. Or like Mister Rogers.

Sick of craning her head up to talk to him, she stands as well, brushing some dust off the sleeves of her black cardigan. "I can't say I've ever met a clown off the clock before," she says. "Your life must be a lot more interesting than mine."

His answer comes out slightly pained. "I really doubt that... What do you do?"

"I just became a bartender over at The Harlequin." Emma rolls her eyes and shrugs, smiling wryly. "It's a job. Hopefully a stepping stone, so I can get out of here before long." She gestures to her door. "Pretty sad that I can't even manage to get in today."

The man chuckles at her dry excuse for a joke - shyly, as if he's afraid of it being heard. Emma can't tell if she's being genuinely charming or if this guy just pities her. She hasn't been paying too much attention to his body language, so far down the shitter is her initiative to do so. She just wants to curl up in bed.

Being back in Gotham has been all right so far - preferable to the alternative, at least - but she can't seem to shake the cloud of dread that manifests each time she's not immediately busy with something. She figures it's stress-related. After all, there's so much to do in the coming months, just in regards to dealing with judges and lawyers. These things take ages, even if both parties are cooperative. She's not lucky enough to have the sort of divorce all little girls dream of...

She must have started to zone out because she's suddenly brought back by the man exclaiming, "I-I have pliers!"

Emma peers at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"For your door!" he elaborates. "I can't get you into your apartment, but I can at least get your key back!" Quieter, not meeting her gaze, he adds, "And then, you know, if you need to call someone...you're welcome to come in and use my phone."

Emma blinks, momentarily taken aback by this Good Samaritan. "Uh...yeah, that would be great! Thank you!" She reaches down and starts to collect her bags. "Good thing I bumped into one of the only nice people in the city."

While she's retrieving the last of her things, something at her feet catches her eye. There's a sealed envelope on the floor near where she was sitting earlier. Curious, she picks it up, and then balks at the name of the recipient.

"Woah!" She holds the envelope out incredulously. "This letter is addressed to Thomas Wayne! ...Did you drop this?"

Based on what Emma has seen of recent headlines, Thomas Wayne is a frontrunner in Gotham's upcoming mayoral election. As if Gotham doesn't have enough problems - the last thing the city needs is a pigheaded authoritarian billionaire running things. This guy who's been so kind as to help her couldn't possibly be a fan, right?

The man appears mildly annoyed, although not at her. Taking it from her outstretched hand, he says, "Yeah, I did. It's not mine, though - my...m-mother asked me to mail it." He rushes through that last part in a low voice, and Emma realizes he's embarrassed.

If he does still live with his mother, it's only natural that a man his age would feel insecure about it. She's always found the stigma silly, personally. What is Western culture's obsession with "leaving the nest" as soon as humanly possible, even to the child's detriment? Why, if Emma's parents were still around...

Never mind that.

She has no time to reassure her companion before he changes the subject. "I'll handle it later. I should help you first." With his free hand, he pulls out his key and goes to unlock the door to his apartment.

"Hang on a second!" Emma smacks her own forehead, and he freezes. "God, I'm so rude. What's wrong with me?" She shakes her head. "You're being extremely helpful, and I haven't even asked your name! Your real name, that is - I'd imagine it's not always Carnival, right?"

"Heh, right... My name's Arthur."

"Arthur," she repeats, not half minding the way it sounds in her own voice. "It's nice to officially meet you, Arthur."

Predictably, he looks flustered as he replies, "Yeah... Nice to see you again, Emma."

He unlocks the door, holding it open for her, and the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with high-end perfume wafts out. It's not her favorite scent in the world, but it's familiar - comforting, even.

Inside, gaudy pink plaid lines the walls, a sharp contrast to Eddie's taupe covered with band posters. The living room, or at least what she can see of it, is neat and tidy, despite the abundance of knick-knacks covering each surface.

Although, not a single family photo in sight, Emma notes. Some people simply don't have them lying around. She and Eddie are much the same way.

Lingering self-consciously in the foyer, she spots an older woman reclining in an armchair across the room. Arthur's mother, she presumes. Hearing the door, the woman turns and regards her, then Arthur, confusion plain on her features.

"Happy? I didn't know you were having company." Mild surprise colors her voice, affirming Emma's theory that Arthur doesn't get visitors often.

"It's just one of the neighbors, Ma! She's locked out!" he calls back. Squeezing past Emma, he slips into the kitchen and discards the Thomas Wayne letter on the counter. Rummaging through one of the drawers, he produces a pair of pliers rustier than the key that had gotten her into this mess.

"I'll be right back," he tells her. "The phone is in the hallway behind you, if you need to use it." And with that, he rushes back outside before she can even thank him.

Feeling Arthur's mother's eyes burning holes in the back of her head, she does step into the hallway, partly to call Eddie and partly to get out of her line of sight. Emma struggles to remember the number for his store, but breathes a sigh of relief when someone picks up on the third ring.

"G-String's, this is Ron."

Christ, she always forgets that's the name he decided on. "Ron, it's Emma. Is my brother there?"

Before he can answer, she faintly hears Eddie's voice in the background saying that, yes, he is still out of Pink Floyd's The Wall. "Yeah, he's right here, what's up?"

"Good. Listen, tell him I got locked out of the apartment, and I'm heading down to borrow his key." She dreads the walk. It's not far, but her arms are already sore from the shopping bags weighing them down.

Momentarily ignoring Emma, Ron starts talking away from the receiver. "Dude, it's your sister, she's locked outta the house... Okay, I'll tell her. Hey, Emma, he's on his way."

"What? I just said I'd-"

"Too late, he's grabbing his shit."

Emma groans. "Fine. Tell him I'm waiting for him in 8J."

"Will do." A pause. "So, uh... I hear you're single again-"

She hangs up.

She barely wanders back into the foyer when Arthur's mother surprises her by saying, "It's no use standing around over there. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, dear." She gestures vaguely to the sofa next to her.

Emma complies, stepping gingerly into the living room. She sits at the end of the couch, as far away as humanly possible, and sets her bags down underneath the coffee table, her arms crying out in relief.

"My brother should be here any minute," she begins sheepishly. "I'm so sorry to intrude like this, Miss..." She trails off.

"Penny," the woman supplies. "It's no trouble."

A stodgy local political forum is playing on the television. This is a particularly conservative broadcast by the sound of it, anchors harping primarily on Gotham's floundering economy and the ramifications of a potential garbage strike.

Penny is watching raptly, and Emma uses the opportunity to peer over at her. She certainly is done up to be sitting around at home. Sure, she's in button-up flannel pajamas, but she's also wearing a full face of makeup, and her graying hair, fading from strawberry-blonde, is curled. Underneath it all, the wrinkles on her face betray a beautiful visage. Emma feels oddly intimidated all of a sudden, trying to make a good impression on this woman who gives an air of having once been one of the most stunning girls in Gotham.

As if sensing her unease, Arthur returns. He hastily crosses the room and presents Emma with the other half of her key. "I'm sorry it took me so long... It was really in there."

She smiles gratefully up at him. "Oh, don't apologize. You totally saved my hide out there."

Still not quite on board with the whole eye contact deal, he busies himself by straightening up the coffee table. Lifting an empty mug, he looks up at Penny. "Oh, you finished your tea already. Want me to make more?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course!" He starts for the kitchen. "Emma, do you drink chamomile?"

She does, but politely declines, already feeling like she's taking advantage of his kindness. He only looks a little dejected by her refusal.

As Arthur bustles around the kitchen, silence descends upon the living room, save for the droning of the television. The subject has changed; the anchors have moved on from essentially blaming the working class for not making enough money to worshiping the ground their candidate Thomas Wayne walks upon. How original.

Penny practically lunges to raise the volume, startling Emma. "Did you mail my letter, Happy?" she interjects without looking away from the screen.

"I didn't make it downstairs yet." He assures her, "I'll do it before the mailman gets here."

"Don't forget. It's very important," Penny insists somewhat curtly.

"That Thomas Wayne is polling pretty high these days, isn't he?" Emma muses, attempting to make small talk.

Penny instantly perks up. "Yes, that's what everybody on the news is saying. It's a good thing he's running this year. He's exactly what this city needs, don't you think?"

Hardly, but Emma elects to keep her opinion to herself. Instead, she blurts out, "I met him a few years ago."

Penny looks positively awestruck. "You did, really? Oh, he's a wonderful man, isn't he?"

She did technically meet him, although she never spoke to him personally. It was at a benefit that Daniel had dragged her along to, so that he could network (code for smooth talk billionaires). They had conversed for a grand total of thirty seconds, shaken hands, and that was the end of that. He had come off every bit as arrogant and self-important as she would expect of the CEO of a multi-billion dollar industrial corporation. He and Daniel were two peas in a pod.

"...My husband seemed to like him."

The clattering in the kitchen stops cold.

The sudden absence of sound causes her to remember herself. "I mean, my ex - my ex-husband. Excuse me, I'm newly separated. Still getting used to it."

"So sorry to hear that," Penny tells her, not sounding in the least bit sympathetic. Not that Emma needs, or even wants, sympathy.

She instead returns to the previous subject, with Emma half-listening. Apparently, Penny worked for the Wayne family years ago, and is now chock-full of anecdotes from within Wayne Manor.

Emma smiles and nods along. Penny clearly sees her idol though rose-colored glasses, but there's no use telling her that. She must be delighted simply to have someone new to talk to, and Emma would hate to spoil it for her.

Arthur emerges with a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a facial expression that lets Emma know he's far sicker of these stories than she is. Nevertheless, he hands his mother the mug, giving her shoulder an affectionate pat.

The scene has her beaming up at the back of Arthur's head as something stirs deep within her. Something like the first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy morning, coursing through her veins and warming her from the inside out.

Before he can sit down, there's a loud knocking accompanied by a shout of "Hey, Em, you in there?"

"Ah, that's my cue." Emma gathers her things as Arthur hurries to answer the door. She says her goodbyes to Penny, but she's once again engrossed in her program and only offers a halfhearted "goodbye, dear" in return.

Eddie waits in the entryway, arms crossed, his voice booming in the otherwise quiet apartment. "Thanks for the excuse to break early today, ya lucky ladybug. You wouldn't believe some of the idiots coming into the store, you know what I'm saying?" He reaches down to ruffle her hair when she gets within range.

"Glad my misfortune was useful." She notices how Eddie completely towers over Arthur, whose hands fidget anxiously as he hangs back, unsure of what to do with himself. It's honestly sort of endearing how tiny he is, how she could probably lift him up if given the chance.

"I owe you one, Arthur. Knock if you ever need anything, okay?" Emma extends a hand, similar to their first meeting.

This time, Arthur immediately clasps her hand in his, with a grip that is equal parts firm and sweaty. "Okay, and the same goes for you." Eddie good-naturedly claps him once on the back, clearly taking him off-guard, and he drops her hand.

She's poised to head out when Arthur stops her, saying, "Oh, one more thing!"

He zips out of sight for just a moment before reappearing with a small, white box. "This is for you."

After all that, he's even giving her a gift? She starts to dissuade him, but he holds the box out toward her, close enough that social etiquette dictates she take it. And so she does, brows drawing together. "You're too nice, Arthur, thank you."

"Take care, man," Eddie says, finally ushering a confused Emma out the door.

When the door clicks shut behind them, he immediately fixes her with a long and pointed stare. For a second, Emma thinks he's pissed for having to walk all the way back home, but then he breaks the silence.

"So...you and the neighbor, huh?"

Emma tilts her head. "Me and the neighbor?"

"Lemme see this." He grabs the box out of her hands, ignoring her protests. A glance inside, and he shuts it again, raising his eyebrows at her in a nonverbal "I told you so" before handing it back and unlocking their door with a flourish.

"What? What is that face? What's in there?"

"A Cypi's croissant, Em? Oh, he's got it bad for you."

She snatches it back, indignant. "Ugh, you're delusional. I've met him once before; he probably just felt sorry for me."  Although, she had really been craving one of those since she passed by the store on her walk this morning. What a happy coincidence.

"Don't be so naive. You have any idea how many girlfriends I've hit that place up for on Valentine's Day? You don't bust out the Cypi's unless you're seriously looking to drop some panties."

"Gross. Thanks for coming to get me, but never talk to me about panties."

It's strange to think that the seemingly mild-mannered, reticent man who gifted her a croissant has such a blood-curdling laugh. It would have been incredibly rude to bring it up today, when he had so kindly gone out of his way for her. Surely, there's a courteous method to broaching the subject? It would be unfortunate to hurt his feelings and topple the precarious acquaintanceship they were building.

She is pleasantly surprised that night when the walls are resoundingly, blissfully silent.

[longroadstonowhere]

yeah, okay, so what if rwby was still rwby but ruby’s partner was blake and weiss’s partner was yang

(this is ridiculously long and also really just barely touches on what i’ve been thinking about, but it’s been sitting in my drafts without being touched for at least a few days now so i might as well publish now)

obviously everything up to initiation is the same, but when we get into the forest, blake ends up closer to ruby than yang, so she decides to follow the girl whose optimism seems more motivated by grief than naivety, but she’s not able to sneak up on ruby at the end of a fight - instead, a grimm forces her out of hiding and she has to fight alongside ruby for a few monsters

they meet eyes and ruby waffles between rambling and telling herself to shut up, which prompts blake to laugh a little and tell her to relax, she doesn’t bite before walking off all cool-like - ruby just sorta sighs because she feels like she’s already messed up

meanwhile, weiss is facing off against her own group of grimm, who she’s actually doing pretty okay against, only to have her perfect form set off course by a grimm thrown through the woods by yang, who apologizes but calls her princess or ice queen or what have you in the process, which gets weiss mad but the middle of a grimm fight is not the time to argue with someone else so she just blows way too much dust to freeze the remaining enemies

yang’s kinda impressed, but in a ‘i didn’t think you could actually fight’ sorta way, which just pisses weiss off more, so she tries to leave yang behind, only for yang to mention she’s going the wrong way, and they get into a fight about it that gets interrupted by jaune’s scream (because yeah, all the jnpr stuff would still go like normal)

blake and ruby make their way to the temple no problem, but also no talking - ruby tries to start a few conversations but they’re all shallow enough for blake to give single word responses (maybe a short sentence here or there), so when they get to the temple ruby zips ahead excitedly to grab an artifact, only to get beaned by jaune as he falls from the sky

weiss and yang end up meeting pyrrha getting hunted by the death stalker and they try to help her take it out, but their styles keep getting in each other’s way and all three of them just run a fighting retreat in the direction pyrrha saw jaune fly

everyone meets up at the temple, where they’re able to temporarily halt the death stalker long enough for everyone who didn’t have one yet to get an artifact, but weiss and yang are still pissed off at each other and they attract the nevermore

ruby kicks into leader mode, directing jnpr to handle the death stalker while rwby takes down the nevermore, a fight which basically goes the same as canon probably, except i might would have blake give a shocked look at how capable ruby is under pressure, which yang would see and just be like ‘hey, if you’re her partner, you better make sure you appreciate her skills’

anyway, team creation ceremony happens, ruby is named leader, they go through their first day of classes, and weiss is still pissed at how unleaderly she sees ruby being, but instead of complaining to a teacher about it, yang pulls her aside for a sparring session

they have a fight-talk about giving people chances, weiss complains that ruby’s still a child, yang reveals summer’s death and says she’s happy ruby can still be so child-like because everything in the world says she shouldn’t be, she wins the sparring session against weiss and is like ‘don’t think everyone else has had an easy life just because you have’, to which weiss is like ‘that is not true but i understand the point you’re making, i’ll try to be nicer’

meanwhile after her chat with ozpin ruby goes to the library to try and cram knowledge into her brain to be a better leader, where she finds blake, who assumes ruby’s there to find some comics or novels or whatever, but ruby reveals her plan and asks for blake’s help

blake is actually surprised by this request, but she asks what kind of leader ruby wants to be, when ruby’s confused she explains ‘do you want to be someone fearless and strong, who’s followed by those with the utmost faith in your infallibility? do you want to be the wisest, followed because your words can move even stone? or-’

and ruby just says ‘i want to be the kind of leader you can trust to have your back no matter what’, which blake didn’t actually expect to hear because she still thinks ruby would only have immature concepts of leadership, but she rallies herself and says ‘you’re well on your way, then’

i think weiss and ruby still have their nighttime reconciliation as well, just maybe a little different based on the circumstances leading up to it

all the jaune stuff is basically the same, nothing interesting to change there

and you know, i think blake’s identity reveal mostly goes the same as well - pretty much the only difference i can imagine is when penny’s asking about blake, ruby mentions she’s her partner as well as her friend, and maybe blake’s dialogue with sun changes a bit as well

the fight against roman goes as before, but after the fight you get more of a scene between ruby and blake where blake tries to start explaining but ruby just hugs her and is like i don’t care about any of that you are my partner so i am ride or die for you and i’m so glad you’re safe, which blake takes a second to like compute being hugged? but then she accepts it, and that’s when weiss shows up and they get their moment of reconciliation

i think in second season, the only thing i’d really change is burning the candle (as much as it pains me to change it because it’s such a good episode as is)

so while weiss and yang are focusing on the dance, ruby sits by worrying about blake, yang offers to try and talk some sense into her but ruby says ‘she’s my partner, i’ll take care of it’

so instead of the laser pointer bit, ruby just puppy dog eyes blake into a private conversation, and i think we get more of how ruby felt after her mom died - ‘yang thinks i was too young to remember or understand, but i remember dad shutting down for a long time, yang having to take care of me, qrow poking his head in but he never stayed for long’, moral of the story is sometimes people leave your life long before you expect it so do your best to enjoy the time you have? something like that

that hits blake hard because she’s the one who’s done the leaving thus far, she tries to hold onto the outrage but ruby just holds onto her hands and says please, and blake gives in

so yeah, the rest of second season goes as canon, the campfire conversation might have some minor differences but the heart of it is the same - big thing is raven still saves yang, but i don’t think we’d have a conversation with yang before this time where she reveals that raven was her birth mom, so it’s more of a mystery who she is

so we swing into the third season, which again i think would stay mostly the same - like if it was getting animated the fights might be different because the partners are different and so their strategies might change, but the big events still happen as they did in canon mostly

when winter arrives, i think yang might be with weiss instead of ruby because, you know, partners, and besides weren’t they going to talk about their second round strategy.... weiss where are you going

so when qrow and winter’s fight gets stopped, yang greets qrow happily but mentions ‘i have to talk to you when you’re done’, which like he doesn’t understand but oz is still waiting for him so he goes ‘okay firecracker’, weiss rolls up like ‘he explains so much about you two’ and yang is just all ‘you’re just mad cuz he was wiping the floor with your sister’, and they bicker happily

so while ruby and yang are hanging out with qrow playing video games, yang convinces ruby to leave for a second (grab snacks?) and she mentions ‘i think i saw my mom’, so now we get qrow and yang talking about raven (which yang still hasn’t actually told ruby about, so she thinks ruby doesn’t know, whereas qrow suspects she’s aware but isn’t sure and it’s not something ruby needs to know really? there’s something there in that regard at least) (ruby totally knows, she found the same photo yang did and realized just how similar raven and yang look, and she’d picked up on a lot of half-sentences the others had all been using around her, but she didn’t want to pry)

so things continue apace, yang has her fight against mercury that gets sabotaged by emerald, and afterwards blake still says ‘i want to believe you’, but it doesn’t hurt yang as much as canon because this is ruby’s partner, not hers, weiss has her back one thousand percent so yang is more confused than anything else, blake still gets yang to swear to her face what she saw, but before she accepts it she gives ruby a quick glance because blake trusts ruby’s judgment more than her own at this point probably

so then we have the fall of beacon, and i think everything still goes as canon - ruby goes after pyrrha on the roof, yang goes after blake in the cafeteria, but this is more a factor of who is where when locations get reported, because yang hears from weiss that blake disappeared into the school grounds before ruby makes it off the ship, so she tasks weiss with protecting her sister while she collects their lost teammate

so yang loses her arm for her sister’s partner, and ruby’s ascent is aided by a teammate, and she wakes up at home and learns about silver eyes

so here’s where the fun part starts happening - i don’t know if blake would run to menagerie at this point

i think she would feel guilty about causing yang’s injury (because of course she would still blame herself for that), but she would also feel guilty about not having ruby’s back when she needed it, and i don’t know if she could have left while ruby was still comatose

so i think, in this universe, blake secretly follows the family to patch, and the night after ruby wakes up, she sneaks into ruby’s room to make sure she’s okay, she thinks ruby is asleep so she just whispers an apology and turns to leave but ruby stops her, they have a long chat going back and forth about how much of what happened is blake’s fault and how much power they have over the world (blake thinks very little positive power, ruby thinks just enough), ruby ekes a promise out of blake that she’ll stay in touch before blake escapes, now determined to go home and rest

or maybe she wouldn’t - maybe ruby would be able to guilt her into staying, or at least into coming with her when she decides to leave for mistral; i’m really intrigued by the long break between the fall of beacon and the beginning of rnjr’s journey in canon, and it’d be interesting to examine that time period in closer detail

(side note, i just realized rnjr leaves patch in winter and we see them in mistral in spring - is the entire winter season spent in crossing the sanus continent? how have i never thought about this time period before? anyway)

the only other strong thought i have about this is that yang’s attitude toward blake would be way more simplistically antagonistic i think - she would be more likely to blame blake for adam being there in the first place (or at least, she would entertain the thought, as opposed to canon yang who couldn’t even imagine blaming blake for adam’s actions i think), but what would she feel about weiss being kidnapped? i’m not sure, honestly

okay, this is long enough for now i think - we’ll see if i have more specific post volume three thoughts later

[hamyheikki]

Day 2 “Letters”

I am so behind with the challenge, and for that I apologize! Not feeling the greatest as of late, but making these is proving to be a bit helpful.

The order has been issued: All personnel currently situated in the Shatterdome must be ready to depart in two week’s time. The war was over, nation wanted their land back, and even though there had been suggestions about using the base as a research site going forward, the idea had been shut down by the government. And so, in the windy morning few days after the battle, the halls of Humanity’s Last Stance are filled with soldiers, pilots and mechanics, all running past and over each other in their hurry to try and gather their belongings before the deadline. Corridors, narrow to begin with, are piled up with suitcases, metal-sealed chests and pieces of furniture. It was getting difficult to move around

And yet, not everybody is part of the hassle. Sitting on one of the containment boxes, Mako merely watches as her comrades rush around. She had knew this was coming from the moment they hit the shores after the final mission, it only being a matter of time. Over the last days, she has already put away all her personal items of importance, tossing away everything she couldn’t see herself needing in the near future, and therefore having nothing left to tend to. It was calming, in a way, to merely sit and let the scene play out before her without taking part of it. She had been in the focus of so many eyes lately, it was a relief to simply... be.

But as many things in life, it was not meant to last. A sudden movement to her left catches her attention, and when she turns to look, she notices a young soldier standing a few feet away. He has a clipboard in his hand, and a nervous smile on his face.

“Uhh... Ms. Mako Mori?”

“Yes.” Out of habit, she jumps up from her seat, coming to stand face to face with the man. “And you are?”

“A... A private Lewis, ma’am! From 6. division!” He makes a hasty salute, one which Mako waves off immediately. The younger members of the Shatterdome teams had taken it upon themselves to start to salute the personal who were intimately connected to the shutting of the Breach, and while she appreciated the gesture, it had, from the start, made her uncomfortable.

She could see the tension leaving the man’s body as she offers a small, relaxed smile. “At ease. Was there something you needed from me?” The clipboard isn’t in her direct line of sight, so she can’t quite make out what is being written on it. From a quick glance, it looks like a schedule. 

Lewis’ next words confirmed her suspicions. “Yeah! Hansen - Uhh, the Marshal asked me to pass a request on for you.” He glances down at the papers, scanning for a moment. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for. “He asked if you could go and help out with the dismantling of the K-science wing? Apparently they are running late with the departure preparations.”

A small smirk climbs on her lips before Lewis makes it to the end of the sentence. Of course, she has been keeping an eye out for two men still lurking in the lowest floors of the Shatterdome. To her, it had been obvious from the very start that doctors Gottlieb and Geiszler would be the last people to leave the base, and in case of Geiszler in particular, it might require someone literally carrying the man out of the door. She doesn’t judge though. The Dome has been a home for them just as long as it has been one for her, and the idea of it suddenly being shut down doesn’t sit well with some of its residents. Especially those who had been there for years.

But it had to be done. And the faster, the better.

“Understood. I’ll see what I can do,” she says, picking up her satchel from the ground. “You can tell Marshal that it’ll be sorted out.” 

With that, she spins around and starts to walk to the maintenance elevator.

------

“You know bloody well how long it took for me to program that! Unlike your mindless poking, my work cannot simply be rammed into an under-powered fridge for transport!”

“It’s a disk, Hermann! An ancient fucking disk, which nobody has used since the invention of a thumb-drive! Can’t you just, I dunno, copy it all on a device that hasn’t been memed by the whole population of Earth since 2005?”

“Copy... ! Do you have any idea how delicate that information is, one can’t just copy and paste it on multiple -”

 “Doctors?”

It was quite unsettling how in sync the two men move nowadays. As both of them fall silent and turn to look at her standing by the door, she can clearly see the effect left behind their shared Drift. They are very close to each other, few inches apart and yet seemingly still not close enough. Out of the two, Mako had always felt Dr. Gottlieb to be the more reserved one by far, but now, he is just as, if not more animated as Dr. Geiszler. She had walked in and ended up in the middle of a bickering battle, but after witnessing the two go head to head for ages now, she had noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Biting, sharp-witted, yes. But completely in sync.

Geiszler’s bright smile, however, hasn’t changed in the slightest. “Mako!” Hastily moving towards her, his grin grows ever wider. “Didn’t know you were coming! Sorry about that,” he points over his shoulder to his partner, who merely rolls his eyes, “we’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“So it’d seem” Mako answers and once-over around the room. It does looks as though they have been putting away some larger pieces of machinery Mako remembers being here in the past, but all of their personal items, as well as a great deal of papers, formulas and kaiju samples are still very much present in the lab. “You were... cleaning?”

“We were, until someone decided to throw a fit over a floppy disk.”

Gottlieb jumps in just then, posture rigid: “It was not a floppy disk, Newton! It is a memory disk, containing a large -”

“ - large part of the original Jager code! I know, you keep repeating that!” Geiszler’s eye-roll is nearly identical to the one Gottlieb had displayed just a second ago.

“Then I cannot fathom why you insist on my concerns being unfounded -”

“Because you think that your precious disk cannot handle a short flight back to UK! It’s not made of glass, Hermann!”

“Oh, so it is perfectly acceptable for you to worry about those slime-balls you stacked in the container, but not for me to be concerned about of my life’s work?”

Before Geiszler can bark out a new reply, Mako raises her own voice. “Gentlemen, please. There is supposed to be cleaning going on, yes?” She makes a meaningful circle in place, gesturing to the room. “And the man upstairs is beginning to turn impatient.”

The shared widening of the two pairs of eyes is comical in its own right. Geiszler is the first one to recover.

“So... Hansen is not too pleased, huh?”

Mako shakes her head. “No. I was sent ahead, as a peace negotiator I suspect.” The comment brings Geiszler’s grin back, and Mako answers in kind. She has always liked the short scientist, and his passion for what he does has had a great impact on Mako while growing up in the Shatterdome. Being surrounded mostly by military personnel, it had been a relief to have a man like Newton around. And she has an utmost respect towards Dr. Gottlieb as well. In every way, he is a steady presence to balance Geiszler’s enthusiasm. When she thinks back to her time in the Shatterdome, and the silent guidance by example she has received from both men, helping them clean up a lab doesn’t sound too imposing of a task.

She is ripped out of her thoughts by Gottlieb’s dry cough, the man appearing to take in the state of the room too. “We’d better get started. If you are willing to lend us a hand, that is.” It isn’t a question, more of a statement of a fact, and Mako is more than happy to roll with it. She nods, and sets her bag down on a counter.

“That’s what I am here for.”

-----

It takes them a good part of the hour just to bulldoze a path from the two workbenches to the main door. Despite most of the specimen tank being carried out a few days prior, there are still one or two remaining, and Geiszler is forced to ring for a couple of rangers to come and pick them up. Once the space is more open, they start to go through the piles of miscellaneous items littered all over the counters, chairs and floor. Mostly old coffee mugs and discarded blueprints, with a bit of kaiju fluids added to the mix. All and all, it is rather mundane work, up to the point where Gottlieb suddenly halts his screening of the document cabinet and speak out.

“Newton, where did you put that cardboard box we got with the copy paper?”

From across the room, Mako lifts her gaze just in time to see Geiszler do the same, a frown on his face. “I recycled it like two months ago, dude! It was taking up space.”

Gottlieb huffs and gestures to the mountain of files currently sitting at his feet. “We need something to transfer these with.”

“Well just stuff them into one of the briefcases!”

“They need to be kept in order!” Sighing heavily, Gottlieb catches Mako’s eyes. “Miss Mori, if you’d be so kind as to take this over for me? There might be some boxes left over in the upper floor office.” And with that, he turns on his heels, cane firmly in hand, and marches out. Mako, following the requests, moves to the half-empty cabinet and stares back at the door once it has been slammed shut. She notices the way Geiszler tenses up as the sound of it.

It’s not really her place to meddle, but she cannot help herself.

“Everything alright?”

Her question makes Geiszler jump, and he nearly drop the mug he’d been holding. A slight blush creeps on his face, and he lets out an unconvincing burst of laugh. “Yeah, yeah everything’s fine!” Carefully, he sets the mug down, eyes dragging to the closed door. “Hermann has just been a bit on edge lately, it’ll pass.” The smile doesn’t quite reach past his lips. “No need to take it personally! He’s gonna blow off some steam as he walks back.” He turns away to go back to the cleaning, but not before Mako sees the brief curtain of uncertainty flash on his face.

It is gone by the time Geiszler walk to her with a plastic container filled with mementos and what appears to be sketches of various mathematical formulas. The man sways slightly under the weight of it. “You seen a marker around here?” She passes one to him, and silently watches him scribble his co-worker’s name over the lid. The box is left next to her alongside of the rest of Gottlieb’s belongings after Geiszler rushes back to his side of the lab.

Out of it, an errand paper slips onto the floor.

At first she thinks it to be another piece of failed blueprint, or a note. But upon closer inspection, it turns out to be a multiple pages long, stapled together from the upper corner. It also looks far more worn-out, like the reader has been handling it over and over again. The messy writing is hard to decipher to begin with, but the fading ink makes it almost unreadable. 

“Dear Hermann

Sorry I haven’t been writing much! Things have been kinda kicking off, and this one might end up being a short one too. 

Before I forget: So sad to hear about your grandma passing away. I wish I could have been there for you, can’t imagine your dad was much of a comforter. I thought about calling, but then figured you might want some time for yourself, y’know? Hopefully that was the right way to go, I really wanted to try and do what’d be the best for you -”

Despite the writer’s disclaimer that the letter would not be a lengthy one, it went on for pages. The close and warm tone of the writing didn’t change even when the conversation slipped to the academic topics near the middle. Clearly a personal correspondence more so than a work-related, and yet Mako couldn’t find the sender’s name anywhere. One would assume that there had been one in the envelope, but after a long moment of searching, she comes up empty-handed. 

Then her eyes land on the container.

Hermann’s junk #1. 

Written with a messy, almost unreadable handwriting.

... Oh.

A call from behind her snaps her back to attention. She turns to see Geiszler wrestling with one of the writing desks. And losing, from the looks of it.

 “Mako! You mind helping me out with this? It weighs like a sin and I’m not sure if I can get it through the door by myself,” he asks, already out of breath. “I swear, taking things out from the drawers is supposed to make it lighter!”

“Uh... Of course! Just a minute!” With a quick work, she folds the letter again. After a moment of consideration, she picks up the rest of the similarly opened letters found in the box, and ties them together with a loose rubber band. The formal documents, the ones she is supposed to be going over, are moved to a neat stack on the counter, waiting for the moving box.

The pile of letters, however, is gently set right next to Dr. Gottlieb’s briefcase.

For safekeeping.

[alliesweetsong]

600 Followers...

I don’t even know where to begin. Normally I would tell you how humbled I am, how I didn’t expect to see 100 let alone 600, but that all really feels overdone, though no less true now as it was the first time I posted an appreciation thread. 

Since my arrival onto Wyrmrest Accord, and subsequently creating this blog a year ago, I have had to utmost pleasure, and honor writing with a very good portion of you. Or just derping around in Boralus, Stormwind, or Silvermoon

Sure there have been bad times that I purposely haven’t addressed, the need to handle things privately and let things run its course and handle things maturely (or as maturely as can be) over-rode any notion of ‘getting even’ or ‘sticking it’ people. 

But there have been more good times than that, and it's those times I want to focus on, as always. 

@fin-mckendric/ @roses-and-arrows / @malhaw / @xyveth-heartbane The laughs we share in World of Warcraft, Overwatch, current events, or just dumb silly garbage and shit posts reminds me time and time why I love this game so much. If not for friends like you my nights would be far less entertaining. I value our friendship more than words can describe and I'm always eager to repeat it, night after night. I know, I know, no thanks are needed. But you’re going to hear it anyway. 

@serelia-evensong One of my longest running friends on Wyrmrest. There have been bumps in the road, ones I don’t blame you or anybody else for. But I have valued your input, your communication, skill as a writer and you as a person since the day we met. I feel like my life both in and out of the game are richer because of it. You know things about me that only a handful of people I can count know, and even more still that less know about. Thank you for never sugarcoating, keeping things open and honest and for genuinely being the best human being I’ve had the pleasure of meeting

@lady-rian Much like Serelia I can never stop giving you thanks. Though our paths in roleplay haven’t crossed in some time I have always felt like I can turn to you for advice, You gave me the ‘in’ to a world I’d never dreamed of experiencing and I can never be more grateful for it. I hope one day I have the joy and pleasure of writing with you once more. 

Last but not least @olliehaldstan This is all your fault. I hope you know that. How long did you convince me to come to Wyrmrest? How long did you try to get me to make a Tumblr? Without your persistence, your guidance and my first taste of roleplay inside the tap, I wouldn’t be on WoW right now. I feel comfortable saying that. I love you like a brother, and I miss talking to you on a regular basis. Life and schedules just haven’t been kind to either one of us. Thank you for convincing me to come roleplay with you. None of this would exist if not for you. 

And finally, all of you. My followers. My friends. People that poke me in game, in discord, here on Tumblr. Some of you have been there to offer out a hand, a hug, and a smile when I truly needed it and you never knew it. The support you all show me with writing has been amazing and I’m always wanting to improve more. 

600 followers on a blog dedicated to writing and roleplay. Let that sink in for a moment, as I am honestly attempting to do. Past making semi-okay youtube videos and drumming, I am not an artist. I am just someone with a huge passion for writing and a passion for entertaining, even if for just 5 minutes. 600 people have decided they like my content. Its mind blowing. Not even humbling at this point, it's numbing to think about. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for not just hitting that follow button but for allowing me to share stories, to share memes, and to entertain. I love you all

-Allie’s Mun 

[rainforestgeek]

If you lose your strength to stand (I’m gonna reach for your hand) pt. 9 “Tell Me it’s Not for Nothing”

Part 8

AO3 link

--

The next morning Keith woke up from the deepest sleep he’d had in years. Light breath purred against his neck. Matt’s arm draped over his side and they lay pressed together back-to-chest. He was loathe to leave the warm bed, or disturb Matt, but Keith had things to do. He’d indulged in this comfort long enough.

He carefully extricated himself from the blankets, slipping out of Matt’s hold and into the cool ship air. He gathered his space suit and armor from the floor and started getting dressed.

Keith was strapping his blade to his belt when Matt stirred. He sat up and stretched. Keith indulgently took in his lithe, muscular torso and toned shoulders. It felt so good to be explicitly allowed to look. Especially with the memory of all that smooth skin under his hands. Matt grinned sleepily. “Hey.”

“Morning. You should get ready. It’s probably gonna be a long day.”

“So romantic.”

Keith’s face burned. He mentally scrambled for a response.

“Sorry, I’m just kidding.” Matt got up and gave Keith’s temple a gentle kiss before pulling on his pants.

Keith relaxed, relieved. Words returned to him. “I’m going to the dining hall. You should stay and eat breakfast here. I know Pidge’ll be happy to see you, too.” He made to leave.

“Wait, Keith.”

He stopped and turned back.

“Um.” Seeing Matthew Holt look uncertain was so bizarre. He kept looking from the floor to the ceiling and back to the floor.

Keith waited.

“Last night, I ran into Lance in the hallway. Is…should…you’ve known him for a while now. What kind of guy is he?”

Uh. Out of left fucking field. But then again, most questions came across to Keith that way. “In summary, he’s a dependable idiot.”

“What do you mean by idiot?”

“He pretends to be an asshole. It’s distracting when he flirts with girls on missions.”

“Has he ever flirted with Pidge?”

He thought for a second. “I don’t think so. Matt, if you’re worried about Lance playing Pidge or something, don’t. They’re close. He wouldn’t do that.” He hesitated, then, trying to be comforting, took Matt’s hand and squeezed it.

Matt’s eyes focused on him. He leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, lingering a moment. “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith couldn’t understand why a simple kiss like that flustered him so much when they’d had sex just last night. He swallowed. “See you at breakfast.”

Out in the hallway he saw Lance in his street clothes standing in front of Pidge’s room. He didn’t do anything, just stared at the door with his hands deep in his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

Lance jumped. “Umnothingjust – ”

“Okay, wrong question. Why are you standing outside Pidge’s room instead of knocking like a normal person?”

“Are you really telling me what normal people do?” He glared at Keith, but there was no real heat in his voice. He started walking in the direction of the dining hall. “Whatever. I just…we’re dealing with so much stuff today and I don’t know if she’s still asleep and she’d rip my face off if I woke her up, so excuse me for being a tiny bit afraid of knocking.”

Keith fell into step with him. “Don’t worry about it. Coran will get Pidge out of bed.”

“Why are we still talking about Pidge?”

“Why are you talking about Pidge?”

“Because you are!”

“I’m not the one waiting outside her bedroom first thing in the morning.”

“You – !” All the blood rushed to Lance’s face and he huffed like an agitated dragon. Keith had almost forgotten how fun it was riling him up. And familiar. He couldn’t resist poking further.

“Did you need to tell her something in private? Something secret?”

“I CANNOT believe I actually missed you, you jerk!” Lance stormed off ahead.

You did? Keith thought.

That was weird hearing so directly from Lance. He knew Pidge and Hunk did, and obviously Shiro –

His fists clenched. Shiro wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for a long time. Keith physically restrained himself from punching something.

He never did see Pidge that morning. She wasn’t at breakfast, and she wasn’t at the tactical meeting with Emperor Lotor either. Coran and Lotor and the other paladins were on the bridge when he followed Matt inside, star maps projected through the air, but no sign of their smartest teammate. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Where’s Pidge?” Hunk asked.

“Sequestered in my rooms with the mice,” Allura said. “She is running analyses on data she gathered from the clone. She came to tell me earlier and I decided not to interrupt her progress.”

“Speaking of which. How the hell did a galra spy get on board the Castle?” Lance demanded.

Keith avoided eye contact when he replied. “I don’t get it. The Black Lion took me to him. She recognized him as Shiro.”

“Yeah. Can’t the Lions, like, see inside our souls?” Hunk asked. “Unless you can make an exact copy of somebody’s brain it doesn’t make sense. Wait, is that possible?”

“It’s irrelevant,” Allura said. “The Lions bond with our quintessence. The very fundamental energies of our lives.”

“So how do you copy quintessence?”

“You cannot. Not even the Druids are capable of such magic.” Lotor looked thoughtful. “Shiro spent time as a prisoner of the empire, yes? Fighting for entertainment?”

“What’s your point?” Matt said.

“He has a cyborg prosthetic arm, work of the Druids no doubt. Which means they must possess the original arm. It's probable they extracted its quintessence and grew it in the clone.”

Lance made a disgusted noise. “How do you do that with a dead arm?!”

“Keeping the tissue alive is a simple matter for Haggar, Red Paladin.”

“It is revolting. But more than possible,” Allura agreed.

“But that’s still just speculation,” Matt said. “We know there’s been a spy inside Voltron. It doesn’t matter how if we don’t know why. What specifically does she want out of all this? Why hasn’t she used more insider information?”

“It’d be invaluable to know, Matt. But on that we also have nothing but speculation. What do you think, Lotor?” Allura asked.

He frowned. “I agree that the witch’s plan is of the utmost importance; however, I would remind you, Princess: it must not compromise our efforts to stabilize the rest of the galra,” Lotor said.

Lance half-raised his hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t that plan in danger as long as we don’t know what Haggar is up to?”

“So we’ll multitask.” Allura sighed. “It is risky, I know. But concentrating our efforts solely on the rogue galra or the Druids would allow the other threat to grow unchecked. We must do our best to tackle both problems at once. I would still like your assistance with the rogues and quintessence, Hunk.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been studying Honerva’s science log and I’ve got some ideas.”

“In the meantime,” said Lance, “I’m gonna question Ezor. See what she has to say for herself.”

Keith snorted. Something about Lance leading an interrogation struck him as funny. “What are you going to do – annoy her into talking?”

“Ha, ha, laugh it up Mullet, you’re coming down there with me.”

“Of course I am! She could tell us where Shiro is.” Keith realized as the echo died around him that he'd shouted.

Lance gripped his shoulder. “We’ll get answers this time, Keith. I promise.”

Matt pitched in,“Pidge told me last night she’s making something that can help with that.”

Lance let go and took a step away from them. He said, “That sounds scary. Should I be scared?”

Matt fixed him with a look. One that Keith wasn’t familiar with. “Should you?”

Swallowing visibly, Lance replied, “Of Pidge or anything she makes? As a rule, terrified.”

Matt seemed to like that answer. Keith felt some kind of subtext between the two that definitely went over his head.

--

Lance wondered how many half galra they were going to have behind this glass. They were at two, now. One more and it’s a pattern.

Matt followed them down, making Lance feel tense.  His face was as closed-off as it had been last night, except this time without the joking mask. Now his expression was straight-up stone. But hopefully having his new boyfriend around would help Keith keep from going off like an IED.

Keith on the other hand had his arms crossed. Pretty standard Keith stuff.

Ezor was laying on the floor with her feet propped against the wall. Her soles smushed against the glass, smearing traces of dirt on it.

Keith hit the big intercom button. “Time to talk.”

The galra swung her feet down and sat up to look at them. “Ooooh, the underlings grace me with their presence. Where’s Mr. Bitch Slap and Miss Queen of the Universe?”

Lance stepped closer to the glass and tried to look confident. “Sorry. You won’t be seeing the princess any time soon, let alone get your hands on her.”

Ezor cocked her head. “Whelp, sucks for me, because that sort of impedes me doing my job.”

“Okay. You’re fired.”

“Lucky me.”

“Look, we don’t care about you. We want to know where Haggar is.”

“What’s in it for me?” She asked lazily, leaning back on her hands.

“We don’t kill you,” Keith growled.

Ezor shrugged. “Eh. That sounds about right. Haggar’s probably with Sendak, pulling his little puppet strings.”

“That would mean she’s dead. Which we know isn’t true.” Matt sounded just the tiniest bit proud despite performing his best imitation of an ice statue.

“Huh. Then I don’t know.”

“Hey Lance, I’m smelling a giant pile of horse shit,” Matt said, turning to face him.

Lance bit back a snicker. “It’s really stinking up the place. Think we should eject it?”

“Can’t smell it if it’s in space.”

“Rude.” Ezor protested.

“Then make yourself useful, and quick.”

She huffed. “I don’t have a tracker on the woman, I don’t know where she is.”

“But you’re working for her. You and the other generals,” Lance said.

“Look, we’re just trying to survive by now, okay? Lotor went bozo – years of dedicated service all to become universal outcasts. Most people would do anything to avoid execution and I’m no exception. But I must say, this is the nicest cell I’ve been in so far.”

“You’re a mercenary.”

“And dodging the question.” Matt narrowed his eyes. “If you want to stay alive, then tell us what you know about Haggar’s plan. What’s she after?”

“Oh that’s easy: take down Voltron. You’re really slow around here.”

“From the inside. Nice try, but no cigar," Lance snarked.

Keith whispered. “I don’t think she smokes.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” he whispered back.

“Oh good job! You found the little project she planted.” Ezor’s tone was more condescending than all Lance’s most hateful middle school teachers combined. “Guess you do have two neurons to rub together if you weeded out the spy.”

“What has she done with Shiro?” Keith demanded.

“The original? That one’s probably dead.”

The words hit Lance like falling hail. He waited for Keith to blow up at her. When nothing happened, he glanced to his left to see Matt squeezing Keith from behind in a tight hug. Keith’s eyes slid shut and his breathing evened out.

Matt looked at the general evenly. “You’re lying. You were on the ground, alone. You had to have set up a rendezvous point.”

Lance swallowed back the ice in his throat. “Yeah! Where were you gonna go after killing Allura?”

All three of them jumped at what happened next: Ezor fell onto the floor and started cackling. She laughed so loud she clearly couldn’t breathe. Her red face turned magenta.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Keith said.

“She – does not – want the pri – princess dead, you primitive worms. My – ” she took a moment to regain her composure. “My orders were to kidnap the princess.”

“Then where was the rendezvous point?!”

She smirked. “Right at the border of the Patrulian Zone. You can chase her there if you want, but if you go there you’ll definitely die.”

Patrulian Zone…Patrulian Zone…Quiznak, why did that sound so familiar?

Matt frowned. “She’s right. No one uses any route through that section of space anymore. Too many ships have gone missing.”

It suddenly hit Lance. If an actual light bulb had manifested itself above his head just to go off at that moment, he’d totally believe it. “HOLY CROW!”

He sprinted towards the elevator and shouted over his shoulder, “Keep questioning, I’ve got to tell Allura!” He ran to the bridge, which was empty, then searched the Castle at top speed until he arrived at the princess’s bed chambers. He swallowed back the awkwardness about approaching her in her private space. He knocked on the doors.

“Allura? It’s Lance, I’ve got important news!”

Her voice came muffled from inside. “Come in, Lance.”

He opened the door and skidded inside. “We were just interrogating Ezor and she – oh!” He froze. “Um, h-hey Pidge!”

Pidge sat cross-legged on the giant bed with Allura. She was wearing her shorts and windbreaker, and her feet were bare. Her glasses reflected the glow coming from her laptop, which was connected to some weird circular gizmo. All the mice had perched on her head and shoulders to weave tiny braids in her hair. Flames licked up Lance’s face and he quickly looked away to avoid staring. Allura cocked one eyebrow at him from her perch on the bed, and Hunk (whom at first he hadn’t noticed sprawled out on the floor with his ancient holographic science notebook) pointedly looked between Lance and Pidge, only fueling his embarrassment.

“You’re already interrogating her?” Pidge sounded oddly disappointed.

“…Yes?” he replied uncertainly.

She tapped at the gadget plugged into her computer. “Never mind. You were saying?”

“Right, uh. Ezor told us she was trying to kidnap you, Allura, not kill you. We just assumed it was an assassination. Haggar’s orders were to bring you to her at the entrance to Oriande.”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Pidge turned to Allura. “Do you think she could get in?”

The princess shrugged, brows furrowed. “Possibly. She’s technically an Altean with magical gifts. But what she could do with me I don’t know.”

“Maybe she was gonna cut off your arm and seduce you to the dark side.” The stupid joke left his mouth before Lance could stop it. He clapped his hands over his mouth, embarrassed, and heard an agonized groan from Hunk and a cute giggle-snort from Pidge. She bit her fist, plainly trying to hold in her laughter. Lance smiled behind his fingers

“Seduce? I hardly think so!” Allura’s scandalized yelp drew back his attention.

“You see what happens when you say stuff like that?” Hunk said. Lance shot him a glare.

Pidge took several deep breaths, to calm down. It obviously only worked like three-quarters of the way. “It’s a reference to a classic Americ – Earth movie. He means maybe Haggar wants to convert you to her cause, so you can be evil Altean alchemists together.”

Allura wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps. I suppose she only knew where to go because of the clone.” Lance nodded. “Haggar’s lust for power is dangerous. If she gains such mastery of quintessence then she could destroy the economic balance we’re trying to achieve and wreak disaster upon every living thing in the universe.”

Hunk’s eyes had gone so comically wide Lance was amazed they didn’t fall out of his skull. “Are you KIDDING ME? Zarkon is dead and now we have to deal with THIS? You guys do not sound scared enough! How do we stop her? PIDGE?”

“Hunk, lower your voice,” Allura admonished, “you’re scaring the mice.”

Pidge typed away at her computer. “I’ve been analyzing the clone’s galra arm. If we get close enough I might be able to track down Haggar, and since we have a good guess where she’s been…”

“…We could get in range and bring the fight to her. Pidge, you are brilliant!”

Pidge smirked at Allura. “I know.”

Lance’s stomach fluttered – then growled. The conversation was veering where his usefulness vanished anyway, so he made to leave the geniuses to do their thing. Hunk was already talking magical defenses with Allura. “I’m gonna go eat something and get back down to the cell.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you.” Pidge gathered her stuff and jumped clumsily off the bed. She looked and sounded a lot more manic than usual. “You wanna see something stupid?”

“If you hold up a mirror in front of my face, you’re dead to me.”

“Ugh. Opportunity missed. Come on, I just have to get something.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. He caught sight of Hunk and Allura looking meaningfully at each other, Allura outright giggling.

Pidge led him through the corridors and to the Green Lion’s hangar. Her work station was a mess. When she let go of his wrist, his skin tingled where she’d touched him.

“How do you find anything on here?” Lance asked, poking at something that looked suspiciously like a mechanical spider.

She batted his hand away. “It helps when nobody moves my stuff.” She handed him an alien bullhorn. Then she covered the opening with some kind of circular fan-looking thing - the one she'd had hooked up to her laptop earlier. It didn’t really look like a fan, but it was the closest comparison Lance could come up with. Pidge pressed the center button, making the outer ring (which she spun a few times like a dial) light up blue. “Okay, say something to me.”

“Is this the thing I heard you were making for interrogating reasons?”

“Lance, just use it like a normal bullhorn and say something.”

He was so torn between annoyance and affection. He was trying so very hard to be annoyed at her – she hauled him around the castle, she kept him up half the night (fine, the Pidge in his head kept him up half the night – technicalities). But despite the obvious bags under her bloodshot eyes, Pidge’s face was lit up like a Christmas tree and she was bouncing in excitement.

So Lance tested out her little invention: “I thought this was gonna be something stupid.” But the words came out in the high pitched, pebbly monotone of an old robot. His eyes widened. He started making little jerky robot movements. “Holy crow Pidge, I’ll never doubt you again.”

She giggled, her face flushing a bit. Probably sleep deprivation. “The dial on the outside changes the voice filters.”

He examined the gadget. “What’s ‘PW’?”

“Patrick Warburton.” Lance looked at her blankly. “The actor? 20, 21st century? One of the most iconic voices in history!”

Lance chuckled. “Since when were you a movie nerd?”

“My mom is. They made some weird-ass cartoons back then. Just try it, Lance.”

He spun the dial to “PW” and said the first thing that came to mind. “Did you sleep at all last night? Whooooaaaa-ho-ho-hooooaa. This is the smoothest, sexiest voice in the history of everything.” He playfully struck a pose. “Hey, girl. Cassanova’s here.”

Pidge laughed so hard she doubled over, hands on her knees, and visibly gasped for breath. Her cheeks turned a striking shade of pink. Lance’s heart break-danced proudly in his chest and he couldn’t have stopped his own grin if he’d tried.

“That was ridiculous.” Pidge’s laughter died out when she tried - and failed - to bite back a yawn. “The other settings are silly but I had to include that one.”

He put down the bullhorn on her warzone of a work table. “It is amazing. Total show-stopper. Is it useful? Or was this, like, stress-relief?”

Pidge took back the gizmo and started fiddling with it. She turned back to her work table, her back facing Lance. “We can attach it to any speaker in the Castle. Any of them. I figured we could hook it up to the containment cell and questioning Ezor will be so much funnier now.”

Lance giggled just thinking about it. “We’re not done interrogating her, you know. We can still use it.”

She turned her head, smiled at him, and continued, “I just figured, you know. Anything to lighten the mood around here. Make things easier for everybody. Yesterday sucked.”

Madre de Dios. That was unexpectedly sweet. In a rough, awkward, Pidge-kind-of way. He wondered how Pidge was dealing with the whole clone Shiro thing. Like, emotionally. She did look a little crazy today.

He frowned when she let loose another huge yawn. “Seriously, how much have you slept?”

She tried to glare at him through her drooping eyes. Valiant try, but dice. He gently tugged her out of the hangar and in the direction of the dining hall. “Enough. I just need some caffeine.”

“Not the same thing as beauty sleep, Pidge.”

“Who cares if I’m beautiful?”

Definitely ignoring that question. “Fine. Big-brain sleep, then.”

“Coffee.”

He rolled his eyes and they walked in silence.

Completely out of the blue, Pidge muttered, “…reminds me of peanut butter.”

“Huh?”

“Patrick Warburton’s voice. It tastes like peanut butter.”

“You can taste sound?”

“Yeah, sort of. It’s called synesthesia. My senses get a little crossed so my brain makes some weird and powerful associations. Green’s purring is like sparkling lemonade. Hunk’s voice is like cinnamon rolls.” Her eyes stared out into nothing, big and unfocused, like she only could pay attention to what she was saying.

Lance hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to know. “What does my voice taste like?” He immediately cringed. Nice going, McClain. She’s gonna think you’re so –

“Um, apples and cream cheese.” Her answer came quickly.

Lance’s thoughts skidded to a stop and he stared at her.

“What? Is it weird?”

“…That’s extremely specific, Pidge.”

She shrugged. She looked at him from the corner of her eye with a mischievous spark. “Be glad yours is positive, like Hunk’s. But Lotor's is black licorice.”

Lance barked out a surprised laugh. “Have I ever told you I love your brain?”

P A N I C.

Pull the fire alarm! Make a run for it! Stop, drop, and roll! Find the emergency exits and pray you don’t die!

Pidge stopped in her tracks and looked at him for a long moment. The sirens blaring in his head steadily quieted. Amber eyes anchored him to the spot, and he couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink, they were so entrancing. He noticed there were faint stripes of chocolatey brown around the edges of her irises. She looked at him like he was encrypted computer code and she needed to solve him.

Which was weird, honestly. Lance sure as hell isn’t encrypted. His papi always called him an open book.

Finally Pidge quirked one side of her mouth up in a soft smirk. Lance didn’t even know a smirk could be soft. “You could stand to say it more frequently.”

Flames licked up Lance’s cheeks. Yeah, he couldn’t handle any more of this. He slung an arm around her and steered her into the kitchen, keeping her propped up against his side. Lance heated up some of that weird fruit coffee Hunk made for Pidge while she hoisted herself onto the counter. When he handed her the space mug, he noticed that Pidge was a little above eye level with him with her sitting up so high. Her bare feet swung and tapped the cupboards below. She took a sip with her eyes never leaving his face. It was like staring into a spotlight.

“Stop giving me that look.”

“What look?”

“That look. The one on your face.”

Pidge just grinned and raised an eyebrow at him. Lance busied himself with finding what passed for nutritious food around here. If she wouldn’t sleep, he’d at least get some protein into her. And himself, holy quiznak he was hungry. She was still staring at him when he looked up.

Desperate not to spontaneously combust under that gaze, he blurted the first distraction that sprung to mind. “Last night I saw Matt leaving Keith’s room!”

She choked on her drink. “Leaving like they’d just finished a late-night conversation or…”

“Well. I heard some stuff through the wall last night that definitely wasn’t talking. More like moaning.”

“UGH, Lance! What the fuck!”

“Pretty sure that’s what Keith was doing to – ”

“Finish that sentence and I will destroy all your skin care stuff.” She rubbed her forehead. “Why would you say that to me? Now I’ve got that mental image of my brother and…gah.”

Was that his brightest decision? Yeah, probably not. Lance knew more than well enough how gross hearing about your sibling’s sex life can be, even just mentioning its existence. But desperate times called for desperate measures and she’d finally stopped scrutinizing him. He could breathe normally again.

He ended up shoving a bowl of food goo into Pidge’s hands (what? He could barely cook Earth food) and hopping onto the kitchen island across from her with his own bowl of Jell-O-y green weirdness. They ate in silence for a while.

Eventually Pidge spoke up, looking into her bowl and using her spoon to play with the goo. Avoiding his eyes. “Actually, I’m kinda worried about Keith.”

“Why? Is your brother a heart-breaker?”

“I’m serious, Lance.” She sent him a brief glare then looked away again. “Keith fell apart last time Shiro disappeared. What’s he gonna do now that he’s lost him twice?”

“Three times.”

“What?” she asked distractedly.

“Keith lost Shiro three times. Kerberos first.”

“Oh. Right.” Pidge stabbed her food. Lance looked carefully at her face. Her eyes, kept stubbornly wide open, were shining with unshed tears.

Lance had already cried himself dry yesterday. “Keith’s gonna be okay. We’re all gonna be okay. I swear Shiro’s still alive.”

She looked up at him. “Did Ezor tell you that?”

“No, she said he was probably dead. But he has to be alive! I know it, I could feel it. Remember? In the void thing? That had to be him.”

“I hope you’re right, Lance.” She set her bowl down, got down off the counter, then hopped up onto the island, sitting next to him. She smelled oddly like berries and tea.

“Pidge…” he started slowly. “Why didn’t you sleep last night?”

He could see her struggling with her answer. She was so close that he felt her body heat on his arm. I guess it makes sense a girl’s gonna be the death of me.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The words sounded rough and quiet. “So I went to the med bay to study the clone. Lance, every cell, every gene sequence, every piece of circuitry, even the scars matched perfectly with our scans of Shiro’s physiology. I kept thinking if I could find the differences then I could figure out how he was being controlled. But it looks exactly like him.”

Her head fell on his shoulder and she squeezed her eyes tight. The soft impact dislodged her glasses. Lance carefully took them off her face and set them aside (and tried to ignore his heartbeat insisting that this was a crisis). He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she curled into him.

“I kept thinking what if he was the real Shiro? What if I was wrong? What if he’d actually been corrupted somehow? I did sleep, for like five minutes. I just dreamed about shooting him, over and over and over again. So I got out of bed and built a voice-altering gadget. Hold me a little tighter, please?”

He did. “Pidge, why did you shoot him? What made you so sure?”

“It’ll sound weird.”

“You have floating fluffy caterpillars for pets and I found you on the roof scanning the solar system for aliens, and you’re worried about weird now?”

She laughed and it made his heart a little lighter. “I looked him in the eyes and it was painful. Like when someone shines a flashlight in your eyes. You should’ve seen his expression when he attacked you, Lance. It was feral.”

“You wanna know what’s messed up? When you said it wasn’t Shiro, when Lotor said it was a clone, I was relieved. I didn’t wanna think Shiro would yell at me like that.”

She mumbled into his shirt, “Never. Shiro would never say all that bullshit. I guess it all makes sense now.” Pidge gasped and so suddenly Lance swore he got whiplash she jumped out of his arms and onto the floor, leaving the right side of his body feeling cold. Her eyes went manic again.

“Lance! If that was Shiro, really Shiro talking to us in the Voltron mindscape then we can talk to him through Voltron!”

The solution was so painfully obvious he couldn’t believe they’d overlooked it until now. “He’s connected to the Black Lion, who’s connected to the other Lions – Pidge we have to try this right now! We need to get in our Lions and talk to Shiro!”

“We need find Allura and Hunk and get Keith!”

Part 10

[iamnotbrianmay]

in the arms of life and death

Hi, its me, since I couldn't physically stop myself from writing another fanfic when this idea came to life I was forced by my brain to write and post this chapter. Now I'm writing two fanfics, which is great if you ask me. Less time to do homework, more time to write!

I hope you like this one, its a very weird concept I have had for three days, now its written down and I am shaking with terror about your reactions.

Description: Roger Meddows Taylor is born with blood in his hands and death in his heart. An unbreakable curse with the lamest silver lining he had ever heard of— he had a soulmate. A single soul made just for him to love, cherish, and be happy with.

What a load of bullshit. How could he be happy with anyone if anything he touches will surely die?

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep.

Roger Meddows Taylor is born with blood in his hands and death in his heart.

The doctors treat him with utmost care, making sure that his head is held upright, his skin is cleaned from all blood, and he is wrapped tightly in a bundle of warm blankets. However, they type his birthmark into the system with anger, because people start pitying and being angry in Roger's behalf from the moment he is born.

His mother cries once he is taken into his father's arms and she is sure she won't drop him. The Hemlock which adorns his skin is nearly a death sentence, and ironically it's the most beautiful flower mark anyone had ever seen. It blooms right above Roger's heart, a bunch of delicate and elegant buds which looked as if the most talented painter in the world had taken hours to draw.

Of course, it's only right that the most terrible curses get the most beautiful flowers.

His father holds him tight against his chest, cooing at the newly born and blinking back the tears. The five-leaved clover that covered Michael's heart burning; taunting him with his never-ending bad luck. Luck that had passed down to his baby.

The blond boy gurgled, and Michael let out a soft sob. A single tear fell onto the boy's cheek, and the doctors left the trio to grieve alone. It was then that Michael Taylor started begging for his son's forgiveness, even if the boy was too small to even understand what was being said to him.

I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow,

In the beginning, and for a long time, Roger remained giftless.

He is still branded as a Cursed, though, and forced to go to a school meant for Cursed children only, until his gift shows. At first, he has dozens of friends, his toothless grin and charismatic personality does wonders for him. He goes around charming students and teachers alike, and by the end of the first semester, there is barely a Friday afternoon in which he finds himself at home.

But things inevitably change, and the first one to go is a little girl called Rosa. She had a mane of red hair, and a grin that makes every boy and girl fall in love with her. They are all sitting in a classroom, attentively listening as their teacher reads a book about a lost bird trying to find his family when Rosa asks the question that changes everything.

"Miss Pearl?"

"Yes, Rosa?"

"Can I sit in your lap?"

"Of course, Rosa. Anything for my favourite girl."

It's a simple request, something that shouldn't have sent alarms ringing, but suddenly the class is buzzing with anger. Shouts and complains ring all over the room and poor Rosa is left in the middle of the chaos, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Roger is the only one unaffected by the gift, he has never been and will never be a jealous person. He looks around the room as children jeered and insulted Rosa until his head feels like it's about to explode and his ears are ringing. He grabs Rosa's hand and runs out of the classroom, ignoring the screams from their teacher.

Once they are alone, sitting on the lid of one of the boy's bathrooms, Roger urges Rosa to show him her flower. All of their flowers are well-kept secrets, only meant to be spoken out loud once their time comes, intended to warn or guide people once their gift showed.

Hesitantly she lowered the hem of her yellow, cotton, dress and Roger let out a soft 'oh' once he saw the mark.

"Hyacinth bloom." She whispered, lisp making it hard to pronounce the name correctly.

"Jealousy."

She nodded and let the hem settle back to its original state. He gathered a little bit of toilet paper and dried her tears, the ones that were still falling after the stressful event.

"My mom says it's not our fault when our gift makes people act differently." He tried to comfort her, but her bright eyes look weary.

"Is it because your flower is similar to mine?"

Roger freezes. He is barely six years old, barely over his toddler-age; he should be innocent and believe that maybe his flower wasn't as bad as people thought it would be. But he had stubbornly learned how to read to find out more about his condition, and had heard his mother crying through the thin walls of the house.

He looked at her in the eyes and shook his head, trusting the little girl with the only piece of information he was allowed to give at that moment, "No. It's much worse."

The next morning Rosa had already been transferred to a school for the gifted, and people had come to explain that every single one of them was going to be transferred unless their gifts proved too dangerous to be around other children. The lecturer's eyes zeroed in on Roger, even if he had no idea of what Roger's gift might be, it felt like a premonition of the years to come.

I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain.

He is the last one to get his gift.

The classrooms became smaller, the lectures more private, and soon only he and three other people were left out of a class of nearly seventy children.

They are trying to complete a science experiment, and Roger doesn't fail to notice how he is the only one in the classroom that doesn't need to wear thick leather gloves. The other three people had been cursed with the gift of Bellwort, Holy, and Marigold, and therefore had been deemed too dangerous to be around other children until they were at least fourteen years old.

The day starts like any other, he laughs with Khandra, makes fun of Luis, and nearly gets into a row with Anthony, before his gift gets revealed.

He sticks his hand into the fish tank, trying to catch one of the slowpokes to test their experiment, but when he puts the fish back into the water, it dies immediately.

Roger frowns and pokes at the floating fish with one of his slender fingers, then watches horrified as the meat rots under his touch and falls away, leaving only the skeleton. The other children jump back, trying to put as much distance between Roger and themselves, and he doesn't blame them.

The teacher watches as the chaos unfolds and locks the door. He manages to calm down the three other children in the room and then zeroes in on Roger, who is holding his hands as far away from his body as he can.

The teacher, a balding man with soft brown eyes, kneels in front of Roger and talks him into a state of faux calm that is bound to break at any moment.

"Roger, can you show me your flower?"

The blond shakes his head, as fat tears roll down his cheeks.

"Can you tell me what the flower is, then?"

Another shake of his head, and more tears rolling down his face. He looks back at the fish tank, watching as the remaining flesh drifted to the bottom of the tank.

"Can I call your parents?"

Roger is hesitant, seemingly speechless for the first time since he learned how to talk, but then he nods. The man takes out his phone and dials his mother's number. The conversation is short and grim, and once his teacher is turned back to Roger the older man is looking at him with pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Roger."

The tears won't stop coming, and his teacher's eyes are misty.

"I'm so sorry, sweet boy."

He braces himself for the hug that he knows his teacher is prone to giving, but instead, Mr Amourne takes a step back and runs towards the door, screaming at his colleagues for help. He is left standing in the middle of the classroom, alone, terrified, and confused, waiting for something that would never come.

When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.

Roger Meddows Taylor never gets to leave the school for the Cursed.

He grows into a beautiful young man, and his teachers do everything to the best of their abilities to make him as smart as he is good-looking. He teaches some classes for the younger children in his spare time, takes music lessons to drown out his boredom— and grows talented at the art of not touching people.

His gloves help him in unavoidable situations, as does his thick clothing. But for the most part, Roger Meddows Taylor hasn't touched a single living human for more than a fleeting moment since he was nine and a half years old. In fact, he can't even remember what it felt like.

His mother hasn't combed his long blond hair in years, his parents' lips haven't peppered his face with kisses since the morning before the accident, and he has had to sleep alone in cold winters for ten years and counting.

The gloves help with almost everything, including things like his passion for banging the shit out of drums and his ironic talent of gardening. What they don't help with is with his parents' near-constant pity party of their first born.

They only served to worsen it.

They watched with sad eyes as Clare, their beautiful Crocus blessed Clare, took the mantle of the charismatic child. They observed as day after day as she bloomed and he withered.

And when the time came for him to leave school, they had to watch Roger, their Roggie, fall apart.

His already brittle soul chipping away as each of the people he had grown used too wished him the best in life, bowing before him like he was something holy, worthy of admiration. Which in his mother's eyes he was.

Roger, however, hated it when people bowed to him. It was a constant reminder of the fear he had placed in all of their hearts, of the terror they had of what lived inside his veins and was tattooed upon his chest.

But he accepted it, nonetheless, knowing that was the most he was ever going to get, and bowed back.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

The day he meets Freddie is the happiest day of Roger's life.

It's the first day he has ever been out of his house in months, and he is headed to one of his teacher's art exposition. An extravagant event hosted by the same woman who had once taught him how to draw people with their hands entwined, or in the middle of a passionate kiss. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

He walks into the gallery with his best suit, thickest long coat, stunning sapphire tie, and his trusty black, leather, gloves. He fits right into the scene for the first time in a while, and he even allows himself to loosen up. He drinks one flute of champagne, knowing precisely what would happen if he drank more and walks around the gallery, engaging in conversation with whoever is brave enough to get close to the Child of Death,as they had nicknamed him a few years prior.

He still didn't allow himself to brush with people, expertly dodging and slithering between crowds to avoid contact. And people, upon seeing his face made way.

But something was inevitably bound to happen.

And while he weaved his way through the crowd, twirling and ducking to avoid contact, he ended up crashing into someone.

Fear gripped his heart in a vice grip as he landed on the floor. He scrambled to his elbows as fast as possible and saw that the person he had crashed into, a thin boy with raven black hair, was looking at him with wide eyes. They stared at each other, waiting for the worst to happen, before the other boy spoke.

"Jump up and down and twirl around."

The body-numbing fear was instantly replaced by endless amounts of confusion. Roger made a face, shook his head as if trying to see if the boy was real, and then rubbed his eyes for good measure. "What?"

The relief that rolled of the other man was palpable, "Oh thank God, I thought I had touched you."

It was only then that Roger noticed the thick leather gloves on the man's hands, and the Wax plant pin attached to his coat.

"Sorry for the weird first impression, by the way, I'm Freddie Bulsara, Susceptibility."

Roger raised his eyebrows, "Not scared flaunt your curse, I see."

Freddie shrugged, "Better to warn people before they get a nasty surprise. My gift is something you can't quite shake off."

Roger eyed the boy with curiosity, taking in his white tuxedo and silver coat. He scanned the flawlessly applied makeup, the hundreds of necklaces and chokers he was sporting, and the gorgeous Wax plant pin made out of crystals. He also admired the way that he was laying on the floor, talking with a random stranger about the bane of their existence while looking like he did just that every single day.

"Roger Taylor, Death," he said while fiddling with the cuff of his coat, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Do not stand at my grave and cry,   I am not there; I did not die.

         - Mary Elizabeth Frye

Okay so the flowers mentioned in this chapter (and their meanings) are:

Hemlock - You will cause my death Five-leaved clover - Bad Luck Hyacinth - Jealousy, sorrow Bellwort - Hopelessness Holly - Am I forgotten? Marigold - Cruelty Crocus - Cheerfulness Wax Plant - Susceptibility

Comments and Feedback are highly appreciated! In fact, I am a slut for comments! If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me a small message! I love you all, hope you enjoyed it! 

[19mrs-barnes17]

Witch of Asgard - Chapter 2

Summary: Svala continues her training and is forced to select a husband.

Part: 2/?

Pairing: Loki x Svala (OC)

Warnings: none?

Word count: 3,598

A/N: I’m now becoming acutely aware of how long these chapters are XD. Anyway here’s the 2nd chapter. Enjoy!

“Again Svala.” Beads of sweat dripped down her temple as she parried and lunged, dodged and evaded. After several minutes of combat Svala had Loki backed into a corner with an old idea that he had taught her in mind.

Getting as close as she possibly could to the prince, she leaned in close praying he would break. He merely smirked at her with a brow raised expectantly awaiting her to complete her move. Her sudden smirk had Loki growing nervous that the Asgardian woman actually might attempt what he had hoped she had been bluffing about. As she leaned in to close the gap between them she also moved her foot forward. He was far too distracted by her flirtatious move to take note of her preparing to knock him off his feet. Soon enough Svala’s lips brush against his for a millisecond before he is flat upon his back with a blade pressed against his throat.

“Do you yield?” Loki’s eyes look up at her with a hint of pride hidden amongst an emotion that Svala didn’t recognize. “Well?”

“Yes, Yes. I yield.” Svala backs off of him and offers a hand that he brushes away, standing on his own. He clears his throat before continuing, “Good work today.”. She merely nods in response taking note of his momentary discomfort that is soon replaced by his cool manner.

“Are we finished?” He nods curtly. “ I finished your book, have you gotten to the end of mine yet?” A smirk danced upon her lips, expecting to hear that he had but a few more pages to finish before would be done.

“I reached the ending a few days ago, do not look so surprised for you are not the only quick reader my speedy opponent.” She smiled at the nickname, her hand gesturing toward the library as if to invite him to join her.

Svala spends much time browsing the shelves for a proper book fit for Loki to read, one of great length. She chuckles darkly as her eyes fall upon the perfect selection, both long and fascinating.

“I am almost fearful of that laugh of yours my dear. Oh I see.” He approaches, glancing over the heavy looking read in her hands. “Trying to slow me down, eh? Am I that intimidating that you must be such a cheat?”

“Cheat? Shall I search for a larger volume? I am rather offended by your words for I am merely offering a challenge, Loki.” Svala could feel a bit of heat in her cheeks and fumbled with the large book, still processing his new name for her. He raises a brow in disbelief, handing over his selection which is a third the size.

“I am sure that was your intention. I will do my utmost to not be intimidated by its size then, shall I?” She nodded, smiling gently at the man before her who had somehow worked his way into spending so much time with her.

Her father was extremely pleased with this outcome, praying that the prince would not disappoint. Ever since that conversation, in which Svala had been as crimson as ever, she could not help but notice every little thing when she spent time with Loki. From the way he looked at her to the names that he called her.

Loki sat across the table from her already immersed within a new world as she finally opened her book and began reading. She did not feel the passage of time nor did she notice Loki close his novel and stand at her side. When she eventually felt his presence she pretended not to, continuing her reading. He moved to stand closer, this time leaning in as he glanced at what she assumed was the book.

“Have you not read this? Or do you wish to test my level of awareness? Or perhaps my comfort level?” His blue eyes were nearly as close as they had been during her compromising training move earlier that day. She closed the cover, standing before him with brow raised.

He straightened his stance, no longer leaning close, with his hands behind his back holding onto his book. His eyes seemed to be studying her, glancing over her form a few times until he was satisfied. Crimson crept into her cheek under his close watch, shifting her weight in discomfort.

“I would greatly appreciate you using your words instead of merely glancing me over like a prize.” He seemed put off by such a comparison, his eyes narrowing.

“Not a prize, a work of art.” And with that he was gone, as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Svala moved to sit and fell back into her chair, her body unsure what to do with itself. In all her life no man had ever spoken so suavely, with such flirtation, that she had been left speechless before. She was unable to believe that such words had come from a prince and been directed at her.

******

    Svala was out of focus the next magic training session and had begun to get rather annoyed. Loki tasked her with conjuring a helmet onto her head but all Svala could manage in her frazzled state was moving it a few feet.

    “Again. You need to focus Svala. Your mind is elsewhere, clear it and start again.” He had grown frustrated over the past half hour with her lack of improvement.

    Nodding, she took a deep breath to relax herself and cleared her mind of Loki. She willed the helmet onto her head, she imagined how it would feel and the weight it would press down on her. Opening her eyes she noticed the helmet still in its place, however, Loki was now wearing his own.

    “Not exactly what I had in mind but a start.” Svala was perplexed at how she managed to call Loki's armor to him instead her helmet to her head. “Try to think of only yourself this time.”

    A gentle laugh echoes from behind him within in the shadows as Frigga emerges, a smile upon her face. She approaches, gracefully moving Loki’s helmet from his head to the ground.

    “Try calling it to you my dear.” Confusion settles upon Svala but she nonetheless attempts the queen’s request, and soon feels the weight of the helmet upon her head.

    “Ha! It looks better on her than it does you brother!” Thor, the heir of the Asgardian throne, wanders into the training yard with a bright grin stretched across his face.

    Svala felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the bold declaration of the elder prince, crossing her arms awkwardly. Thor pats his brother roughly on the back before nodding at his mother gently.

    “Very humorous brother. Now if you don’t mind we were in the middle of training. Svala remove my helmet and try to call your own.” He face screams of his discomfort under the arm of his boisterous older brother.

Svala tossed him his helmet before focusing on only her and her helmet alone, reimagining everything more clearly. A weight was placed upon her head and she prayed it was  her own helmet. Glancing up she noticed the silver colored metal wrapped around her temples and the small horns poking out.

“Well done my dear. That is enough for today, Thor and the Warriors Three require use of the grounds for the day.” Queen Frigga is quick to enter the palace and leave the three young Asgardians alone.

“That was quite impressive Lady Svala, perhaps you shall become a better magic user than my brother one day.” Loki moved from out of his brothers grasp, brows furrowed in anger.

“I can only dream of reaching his level of skill someday.” Thor smiles at this statement before walking toward his friends who had just arrived. Loki appeared stunned by her compliment and she merely walked past him toward the library.

Loki is quick to shake free and follow her steps, still looking bewildered. Svala laughed at his expression and he merely narrowed his eyes.

“You are quite confident in your complimenting, however, not so confident in your receival of them. Interesting.” He mutters under his breath but she is laughing too hard to hear.

Loki had managed to complete his absurdly large novel within the same frame of time as Svala and she was rather impressed. He decided to return the favor by selecting one of the largest books Svala had seen in her lifetime.

“You chose this to spite me, did you not?” Loki smirked deviously before shrugging and opening her selected book which was a twelfth the size of hers. “You are simply too cruel.”

“My dear Svala, it is you who started this. And it is you who did not continue it.” He smirked once before returning to his novel.

******

”Lady Svala.” Heimdall strides toward her, sympathy clouding his eyes.

There was something within the look in his eyes that told her all that she needed to know. Her time of freedom was at its end. No longer could she roam where she pleased, do as she pleased. No. It was time for her to make a decision that would change her life, for better or worse. She still wasn’t sure if she could. Still afraid that making this choice would mean the end of her independence as a woman, that this would tie her soul to another’s for good. She feared that no good man would want her. That no one would want her, not even the worst of men, and she would be forced to settle for someone. Even worse, that someone would have to settle for her.

Love was never part of Svala’s plan, she never focused on whom she would marry or how to attract a man. She assumed that she would either have a husband chosen for her by her father or, in some miracle, her father would never force her to marry and she could live independently. And if, by some stroke of magic, fell in love...well then perhaps she would finally marry. But she never thought that day would arrive so soon. She had dared to naively dream that she would have several years more.

“It’s time?” She does not need to see his nod, she does not hear his words as she is lead down the halls. If there is one thing that she despises about her father's high position in the palace, it is that her life is never a private affair. Everyone is always watching her. She must lead by example, just as her father has always done. She is expected to replace him upon the counsel after his death. Her marriage is a key factor in the selection process, as it illustrates not only her character, but her thoughts and views as well. She wished it was unimportant, she cannot chose whom she fall in love with.

“Do not be afraid my dear. No matter what anyone says to you Svala, this is and will always remain, your decision. Trust your mind but do not ignore your heart.” She inhales deeply as she stares at the doors before her, terrified of compromising who she was by accepting someone who will silence her voice.

“Thank you Heimdall, you have always been a good friend and guide when I have needed it most. But I fear that entering this room will change everything.” A gentle hand is placed upon her shoulder before she faces her fears head on.

******

    “My dear Svala, you look absolutely ravishing in that gown. Your handmaidens have outdone themselves.” It takes all of her remaining willpower to continue conversations with these men. All of them seem as though their thoughts and personalities have been shoved aside to attempt to sway her into their favor. None of them show who they really are, all simply flirt and compliment her as if that would win her over. Over the past hour she has grown tired of their falseness, wishing one of them would find the whole situation as ridiculous as she. At the very least she desired for one to profess a thought that was actually their true feelings rather than what they assumed she wanted to hear.

    She was so caught engrossed in her thoughts that the sound of the doors opening hardly registered, a mere echo in her ears. It was the voices of the men around her, or the lack thereof, that finally brought her into focus. All stood at attention and faced the man at the door, the air in the room grew tense as none knew how to proceed because not a soul in the room could believe what they saw.

    “My prince. Might I ask what brings you here? This is a meeting between my suitors and I.” Svala is the only one who is seated, the only one not petrified of insulting the younger prince, the only one who had courage to speak. And to speak so freely earned her a few mixed expressions throughout the room.

    “I am aware.” To say that Svala was confused would be inaccurate. She felt a compilation of several emotions hit her like a brick wall all at once. Bewilderment. Curiosity. A smidge of excitement. All of which swirled around in her head. But in her heart she was surprised to find relief so prominently shining through. Finally there was someone who would be frank with her, who would be real, no false words in attempt to bewitch her. Only a man unafraid to be himself in room full of conformity.

    “Then do you intend to be my suitor?” She was full of questions, her mind struggling to push them aside and act as if she was not stunned by this gesture. He did not join the group but instead sat the corner opposite of her.

    “I do indeed. By all means sit and continue your discussion.” She glances into his icy blue eyes as they studied the men in the room. The moment they fell upon her stormy gray irises, she returned her gaze to the men who were vying for her attention.

    Each man left the room with a bow, none daring to bestow any affection. She would know by the end of the night whether any have asked her father for her hand. Loki remains seated in his lonesome corner, unmoving. Curiosity draws her to him like a magnet, her mind scrambling to decide what to ask.

    “Watching you pretend to care about their opinions and complements is rather amusing.” A mischievous smirk tugs upon his lips, brow raised accusingly.

    “If they would have simply acted like themselves perhaps I would have been more interested in what they had been saying.” He studied her for a few moments likely gauging how she would react to what he would say.

    “I believe that is just it my dear, they were being themselves.” This she could not agree with, she felt that if there were no expectation or obligations then they would feel more comfortable expressing themselves.

    “No, they… it's just that they were-”

    “They deserve none of your excuses. Those men are not here for you, they are here for your societal standing. They want to become important, they desire to use you. Is this truly your fathers top selections?” Loki baffled her, nay surprised her at every turn without fail.

    “These are the remaining men who have not already worn out their patience waiting for me to finally choose one of them. There were fifteen in the beginning and now I only have four men to select from, none of which seem very promising.” She could not help but sigh in defeat, her father would have to arrange a marriage.

    “Five”

    “Excuse me?” Her mind takes a moment to realize she had left out the newest addition to her list of suitors, though she was apprehensive at his offer. “What exactly are your intentions showing up and announcing that you wish to become my suitor?”

    “It is you, Svala, who announced my interest. I intended to slip into the background unnoticed.” She is unable to stop herself from smiling at his statement. “What?”

    “There was never a very good chance at that. You are our prince, Loki. You are going to be noticed when entering a room.”

    The room is drowned in silence, yet she feels more at ease. Here she does not have to speak every few minutes. There are no expectations of her.

    “As for my intentions…” His calm tone breaks the silence as he moves to stand. “I intend to know you.”

Svala stands to walk him to the door, however, he gestures for her remain where she is. His hand finds hers, bringing it his lips and gently placing a kiss upon the back of her hand. In seconds he is gone and she is once more left relaying events in her mind, speechless.

******

“Congratulations my darling, you have done well.” Lord Mar stands before his daughter proud and joyful.

“You have given your blessing?” Fear flowed through her veins as her impending marriage grew further into a reality. “To whom?” She begged that it be a specific man, one she had been long able to converse with, one she had grown to enjoy spending her time around.

“There are two men who have asked for your hand. One of which holds high standing and is a respectable man. I was sought after by Asger Vadikson only an hour after he left your company.” Her father seemed keen on this match, this was the one he would decide should she be unable to.

“And the other?” She was no longer surprised that she hoped it was Loki, though she would be if it did turn out to be him.

    “I do not know how you managed such a connection, but, the other who approached just before Asger was Prince Loki. Though having such a social position would be more than I could have ever dreamed for you…”

    “You think the match unwise.” Her father nods slowly, clearly not joyful in having to imply she reject such an offer.

    “Had it been his older brother, perhaps, I would be more inclined to sway you his way. Loki is known to be mischievous, this is not a trait I wish in your husband. Still, either match is a choice I will support. You know where I stand my dear, but the decision for the next few hours remains yours.”

    ******

    Svala had been prepared to answer almost immediately, she knew Asger was a good man and an excellent warrior, but she was drawn to another. And yet, she needed to take her time in thinking through her options. Her father had expressed slight disapproval in Loki, which forced her to consider Asger as an option that would appease all. Her mind refused to stay focused as she sorted through her composited opinions of her two possible husbands.

The library was quiet as she walked down row upon row, barely glancing ahead her as she scanned the novels on the shelves. She felt as if she should have seen a collision coming, however her mind was off in another realm. Loki helps her to her feet, that same smirk dancing upon his lips.

“Where is your head at my dear?” A glimmer of amusement passes through his eyes.

“I think you just may be able to guess.” She does her best not to focus on their touching hands.

“Thinking hard on my request?” He raises a brow, curious.

“Yours was not the only. And my father is not as keen on your particular offer.” Loki backs away slightly, dropping her hands.

“I see. You are debating which decision would best appease all involved.” He moves his hands behind his back. “Perhaps I should ease your conflict. I will speak with your father and remove myself from the options.”

As he moves to walk away something seems to possess Svala, for she reaches for his hand. He freezes. She knew not what had possessed her to do so. In the silence she almost loses her courage to speak.

“Don't.” He turns to face her, a perplexed expression written on his face. “I... thought I came here to clear my mind, however, I now have come to realize it was for a different reason entirely.”

He merely nods for her to continue, curiosity getting the better of him. She releases his hand as he places his free one on top of hers.

“I… I think I've known my answer since I was given my options. Perhaps, the fear of how quickly this all is happening has made me afraid to announce my answer. I know not if I truly have had enough time to even imagine a future with either.”

“Perhaps I may, be able to aid you and your imagination.” He left her no time to wonder what he meant as he placed a hand upon her cheek and brought his lips to hers.

Sparks did not flow through her like she had been told would happen with her first. However, what she did feel was far better than anything she could imagine. She felt at home. She felt safe. She felt connected with him. Accepted by him.

“Perhaps… you may have succeeded.” She could not read the expression upon his face for she had never seen it before.

“Is this your response?” She could hardly contain the smile on her lips.

“I accept your proposal.”

~

Tags: @asphalt-cocktail @qtmeryr @wehahein

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[this-citadel-is-truly-blessed]

Every Question Has its Answer

Mikazuki has been facing a strange sickness the past few days, and he thought it couldn’t get any worse. But then he was dispatched, and... Apparently it could. He is convinced to get at least one of his questions answered to alleviate one of his concerns. But... it leaves him with an answer he wasn’t expecting.

The following writing is the complete third chapter from my work, The Fox and the Moon. Want to read the full work? You can go to my work list and click on the respective link, or just click [here]

It felt like everything was falling apart. The usually brilliant sword sat crestfallen on the porch of the citadel. He made no effort to remove is elaborate uniform as he normally would. The area was completely vacant, unoccupied by any of the other swords, giving him the opportunity to sulk in peace.

The mission went horribly.

None of the swords were terribly damaged, thank heavens. They were at least not past the point of irreparable. And they were in fact able to fight off the army enough to actually call the mission “successful.”

That was the point. “They.” They as in Souza, Ookurikara, Otegine, Horikawa, and Kogitsunemaru. They were able to fight them off.

Mikazuki, on the other hand, couldn’t.

He tried so hard. But that one just caught him off guard...

They ran into the army not too long after they got to their destination. Like usual, the sparring was pretty heavy initially. Mikazuki fought near Souza, Otegine by Horikawa, and Kogitsunemaru and Ookurikara each held their own. But somehow Souza got out of Mikazuki’s sights, leaving him to fend for himself.

That was never usually a huge problem. It happened every once in awhile, and he was ultimately prepared for such a thing. However this time he was caught off guard by one of those monsters and fell to the ground. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fought, he could not for the life of him get back up. He was practically helpless. Thank goodness Kogitsunemaru took notice. His voice was still practically ringing in his ears: “Mikazuki! What the Hell is wrong with you?”

The mere recollection made Mikazuki shiver.

He watched as Kogitsunemaru broke off from his own fight to come to his rescue. He danced around him, destroying enemies one by one, getting hit one time after another while Mikazuki froze still. He just lay there in shock, unable to move. Just letting Kogitsunemaru fight for him, take his hits. None of it was fair.

First of all, not to sense something like that was completely unlike him. Secondly, to not be able to rebound was even more bizarre. What made it even worse was that he had no excuse for it. He visited Shokudaikiri just before the mission, just saying he had a bit of an upset stomach, and he suggested ginger or lemon. Being the tea-lover he was, Mikazuki managed to make himself a nice cup of ginger-lemon tea and it did wonders; throughout the whole mission he barely had a touch of nausea. But whether he was sick or not, that made no difference. He still put the rest of the swords in danger, and that was unforgivable. He let Kogitsunemaru get hurt on his behalf. These injuries were his fault and his fault only.

Every passing second only filled him with more painful guilt. This was why he let all the other swords get repaired first, for his injuries were minute, and he was honestly too embarrassed to be waiting beside them in the waiting area. He felt absolutely horrible.

And the way Kogitsunemaru yelled at him. Thinking about it put a knot in his chest. Kogitsunemaru must have been angry at him. He messed up, horribly in fact. This could have ended in the breaking of one of the swords; he could have been responsible for the destruction of Kogitsunemaru. The one person he wanted to spend eternity with he almost let get destroyed.

Taking that into consideration, Mikazuki would be surprised if he didn’t hate him.

His heart sped up. Goodness, what was he going to say when he saw Kogitsunemaru again? How could he rightfully apologize? What was Kogitsunemaru going to say? Would he feel that it was just an accident? What if Kogitsunemaru did feel that Mikazuki put his life in danger? Would he then break things off with him? Was everything going to end between the two of them?

It was then that he felt a tear drip down the side of his face. All of a sudden he felt this urge to bawl. Like he had no control over himself. He threw his head into his palms and did as he felt; he sat there and sobbed. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. It simply overtook him. The fear. The sadness. The guilt. It all rushed through him at once and came forward with heavy tears.

While he broke down, he began to feel something poking at his side. At first he could not feel it from beneath his armor; he only noticed something was trying to get his attention when a small, cream colored fox nuzzled into his lap and began to sniff around his abdomen. Noticing the little mammal, Mikazuki lifted his head from his hands and could not help but give a somber smile as his face remained drenched in tears. He exhaled and gave the little animal a pat on the head. It was Nakigitsune's fox, which meant Nakigitsune was not too far behind.

Looking up from the fox, letting it return to its investigation, he saw Nakigitsune leaning upon one of the wooden posts that edged the porch.

“You must excuse me, Nakigitsune,” he said wiping his eyes as his voice quivered. “I had no idea you were nearby.”

A few seconds passed until Nakigitsune actually looked towards him. “Are… You okay?”

Mikazuki nodded. “Yes.” He paused. “I will be alright.”

The fox on his lap stopped his investigation and sat, looking up at Mikazuki with his big black eyes. “What’s the matter?”

He averted his gaze in what looked like shame. He could explain everything to the little fox, but truthfully he didn’t want to. However, he could never just go without an explanation. “I failed horribly today.”

The fox tilted his head in confusion.

“On the mission, I was caught by surprise and just froze. I let everyone down.”

“In what way?” He continued to inquire.

“Well, everyone else was put in danger because of me.”

“Everyone seemed okay though. I saw them awaiting their repairs and none of them seemed that damaged.”

“Why yes, but-”

“Then there should be nothing to be so upset about! Maybe you had a bad day today, but luckily all turned out okay in the end. Everyone has a bad day and today just happened to be yours.”

Mikazuki was not sure of what to say next. It just seemed that the fox didn’t understand the situation at all. But could this be just a simple misstep? Is this something that can really be so easily overlooked? He felt so miserable. Was it all over nothing? His tears, over nothing?

Kogitsunemaru did not make it seem like a small thing, though. He practically yelled at him. Thinking about it again, Mikazuki felt the tears building in his eyes yet again.

“I can see why it’s upsetting you, though,” the fox continued. “But as long as everyone is alright, you should have nothing to worry about.” It was then that something caught the fox’s attention. It seemed that he forgot all about the conversation at hand and found that returning to his original investigation was of utmost importance. He stuck his nose in between the openings of Mikazuki’s gold and red plates and continued sniffing into the fabric. He then leapt upon his shoulders and stuck his nose into his neck, still sniffing with intent unbeknownst to Mikazuki.

“Have you seen Yagen recently?” The fox finally said.

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Have you been feeling sick by any chance?”

That was a surprise. How did the fox know? “I have for the past four days," he admitted. "It’s probably just a stomach virus.”

“Really?” He paused. “If you ask me, I think you should see Yagen.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Let us walk with you,” he insisted, “to see you get there safely.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice then.” Mikazuki again forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Nakigitsune motioned closer to Mikazuki’s side, enabling the little fox to return to his shoulders. Mikazuki stood slowly, and they made their way to find Yagen.

As they expected, they found him kneeling in his room occupying a few of his younger brothers. Mikazuki slid his door open and of course greeted each sword properly and let Nakigitsune go with another thank you.

“Good evening, Mikazuki. What brings you here?”

“Well, I was hoping to speak with you, privately.”

“Oh. Of course.” The tantou dismissed Namazuo, Honebami, and Akita and invited Mikazuki to join him on the floor. “What seems to be the issue?”

Mikazuki then began to explain everything; the sickness as well as his general distress.

“Four days, you say?”

Mikazuki nodded.

“And no fevers or chills.”

He shook his head.

“No… Headaches perhaps?”

Again he shook his head.

“But you’ve been vomiting for the past four consecutive days… See. Even with a stomach virus, the vomiting really only lasts twenty-four hours.”

“That’s what Shokudaikiri said.”

Yagen concurred. “And it isn't food poisoning. I have to say, Mikazuki, I’m stumped.” He paused, turning to the side and thought for a moment or two. Then he seemed to think of something.

“You aren’t experiencing any heartburn, are you?”

“Heartburn?”

“A slight burning in your chest, primarily near the breastbone.”

Mikazuki took a second to think and rubbed his chest. “Now that you mention it, I do.”

That’s when it seemed to click. He got an idea. “How would you feel if I asked for a urine sample from you?”

“Well, sure. But do you have any idea what is the matter with me?”

Yagen stood up, “I have a hunch, but let me test this before I make any conclusions. I don’t think you should worry in any case. If you can just wait a bit for me to test it, I should have an answer for you within the next day.”

Mikazuki went silent. He was hoping to have an answer sooner than the next day, but there was nothing that could be done. He watched as Yagen grabbed what looked like a cup and handed it to him. “Once this is taken care of, bring it back to me so I can test it as soon as possible. Alright?” He said with a comforting smile. “I am sure you will be fine.”

Mikazuki then stood up and gave thanks to Yagen. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to aid me.”

“Please. It is no problem. I just hope you feel better soon.”

He smiled and made his way out the door. Although before leaving, Yagen stopped him again.

“Oh, Mikazuki if I may ask one last question. It will help me more with the test."

“What is it?”

Yagen seemed to hesitate before asking, and Mikazuki soon knew why. “Have you had intercorse at least one time in the past six to eight weeks?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I have.”

Yagen nodded. “Alright. I believe that is all I need to know. I’ll be seeing you shortly.”

After getting the sample for Yagen and giving it to him, Mikazuki returned to his own chamber. Yagen said he would get the results sometime in the next twenty-four hours and would let him know the results right away. So until then he decided to undress and make himself some more of that lemon and ginger tea. At this time of evening, he and Kogitsunemaru would always spend their time together, if they were not already together by that point in the evening. Although, Kogitsunemaru was getting repaired at the moment, so he would not be back for a few days. It was probably for the best anyway; Mikazuki really did not want to have to confront that just yet, for he was still afraid that their relationship was going to take a toll from today’s events. At least he had some time to think things over before having to confront him directly. Taking that into consideration, he had nothing else to do but wait for Yagen’s return.

By the time it was sundown, Mikazuki assumed that Yagen was not coming tonight. So he would have to wait for the morning. He decided to head to bed anyway, for he was exhausted from the day’s events.

Just as he was about to go into his bed, there was a knock on the wood of his door. Sliding the door open he saw the boy, still in his white coat, with this wonderful look in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me coming so late. I tested it as soon as I could and got some interesting results, to say the least. Do you have some time now? Or I can always come back tomorrow if you would prefer.”

“No, I have a moment now. Come in. Would you like any tea?”

“Oh, no thank you,” he responded as he walked in and knelt on the floor before Mikazuki. “So. Thank you for your patience. But I think I have an answer for what you’ve been experiencing.”

“Is it anything I have to be concerned about?”

Yagen seemed to laugh. “I wouldn’t say so. It’s actually a wonderful thing, in my opinion. I don't have all of the details currently, but if you let me work with you, I'm sure we can figure everything out."

Mikazuki had to admit, he was a bit confused. He was not exactly sure what he meant by 'working with him.' And for these past few days, he had been miserable. But when he gazed into Yagen’s lilac eyes as he talked about this, he saw only gladness, and excitement. Gladness from his misery? He did not understand. How could any of this be beneficial?

“I’ll just get to the point then,” he said seeing the questioning look in Mikazuki’s eyes. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Let me be the first to congratulate you,” He took off his glasses and looked directly to the one across from him. “Congratulations Mikazuki Munechika. You’re going to be a father.”