#it's like I have 3 sets of bees doing different dances inside me

[tailsfromthecrypt]

why does physical anxiety make it feel like your organs are all vibrating, but like on different frequencies

[unholy-screeching9]

Could we possibly get some birthday headcanons? They can either be sfw or nsfw!

Why certainly, my dear! And wouldn't you know it, it was JUST Dice's birthday yesterday... I've got a wicked sense of timing. I hope these are to your liking! If not, or if you want some for your birthday instead, let me know. By all means, enjoy!

NSFW CONTENT WARNING! 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI.

💋

King Dice x Reader - A Special Birthday Gift

I do just wanna put out there that this does have a bit of COMPLETELY CONSENSUAL somno content. If this type of writing makes you uncomfortable, these headcanons might not be for you! Please be careful, my dears. <3

~

King Dice x Reader - A Special Birthday Gift (GAME)

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE—

Your hand frantically slams down on the source of the horrible noise, and you quickly sit up in bed, making sure you shut off your alarm clock completely. 6 AM, on the dot. 

Normally, it would be your husband’s clock to rouse you from your slumber, letting him (and you) know that it’s time to get up and conquer the day. But today is different. Today is a day that King Dice needn’t lift a finger. 

His birthday. 

You hear a low, sleepy groan and the rustling of bed sheets next to you as your lover shifts around in your large bed, stirred by the sudden liveliness of the room. 

You stay completely still, watching him in the dark with wide eyes as he finally settles, letting out a contented sigh. Gentle snoring starts up once again, allowing you to release the breath you were holding. That was close. 

A smile creeps up on your cheeks as you slowly slip out of bed, careful not to rustle around too much in fear of disturbing the sleeping die again. Upon your success, you grin to yourself, pulling the covers back to their proper place. You seal your work with a gentle kiss to Dice’s cheek, earning a rather adorable mumble, and tiptoe out of the room to let him catch some extra z’s. 

Days where the both of you don’t have to work are hard to come by, especially during either one of your birthdays. However, Lucifer seems to have a SLIGHT shred of good left inside him, and your boss finally lets you take a requested day off without too much fuss. 

With a whole lot of luck and some minor pressing, you finally have the chance to celebrate Dice’s special day with no interruptions from the casino, or anything else for that matter. This is a one in a million opportunity for you both, and dammit, you will NOT let it slip by.

You don’t want to have some type of set schedule just yet, however. After all, this is about what Dice might want to do for the day, and your husband can be rather unpredictable.

Some days, all the man wants to do is snuggle up in bed with you, lazily reading with you and indulging in some pleasurable activities in between. Breakfast in bed, lunch on the patio, with a nice quiet dinner eaten carelessly in the kitchen. No need for going out and mingling with the common folk. 

Other days, Dice is truly the life of the party. Both of you are up bright and early to prepare for a wonderful day out on the town, where all the high-end restaurants await. And afterwards, you two would pop into the casino, and enjoy a nice round of drinks together. Maybe even a little while on the dance floor, basking in the attention and ambiance that only Old Scratch’s establishment could provide. The King would insist on paying for everything, simply wanting to spend the night dancing away with you no matter the cost.

You support whatever decision he makes for the day, even if you secretly hope for one or the other. Besides, as long as Dice is happy, why wouldn’t you be? You get to spend the whole time with him on his special day, and that is just perfect for you, no matter what you two are doing. 

However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few things you can do at home to make Dice’s birthday just that much more special. 

Like making him a nice breakfast, for example. Baking his favorite cake, with dark chocolate batter and strawberry cocoa icing, decorated with chocolate shavings and fresh fruit. Letting him sleep in, while you take care of your usual morning routine as a nice little surprise for him to wake up to. 

And perhaps, even surprising him with a rather pleasurable birthday present to start off the day. That last thought sends an excited chill down your spine, lingering in the back of your brain as you head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Getting frisky with your man as he finishes would be such a treat, both for him and you. 

With your newfound motivation, you quickly prepare Dice’s favorites, your multitasking skills coming quite in handy as you chop your chocolate for the cake while the eggs cook on your skillet. You’ve always been partial to the food Dice has his cards bring you both during a busy work day—they really are excellent cooks. But, there’s something personal about the food you prepare, using the same fresh ingredients. 

It’s just nice to be able to do something around the house yourself, even if it’s just a simple meal. Not only do Dice’s loyal servants catch a bit of a break, but you get the chance to accomplish something your husband will enjoy. 

As the oven timer dings, letting you know that it’s been preheated, you take your eggs off the pan and plate them accordingly: scrambled for you, over-easy for Dice. Perfectly cooked whites, and silky, runny yolks. Just how he likes it. Your bread is still toasting, so you take the time to get your battered cake pans in the oven and clean up a little. You’ve placed multiple pans inside at one time, so the cakes will take a while longer to bake. You estimate about 45 minutes to an hour. Perfect. 

That leaves you time to eat breakfast with Dice in bed, along with a little… different kind of dessert for yourself. 

Your bread finishes toasting just as you start to lose control of your excitement. You slice the pieces into triangles, gathering some butter and jam for the two of you to share. The food looks delicious, steaming hot and perfect for a quiet Saturday morning. Gathering everything onto a tray, you start off back to your chambers, keeping an eye on the clock to remember how much time your cakes have left to bake. 

40 minutes. Plenty of time. 

You quietly creak open the door to the dark bedroom, the morning sun just starting to peek in through the closed curtains. The soft snores you hear let you know that Dice is still asleep, so your movements silence as you creep over to the king sized bed. Smiling fondly, you set down the prepared breakfast on his nightstand and take a seat on his side of the mattress. 

As much as you want him to eat while the food is still hot, the way he’s curled up underneath the duvet is so heartwarming. It’d be such a shame to disturb him as he rests, but what would be more cruel? Waking him too soon, or having him eat cold eggs and pancakes? 

Or… what if you make his little wake-up call more pleasurable, and indulge your desires a little early? 

Now that seems like a much more appealing decision. One that you’re finally willing to act on, after so much hesitation. 

You remember months ago, when you both had talked about occasionally giving in to your pleasures while one of you is asleep. And much to your surprise, Dice had been more than happy to jump on the boat, not only giving you permission to have your way with him at any point, but encouraging it. 

“I trust you, darlin’. We’ve been married for years now, and sometimes, the need strikes when you least expect it. I don’t want you to get yourself into a tizzy just because you don’t want to be some type of burden. If you need to release your stress and I’m asleep, it’s okay if you continue. I surely won’t complain about it~” 

You’ve been worried about breaking your bond many times, even after your conversation (and many reassurances), but what sticks in your mind and eventually convinces you is Dice’s proclamation of the trust he has for you. He and you both know damn well that you want the best for each other, and would never EVER break the trust you have for one another. 

So, with that in mind, you find the courage to act.

Quiet as a mouse and as sly as a fox, you slip under the thick blankets, making your way on top of Dice’s sleeping form. Summer has blessed you with such an amazing gift—it’s much too hot for your lover to wear anything other than boxers to bed. And goodness, he’s so warm… You wonder how the King doesn’t suffer from heat stroke with all these blankets covering him up. 

And yet, you’re thankful for his body temperature. You have your own humanoid heater, warming you up and protecting you from the piercing chill of night. Just another one of Dice’s subtle quirks that make you fall that much more in love with him. 

After taking a second to relish in the comforting cuddles with the sleeping man beneath you, you return to your mission, your fingers grazing over the soft fabric before tugging at the top band, wondering if that would be enough to rouse him. Of course it isn’t. The King has always been such a heavy sleeper. 

Would he even wake up to your pleasant little surprise? Well, there’s only one way to find out. 

With a careful hand, you ever so gently massage his dick through the cloth, your smile growing as Dice starts to whine for you, even in his sleep. God, he’s just so precious, your heart can barely take it. He’s coming undone for you and you’ve barely even touched him yet! 

You continue fondling him with care, your grin widening the more he groans and unconsciously mumbles for you to continue. 

“Mmm… Don’t… Don’t stop… please… can’t wait anymore…” 

Smiling to yourself as his boxers start to tighten from his erection, you figure that you’ve teased enough. It is his birthday, so it wouldn’t be right to keep him waiting, now would it? No, no it certainly wouldn’t. 

“Alright, baby. I won’t make you wait anymore.” You coo lovingly, slipping his briefs down and silently squealing in delight as his cock springs to life. Now that is a sight you’ll never grow tired of. 

Dice’s body is truly a work of art—he’s so unbelievably handsome, you wonder how the hell you ever got so lucky. His skin is crazy smooth to the touch, his muscles perfectly carved, right down to that beautifully throbbing dick, resting between your hands like lock and key. 

He looks absolutely delicious. 

Feeling starving and eager to wake him, you lower your lips onto his tip, thoughtfully sucking every last drop of precum that escapes. Good heavens, he tastes incredible, you wonder if you’ll even be interested in the food you brought once you’re through with him. 

Oh, right, the food. It’s getting cold. Seems like you’d better pick up the pace… 

Once you adjust to the overwhelming pleasure of having Dice’s hardness in your mouth, you slowly start to push your head down, taking in as much as possible until you can barely breathe. 

The sleepy, desperate groans coming from your needy husband only encourage you to go further, speeding up your head bobbing and grabbing onto his toned thighs for support. Good GOD, he tastes incredible. And there’s so much of him, you can barely get it all down your throat. Yet, you manage. The King has trained you well. 

Speaking of the King… 

A sudden hand reaches down and grabs you by the back of your head, causing you to squeak in surprise. You pause your movements, your mouth taking in about half his length, and peer up to see something nothing short of perfection. 

Your gorgeous husband, looking slightly disheveled from sleep, smirks down at you from outside the covers. You hadn’t had the chance to see his facial expression as you worked, not wanting to peek out from underneath the covers, but now that he had lifted the blankets to take a look at what had awoken him? 

You regret not taking a look sooner. 

Amused by your infatuation, Dice laughs softly, leaning forward and brushing a stray hair from your face, wanting to take you in at full view. 

“Well, lookie what we have here… I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pretty sight in my whole damn life. It looks like you’ve finally taken me up on my offer, huh sugar?” 

You nod in confirmation, blushing like a tomato as you finally realize the situation you’ve put yourself in. You’re having a conversation with him, the first conversation of the day, right in the middle of sucking his dick. You had woken him up, as you had planned, but you really don’t feel like stopping just yet. 

Fortunately, with the way Dice starts to guide you back into motion with his hand, it seems that he doesn’t want you to stop either. 

Your eyes slowly flutter shut as you continue your work with your man’s help, moaning slightly the more Dice pushes your head down on his cock. Not wanting to ruin the moment, you sacrifice your vision, using your ears as your cues to tell whether or not he’s enjoying his little present. 

“Ohh, sweetheart, you’re really spoiling me today, aren’t you? Sweet SATAN, the way you’re using your tongue like that… Mmmm… Don’t stop, darlin’, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t finish the job!~” 

Yeah, it’s safe to say that he’s enjoying it very much. Which is great, because you’re having the best meal of your life. 

Having become so focused on Dice’s moans and praises, you almost fail to notice the building pressure in your mouth, sending your insides into a frenzy. He’s getting close. Oh, shit, he’s getting CLOSE. 

You groan in pleasure as his hand shoves you back down, his tip pushing against the back of your throat and almost causing you to gag. But you manage perfectly well. There’s no chance your reflexes could ruin this moment. For you, or for the birthday boy. 

Slowly and with slight hesitation, you find it in you to open your eyes and take another peek at Dice, and man, are you glad you did. He looks so goddamn hot as he comes undone, getting closer and closer to sweet release. The sweat beading down his muscles, his perfectly square teeth gritted in an effort to contain his instincts, those beautiful eyes tightly squeezed shut. The loud, sensational grunts of pleasure that slip through his teeth, telling you that you’re doing a splendid job. 

Oh lord, the sight is enough to push you to your breaking point, as well. Your legs tremble slightly as your juices flow uncontrollably out of you, effectively soaking through your underwear and a little bit of your bottoms. It’s a good thing you didn’t change into your day clothes yet. 

Throwing his head back, Dice lets out a euphoric scream as he bucks his hips into your mouth, shoving the rest of his length into your mouth. 

“FUCK, BABYDOLL! The food you made smells delicious, but I’m about to stuff you so hard you won’t be able to take a single bite!~” 

Heh. Good. That breakfast is all for him, anyway. To hell with your food, you’re getting something much more appetizing. 

Though, you can’t exactly tell him that. So instead, you show him, by letting out another loud moan and sucking up whatever leakage his tip was providing. The few drops before the storm, so to speak. 

“Shit, SHIT! Baby, I can’t hold it anymore! FuckfuckfUCKFUCK–!” 

Finally! 

Your nails dig slightly into his hips as you brace yourself, moaning as Dice’s seed bursts into your mouth, shooting right down your throat, ceasing your breathing for a minute as you try and gulp down every last drop. He wasn’t lying about his ‘stuffing’ comment earlier—there is a lot for you to swallow down. But gracious, does he taste divine. You don’t give a damn about anything else at the moment; all you need is to take care of the mess your husband made into your mouth. 

Dice pants loudly, trying desperately to catch his breath, his groans elevating an octave as he slowly leans back, allowing you some air as you continue to enjoy your improvised breakfast. Slowly but surely, you finish every single drop of seed that Dice had given you, lifting your head off his cock with a satisfying -pop!- from your lips. 

Starting to catch your breath, you slither upwards from under the sheets, popping your head out of the covers from the opening Dice provides with his arm. Smiling happily to yourself, you lay on top of him once more, appreciating the addicting smell of his natural smoky musk as you enjoy the aftermath of your little morning session. 

Your belly is full, your pelvis is happy, and your husband is satisfied. What a perfect start to the morning, you think to yourself. And goodness, does Dice agree. 

“What a fantastic way to wake up, baby. I gotta say, every year I keep wondering how you might surprise me on my birthday, and you come through every time. You’re truly a peach, darlin’.”

“Aww, how sweet of you, sugarcube! But enough about me, this is a day about you. Happy birthday, Dice. While I’m happy to hear that you’ve enjoyed your wake-up call, that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve…”

To prove your point, you gesture to the breakfast tray waiting for him with all of his special foods you had prepared, still warm even after everything you both have done together. Dice picks up the tray with an elated grin, kissing the top of your tired head as he balances both you and the tray in the bed. 

“Oh, baby, you shouldn’t have! This looks and smells delicious, as always. I’ll never understand why you insist on spoiling me so much.” 

“Nonsense, my King. Only the best for you, right? Especially on your birthday.”

You smile warmly as you watch Dice eat, occasionally offering you a bite and laughing softly at each refusal you give. He wasn’t expecting to have actually stuffed you so much you lost your appetite. A shame to him, since the food tastes wonderful, but an absolute win for you, since your breakfast was much more rewarding. 

You’re just glad that your husband is enjoying what you’ve made for him, despite the tray having sat on the nightstand for the last hour or so. Despite the slight burning smell that reaches your nose, making you wonder if you had spent a little too much time cooking the pancakes.  

Wait. No, the pancakes are fine. But… 

Fuck!

“SHIT, baby, your cake!” You shriek in horror, quickly scrambling out of Dice’s grip. “Your cake is burning!!” 

Dice takes a moment, sniffing the air to try and understand what you’re talking about, before chuckling sweetly. On ANY OTHER occasion, a sound that would send you right into the heavens. 

“I suppose we got a little carried away, didn’t we?” 

“Dice, that’s not the point! The cake is STILL in the oven!!” You shriek back, rushing out of the room to try and salvage the havoc that is wreaking in your kitchen. 

Dice watches you go for a moment, his groggy brain still trying to process what’s going on. But seconds later, he’s running right after you, laughing every step of the way and teasing the absolute hell out of you for causing such a ruckus at 8 in the morning. 

While you might not ever see why, Dice can’t help but think to himself as he watches you mourn the loss of the cake that hadn’t even been completed yet… 

Truly, the start of one of the best birthdays he’s ever had.

King Dice x Reader - A Special Birthday Gift (SHOW)

Ugh. Morning, already. 

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut for a moment, trying to block out the annoyingly beautiful sunlight that starts to peek inside from the blinds of your large windows. As beautiful as the curtains of your bed’s canopy are, they are just no match for the sun’s glory. 

Giving up on sleep, you slowly squint your eyes open, blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the morning that had oh-so-quickly crept up on you. Luckily, your eyes are met with a sight so pretty that your crankiness fades away completely at the drop of a hat. 

You’re met face to face with your darling husband, who is still sound asleep and snoring quietly in your ear, completely oblivious to the morning light that had disturbed you. Sometimes, you still wonder how you were lucky enough to fall into the sights of the legendary King Dice, but life is always full of beautiful surprises. 

Such as the surprise of a rare day off, that you had failed to realize until just a few seconds ago. Dice, still in bed with you? Sleeping soundly, even as the morning light pours in? Thank you, Satan! 

Not wanting to disturb your lover, you crane your head to the side, checking the date on the calendar, your heart skipping several beats as the realization dawns on you. It’s no wonder Dice has the day off today. 

It’s his birthday! 

This is perfect. Not only is today a day for Dice to take it easy and celebrate his special day, but it’s the weekend, meaning you don’t have to work either. You both have the entire day to spend together, however Dice wants. This is an opportunity that neither of you have had for weeks, and the fact that the stars finally align in your favor on his birthday, no less? Well, how could you not be excited?

You don’t know how the whimsical showman might want to spend his day off, as his mood can change by the hour. However, there’s no doubt in your mind that he would at least love a good breakfast with you, right? And of course, a purple velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. Truly a staple that has lasted in your little household for years.

Excited to get the day started, you move to get up, but a pair of arms you didn’t realize were wrapped around you hold you back. You look down to examine your situation, and to your amusement, you realize that Dice started clinging to you in the middle of the night, and is now the obstacle that is keeping you from moving out of the bed. 

Normally, you would answer his unconscious pleas, and stay in bed with him to snuggle. As much as you would feel the need to be productive, there’s just something about the way his strong arms envelope you in his warmth that always convinces you to sleep in along with him. 

But not today. 

Even if it is his birthday, you have things planned for his morning other than sleeping it away. So you slowly, carefully, slide out of his grip, your heart aching slightly as Dice groans softly in protest. 

To ease him back into blissful dreamland, you bring the warm comforter back over his shoulders, planting a loving kiss to the three-face of his head. Feeling relaxed and loved, a smile forms across the sleeping die’s lips, and he lets out a low, satisfied hum as he drifts back off completely. 

You allow your erratic heart to slow down once again, thankful for your success in keeping him asleep as you silently sneak out of the posh bedroom, closing the blinds on your way out to keep the light as dim as possible. 

Slowly closing the door behind you, you head to the kitchen with a spring in your step, ideas of many possible birthday surprises flowing in your head. As you prep your ingredients and preheat your oven, you wonder if there’s something extra you could give Dice to make his morning that much more special. Of course, a beautiful cake and delicious breakfast are in order, but you make breakfast all the time, and cake is something everyone has on their birthday. 

As you chop up your toppings for Dice’s omelette, adding your ingredients for his cake into the mixer, you ponder over something more personal you could give him. Something that comes from you, and ONLY you. That no one else could replicate…

Bingo. 

You’ve got it. And boy, will it be good. Maybe, if you play this right, you could sway your lover into the idea of staying in for the day, anyway. 

Eventually, your cake pans head into the oven, and your beaten eggs are added to the pans waiting on the stove, piping hot with fresh butter. While your cakes bake, you work on your sides, whipping up some fruit salad, perfectly golden toast, and bacon. 

By the time your omelettes finish cooking, you’ve got about 10 minutes left for your cakes, so you decide to play it safe and just wait it out. In the meantime, you run your plates under some hot water to keep them warm, setting up everything for breakfast so it not only stays heated, but it looks (and smells) wonderful. 

By the time you finish plating, your mental timer dings in your head, and you quickly pull out the cake pans, setting them on the cooling rack. You’ll ice the tiers later. It can be a fun way to spend the rest of your morning with Dice anyway, after breakfast. 

Satisfied with your work, you grab your tray and make your way back to the bedroom, carefully turning the doorknob and stepping inside. 

Dice is still fast asleep, so you make sure your movements are quiet as you head over to the bed, sitting the tray on his nightstand and crawling back under the sheets. 

Watching him rest, you can’t help but smile softly, admiring the way he looks. Buried beneath the blankets, slightly curled up, completely dead to the world… It’s honestly so sweet, you don’t even want to disturb him. 

But yet, you don’t want his breakfast to be cold, either. Plus, you don’t want him to sleep the entire morning away, when you’ve got a special surprise planned for him. 

You carefully scoot closer to Dice, taking in a few more precious moments of his sleeping face before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Of course, your mark of affection doesn’t do much to rouse the tired showman, and the most you get is a quiet murmur. You’ll need to do more than that. 

With a loving smile, you gently rub up and down his bicep, chuckling quietly as he wraps his arms back around you and pulls you closer. You continue your kisses, planting several more gentle pecks onto his pip for a nose, his cheeks, his mustache, the bottom edge of his head, and eventually, you start to peck his lips. 

Over. And over again. Wrapping your arms around his neck area, your hands cupping his three-face and four-face as you continue to press loving, sweet kisses all over your husband's beautiful lips. 

To your delight, Dice starts to laugh sleepily, starting to return your kisses and holding you tighter. His hands caress your wonderful skin as you make out with one another, his eyes slowly fluttering open as you finally take a second for some air. 

While you catch your breath, the showman watches you in adoration, grinning drowsily and cupping your cheek. 

“My, my… what a pleasant surprise. It seems I have woken up to a beautiful angel, blessing my morning with the most wonderful of kisses.~” 

Blushing at his flirtatious ‘good morning’ (and that captivating morning voice, to boot), you smile back up at him and press another peck to his lips, only proving his point. 

“Good morning to you too, my Number One. Happy birthday!” You greet warmly, pressing your forehead against his and giggling excitedly. 

Dice sits up in bed with you, pulling you into his lap and relishing in the melodious echoes of your laughter. A beautiful sound that couldn’t possibly be replicated, or replaced. God, how he loves you. 

“Why thank you, my dear! Here’s to another fantastic year of being the luckiest husband alive.” 

“I’m the one who’s lucky, Dice…” you grin, snuggling into your rightful place on top of him with your head resting against his shoulder. “The living legend, everyone’s favorite master of ceremonies, choosing me as his spouse? Now THAT is what I call luck.” 

“You forget that you had me hooked first, my love. Don’t you remember how desperate I was to call you mine? To have you all for myself? You had me reeling from the moment I first saw you in my audience, all those years ago.” 

Dammit, that’s sweet. Dice is such a sweetheart to you. On his own birthday, as well. You’ll never be able to get used to the butterflies he plants in your stomach with every word he utters. 

God, you just want to kiss him. 

Shaking your head, you throw your arms back around him, shoving him back down as you start pecking his face all over again. 

“Ohhh, Dice, you always know just what to say!” 

Laughing in jubilation over winning your battle of charms, your husband hugs you close and cups your face, smirking down at you once you’ve lost your breath once more. 

“Of course I do, doll. After all, I am your Number One. I've got to live up to the name, right?” 

A certain wonderful smell finally reaches his nose, and the showman turns to the nightstand in confusion to look for the source. His gaze lands on the perfectly plated tray you had sat on his bedside table, eyes widening slightly as he takes in just how delicious everything looks. 

“My word, doll, did you make all of this?” 

Smirking in triumph, you lean up and kiss just under his chin, nodding against his head as his mouth starts to water. 

“Mhm! All for you, my love. A breakfast fit for a king, and nothing less!” 

“Oh, baby, this looks amazing!!” Dice smiles warmly, giving you a loving squeeze in gratitude as he sets the tray over the bed. “You treat me so well. It’ll be hard to beat this kind of pampering the next time your birthday comes around.” 

“Hush about all that, King! You always find creative ways to make my birthdays special. Every year. I’m simply returning the favor. Now eat, before it gets cold.” 

Knowing better than to let your food go to waste, Dice obeys, savoring every bite of the meal you prepared him. There’s no way in hell the man could ever grow tired of your cooking, that’s for sure. Everything you’ve made is delicious and he’s sure to tell you that, offering you several bites along the way. 

But you? No, you’re more interested in something else… 

You haven’t forgotten about the special present you had been meaning to give him, on top of eating together. 

As Dice finishes up his omelette, he looks at you in slight dismay at the thought of you cooking all that food, and not taking a single bite. 

“Doll, are you sure you’re not hungry? I’d hate for you to not eat anything when all you’ve done this morning is cook for me. Is there something I could fix up for y—”

“Oh no, honey. Don’t you worry about all that. Besides, you’re not allowed in the kitchen unless I’m there, so you don’t burn the whole place down. However, there is something I’m much more interested in having this morning, that wouldn’t require you to lift even a finger.” 

Swallowing his last mouthful, Dice sets the tray aside and rests his hands on your sides, raising an intrigued eyebrow at your sudden seductive aura. 

“Oh? And what might that be, sweetness?” 

You smirk, drumming your fingers up his chest and slowly pulling back the folds of his nightrobe. Dice sighs shakily in want as you rest your head against his chest, breathing heavily as you sensually undo the robe’s knot tied in the front. 

“Well, let’s just say that breakfast isn’t the only surprise I have for you this morning. Now, just sit back and relax, baby. I’ll take it from here.”

Immediately laying back against the pillows, Dice watches you work your magic, peeling back the sheets and straddling his lap. Leaning forward, you press a few extra kisses to his chest as you gently massage his hardening cock through his boxers, chuckling at every pleasured whine that escapes his lips. 

“Don’t you fret, babylove. I know what you want, and I promise, I’ll give it to you.” 

Smiling as Dice grips the sheets with his fists in anticipation, you carefully slide down his boxers to reveal your prize, which is throbbing for your touch. And who are you to refuse? 

You slowly lean your head down, gripping onto Dice’s hips to keep him and yourself steady, licking your lips eagerly to enjoy the meal that you had been waiting for ever since you had started cooking. 

Your mouth finds its home right on Dice’s tip, your tongue enjoying the salty taste of the precum that leaks as your husband tries his best not to lose it too soon. Such a well behaved gentleman, even on his birthday… 

He really does deserve to be satisfied. 

Once you’re settled comfortably, you start to bob your head up and down Dice’s length, the sweet sweet groans and cries of pleasure that escape your lover’s throat dancing in your ears. A part of you can’t tell who’s more pleasured at the moment, and you wonder if you might be spoiling yourself on a day that’s supposed to be about your beloved showman. 

But hey, Dice is obviously enjoying himself very much… just look at how he crumbles beneath you, one of his hands grabbing the back of your head, encouraging you to continue. His desperate demands for you to continue, to go deeper, faster, until you almost choke. 

You can handle it, of course. After all, you’re his ‘Number One’ just as much as he is yours, right? 

“Ohh, BABYDOLL, you’re driving me crazy! Good gracious, don’t you dare stop!” Dice shrieks, his head leaning back as he starts to move his hips in sync with your head. “Holy shit… holy shit, holy SHIT!~” 

Yeah, you’re definitely his Number One. Just look at how he’s melting in your arms! 

He’s such a sweetheart to you, in and out of the bedroom. He deserves every single ounce of pleasure he feels right now. Every cry, groan, praise, and hiss, is only motivation for you to continue. To push yourself harder. Harder. 

Both of you find your rhythm together, and soon enough, your room is filled with the wonderful symphony of whines, Dice’s deep voice guiding and praising you, and the sound of silky sheets rustling. Heavenly. Goodness, is it heavenly. 

You don’t regret refusing bites of Dice’s breakfast one bit. He tastes amazing, and judging by the way he twitches inside your mouth, you can tell that he has a lot in store for you when you finally grant him release. 

The thought only makes you hungrier. In fact, you’re starving. You need to get him to cum inside you, now. Otherwise, there’s just no telling what you might do. 

Experimenting with your hands, you start to run them up and down Dice’s toned sides, enjoying the smooth, silky feeling of his ivory skin against your fingers. You massage each and every part of his body you can reach, soothing his aching muscles and still making sure he’s secure while you suck him off. 

The results are splendid. Dice’s other hand finds its way on your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh in an attempt to ground himself. His groans double in volume, and now, he’s practically screaming your name, egging you on as you pleasure him with your hands and mouth. God, it’s like all he ever wanted was a damn massage; maybe you should have moved your hands sooner. 

“FUCK, BABY! Right there, rIGHT THERE–! Please, please, I BEG you, don’t stop what you’re doing! Ohhhh, GOD!” 

What a beautiful sound to your eardrums. His growls and moans are some of the most invigorating noises you’ve ever been lucky enough to hear. Especially when he just woke up, adding that extra layer of drowsy husk… Good LORD, you’re starting to get close, and Dice’s sounds and movements are not helping your case. 

You groan loudly as your head is guided back down, taking him in his entirety and stuffing your mouth completely. The taste of your own saliva mingled with the droplets of seed leaking from Dice’s tip are a delectable appetizer, but you’re starting to get desperate as well. You can’t hold up forever—you need to get him to release in your mouth. Quickly. 

Your nails dig into the sides of Dice’s waist, prompting a surprised scream from your frenzied husband. You smile eagerly to yourself as you feel a familiar pressure build up both in your mouth and between your legs. You’re in the final stretch, and Dice is sure to make it known. 

“SWEET SATAN, doll, I’m getting close! FUCK, I’m getting close! You better brace yourself, I don’t think I can take it much longer!~” 

Good. Don’t take it, then. You’d want nothing more than to lighten his load for him, and while you can’t talk to him at the moment, you’re sure to physically let him know by exaggerating your groans and moving your head as fast as you can. 

“SHIT! BABY, I'M CUMMING–!” 

Yes!

Your own fluids burst from between your legs as you finally get the chance to reap the rewards of your labor, Dice’s cock finally releasing his seed down your throat in an otherworldly explosion. There’s so much, and it just keeps coming. You suppose there’s a reason why Dice had warned you to brace yourself; if you weren’t prepared, you would have surely been caught off guard. 

But you’re much better than that. And you prove it, by taking every. Last. Drop. 

Even your husband is surprised as he watches you take in his orgasm, barely even flinching as you swallow his seed like it’s your last meal. God, does it feel that way. You had been wanting this for what feels like forever. 

Eventually, you finally get the chance to lift your head off of his cock, which your tongue had thoroughly licked clean. Dice pants heavily as he tries to calm himself, immediately embracing you as soon as you collapse on top of him, trying to catch your breath yourself. 

That was certainly worth the wait. 

“D-doll…” Dice huffs out, his hands resting over your warm stomach. “That… That was…” 

“And that’s just one of the presents I have in store for you, baby.” You murmur back, smiling warmly as you both breathe heavily together, slowly coming down from the ride. “And if you’d like, we can stay in for the day, and I’ll show you a hell of a lot more where that came from.” 

Dice stares at you in utter infatuation, his gaze jumping back and forth between your panting form and the empty tray resting on his nightstand. It does not take the showman long to decide. 

“You’re asking me, if I’d like to stay home all day, and not have to touch any of those dreadful pests or sign a single autograph? You’re offering to relax with me here, in this bed, and treat me like this? All day?” 

Sheepishly, you nod, looking up at him hopefully and taking his hands. 

“Of course, it’s up to you. If you want to head out and bask in the public, then we can certainly–”

“No.” 

You blink in surprise, squeaking in delight as your lover hugs you closer, gripping your jawline with his hand. 

“We’re staying right here. In this house. All day. If that was only the start of what you have planned for me here? I never want to leave this damn house again.” 

Grinning elatedly, you lean up and press a gentle kiss to Dice’s lips, your limbs entangling with one another as you both try desperately to get closer to each other. 

“If that’s what you want, my love. There are also some cakes cooling on the rack in the kitchen, if you’d like to help me frost it later. I made purple velvet, your favorite!”

“Oh, I’ll help you frost the cake alright… But there’s a different kind of cake I hope to have, as well.” Smirking wickedly, Dice’s hands wrap around your back and make their way down to your ass, giving each of your cheeks a seductive squeeze. You shudder in excitement, grinning just as mischievously as you tackle your husband in another round of heated kisses.

Happy birthday. Happy birthday, indeed.

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit. 

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements. 

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course. 

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form?? 

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories. 

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair. 

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep. 

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on. 

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light  blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it. 

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

 his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up. 

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.  

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons. 

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

 and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll? 

but like,, in a nice way. 

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection. 

he does take your stuff sometimes. 

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him-  so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own. 

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories. 

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well. 

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion 

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (13)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: Late post again, but the AO3 version got there first because it was easier to format aaah I want my laptop fixed soon ;_;

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 | Previous: Part 12 | Next: Part 14 | Masterlist

13 of ?

It has been hours since Cal encountered you. He’s in the Mantis recovering, and still wrapping his head around everything. In fact, his mind is still in a jumble after your reunion of a duel.

He can’t meditate for long periods of time, he constantly tosses and turns in bed when he decides to rest, and he religiously reads your profile as an Inquisitor on BD-1’s databank.

“Twelfth Sister, huh?” Cal mumbled behind his clasped hands over his lips.

He intently stares at the written portion of your profile.

He pondered out loud, “I don’t even wanna think about how long they’ve kept her there until they broke her, or how long she’s been doing missions until she’s completely desensitized like the rest.”

“Bee…” BD-1 chirped sadly.

Cal shakes his head, erasing such gruesome thoughts.

“No, she’s not like them. She’s still not fully gone yet. I know her…”

BD trills in reply, astonished just how cemented the boy’s resolve and optimism is.

“[Y/N] still has a choice, I hope she understands that,” he added.

A migraine abruptly jabs at Cal like a dagger to the stomach. Screams, explosions, and blaster fire echoed as an awful-sounding medley in his skull. It took him a few good moments before the sounds quietened. His little droid chirped worriedly as he watched Cal shudder and go woozy.

“I think the town’s in trouble, BD!”

BD knew what was up just from that simple outburst, he hopped on Cal’s shoulder before the boy could even stand up and scamper out of his room. He jumped over the set of stairs, slammed a button, and slipped through the entry door left ajar, disappearing from the Mantis; he didn’t run off right away, he waited for the exterior compartment door to open, revealing a compact speeder bike stored inside and sped away to the city.

He already knew the culprit, he only hoped that you haven’t done enough irreversible damage yet.

Contrary to Cal’s foresight, you haven’t wreaked havoc… yet.

Upon your arrival to the small city, you saw how sparse the Imperial security is.

You approached a Stormtrooper donning a red pauldron on his right shoulder, he straightened his posture as soon as he saw you.

“Are these all your men, Commander?”

“No, ma’am, they’re my patrol unit. I have more fanned out in different sectors. Should there be any problem, I’ll have reinforcements ready.”

“Good, because you should. The Jedi’s quite an elusive one,”

“If we spot him, we’ll deal with him,”

You nodded, impressed by this leader’s confidence. You inquired if there are any Purge Troopers dispatched in the city, you called for two of them to your position, they arrived within minutes.

“Two of you come with me,” you commanded with a steel voice. “If you find the Jedi, do not attempt to kill him. He’s mine for the taking.”

The three of you mounted on individual speeders, they followed you. Solely relying on instinct and feeling based on what you had back at the garrison, your party ended up in a small residential compound.

You’ve pinpointed the exact locations where that ripple in the Force is originating—from a house at the western side. However, your welcome wagon from the locals is rather cold. Anyone who can carry a gun held their ground, at the corner of your eye, you spot a little family of three: mother, father, and infant boy.

You knew right away the source.

The man saw through your faceless helmet, father’s intuition spiking up when he knew that exact intention of that ominous turn of your head to his son.

“You,” the ignition of the saber startled everyone, including the family; they held their ground, safety locks from all of the blasters clicked with the barrels aimed either at you or the Purge Troopers. Your men returned the gesture, but you signaled them to hold their fire. You lowered your saber to point at his son. “You know he has it, don’t you?”

Apparently, not many were aware of what you’re talking about, but the parents knew all too well. Even he pointed his own blaster at you. This demonstrative warning didn’t intimidate you, not in the smallest bit, instead you received them with a sinister chuckle—which left them in a collective puzzlement.

In the slightest movement, someone did the first shot but you deflected it with a superhuman precision and speed—intentional or otherwise, they feared for their life as they’ve come to realize they made that mistake. And then in the next split second, they never saw you coming. A barrage of blaster fire came from all sides. A few Stormtroopers near the area got themselves involved when they heard the firefight. While they’re busy exchanging bullets, you went after the mother who ran away from the action; her husband didn’t stand a chance against you—incapacitating him by hammering his jaw with your saber’s pommel.

The apartment where the woman went into hiding was a maze, halls upon halls of doors, she thinks she’s outsmarted you. You stood still and felt for the child’s Force signature amongst the rooms. Its fussing echoed in your mind until you turned to the direction where you think it’s coming from. Your eyes shot open and you bolted through the narrow hallway, a single kick broke down the door—startling both mother and wailing child.

“Don’t make this any harder for me,” you snarled, pointing your saber at the trembling woman.

She didn’t cooperate. Her hand aimlessly wandered the floor in search of anything to throw at you. She threw a small statuette in your face but you casually dodged it—all too easy, but it vexed you that she did exactly what you didn’t want her to do. When she found herself helpless, she scrambled up to her feet and made a run for it—but you were faster. The chase led to a dead end, you snuck up behind her as she looks at the wall with sheer horror in her eyes.

“I told you to not make it harder for me, woman,” you hiss from behind, and gave her the same fate as her husband.

You broke her fall by catching her, along with the child whom you snatched from her arms, you returned to the scene of the action only to hear not a hail of projectiles but silence, the baby seems to be calmed down by it. You stopped where you stood, listening for a sign of fighting, but there was nothing. You prepared yourself for whatever you’re going to see. The residents are gone—probably scampered back to their homes—and your Purge Troopers had Cal preoccupied, his back was turned to you as he fought them off, a couple of Stormtroopers lay dead on the ground evidently Cal’s handiwork.

Cal spots you, the Purge Troopers withdraw from the fight when they read the room. The young Jedi immediately turned around to the direction where the enemies were looking at.

“Well now, two heroics in a row! That ought to be a new record, darling,”

“I know what you’re planning to do with that kid, [Y/N]!”

You nasally scoffed, “Trilla was right. You are uncharacteristically prescient!”

“Why don’t you come and face me! It’s me you want!”

“What a brilliant idea!” You gestured at one Purge Trooper to come and retrieve the child. You spotted Cal flinching as soon as the trooper’s hands touched the baby’s swaddle. Both you and the troopers were alerted and positioned in different stances.

“Ah-ah-ah!” you cautiously held your hand above the child’s face. “Don’t do anything that you’d regret, Cal! Believe me, I still have enough humanity to not kill a child in cold blood. Do not convince me otherwise.”

Cal stood down, giving in to your bluff, and forced himself to relax—despite having an Electrohammer Purge Trooper standing behind him with his held in an offensive stance. He watches the other Purge Trooper scoop the child off your arms, your lightsaber takes its place in your hands. Igniting both ends, you point the haloed sleeve in front of the Jedi.

“Let’s dance, darling!”

Finishing what you started, you locked blades with Cal once again. This time, your arena has gotten wider and more open. Cal had no time in apprehending the Purge Troopers with the child and escaped on their speeder bikes. He split his sabers and dual-wielded to match you, but it was useless, he didn’t even realize that you have gotten more skillful and stronger. He’d hate to admit that he was saved by sheer luck back at the temple.

He comes charging at you with an overhead strike, but both ends of your saber blocked left and right sabers altogether. Cal saw the whites of your knuckles as you put more pressure on your gripping arm, your boots barely skidded in the dust when his attack landed on your block, and you flashed him a cocky yet ominous smirk.

“You feel it, don’t you? My strength—it’s too great to bear, isn’t it?”

Although covered, Cal sees the prideful, malicious grin stretched across your face through that dark mask; he could’ve sworn he saw the glint in your eyes—they were sorrowful in expression masking it with rage until no one can mistake it for the other. He knew that you’re still human, unlike the others you call brothers and sisters.

“But you’re no better for what you are right now!”

Cal pushes you away with the Force, enough to put some space between you and himself. You then lobbed your saber at him, spinning like a fan, cutting the air in a clean semi-circle, and he deflected it—as expected—before catching it. You did it a second time, and again, he succeeded in deflecting it.

“Remember what Cere taught us: as long as we’re alive, we will always have a choice!”

“Funny,” your hand snappily catches your saber. “I knew you were gonna say something like that!”

He cancels out the third time you’re about to fling your saber at him, and finally deals some damage—one of the few instances that he actually does—and gradually regained his momentum in the  battle. The two of you have become so enamored in the fight that both of you didn’t notice you’ve moved to the back of the compound, away from the main square where the duel initiated.

In this smaller space, you two were completely alone. The intensity felt more intimate yet frightening. Cal saw how your eyes blazed with hatred and anger for him, albeit misplaced and corrupted within you.

“[Y/N], please listen to me: I didn’t abandon you. I swear it,” he calmly said, through the intertwining of your blades.

“Spare me, Cal, I—”

You notice his sleeve roll down, the glimmer of metal caught your eye. You recognize your bracelet worn around his wrist. For a brief second, your block loosened and he felt it.

“You… You kept it?”

“Always have,” Cal takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].”

Cal pulls the same trick he did on Trilla. In order to disarm you: he switched off his saber mid-block which, in turn, caught you off-guard for a second time—with the sight of the bracelet being the first, spontaneous one—and staggered you real hard. Before you could even react or resist, he inflicts Force Slow on you—and so your limbs felt heavy and hard like stone, it feels as though you’re being encased in wet plaster that’s drying off quickly. While the chance is ripe for the taking, he runs up to you and takes your hand. The wave of emotions thrashing in you like a wild ocean riptide was overwhelming, but he fought it and there’s literally nothing you can do about it.

And that’s where he saw every, single thing.

Fed with lies. Trained with hate. Survived by agony.

Cal’s Force Echo on yourself was painless but it made you a tad bit nauseated. You could feel your very life essence being forcibly siphoned out of your body, at the same time, your memories and feelings transfer to Cal—as if he was the one experiencing them firsthand.

The prickle of electric current on his skin made his nerves jerk, enough to prompt his muscles to let go; the great exhaustion that your body endured burdened itself on Cal’s chest—making him feel out of breath—then the deafening clash of weapons, the battle grunts, and all the taunts meant to torment your mind: all of those Cal endured, through the trance of the Force Echo.

You fight the tears from escaping your eyes, but he didn’t, he let them trickle on his cheeks; withstanding the pain took more willpower than matching your strength in the swordfight.

“Oh [Y/N]... what have they done to you?” he gasped.

“They… made me stronger!” you struggled to speak while under the influence of the Force Slow.

Cal shakes his head, tightening his grip around your hand, “No, that isn’t strength. This isn’t you.”

The gentleness in his voice vexed you and touched at the same time. More emotions pile on top of the other as they conflict in you, the confusion was mind-numbing.

“You just don’t want to admit it, because you’re afraid,” he added.

You’re on the verge of tears, because even if you don’t want to admit it, he’s somewhat right and you hate how right he always is.

“I am not afraid!” you hiccuped, nearly sobbing. “I don’t have to be afraid of the Inquisitors, you, or anything!”

You finally broke free from the hold of the Slow, you violently shook off Cal’s hand from yours, and popped a flashbomb to escape. When the smoke had cleared, Cal found himself alone in that small backside of the compound. More Stormtroopers flooding into that space gave him company, completely surrounding him; just when they thought they had the upper hand, their mistake of underestimating them became their undoing, the Jedi made quick work and felled them all, clearing the path for himself back to the Mantis while you hopped on another speeder and fled out of the city to return to the garrison.

[justsassysworld]

Five Demons and a Baby Part 3

Five Demons Part 3

Word Count: 1683

The Conglomerate x Fem!reader

Shuddering in nothing like fear, you allow them to show you back to your seat. Instead of letting you sit on your own, Gio waits for Scarabee to settle back in before handing you off. This time he pulls you onto his lap instead of right next to him.

Zhuk sits next to the two of you as the rest choose their spots. Once everyone's settled, Bee turns you to face the group, your back to his chest, your ass cradling his dick.

With all their attention turned to you, you figure they are waiting for you to say something but that is so not happening.

"Shy, chaton," Scarabee whispers against your ear, obviously enjoying your squirming. "But you were so vocal a minute ago."

You turn your head to glare at him, and he just laughs, with some of the others joining in. Pouting, you spin back and let out a sign. "I'm sorry for the snark, but you guys need to understand, I'm a bit of a sardonic asshole. It's not in my nature to play doormat, and it's not a role I'll ever willingly take."

Taking your hand, Zhuk draws your attention. "That is not our intention, zaika. No self respecting man wants a doormat, but we are all dominant men in our own rights, and we will not allow one of our own to come to harm."

"But-"

Gio interrupts you, "Make no mistake, topolina, you are ours, if not as a partner, as a member of the family."

A special warmth spreads through your chest. These men are trusting you, a person they don't know, a person who could be lying about the paternity, but they never doubted you. You were truly starting to believe the rumors of their evilness was drastically exaggerated.

"Thank you for saying that," you say after taking a moment to compose yourself. "What exactly do you mean by wooing? Will they just be dates? Sex? I need to know what to expect."

Chuckles surround you, Scarabee's rumbling against your backs; it would seem they weren't expecting such a blunt question.

"Oh gatita," Bajo sighs, "I for one must say how much I love your forthright nature."

Scarabee lets out a growl and you're confused until he bites out, "She is not your gatita, she is my chaton, pick something else."

"Seriously, amigo?" the Spaniard complains. "What can I call her then?"

"Not mouse.

"Not bunny." Zhuk and Gio say at the same time, making you roll your eyes.

"Fine, is paloma acceptable?" he asks, mainly to Cia.

"Don't fret, a chroi," Cia replies, sending him a wink. "I haven't yet thought of my name for our bonnie less."

Part of you wonders why they can't just call you by your name, while another loves how you feel when they use those pet names. Still, you need answers.

"Now that we have that sorted, could you please answer my question?" you cajole.

"Which one? About the dates or about sex?" Cia smirks. "If ya need a lesson in sex, I'll gladly volunteer, but considering your condition, I'm not sure how much I can teach ya." Yours are not the only eyes rolling.

Before any more jokes can be bandied around, Zhuk draws your attention, "Zaika, we are trying to woo you, you will decide what will happen, sex or no sex."

"I know what I'm voting for," Bajo murmurs, sending you a heated look.

"Now, if that's settled," Gio draws your attention by standing. "I need to get her vitamins ready, she needs to eat, and someone needs to help get her settled."

Seeming to agree, the others stand, even Scarabee, with you in his arms. You squirm to be let down, but he pays you no mind.

Gio quickly exits, but none of the others make a move, not even the man who still isn't letting you down. They start walking and speaking in some language you don't understand. Giving up on escape, you content yourself with mapping out this place, if the need for escape should arise. Of course all the damn doors are closed so you can't actually take stock of the rooms around you.

Huffing out a disappointed sigh, you pout from the cradle of the Cajuns arms, wanting to get where ever you're going so you can get some control back, or at least the option of moving on your own.

Finally you enter a new space, but it's not what you were expecting. It's far from the simple sleeping space you'd envisioned. The scene from the second Princess Diaries movie pops into your mind. Quite honestly, this suite is bigger than your apartment. Your mind is having issues comprehending how the luxury of the space is mixing with your stuff. Simple earth tones counter rich woods, while your more bright colors manage to blend without clashing too much.

Bajo and Cia make their way to the kitchenette, while Zhuk peruses your humble library, and Scarabee settles onto an over stuffed sofa, you in his lap. You watch how the others move about the space, trying to learn what you can about the mixed group without asking any questions.

The pair in the kitchen seem to dance as they work, letting you see their love; they flirt with their smiles, call each other ridiculously cute nick names, and even kiss once or twice. You catch the burly Russian casting longing glances their way, though you can't tell if it's because he wants to join them, or he just wants what they have. When he's not peering at them, he's checking out your small movie collection, obviously caught of guard by some of your selections.

"Well, cher," Scarabee suddenly whispers against your ear. "Ya learnin' anythin'?"

Biting your lip at getting caught, you turn your head slightly to see him. "Maybe, a little."

"Ah, don't leave me in suspense, tell me, mon petite chaton," he demands against your flesh.

"Well," you hedge, wanting time to fight your body's reaction, not that it'll do you any good with their sense of smell. "While you all seem very close, may haps even sexually, Cia and Bajo seem extra close. I'd even say they look like they're in love. I would say Zhuk is the quietest of you, and while some might think it would suggest a more submissive nature, I get the feeling he has more dominance in his little finger then a lot of doms have in their whole body, there's also a loneliness in his eyes. You and Gio seem to be cut from the same cloth, but he's got something hiding beneath the surface. I can't tell what's different between the two of you, but I think you are a bit extroverted to his introvert."

Looking into his eyes, you add, "Your power seems to surround you, where his comes from inside."

His gaze bores into you for a good while and you realize you don't hear anything coming from the rest of the room. Checking the others, you see they are also staring at you.

"What?" you ask, turning back to Scarabee. His palm cups your cheek as he stares at you in wonder.

"Cher, you surprise me," he whispers, drawing you in for a quick kiss.

"How?" Zhuk asks from behind you. You look behind you and see all of them, even Gio, who is standing in the doorway, watching you in shocked amazement.

Fear has you frozen. There is absolutely no way you're going to tell them the truth, that you've read so much fan fiction you've gotten really good at reading people. Nope, that's not something you'll ever admit to. "Uhh," you stall. "I read."

Before they can question you further, you ask, "What's for lunch?"

You get some glares, but Cia is smiling while he brings you a bowl of simple chicken noodle soup. Scarabee carries you to the table, setting you in one of the chairs. Gio hands you a couple of pills as Bajo sets down a glass of water. They each take a seat as the rest of the food is served.

Looking at the pills, you ask," Gio, are these prescription prenatals?"

"Yes, topolina," he replies, taking a bite of his soup.

"How?" confusion stains your voice. "There's no way you could get a prescription this fast."

He flashes you a cocky grin. "Is that so?"

You're about to snap back when strong hands trail down your arms, moving you hands to the table. "Please, a chuid, eat."

Biting your lip, you look up to see Cia staring down at you, concern and kindness swimming in the depths of his eyes. Not wanting to disappoint him, you quickly take a bite of the surprisingly delicious soup before swallowing your pills. Smiling, he moves to his own seat and starts eating.

The sounds of people eating fills the space until Zhuk says, "So, zaika, tell us all about you."

You do just that with a smile, answering every question they send your way. Favorite color, book, movie, and television show, your childhood, family and friends, and all of your dreams, you answer it all, but get very little info in return.

Finally tiring of the sound of your own voice, you ask, "Haven't you heard enough? When do I get to learn more abut you?"

Chuckles are your answer. "My dear, Zaika, we will each tell you all you wish to know, and more, in turn. I will be taking my day with you tomorrow, Gio will follow me, Bajo and Cia will share their days, and Bee will finish us up. Will this work for you?"

Mulling it over, you smile and nod. "Yes, I think I can live with that."

Various pleased looks answer, before the questions begin again. You're tempted to roll your eyes, but there is something so damn sweet about the curiosity of these mysterious men. As much as you don't understand how they can still have things to ask, you guess you'll have just as many when your turn rolls around.

@doyahearthatsound-after-dark,  @1-rosewiththorns

[lost-inyourwords]

bad ideas can have good endings (Maeve Wiley x F!Reader)

Request: “Hey! if you are still taking requests could i please have a maeve x female reader where maeve gets outed by Otis when he’s drunk and tells everyone that she likes R? maybe angst with some fluff? Thank you!!!!!!!” @onehellagaykid

Warnings: minor angst, underage drinking, minor retching/vomit mentions

Word count: 1849

A/N: thank you so much for your request! I had such a blast writing this and I hope it’s everything you imagined :) feedback is mega appreciated and requests, as always, are open!

This party was a bad idea. Maeve knew it, Ola knew it, Otis had yet to figure it out and Eric was too busy inviting people to stop and think about it. As [Y/N] put on her outfit for the night, she was looking forward to the carnage that a party brings but there was dread in the back of her mind. What if she got too drunk and accidentally told an Untouchable to shove their million-pound attitude up their ass? What if she blacked out and ended up missing school? Who has a party on a Thursday anyway? Pushing her apprehensions to the back of her mind, she fastened her necklace; a simple silver chain with a small bee-shaped pendant. 

 “Where are you off to then?” Erin drawled once again. Maeve could swear she felt the headache arrive moment by moment, “Nowhere,” came the quick reply. The faster she got out of the caravan, the less questions she’d get. Erin, ever the supportive mum, scoffed dramatically. “Fine, don’t tell me. Is there at least a boy involved?” she pleaded. Fine, Maeve would indulge her for the 20 seconds she had left of lacing up a boot. “No, there isn’t. I keep trying to tell you that boys have never - and will never - be involved,” she reprimanded. Erin did her best not to look wounded but Maeve could tell there would be no further conversation. Pulling her tote over her shoulder, she left the caravan and waved ‘bye-bye’ to Elsie though the window. Turning toward the exit of the park, she sighed. This was a bad idea. She heard Isaac trying to taunt her again but decided she didn’t want to potentially get involved in an assault case, so she simply sped up and put her mind in a different place. 

 Otis Milburn is not what you would describe as a “frequent drinker”. In fact, many people wouldn’t describe him as a “drinker” in the first place - not even himself. This Otis, though, would say something very different. That is, of course, if he could get the words out without burping obscenely or choking back a bit of sick. Yes, Otis Milburn - sex kid, Moordale’s very own urban legend - was drunk. Not just drunk, but positively wasted. [Y/N] wondered if he thought this was a bad idea. She found Eric among the heaving crowd overtaking the house. 

“What is he doing? I’ve never seen him like this,” she said, unable to contain the concern in her tone.

“Relax! He’s fine, just enjoying himself and letting loose a little. Speaking of which, can I get you a drink? You look so wound up,” he slurred slightly.

“Yeah, alright. Just a cider or something though, I have to walk home after this,” she replied, conceding that she was a little high-strung by the stressful week behind her. Maeve had come back to school. Yes, Maeve, the one and only girl who had ever made [Y/N] think about love outside of the fairytale bubble containing a white picket fence and 3 kids whom all look too similar to truly pick a favourite. That word hadn’t even been in her vocabulary until she came to high school and met the smartest person she knows. She’d read so many great books thanks to the once pink-haired rebel. Had enjoyed so many hours of amazing music both with her and because of her. She’d been devastated last term when everything went down with Sean. She’d sounded so sad over the phone. They’d tried to keep in touch but there was only so much that they could do until the horrible drift happened. [Y/N] would actively avoid the pretzel shop at the local shopping centre because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold back her pity. Despite how strongly Maeve carried herself, [Y/N] knew what happened behind closed doors. The breakdowns, the empty laughs, the glazed over eyes at 2am when sleep evaded her. Besides, [Y/N] had started talking to Otis after Maeve disappeared. He’d confessed about how sorry he felt for the way things ended and all he wanted was to see her again one more time to just apologise and tell her how proud he was of her. It was sweet. Perhaps he was thinking about that right now and needed alcohol to numb the pain. Maeve had just strolled in the door, after all.

 Upon stepping foot inside, Maeve recognised that this party was already a disaster. Not 30 seconds had passed before she saw multiple people drunk off their faces and at least one person puking in a bin. Charming. Eyes scanning the crowd, her gaze fell lovingly upon the makeshift bar in the kitchen, which she made a quick beeline towards. Pouring a too-strong drink, she let herself drift. She didn’t need to think tonight; maybe she’d let herself get blackout drunk for once. Losing control could be good. Feelings were too complicated anyways; especially those involving other people. Like [Y/N]. Especially [Y/N]. Maeve’s thoughts and dreams had been overtaken by visions of the girl; from daydreaming about going on cheesy dates to nights spent dreaming about… more inappropriate activities. She longed to feel [Y/N]’s hand in her own, to kiss her in the morning at school, even to watch her fall apart underneath her when she finally gives her what she begged so sweetly for. Having gotten lost in her own thoughts again, her eyes drifted towards [Y/N] and Eric, standing next to someone hunched over a bin. Again, she contemplated, charming. 

 Otis retched once again, the sound ripping through [Y/N]’s ears despite the blasting music flooding the house. Eric tutted softly. 

“You are such a lightweight, man. How can you not even hold down a shot?” He pleaded, clearly exasperated. Rahim seemed to apparate out of thin air and dragged him away with nothing but a suggestive look that he hoped [Y/N] didn’t see. She did, but elected to ignore it. If there was anything she wanted to avoid tonight, it would be a horny and impatient Eric without his best friend by his side. Otis finally straightened up from his shameful hunch over the bin and swiftly headed back to the kitchen for a refill. Would he ever learn? She decided not to think about that and instead let her eyes scan her surroundings. So many teenagers - so many insecurities in one room. How many of them were getting completely wasted to forget about their feelings or their home life? How many were looking for a random hookup just so they could brag to their friends about losing their virginity? She silently hoped that Maeve didn’t fall into that last category.

 Maeve pounded her second shot. “Fuck it,” she murmured to herself. Making her way across the room to where [Y/N] stood, a wave of confidence flowed through her. Even though she knew that was simply her blood flowing faster due to the booze, she still felt empowered. She was finally going to do it. After a year of looking away right before she got caught staring, a year of daydreaming, a year of pining, she’d finally let her true feelings be known.

Otis had poured his fifth drink for the night and set his sights for [Y/N]. He needed to apologise. He didn’t know what for, but [Y/N] had such a sad look in her eyes some days - Otis definitely knew it was somehow his fault. Swishing the plastic cup in his right hand, he contemplated what he would say before getting to her. His train of thought was interrupted when he felt the sharp-smelling liquor splash and land on his shirt. He turned rapidly, ready to throw venomous words at whatever clumsy asshole wasn’t watching their step, but his sentiments died quickly in his throat when he saw Maeve’s brown locks. She swivelled on the spot. Paused for a beat too long.

“...Oh. Hey, dickhead,” she said, straight-faced and terrifying as ever.

“Hey. Wa- watch… where you’re going, maybe?” Otis replied, bold, and suddenly really feeling that fourth shot.

“Yeah, sorry,” she brushed him off and tried to continue on her way to [Y/N]. 

“HEY! Don’t walk away,” he shouted, unfortunately loud enough to catch the attention of pretty much everyone downstairs. 

Shit. Why was he trying to make a scene? Is this just what he’s like when he drinks? No-one should have ever let him near any alcohol in the first place. God, she could punch him right now.

“Sorry, Otis. Do you have something to say?” she spat, quickly losing her nerve.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, okay? I’m- I-” he stuttered, retching a little. 

“Go on then, spit it out!” someone yelled before turning the music down. Oh great, Maeve thought. So we’re involving everyone in this then? 

“I’m sorry about all the shit that went down with you and Jackson last term. I’m sorry you have to live alone and all your family left. And I’m sorry that.. that you’re in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way. Trust me, I know the feeling, Maeve,” he finished, his eyes landing directly on [Y/N]. She backed away slowly, her eyes never leaving Maeve’s, and disappeared upstairs.

 Maeve could feel tears forming in her eyes. The quicker she found [Y/N], the better. 

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Otis. Oh and by the way, I’m sorry that you can’t wank or hold a girlfriend down for longer than six months,” she uttered, before running after [Y/N].

Maeve eventually found [Y/N] in the bathroom after very unfortunately stumbling upon Eric and Rahim’s… activities in Otis’ bedroom. She’d never closed a door so fast in her life. Sitting opposite her on the floor, [Y/N] took a deep breath. 

“So… is it true?” she asked. No point beating around the bush. Either she denies it and they continue this weird song and dance or this ends happily ever after.

“Is what true?” Maeve parrotted. This wasn’t happening. [Y/N] forced out a huff.

“Fine. If that’s what you want to do, then there’s no point of me being here. I’m leaving,” she snapped. She didn’t need any more bullshit tonight. Anger flared through her as she stood and made for the door. 

“Wait!” Maeve called out, reaching the door before [Y/N] and putting her weight against it. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? It is true. I… I have feelings for you. It’s really hard because I know you’d never feel the same so I’m sorry that he embarrassed you like that, I’m gonna go kick his arse-” she rambled before being cut off by [Y/N]’s lips on her own.

“Shut up,” she mumbled against them. “I like you too, alright? Have for a while. Been thinking about doing this for a while, too,” she confirmed.

“Me too,” Maeve said, pulling away slightly. “Can I kiss you again?” she asked softly. Turning them around so that [Y/N] was backing her up against the wall, she replied, “Of course”.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Amaryllis | Chapter 4

< Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 >

+++

The Mountain Kingdom was, evidently, a place fond of a good party. Or eight.

"They could have just had the first ball," Sakura remarked.

"But then we wouldn't have had a welcome party for you," countered Sasuke.

"You could have just said 'welcome' at the first party. That's quite welcoming, don't you think?" Sakura pointed out. And as much as Sasuke griped about how annoying social events were, he stuck to his logic.

"We can't have honored guests from the neighboring kingdom and not have a party. My mother would never allow such a thing." He looked baffled by the very idea of such rudeness.

"Well, we can't have Her Majesty upset," Sakura relented. And that seemed to satisfy Sasuke.

The festivities went on for an entire week. Days were spent wandering the streets and visiting the traders' stalls. Performers filled the square with music and dance. The lawns of the palace hosted garden parties with new bards and performance troupes each day. Each night, the palace held a huge party with a different theme.

And, unfortunately, the Queen's tailor had provided more gowns for each day of the ball. Sakura realized this, with no small amount of horror, when she had opened up the wardrobe the morning after the first party.

"Haku."

"Yes, General."

"What fresh hell is this?" Sakura whispered.

"A present from Her Majesty the Queen, General," Haku replied with a sympathetic grimace.

At a loss for words, Sakura echoed Haku's sentiment from the night before. "How… generous."

Haku laughed as he opened the doors wider. "It's not so bad, General. This blue would look nice on you."

Moegi bustled in, arms heavy with fresh sheets and towels. She glanced over the gown.

"Well, that has to wait. Tonight is the masquerade. It'll have to be the gold one," Moegi remarked before she headed into the bedroom.

The masquerade wasn't nearly as dreary as Sakura had feared. She had always been quick on her feet. Her partners weren't always as dextrous as she was, but that was alright. Sasuke was a surprisingly talented dancer. He seemed shocked when she could tell it was him behind the mask.

"It only covers your forehead and eyebrows, Prince. As if anyone else would have that hairstyle," Sakura laughed over brunch the following morning.

"What's wrong with my hair?" he grumbled, running his fingers through it.

"Nothing," she assured him, pushing a plate closer to him. Something had occurred to her last night. She thought out loud as she watched Sasuke pick a pastry apart. "Anyway, I saw a woman with what must have been half a peacock on her head last night. People take this very seriously."

"Ah. Father gives the nobles a chance to strut and fuss for a week. He says they won't be as much of a bother for the rest of the year when he does," sighed Sasuke. Sakura considered this.

"Oh. So it isn't just for tradition. It's strategic," she said.

Sasuke gave her a look. "Why do you have to make everything sound like a war tactic?" he complained.

Sakura snorted. "Because any court is war. You should know that by now." Sasuke just rolled his eyes.

"Pardon me, Your Highness," a servant girl interrupted as she set a fresh pot of tea on the table next to Sasuke's hand. Sasuke gestured for the girl to speak. But instead she moved around the table to hand a rose to Sakura.

"I was instructed to give you this, General," she said. Sakura accepted the flower to examine it. It was a different color from those found in the Queen's garden here. Her roses were light red- almost pink, and carefully pruned so that the thorns would not harm the ladies-in-waiting who plucked them each morning to decorate the throne room.

But this bloom was deep red with sharp prickles scattered up the stem. So jagged that one poked her thumb as she handled it.

Sakura stared at the flower before she blew out a deep breath. "I had a feeling something like this would happen," she remarked. She set the rose down, beside her teacup. But when she felt the servant lingering, she glanced her way.

"Is there something else?" Sakura prompted.

The girl nodded. Her eyes darted to Sasuke. And then to Sakura. She motioned to a manservant who had been waiting near the door. He stepped forward, a carved box carried in his arms. It was made from dark wood. The lid was carved with some sort of complex design that she barely had time to notice before it opened. Inside sat dozens of silvery-blue flowers. The sweet fragrance was familiar to her.

"Ah," Sakura simply remarked, smiling now.

"Those are…" Sasuke slowly said. His eyes widened.

Even if they weren't native to his country, Sasuke recognized moonblooms. Their leaves made tea that was only grown on the Southern Tea Isle. Its sopophoric qualities made it a valuable commodity for doctors and nobles alike. A small dosage calmed the nerves and dulled pain. A larger dose induced a deep sleep.

Moon tea had a light, sweet smell. The nectar produced by the flowers smelled almost like perfume. It was also very valuable, but highly poisonous to humans until it was processed by bees into honey. This was a well-known fact to islanders and foreigners alike. In fact, it was so toxic, that even prolonged contact with the skin was known to cause lethargy.

"Is this a threat? Why have you brought poison into the palace?" Sasuke demanded. And the servant girl flinched, as if this was the very reaction she had been expecting.

"I- no, your Highness. I simply did as I was told," the girl replied.

"And who told you to bring this here?" Sasuke pressed.

As Sasuke grilled the poor girl, Sakura reached for the box.

"General-" the manservant began. But Sakura touched her pointer finger to her mouth in a shushing gesture. She nudged the flowers around until she found the prettiest one. It was remarkable how little they had wilted. She wondered if they had been transported in soil. Or perhaps soaked in water.

"You mean to tell me that you have no idea who ordered you to bring poison here? Into this specific room?" Sasuke was still at hard at work at his interrogation.

"Relax, Prince," Sakura drawled, plucking the flower out of the box.

Sasuke's head whipped around, a retort on his lips. He froze when he saw the flower dangling from her fingers. The terrified servant girl was looking at her too.

"What are you doing? Put that down," Sasuke hissed.

"The poor thing was just bringing me a present. For my homesickness," Sakura remarked.

She opened her mouth and dropped the flower inside. She crushed it between her teeth. Sasuke jolted out of his seat, knocking his teacup to the floor. The porcelain shattered. He grabbed her forearm, eyes wild.

"Spit it out! It's poison," he whispered.

Sakura locked her eyes with his as she ground the sweet petals under her molars. A smile curled her lips.

"So you know that the nectar of moon blooms is highly toxic?" she began. Sasuke looked at her like she had gone crazy. She didn't blame him.

"If I say yes, will you spit it out?" he retorted with a desperate laugh. But Sakura continued to chew as if nothing was wrong. When she swallowed, she could see the hope dimming from Sasuke's eyes. He gaped at her.

"But, did you know that the petals neutralize the toxin?" she concluded, wiping at her mouth with her napkin. Sasuke's grip slackened just as servants ran in to see what the noise was about. They whispered frantically amongst each other. This included Haku, who dashed forward and yanked the wooden chest from the manservant's arms. He slammed it shut.

Sasuke didn't seem to notice any of this. "It does what?" he inquired.

"I'm not quite sure of the science. But the petals make it safe to eat. That's how the wild boar on the island eat them, anyway," explained Sakura, shrugging. Sasuke's hand slid off her and landed on the tabletop. He barely glanced over as the servants knelt to begin cleaning up the bits of the ruined cup. Moegi ran in next, guards in tow. They seized the servant girl by the arms. She let out a cry of pain.

"Oh, let her go. She was delivering a present," Sakura scolded, finally looking over at them again. She fixed the guards with a stern look. "Shame on you. She's just a girl." Baffled, they loosened their grip on her.

"General, she brought you poison," one of them pointed out.

Sakura flapped a hand at them. "Release her. It's only poison to the ignorant," she scoffed. When the guards looked to Sasuke, he just nodded at them. They released the girl, who fell to her knees in a deep bow.

"Please, forgive me, General. I'm just the messenger," she sobbed.

"Yes, yes. I'm aware," Sakura assured her. And then she turned her attention to Sasuke.

"So. Have you figure it out, Prince? It's a very simple puzzle. Childish, even," she prompted, her tone light. Sasuke let out a long sigh of exasperation as he slumped down in his seat. Propping his head up in his right hand, he shook his head. Then he peered at her through his fingers.

"Oh, come now. The pieces are all there. A strange rose. Moonblooms. Try," she spelled out for him. His eyes narrowed. Lowering his hand, he looked across the table at her.

"The sigil of your family is a red rose…" he said. Sakura waited for the rest of the thoughts to process in his head. Sasuke muttered to himself as he considered other facts. His eyes fixed on the rose and then flickered back up to her face. Sakura folded her hands in front of her without saying anything.

"And… I'm assuming that knowledge of the moonblooms is common where you're from. So…. Oh," Sasuke concluded. And when he realized, his eyes lit up. Sakura smiled. She turned to the servant girl.

"Please stop groveling and let my cousin know that I'll see him tonight," she instructed. The girl slowly lifted her head. Revealing her teary eyes.

"Um…" she hesitated.

Sakura chuckled. "No, not that cousin. The other one. The less stupid one," she added. And the girl nodded.

That afternoon, when Sakura returned to her room, she found Moegi and Haku crowded around something in her room. Shedding her jacket, she waited for one of them to take it to hang. Haku moved first. Dark eyes lingering with suspicion on the thing on the bed.

"Well. Um. You have a gift, General," Moegi reported.

Sakura laughed a little. "I can see that, Moegi. Was there a note?"

Moegi shook her head. And then her gaze drifted to the wooden box sitting on the desk. She cringed a little. "Is it the same person who sent you poison, General?" she wondered.

Sakura sighed. "It's not poison, Moegi. It's just flowers."

"Flowers that become poison," Moegi insisted. She wrinkled her nose. She turned her back on the box and turned her attention to the bed.

"I like this gift better," she remarked.

Sakura moved past her to see the source of all the excitement. She cracked a smile as she approached. The gown the Queen's tailor had provided lay to the left. It was white with the same ruffles and gold embroidery that seemed to be so fashionable lately. The long sleeves and the high collar looked unbearably stuffy- and she hadn't even tried it on yet.

To the right, lay a new gown. She didn't recall this particular one, but she could recognize the style. Only one person on the planet could tailor a dress for her without taking a single measurement. Haku looked between the clothing. He made a face at the one to the left. Moegi let out a dreamy sigh, hands clasping together.

"Is this Eastern silk, General? It's even more beautiful than I imagined," Moegi breathed. "May I touch it?"

"It's fabric, Moegi. I can't imagine what else one would do with fabric," Sakura replied. And then she suppressed a snort of laughter as she watched Moegi run her hands up and down the soft garment.

"It's quite… light," Haku finally remarked. He mashed his lips together.

"Speak freely, Haku," Sakura encouraged. And then he met her gaze.

"…Wouldn't such a… free… design get you in trouble, General?" he worried. Sakura nodded.

"Oh, yes. Which is fine. As long as I never have to wear those dreadful, pinching shoes again," she replied. And at those words, Moegi bent down to pick up a pair of soft, flat sandals. Sakura beamed at her.

By the time Sakura was dressed, guests had already begun to arrive. There was a knock on the door. Moegi went out to answer, knowing who it probably was. When the red-haired girl returned, Haku was struggling with a string of pearls. Sakura plucked it from his hands.

"Don't fret. The point of these is to seem randomly placed," she assured him. And with that, she twisted the jewels into her hair, letting them tangle between the strands like they had grown from her head.

"It's Prince Sasuke, General," Moegi reported.

"What about this, General?" Haku queried, holding up a set of thin, golden bracelets. He turned them around, searching for some sort of clasp. Sakura took them. Pinching her fingers together, she forced them over her wrists. They clinked together as they settled into place.

"It's all very… glittery, General," Moegi observed. Sakura could tell from the expression on her face that it might not have been to her taste. But that didn't matter. This felt right.

Haku opened the doors. Sasuke stood in the foyer, his hands clasped behind him. He stared for a long moment. And then his forehead wrinkled.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble," he warned.

"So?" she challenged. His usual smirk returned. He offered his arm to her.

As it was the third night, Sakura was used to the rituals of the ball. Not that it was much different from any other country she had been to. A herald announced their names, complete with absurdly long titles. They walked into the ballroom and everyone gawked. Although the gawking was probably a little more severe this night.

In fact, as they approached the King and the Queen, Sakura heard an older woman gasp, "My word!" There was a great deal of hissing as the ladies of the court whispered behind their fans. Sakura suspected that her exposed shoulders were to blame. Or maybe her back, which was also mostly exposed.

Sakura bowed. Her gold earrings swaying with the movement. As she lifted her head, she caught the Queen's raised eyebrows. But the older woman quickly smoothed out her expression.

"That dress is lovely on you, my dear. It is not often that we see such bold expression in clothing," Queen Mikoto remarked. The warmth of her tone didn't fully mask the surprise in her words. And she must have felt so, too, because she went on. "This must be the famous silk everyone is desperate to buy. I can see now why so many court ladies covet it so."

"If it pleases Your Majesty, I can arrange for some to be sent to your tailor," Sakura offered.

A real smile appeared on the Queen's face. "This would indeed please us."

Sakura bowed again. And Sasuke made some excuse to pull them off to a quieter corner. They could still feel all the stares, but at least Shisui was there.

Shisui, Sakura had learned, was one of the few Uchiha's Sasuke actually seemed willing to talk to. Sasuke seemed to hold him in such high regard that Sakura had no choice but to be polite. But she found that this wasn't difficult. Shisui, while just a baron, knew enough to avoid saying stupid things. He hated the petty gossip of court. He spent most of his time doing paperwork for the King to avoid dealing with the courtiers. It also helped that he was well-versed in the trade and metalwork of his territory. He always had something interesting to share with her.

"This is excellent craftsmanship," Shisui remarked. He gestured to the decorative armor fitted around her middle. The polished brass gleamed. Delicate little roses had been engraved into the thin metal.

"Thank you. I give my blacksmith a headache with all my requests, I'm sure," she said in return.

But that conversation soon ended as people called Shisui to join them. He bowed before he moved away. And during this lull in conversation, Sakura found a server carrying wine. She took a sip. Then stood staring down into in, struggling to decide whether to drink the whole thing at once, or to nurse it throughout the evening. Sasuke sidled up beside her after escaping a chat with one of his aging relatives.

They had a perfect view of Naruto standing at the banquet. He ate a pastry. Glanced around the room. Grinned as he caught her gaze. Waved at her like a little boy.

"It's hard to believe that you're related," whispered Sasuke. Sakura nodded.

"I know," she muttered in response.

"Truly," a third voice agreed.

Sasuke started. He turned to find someone hovering uncomfortably close over Sakura's shoulder. He opened his mouth to remark on this, but stopped. Because Sakura rolled her eyes and leaned closer to him. The man kissed her cheek, an arm snaking around her.

"Apologies for the sudden visit, Darling. You're looking lovely," he greeted her.

"Yes. Send Deidara my thanks," Sakura answered. He looked appalled.

"Oh, just Deidara. Not your dearest cousin who brought it all the way over the sea up these mountains?" he challenged her.

Sakura turned her head to really look at him.

"You're incredibly annoying," she told him.

"You have an odd way of pronouncing the word 'handsome'," he replied.

She looked him over. And then her lips pulled up at the corners. "What excuse did you use this time?"

"Oh, no excuses. I merely wrote to Her Majesty the Queen. To thank her for her hospitality towards our beloved General. I also might have extolled the virtues of the Mountain Kingdom. Who knows. Either way, she extended an invitation to this soiree. She thinks I'm charming," he answered. And then he directed a look toward the two thrones at the far end of the room. He dipped his head. The Queen reciprocated the gesture.

"Of course. And you had your ships and horses prepared so you could hurry here as soon as the letter was in your hand," Sakura guessed. His golden eyes met hers, sparkling with the obvious answer.

Sakura shook her head. She turned back to Sasuke.

"Prince Sasuke, meet Admiral Sasori Haruno of the Forest Kingdom. My cousin," sighed Sakura.

Sasori and Sasuke sized each other up. As all noblemen tended to do. It reminded her of the way that she would look over an opponent during a spar. She knew Sasori well enough that she could tell that he was making judgments in his head. Noting every detail of Sasuke's appearance. They were so quiet that Sakura began to worry that she would have to separate them. But then Sasuke extended his hand first. Sasori shook it.

"Welcome to Goliaf, Admiral. My apologies for not greeting you sooner," Sasuke began.

"Thank you for the warm welcome, Prince Sasuke. It's a wonderful place. The stories don't do it justice," Sasori said in return.

"It's an honor to meet you. I've heard many things of your naval conquests. It seems that military prowess is somewhat of a family trade," answered Sasuke with equal flattery.

Sakura rolled her eyes, letting out a loud sigh.

"Can you two please stop that? Sasori, the Prince isn't one of those types. You can speak to him like a normal person," Sakura informed him.

"Oh, thank goodness. I detest having to flatter people. Other than you, at least," Sasori said, relief written all over his face. He nudged Sakura a little. She ignored him. He didn't seem to mind as he went on: "Although, I should have guessed when you wrote and said that he was a fine companion. You usually only reserve such compliments for your horse."

Sasuke looked offended. And then thoughtful.

"It is a good horse," he admitted.

Sasori chuckled.

"Alright. I see what you mean," he added. And then he regarded Sasuke. "Thank you for taking such good care of my cousin, Prince Sasuke."

Sasuke nodded.

As the orchestra began a new song, Sasori's face lit up.

"Oh, finally. A decent tune. Shall we?" he said, already pulling Sakura to the dance floor.

Sakura put her right hand in his left. His right hand settled on the small of her back before they transitioned into the correct steps of the dance. It was a waltz. Sasori spun them around. They had first learned to dance with each other. They could have done this with their eyes closed. And so, undistracted by the steps, they took this time to speak. No one would hear them over the music, and they were moving around too much to really find a good place to eavesdrop.

"He doesn't fancy you, you know," Sasori started off the conversation.

"I'd hope not. I don't fancy him either," she responded in a light voice.

"Are you going to marry him?"

A smile brightened Sakura's face.

"I can't marry a crown prince. You think I'd want to sold off like a cow when I have my own lands to look after?" she scoffed.

"As if you would let anyone send you somewhere against your will."

They both laughed at that.

Sakura could feel the stares on them as they twirled around. The airy silk of her dress was a welcome change from the heavier materials the Mountain Kingdom favored. It was white and flowed around her like billowing ocean waves. The bodice of the dress was held in place by the decorative armor. The sheer sleeves of the dress sloped off her shoulders, revealing the toned muscles in her back. Delicate strands of gold and pearls were draped across her shoulders until they trailed down her back to connect to the belt.

"Mother said your dress was far too revealing," remarked Sasori.

"She's right. But I like it," she answered.

"You don't look like you've been sleeping well," he then observed. She didn't even try to deny it.

"Is it something in particular that's worrying you?" Sasori pressed. He twirled her around. She spun back in under his raised arm.

"Not really. My head is just filled with too many thoughts," she replied.

When she turned back around, Sasori was smiling at her with his mouth. "As usual, then?"

"As usual," she confirmed.

They chatted their way through two more songs. Though, chatting was a bland word to describe the amount of sarcasm and eye-rolling that passed between them. Sasori ridiculed the painted-on moles and ruffled collars of some of the men. He mocked their snooty accents and attempts to impress their companions. This wasn't because court here was so different from events at Whiteriver Keep. In fact, there was no difference. And the fact that such pretention could transcend culture was so hilarious to Sasori that he seemed to find it necessary to mock every noble he could.

"You do realize that we're also noble," Sakura pointed out with a wry look.

"Oh. Darling. It's different," he assured her.

"Different how?"

"We're simply better than them," he answered. The smirk he gave her made her scowl.

"Your arrogance is untenable."

"I know. And you love it," Sasori teased.

When they spun, Sakura was laughing again. As the third song ended, Sakura pulled them off the dance floor.

"You're monopolizing me. People will talk," Sakura warned.

"Let them. Little people worry about little things," he scoffed.

Her forehead creased as she thought. "Then what do big people worry about?"

"Big people, my darling, worry about the little people. But people like you or I," Sasori paused mid-sentence. His eyes darted around, like he was about to tell a secret. He beckoned for her. Sakura leaned in.

"We don't worry. We simply do," whispered Sasori. His hand rested on the small of her back as he led her into the clusters of guests. Some of them feigned ignorance. Others let their stares drill into them. As Sasori moved them toward one group, Sakura caught something out of the corner of her eye. She turned, scanning the ballroom. And then, just because, she looked up.

Itachi leaned against the stone railings. Their gazes met. He lifted his latest book in greeting to her. Sakura smiled. But before she could do anything else, Sasori's hand closed around her wrist. She allowed herself to be led away.

When the ball ended several hours later, Sakura said her usual farewells to Sasuke. He and Sasori had hit it off. They had bonded over their mutual frustration at silly courtly rituals. And they had all shared a good laugh over the ridiculous wig one of Sasuke's aging uncles had dared to wear to cover his balding head. Sasuke headed back to his quarters.

"Shall we?" Sakura suggested.

"I have no idea where I'm going," he confessed. Sakura rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you," she teased as she led them in the right direction.

"The wine was almost tolerable," Sasori remarked as they began walking.

"I think I might need another glass before bed. My poor feet," Sakura griped in response. Sasori stopped in his tracks. He glanced down at her shoes.

"I'll have the cordwainer's head," he said.

Sakura shook her head. "No. It was the shoes I wore earlier this week. The women in this country must suffer dearly," she explained.

She could see Sasori thinking. He frowned. And then he offered his arm to her.

"We can walk slowly. And maybe this will distract you," Sasori suggested.

"What?"

"Prince Naruto has gained a few pounds since coming here. I almost mistook him for Count Akimichi." She laughed. He always knew what to say to get her to smile.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

"I missed you," she confessed in a small voice.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he assured her.

When they made it back to the apartment, Sasori pulled an envelope from inside his jacket.

"I almost forgot. Excuse me for a moment," Sasori said, handing it over to her. And with that, he slipped into the bathroom.

"Welcome back, General. Who is….?" Haku greeted them, his head following the bathroom door as it closed. He exchanged a look with Moegi, who shrugged.

Sakura slit the envelope with the dagger strapped to her thigh. She already knew who it was from.

Dear Lady Sakura,

I hope the summer season finds you well. We've had a few storms here and there, but the weather has been agreeable so far. Count Hatake has assured us that the tea crop is doing well. He attributes it to a new fertilizer he has been using. I didn't understand much, but he seemed excited.

You have, undoubtedly, heard of our cousin's recent triumph over some pirates. With the trade waters freed up, trade has continued unhindered. The treasury continues to do well, although I am finding it difficult to negotiate a lower tax as you had requested last month.

The children in the orphanage were disappointed not to see you. They ask for you often. And Sami is a lonely place without you. I am aware that our cousin has taken it upon himself to keep you company at Goliaf. I apologize as I should have attempted to stop him. Please don't be too upset with him. He's been moping. He missed you terribly. As do I.

Please be safe. I will continue to watch over Plumeria until you return home.

Sincerely yours,

Gaara

"I was not moping," Sasori protested as he read over her shoulder.

"Gaara doesn't lie," Sakura stated.

Sasori's hand flew to his chest. "And I do?"

She stared at him. And after a moment, Sasori lowered his hand.

"It wasn't moping," he insisted again. "I was bored. I'd rather travel up this damn mountain than sit there kissing that Regent's pale ass."

"Be-have!" Sakura scolded, knocking her shoulder against his.

"Um…" Moegi hedged.

"Yes?" Sakura replied.

Moegi puckered her lips together. "Will the gentleman be… staying much longer? It's getting late, General," she said with a pointed look at Sasori. His eyebrows rose.

"Moegi, Haku, this is my cousin, Admiral Sasori Haruno. Much like an infection, he is uninvited, but will be staying with us for a while," Sakura introduced the man, clapping a hand over his shoulder. Sasori's eyes rolled toward her.

"Are you comparing me to a cold?"

"To gangrene," Sakura corrected him. Ignoring Sasori's glare, Sakura graced Moegi with a smile.

"Some fresh sheets for him. And some wine for me," she requested. Moegi cast Sasori another wary look. And then she nodded.

"Right away, General," she responded and she stepped out of the room.

"She seems very distrusting. I like her," Sasori remarked as he watched the servant girl leave. And then his gaze flicked over Haku.

"I have a question for you, my dear," Sasori then said. He walked over to grasp both of Haku's hands. Haku flinched. But when his panicked gaze turned to Sakura for an explanation, all she could do was shrug.

"I must ask what an exquisite creature such as yourself," began Sasori. Haku's cheeks bloomed bright pink," Is doing in women's clothing."

Haku's face turned white.

Sasori's gold eyes were bright as he looked down at Haku's slender fingers. He released his hands to pinch Haku's cheeks instead. Stretching. Testing the elasticity of his fair skin. And then he examined Haku's hair.

"You're quite delicate for a boy. How old are you? 11? 12? Is this a tradition here? Serving visiting nobles like this? Do the women dress like men, then?" conjectured Sasori. When Haku's pleading look turned to her, Sakura let out a long breath.

"That's enough. Leave the poor child alone," she intervened. When Sakura patted his shoulder, Sasori ceased his barrage of questions. He took a step away from Haku, hands held up in surrender.

"He just arrived, General. How…" Haku trailed off. His voice heavy with despair.

Sakura pushed Sasori aside. She smoothed Haku's uniform. Tucked his hair behind his ear.

"My family is… well-versed in artifice. Don't worry yourself, Haku. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone else," she tried to comfort him. Sakura shot Sasori a glare over her shoulder. He shrugged. When her eyes narrowed, Sasori raised his eyebrow in response. She jerked her chin.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Sasori announced, taking the hint. "And it was a long journey. I'll see you in the morning." Fingers grasping her shoulder, he kissed her right temple. And then her cheek. Only when she stopped scowling did he release her.

+++

When Admiral Haruno arrived at Goliaf Castle, the courtiers fell into a frenzy.

Sakura had drawn attention from her first day in court. Her pink hair drew eyes wherever she went. And her eyes were teal, clear and bright against the dark brown Uchiha gazes. She held up her wrist against the paleness of Sasuke's arm and laughed all the time.

The arrival of her cousin with an even more foreign appearance had the courtiers practically falling over themselves to catch even a glimpse of him.

Sasori had dark red hair, which seemed to run in the family. And the warm, bronzed skin of a man who had spent time in the sun. The two stood out wherever they went together. And they were rarely seen apart.

"There's a man watching us from that bush. With binoculars," Sakura pointed out one afternoon. She sat in one of the castle's lounges. Now that the week of opulent parties had ended, she was back in pants. Which were honestly so much more comfortable.

"Oh. I didn't see that one," Sasori replied. He glanced out the window. He raised a hand in greeting. The bush let out a panicked rustle.

Sasuke, who was often seen with them now, shook his head.

"How do you notice things like that?" he wondered, not for the first time.

But it was the first time Sakura gave him a straightforward answer. "I should hope you never learn to notice such things, Prince. A lifetime of paranoia is to thank for my skill, unfortunately."

Sasuke cringed as he realized that he may have touched on a nerve. Sasori, however, seemed unbothered.

"Fun fact. Three men in our family have died from choking on grapes." As he spoke, he tossed one of the purple fruits up in the air. He caught it in his mouth.

When Sasuke looked to Sakura for confirmation, she nodded.

"They were brothers. Allergic to grapes, apparently," she elaborated. Sasori's face lit up as something occurred to him. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Sakura's face contorted as she listened. And then she rolled her eyes as he went on. But as he continued speaking, he coaxed a chuckle from her. She pushed Sasori away. Sasuke eyed their exchange with interest.

"So when does this torment start? Her Majesty asked us to be here by 2. And it's…" Sakura trailed off as she looked around the room until she found a clock. "Quite past 2," she concluded.

It was Sasuke's turn to make a face. "People tend to take 'fashionably late' to the extreme. They should arrive soon," Sasuke assured her.

The entourage of noble ladies arrived several minutes later. They were close associates of the Queen, which was probably the only thing that kept Sasori from outright mocking their ridiculous hats. Sakura also tried her best not to gawk at their voluminous, ornate garbs. She nodded each time one introduced herself in a trilling voice and affected accent. Sasori reclining back in his seat, nodded along.

"Her Majesty?" one of the woman asked, looking to Sasuke.

"My Mother, unfortunately, is unable to attend. She sends her regrets," Sasuke explained.

Sasori quietly pointed out Sasuke's stiff posture. Despite his reputation as a heartbreaker, it appeared that he wasn't quite comfortable in social settings like this one.

"So, General, Prince Sasuke has told us that you two are cousins? I thought you were siblings for a moment!" one of the women started the conversation. She waved her fan under her chin. But despite her friendly tone, there was hunger lurking in her expression. Like a predator staking out prey. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

An easy smile spread across Sakura's face. She gestured to Sasori.

"We practically are, Viscountess. We're ever so close," Sakura matched her tone. She saw the woman's eyes widened in surprise. But the viscountess was a seasoned lady of the court. She held on to her composure.

"I lost my mother when I was young. My Aunt, Lady Kurenai, has always raised me as her own. We grew up almost like brother and sister," she went on.

Sakura knew the game. Mentioning her tragic past always garnered sympathy. And she could see it worming its way into the viscountess' heart. The woman's face softened.

"Oh, how unfortunate. My condolences, General," one of the other women spoke up. The others followed in a chorus of sympathy.

The conversation flowed smoothly from there. Noble ladies led sheltered lives. They were fascinated by what lay outside the borders of their fancy estates. It was a simple matter to suck them in with stories of the bazaar and of a city that lay inside a caldera.

Sasori stepped in when one of the ladies asked to hear war stories. He didn't even need to look at Sakura's to see the shift in her expression.

By the time the tea party was over, the ladies were fawning over Sasori.

"Oh, this has been so much fun. The both of you must make time for us again," the viscountess gushed.

Sakura dipped her head. She kept her smile appropriately humble.

"I almost want to send a letter to your king and thank him for sending you to us," one of the ladies giggled.

"Regent," Sasori's voice whipped out.

He was met with blank stares. "…pardon?"

"He is the King Regent," Sasori repeated. He smiled again. But rather than elicit giggles, this one chilled the air around them. Everyone exchanged nervous glances.

Clearing her throat, Sakura got to her feet. "Ladies, thank you so much for your time. It was truly an honor and a pleasure to spend this time with you," Sakura announced. Hand over her heart, she dipped in a formal bow. There was a pause, and then the ladies slowly looked at each other. Their smiles returned. Everyone mused the customary greetings before they got to their feet. As the ladies filed out of the room, Sasuke stared at Sasori. The way his smile abruptly dropped as soon as the ladies' backs were turned was terrifying.

"Prince Sasuke," Sakura said. She was staring at Sasori.

"Yes?" Sasuke replied too quickly. He felt like he was in trouble, somehow.

"My cousin and I must get some fresh air," Sakura announced. She strode out of the room first. Sasori's jaw clenched. Like he might not follow her. But he did. He always did.

They moved at a brisk pace down the hall. Boots echoing against the stone floors. They turned a corner. And then another. When Sakura stopped, Sasori nearly ran into her back.

"….Sasori," she said in a long exhale. Her back still to him, she walked to the nearest window. She stared out it. Saying nothing else.

Sasori stood rooted in place, fists at his sides. Waiting.

But she didn't go on. Didn't shake her head or give him a knowing look. That was worse, somehow. The guilt of the silence stretched on and on until Sasori couldn't take it anymore.

"I won't apologize. I wasn't wrong," he growled.

Sakura didn't answer him. That only seemed to irritate him more.

"If even nobles from other nations are calling him the king, then what must your own people think? It's a disgrace, Sakura. I can't believe you're calm right now," spat Sasori, his words jumbling together in his anger. Sakura pressed her palm to the windowpane.

"Sasori," she quietly called. And though Sasori's eyes were narrowed, he stopped speaking.

"Yes," he bit out.

It was then that he caught her expression in the window. She leveled him with a hard look.

"You are my right hand, Sasori. Anything you say is a reflection of my opinions as well."

"But that is your opinion. I'm not wrong," he insisted.

The sharp line of her back was a harsh thing against the sunlight. Her shoulders were rigid, like she was made of stone.

"Losing your temper will be dangerous for the both of us. You need to keep your anger towards the Regent in check," Sakura reminded him, not for the first time.

"It's buried."

"Bury it deeper," she ground out. And then she shot his reflection another glare.

His shoulders finally slumped. That was as close as he would get to admitting defeat.

"You want me to bow my head to that usurper? To smile and fawn like nothing is wrong?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"That throne should have been yours the moment you turned 16," he whispered.

"Sasori," she warned him.

"And if not then, when you returned from the battlefield, a blooded warrior. A victor. Then, you should have been crowned."

Sakura closed the gap between them. Hand shooting out to grab the front of his uniform. She waited for Sasori to look her in the face.

He bared his teeth in a bitter smile. "One day, you will wear that crown on your head. Even if it means that I must tear it from his empty skull myself," he declared.

"Careful. You don't know who is listening," she hissed. His eyes burned a fierce gold as he smirked at her.

Then, in a louder voice, Sakura added, "I will not have you speak treason. Even if you are my cousin. Keep your mouth shut." She shoved him away. But before she could snatch her hand back, Sasori grasped it. Pressing it to his heart, he stared at her.

"As you say, Princess," he replied.

Sakura looked over him. It took an extra moment for the easy, unbothered expression to return to his face. But she knew that years of practice would not betray him. She was almost as good at it as he was.

"That temper," she sighed.

Sasori kissed the back of her hand. She snatched it from his grip.

"I would die for you," he declared.

"I know," she said. She reached out and straightened the collar of his shirt.

Though Sasori agreed not to start foaming at the mouth at the mention of the King Regent again, his cold attitude toward Naruto went unchanged. Then again, even in the Forest Kingdom, Sasori rarely exchanged words with him. He treated him much like one of the topiaries in the garden. Decorative but otherwise useless.

Sasori had arrived on Wednesday evening, but he had not greeted Naruto. Did not even acknowledge him until the following morning. And even that was against his will.

"You invited him to breakfast?" Sasori exclaimed. He nearly stabbed himself in the hand as he looked up from his eggs. Sakura said nothing. She gave Sasuke a look over her teacup. Sasuke, seated to her left, tried not to choke on his mouthful of food.

Sasori shoved his plate away. "Well, now I've lost my appetite," he declared.

Sakura pushed it back towards him. "Stop being dramatic and eat." And then she leaned back in her seat with a sigh. "You know as well as I do that I would rather not see him. But it hardly seems subtle to have the three of us together while he sits alone in the dining hall. Word travels."

Sasori glowered down at his plate. "I can think of a word I'd like to travel," he muttered.

Sasuke snorted into his tea. Sakura rolled her eyes at the both of them.

"Please stop making Sasuke laugh. He'll never get through breakfast at this rate," she requested.

"Are we onto first names now?" Sasori teased her.

"Of course, Sasori," Sasuke said in return. Sasori didn't let Sasuke's jabs ruffle his feather. And Sasuke was quick to come up with witty responses. Sasori detested people who were slow. So he had immediately taken a liking to the prince. And Sakura found them an excellent source of entertainment.

Half an hour, a servant announced Prince Naruto's arrival. The title chafed at Sasori. He reminded her, at every opportunity, that he wasn't even actually a prince. He did this very thing as Naruto entered the room. Sakura picked up her knife very slowly. She made eye contact with Sasori as she sliced into a piece of bread. He seemed to get the message. He behaved himself as Naruto approached.

"Good morning, everyone. Thank you for having me," Naruto greeted them.

Sasori motioned for a glass of wine. He instructed for the servant to keep pouring until it was filled nearly to the brim.

"Good morning, Prince Naruto," Sasuke was the first to respond.

"Good morning," Sakura said. She indicated the empty seat beside Sasori.

Sasori, lips puckered together, gave Naruto a vague noise. That turned into a bowed head when he caught Sakura's glare. He then took a long slurp of his wine, giving her a wide-eyed look. Like he couldn't possibly understand what she was annoyed about.

To be fair, she wasn't exactly being a good companion either. In the morning, she had asked Moegi to get flowers for the table. Big, puffy zinnias filled the centerpiece. They were so tall that they nearly obscured Naruto's face from her view.

"I trust you had pleasant dreams," Sakura began as she set her cup down. Naruto shifted in his seat, trying to see her around the petals. After some squirming to the left and right, he sagged in his chair.

"Uh, yeah. I mean- yes. Sorry I woke up so late. I forgot we were having breakfast until a servant woke me," Naruto confessed, a sheepish grin on his face. He thanked the servant who brought him a plate of warm food. He began slathering fruit preserves onto his bread, humming cheerfully.

Sasori eyed his table manners and let out an exhausted sigh. He touched his fingers to his temple.

"I saw you enjoying the wine selection last night. I'm glad it was to your liking," Sasuke offered.

Naruto's eyes widened. He took a bite of toast. His forehead wrinkled as he thought. "It was pretty good. I'm not the only one who thought so, right?" he spoke, not quite finished chewing his food.

He turned to Sasori. "I heard you like wine too, Admiral. Maybe you could teach me more about it. We're cousins, right?"

His feeble attempt at familiarity fell flat. Sasori's jaw twitched.

"Well, Second Cousin, developing a palette for wine is possible through training. Although I'm not more surprised that your father hasn't taught you already. I do hear that he's nearly a sommelier himself," Sasori retorted.

Sasuke's eyes went wide. He heard the insult buried between those words. But when his gaze turned to Naruto, he found him still eating with the same pleasant expression on his face. He looked to Sakura, who just gave a helpless sigh.

"Oh, I didn't know that. Maybe I should ask him," Naruto said. And Sakura squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingertips.

Taking pity on the oblivious boy, Sakura spoke up. "Sasori, we should leave for the market soon. Finish your food."

Naruto glanced at her. "Already? It's so early!"

Sasori's eyes narrowed. "Actually, we've been up since dawn. Prince Sasuke and Sakura went horseback riding. I've been writing letters for official business. Those of us that actually have responsibilities don't sleep until noon, Prince," Sasori retorted. The wounded look on Naruto's face tugged at Sakura's heartstrings.

"It's not quite 10, Sasori. You shouldn't treat everyone like a soldier," she admonished. Naruto's face lit up like a beacon. Nodding vigorously, Naruto dug into his food with gusto. Sasori held his teacup out and had a servant pour wine into it.

"Well," Sakura said over the sounds of Naruto's munching. She placed her napkin on her plate.

"I'm quite full. Excuse me, gentlemen," Sakura announced. As she got to her feet, Sasuke and Sasori stood too. Naruto, still chewing, scrambled to stand a little too late. He swallowed whatever was in his mouth.

"Sakura, I'll see you later?" he asked. Almost pleaded.

Sakura stared at him.

"Perhaps," was all she said, before she exited the room.

That afternoon, Sakura sat on the windowsill in the library. After returning from the market, she had changed into lighter clothes. A soft cotton shirt. Riding breeches. Her hair tied in a low ponytail. Fixed in place by a gold band.

Itachi closed his book and set it on the table. He gave her an incredulous look.

"So you invited him for breakfast, knowing you would hate it?" he queried.

"I said I was trying to be polite. I didn't say I succeeded," she responded with a vague air of sulking.

Itachi thought. And then he said, "Well, effort matters, I suppose. Although I'm guessing that it's a matter of which side of the family you're dealing with." He was sitting in a wooden chair, a cream-colored shawl wrapped around his shoulders. The fabric covered his hands too, exposing only his fingertips as he traced the spine of his latest book. A lock of dark hair fell into his face and he brushed it away, tucking it behind his ear.

Sakura's combat boots thumped against the carpet as she sauntered over and pulled out the chair beside him. Spinning it around, she sat backwards in it, arms crossing on top. Sakura leaned back on two of the wooden legs as she regarded Itachi.

"Are you asking me about my family?" she inquired. Itachi's fingers steepled together on the table.

"Anyone can read about your family in a history book, General." But his eyes didn't say no.

"So you're asking me specifically about why I hate one of my cousins and not the others," Sakura specified. The front chair legs landed on the floor again with a muffled thud against the carpet. Itachi simply regarded her.

Though Sakura hadn't known Prince Itachi for very long, she had had many conversations with him. His health prevented him from horseback riding or sword-fighting. There was little else he could do but talk. And even then, he didn't seem to be interested in hearing about her military conquests like his younger brother was.

They had discussed everything from politics to the differences in trade in their two countries. Itachi was surprisingly open to argument. And he patiently explained the more difficult concepts without jeering at her. Sakura had attended the military academy for four years, where she had been taught the essentials of history and tactics. And even before that, she had studied under private tutors. But Itachi was a walking encyclopedia. She had never met someone so universally knowledgeable.

They had never set a time to meet. But Sakura began to show up around the same time each day. And Itachi was waiting for her most days. On the days he wasn't, he had taken up the habit of leaving a note for her, pressed between the pages of the latest book he recommended. Some days he was well, some days he wasn't. She wondered what the specific trigger was that had him confined to bed some days, but not others.

"Well, Prince, it seems your hunger for knowledge isn't limited to books," Sakura said with a smile. Itachi rested his cheek in his hand.

"Please, humor me," he insisted.

"Do you never tire of hearing about my life?"

"Never," Itachi assured her.

So she recounted cool mornings spent with tutors as she learned about the land she was to rule. The afternoons, she was free to roam the city, and Sasori always came along with her. They weaved through the crowded walkways, tasting fruit and marveling at the glimmering bolts of silk dyed rich blues and reds. Pockets jingling with gold, they filled their hands with pastries, eating their fill before giving the rest to the dirty children who were often shooed away by merchants.

Because he was older than her, Sasori was sent to the military academy before her. She had cried bitterly at his departure, even though he wrote faithfully to her each week.

"The Admiral is from your… mother's… side?" asked Itachi.

"Yes. My mother's only sister. The Haruno's rarely have many children."

"And Prince Naruto?" he prompted.

It almost felt like she was being quizzed on her own family. But Sakura didn't actually mind. It was nice to be able to tell her view of things without someone jumping to conclusions. To Itachi, she supposed, it was as she told it.

"Naruto is my father's brother's son." Her tone was significantly cooler. And she wasn't smiling now.

Itachi remarked on this. She touched her fist to her chin as she thought.

"I don't hate him," Sakura decided, "But he and his family are careless people. Careless people live quite happily themselves, but they leave pain in their wake." She didn't know why she was revealing this to a man who was still almost a stranger. But Itachi didn't seem surprised.

"But careless people don't mean to cause pain, I'd think," he countered. Gently. Which was how he spoke on most topics.

"That's the worst part about people like that, I suppose. So I will not hate him. But I certainly cannot love him," Sakura insisted.

There was a long silence. Her eyes were drawn to the way Itachi tapped his fingers on the table. He picked up his book, opening it to the last page he had marked. The dry rustle of the pages turning filled the air. Closed the book again.

"That seems like a very painful way to live life," Itachi finally observed.

Her mouth curled up. "It's excruciating," she assured him.

"I'm sorry," he said for some reason. She didn't know what to say in response to that.

He did that a lot. Left her speechless. Not in an uncomfortable way.

Closing her eyes, she sat in that silence. Breathed in the musty smell of all those old books. Imagine all the history that lived in the spines. In the age-worn covers.

She opened her eyes. Itachi was watching her.

When he smiled at her, she found herself smiling in return.

"I've been hearing a lot of talk about you again."

Ino lifted her eyes from her novel for a moment before she lifted it higher to cover her face. She ignored her mother and pretended to continue reading. Her mother always harped on about how novels were a low brow form of reading. That a noblewoman should be reading poetry or history books. Which was why she chose to read these books exclusively in her mother's presence.

Ino took her time reading the page. Turned to the next with a flick of her wrist. But the Countess was undeterred. She stared at her daughter until Ino could no longer ignore the sizzling stare burning a hole through her book.

"Talk isn't always bad. What kind of talk?" Ino sighed, finally showing some reluctant interest.

"That garden party you attended last week while I was away…" the Countess began. At this, Ino slowly lowered her book to peer over the top of it. Her sky blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"I heard you were the star of the show, my dear. The Queen had some very good things to say about you."

Ino said nothing in response. She twitched her nose without comment before raising her book again. Letting out a loud sigh of frustration, the Countess snatched the book away and set it down on the table. In retaliation, Ino snapped her fan open and held it up to shield her face again. The Countess shook her head.

"Anyhow, the Queen told me that you were a charming companion to have along. She said you were a lovely young woman. And she said to convey her thanks for being such a good friend to her daughter," the Countess listed off with enthusiasm. Ino slowly shut her fan. Eyes fixated on the table, she muttered something under her breath. The Countess paused her monologue.

"Did you say something, dear?" she questioned, turning to her daughter. Ino glanced up with a sullen look.

"I said… you do realize that the Queen Regent isn't Sakura's mother?" she repeated. Ino began picking at imaginary lint on her dress while her mother let out a flustered noise- a cross between a harrumph and gasp.

"Well, young lady, first of all, you should not address the Princess by her name so casually. And second of all, you would do well to mind your tongue. The Queen is still the Queen," the Countess scolded. Ino dangled her fan by the edge, letting its weight slowly spread it open. Propping her chin up in her hand, Ino slouched in her seat.

"Well, Mother, Sakura asked me to call her by her name. And I'd think you and Father would be the last people to bend to the Namikaze family's whims. You were such good friends with Queen Tsunade and King Jiraiya," Ino sniffed. The Duchess scowled.

"Queen Tsunade, may she rest in peace, was my friend, yes. But we serve the Crown, Ino. You should know that," the older woman insisted.

"You should be supporting Sakura if her mother was your friend," Ino shot back.

The two women glared at one another before they finally looked away.

"Your neckline is much too low," the Countess finally said.

"And you have too much powder on your face," Ino snippily retorted. Still, she tugged up the front of her dress. It was deep purple with small lighter flowers embroidered into the fabric. While it was true that the garment did show off her neck and collarbones, along with a generous portion of cleavage, it was nowhere near the most scandalous piece of clothing she owned. The skirt covered her ankles and her back was not revealed. Just to irritate her mother, Ino crossed her arms, mashing her breasts together to emphasize her cleavage. The Countess sighed.

"Ino, listen to me. Our family has survived for all these years because we have always chosen our sides wisely. Now, Princess Sakura is a wonderful person. But she will not be Queen. And to choose her side is to lose everything our family has worked for."

"Whatever happened to us being loyal? Isn't that what you and Father go on and on about all the time? Duty and loyalty?" Ino dug with a toothy smile. There was venom in her voice.

"It is the duty of a noble lady to obey her parents, not oppose them," the Countess rebuked.

"And it is the duty of parents, then, to act in a manner that deserves respect!" Ino spat.

"Ino!" the Countess growled in a fierce warning. Ino snapped her mouth shut but her eyes still glowed with hot resentment. The Countess took a few deep breaths to calm herself before she spoke again.

"Ino, the politics of court are not just a game. You have to be discerning. Just as you must be discerning in choosing your future husband," came her sharp reply. Ino deflated further at the mention of marriage. Lip jutting out in a sullen pout, Ino didn't say anything in response.

"Now, you should get ready for your harp lesson," the Countess concluded the discussion as she got to her feet. She squeezed Ino's hand and was off. Ino slouched down in her chair as low as it would allow. She opened and closed her fan once more before she tossed it onto the table.

Ino thought back to the letter she had received from Ispolin earlier that week.

Sakura had told her about the parties. She recounted the strangest conversations with some of the Mountain Kingdom's nobles. She mentioned that she was glad that Sasori had showed up. Of course he had. They were rarely apart. To see one without the other was odd.

Growing up, Ino had often envied the two. Their closeness. To the point that she had begged her parents for a younger sibling. And she had envied even more how Sakura had no parents to tell her what to do. But what she had envied most was her confidence. That despite the fact that they were the same age, Sakura already spoke with the presence of a queen.

When I am in power, this will be mine, she'd say as they approached Whiteriver Keep in a carriage.

"I don't want to play the harp," huffed Ino to no one in particular. And just because she could, she kicked at one of the legs of the table and sat sulking over the pain in her toe.

+++

< Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 >

[saveyourblood]

Stolen Dance | Part 8

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.8k

Song: Moving On - Kodaline

Warnings: a few parts of this chapter (mostly, a single scene) are pretty disturbing. It's nothing worse than what is mentioned in Criminal Minds, but it's graphic. If it gets to be too much for you, skip to this: *** (the scene will also start with this symbol if you want to skip it altogether). Take care of yourself <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

_____________________

Syria, 2014

“Are all girls from Colorado this rough, or is it just you?”

“Shut up, Austin.”

Austin laughed.

It was weird — soldiers buzzed around you like bees in a hive, but whenever you and Austin got the chance to talk, it was like you and him were the only people in the room. You just wished you could talk to him under better circumstances.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Austin continued. “The last guy you treated walked out of here looking like Frankenstein.”

“Without me, he would’ve been rolled out,” you retorted. You pulled at the sutures tightly, causing him to wince.

“Alright, alright,” he ceded with a chuckle, “I get it. But if you mess up my face, my mama will come after you.”

“I would never mess up a handsome face like yours,” you said sweetly as you worked at the cut on his cheekbone. “Why would I ruin a man’s only asset?”

“You wound me, Y/N,” Austin said, setting a hand over his heart. “You wound me to my core.” 

You snorted, laying a bandage over the sutures. You patted his shoulder. “You’re good to go, soldier.” 

Austin stood up from the gurney, grabbing his button-down digital camo shirt. He draped it over his arm, which you swore was the width of your head. As if that wasn’t enough, he towered over you: he was at least 6’4, and built like a tank. You once said he was the Army’s wet dream. You got a good laugh out of that remark.

Austin bowed slightly and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, m’lady,” he said, accentuating his preexisting southern drawl. 

You shoved his shoulder with a smile. “Get out of here, Crow.”

He smiled, his white teeth contrasting his dark hair. “See you around, Y/L/N.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you replied. 

“What, you don’t want to look at this pretty face?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Not really, no,” you laughed. You cleared your throat. “Seriously, Austin: Don’t be a hero.” 

He nodded, respecting your change of tone. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed, before walking out of the triage tent and right back into danger.

You sighed, picking up and putting away your equipment.

Some days, you wished more than anything else that the two of you met under different circumstances. You wished he moved to Colorado with his family when he was a teenager, or that the two of you met in a small cafe in a big city. Hell, you’d even be okay if you met during Basic Training, the two of you fell in love, and he worked on a local reserve while you persued a different career. Really, you just wished you hadn’t met while serving in Syria, because no matter how you spinned it, it just wasn’t appropriate. 

Austin was a Staff Sergeant, which technically meant he ranked higher than you. However, the two of you worked in different areas; Austin was a combat soldier, while you were a medic. He fought on the frontline, you mostly worked triage. You took care of men like him. So, even though the Army may not forbid an affair between the two of you, that didn’t mean you thought it was okay. It felt like… corruption, like you were breaking the trust between you and your brothers. You didn’t want anyone for a single second to feel like they were less important to you.

So, you pushed your feelings aside. You savored the moments you spent with Austin, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t seek him out, you didn’t play favorites. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, but said time was brief, as it should be. 

You sighed again. He was a charming Texas boy with a heart of gold. How could a person not fall in love with him? 

“The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.”

You and Austin watched a new batch of soldiers go through training. They were already deemed fit for combat, so the next few weeks would be spent teaching them the ins-and-outs of living and serving in an active warzone. Today’s lesson? IEDs. 

“I know,” you agreed, voices low as to not distract. “It started as peaceful protests against a President, and now more than half a million people are dead.”

“70 airstrikes later,” Austin said with a sigh. “Sometimes… nevermind.”

“What?” you asked. When he didn’t respond, you nudged his shoulder. “Sing your annoying song, Crow.”

He smirked, but didn’t quite laugh; the sound he made was that of a scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here.” 

“Me too,” you said softly. 

_____________________

The two of you found some downtime; Austin wouldn’t be heading out with his team until later in the afternoon, and after a busy morning, your tent was hitting a lull. The two of you decided to eat lunch together in an empty triage tent lined with gurneys. 

You sat on the ground beside each other, boots sunken into the mix of dirt and sand that made up the ground. Austin sat cross legged, and his knee brushed against your calf as you bounced your foot up and down.

“You gonna use that cheese?” He asked, referring to a silver packet you set on the ground.

“No,” you said, dumping your chicken fajita mix into your cooked rice packet. “Shit’s disgusting.”

Austin picked up the packet and tore it open with his teeth. He spread the fake, overly yellow ‘cheese’ spread onto a weird, fake pork sandwich he was making. The bread looked more like play-doh than bread, and the barbecue sauce he used was almost black. MREs: the epitome of luxury dining.

“That is nasty,” you remarked.

“Sometimes, you gotta take what you can get,” Austin said. He picked up a packet of clam chowder that had been heating up in its bag for awhile. He opened it and stirred it around before taking a spoonful and plopping it right on over the cheese spread. He finally closed the sandwich and took a massive bite.

“I’m gonna gag,” you stated bluntly. 

He frowned. “Why?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“That is vile, Austin,” you said. “You just put clam chowder on a sandwich! With barbecue sauce and cheese! That’s so gross!”

He offered you the sandwich. “Wanna bite?” 

You tucked your chin against your chest and leaned back, shaking your head. “Get that away from me.” 

_____________________

To say the night was busy would be more than an understatement; 4 men from the same troop were rushed to triage, all with similar injuries caused by IEDs. One of the men ultimately ended up a double amputee, one leg blown off above the kneecap and the other being so damaged that most of the calf had to be removed. Somehow, a man from the same troop ended up with only minor lacerations. War was strange that way; you step on an IED the ‘right’ way, and it’s something you can walk away from. If you don’t, you could die.

“Alright everyone, we have 6 more soldiers coming in!” Your Lieutenant Colonel shouted. “All non-emergent patients should be transferred. Let’s hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

You helped ‘reset’ a few stations, making sure they were clean and ready. When the men still hadn’t arrived, you approached Colonel Todd.

“Colonel,” you asked, catching her attention. “What else do you know?”

“Best guess? Task Force 221,” she replied, signing a few papers when someone handed her a clipboard. “Crow and his boys were out patrolling, Folks don’t take too kindly to soldiers around here.”

Your heart sank.

The men from Task Force 221 came in at the same time, and they were loaded out of the truck and onto gurneys one by one. You got assigned to the first person, which happened to be Austin himself.

“Go, help them,” Austin protested, already trying to get off the gurney. “I’m okay, just help my boys!”

You pushed him down by his chest as you and two other people rolled him inside. 

“Can I get a dose of Lidocaine, please?” you instructed, cutting away Austin’s already torn pants. So far, you saw two GSWs: one to the left lower leg, and one to the right calf. You adjusted the light above you to get a better look. “Make it two doses.” 

“I’m fine,” Austin pushed, once again trying to stand up.

“Austin Crow, I swear to god, I will tie you down if I have to,” you threatened. “You’re not fine — you’ve been shot. Sometimes, to take care of your team, you have to take care of yourself first.”

He laid back with a sigh.

Three hours passed before you could properly speak to Austin. After pulling the bullets from both his legs, you ran around trying to help people wherever and however you could. Eventually, you found the sweet spot where no one was critical but everyone was still busy. You managed to slip away and pull the curtains around Austin’s bed.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” you hissed under your breath.

“...What?”

“I heard what you did,” you said. “Your lieutenants were more than happy to tell me exactly how you got shot.” 

“By doing my job?” Austin asked. 

“You put yourself in the line of fire!” you argued. “You ran right into danger!”

“To help someone,” he explained calmly. “No man gets left behind, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You could have died!” you said between clenched teeth. You were trying to keep your voice down, but his apathy was driving you crazy. “God, what is it with you? The same day I take out your stitches, you come in with two gunshot wounds. What’s next, Austin? You want me to plan your funeral? Write to your parents, tell them how you died a hero?” 

“Why are you so pissed at me?” Austin asked. He seemed more confused than angry.

The words fell out before you could stop them. “Because I love you!” 

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You laughed bitterly. 

“There,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Cat’s out of the bag.” You sighed, setting your hand down and looking him in the eye. “I think… I’m in  love with you, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

Silence fell. Austin looked away, looked back to you, looked away again, and clenched his jaw. You crossed your arms in self-defense, heart pounding as you waited for him to say something, anything.

Austin scooted over, then patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You approached the bed, slowly and carefully sliding next to him. It was almost too small for Austin by himself, let alone with another person, so your weight ended up mostly on him. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

Austin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to his body. He buried his face in your hair, taking a long breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll do better. I promise.” 

_____________________

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

You were only covering for someone, a temporary replacement until a new combat medic was hired. Austin was hesitant; he wasn’t sure if you were cut out for the job. You assured him you’d be fine, that you went through the same training everyone else did, and that it wasn’t permanent.

You were an amazing combat medic. You tied every tourniquet tight, you took care of men until they could be shipped off the triage. The Colonel in charge of Task Force 221 commended you, said you could be a real fit for the field. 

Austin didn’t agree. The two of you had been secretly dating for about a month, and it was the first real fight the you got into. You said you were seriously considering accepting a job as a combat medic, and Austin disagreed. You could tell this fight wouldn’t be like the last one — you weren’t about to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright.

“What, only you get to do the dirty work?” you asked. “Only you get make some real change?”

“This isn’t about glory, Y/N,” Austin sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair. “It’s about keeping you alive.”

“Now you know how I feel!” you argued, laughing at the irony. “It’s scary, isn’t it, Austin?! You want more than anything to pull me off of the battlefield, put me somewhere in this godforsaken country were I can be at least somewhat safe?!”

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“I’m gonna take that job,” you stated, “and I’m only quitting when you do.” 

Now, you were here, in a place you didn’t know, but you knew you didn’t like.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call weakly.

“Austin?!” you said, trying your hardest not to burst into tears. You couldn’t see anything, so hearing his voice was a massive relief. 

Your memory came back in pieces: you saw Austin walk ahead to secure the area, but he ended up stepping on and IED. Without even thinking, you ran ahead, despite the yells and other protests of the men beside you. 

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, looking him up and down.  It took everything in you not to gag or faint.

He stepped right on the edge of the IED, meaning his left leg was blown off to right below the kneecap.  The exposed muscle was shredded, and his bone stuck out like a morbid fence post.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you promised, taking out your tourniquet. Just like you had been instructed what felt like decades ago, you pulled it as tight as you physically could to stop any more blood loss. 

Austin moaned in pain and mumbled a few words you couldn’t understand. When you looked up to call for help, the butt of a gun connected with the back of your head, effectively knocking you out. 

You woke up here.

“It was a trap,” Austin said, voice rough and quiet. 

“We’re gonna get out of here, okay?” you promised. “Half of the fucking Army is probably looking for us right now.”

After what felt like hours, someone came in to remove your blindfold. You could finally get a good look at Austin, and it made your heart pound in your ears. He didn’t look good. Things would get ugly if he didn’t get proper medical attention soon. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” you said immediately. “Just let me help him.”

A man dressed in all black began to yell at you in Arabic. You could only make out a few words — work, plan, and money. He paused, most likely to give you time to answer. When you didn’t, he punched you across the face.

“No,” Austin said weakly. “Stop it.”

You spat some blood onto the floor, your entire head throbbing. “Don’t worry,” you said, then looked to your attack. “I can take it.” 

_____________________

Present Day

“They didn’t get anything out of me by punching,” you said, staring at the light above your bed. You sounded detached, like you were talking about a movie you watched rather than recalling the worst day of your life. You supposed that’s how you coped with it — you pretended it wasn’t real, that it never really happened. “Even when they brought in someone who spoke English, I didn’t talk.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You adjusted the bed to a sitting position awhile ago, but you still felt vulnerable.

“You can stop,” Spencer offered, gently taking your hand. It was taped up and gloved, as it was the hand they put an IV in, so his touch was more delicate than usual. 

You shook your head. “I want to tell you everything,” you promised. “It’s just hard to think about. It’s hard to remember.” You took in a breath. “When the punching didn’t work, they moved on to whipping. And when that didn’t work…”

_____________________

***

Syria, 2014

Your back stung and your head throbbed. You hoped that eventually, you’d pass out, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Either your pain tolerance was too high, or the breaks they took between the methods of torturing were enough to keep you conscious.

“Get her on the ground,” one man growled. 

You groggily put together that there were three men in the room, all of them equally pissed. They probably thought you’d be easy to crack. 

The fresh wounds on your back hurt even more when they connected with the dirt; you could practically feel the infection in your skin forming. You gritted your teeth, barely able to refrain from making noise. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, someone began to pull down your pants. In that very moment, you prayed for a heart attack, for your body to give out completely. This, on top of everything else? You wouldn’t be able to take it.

“That’s enough!” Austin shouted, so loud that it practically shook the walls. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just get the hell away from her.” 

Austin gave up the location of the base, as well as other details they wanted, like what patrols and other missions had been scheduled. Apparently, all they wanted was to get the upper hand, strike before Austin or anyone else’s task force could. It made you wonder what they did when information was time-sensitive.

They slammed the heavy door behind them, and immediately, you burst into tears. You rolled onto your side and curled into a ball, shirt in shreds from the whipping. You stayed in that position for so long that your arm and legs fell asleep, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to feel nothing right about now.

“Y/N,” Austin called, for what was probably the millionth time. You tuned out everything around you, only the sound of static filling your ears.

You sat up lifelessly, a blank stare on your face.

“Come here,” he said.

You crawled over to Austin, your concern for him trumping both the physical and mental pain you were in. It had only been a few hours at most, but he already looked worse. His face was pale, lips dry, and despite the tourniquet, he seemed to have lost quite a bit of blood. 

“What do you need?” you asked. 

“Can you take off my shirt?” He asked.

It was a weird request, but you obliged. You lifted up the hem of his shirt, and carefully, you pulled it above his head. You managed to get it off without having to lift his arms too high.

“Put it on,” Austin instructed.

You smiled through a few new tears. 

It was damp with sweat, meaning it was entirely sanitary, but more than anything, you appreciated the sentiment. You slid it over your head, slipping your arms through each hole. Unsurprisingly, it was massive on you — the sleeves were technically short, but they almost hit your elbow. 

“Sit by me,” he said, tilting his head to the empty space beside him. 

You did as you were told, careful not to lean back and inflict more pain.

“Closer.”

You laughed, wiping your nose as tears streamed down your face. You scooted closer to him, lifting one of his arms and slinging it around your shoulders. You curled into his chest, and despite the sweltering heat, you found comfort in his warmth. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Austin asked, voice raspy.

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

It didn’t occur to you, but ‘love’ hadn’t come out of either of your mouths since the night you first admitted it. You spent countless hours in each other’s presence, but it hadn’t come up. You didn’t Austin to say a word in order to prove how much he cared about you — he showed it. It was implied.

And now, it was over.

_____________________

***

Present Day

“It took them 18 hours to find us,” you said. A few tears made their way down your cheek. You wiped them and continued on. “I think Austin died halfway through it.” 

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; you thought Spencer was afraid to even breathe. 

“I stayed by his body until someone found us,” you said. “I managed to fall asleep a few times, and every time I woke up, mice were eating his skin. As if his leg being blown off wasn’t bad enough.” you paused. “I think his blood started to spoil. Is that possible? I don’t know. I think the heat was cooking him, though. It didn’t take long for his skin to start rotting.”

Your face contorted, and you stifled a sob. “I wanted to save him, Spencer,” you cried, clutching his hand. “I really did. They just wouldn’t let me.” 

Almost immediately, Spencer joined you on the bed. He pulled you against him, arms tight around you like a barricade. You gripped his shoulders as you cried into his chest.

“None of this is your fault, you hear me?” Spencer said. “None of it is your fault.” 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that. Eventually, you stopped sobbing, but the occasional tear still rolled down your cheek. Spencer held you throughout it all.

Eventually, you felt Spencer lift his head from the pillow. You looked up to see the team standing at the nurses’ station. Any other day, you would have pushed him aside and invited them in. Today, though, you just sniffed and moved closer to him. 

Spencer kissed your hair and continued to hold you close. They’d get the memo.

_____________________

The hospital kept you overnight for observation, but by daylight, you were discharged with a clean bill of health. Sometime during the night, Emily and JJ swung by to drop you off a change of clothes, which you were eternally grateful for. 

Spencer didn’t leave your side the entire night. He waited outside the bathroom when you changed, he held your hand as you took the elevator ride down to the lobby, and he sat in the middle of the backseat on the cab ride home. You stared out the window the entire time, but you kept a hand on his knee. 

As you stared at the multi-colored, almost bare trees, you realized something: life goes on. People were waking up and heading to their 9-5, and their biggest concern was what to make for dinner later that day. Some of them had a violent or traumatic past, just like you did, but that wasn’t how they lived their life. You and everyone else alive did the same thing: you woke up, and you tried your best. Sometimes, that’s all anyone can do. And that’s enough. 

“The rest of the team is going over to Rossi’s tonight; he’s making spaghetti,” Spencer said as the two of you entered the apartment. “We can go, if you want. Or we can stay here all day. We shouldn’t have a case until tomorrow. Even so, I’m sure Hotch would understand if you took some time off.”

“Spencer?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Everything I told you is something I’ve been reliving for the past 2 years. Talking about it didn’t dredge anything up. Actually, if anything, it helped. It’s like… I don’t know, a weight was lifted off of me. I feel like I can start to move on, finally.” 

He smiled faintly. “Good,” he nodded, “I’m glad.” 

You set your arms on his shoulders. “I’d love to go to Rossi’s for dinner,” you said. “But first, I need your help with something.” 

“Anything.” 

You played with your hands. “Ever since I got back, I’ve been thinking of visiting Austin’s family. It took me 6 months to go back to work after what happened — I can’t imagine what it was like for them to lose a child. I thought they needed some time before I brought everything back up. I think I’m ready now. At least, I’m ready if they are.”

“And that’s what you need my help with,” Spencer concluded.

You nodded. “I don’t know how to get in contact with them. Honestly, I was just gonna start by googling them.” 

“Over 45 million members of Generation X use Facebook,” Spencer said. “I think we should start there.” 

_____________________

“I swear, I am never letting you go,” Garcia said as she hugged you. For someone who was normally so soft, in that moment, she could crush all of your bones. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled, “we all get a turn. And Y/N needs to breathe.”

With a pout, Garcia let go of you. JJ, who was standing next to her, extended her arms. You pulled her into a short but sweet hug. Spencer wasn’t joking: this team was a family. 

“We didn’t get to see you in the hospital!” Emily exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around you. 

“I wasn’t there for long,” you said, pulling away. “Besides, I wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

Derek hugged you next. His massive arms wrapped around you, and as you briefly relaxed into his chest, his chin rested on top of your head. A small, warm smile crossed your face. He was like the older brother you never had. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He asked as the two of you parted. 

Though surprised, you nodded. “Yeah, of course. You wanna step outside for a sec?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Don’t be too long!” Rossi called from the kitchen. “The show’s about to begin!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you promised. 

As you followed Derek onto the porch, you noticed Spencer talking to Hotch. You gave him a small wave, which he returned with a look of confusion. You raised your index finger, a silent way of telling him you’d be just a second.

“What’s up, Derek?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “And I mean really okay, not the ‘okay’ that gets you out of a conversation.” 

You took a few steps, resting your arms on the porch railing. “I think I am,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

Derek moved to stand beside you. He pressed his palms to the smooth wood. “Maybe you didn’t see us at the hospital, but we saw you,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone who was so sad to be alive.” 

“It wasn’t that,” you promised. “I mean, it was for awhile, but not anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Derek pressed, bumping you shoulder with his. “Something’s eating at you. I can tell.” 

“I lost a friend,” you said simply, “when I was in Syria. I watched him die.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, setting a hand over yours. “That’s awful.”

“It was,” you agreed, “and ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m alive and he isn’t. He had a set of happily married parents and two beautiful sisters to come home to. I’m an only child, and my father was six feet under. He had so many people that cared about him — the only person who would have really missed me was my mom. It didn’t seem fair, ya know?”

He nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know.” 

Derek shifted his footing. You nudged his shoulder.

“Something’s eating at you: I can tell,” you joked.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough.” He paused. “I watched my dad die. One day, he picked me up early from school. I asked him if we could go to the convenience store. When we got inside, there was a woman being robbed.  My dad was a cop, so he stepped in,  hoping he could diffuse the situation. The robber shot him.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “How old were you?”

“10,” Derek answered. “It took me a long time to move on; I was lost without my father. I thought if  I had toughed it out until the bell rang, maybe my dad would still be alive. The older I got, though, the more I realized that it didn’t matter. What matters is what I do about it. So, I shaped up. I started solving problems instead of creating them. Maybe I’m biased, but I like to think I did an okay job.”

“You did an amazing job,” you said with a smile. “You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. Your father would be proud of you.”

“So would yours,” Derek returned. He slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss the top of your head. 

_____________________

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[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Cult of Luthor: New Clothes

Eliza is as willing as Kara predicts, and is in fact thrilled that Lena is willing to assimilate further, even if its only temporary. So they head out immediately for the mall, where they quickly learn that despite her willingness, Lena is NOT prepared for it.

There's too many things too look at, too much evidence that outsiders have in fact succumbed to the temptation of mindless consumption. There is a whole storefront devoted to candles, situated directly beside a shop full of lotions and soaps, and simply walking past overwhelms Lena's senses with artificial scents.

There's tobacco shops and candy shops and book shops and shops for privy clothes. It's too loud and too busy and when they pause in the center of the mall to ask where she'd like to start, Lena can only take a brief glance at the dizzying array of choices before she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

"Why don't we start with my favorite shop," Kara suggests quickly, slipping her arm through Lena's in support. "And then we can go from there?"

Lena nods, gratefully, and the quickly make their way to the store in question. Inside it's a little less bright and a little less crowded, and the noise ebbs enough for them to hear gentle music playing softly over the speakers.

Kara shares a glance of relief with her mother when Lena instantly relaxes, and nods in edification before starting to thumb through the racks.

"Do you know who else has worn these?" Lena remarks after a moment, browsing through a tree of jeans.

"No one," Kara replies. "They're new."

"But they're all so faded," Lena points out. "And full of holes."

"Those are meant to be there. It's part of the new style lately. But they have some over here that aren't..."

In the end, even the shop's more modest styles are too plentiful, and Lena has difficulty settling on any one thing to try. Kara sees her getting discouraged, and suggests she wait in the dressing room, while Kara brings items to try.

The strategy pans out-- while Lena may not yet know what she likes, she quickly learns what she doesn't. She doesn't like sweaters with the shoulders missing, or anything ripped or torn. She doesn't like sharp or distracting patterns. She doesn't like plunging necklines, or skirts that stop above the knee.

In the process, she discovers that she likes floral prints, and cozy sweaters with wide collars that fluff up under her chin. She likes the comfort and freedom of leggings, but only when paired with a skirt (the only way she'll wear a skirt at all). She likes summery sundresses that swish around her legs, and make her feel like she's dancing.

She likes the feel of soft materials against her skin, likes the way some of them seem to mold to her body, as if they were made for her. But she disguises those under looser layers,  obscuring the shapely figure that emerges in the mirror, unfamiliar in its vanity.

Lena tries to stop after three shirts and one pair of pants, but Eliza insists on more, enough for every day of the week, and then some. It feels wasteful to Lena, who promises to work hard to pay her back.

"Lena," Eliza says, taking both of Lena's hands in hers. "You don't have to earn this."

"But--"

"This is a gift." Eliza meets Lena's intense gaze with one of her own, connecting in a way Lena understands, and is familiar with. "Gifts aren't meant to be repaid."

Lena swallows, and finally nods. "Thank you."

Of course, that doesn't keep Lena from cooking dinner that night, or doing the dishes after, or beginning a load of laundry before Kara drags her upstairs to figure try on make up and hairstyles.

Make-up isn't Lena's favorite thing in the world. Though she likes the put-together looks of the women in the magazines, foundation makes her skin feel heavy, and the lining of lips and eyes and brows proves tedious.

She settles for light blush and a subtle lip color, complemented simply with a dutch braid that crosses the back of her head, and rests gently against the opposite shoulder.

"How did you learn to do this?" Kara asks as she sits under Lena's deft fingers as they weave a crown of braids around her head.

Lena smirks at her in the mirror. "What did you think we had under our bonnets?"

Kara shrugs. "Bees?"

A bark of laughter answers her absurdity. "Or snakes, like Medusa?"

"Yeah!" Kara chuckles, before shrugging. "But no, I guess... I guess I assumed braiding would be too frivolous."

Lena tilted her head, neither denying nor confirming. "It fosters nurtures our sense of community, and teaches mutual generosity. Even after we're old enough to braid ourselves, we braid the hair of our sisters, and they us."

Watching Lena in the mirror, Kara sees her smile.

"Some of my earliest memories are of discussing principles of physics with the caretaker braiding my hair. It's... peaceful." She puts a final pin in Kara's hair, and steps back, sitting on the edge of Kara's bed as Kara turns to look at her. "It must seem very strange to you."

Kara shrugs. "A little. I understand the value in the intimacy of it, but I'm surprised a group so focused on scientific advancement finds that sort of fulfillment in the mundane."

"Idle fingers are wasteful fingers. But braiding is simple work, and frees our minds to explore in a more relaxed setting. And it is a time only for women, which..."

Lena trails off, lips pressing together. Kara waits, watching, until Lena shrugs.

"In our community, we pride ourselves on providing our family the same opportunities to contribute to our endeavors. But at times it can feel as though the contributions of men are valued over those of women. It can be a challenge to be heard. But when we're braiding, that struggle isn't there."

"Yeah," Kara echoes quietly. "I can see that."

"And your hair," Lena changes the subject abruptly, dispelling the sudden sadness from her features, "would be the envy of all LuthorCorp. It's lovely."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. It's so thick, and the color is just beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it."

Kara smiles. "Would you do it again sometime? The, uh," she motions to her new crown, "I mean."

Lena nods, smiling back. "I would love to."

---

The next day, Lena steps off the bus with her head high, crisp but comfortable in a paisley collared button-down and white jeans. With her slip-ons traded for a pair of lavender converses, she looks almost like an entirely different person.

No, Kara amends, when Lena catches her eye with that same intense gaze. Not different. Just new.

"I'll see you at lunch?" Kara asks.

Lena nods.

"You'll do great today, I promise."

"Oh well... if you promise." But a smile tugs at Lena's lips, betraying her humor. "Hey, Kara?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For helping me."

With a grin of her own, Kara elbows her in a gentle nudge.

"That's what friends are for."

Continued: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Appendix A

[iicewitch]

✨ bleed magic

a playlist for @glitchedwitch​ link to playlist: here tracklist and favorite lyrics below:

1. poniko’s room [lights on] - yume nikki ost instrumental 2. distant past - everything everything Take me to the distant past, I want to go back Save me from the distant past, I wanna survive Canine fangs about my throat You're bleeding over Eden like a goat Tall blade dripping in every field I'm blooming like a fuming human shield 3. president heartbeat - everything everything Were you born in a cave now? Do you live in a cage now? If you burst into flame now Will they call you a human being? And your spine is a glass spire And your flesh is the concrete And your blood is the sewer And your skin is the city wall 4. orange caramel - catallena The small, dancing Catellena (Red Sun) Without knowing, I’m falling for you Chic and proud, Catallena (Red Sun) Jutti meri oye hoi hoi, I’m bewitched 5. wings - little mix Mama told me not to waste my life, She said spread your wings my little butterfly Don't let what they say keep you up at night And they can't detain you 'Cause wings are made to fly 6. eighth wonder - lemon demon Extra clever. Earthbound spirit. Ghost in the form, of a mongoose. And I have hands. And I have feet. I'll never die, I am a freak. Hello, I'm here, I'm living in the wall, I know I might be small, but I am a... Freak 7. the will of one - the protomen As I walk through the city streets These frightened people watching me pass There is an evil that holds them here Yet they won't try breaking its grasp But if I stay here with you Then I will leave them to their doom Do not say this is how it has to be You do no better than the fools of this burning city 8. father of death - the protomen What have I done? Though I did not pull the trigger, I built the gun That he holds in his hand Last night I dreamed I climbed to the top of a mountain of metal For miles I could see the destruction of man If the shadow blocks out the sun... there will be Light! If it stays 'till the sun is set... there will be Light! If the sun never shows its face again... there will be Light! No matter how dark the city gets... there will be... 9. i’m a hex girl - hex girls With this little cobweb potion You'll fall into dark devotion If you ever lose affection I can change your whole direction I'm a Hex Girl and I'm gonna put a spell on you I'm gonna put a spell on you 10. free - mother mother Love, let my anger Turn into peace Love, let the doves cry out in the streets Love, let the poison bleed out of me Love, let my love inside go free A bloody war Behind my eyes I come out right on the other side 11. the sticks - mother mother  I'll be gone for good Out there with the creatures in the woods And I'll be understood Make friends with the pagans in the nude I'll be no different Just a little less interested In all that new world shit 'Cause there ain't no new world in the sticks 12. infinitesimal - mother mother There's a million, billion, trillion stars but I'm down here low Fussin' over scars on my soul, on my soul, on my soul, on my soul On my soul, I am so infinitesimal, oh They say it started with a big bang But they say it was really just a small thing Strangely I'm feeling like a big bang 'Cause I've been making something out of nothing 13. burning pile - mother mother My mama, lonely maid Got her buns in the oven, and she never got laid My papa, renaissance man Sailed away and he never came back again All my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I change my aim Throw my troubles at the pearly gates 14. build god then we’ll talk - panic at the disco Raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains And a few more of your least favorite things 15. life is looking up - forgive durden Could this be the day I've waited for When all my hard work doesn't go ignored? Maybe she was right, the will realize I can change the world open us their eyes They know I am more than some eager blood Not some average bones, I believe in love I just want to prove I deserve this gift I will change the world, maybe this is it 16. bleed magic - idkhbtfm Crawling up your skin Potions pills and medicines To drain you And bleed your magic out 17. the oracles on the delphi express - the dear hunter You've been stuck in the middle of patience and animosity. With a lust for solidity, and a cryptic history, your luck's running thin. 18. chattering lack of common sense - GHOST Wait, what is going on here? I'm a little out of sorts I've been contemplating fallacies and things that scare me "Why not try to let go?" I've been feeling out of order I'm allowing change, so take a good look; This is me This is what I've come to be This is what I've come to be 19. daydream - j-hope  Wishing on a sky Wishing on a scar If there’s the sun I want to dream Wishing on a sky Wishing on a scar If there’s the moonlight I don’t want to wake up from it 20. witch flight - yume nikki OST instrumental 21. wiggle - cosmo sheldrake Hey ho, where did you go Did you wriggle or roll Did you giggle or grumble through Tom Thumb from where did you come Did you toggle or run Did you skip, trip, or stumble through 22. counting stars - one republic I’m old, but I'm not that old Young, but I'm not that bold And I don't think the world is sold I'm just doing what we're told Lately I been, I been losing sleep Dreaming about the things that we could be 23. urban caravan - fake type Because there’s a surely a bunch of fresh possibilities out there If I don’t try it out, ain’t that just a waste? In the end, it looks like the world is so wide that curiosity is inexhaustible There’s war songs but also songs of peace, The feelings remain just the same Keep your unwavering faith’s compass close to your heart 24. counting cards  - rainbow kitten surprise Jokes we tell to laugh, dear Laugh to hold back the pain Pain is in the mind, dear Stars are much the same Gone in the time it takes the light to reach In time you'll find We're blind to the things we don't believe Paint me red, paint me red Picture that, picture that Picture us and God shaking hands just because we can 25. god of marie - MASA This is our creed, aimed at a God that’s gone all floaty. We’re pure! We’re fans of Marie. We’re not doing anything wrong! Hm? Are you a fan of Marie, too? The stoned Reverend and his crazy worshippers Are surrounded by smoke in the cathedral The highest god has come down. We give thanks to ganja! 26. bad apple - nomico Will I exist in a place like this? Will I exist in a time like this? If someone like me can change, if I can change, will I turn white? Am I dreaming now? Or seeing nothing? My words are useless even if I speak I'm just tired of being sad, I should go on without feeling anything 27. my songs know what you did in the dark - fall out boy All the writers keep writing what they write Somewhere another pretty vein just dies I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see That you're the antidote to everything except for me 28. magia - kalafina If I can follow my path without wavering, I care not if my heart shatters. I wish I had a spell to stand against the sadness that's ever before my eyes Back when I loved books about wonderland where a captive sun shines, I believed the fairy tales that told me all my wishes would come true 29. immortals - fall out boy I'll be the watcher (watcher) of the eternal flame, I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams, Sometimes the only pay off for having any faith, Is when it's tested again and again everyday, 30. the last of the real ones - fall out boy 'Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me 31. interweb - poppy And the world feels smaller When it's at my fingers So let's keep talking Tell me what day is it Can't turn it off yet, I'm wrapped up with it So let's keep talking Tell me what day is it I caught you in my interweb I caught you in my internet Well, maybe I'm a spider 32. armed and ready - casey lee williams Remember all too well My time of living hell The night my enemy would conquer But now I've been set free Lived through the tragedy You'll wish you'd killed me, now I'm stronger! Feel like I'm finally unbroken Oh, now I'm back from the dead Strength back, confidence growing Out of my way 'Cause I'm armed and ready (armed and ready) 33. red like roses part 2 - casey lee williams I couldn't take it, couldn't stand another minute Couldn't bear another day without you in it All of the joy that I had known for all my life Was stripped away from me the minute that you died I wanna tell you that you're all that ever mattered Want you to know that, for eternity, I'm shattered I tried so hard just to protect you, but I failed to And in a prison of abandonment I've jailed you 34. lapis lazuli - zach callison She wanted to leave this place And get herself back in space Lapis Lazuli You fled into the bottom of the sea Lapis Lazuli You were so mad but then you came around to me 35. unreasonable behavior - OFF ost instrumental 36. devil’s train - the lab rats Or I can be the bee in your bonnet, your best friend forever Two peas in a pod flockin' like birds of a feather And you never have a need to beg, work, or steal If all this sounds worth it then let's make a deal Sitting on the tracks waiting for the night train Looking down the road, ain't never gonna go back Listen for the whistle through the wind and raindrop Who's gonna ride the devil's train tonight? 37. the room where it happens - leslie odom jr No one really knows how the Parties get to yesssss (Parties get to yesssss) The pieces that are sacrificed in (Ev’ry game of chesssss) Ev’ry game of chesssss We just assume that it happens (Assume that it happens) But no one else is in (The room where it happens) The room where it happens We want our leaders to save the day— But we don’t get a say in what they trade away We dream of a brand new start— But we dream in the dark for the most part Dark as a tomb where it happens 38. the perfect fit - dresden dolls I used to be the bright one Smart as a whip Funny how you slip so far when Teachers don't keep track of it Can't you just fix it for me? It's gone berserk Fuck, I'll give you anything If you can make the damn thing work 39. million years - nico vega You better learn from a man who's afraid to dance With a witch like me, and a wicked trance, 'cause A spider bite is a natural wound, but a dagger in the back is a plastic tomb Ain't nobody knows the trouble I've seen, but they know the sound of their own damn scream, well Lady bug! Bring me news, or a soul so rich and a crystal pool Let it burn, let it burn, singing songs of truth 40. i want you - savage garden Anytime I need to see your face I just close my eyes And I am taken to a place Where your crystal mind and magenta feelings Take up shelter in the base of my spine 41. pursuing my true self - shihoko hirata Loading loading loading Quickly reaching maximum capacity Warning warning warning Gonna short circuit my identity We are living our lives Abound with so much information 42. backside of the tv - persona 4 ost Lost destiny Far outcry They hear you no more Numb feeling Whole dizziness Deep scars No pain No sanity Body aching Control your own fate Invisible Real enemy Bring your mind Deep Down A moment of truth, tell me what's really happening Their rhyme is nothing but you've got everything Bro, you've got everything but you don't know anything 43. rivers in the desert - shoji meguro A river in a dry land The last ace in a lost hand When the hope of new beginnings burned our feet Now we need it: A heartbeat for a tin man An oasis in a singed land Remind us what we're here for: Creating new life Creating rivers in the desert 44. again - yui I'm wanting to scream that we're living to make our wish come true can you hear it? We won't be able to take it safe, because we have no place to go back to I'm always grateful for your kindness, that's why I want to be strong I'll welcome friend or foe for the sake of moving forward You still have too long a life left to erase these feelings completely, don't you think? I want to redo the things I left undone, So let's go, one more time! 45. komm susser todd - arianne It all returns to nothing, it just keeps Tumbling down Tumbling down Tumbling down It all returns to nothing, I just keep Letting me down Letting me down Letting me down 46. the spider and the lamps - forgive durden I'm the Spider, Crawl inside her! They don't understand, This is their last chance, No more idle hands, I'll destroy the lamps, Then they'll know, Whose in control. 47. here comes a thought - estelle and aj michalka You're losing sight You're losing touch All these little things seem to matter so much That they confuse you That I might lose you And it was just a thought, just a thought, just a thought, just a thought, just a thought It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay We can watch, we can watch, we can watch, we can watch them go by From here, from here, from here 48. black paper moon - tommy heavenly6 Don't be scared of the pumpkin carriage the witch drew Cuz it can show in your eyes A symbol rises to the top on the card I dropped in the sweet crimson jam Your destiny - if you wish Any sort of world Can be yours 49. to zanarkand - ffx ost instrumental 50. poniko’s room [lights off] - yume nikki instrumental

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Black Coffee (part four)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

If you like this, please please please consider reblogging, leaving a comment on Ao3 or even donating to my Ko-Fi

~~~~~~~~~~

Every single time, Vax told himself he was an idiot.

Every time he caught himself staring at Percy’s smile. Every time he’d replay his laughter over and over again in his head as he fell asleep because the sound soothed him so much. Every time he’d sleep over and find himself wearing one of Percy’s shirts in the confusion of gathering up their widely scattered clothes, only to curl up into it tighter, pulling it over the lower half of his face and inhaling deeply, feeling something inside himself unwind at the smell of Percy.

Each and every time, he’d think to himself afterwards: Vax’ildan, you are an idiot.

He told himself it was pointless. He told himself it was a ridiculous infatuation that was only going to get worse the more he indulged it. He cursed himself for a moony eyed teenager, he cursed his blind, ridiculous heart, he cursed his piss poor judgement in growing a silly crush on someone who saw him as a friend at best, a way to indulge a kink at worst and most likely.

But those moments didn’t stop coming. So he remained an idiot.

Another week, another email.

Percy tapped his fingers against the keys, enough to make an irritating noise but not enough to actually make words appear on the screen, as if the right thing to say would just come passively if he made the night motions.

The first part of the email had been easy, congratulating Cassandra on getting through her finals, encouraging her with her upcoming dissertation and exhibition, promising he’d fly out and come to opening night.

The second part was where he got stuck, as soon as he was required to talk about himself. He knew Cassandra would have absolutely no interest in the company, how the profit margins were doing, any reshuffling of the board. Percy was supposed to be the figurehead of all that and even he barely managed to care. He knew she’d at least feign polite interest in the new rotary motors he’d designed but there was only so much he could say about those without attaching blueprints to his response.

And he still felt a panic attack coming on whenever he thought about even trying to tell her about Vax.

At least he had Keyleth to talk to about that. He was getting better at being more open with her, probably thanks to Vax himself. Yet another thing he owed him.

Just yesterday she’d come over for dinner (a dinner that consisted of food from their respective favourite takeaways, he’d never learned how to cook) and Percy had found himself talking for hours about things Vax had said, date ideas that had been his that Percy never would even have dreamed of doing but had enjoyed immensely. Even Vax’s sister had gotten a mention and he’d grinned to see Keyleth’s ears quite literally pick up and her eyes brighten. He quietly resolved to find out if Vex’ahlia was single.

But there were things he couldn’t even tell his best friend or his sister. Things he was still struggling to admit to himself or even give form to inside his own head.

The idea that maybe he was starting to feel differently about Vax. That as fun and exhilarating as the sex and honeymoon dates were, things were changing below the surface.

Percy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fingers itching to take him back to the dog adoption websites he’d been obsessively browsing lately. But Cassandra had been waiting two days for a reply now and he’d be damned if she was going to beat him at correspondence.

He tapped out a brief reply, one sentence to say work was fine and he was building new stuff, as always then launched into more praise for her recent art pieces she’d put on Instagram. Much safer brotherly territory.

But then there was the last part of her email. The one his brain had desperately tried to slide right off of but had become embedded inside him like a bee sting.

So, I saw the anniversary is coming up next week. I hate calling it an anniversary but you know, there’s no good word for it. I know it’s hard so call me if you want to, okay? Or go to the charity gala, one of us probably should. Just don’t be alone. Promise, Percy.

Of course he’d forgotten, if there was such a thing as wilfully forgetting something. The gala was organised without any input from him, it was a company thing, the purview of their non-profit division. People at work had long ago learned not to bring anything even tangentially connected to the anniversary (Cassie was right, there really was no other word for it) to their boss’ attention.

No doubt the invitation would appear on his assistant’s desk in the next day or so, ready for its annual frosty ignoring before being consigned to the shredder the second the date inscribed on it had passed.

But if Percy was completely honest with himself, as rare as that occasion was, he really didn’t want to face that day alone. He didn’t want to bear it in his usual way. Not that he ever had wanted to get through it by finding a bar and drinking until he passed out but he’d always just sort of sunken into that.

And Cassandra knew it. Hell, she’d been the one who’d had to take a red eye flight to the city and sit by him in the hospital as he’d recovered from getting his stomach pumped last year.

The look on her face when he’d finally woken up and broken down into wracking sobs wasn’t something he ever wanted to see on his baby sister’s face ever again. He wasn’t going to be responsible for adding to her pain ever again.

He finished his email with a single sentence, no context, no other acknowledgement of the hot coals they were both trying to dance around.

I promise, Cassie.

“Holy fuck…I don’t think I have anything that fancy, Freddy,” Vax yelped but he was grinning, excitement already lighting up his face.

Percy smiles, reaching over and tucking Vax’s hair behind his ears, he remembered him saying it annoyed him when it was in his face, “I’ll take you shopping. But wait until you’ve actually been to one of these parties before you thank me for the invite, they’re painfully boring.”

“Probably to you!” Vax maintained his dreamy eyed excitement as he swept his shirt over his head, “I’m gonna drink fancy wine and admire fancy dresses and dance to fancy music. I’ll finally get to use the waltz moves I know.”

“I look forward to seeing them,” Percy let his jeans fall to the floor, “I’ll admit, it might actually be worth my time if you’re with me.”

Vax grins, wiggling out of his boxers, “Freddy, if you need someone to show you that getting drunk in the name of charity can be fun, I’m your man.”

“You are,” Percy’s demeanour became hungry, grinning crookedly as he pulled the now naked Vax against him, spinning him into the shower and under the warm spray of water. The half elf was giggling, legs anchoring around his hips, by the time Percy kissed him up against the tile wall.

It was so easy to smile and laugh and make jokes when he was kissing Vax. It was so easy to forget.

“The car will be here in half an hour,” Percy called out, walking into the living room as he fiddled with his cufflinks. He’d never gotten the hang of these things.

A memory rose up in the back of his mind, unasked for, unbidden. His own hands, awkward and spindly with youth, struggling with a set of cufflinks. Stronger hands, wearing the signet ring that Percy now saw on his own hand every morning, covering his own and guiding them.

Here, son, let me. It takes some getting used to.

Percy cursed as one slipped out of his fingers and hit the hardwood with a sharp crack that rang louder than it actually had been in his ears. The black stone in it fractured, a hairline break down the middle. It must have landed in just the wrong way.

“Whoops,” Vax was suddenly there, scooping up the little shining piece of silver, “Here we go.”

“It’s broken…” Percy frowned, half his brain still somewhere else.

“Not all that much,” Vax reassured him, taking his hand gently and fixing it into place, “It’s still good, see?”

Percy managed a thin smile. It was hard not to smile, seeing Vax all dressed up.

They hadn’t found anything that suited Vax at the place Percy went to get his suits, they’d both agreed everything there was a little too stuffy for his tastes. Instead, they’d turned to Mollymauk Tealeaf, who took the black dress Vax had worn to the ballet and an old suit of Percy’s and made something spectacular.

It was a little bit of both, a black, clinging suit of silken material that flowed down his body as a stunning waterfall of inky fabric, affixed at his wrists to make something not unlike wings. It rippled when he moved and caught the light in the most beautiful ways and made Percy’s mouth a little dry.

It was going to cause a stir, Percy knew with a satisfied smile. It was his name on the silverware, after all.

“You look beautiful,” Percy leaned in and kissed him, quickly so as not to pick up any of his black lipstick. There would be plenty of time to get it in all manner of scandalous places after the party.

“You’re a charmer,” Vax purred, straightening his jacket lapels, “Half an hour, you said?”

Percy could see where his mind was going and he dearly wanted to follow him down that train of thought but he knew letting Vax go into this blind would be a bad idea. So he sighed and gave a little shake of his head.

“Just so you know, love? This night…it’s for the charity that was set up in my parents’ name after they died. Like a memorial thing? So if people treat me weird tonight, that’s why.”

Vax blinked, understandably a little rattled by that, “Oh…right…”

“Sorry,” Percy winced, he couldn’t pretend to be surprised, “That’s a lot to take in at once…”

“Maybe a little,” Vax admitted, hands resting on Percy’s chest, “But…I get it’s a difficult thing to put into words. Thanks for letting me know though, I could see myself putting my foot right in it.”

Percy let himself relax a little into Vax’s contact, safe in the knowledge he’d keep him upright, “All I need from you tonight is to do the exact opposite of what everyone else is probably going to do and not treat me weird. Just…dance with me, let’s make a few people whisper and if you could remind me that I’ve got some pretty amazing sex waiting for me if I make it through tonight, I’d appreciate that.”

Vax smiled and kissed his cheek, “I can absolutely do that.”

“Oh,” Percy hesitates, another wince in his expression, “And don’t let me drink?”

Vax sensed a strong undercurrent of ‘do not ask’ under that so he just smiled and nodded, squeezing Percy’s arm.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, Freddy. I’ll be with you.”

The party was held in a manor house a little ways out of the city, a place that seemed to have been built purely for ridiculously grand parties like this one. The whole exterior was illuminated by soft dancing lights, making the high stone walls, the flowers in the garden, the couples that filed in all look vaguely angelic and otherworldly.

Vax gawked and stared shamelessly as they moved into this other dimension of cream and silk and champagne. Flower garlands grew up the walls and spread curious fingers across the floor, actually growing if you looked for long enough, filling the room with a fresh, clean scent. Glasses were pressed on them as soon as they entered, full of a wine that actually changed as you sipped it, moving along a spectrum of fruit flavours.

Percy politely waved his on.

There was an upper mezzanine with tables, clearly where the food would be served, but the whole lower floor was kept free for dancing and mingling, what most of the guests were actually here to do. Already groups were forming and breaking up in smooth succession, like leaves borne on an unseen current, snagging and being swept on. The rhythm of it all was odd when seen from above, like a sort of dance.

“I do not belong here,” Vax laughed delightedly, leaning against the balcony.

“Count yourself lucky then,” Percy smirks, straightening his glasses, “Looks like I put on a pretty good party, huh?”

“And all without looking,” Vax chuckled, “Very well done, Mr de Rolo.”

Percy puts his hand on Vax’s, “Well, it’ll raise some money at least. Rich people get really generous when they drink.”

Vax took another drink, tasting tart plum this time. He let his eyes rove over the dance floor below, still finding interesting little finishes he hadn’t noticed yet. The way the candles hovered under some spell, somehow knowing where they were needed, following the larger knots of people. The troupe of musicians, sporting everything from sleek Marquetian guitars to elaborate stringed affairs from the Menagerie Coast, whose music could be turned up or down in any listener’s ears as they wished. There were bowls of iced fruit glistening on an array of tables, the perfect thing to snack on when you knew you had a banquet in an hour. No one was dancing yet, the party still being in its fledgling stages but Vax already had a mind of change that. The people here seemed older, the ones here to network rather than relax, but maybe even they could be convinced if they had a good enough example. Vax saw mostly humans though there were a few with the easy, self-confident air of the Aasimar and, of course, the only other race who could look even more self-possessed-

“Shit,” Vax choked out, suddenly drawing back as if he’d been sprayed with scalding water.

Percy turned, suddenly alert, “What? What’s wrong?”

Ashy with shock, eyes roving for the exits and well aware it was too late to pretend the answer was nothing, Vax mumbled, “I didn’t know Syldor Vessar would be here.”

Percy frowned, “I…yeah, he often comes to things like this…I think my father worked with him on a few projects in the past…Vax, what’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Vax insisted weakly, “Well, no. I mean. He’s my father.”

Percy’s eyes widened behind his glasses. Vax knew he was suddenly seeing matching features, commonalities, making sense of the distinct point to his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you, how could you know?”

Vax was instinctively moving away, acting like a cornered animal, backing up in a secluded alcove. All of the delicately bouncing candles within a five meter radius fled in a heartbeat.

Percy followed, suddenly standing protectively, making himself a shield, “I can have a car here in five minutes, are you okay until then? Or we can just go, we’ll walk a little…”

“No, no…” Vax said quickly, biting his lip, “No, sorry. It was just a shock. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Though it was clear some of the pieces were already in place, Percy asked haltingly, “Was it not…”

Vax pulled a face, “He doesn’t like that I’m trans. He doesn’t like a lot about me, really. And I hate a lot about him. So me and Vex left.”

Anger flashed across Percy’s face, brief but intense, “He what?”

Vax gave a short sigh, “Freddy, three quarters of the people here would probably think he was right. Please don’t go punch him. It won’t win you any friends.”

The anger collapsed under the weight of discomfort, “Oh. I wasn’t going to…”

“Sorry,” Vax shook his head like he was shaking sense into himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Seriously, I’m fine. This is your night, I’m here for you.”

“Vax’ildan…”

Vax had his mind made up. It was clear since he’d admitted what this party was for that Percy had taken a long, long time to convince himself to go. He needed to be here, he needed to honour his parents in some small way, even if it was just for an hour. Vax wouldn’t be the reason he caved.

“Seriously, Freddy, it’s fine. The party’s big enough that we can avoid him and even if we do need to say a five second hello…well, fuck, it’s going to actually be fun for him to see me on the arm of someone whose twice as rich as he is. Just don’t tell him I’m technically on the job.”

Percy still looked like he would protest, for honour’s sake, but he let it go and gave a little smile, “You’re not on the job, Vax, not tonight. At least, it doesn’t feel like it. I’m glad you’re here just as my friend.”

Vax swallowed, a feeling he was irritatingly familiar with making its presence known.

Vax’ildan, you’re an idiot.

The party went smoothly for a while.

It was fun, Vax realised, like play acting. Like they’d all raided a parent’s closet for odds and ends, mismatched bits and pieces, makeup that they only had the vaguest idea of how to use but were all having enormous fun enacting scenes from an elaborately illustrated fairy story. They were all aware of the absurdity of it, underneath, but it paled in comparison to the entertainment value.

Vax was reminded of the times he and Molly had gleefully wasted hours in the costume storage rooms of the community theatre, trying on coats that didn’t fit them, hats that were ridiculously small, anything with an excessive amount of beads or sequins, laughing until it hurt.

Quickly and easily, Vax lost himself in the performance of it all. He perched happily on Percy’s arm, always making sure he had a glass at least half full in his hand with which to gesture, listening to the conversations they were pulled into like asteroids being snatched up in the orbits of various planets. They were like a foreign language, talking about places and people he’d never heard of and had to force himself not to laugh out loud at, they seemed so odd. Fortunately, though he hid it much better thanks to years of practise, Percy seemed just as bewildered as Vax did by most of it.

Every so often, he’d interject something, a sprightly little comment or joke, more often than not to save Percy when he’s clearly ran out of things to say. Each new group would look surprised the first time, like they’d assumed he couldn’t talk, like he’d been presumed to be Percy’s handbag or something. But then they’d laugh, either out of politeness or genuine amusement, Vax didn’t care. It was the relieved, grateful little glances from Percy that he cared about.

There were awkward moments, of course, whenever someone he recognised from his and Vex’s years of incarceration with Syldor appeared in that moment’s huddle of listeners. He could see the hesitation on their face every time, the shock, the clear attempt to guess whether the situation had changed, the rumours had been incorrect and he was back in his father’s good graces.

But if any of them had chanced to notice that, despite the undeniable pressure of natural social graces, Syldor and Vax’ildan never ended up in the same circles, they would have had their answer.

There was a moment, in the lull between songs where the chatter seemed to press in a little louder, where Vax had been admiring the flowers again, trying to see if their colours were magical or a feature of the plant itself. His eyes must have slid the wrong way at the wrong time because suddenly he was making direct eye contact with Syldor from across the room. And those eyes were filled with a stunned, scandalised anger.

The part of Vax that was and probably always would be the terrified young teenager who’d lived in fear of those eyes, that look, recoiled in panic. But there was more to him now, a stronger, surer part that simply smiled and squeezed Percy’s arm, prompting him to lean over and kiss his cheek softly. What Syldor’s face did after he saw that, Vax didn’t know.

He didn’t look back.

As if the night couldn’t be more full of surprises, Vax found that his shy, mechanically minded wallflower was a superb dancer.

“You’re a natural!” Vax laughed in delight as they moved in perfect time with the delicate waltz filling the space.

Percy blushed, as Vax knew he would, “I took lessons when I was younger, under threat of having my controllers taken away. All of my siblings did but I think they acquiesced much easier than I did.”

All of your siblings? Vax kept his face very deliberately unchanged.

“The world of dance doesn’t know what it’s lost,” he said confidently, moving through easy, rolling steps around the space. Not many other couples were dancing so they had practically the whole floor.

“Maybe I’m trying extra hard just to keep up with you,” Percy pointed out, tilting his head.

“Ballroom isn’t my thing,” Vax shook his head, “You’ve just got some serious natural talent.”

“Shut up,” Percy laughed coyly but at the very next turn he suddenly dipped Vax low, expertly, in perfect time with the music.

Vax would have kissed him fiercely if he hadn’t been worried any distraction would end with him in a heap on the floor.

Once righted, instead of moving back into hold, Percy paused, taking Vax’s hands in his own, “I...I didn’t think it was possible for me to actually enjoy this night. And I actually kind of have. Or at least, I’ve been able to distract myself enough to…” he flushed bright red, “Anyway. I’m rambling. Thank you, is what I’m trying to say.”

Vax smiled softly, “Don’t mention it, Percy. Seriously, don’t, it looks like you might pull a muscle if you keep trying to.”

Percy snorted at that, “See? This is why I love having you around.”

One of those odd moments followed, the ones where it really felt like someone should have been saying something. A cue had been missed, the progression had halted, empty space that wasn’t supposed to be empty suddenly hung between them.

Percy opened his mouth, looking like he was going to say something but part of him didn’t want to.

And that was when the music stopped, fading into silence in as classy a way as that could be done. Immediately, the people around them began moving back to the mezzanine, apparently all knowing that it was time for food and speeches. Vax felt like he’d missed a memo somewhere.

“Dare me to ask for tomato sauce with whatever fancy stuff they serve?” Vax turned back to Percy, grinning.

As soon as their eyes met, that grin died like a scrap of paper set alight, turned to nothing in half a heartbeat. Percy looked like he was about to throw up, paler even than he usually was, a rabbit suddenly caught in the headlights of a sixteen wheeler.

“Percy?” Vax was alarmed, squeezing his hand, “Percy, what’s wrong?”

There was a clear moment of hesitation, uncertainty, but something seemed to swerve to the left at the very last moment and he fixed a thin, unconvincing smile on his face, “Nothing. I’m hungry, let’s head up there.”

Vax frowned, not sure how he was being expected to believe that but then Percy was moving, taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs without another word. Hesitant to make a fuss, Vax sighed internally and didn’t resist. But he would definitely be bringing it up again on the ride home. Maybe Percy would be able to breathe a little better once it was just the two of them again.

They sat about as far back as they could physically manage without sitting on the floor. Vax was about to ask if they should move closer, surely if it was his company’s whole production, they’d want him visible? His surname was on the logo being projected up on the screen at the front, after all.

But he got the sense that hiding might be the whole point.

There was more fancy wine set out on the table, ones with names even longer than Percy’s. Vax eyed a glass thoughtfully but he had a pleasant, warm buzz going through his veins. Enough to make this party a damn sight more fun but not enough to risk him embarrassing himself. That was a comfortable place to be.

As he was looking, he saw Percy’s hand go out and draw a glass in, a quick, furtive gesture like he was hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Vax frowned. He was really getting his intelligence insulted tonight.

“Percy, you said you wouldn’t be drinking?”

Percy’s shoulders tensed, every inch the child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Just one with dinner. I’ll barely feel it.”

Vax paused, a bad feeling opening up inside him, “You asked me not to let you drink, Percy. There must have been a reason for that. I...I’d feel better if you didn’t.”

That brought Percy’s hand back to his side, if a little reluctantly, accompanied by a defeated sigh, “You’re right…”

Vax bit his lip, that bad feeling growing, “Percy, we don’t have to stay if something’s making you feel uncomfortable.”

He couldn’t read the expression that shifted across Percy’s face in that moment and before he could make any greater effort, the lighting in the room changed and everyone’s attention was politely turned to the front of the dining area, to the lectern before the screen.

An older human man settled there, bringing a neat set of cards from his inside pocket and clearing his throat in the manner of someone who was very comfortable with having about a hundred people listening to his every word.

“Well, firstly, an enormous thank you to all of you. Through your attendance and generosity, we have managed to raise an incredible amount of money to go towards the de Rolo Foundation, even more than in previous years. This money will undoubtedly be instrumental in ensuring those who lose their families to violence have support and care. I am certain the entire de Rolo family would be immensely proud.”

Beside Vax, Percy seemed to sink down lower in his seat as the eyes of everyone who actually knew who he was turned to him in that moment.

“What happened to the de Rolo family was nothing short of a tragedy,” the man continued, voice turning grave rather than celebratory, “Many of you who knew them still feel a strong sense of grief and outrage at how they were taken. Hopefully there is some comfort to be found in the fact that, through our actions here tonight, fewer will suffer as they and their remaining heirs did.”

A picture suddenly took up the screen behind him, replacing the Whitestone logo. Vax felt his chest tighten.

The first of the family in the picture that he recognised was of course Percy. He stood as stiff and aloof as the rest of the people around him who shared his facial features, though he was off to the side somewhat, certainly not the focus, part of the background dressing. There were nine of them, all dressed similarly in what had to be the colours of their family. An older woman and man who were of course the mother and father. The much younger Percy seemed to fall into the middle range of ages. More central was an older young man, placed right between the mother and father. Then a sister. Though they all looked incredibly similar, same angular faces, same hair, most of them wearing glasses, there were two who were identical enough that they had to be twins. That gave Vax a start. A couple of younger siblings too, barely into childhood.

It took him a long time to realise what was wrong, why something wasn’t quite right. And then it clicked, with another unpleasant lurch.

They all had brown hair. Brown as chestnuts, brown as chocolate, brown as mahogany.

And Vax had been picking white hairs off his dark clothing for as long as he and Percy had been an item.

“The loss of nearly the entire de Rolo family was a shock to us all,” the man continued, though his voice seemed further away to Vax, as lost as he was in the picture, “And even worse the years of turmoil that followed before their killers could be brought to justice. Of course we remember and acknowledge the bravery of Percival in his years of ensuring the truth came out and the company could return to his and his sister’s hands. Many thanks to young Percival.”

Vax couldn’t help it, he turned to Percy, confusion and shock on his face.

He wasn’t there. Both he and the bottle of wine from the centre of the table had disappeared.

Suddenly Vax realised everyone was looking at their table, expecting to see Percy as much as he had been, equally as surprised to be staring at an empty seat. There was a long, awkward silence where no one seemed quite sure of what to do.

After a moments carefully considered thought, Vax decided to get up and make a very swift exit.

Night had fallen when none of them had been looking, blissfully ignorant in the shrouds of both magically and mechanically generated lighting. But outside was fully within its arms; the air was chilly, too chilly for evening gowns, the sky was blacker than usual given they were a little outside the city and pierced through with starry pinpoints. The gardens that surrounded the manor had turned to silver and stone, what had been grown looking more like it had been carved or sculpted.

As anxious as he was to find Percy, Vax couldn’t help but feel some relief. He much preferred it out here to in there. In fact, it was only now that he realised he’d practically been holding his breath the entire evening.

He hitched up his skirts with one hand and hurried past flowerbeds and underneath overhead carpets of vine, listening for anything underneath the gentle but ever present trickle of water running somewhere unseen.

The water only seemed to grow louder as he went, naturally pulled into the epicentre of the garden. But underneath it, he managed to pick out a noise that could only be crying, acting as a perfect counterpoint to the rushing and babbling that already filled the space.

It made sense all in the same moment. An enormous fountain sat proudly in the little hidden courtyard that was revealed behind the shrubbery. It’s flow arched into the night sky where it came close to becoming pure moonlight before falling back down into the basin, ready to trace the path again like blood in an ornate, black iron body.

And slumped on the edge of it, sobbing softly with his tears hitting the gravel below like a tiny rainfall, was Percy.

As Vax watched, he groped for the bottle of wine that was resting haphazardly against his legs and drank deeply, an errant trickle running from the side of his lips though he didn’t seem to care. Only when the need for breath forced him to stop did the bottle return to it’s perfectly circular divot in the gravel, not half drained.

Vax lurched forward, forgetting that he’d wanted to make a more gentle entrance, “Percy, no…”

Percy jumped so badly it was a miracle he didn’t pitch backwards into the fountain. That probably would have soured things even more.

“Vax’ildan…”

Wanting desperately to hold him, touch him, fix this somehow but having no clue of how to go about it or if it would even be welcome, Vax just sat beside him on the cold, wet rim of the fountain, eyes wide and sad, “I’m here, Percy, it’s okay…”

“Vax, go back,” Percy croaked, turning his head as if it wasn’t too late to hide the tears, “You don’t have to...go back inside, enjoy yourself.”

“How could I enjoy myself without you?” Vax asked softly, reaching over and taking his hands.

Percy was quiet for a moment before the tears flooded back in with renewed strength, leaving him choking. Vax didn’t hesitate, taking him into his arms, letting him cling on as tight as he needed to. It was hard not to cry himself, listening to the agony that came pouring out like poison from a wound. It was so clear that years and years worth of pain had been locked inside him and were leaving him in one rush.

All he���d been missing had been someone to hold him, someone to tell him it was okay, someone who would say here, hold on to me, it will end.

How long had Percy been living without the reassurance that if he cried, someone would hear him?  

It could have been a lifetime before the tears finally ran their course, Vax didn’t care. But eventually Percy was left choking on air rather than salt water, chest heaving as his body dragged in deep breaths to replace what he’d lost.

“Easy, nice and easy,” Vax encouraged, placing a hand on his back, “You’re okay.”

Percy seemed to be calming down for a few moments until his eyes bulged suddenly and he threw himself to the side, vomiting copiously into the fountain.

Vax winced, reaching over quickly to save his glasses that were about to slip off, “Yeah, we’re never getting invited back…”

“Good,” Percy panted weakly, managing to right himself, “This whole night was a mistake. I don’t know why I keep trying to make this day anything other than a fucking disaster.”

“Well...I think that might be reasonable,” Vax said placatingly, “Given what I’ve come to understand about this day…”

Percy hunched in on himself, guilt clear as day on his face, “I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. It’s just...it’s so hard to say the words out loud…” This voice grew dangerously thick and fragile.

“Darling, I understand,” Vax murmured, hand making slow, comforting circles across his back, “I’ve been there.”

That caught his attention. Vax hesitated, ready to see the same pity and condolence he’d been seeing in everyone’s eyes for years, the kind that made him feel vaguely ill.

But it didn’t come. The two men looked at each other the way two people who had been blindly fighting their way through a storm would, when they suddenly reached the eye at the very centre and, in the silence, realised they hadn’t been as alone as they thought.

“Who?” Percy asked softly.

“Our mother.”

And just like that he could see her face again, he could hear her voice, feel her fingers combing through his hair. Vax’ildan had a strong, deep resentment of every single piece of his DNA that had come from Syldor bar one. Whichever piece had given him an elf’s exceedingly good memory. Otherwise, who knew how much of his mother he might have lost.

Percy’s hand took Vax’s, fingers threading together, holding on tight. Vax managed to smile, even if it was a little shaky.

Nothing else came of that but both knew it was okay.

“I...I just didn’t expect all that,” Percy finally admitted, sighing deeply, “I didn’t expect the speech about them, actually talking about what happened...but it was, um, the picture. I couldn’t take that.”

Vax nodded slowly, “Have you not…”

Percy shook his head quickly, “No. Even looking at my sister is hard. It must be the same for her, I guess that’s why she ran to the opposite end of the country.”

Vax gently leant his head against Percy’s shoulder, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There was a long pause before he could find the right words. Having to open up something you’d hidden away for years wasn’t a simple task, not when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to do the exact opposite.

“I don’t really know what exactly my family did to piss them off,” Percy eventually began, “I don’t want to know either. I don’t care how it started, I care that it’s finished.”

“Who’s them?”

Percy swallowed hard, “The Briarwoods.”

Then it all came out, disjointed and rambling and disconnected but Vax edited it in his own mind after the fact. How one night at dinner after the family had welcomed two guests, a married couple of wealthy socialites, into their home Percy had begun to hear screaming.

He couldn’t remember a lot of the details, which was understandable and probably merciful. What he did remember was the sound of gunfire, muffled barks of exploding muzzles echoing through the hallways of the family home. He remembered blood pooling on the hardwood floors. He remembered pleading. He remembered laughter.

The only thing he could then say for certain was that he ended up outside, running for as long as his body could physically manage before collapsing at Keyleth’s door, his friend from school the only person his fevered mind could think to turn to.

When the sun rose the next day, every paper and news anchor in the city was reporting that his entire family had been killed in a robbery gone wrong. Everyone save himself, who was missing, and his youngest sister Cassandra, who was saved by the intercession of those same guests, the Briarwoods. He recalled a tearful Delilah Briarwood on the news, saying she only wished they could have done more.

In the exact same voice Percy had heard laughing in the blood spattered hallway.

Percy wasn’t fit to leave Keyleth’s sofa for the next few months, nearly broken clean in two by grief. So everything just happened around him, the grateful Cassandra signing over the family’s entire holdings to the Briarwoods in the absence of her brother, the whole company being seized, the locks on every property the de Rolo’s had owned being changed, barring Percy from any kind of financial help.

When he was finally well enough to open his eyes, to face the world around him, he found that he was completely and utterly abandoned by it.

Vax tried to absorb all that, heart hammering in his chest, “So...what did you do?”

“Kiki was happy for me to stay with her but…” Percy pulled a face, “I wasn’t fit to be around anyone. I wasn’t well, I was...drinking a lot. She kept trying to get me to go to therapy but that would mean people knowing I was alive and, with the Briarwoods still out there, with all of the money and protection I’d lost, I didn’t that that was such a good idea…”

“How did no one know?” Vax felt anger in the back of his throat, “Didn’t they investigate? Work out that the people who were pretty much strangers that had come to the house might have had something to do with the murders that happened that very night?”

Percy shrugged, “They had magic and money on their side. Delilah was a powerful magic user but...well, I doubt it was ever really needed. You’d be surprised how much suspicion and supposed authority can be turned aside by putting coin in the right pockets.”

Vax scowled down at the stones, feeling the injustice but also the truth of that burn in his chest. He’d seen Syldor do it enough times.

“So...I got a job as a mechanic. My father had always told me my tinkering would be nothing but a distraction but it was what got me through those years. That and not caring that the cars I was fixing were obviously stolen and I was being paid off the books.”

“Seriously?” Vax couldn’t help being a little impressed by that.

Percy gave a wayn smile, “If any police officer had looked in my workshop, they’d have found enough to put me in jail for a very long time. But bribery is not just the purview of the rich, thank the gods…” he looked back at his hands, “So I spent a long time not being Percival de Rolo. I just made as much money as I could, tried desperately to keep myself alive and spent years thinking of how to rescue my sister and make the Briarwoods suffer.”

The tone of Percy’s voice in that moment worried Vax, his smile falling into a concerned frown, “Understandable…”

Percy didn’t seem to pick up on it, “I was going to do something stupid. Very stupid. But fortunately, despite my being a shitty friend and all round terrible person, Keyleth stuck by me. She convinced me to hire a lawyer instead, do it through the courts. Gods, it was a nightmare. It took years longer than I wanted it to, I was on the verge of tearing my hair out or just finally drinking enough that I’d never wake up again.”

Vax’s stomach dropped.

“But then I’d think of Cassie,” Percy’s voice quietened, “How she must have felt as alone as I did. How I couldn’t let her down. Gods only know what they put her through while they had her, she won’t talk to me about it. Every second I was wasting feeling sorry for myself and falling asleep in gutters was another second she was under their power. And if I died then...then her hope died too.”

“But you did it,” Vax said quietly, squeezing his hand, “I’m not a big news watcher but I remember it a little now, I just never connected it to you. How you got the Briarwoods convicted, got custody of your sister back, everyone saw them for what they were. I remember everyone talking about how you were a hero, Percy.”

Percy grunted, nudging the wine bottle over with his toe so it’s contents spilled across the stones, “Maybe. But there’s still days I wonder if I wouldn’t have been happier just building myself a gun and shooting them both in the heart.”

“You wouldn’t,” Vax said firmly, turning him a little so they were facing each other, “And you didn’t. And that makes you better than them, Percy. That’s what makes you a hero.”

Percy managed to meet his eyes, though he still looked so young and so scared, “Then why does it hurt so much?”

“Because what happened to you was awful,” Vax said without hesitation, touching his face with a gentle hand, “It was unimaginably awful, most people couldn’t have survived it. And you’re allowed to feel that hurt. You’re allowed to cry. But I promise, one day, this pain will be manageable. You’ll be able to carry it.”

“How?” Percy whispered brokenly, desperation in his eyes, “I...I just can’t see how. I’m not strong enough.”

“I’ll help you be,” he murmured, stroking his thumb back and forth across his cheekbone, “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Percy swallowed hard, resting his forehead against Vax’s for a long moment. Sometimes words just weren’t enough.

Eventually he mumbled, like a child tired after a long day, “I’d like to go home now.”

“That sounds good to me, darling,” Vax smiled, “Let’s go brush your teeth, huh? Cos your breath is really...interesting right now.”

Percy laughed weakly, letting the half elf pull him to his feet, “Wine and vomit. Sorry your sugar daddy turned out to be a huge mess.”

“Ah, I’m sure there’s way worse than you out there,” Vax put his arm around the taller man, glad then he was wearing heels or the effect would be a little ruined, “And you have better reason than most.”

It took a few moments for their car to be brought around to the front of the house. A few moments to sit in a stronger breeze and catch their breath, to let the tears dry on Percy’s cheeks and for them both to realise that they’d had nothing to eat all evening and would definitely be stopping for a McDonalds on the way home, if they could convince their chauffeur to go through the drive through.

Feeling more exhausted than he ever had in his life, feeling like he might be on the way towards some kind of healing, Percy murmured, “You know...sometimes I think Percy de Rolo died that day too. Like I haven’t been myself since.”

Vax looked over at him, through his rapidly unravelling hairdo, strands of black hair falling into his eyes. The party behind them, faint with distance, had become just a soft background to their soft little moment.

Vax’ildan you poor fucking fool.

“I like who you are now, Percy.”

[calleo-bricriu]

Quid Pro Quo

(( Look at me, cleaning things up into a single post in a timely manner! This was a private thread between myself and @ministerfudge .

As usual, edits made for clarity, grammar, and weird tense shifts because I’m amazing at shifting tense about 3 times in the same phrase. :)

 Continuation of this ask. ))

(This one has been strangely charmed with several layers of interlocking, stubborn, difficult to remove warding. The Minister, of course, will be able to read and reply. To anyone else, it will simply look like scratch paper.)   Since the director decided to do a bit of gossip as though I either can’t see it or won’t be made aware of it, are you one of those sorts who’s open to a quid pro quo arrangement? Nothing, as Director Yandle stated, illegal, of course.

Cornelius wasn’t sure what Calleo meant at first. What sort of services were they to exchange? There’s nothing he can think of that he needed from the other wizard, apart from maybe…

“In exchange for you no longer telling me how to do my job, what are you looking for? “

The Minister chose to deliver the note in person to save the slow passing and forwards backward of memos.

Calleo, instead of an answer, blinked owlishly a few times. He’d expected another memo in return because that’s how memos work; having the response that was written by the person in the room who had also essentially read the contents of the memo aloud managed to briefly stun him.

The Minister.

Of course.

These sorts of talks always ran long; Calleo removed his glasses and let them drop. Hanging from the ends of a string of differently sized, multi-shades-of-blue, they almost had the appearance of being a statement piece, which was really only a nicer way of saying tacky.

“Tempting, but that isn’t what I want.” Calleo grinned and folded his arms on the desk, leaning forward to rest his chin on them. “There’s an Auror that’s been in Magical Law Enforcement for several decades.”

“We had an–” he paused to consider how to word it, “–altercation during the First War; it’s in my records and it was ruled self defence.”

“The problem is that she still maintains, to a paranoid level, that I’m somehow dangerous or a ‘Death Eater in disguise’, which I’m not, just so we’re clear–like my left forearm is.”

“And do you have a guess as to what that makes her do?” Calleo had now sunk his face down a bit, leaving his voice slightly muffled by the rainbow coloured, thick (and obviously Muggle made), wool sweater’s sleeves.

“Rhetorical. She’ll use her position to assign a Hit Wizard to trail me for anything from a day or two to sometimes months at a time. She never gets her evidence because it’s never existed; I don’t so much mind the Hit Wizard ( @legilimens-corvus-frugilegus ) that always volunteers for what amounts to a paid holiday. He’s great, we hit some of the lesser known hole-in-the-wall places in Knockturn and set up people who have active warrants.”

“Anyway,” the word stretched out along with Calleo’s arms before he briefly appeared to be moving to sit like a normal adult. Instead, he kicked his feet, bumblebee slippers an all, up onto the desk and tilted his chair back. “That’s a complete waste of Ministry resources. It may not be much in monetary cost, but it takes one Auror’s focus off of her job and one Hit Wizard off the list of people being available to do anything else but babysit me.”

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers, “And I nearly forgot! The Werewolf Registry somehow managed to get an order that barred me from publishing tested theory to fact on how magical warding reads them as humans and not beasts or animals. Didn’t stop me from having it published outside of the UK but if you could make that nasty little bit of censorship disappear, it would be appreciated.”

“What do you want to make that happen and remain permanent as long as you manage to hold onto the position of Minister?” Calleo’s smile wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either. It only looked friendly if it managed to distract enough from the shrewd, carefully observant expression in his eyes.

“To give you a place to start, I’m not about to stop wearing the cardigans and bee slippers. It’s cold down here and I’m not about to start any kind of fire with so much paper in the room, and I’ll keep the majority of my criticisms to Magical Law Enforcement, but I won’t be silent.”

Calleo stretched again, this time grabbing the back of the chair, “Never mind what I’m doing, I sit in the worst possible positions most of the day. Now, where was I?”

“Oh, right! I’m also not willing to pretend that there isn’t solid, validated, and vetted evidence that Voldemort is not actually dead, that werewolves aren’t human, and that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement doesn’t need to do some purging in its ranks.”

There were many times during Calleo’s speech that Fudge opened his mouth to talk and then promptly closed it again. If there was ever a competition for who could speak for the longest amount of time, he knew that the other wizard would surely win. The Minister stood, patiently as he could manage, as the other talked, fidgeting and trying not to visibly flinch at the mention of werewolves - because they’re scary even when it’s not the full moon. Fudge tried to not let his irrational fear get in the way of his policies but sometimes it proved difficult.

In a way, he also wished that this Hit Wizard actually did their job and silenced Calleo. But then who would bug him? It was like a love/hate thing. Fudge would miss the attention no matter how much he pretended to hate it.

“I’d have to read this theory first, before I lift anything.” Cornelius started, “But I’d be willing to speak to the Auror.” Wow, how easy was it to bargain with him? Had he always been like this? “If you tell me her name, of course.”

“But I’m not sure what else you can think I want other than what I’ve asked for — you to not tell me how to do my job — so I think we’re at a crossroads here.”

There was something, of course, that Cornelius could think of but he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. It’s been a long time since he’d been intimate with anybody; Merlin, it had been a long time since somebody had done anything but shake his hand. Yes, he was lonelier than he ever cared to admit out loud and he always blamed it on his job.

The truth was, the only reason why Cornelius worked so much was because he had no one to go home to.

Fudge crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t need to talk about whether or not you think You-Know-Who is back because he died. It’s impossible for him to come back. So let’s not discuss that.” Before he started to worry about the idea because what if he is back? How would Fudge deal with such an ordeal?

“Unless you can think of something that would be of value to me personally, I don’t think I can make a deal with you.”

“Auror Pavidus.” Any drier and his voice might have caused the entire room to feel it. “Older Witch, completely messed up one side of her face with a blasting curse. She started it anyway and–” Calleo shrugged and finally let go of the back of the chair when the Minister gave the very, very strong and almost blatant statement that he’d blindly signed something like that.

“I knew it! I knew the lot of you didn’t read it, saw the word ‘Werewolves’ and immediately tried to censor the findings that prove an entire department incorrect and the treatment of those people as nothing more than violent beasts is abhorrent and cruel,” as that little rant went on, Calleo sat up to rummage through one of his desk drawers. “It isn’t even difficult to contain them to a small space like, say, a room at St. Mungo’s for the night, because any security warding that will stop a human will stop someone infected with lyconthropy due to the fact that they’re still human. Anywhere the security ward combination in that paper is applied it’ll keep a transformed werewolf contained as though they were fenced in.”

“They’re humans with a manageable but chronic illness and deserve to be treated as such, whether you like that fact or not is irrelevant. Reality doesn’t give a damn if you decide you want to disagree with it.”  The short stack of papers–not stack, that word was far too strong for three pages–he had taken from the desk drawer ended up being set down hard enough to cause a loud, short cracking sound on the desk’s surface before he shoved the papers over to the Minister. If his hand hadn’t been firmly and flat on the top of the three pages, they might have been actually thrown across the desk.

“It’s a massive three pages, as you can plainly see. I trust that’s not too long for you to read thoroughly.”

His response to the Voldemort situation got a laugh that Calleo couldn’t manage to stop in time and the–it wasn’t even anger, more exasperation mixed with irritation–mood an tone from seconds before evaporated with the laugh and settled back into a perfectly friendly smile, “And I’ve got four old texts that say it’s very possible to come back, provided you sliced your soul to ribbons and bound it to an object. Nasty stuff, awful ritual, lots of murder, blood, and, frankly, unmentionable acts involved–it’s mainly meant for horrid people who are terrified of death and being forgotten. I can get the most commonly used book with the original ritual up in about five minutes; the others have modified versions and are a bit bad tempered, so they take about forty-five minutes to an hour to fetch.”

“How about I won’t tell you how to do your job publicly as a compromise?” Any sign of irritation that had been present hardly minutes prior now was long gone and the cheerful grin replaced it with a well practised shift.

“You can’t think of anything that would be of value to you?”

Calleo paused for a moment, “Don’t think that I don’t know how this sort of thing usually works, Minister. It’s not even close to the first time I’ve done this dance. Inside politics often functions the same as most parts of the Unseen Market but I doubt I have anything in my collection you’d want; don’t seem the type to collect that sort of thing and I’m not certain you’re exempt from raids if you haven’t got the correct explicit permits.”

“Although,” Calleo’s frequently present grin took on a sharp edge, “if you are, and you just keep it well hidden because rumours of you being one of us unstable, social pariah addicts could ruin the career of someone not in the Department of Mysteries, you’re more than welcome to look through it.”

“At any rate, as long as it doesn’t kill me or leave me permanently disfigured, damaged, or sticky, temporarily or somehow permanently–I hate sticky things, awful sensation–and doesn’t interfere with any of my existing relationships, which,” somehow Calleo managed to interrupt himself there, “it won’t. They’re all well aware of what I get up to and are completely fine with it–I’m good for whatever it is you want to get that idiot of an Auror off my neck. She makes an already complicated and stressful job unnecessarily difficult; it’s been like that since 1983.”

“Name it, and we’ll go from there, because you’re clearly not after Galleons, you wouldn’t be willing to focus on a single Auror’s behaviour just to make me stop being the verbal equivalent to an opinion editorial in the Prophet; I can hardly negotiate anything if I don’t know what you want out of it and you know exactly what I want out of it.”

“I’ll go ahead and guess right now that if her being short-leashed, muzzled, and kept out of my yard on a permanent basis is going to require what I suspect you’re after on a permanent basis as well–well, until she dies or retires or you’re shoehorned out of your position as Minister, at any rate.”

Fudge didn’t get how some people were completely fine around Werewolves, full moon or not, but apparently, part of this wager was for him to read whatever Calleo had written and he had to try and put his own ignorance aside for the matter. If he were to get what he wanted, he’d have to stop the block on it. It could potentially be worth it… it’d been so long since Cornelius had had anything he’d almost forgotten what it was like. 

“Publicly. In front of anybody. If you’d like to tell me yourself, you can write it on one of those little notes.” He nodded towards the memo that Calleo had sent him and then let his eyes travel to the other wizard’s face again. 

“I don’t want anything from your collection.” Fudge shook his head. If he wanted something, he tended to get it; it was a perk of being Minister. Not many people questioned what you were looking for. 

It was the mention of Calleo’s current relationships that made Cornelius go red. And then the mention of him suspecting something that made the heat continue to rise to his ears and his defensive stance falter a little. Was it that obvious, or was Calleo using legilimency on him right now?

“What is it you think I want?” Fudge doesn’t want to be the one to mention it, but he could hardly ignore the longing feeling in his stomach, the way his mouth was a little drier or how hard his heart was thudding in his chest. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about what it would be like to be like that with Calleo and not just because it came to him as an idea to shut him up one time. 

Maybe that’s what happens when you’re so touch-starved you become almost desperate for anything. He didn’t know.

“Mm. Probably easier to take swings at the Department that’s supposed to be the Department taking care of that kind of nonsense, which would be Magical Law Enforcement, specifically the Auror Office.” He leaned back is his chair again, “They certainly can bark at me all they like, but they haven’t got any teeth, and the ones the litany of complaints don’t target don’t mind.”

“Mind you, they don’t do anything about the inept ones, the ones with inappropriately extreme reactionary views, or those who believe addicts should be jailed in a place that’s demonstrably cruel and only fuels the addiction they had when they were sentenced, making them significantly more likely to land back in Azkaban, stuck on that cycle until they die.”

Calleo leveled an even cold expression at the Minister, “Do you know what they do to people? Have you seen it first hand? Have you seen what happens when the body doesn’t die after a Kiss? I can take you to meet her sometime. “

“Just for clarification, you don’t want anything critical said of you, your policy contents or direction to anyone?” Calleo narrowed his eyes just slightly, though the odd cloudiness over his voice disappeared as quickly as it had come on and left no trace in the cheerful wake of his usual voice, “That’s a broad sweeping demand that deserves a broad sweeping demand be met in return: Get that paper off the blacklist and force the hands of the relevant people if they won’t cooperate to get them at least started on dismantling that division and getting preliminary planning phase started for St. Mungo’s to assist in dealing with management of a chronic illness with the potential to be contagious but no more so than anyone else if proper precautions are put into place.”

“I might suggest, if you haven’t got the political capital to disband the Werewolf Division, strong preference for positions of rank in that division ought to be actual werewolves.”

“I’m well aware those sorts of social changes often take years before any major progress is made, but I see no good reason as to why dismantling can’t get to work on putting the gears in place. Lycanthropy is a life altering illness, but it shouldn’t be a life destroying one and changing that is easy enough that it fit on thee. pages.”

“It’s also, I might add, been repeatedly and successfully, with and without wolfsbane, tested at every full moon since that was written.”

For a minute or two Calleo sat quietly still mulling over something to do with werewolves, “Keep in mind, Minister, that people who like to call themselves Dark Lords know how to appeal to the sorts of people Wizarding societies push to the edges or exile entirely. They will approach werewolves and anything you’d see crawling around Knockturn, and they will be successful in taking them into the fold–when those who feel rejected and unwanted by society, any offer to belong to a society or even to a group of people who don’t immediately hate you, fear you, or see you as subhuman. It’ll be easy to turn every bit of anger and resentment they have right back around on the rest of us and it will be entirely the Ministry’s fault if they fail to act on assisting vulnerable parts of Wizarding society out of fear.”

Werewolves must be a hot button issue.

Calleo tilted his head to the left in an odd, bird-like movement, “That’s a first. Most people at least want to look at the collection. Just as well, probably, some of it’s incredibly nasty pieces of work. It’s all under lock and key, so to speak, that’s worlds better than the actual legal guidelines.

“As for what I suspect your demand in return is, I’ve ruled out money as bribery due to it being illegal and Gringott’s would certainly notice any odd cash movements of that nature. I’m finally back on good terms with them and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“And you’ve just said you have no interest in anything out of my collection, which I’m always going to find a little odd. Reckon it does seem a little off putting if you’re not used to handling it or being around that sort of magic, even if it’s heavily muted by the security system.”

“So, generally–” Calleo stopped whatever flippant and likely cutting remark that had first come to mind.

“Company.” This time he stated his not quite a guess matter-of-factly along with a shrug that was a dead match for his tone. The first answer that had come to mind may have been loads more fun to say but considering that the Minister now looked like he was one tinny word away from needing to lie down Calleo elected to take a more vague, heavily coded way of speaking.

“That’s what most of them want anyway, even if it’s only an hour or two a couple of times out of the week. Certain professions don’t care to be honest about how isolating the work can be or that you end up surrounded by sycophants who nearly always tell you what they know you want to hear.”

“The ones that don’t often end up sacked, and you can’t sack me. Not in the a way that’d make me lose my job at any rate. You could try to order the head of the Department of Mysteries to do it but he’d likely must laugh and walk away and Director Yandle would offer a similar response though I probably ought to warn you if you damage my so badly I have to take time off of work, you’ll absolutely hear from Director Yandle and I’ve seen him get like that before; he’s very quiet and completely terrifying.”

He laughed and shook his head, “I haven’t managed to completely terrifying part very well yet and it mostly just comes off as though I’ve lost my voice!”

“I’ll take a guess based on your reactions here that you’re after the sort of company nobody knows you’d ever be looking for, you know, apart from the partners of mine who want to know if I’m spending company company with someone else. One of those communication things.” ”If you don’t want suspicion or rumours, I’d suggest a formal write up–the AƉ9-Mţ, specifically. It’s a level five; requires at least two daily progress meetings with the Minister for Magic and nobody in this entire building who’s met me for more than ten minutes would ever question that.” Either Calleo had been thinking ahead or he hadn’t been remotely joking when he’d said it wasn’t nearly his first time playing this game.

“Well, apart from Director Yandle, but he’d figure it out quickly enough then not talk to me opting instead to stare in bewilderment for a few seconds before retreating to his office.”

“Fine by me, really; got two like that, one doesn’t mind if I tell others his name, the other absolutely does. The married couple likes to know but doesn’t typically have objections, apprehensions, of course, but no objections and–he was bothering you a bit for awhile, wasn’t he? Percival? Don’t mind him, he really is a dirty old man; does that stuff to get a rise–pun usually intended–out of someone.”

“This office is dreadful for that kind of thing; everything in here feeds off of energy,  magical, emotional, psychological and anything else it thinks it can get out of you and if you’re  used to having that happen, most people tend to panic. It’s possible but, people outside the field tend to get more than a little prickly about it” Calleo turned to give the antique, thread-bare sofa a critical look, “That’d probably just fall apart and send springs flying. Really ought to get it redone.”

Calleo then turned his judgey gaze back to the desk, “And I never recommend touching the wood on any part of that thing; got about a century and a half’s worth of blood soaked into it, it may actually be sentient at this point but hasn’t started moving on its own. Yet.”

“Your office, on the other hand may as well be an overly large flat; just move the table out of the way and tweak your anti-apparation wards to let me in and out with minimal noise. wards and nobody even has to have the slightest idea that I was there at all. Obviously wouldn’t see me either direction. Braxford’s got a good charm that kills light so effectively you can’t see a Fiendfyre in the middle of it. If ’m working late I put it around my open door and have it extend back a couple of feet so whoever it is is incredibly surprised to find someone there. Nice failsafe even if the door is locked.”

“Unless you don’t want to be here at all–I really have no strong opinions one way or another, I’m nothing if not accommodating.

Quite frankly, no; Cornelius did not want to see what happens to a body when it doesn’t die after a Kiss. He’d rather keep as far away from Azkaban and Dementors as possible. There were other people to do that job for him - he was just the one that told everyone else what to do. It was what he was supposed to do. But there was power with his job, and he would make sure this Auror didn’t waste any more of her time chasing down Calleo.

Even Cornelius isn’t stupid enough to believe that the Wizard has anything to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There were other people who worked in the Ministry who were a lot closer to the Dark Lord when he was around, and those people were the ones who should be watched. Calleo may surround himself with dark magic, but Cornelius was sure that he didn’t do anything that would constitute him as a dark wizard. 

As Calleo talked, Cornelius looked down at the three pieces of paper on the table that Calleo wanted him to read so desperately. Fudge tried to keep himself so far away from the subject of werewolves, he didn’t actually realise people cared so passionately for them. As far as Fudge was concerned, they were just creatures - monsters - that should be treated as such. It would take a long time, and Fudge may not even be in power to see the end of such a change… but if it meant closeness and intimacy… and if he never had to stand face to face with a werewolf… it might just be worth it.

It wasn’t bad to be a little selfish sometimes, was it? He could do something for the sake of a group of people if it meant that he got something out of it, couldn’t he?

The subject of the Dark Lord came up again and Cornelius shifted uncomfortably. He hated that idea; and he hated that Calleo had put the thought in his head too. What if he was right? What if someone else came along and tried to do what Voldemort did all those years ago and the werewolves joined that side? What if the werewolves came after him? It was a classic case of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer. 

Fudge nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Merlin, he didn’t realise he was so easy to scare.

“I don’t want money.” Fudge replied almost instantly. It wasn’t a money thing; he had plenty of it. The saying was true - money couldn’t buy happiness. He went red again at the mention of company. It made him feel a little pathetic; like a lonely man who has to do someone a favour just so he can get someone to be with him. It is pathetic, Fudge supposed. Calleo had a lot of leverage over him right now; he could bribe him into anything.

It seemed like Fudge was going to be just another notch on Calleo’s bedpost, and Calleo would be his… second? How embarrassing, but Calleo didn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway. “I know I  can’t sack you,” Fudge stated. He’d already looked into it. Calleo was too valuable to the Ministry - he knew too much. And he certainly knew too much about Fudge’s private life for him to be let go now. 

“How did you know?” Cornelius asked, his voice quiet now. His body language softer, arms uncrossed and by his side, like he’s relieved that a secret he’s been holding so close to his chest for so long is no longer there but out in the open; like a weight has been lifted from his chest. Was it that obvious though? That he liked men?

“No–” Fudge wanted it. God, he wanted it. “I’ll get that done.” He nodded. “When does this … agreement start?”

“Outreach, and not as a veil to try and distract from the fact that you’ll detain them or make sure everyone else now knows they’re a werewolf; that office does that and it drives them further and further away from feeling as though they belong.”

The Minister’s all but open dismissal of the short paper regarding lycanthropy and, wordlessly stood, walked around his desk and to the table the papers had been left, scooping them up in one fluid motion, following through to pin them between his hand and the Minister’s shirt, “It’s three. pages. Single sided. You’ll read it now.”

He hadn’t raised his voice any louder than he’d been speaking seconds prior, and nothing obvious had changed in his body language or movements. Calleo often moved with relative grace–in his own office, at any rate–there had been a distinct, albeit brief coldness flash across his eyes but perhaps it had been an illusion? They looked as they had a few seconds ago, and this time Calleo didn’t return to sit behind his desk.

He stood there, evidently fully intent on the Minister taking the time to read three pages of tested research.

“I do like that dynamic at the Ministry in general, the one where none of you outside this department can do anything to those of us down here unless someone snaps and starts picking off Muggles as they walk by the building on account of people threatening to do it then finding out that we only have to listen to the rest of you upstairs if we feel like it,” he ended with a sharp laugh and shook his head slightly.

“Have you ever played cards with someone who’s not familiar with the game that’s going on? And how they sort of try to mimic the other people around them so they won’t be found out as not having any idea what’s going on, but it never quite works for the people around who’ve got a lot of experience with the card game being played–and nobody says anything out of politeness?”

“It’s kind of like that. A put on personality isn’t all that convincing if you’re not into selling it and making it look real. People pick up on that, you know, then they start to get the idea that you're  disingenuously or hiding something. Have you considered your actual personality at any point?”

Calleo shrugged, “Well, that and the fact that nobody turns that shade of red during normal conversation or nineteenth century coded extra mild wording and you still looked you were about to die at the word company. Likely a good thing I didn’t say something vulgar; you might have fainted, and these are stone floors.”

That reminds me, though,“ he absently scratched the side of his head, “When I say company it’s fine to take it with or without implications; I haven’t got objections to either implications of the word. If you meant company company, however, this office? Not a good place for that, watch.”

Calleo, barely raising his voice to that of a standard loud talker, not a screaming child or normal indoor conversation levels, asked one question, “Director, how clearly can you hear me at this volume?”

“You could give me reports through the wall.” Not surprisingly, the voice was coming through the wall slightly muffled but still clear enough to be heard, “Put up your bunch of stealth and silencing charms if you trust anyone else in there not die. Or, better yet, go somewhere that’s less likely to try and rip someone’s throat out with teeth that only look as though they’re made of paper.”

After he’d finished the clearly mature behavior of someone in his 30s by making a rude gesture at the wall that shared its other side the director’s office.

“Unless you want to come back down here after everyone but Maintenance and I are gone I’m sure you have keys that leaves your office, somewhere else, or, the last director turned one little room into a small flat sometime before Director Yandle started working here. Looks like a time capsule, but it’s always been kept in good shape by the rest of the department.”

“Downside of that!” Were there any upsides to anywhere in the Ministry at this point? “Is that it takes a little over an hour to get down there and past the massive levels of security that will scan and rescan you several times.”

“First few levels aren’t too bad, it’s around level 5, just before it goes down again toward level 6, at which point you’re in the areas where things can kill you so, you know don’t touch anything without asking about it first because I do not want the paperwork that would go along with "Accidentally murdered the Minister”?

“More than three pages, I can tell you that much.”

“Or, if none of that pans out, there’s always Exfugio and several layers of silencing charms literally anywhere. Nobody sweeps for it; it’s an obscure old thing that’s, frankly, better than a standard disillusionment charm, which everyone sweeps for.”

The Minister is surprised at Calleo’s actions, and he blinks, silent for a moment at the pressing of the hand against his chest. Yes, there’s three pieces of paper in between it but it’s the most human contact he’s had in… a very long time. So Cornelius did as he was told (he was actually quite obedient when he became comfortable around somebody, and that was probably not the best quality for a Minister for Magic to have) and started to read the pages. 

There was a small frown on his face as he concentrated, occasionally mouthing the words as he reads, blocking out whatever it is that Calleo was saying for a moment - something about dynamics and how no one can fire people in his department. Fudge looked up again from the paper as Calleo answered his question about how obvious he was. That was another thing - similar to his lack of human contact, Cornelius could rarely remember a time where he was truly himself around somebody. The people he spent most of his time with were his employees - and they don’t need to see the full extent of his somewhat submissive, quiet and gentle nature. It’s not what he wanted others to see him as, especially when there were rumours going around about You-Know-Who being back and Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore being at the forefront of that. 

Not to mention how betrayed he’d felt by Dumbledore all those years ago. No - it’s always been a lot better to keep to himself. Until now. Cornelius was curious. “Would you like to see my actual personality?” He asked, amused at the thought, and his eyes flicked down to the papers again until Calleo asked him to watch. He was alarmed as he heard the Director’s response - had he heard everything they’d talked about?! - Cornelius decided it’s much better for them to spend time in his office. At least it’s away from everyone else’s offices. They’d have some privacy. 

Calleo continued to talk and Cornelius continued to read; the study was interesting and there was a part of him that was left a little more at ease with the idea of helping werewolves but he was still terrified of them. He bit his lip in thought.

'How much does it cost to brew the Wolfsbane potion?’ Cornelius asked. He wanted to sit down, to think about this more, but he was nervous to touch anything in this office considering what Calleo and the Director have already said. So he stayed standing, and realised that he was now quite close to the other wizard. They were certainly close enough for one person to put their hand on the other’s chest like before. He wanted to know what it would feel like without the papers – or clothing – between them. And his face went a little hot at the thought.

Calleo was right; the papers weren’t that long and it was just a study. Perhaps they could conduct a bigger one… to see if it’s unanimous across all werewolves… Would it make them like the Minister more? Would it keep him safer from them if he treated them less like Beasts and more like people?

“And there’s a block on this? A simple study? Did the departments read this at all or was it stopped before that?”

When Calleo moved away, he did so with what could have been interpreted as a light shove, had he not curled his fingertips  instead to make it a sharp, albeit still light shove.

“At the very least the divisions and offices that deal with werewolves need that as mandatory literature.”

“As for wolfsbane, cost for ingredients alone makes it out of the price range a werewolf could afford; it’s also difficult to brew, which also brings the cost up. Without anyone being willing to hire them, they have no money and can’t even afford a decent amount of clothes.”

Hey, at least he got the Minister to read the paper!

"That depends entirely on whether you mean what you’re like away from work or whether that’s just a bizarre nickname for parts of one’s anatomy.” Calleo leaned right back up against the desk he’d warned the Minister about.

Catching the look that followed the Director pointing out the walls are thin Calleo offered a lazy shrug in response. “Don’t worry about him. He’s mostly just needling–well, you right now. He could catch me in here with someone, ask for a file and I’d get it for him and he’d just walk right back out.”

“I do still think that you worry far to much about everything, you know. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days.”

He gave the Minister a few minutes to finish reading the paper.

“Going to venture a guess that you’re not all that keen on the crowded places in general which is just as well as I’m as well. Your office is probably nicer with the trade off of people. Everyone still does find your office easily.”

“The one a few levels down you have to know and remember which runes were lit this time them reenter once you want out. ”

“C'mon then.” Calleo reached out to grab a lapel or any part of the Minister’s jacket really. “You’re the one who went from ‘I have no idea why I’m here” to 'don’t care where we are just get on with it!’ In the span of about a minute. Your office or the basement office?“

"Your office at least has a decent skyline view and those two sofas I’m pretty sure rarely get used for anything at all.”

Yes, a werewolf couldn’t afford it but what Cornelius wanted to know was whether it would cost too much for the Ministry to provide it free of charge. He supposed it would only need to be created 12 times a year, and it could create more jobs for people. It was something he could consider. 

“No, I don’t have a nickname for any part of my anatomy,” Cornelius replied with a shake of his head. “I’m the Minister, it’s my job to worry.” Aside from burying his head in the sand when it came to the whole You-Know-Who issue, Cornelius spent most of his time worrying. Calleo was right; he’d end up in St. Mungos himself if he wasn’t careful.

Maybe he needed to relax a little. The thought of doing anything on those sofas made him flush again. Gosh, he couldn’t walk through the corridors of the Ministry with Calleo, completely red in the face.

“I think the basement office is probably the best idea right now,” he finally managed. This was actually happening, wasn’t it? Cornelius’s palms were sweating, hands shaking with nerves. He handed the papers back to Calleo. “Send me a copy of those later and I’ll see to it that the right people read it and do something to fix the issue.” Fudge tried to keep his voice as level and calm as possible.

“We can do my office another time.” This wasn’t what he’d expected when he walked into Calleo’s office, but Fudge certainly wasn’t going to start complaining.

Calleo caught the silence that followed the Wolfsbane information and explained further while checking over the office's door locks; it never was a good idea to have someone who didn't work in that department just wander in unsupervised.

"If they can't afford it, it's pointless to ask what it costs; it's less that the ingredients are expensive in and of themselves and more that the brewing process is so particular, specific, and complicated. It is not, however, anywhere near the cost or time put in that some of the other treatments provided for more socially acceptable illnesses treated--and sometimes treated long term or lifelong--by St. Mungo's."

"You know why they'd resist it or why the public would resist it, or even why the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures would push back on it." The door itself shut quickly enough that it ought to have made some kind of noise beyond complete silence. That must have been normal as Calleo didn't give it a second glance.

"The question," Calleo kept speaking as he walked past the Minister and toward the door on the far side of the room that, in contrast to the office door, had the look of something perfectly ordinary, "that needs to be asked isn't whether or not it's affordable but whether or not it'll be on your administration's legacy to have started changing policies, procedures, and societal misconceptions around them. We're talking about people here, not wild pest animals, and there are plenty of other much more dangerous creatures out there, some of which come into significantly more frequent contact with humans than werewolves ever do."

"Or," he shrugged at the door, "whether your administration will be remembered for stubbornly upholding a cruel status quo." When he fell silent, it wasn't to let words sink in or to give the Minister time to think about it, he was simply unlocking then setting up the triggers to close and to re-arm the door once they'd passed through it.

The door itself, an innocuous, plain looking thing--when someone without the key sigil set that allowed them to pass unobstructed or, at least, without the magic surrounding the area making itself visible as a reminder that it was there and the person who wasn't in possession of specific keys would do well to remember that. It didn't respond much to Calleo beyond a subtle shift in the energy of the room. 

When the door got it into its head that the Minister was a little too close without having been granted permission to be that close, the entire thing lit up along with the majority of the security magic that could now be seen so tightly knit against and around anything that could be potentially dangerous that the objects behind them were entirely obscured, taking on both the appearance and feel of something that knew it was allowed to do more than bite if the offending Other Person stepped too close.

Calleo, for his part, didn't seem to find that behaviour at all strange, though the automatic feel to his explanation seemed so well-rehersed that it was likely something he said multiple times per day.

"They didn't have any sort of security on this department for years, save for a lift that continually breaks down--knock it off--" the door got a small tap with the back of his hand. Better to make the unlocking mechanism as ambiguous and murky as possible; even the Minister wouldn't have what would be considered sufficient rights to access some areas of the department, and the fewer details he saw about how the place went into and came out of lockdown the better.

"Your Undersecretary, the one with the grating voice and all the pink, she's continually trying to make us remove it as 'not Ministry approved' and--" whatever Calleo had done beyond telling the door's security to "knock it off" did, in fact, cause the visible magic to fade and retreat from the doorway itself, "--made a complete and expensive mess of the place in the process of trying to let the Ministry approved contractor deal with it. She also doesn't like it when I tell her she's not Department of Mystery approved."

"You are the Minister for the moment, but it isn't your job to worry; that's why you have departments, directors, and advisors. It's your job to lead. It's their job to bring any potential snags in what you're planning to you so it can be discussed as to whether the concerns are valid or not and rework as necessary."

He remembered, somehow, to take a glance back and see if the Minister was following him or not, literally in this case, "You're going to want to keep up; the first three levels are mostly overlap with Records and are generally harmless. Beyond that, most of the department staff that disappear or die after a couple of years do it in here."

"Not as bad as the Brain Room's fatality numbers," muttered under his breath there, "They won't even label the wall outside of that room, let alone put up a door or even a magical reminder of "Warning: This room contains brains that will literally kill you." They just expect everyone to know and go with this, 'Oh, well, they DID walk into the Brain Room, and you have to expect to be killed by brains if you go into the Brain room.' sort of thing."

Whichever level they were at now seemed--ordinary, a bit like a section of a library and much less like a place that held anything that could be a danger for anything more than a paper cut.

At the top of one of the stairways leading to deeper levels, Calleo turned around to face the Minister, "Do you really not recognise the name Percival Graves? You're old enough that you ought to at least remember it from the first European Magical History books revised and republished after that war if you're going to try and tell me you're under eighty."

He turned, stepping off to the side and gesturing for the Minister to walk in front of him, "I used to keep people walking behind me after this level, until I realised that the majority of them couldn't manage to not try and touch things that were trying to lure them into touching; that's how nasty curses spread and also how you lose fingers, hands arms, heads blood--and I hate cleaning up blood, when that happens down here it's this awful, detailed, time consuming process as half of what's in here can completely ruin your life if it gets any of it absorbed."

"Assuming you don't die in the process." The shrug wasn't physical but clearly present in his voice. "It's also a lot of extra paperwork that I don't really have the time to deal with so--anything that's on a shelf from this point on? If it looks at you, don't make eye contact. If it talks to you, ignore it, don't even turn to look at it. Nothing can reach you from the shelves if you stay in the center of the corridor but, as a reminder, don't. touch. anything. Nothing in here is as sweet and cloying as it plays at being, that's how it lures people who don't know what it is."

"You know what? Just put your hands in whatever pockets you've got and leave them there for now. The only other person in this entire building I'd even remotely trust to be down past Level Four without extensive supervision is the Director."

Once the Minister had walked past him--and if he didn't, he might find out how quickly Calleo would and could move him, this was his element, after all--and Calleo stepped away from the staircase landing a door that had not strictly been there prior came into view and promptly locked itself down as though it moonlighted as an Azkaban cell door.

"Director thinks the last Director lived down here. He never saw her leave, and he never saw her arrive in the lifts, not that that means much, there are two different ways out of here once you get down to the lowest level so she could have just been coming in that way."

Calleo remained pleasantly conversational, describing little things about the Archives. "He says she worked down here most of the time too, which does seem like a good way to avoid having to deal with anyone else at the Ministry; if someone doesn't know how to safely get down here they either have the common sense to turn around or they press on and either get extremely lucky or extremely dead."

Could he hear the entire room whispering a confusing mix of thousands of things? Most likely, he'd mentioned to the Minister to ignore any suggestions that seemed to be coming from shelves or specific books, after all. Whatever the eerie background noise it made, if it affected Calleo in the slightest, there was no outward sign.

With the way he was talking, one might have had the impression that he viewed everything in the place as completely harmless, provided you knew how to handle it. The air, especially as the level numbers increased, would have been stifling, almost suffocating and oppressive to most who weren't used to Dark Magic in general or not used to being around massive, close quarters concentrations of it.

He had been correct, however, in stating that nothing could reach them at the center of the corridor, though several things could get alarmingly close before being snapped back to its respective spot on the shelf, "Level five is the worst, it's where the majority of the texts on Blood Magic are, and everything bites. Some of them actually have to be fed or the paper and leather starts decaying. We typically use chickens for that. Hate it when it's my turn on that rotation."

"It's not difficult," Calleo turned a lazy gaze to one particularly movement filled shelf, "it's more that they know and if you think they're acting out now you should see them when there's actual, easy to get blood and you can't just throw it onto everything, that'd cause a lot of damage, we've got these long--ladles for lack of a better word."

"Some of them," He didn't expect the Minister to notice which ones, "have to be at least given a little--snack daily; the older it is, the more frequently it needs to be fed before it starts falling apart and some of these are the only copies left so they absolutely get fed until someone here has the time to finish transcribing them. Even then, they'll still get fed; I'm good at exact copies, right down to the magic woven into the pages and ink, but there are a few that can't be fully replicated due to the way the original author wrote it."

There was a good chance that the poor Minister had checked out and had no interest in Calleo affectionately talking about genuinely horrible magic and its care and maintenance, though seemed awfully cheerful about it all; he certainly hadn't been exaggerating about how long it took to get to the buried little flat on the lowest level.

"Don't listen to anything on Level 6. Department of Mysteries recently had me weed through some cluttered storeroom to separate out actually cursed things from horcruxes awhile back, and the horcruxes that had been attached to books are on Level 6."

"They're very friendly; the primary passive way of resurrection is to simply take over someone else's mind, kill the person living in it, and settle in to a new-to-the living body. That's why they're friendly, they want you to get to know them, befriend them, listen to them talk about how unfairly they were maligned in their first life, and won't you please sit and chat awhile, because they're all so lonely."

Calleo flashed a grin at one of the shelves as they passed, "I know six people on that shelf; thought they'd died anywhere between 1982 and 1990 and I might have something nice to say about them if four of them hasn't inconveniently died while still owing me several thousand galleons and two hid books of mine they'd borrowed behind fidelius charms. They're the secret keepers, they just don't want to tell me."

He shrugged lightly then laughed far, far too cheerfully, "Legilimency and Mensrapere for the most stubborn ones work well enough on them it's more a matter of finding the time to do it and it's technically a personal project. This level is why a high level of skill with Occlumency is a job requirement; it blocks most of them from being able to do any real damage, though you have to adjust how you're using Occlumency to keep them out as how a horcrux will 'talk' to you in your mind is different than someone just using Legilimency."

"I talk to people using Legilimency all the time, and I've had one of those things try to worm its way into my head; completely different feeling. Kind of like--if you've never stuck your hand into dirty dish water and had food brush across your hand, that comparison probably won't work. Maybe--it feels kind of like stepping in a puddle and not being able to dry your socks because Muggles are around so you just have to live with the gross, wet sock feeling for awhile."

"Oh hey!" Calleo laughed again, this time taking a good thirty seconds to regain control of himself, "I just thought of another reason I don't mess about in my office; there are six people who live on the desk. All those paperweights, those are people. There's a branch of Transfiguration that falls under the Dark Arts, you know--" he shook his head, "If I'm ever talking to myself in there, I'm not, I'm talking to the lot of them. They can hear, see, and feel everything going on around them but they can't react to it as they'd been turned into various inanimate objects by someone who is either unknown or long dead and the original caster is required to reverse it when it's modified like that. But hey, that's another thing--"

This time, Calleo stepped forward quickly enough to make a grab for the Minister's shoulder either to get him to turn around or to turn him around, "Do you have any idea how many times I've purposely made appointments with the Wizengamot to petition to allow a killing curse to be used as a mercy in those cases? Some of those people have been stuck like that since the late eighteenth century, and will remain trapped until something 'kills' the object they were transfigured into and bound to. Every time it's brushed aside in a way I can only describe as, 'That's an interesting story, but we'll still send you to Azkaban if you kill them'."

"You know that's not right. I know the lot of you know that you're keeping them condemned to be trapped like that because they're still technically alive. They an speak to anyone who can use Legilimency and have been repeatedly denied that, as it seems like some of you think it's just me doing a puppet show of sorts."

"You bypass the Wizengamot frequently enough to sign off on things you've barely skimmed, you all but admitted that earlier. Even the one that's been permanently transfigured for the shortest amount of time has been there since 1976. Nobody deserves a fate like that but I'm not about to risk Azkaban--that's an entirely different kettle of bees there."

"We're switching positions for Level 7." Evidently, they were also switching conversation topics as well. "Even you don't technically have clearance to be on Level 7. It's only me, Director Yandle, the head of the Department of Mysteries, and four Unspeakables."

Calleo gave the Minister a pat on the cheek as he passed him, "For both legal and personal accountability reasons, I'm going to remind you to not touch anything, don't look at anything either--you could lose your eyes if you look at the wrong book here, there are about fifteen that have that type of warding built into them--whatever you think you hear, see, smell, or feel, ignore it, it's just the residuals that magic leaves in its wake. All magic does it, it's just easier to feel the Dark sort as it enjoys making itself known."

"They all know me on this level" Calleo had perked up again and occasionally paused what he was telling the Minister to greet a few of the more polite texts. "Nothing down here meets the full criteria for sentience, and it's sort of the Gerald principle; when magic is set up to speak it's usually also set up to be able to learn so it can give more lifelike answers and conversation as it ages. Trouble is, after a certain point, most will start looping as they hit capacity or, worse, people mistake a horcrux for elaborate charms work and end up in a bit of a state or dead over it."

They had passed a narrow, dark corridor that, if one squinted, had a door at the end of it, likely because Calleo's attention was more on the work he loved despite nearly anyone else being of the opinion that it should be destroyed and forgotten.

"This one at the end, though, Æterna Discruciare, there are two copies of it that exist that aren't reprints; the other is in a private collection, and if you don't think I've been trying to get my hands on it for years you'd be wrong--and not to archive it, to keep it. I'll get it eventually, I always do in the end."

The book at the end of the hallway did not--leave a pleasant feeling in the air. The closer one got to it, the colder and heavier the atmosphere became. For all appearances it looked as though Calleo simply laid a hand on its questionably sourced leather cover, ignoring wispy tendrils of black tinged red that coiled themselves around his fingers, hand and wrist, "I've had the necessary permits done  to keep it if I can get it--the private collection one, of course, this one is Ministry property, aren't you?"

Apparently, it was all right for Calleo to talk to the books. The book itself shifted in a manner that looked somehow unpleasant, as though it were trying to disappear from where it had been chained--both magically and with the standard type of chains that were reinforced with magic--down and shut.

"You're not dangerous in the right hands," his fingers carefully traced through the ornate gilt on the cover and spine; whatever the book had wound around Calleo's fingers, hand and wrist moved with him becoming slowly less red and more shadowy, eventually it balled itself up and left the book entirely to sit wound around Calleo's left hand and arm. The chains now politely released and moved out of the way, and Calleo simply picked the book up, turning back to face the Minister.

"See how easy that was?" His smile had an affectionate edge to it, though it seemed to be aimed at the book he was now holding. "They're only dangerous if you haven't been taught how to handle them they way they like to be handled or if you're not respectful of what they're capable of."

"Æterna Discruciare is one of my favourites, you know. A good lot of modern theory foundation where the Dark Arts are concerned can be traced back either this or Maledictum Coerceri." Carefully, he opened the cover of Æterna Discruciare, but when one of the pages he touched actively tried to pull itself away, Calleo simply closed the cover again.

"Not in the mood I guess." He chuckled, "I'd show you where Maledictum Coerceri is kept but I don't want to deal with Greg today. Greg is nice for getting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to get hauls from raids down so we can process them. His name is--" Calleo waved his hand and the terrible, unpronounceable name appeared in the air: "Gqnjcvwryzmpxng".

"Says the human tongue is too large and not forked enough to say it correctly, tough I can do it if I just transfigure my own into something more--summonable Imp looking. Gives me an awful lisp though, and he did say I could just call him Greg."

Calleo, by this point, had likely clearly forgotten that most other people found the work he did horrifying at best or completely incomprehensible but still wrong at worst. At least he remembered the Minister was still there.

"Being down here is like recharging a battery, you know--part of why it's so addictive," absently, he moved his fingers to move with whatever magic it was he'd peeled from the book. "It's nice though, the burn and the rush that comes after it. She's being polite today," he nodded to both the book he was holding and the magic wound around my hand, "not even touching my hand. Always quiet and cooperative when I'm working with her, you know; positively vicious to most other people."

He leaned down to almost affectionately touch his nose to the book's cover. Evidently numerous past statements Calleo had made about usually being the first to rub his face all over something cursed weren't too far from the truth.

"You're perfectly lovely, as long as whoever's got their hands on you knows what they're doing, aren't you?" The book's pages fluttered in response, "Not here for studying at the moment, though I'm taking you with me when we go back to the main level."

That must have been some kind of cue as the magic wound around Calleo's hand and wrist unwound itself and spread back over the covers and spine of the book itself; once laid back on its section, the chains and wards designed to forcibly keep it there reignited.

"She's my favourite," Calleo grinned at the Minister, "Anyway, we passed the hallway to the weird studio flat, it's that narrow dark one that looks like it leads to either a void or a door depending on the angle. Nothing down here appreciates Lumos or bright lights in general, if you hadn't noticed. It's why the lights are kept low in my office as well."

"What I like about this bizarrely located flat is that it'll wall off the corridor if people are in there and to anyone who doesn't know where it is it just looks like a blank section of wall." The sound of stone locking into place seemed to confirm that, even if it wasn't readily visible.

Inside the door, the flat itself was--normal.

Just a normal studio flat. Unlike everything else on the way own here this room, apart from a decent set of locks on the door, was perfectly, utterly normal.

Small kitchen, small bathroom, one entire other room that had a bed behind a floor standing screen and a sofa, two matching chairs, and an old wood, coffee mug ring stained table between them.

"Still nicer than that flat I lived in in Knockturn for awhile in 1979. Could probably take a holiday here and nobody would notice!"

Calleo almost immediately draped himself across one of the chairs, "Pavidus is the easiest one to deal with, so that's an expectation here; you keep her off my back--and I don't care how you do it, a strongly worded memo about wasting Ministry resources, or sack her, it doesn't matter to me either way, as long as she stops making my life annoying." Another grin.

"I don't expect you'll gain much ground with the Werewolves at this point in time, but just putting the idea there and stopping the department from putting more restrictions on them--that's where I'd think you'd want to focus."

"And for the 'desk ornaments'," that shrug didn't look much like one considering he'd draped himself across a faded, old leather recliner, "if you can't sidestep the Wizengamot, look the other way and let me let them go."

Now, he grinned, upside down, much like he did back in the Minister's office weeks ago, "Keep me content, don't go off half cocked on those three things---you're a politician, you know how it works and you know how to get around absurd objections--and you'll have your regular company."

"Or, in a shorter turn of phrase: Keep me happy and I'll keep you company. Shouldn’t be difficult; I’m extraordinarily low maintenance."

"As long as it's not physically impossible, I can probably do it and, honestly, probably already have at some point in my life; same rules I have for a duel for the most part: Nothing lethal within twelve hours of a hit, nothing permanently disfiguring, nothing permanently debilitating, anything else dittany will usually take care of it."

"That sounds indecisive, I know," he snickered at himself, "but it's really not, it's more that between five different partners being pretty versatile is necessary and when it's someone new I have no idea what they're into or what they're comfortable doing so I just--adjust as we go."

"So, how do you want to do this? Anything specific in mind? I can adjust what I'm doing, my attitude--so to speak--and I can almost guarantee that nothing you suggest will approach anything I'd consider strange or off putting." He stretched like a horrible ginger cat, "I can follow your lead unless you think you'll freeze in place, you can follow my lead, Or, if you had something specific in mind I doubt I'd have difficulty picking up on it."

That--all may have giving the distinct impression that Calleo was not exaggerating in the slightest when he told Cornelius earlier in the day that he knew damn well what the implications of quid pro quo were, and was well versed in navigating those waters.

That was the answer the Minister needed - it was easier to deal with than some other treatments provided at St Mungo’s and if it meant that Werewolves were more likely to be on his side, and not eat him should they wish to … then it had to be worth it. And Calleo was playing to his ego now - about his administration’s legacy, he allowed himself to daydream a little bit. He could be a hero. Or, it could all be a disaster. 

This must have been a reason why the Ministry couldn’t sack Calleo; he seemed to know an awful lot about how to get around things, how to deal with dark magic and it was certainly impressive. Fudge felt more and more like he was just winging it the more time he spent around Calleo. 

“I’m going to guess you were in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts?” The comment came out of nowhere, but it had to be said. The intelligence, the wit: it just made sense. 

The comment about Umbridge made Fudge roll his eyes. Of course, she had tried to get involved with something that wasn’t anything to do with her. Afterwards, she’d tell Cornelius that she was doing it for him, so she could make sure he knew everything that was going on in the Ministry, but as Calleo told him he needed to stay close and people had died down here, Cornelius was beginning to realise there were things about the Ministry he’d rather not know about. Like the Brain Room.

“Well considering what you’ve told me about people dying down here, I think I’ve more cause to worry now.”

Fudge tried to stay as close to Calleo as possible. He wanted to reach out and grab hold of the other wizard so he didn’t lose him. This wasn’t the start he’d expected. The comment about his age made him laugh lightly. That was strange. Cornelius couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed. 

“Yes, I know who he is. I just hadn’t expected the comment about him.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at Calleo as he gestured for the Minister to go in front. “This isn’t a trick to push me into something and then have me die, is it?”

It was a joke, mostly, but he hoped it wasn’t going to happen. Calleo had talked a lot about Cornelius dying. That wasn’t sexy at all; it was actually quite frightening. The whole place just sounded like he shouldn’t be down here at all. It sounded like no one should be down here. Fudge looked over his shoulder at Calleo, clear concern on his face now. Yikes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and held tightly onto the material inside so he didn’t get tempted to touch anything. 

Of course, being told not to do something made it difficult to resist, especially as things seemed to be talking to him, and it was all so tempting to look at things. He was curious. Thankfully, Calleo was talking continuously and Fudge did his best to focus on that instead as they walked through the corridors. 

“Why does this place exist?” He couldn’t help but muse out loud. This whole place was terrifying. Fudge wished they’d just gone to his office now. Dark magic, blood magic … things biting, having to feed chickens to books. It was all bizarre. “I’ve never heard of half of this stuff. Do we have to go to Level 6?” Fudge didn’t like the idea of something trying to take over his mind, kill him, and take his body too. He got the lonely part, though. 

“I never learnt either,” he admitted, when the subject changed to Occlumency and Legilimency. There was a lot Fudge hadn’t learnt, it seemed. Fudge’s walking came to a halt when Calleo mentioned there were people that were paperweights listening to their conversation.

“So now there’s you, the Director, and six more people that know?!” His voice got a little too high pitched for his liking. Fudge ended up being turned around by Calleo and he could only manage to blink in response to what he heard. There was a lot, it seemed, that Cornelius didn’t pay attention to. “Can’t you just… smash the thing?” He asked. He hadn’t been to the Wizengamot when Calleo was there. Perhaps he’d make a trip next time, just to hear him out. “You forget, though, that it’s not just up to me to make laws change. It takes time, debates…” He wasn’t sure that was enough to stop Calleo talking about the issue. Was that another thing that formed part of their deal?

The pat on the cheek was unexpected, and he flushed a little again. When was the last time someone had so casually touched him like that? He wanted more of it, even if he was a little put off right now given their surroundings. 

Fudge watched with curiosity and a little horror as Calleo talked to the books and touched them. What if something happened to him and it felt Cornelius down here all by himself? How was he going to get out? 

“This isn’t what I expected to come across, given what I thought we were coming down here to do.” Yes, Cornelius was actually horrified at what Calleo was doing. He couldn’t do this job; he could only just about do his own. “Can we… keep going?” He finally asked. 

And then they reached the flat and Cornelius felt himself relax so much more. This was more like it: normality.

He took his hands out of his pockets and flexed his fingers to prevent any cramp he’d gotten from holding on too tightly to the insides of his pockets.

“I’ll deal with her.” Fudge nodded. That was easy. The other two would take some more time, but he’d do his best. He watched Calleo with curiosity around the way he sat and couldn’t stop the small smile that came to his lips. Cornelius felt a lot more at ease down here, just the two of them, than he did when he was in Calleo’s office. 

Cornelius moved from the door to the couch and sat down next to Calleo. He figured he might as well be honest about a few things first. The other wizard had talked about how many partners he had - five in total - and that was four more than Fudge had ever been with. It was pathetic, really. 

“I’ve a confession to make,” he started. It was strange, how trusting he suddenly felt of Calleo. “I’ve, um, only ever been with one person. And– h– he… he hurt me quite a bit.” Getting that he out was hard, but he finally managed it. “It was a while ago, years actually, but with nobody to really talk to about what happened I suppose I might not have fully gotten over it.”

He looked down at where Calleo was lying. “And he was the one leading so I think I’d prefer right now if you’d do that. Once I’m comfortable, I suppose we could change it up to make it interesting.’ He fidgeted a little on the couch, trying to relax a little more. This was fine, everything was fine.

“I’m not a bad person, you know.” He added. “At least, I don’t think I am. I don’t try to be a bad person. Being Minister is a difficult job, there are a lot of tough decisions to make and people to keep happy and… it’s lonely. You’re obviously very comfortable with yourself – who you are, your interests in people – my father was a Muggle and considering the time I grew up in he was very vocal about his feeling towards men who like other men and that, I suppose, is still instilled in me even though he’s no longer around.”

It was quite nice, actually, to have somebody to talk to about all this. He felt like his guard was coming down, and he was relaxing, opening up, showing his real personality. “Take the reigns, would you? Show me how you’ve managed to get five partners at once.”

Surprisingly, Calleo was able to completely interrupt his excited explanations of the different areas of the archives to, somehow without breaking the train of thought or cadence of what he was saying, answer the Minister's questions.

"Mm, I was; good lot of my friends were in Slytherin. Director's from Hufflepuff. The other three Archivists I pulled from Durmstrang after a string of completely unqualified or otherwise unpleasant people from the UK applied."

Between explanations of what amounted to 'Keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times' of various, winding corridors, he continued to explain that, "Let the Director hire a friend and all that guy wanted to do was posture and try to fight me because he had some sort of problem reporting to someone 30 years younger, and I ended up telling him he could either resign or I could kick him out myself, as he was my direct report. Idiot resigned."

"Trouble is, there aren't many qualified people here because Hogwarts isn't allowed to teach even Defence in a way that's useful. That, and there’s something wrong with that position, it’s not normal to have to replace a professor every single year; if it’s not a curse, it’s at least a jinx." Another shrug.

As it was, he chose to not acknowledge the common things anyone in the department heard from people whose knowledge of the Dark Arts consisted mainly of: Bad. Icky. No. Burn it. It was nothing he hadn't heard before anyway and, as it was part of the Department of Mysteries, there wasn't much he had to be concerned about the Minister doing anyway. He could try, certainly, but whether or not there would be compliance was an entirely different matter. Explanations and insistence that none of it was nearly as dangerous as the paranoia drummed into the heads of most of the Wizarding world had led them to believe if one simply learned or was taught to handle it safely often fell on deaf ears.

"I can't just smash them, that would only keep them alive but also now in a bunch of tiny pieces I'd have to keep track of, it'd be like you telling me you had a headache and I decided the best way to fix that would be to shatter your kneecaps; they need to be properly killed. The sort that severs your spirit's connection from your physical body, and that is generally illegal."

"I'm not asking you to change the law anyway, I'm asking you to either bypass it with a very specific order or simply look the other way. Half the Wizengamot can't even figure out how marked card decks and disappearing-without-magic-pens work, I wouldn't expect most of them to understand any sort of nuance anyway."

Passively, Calleo watched the Minister mostly calm down at being out of view of the lower level of the Archives. All things considered, his own relaxed posture and lack of even looking remotely on edge might have given the indication that he'd fully decided that Cornelius Fudge was absolutely no threat to him in any possible way. And Calleo only ever came down to this room to work uninterrupted during the day, so he was more than used to both the walk down and the room itself, "You know there are two back stairways out of the Ministry down here, yeah? Doesn't do you much good to come in that way unless you've got keys to the rest of the Archives though or you'd just be stuck on Level 7, which is where we are now. Lets us leave when the lift breaks, though."

His ears perked up at the word 'confession', confessions were typically interesting little bits of gossip, after all. This one, to Calleo at least, was more of a typical conversation topic than a confession; he often did forget that most people weren't open books about various aspects of their personal lives (and that those same people likely often wished he wasn't either).

"Tried to kill you, hm?" Calleo also seemed to have completely forgotten that when most people made a comment like that, all they meant is that they were treated badly or it ended badly and 'badly' for most people didn't mean 'attempted murder'. Most other peoples' normal was significantly more normal than that. "Had three in a row try that on me; fourth one turned some Muggle into a spider in my living room then smashed the guy with a shoe--so he's in Azkaban and I'm still amazed I didn't get a ghost out of it. Wood's still stained on that table, though."

"Knife," Calleo pulled his hair back from the left side of his neck and turned slightly, "though the one she left isn't really visible over the newer one that's there." There was a distinct 'center' to what was there, and while it went in a curved, thin line from just behind his left ear and disappearing under the collar of his shirt, around it--and from the look of it, around his entire neck like a piece of permanent jewelry--was more scarring that looked purposely done in repeating patterns that looked like stylised leaves. That, he didn't elaborate on.

"The second one just showed up and would have probably hit me with the killing curse hello had I been in bed but, as impossibly good luck would have it, I'd fallen asleep on the sofa; still don't sleep in that room, and we actually get along fine now. Still can't pronounce his name correctly but that IS a step up from having been in a relationship for 8 months and not knowing it." Calleo blinked a couple of times, seemingly realising that made him sound like a bit of a dick. "It's not--I don't speak Polish, and he didn't speak any English, and we didn't talk all that much due to that."

"Third one, I just got tired of it as it was mostly a lot of amazingly violent fighting so after I told her it was over, she sent me a box of cursed jewelry and a twenty-six minute long Howler that opened with 'Why aren't you dead yet?'" Calleo laughed, "That's how she greets me now! Married someone in records, has four kids under six, I don't know when she finds time to sleep. Still has keys to my house and usually drops by to borrow books now an again. Linda is a lovely woman who is currently living my personal version of Hell so it's probably a good thing that one didn't work out."

"Found out a few years after the fourth one that the first one had taken 'nobody can have you if I can't' literally and had done a little work with blood magic," he shrugged again, "Only part of that that really bothered me was she caused someone to land in Azkaban and could have ended up getting two other people killed. When it was removed, it was reworked and sent back to her which I didn't realise until she turned up at my house again to demand I leave with her then--just couldn't use magic at all when she tried!"

"What'd yours do?" Surprisingly, Calleo did wait for an answer before he kept talking. If nothing else, the fact that Calleo's mind jumped straight to attempted murder and completely skipped over more mundane reasons for a relationship ending on bad terms was telling.

Calleo managed, with some difficulty, to not roll his eyes when the Minister went off on the, 'I'm not a bad person' bit; it wasn't the first time he'd heard that in general, especially when dealing with someone who worked in government. A good lot of them had their personal and political lives so tangled that, for many, it looked inseparable.

"Don't confuse your job with you; any issues I have are with the policies you're backing and the problems at the Ministry that are being ignored for one reason or another that can probably all be traced back to the Malfoy family's Gringott's account." He canted his head, likely trying to figure out exactly how old the Minister was; he hadn't denied being under 80 earlier but he was also mostly busy being horrified by the worst possible basement library out there.

"I'm sure you're terribly surprised to learn that I collect antique books," Odd start to a response after being told about someone's generally unpleasant sounding father, "but, in particular, I collect antique Muggle medical and 'social etiquette' books from the mid-19th century to about 1918 or so and there's one that always stuck out. Most of them have the same nonsense on that topic, but one had this entire section suggesting that, should you ever be stuck in the same room with another man and couldn't avoid sleeping to essentially keep a cast iron pan with you to crack his skull if you even thought he was looking at you sideways."

"That's an impressive level of paranoia right there. Just go sleep outside if you're that worried about it--that particular hypothetical took place on a moving train but, my suggestion is still the same: Go sleep outside."

"On the other hand, that same author had an entire chapter devoted to telling women if they laugh too much they'll end up having whatever the face of a giggler is and everyone will think they're ugly, so he might have just been a bit like your father: full of objectively bad opinions with no basis in reality or fact in general."

"So," now his head tilted the other way, "since I'm not about to pop upstairs to Records and find out, how old are you, exactly? Just a matter of idle curiosity and I know better than to guess ages since Director Yandle had me guess his for a laugh. Even taking into account that he's had a job at the Ministry since 1927, I was off by a few decades."

For a far too long moment, Calleo just sort of stared at the last thing the Minister had said to him, almost as though it didn't register at first what he had asked.

"That's less of a show and more of a tell, mate! They're all wildly different in that regard. Two I've known since school and one of those two I've had a relationship with since Fifth year; when he met his now wife he told her that he was part of a package deal and her reaction ran along the lines of 'hell yeah, a two-for-one!'. Exactly what it is, too! They've been married for awhile now and we're still a trio."

"Other one prefers keeping their private life private, so it's kept private. Viciously good with curse work though!" That probably wasn't something he should have flashed a grin over; it almost seemed involuntary.

"Then there's Hebridean Black! That's--not actually his name, it's just the code name he figured out he was given sometime around 1915 since he was good at keeping who he was completely hidden and the main reason he occasionally pops up in a history book or two is because of the level of," Calleo paused for a moment, "I don't even like to call it aggression; I don't necessarily believe those dragons are aggressive either, just--sort of defensively aggressive, and if you're not bothering or threatening them, it's not an issue."

"Known him all my life, still don't know his name. Not sure anyone does, but I have seen his face. In fairness, so have a lot of other people, though they don't tend to know who he is; learned a lot of my scorched earth level offensive dueling techniques from him. When he's not working, as it were, he's very quiet and soft," He stopped again and looked around the room for a good, solid minute, "And, since I haven't received a portkey-letter that's mostly on fire, I'll assume that amount of information was acceptable to bring up. Not going to push my luck on that one though!"

"And then,for reasons of plausible deniability for yourself as I certainly don't need it due to being anything but quiet about it, there's Percival Graves." Mercifully, Calleo wasn't the type to actually use air quotes but the heavy emphasis on that false name more than made up for it.

"Known him since 1987 and before you ask, it's definitely not illegal; I read over the entire sentencing document several times and ran it by one of my Goblin business partners to make sure any loopholes in it were beneficial loopholes and not loopholes that were going to get me arrested. Not entirely certain that keeping the wolpertinger is strictly legal but, what are they going to do to him? Put him in--double-prison? Move him to a nicer one with better lighting?"

“We’ve ended up extremely close on several levels, which was unexpected, but it’s nice; he’s incredibly affectionate and tactile which works out well as I’ll typically either wind myself around other people if they let me and vice versa; just in case you might have been wondering if it was necessary for you to sit halfway across the room from me.”

"Five at once sounds more like something he'd have been getting up to though, probably more than that, I've been told most of that propaganda had a strong basis in reality!"

"Turns out we know a lot of the same people, though he's at least been kind enough not to mention if any of it would have been something one of my relatives was into." Whenever Calleo should explain something further, it seemed as though he simply didn't; at least he was kind enough to counter it by letting his train of thought wander off the rails for completely mundane reasons.

"I don't know that I did much of anything to get all five of them apart from them somehow not finding my personality incredibly grating. Okay, to be entirely fair, one was--well, still is--a literal captive audience but still...and he definitely finds my personality grating at times, especially if I call him a captive audience or ask if he saw something coming, but I don't fit through the cell window so he can't exactly make good on those 'will throw you out the window' threats anyway!"

“He really is lovely though, despite the litany of war crimes; isolation and being forcibly denied the ability to use magic--he’s not the same person he was, that’s evident by simply talking to him. I wouldn’t drop him for anything; I wouldn’t drop any of them for anything.”

The affectionate laugh that followed that statement faded into a half smile and Calleo shook his head slightly, "You don't want to see any of that though; a good lot of it would very likely make you want to take your chances with the books on the other side of the door."

"Hell, a good lot of it is from the books on the other side of the door, and the rest of it?" Whether Calleo shrugged or the motion was simply from him pushing himself into a more upright position wasn't exactly clear, "The rest of it's for other people. There's always some overlap when it comes to things I'm all right having done to me because I'm a consistent factor there. Where other people are concerned, I've still never met two who are similar enough that I could even begin to simply do the exact same thing."

"If I do, all that's going to leave you with is the distinct, unshakable feeling that my mind had to be elsewhere and if you thought you were a strung out, cornered wreck before walking through three levels of books with terrible manners, it'll be worse when that hits."

"I wouldn't intentionally do that to anyone; it's cruel and despite the type of magic with which I work, despite the calibre of people it puts me in close contact and close working relationships with," Calleo, for a fleeting moment, just looked tired, "despite the majority of the magic itself being what causes those who use it to become what they become, despite the fact that I spent years that I still don't clearly remember in those positions and mindsets, despite all of it--the department, the published works, the vicious public stigma of working with the Dark Arts, I'm--just not that sort of person."

"And I know what that isolation feels like; the way it cuts through everything, and leaves you in the impossible position of wanting to break it and not wanting to risk breaking it breaking yourself in the process. I'm not going to contribute to it because I know it."

Calleo was relatively certain that the Minister would likely take all of that as an overly long rejection so, out of caution, immediately moved on from the topic. That sharp-edged but somehow not unfriendly grin returned and he leaned back just a bit, motioning for the Minister to come a bit closer, "What I can show you is both how to make that father of yours spin in his grave even on the off chance that he's not been dead for a few decades, and make you forget about work for awhile."

"Sound good?"

At least there was a way out of this place; that put Fudge at ease a little bit. He was about to protest that no, his ex hadn’t tried to murder him but Calleo continued and instead, Cornelius listened in almost horror about the terrible encounters Calleo had had. How was it possible that this man had been with so many people? Fudge supposed it was to do with his downright confidence. Calleo didn’t seem to care what anybody thought of him, and Cornelius was a little envious about that.

“Merlin, Calleo!” He exclaimed when he was shown the scar, his eyes wider and lips parted. It sounded like the other wizard had dated some terrible people, considering one was in Azkaban now. Fudge hated that place; it always left him feeling a little worse for wear and it took time to get over just how depressed he felt after a visit. He couldn’t imagine living there permanently. 

“She has a point,” Fudge teased - Fudge actually teased! - with a small laugh. “Although I guess my question is how aren’t you dead yet, not why, considering what you’re telling me right now.”

“It’s difficult to not confuse the two. I’ve basically become my job these past few years. Before I was Minister, it was a lot easier to separate them but even then I was always the first person in the office in the morning and the last to leave at night. Sometimes I didn’t leave at all. I rarely go home, even now, and that’s only to get a spare change of clothes so it doesn’t look like I’ve slept in mine. There’s not much point in going home when you’ve not got anybody to go home to.”

Cornelius didn’t realise how truly pathetic that sounded until he’d said it, and he hoped that Calleo wouldn’t judge him too much but he was feeling a little better from opening up more. Fudge couldn’t recall if he’d ever told that to anybody before. He essentially lived in his office.

"And Al–… my, I suppose we’ll call him my ex, he didn’t physically hurt me although I’m surprised he didn’t try to, or hasn’t tried to considering how I behave around him now. It was more of a – you’re too concerned for how people perceive you, type thing. A ‘people have too much power over you because you let them’ thing – which I can’t even deny because look at the two of us.” Fudge pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If Calleo could be so open about who he was sleeping with (at least with telling him who some of the people were), he supposed he could share his own. “Imagine what the Prophet would say if they found out that Albus Dumbledore broke the Minister’s heart?”

“I’m 52.” Fudge continued, glad to be changing the subject. “So it’s good to know I’m not the oldest person you’ll have been with.” Considering Percival Graves was a lot older than that. “And the last time someone touched me other than when they shook my hand was…” He let out a breath. “I can’t even remember.”

Cornelius moved closer to Calleo when he’s beckoned, and couldn’t help but smile at the idea of making his Muggle father turn in his grave. Forgetting about work would be a nice change too. 

“Yeah that sounds good.” And since Calleo had motioned for him to come closer, Cornelius decided to close the final gap between them by nervously pressing his lips against the other’s. He let out a shaky breath through his nose and placed a hand on Calleo’s shoulder to steady himself and tried to focus on the kissing and not the way his stomach was in knots or how his heart was thumping far too hard in his chest he could feel it in his ears. 

“I hope that was okay,” he mumbled shyly once he’d pulled away, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy again and not like he actually ran an entire wizarding community. Calleo had experience under his belt.

“Oh, I like this one,” Calleo tapped his neck, “rest of it was done with a lit cigarette; couldn’t really turn my head for a few days and found I definitely prefer healing magical burns to traditional ones.” Again, he didn’t elaborate on something that probably warranted a lot more elaboration.

“Your guess on that one is as good as mine as to why I’m not dead; luck, skill, or both and I’m not sure how. It’s a slow week if someone doesn’t take a shot at me in my office at least two or three times by Friday. Technically allowed to use lethal force in those situations but lethal force comes with an almost lethal amount of paperwork, and injuring them only has marginally less paperwork involved.”

“They all have dreadful aim too; you don’t aim at someone’s head if you’re trying to hit them, you aim at whichever part of them is widest, which is usually the shoulder or chest area. It’s not hard to tell where someone is aiming and to just–tilt your head to the opposite side.”

The way he spoke made it seem almost as if he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary about any part of what he’d just said. It simply was what it was.

“You know that’s not a problem if all of your clothes look the same, right? Though I suppose it matters less for someone who’s only ever really seen by the same four people on a daily basis than it does for someone that has to deal with the public all day. I think,” Calleo absently scratched the side of his head, “after the last two quit, and it was just me and the Director, and you know damn well he didn’t do a single thing that would have counted as actual work–meetings, he did meetings and not much else–when I did leave, I took work with me.”

“We were–to say we were behind would be an understatement. When I started in 1983, I think the department had a backlog dating to the mid-1950s, by 1990 we were up to 1981, and between 1990 and 1991 managed to get mostly caught up; that was all processing, for the most part, things that had been dragged in by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now that we’ve been fully staffed with competent people for a few years, we stay caught up unless Law Enforcement drags their feet on bringing things down.”

“If I wasn’t working here, I was working at home. Or while out. Never really an issue until sometime in autumn 1991; details there aren’t all that relevant but I did cut my own hours and stopped taking so much work home with me as it wasn’t even necessary to do that anymore. That took care of a lot of near chaos on the personal side of my life, if nothing else, which let me put the professional one back in order. Stability is much nicer and less dull than I remember it being.”

Not many things sounded so bizarrely outlandish that they could stun Calleo into silence for more than a split second. What the Minister had just said did exactly that, however. Truthfully, the initial, “HA! What?” reaction had itself swiftly and harshly tempered by the second thought that crossed his mind: The Ministry, as far as Calleo could recall, either had generally positive relations with Hogwarts and its Headmaster or simply no interest at all, allowing him to run the school as he saw fit.

Until 1990.

When the man sitting across from him was put into the position of Minister for Magic.

Anyone who’d been keeping up with the more unpleasant side of Wizarding politics immediately (and gleefully) noted the shift in tone that began almost the same day Fudge’s administration took full control. Calleo had largely written it off as some sort of bizarre paranoia, likely being fed to him by those in the Ministry who had worked for the Still Officially Dead Dark Lord, but now–he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was simply being done out of personal spite and little more.

That sort of behaviour would have been ill-advised (not to mention petty) just in a general sense, but with things the way they were now it was less ill-advised and more incredibly, recklessly dangerous; something that ran the very real risk of handing the entire Ministry over to, if not Voldemort, at least people highly sympathetic to Voldemort just to be spiteful toward an ex.

Perhaps that was an unfair line of thinking to have, even if the most simple explanations are the most likely. Certainly made it seem like the Ministry’s shift in attitude wasn’t out of nowhere, though and even the implication that it might be true raised a whole hell of a lot of red flags.

“I’d imagine,” Calleo began slowly and evenly, giving no indication either way what he personally thought and sticking to the most likely outcomes to the invitation to imagine what the Prophet would do, “the gossip columns would, after they’d pieced themselves back together after exploding from sheer excitement, have some of their most memorable pieces written for weeks on end and I’d imagine the rest of the Prophet would depend on whose money is going where. With the way it stands now, it’d likely be twisted to make Professor Dumbledore look maliciously predatory, unstable, and dangerous and now they’d have what they could plaster all over the pages as concrete proof that he should be removed from his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts and possibly jailed.”

“And you’d have people in your ear telling you exactly what to say to which reporter for making sure the effectiveness of it was maximised and targeted as narrowly and specifically as possible, because he’s what they feel is the last obstacle keeping them from moving freely.”

“He’s not wrong, though. I doubt there’s anyone in the Department of Mysteries that hasn’t either seen Lucius Malfoy with his face in your ear–or heard of it spoken in that sort of smug, arrogant way you’d expect from people who were convinced they were lining everything up for an easy shot. Even that Undersecretary seems to have you an a pretty short leash. It’s less that you care too much about what people think of you, it’s that you’ve decided to focus on caring what the wrong sorts of people think of you.”

Calleo raised an eyebrow, giving the Minister a shrewd, calculating look. “I don’t think you should be doing what it is I suspect you’re doing and am also acutely aware that it may be far too late to stop it. He isn’t dangerous, he isn’t insane, and you know that.”

“HA!” That look all but evaporated with his oddly bird-like laugh, “But, there you go, it’s almost impossible for me not to talk about work; really, all I need to keep an eye on is making sure I don’t get some bizarre thing tacked onto my reputation along the lines of ‘picks up things Professor Dumbledore drops’. That’ll just get pretty weird pretty fast unless he just starts leaving interesting books laying around which would be entirely acceptable.”

“And it was about fifteen minutes ago on level six; do you want me to give your mind a quick once over?” There was, before Calleo realised that it had been a rhetorical question, a note of genuine concern. Some of what was on those levels could very easily pick through someone’s mind if not stopped and would be capable of causing temporary short term memory problems, after all.

“You’re not being graded, you know, or compared to anyone else,” He had, for a change, remembered to make sure what he was saying matched his tone, his expression and his overall body language; occasionally he’d leave one of those things out and come off a bit hostile instead of playfully chiding. “There aren’t N.E.W.T.s at the end. That’d be odd even for me.”

“I did tell you that I’d make you forget about work for awhile and I still intend to do that; I cannot, however, forget about the entire previous conversation. Fortunately for you, one of my many useful talents includes redirecting energy from where I don’t want it to where I do so–keep up, you’re only 52! If you’re lucky, you’ll forget how English works for awhile.”

A lit cigarette? Cornelius thought he had it bad with what happened to him, but it seemed that Calleo’s past wasn’t all sunshine and roses either. Cornelius didn’t want to press on to ask what happened; Calleo was a chatty man, if he wanted to disclose why or how that happened to him, then he surely would.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he said on the matter. Sometimes Cornelius wondered why he wasn’t dead, either. There must be some people around that would like to see the Minister for Magic dead. That thought was a little horrific. “Well I’m glad you’re not dead.”

The words came out before he could stop it and they actually surprised him. When Cornelius first started bumping into Calleo (everywhere, it seemed), he couldn’t stand to be around him. But now here they were, and Fudge was actually opening up and being himself. It was all a little strange, and it was getting stranger when Calleo explained how hard he’d worked to get his department up to date.

Cornelius admired hard work.  When he was working on his campaign to become Minister, he’d work constantly to try and get people on his side. After that, there was a lot of cleaning up to do as it was the aftermath of the war. Now, Cornelius just found things to do to keep himself busy.

“I understand that.” He nodded. “Thank you, by the way, for putting so much effort into your job. I assume it probably goes unnoticed most of the time?”

The reaction he’d got from his confession made him flush – it was probably an unexpected name. “Yes, I know, I know it’s bizarre.” It certainly was considering what his relationship with Albus was like now; Cornelius could hardly stand to be in the same room as Albus Dumbledore. Everything Dumbledore did, he couldn’t stand and he knew that it was wrong to spend time deliberately trying to make his ex’s life miserable but it was only because Dumbledore had made his life miserable that he wanted to get back at him.

He nodded slowly, imagining it for himself. The ridicule he’d probably face from people, his peers, his colleagues… But Fudge did like the idea of Dumbledore being made out to be the bad guy in all of it. He still wasn’t going to tell anyone else.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Fudge gave Calleo a look with a raised eyebrow. Was it that bad? Cornelius liked to be told how great he was doing which was why he surrounded himself with people like that. He had an ego that needed stroking sometimes. “They’re just… doing their jobs.”

Cornelius knew that Calleo wouldn’t fall for that; he was far too smart. He figured everything out without Fudge even saying anything. “Nobody knows about me and Albus and I’d appreciate if you didn’t say anything… and I know what you think I’m doing.” He paused. “I know he’s not dangerous but he’s… not always the great man everyone makes him out to be, either. What he did was completely uncalled for and came out of nowhere.”

Cornelius really wanted to forget how English worked for a while, he couldn’t stop talking. So when they started to get down to it, he was thankful. And he did forget how to speak; the entire time, Fudge had been reduced to just making noises and he was thankful that they were so far away from everybody else because he’d been anything but quiet.

Afterwards, he stayed where he was, lying on the couch and looking up at the ceiling unsure what to even say or do. Everything was so much better now. Cornelius was in disbelief and shock.

“Well…” he started, really not sure what else he could say. There were no words, just a dumb, big smile on his face now that he’d been relieved of the tension that had built up inside him for years. Every part of his body that hadn’t been touched had been touched, and if he was murdered now, he’d die happy. “That was… different.”

Now it was his turn to uphold his end of their deal, and his first point of call after finishing with Calleo would be to go and speak to the Auror that was wasting so much of the Ministry’s time. Fudge felt like he had a whole new lease of life now and he knew that people would be suspicious as to why, but he didn’t care

[featherquillpen]

Dæmonology: Quentin Coldwater

I figured if I’m going to go down the rabbit hole of writing a Magicians dæmon AU, I might as well liveblog the process of figuring out the characters’ dæmons, since lots of my followers are interested in how I do dæmonology. So here goes nothing: Quentin Coldwater’s dæmon!

(Be aware: this post is long as hell.)

Other Personality Types

So, first step that helps a lot to focus the mind: figure out the character in other, simpler personality typing systems.

Quentin is a double Hufflepuff by the Sorting Hat Chats system, no question. He is deeply oriented toward fairness and helping people, even when helping people could be viewed as an objective moral wrong (freeing niffin!Alice, helping the Monster.) And he gets things done by sheer dedication, rather than brilliance or improvisation or charging headfirst. 

In MBTI, I would expect Quentin to have Extroverted Feeling in his top two cognitive functions – he cares a lot about the emotions and values of his group.  I’m inclined to say ESFJ, as Quentin thinks in a concrete, detail-oriented way, relying on his established patterns and what has accumulated personal meaning for him, so Introverted Sensing should be a strong function for him. But ISFJ is also very possible.

In the enneagram, Quentin reads to me as a type Six, constantly doubting himself and the world, looking for support and guidance in his friends and in magic itself.

Core Traits

Okay, so what are the central, most defining traits of Quentin Coldwater?

Loyalty. More than any of the other questers in Season 3, Quentin believed in the fellowship of the questers: he figured out the unity key because that concept resonates with him so deeply. He doesn’t make friends easily, but once he does, he’s absolutely ride-or-die for them. Who can forget memory!Quentin’s line “You sacrifice for the people you love; that’s what you do” in 4.05 Escape from the Happy Place? And his loyalty is on a level of the community rather than the individual; unlike someone like Penny or Eliot, Quentin is deeply connected and committed to everyone in the fellowship.

Self-doubt. In his own words, Quentin is constantly finding doors so he can run from himself. He never seems to fully trust his own mind. Sometimes in his insecurity he lashes out (see his behavior to Julia in S1) or tries to take up the mantle of a hero, a king or a quester to feel noble and brave. He values people and situations that make him feel safe and secure. He strongly prefers to work with other people than alone, because it makes him feel more supported and breaks him out of his loop of painful self-doubt.

Detail-oriented. I’m a little dissatisfied with this word, because it implies fussiness and anal-retentiveness, which is not Quentin. What I mean here is that Quentin is oriented toward small things: the present moment, the next step, this detail of the Fillory books, that childhood dance or plate of bacon that will cheer someone up. For goodness sake, his discipline is repair of small objects. Quentin is focused on what is here, now, in his hands – for all that he is a king of Fillory, I think he would flounder if faced with the big picture of running a kingdom.

Heart on his sleeve. Quentin can’t help but be emotionally open; even when he tries to hold back (as he has been doing in S4) it’s obvious how he feels. He’s a bad liar, a worse actor, and while he’s very attuned to the feelings of people around him, he doesn’t manipulate them or influence them in anything but the most earnest way.

I would add that Quentin is compliant (has a hard time setting boundaries or saying no to people), dedicated (does not give up once he’s set his heart on something), dependent (he does not like being alone; he studies in the common room of the cottage, instead of withdrawing like Alice) and shy (wary and awkward around people he doesn’t know.)

Translating to Animal Behaviors

Here’s the step where I translate these traits to animal behaviors as best I can.

Socially speaking, I’m looking for a social, group-living animal, almost certainly one with a consistent, life-long family group that does not easily admit outsiders. This social group should have social hierarchy that is not upset or overturned by dominance battles and the like – an established order like the matriarchy by seniority in an elephant herd.

Given Quentin’s patience and dedication, I’m looking for an animal with high reproductive investment – something that leaves lots of food with its eggs, so they have something to feed on when they hatch (like solitary bees) or lays really big eggs (like kiwis) or does a lot of parental care.

I want an animal that has a lot of safety and vigilance behaviors, especially social safety behaviors, like meerkats who have rotating guard duty, or antelope who rely on safety in numbers. 

I’m looking for animals with low-risk, high-consistency, detail-oriented foraging behaviors. That is, I want animals that use fairly steady food supplies rather than windfall unpredictable ones, and that involve a long steady stream of focused effort rather than varied approaches and risks. Probably animals that forage in groups rather than alone.

I’m looking for animals that show open communication and displays with each other, and that don’t employ secrecy and evasiveness (like crows with a private hoard of food.) 

I specifically do not want animals that have individual territories of any sort; Quentin is far too compliant for that. Group territory defense could make  sense, though. I also want to avoid competitive animals that are always jostling for bigger territories or higher status.

Playing the Field

Next I gather lots of different animal possibilities that fit my behavioral criteria above. So here’s a list of a bunch of animals I think might work, without spending too much time on each one trying to confirm or rule it out. This part is very time-consuming, and relies a lot on my encyclopedic knowledge of animal behavior, though I do refer to various websites to supplement it.

Pigeons

Quails

Small-colony bees (carpenter bee, orchid bee)

Wild dogs and foxes (yes, I know, I can feel Mayakovsky watching me)

Small-group-living lemurs

Domestic dogs (especially sporting breeds)

Zebra finch

Scrub jays

Kinkajou

Yellow-winged bat

Ringtail possums

Note that up to this point, I have spent five hours working on this. For one character. And I’m not done yet. This is why I don’t often write dæmon AUs even though I love them very much.

Narrowing the Field

Now I go through my list, animal by animal, and take notes on what works and what doesn’t. Along the way, I think more deeply about the character and discover the more subtle characteristics that help me distinguish between similar animals.

❌Pigeons

So what I really like about pigeons for Quentin is that they have very high reproductive investment – they produce milk inside their crops that they feed to their young. They’re also nervy little prey animals with a lot of vigilance behavior, while still having that streak of pigeon boldness.

What I don’t like about pigeons is that they have too many competitive/dominance behaviors, and they often socialize outside of established family groups. So I don’t think it’s going to work out.

❌Quails

Quails are almost never spotted alone, they’re nervy vigilant pudgy birds, they look out for each other and warn each other with alarm calls, they invest a lot in reproduction – they lay so many eggs that sometimes they can’t even properly sit on them all, which is so cute. 

I really like these, I think the one problem is that again their social groups are not very consistent, they seem to allow quite a bit of flow in and out of their flocks. I looked into as many species as I could find information on, and they seem to have really fluid social structures allowing members in and out as they please. 

❌Small-colony bees

Now that I do more research into them, I can see that orchid bees and carpenter bees aren’t going to work, because while they usually nest communally, they can nest solitarily, which is too socially flexible. Sweat bees are much too aggressive and competitive. Ruled out.

✔️Wild canines

Wild canines have a lot of desirable characteristics: lots of parental care, group loyalty, close-knit family groups. There are also some canines, especially the smaller ones, that are quite wary and nervy. It’s a matter of narrowing down to the right ones within the group.

Jackals and coyotes are too competitive and socially flexible, so they’re out. Gray foxes and maned wolves are nearly entirely solitary, so they’re out. Dholes, wolves, fennec foxes, and dingos are too assertive and confident. The rest of the foxes are too independent and socially flexible.

However, I really like the look of raccoon dogs and bush dogs. They’re almost never seen alone, but in pairs or small packs which stick together for a long time. They cooperate extensively, and while they are predators, they are also prey, and are reclusive and vigilant by habit. They have overlapping territories without strong borders. The only thing that’s really missing for me are flags for Quentin’s orientation toward detail and the next moment, but I can look into these species further in the next step.

✔️Small-group-living lemurs

I’ve gone through the lemur species, and I like the look of mongoose lemurs. They have small, close-knit, stable family groups with group territory defense. I will look into them more deeply in the next step.

✔️Domestic dogs (especially sporting breeds)

I think of Quentin’s defining trait as loyalty, which is also the defining trait of dogs. Most breeds also fit with Quentin’s Hufflepuff determination and hard work, and his way of being a supportive sidekick to his badass friends. Dogs are also open and communicative and “heart on their sleeve.” I just have to find more nervous, vigilant breeds that are highly detail-oriented.

Carolina dogs are somewhere in between feral and domesticated, and as such are more nervy and vigilant of strangers than most dogs, which seems right.

Kooikerhondjes are very focused, dedicated sporting dogs that look like they fit super well. Other spaniels are also good candidates. 

Phew, there’s a lot of dog breeds out there. Definitely need to delve into this more deeply.

❌Zebra finch

I love the super intense pair bonding in zebra finches, and the nervy prey vigilance, and of course the expressive songs, but they seem very socially flexible and tolerant of strangers in their flocks.

❌Scrub jays

Upon closer inspection, the scrub jay species are super, super specialized to one habitat/food, and I think Quentin has some more breadth and adaptability in him than that.

❌Kinkajou

Kinkajous mostly look good, since they’ve got very affectionate close-knit social groups, they’re reclusive in the forest and avoid aggression, but they tend to forage alone, which is not so great. 

✔️Yellow-winged bat

This one fits extremely, extremely well. They’re pair-bonding bats that are rarely more than a few meters from each other, they cooperate to raise young, they groom together, they talk together, they defend the territory together – and my favorite bit is that here there is a strong analogy to Quentin’s detail orientation. Bats have a trade-off in their echolocation between long-distance and low-detail, or short-distance and high-detail, and yellow-winged bats are strongly toward the short-distance, high-detail end. They focus on prey that are close by.

✔️Ringtail possums

Common ringtail possums are way too chill and low-strung, but the rock ringtail possum is big on sentinel behavior, guard duty, and keeping an eye out for each other. My only major issue with this one is no flag for detail orientation.

The Final Candidates

At this point, I have spent nine hours on this project, and I have a final list of candidates. Now I have to compare and contrast at a very detailed level, and find which one works the best. I will do extensive research on each animal so I can really flesh out my thoughts.

Raccoon dog

Bush dog

Mongoose lemur

Carolina dog

Kooikerhondje

Yellow-winged bat

Rock ringtail possum

What I really like with raccoon dogs is how intensely cooperative they are – they have large litters for dogs their size, they have lots of predators, and so both parents are super involved with the young and in experimental conditions where there are no males all pups die. They groom each other and have lots of touch and sound gestures, they’re very wary of predators on their young, always keeping an eye on them. They’re non-aggressive and don’t fight over territory, they only ever start something if the young are in danger. All of this is great, it’s only that I don’t see any flags for the detail-oriented, “repair of small objects” side of Q.

Bush dogs live in close family groups like wolf packs, and they even hunt cooperatively, which I love. They constantly make little noises so they can hear each other as they move through the forest – cute! Their main predator defense is being inconspicuous and hiding in their burrows from any threat, but they’re not afraid to throw down if the pack is in real danger, as long as they’re facing it together. The biggest problem is that while raccoon dogs are omnivores, bush dogs are hunters, and hunting is not a great analogy for Q’s mode of putting together bits of books, grinding away persistently, and repairing small objects.

Mongoose lemurs live in those small, wolf pack like groups, and they groom and play with each other. They defend territory as a group, backing each other up. I can’t find evidence for strong vigilance/sentinel behaviors, which puts me off.

Domestic dogs in general are loyal, altruistic, open-hearted, empathetic, and dependent on close bonds with others to feel safe and secure. Carolina dogs are sometimes called American dingos because they were not artificially selected; accordingly, they’re a bit feral and quite wary of strangers outside the family they’ve bonded to. They also have a strong prey drive, and I like that drivenness. But again, I don’t see any flags for Q’s Hufflepuff hard work, dedication, and detail focus. With the Kooikerhondje I do see the hard work, as they’re very much working dogs that are rather difficult to keep as mere lapdogs without giving them an outlet, but again none of the detail orientation is in evidence.

I really think the Yellow-winged bat has it. They have the super close bonding family groups, they’re always looking out for each other and helping each other find food and raising the young together. They’re wary of strangers and defend the territory together. They tend to have established roosts that they always revisit – they stick to the familiar when possible. They have social calls, fly in patterns together, and groom each other affectionately. Both parents are very involved in parental care, and the mothers carry the baby around their backs until they can fly. And best of all, they have specific flags for Q’s way of doing things. While most bats fly around blasting echolocation everywhere and catching insects mid-flight, yellow-winged bats are sit-and-wait predators. They have particular roosts they use in different seasons, and they have close-range, very high-resolution echolocation (using FM-type calls.) They sit on the right roost for the time of year, they wait, and when the insects eventually come within echolocation range, they can pinpoint exactly where they are and grab them. I feel like this fits with Q’s areas of comfort and familiarity very well, the way he prefers having something concrete to work on (like a quest) over having to make things up as he goes along, the way he has these zones of expertise where he knows absolutely everything.

Look how cute!

(photo credit Sandra Lee at the Bat Detective blog)

[spn-rewrites]

01x08 (part 2)

Season One: Episode Eight: Bugs

A/n: hey guys! hope youre enjoying the rewrite so far, i have a lot of ideas for the reader’s storyline but would absolutely love and take into consdieration any suggestions or ideas that you have, so send them in! if you liked it, please REBLOG! 

Summary: steam showers, dead spiders and a boy in the woods.

Word Count: 3.3k

part 1 part 3 part 4

It was dark out now, and Dean finally let someone other than himself drive the Impala but unfortunately for you, it was Sam. He was nestled in the passenger seat, reading over John’s journal and you were brainstorming any and all options as to what could have happened to Dustin. “I’ve heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?” Dean inquired.

“Well hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam pointed out. A good point, but the least likely. You were leaned back in the backseat, your feet kicked up on the back of the front seats. Dean elbowed your feet off, causing them to come crashing down and you sat up.

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any evidence of ghost activity,” you added, leaning forward and reading over Dean’s shoulder at the journal. You two had spent countless nights reading that old thing, cover to cover but there were still so many things you had missed and had yet to learn.

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam mumbled, agreeing with you and dismissing his own suggestion.

Dean hummed to himself, thinking, contemplating. He smacked his lips and had an idea. “Maybe they’re being controlled somehow, you know by something or someone,” Dean suggested, perking up a little bit like maybe that was the one.

“You mean like Willard?” You asked, scrunching up your face at the thought of all those fucking rats. You had only seen the 2003 version which was unacceptable to Dean but he let it slide because of how much you protested, ‘I hate rats, they’re dirty and they live in sewers and make me have nightmares,’ you would complain everytime he tried so eventually he just stopped pushing it.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats,” he shrugged.

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals. Elementals, telepaths,” Sam listed off, entertaining Dean’s idea that maybe the bugs were being told to murder people but that made even less sense than the manifestations. However, the way Sam could easily come up with ideas and theories without having to look at any books always intrigued you. It sure as hell saved a lot of time, too.

“Yeah, the whole Timmy-Lassie thing.” Dean looked back at the journal, reading some more before a thought came to mind. “Larry’s kid. Got bugs for pets,” he pointed out.

“Matt?” You asked, again confused as to where he was going with that. There had to be a connection there, but you highly doubted that a teenage boy was controlling an army of bugs and killing off construction workers and development surveyors.

“Yeah!”

“He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula,” Sam contemplated for a moment.

“Think he’s our Willard?” You asked, looking over at Sam, shocked that he was actually considering this but what other options did you really have? There were none. You had no more evidence, little to no information and not a lot of time. Whatever it is, could strike at any minute.

“I don’t know, anything is possible I guess,” he shrugged.

“Ooh, hey. Pull over here.” Dean started pointing out the window to an almost finished house with the port-a-potty still on the front lawn.

“What are we doing here?” Sam asked as he pulled in the driveway anyway. The moment he parked the car, Dean got out.

“It’s too late to talk to anybody else!” Dean said, holding his arms out like what else we gonna do? And Sam rolled down his window. You squinted, looking out the windshield to watch was Dean was doing - pulling open the garage door.

“We’re going to squat in an empty house?” Sam asked, appalled that the idea even crossed Dean’s mind but the way that developer was talking about the houses, you were mad you didn’t think about it first.

“I wanna try the steam shower,” Dean admitted, holding the garage door open, waiting for his brother that was still parked and hesitant.

“Oooh! Yeah!” You swatted at Sam’s arm, causing him to look back at you. You smiled, pointing towards Dean to egg him forward. He shooked his head, furrowed his brows and looked at you like you were crazy but you begged him with your eyes and his face softened before he turned to look at his brother.

“Come on!” Dean yelled, gesturing him forward. Sam let out a huge sigh, a fuck you guys sigh and drove forward into the garage as Dean closed the door behind the Impala.

The house was almost completely empty with no furniture in it, so you settled into the floor. You crossed your legs, resting your hands on your thighs as Sam set up the police scanner. “What are you looking at?” He mumbled, feeling your eyes burning a hole in his head.

“Nun,” you smiled at him. His eyes flickered from the scanner to you and then back again so quickly if you weren’t looking you would have easily missed it. “How are you doing?” You asked, referring to the Lori thing but Sam just gave you a puzzled look and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine, why?”

“Just want to check up on you. Must be kind of difficult coming back into this life, ya know? After you finally got what you wanted,” you drifted off, almost immediately regretting what you were saying. Sam’s hands stopped moving and he looked at you for real this time, setting the scanner on the ground. “Sorry,” you mumbled, waving your hand in the air and making the words disappear.

“You make it a little bit easier,” Sam said, picking up the scanner again and finally finding the right station to listen to. Although you and Dean were set on having a night of relaxation with the steam showers, Sam insisted that the radio be on and your ears to be peeled for anything that may come through that needed immediate attention, always the worker bee.

“Just a little bit?” You asked hand pressed to your chest in an effort to sound offended. Sam chuckled and nodded, settling down on the ground next to you, his legs up and bent, his arms wrapped around them. He still towered over you, even sitting on the floor.

“Yeah, just a little bit,” he whispered, his eyes dancing across your face. He bumped his leg against yours when the radio started buzzing and a voice called over it. A woman found dead in her home, only three blocks from the house you were squatting in. Perfect timing, you thought.

Sam shot up, running up the stairs to grab Dean, who was still taking a shower and you heard Sam banging on the door and the two boys yelling at each other as you got all your things together and started packing up the Impala just in case. Sam was in the car with you in no time, Dean, however, took a little bit longer and his hair was still soaked and you could see wet spots on his shirt from where he hadn’t fully dried off.

+

The three of you pulled up just as a body, covered in a black tarp, was being wheeled out of the house and into the back of a car. Sam pulled over and you got out as fast as you could, eager to find out more. Larry was on the phone and you could hear his voice talking to the person on the other line. “I don’t know anything more, I’ll have to call you back. Alright?” You walked up to him as he was hanging out and it was raining out, so you huddled next to Dean under the umbrella and wrapped your arm around his. “Hello, you’re, uh, back early,” Larry addressed.

“Yeah, we just drove in, wanted to take another look at the neighborhood,” Dean said, looking around at the action and around Larry. He seemed a little frazzled, but not as frazzled as you would expect for someone who has two deaths now in a developing neighborhood.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, getting right to the point and you were thankful because God, did you hate small talk.

“You guys met, uh, Lynda Bloom at the barbeque?” Larry asked, glancing back at the body bag that they were now loading up. Lynda.

“The realtor.”

“Well, she, uh, passed away last night,” Larry informed you in the least depressing way ever. Like she baked a cake or is hosting a party that you weren’t invited to so he felt kind of awkward telling you about it, but hey you were here and you know either way.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I’m still trying to find out,” Larry said, keeping his lips tightly together. Maybe, if they were a little looser he would spill everything he knows and you had a feeling he knew a lot. He looked back at the officers that were at the door, writing things down in their little notepad that you wished you could get your hands on and then he looked back at you, ready to dismiss you.  “Identified the body for the police. Look, I’m, I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time.”

“It’s okay,” Sam brushed him off and Larry excused himself to go back into the house and continue talking to the police. You watched him as the boys exchanged a look over your head but you didn’t care because you were focused on the way Larry was walking faster than he was at the barbeque like he had a purpose and was on a mission. You watched as he whispered in the officer’s ear and guided him inside the house.

“You know what we have to do, right?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Get in that house,” Sam confirmed. You looked at him and he looked at you, raising his eyebrows at you.

“See if we got a bug problem,” you added, hoping that you found bugs because then at least there would be more of a concrete pattern happening and not just a weird fluke with that bee sting but hoping also, that you find some more evidence than just ants.

You waited until all the police officers were done and long gone before even attempting to go inside the house. You parked the car around the corner, sitting in the backseat while Dean blasted his rock music and Sam complained. The smile on his face every time he did, make your heart skip and Dean rolls his eyes but these were your favorite moments. In between all the craziness, when it’s quiet and just the three of you. Where Sam can pretend things are normal and you can pretend that things are normal and maybe in that universe - where things are normal - Sam loves you back.

When the last officer drove away, the three of you snuck behind a tree, climbed up the fence, to the trellis and in through the window. You came up last, Sam pulling you in the window and shutting it behind you. You brushed off the debris from the walls off your pants as Dean breathlessly looked around, “this looks like the place.”

The room looked like a crime scene but not the same kind of crime scene you saw only a few weeks ago, with yellow caution tape and blood all over the place. Instead, it looked like a crime scene from an old black and white silent film, where everything looked fake and there was a body outlined on the floor with black masking tape and glass shattered on the floor. There was a rolled up, sopping wet towel on the middle of the bathroom floor where the shower door had been broken through and little spots of blood were all over the white tile.

Dean stepped over the glass, crunching beneath his big boots and lifted the towel. A bunch of little tiny spiders fell from the towel, causing you to gasp and jump behind Sam. “Fuck!” You were quiet, but urgent because you were terrified of spiders but Sam chuckled at you, picking one up and dangling it in your face. Dead.

“They’re all dead, y/n.” He shook his head at you and Dean picked up another one, inspecting it in his hand and spinning it around in his fingers and you got even more grossed out than when Sam did that with the beetle.

“Spiders. From spider boy?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at the connection.

“Matt,” Sam corrected. Dean held his hands up in defense and Sam let out a sigh as you slowly moved out from behind him to get a better look at whatever was going on on the floor. He was right, they were all dead but it didn’t give you any less of a chill down your spine. “Maybe,” Sam whispered.

+

Driving behind a bus for miles was the last thing you wanted to do, the starting and stopping and driving 20 miles an hour was absolute torture, but when it was finally Matt’s stop, you perked up when he started walking the opposite direction of his house. “Isn’t his house that way?” Dean asked.

“Yup,” Sam confirmed as he peered out of the window and watched as Matt crossed the street and went down into the woods that surrounded the developing area.

“So where’s he going?” You asked the duo. They both ignored your question and got out of the car to follow. You did as they did and as much as you hate bugs, you stalked through the woods like a pro. Sam only had to help you down the hill twice and it really was mind over matter. No bugs are crawling on you. No bugs. No bugs. No bugs.

You finally found Matt, in an open clearing. He was looking at a twig from one of the trees, a plastic container in his hand. The leaves crunched under your feet and Matt turned to look.“Hey Matt,” Sam greeted. “Remember me?” Matt looked suspicious and almost terrified, but you didn’t really blame him because three strangers just followed him into the freaking woods.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked cautiously.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean asked, a fake smile on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets. You smiled when Matt’s eyes landed on you and then he looked to Sam, the only person he had met out of the three of you.

“You’re not here to buy a house, are you?” He asked, his eyes squinted in suspicion. “W-Wait, you’re not serial killers, are you?” He pointed a finger at the three of you. His voice was half joking, but you can never be too careful, can you?

“No, no. No, I think you’re safe,” Sam chuckled and reassured the boy who’s shoulder slouched a little more at Sam’s words and he seemed to relax a little bit more which was good because he needed to be as relaxed as he could get if you were going to accuse him of murdering the realtor.

“So, Matt, you sure know a lot about insects, huh?” You asked, looking at the plastic bin in his hands that he was most likely going to use to catch more insects. It was odd, keeping bugs as pets but you could see the appeal, they were all very unique in their own, creepy way.

“So?” He asked.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda? The realtor?” Dean asked, pushing the topic of conversation and steering it in an accusatory direction.

“I hear she died this morning,” Matt said, nodding his head. He seemed very nonchalant about it, much like his father but he was young and he seemed so innocent and you had been rooting for him since the beginning, doubting his involvement so now that he was playing dumb you rooted even harder, please be telling the truth. Please, please, please.

“Mh, that’s right. Spider bites,” Dean popped the ‘p’ in spider for good effect and he raised his eyebrows up and down, a creepy smile on his face that made Matt turn his nose up and look at Sam instead.

“Matt, you tried to scare her with a spider,” Sam spoke carefully, completely opposite to what his brother did and good cop - bad cop always worked best.

“Wait, you think I had something to do with that?” Matt finally caught on, holding his hand out to distance himself from you as he shook his head. Please. Please. Please.

“You tell us,” Dean said.

“The tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn’t explain the bee attack or the gas company guy,” Matt spoke quickly and he was looking anywhere except at you or the boys and all your hope kind of just faded away. Shit.

“You know about those?” Sam asked, just as shocked as you were that he had any idea about those deaths and the mere fact that he did was enough for you to decide that maybe rooting for him wasn’t the best idea but it only will end in disappointment and that seemed to be a running theme in your life. Believing in boys that will only do one thing - disappointment.

“There is something going on here, I don’t know what but something’s happening with the insects. Let me show you something,” Matt answered, letting out a sigh and gathered his belongings off the ground. You almost let out a sigh because fuck, maybe you were right after all and please, please, please show us something good, you begged in your mind as you trekked through more woods.

“So if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out,” Sam suggested. Matt was leading the way through the trees and Sam was close behind but you dragged even further behind with Dean, who was looking everywhere except at the boy.

“Believe me, I tried, but, uh, Larry doesn’t listen to me,” Matt informed you.

“Why not?”

“Mostly? Because he’s too disappointed in his freak son.”

“I hear ya,” Sam agreed. The comment shocked you almost as much as it shocked Dean, who looked straight at his brother with a scrunched up face.

“You do?” Dean asked, clearly disagreeing with what Sam said but Sam turned around for a brief moment, sending his brother a glare before looking back in front of him to continue his questioning with the kid. Dean looked at you like can you believe this kid but you could believe him because this wasn’t what Sam wanted and he had made that very clear from the beginning and if Jess hadn’t died you were certain he wouldn’t be here right now.

“Matt, how old are you?” Sam asked.

“Sixteen.”

“Well don’t sweat it, cos in two years something great is gonna happen,” Sam advised.

“What?”

“College, you’ll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.” Dean scoffed at the advice and you put your hand on his arm. He looked down at you and you sent him a scolding look but he shrugged you off and looked at his brother.

“What kind of advice is that? The kid should stick with his family,” he said. Sam stopped moving and you had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach and you wished they would just stop fighting about it. Dean shrugged at Sam’s pointed look and he rolled his eyes before turning back to Matt.

“How much further, Matt?” Sam asked.

“We’re close,” Matt said, nodding and acting as if he didn’t just feel the tension between the brothers fill the entire woods. It was thick and heavy and humid and you didn’t want to deal with any fighting right now, especially not in front of a stranger.

“Good, let’s get moving,” you cheered, pushing Sam forward until his feet moved on his own and Matt continued with his tour through the woods that he seemed to know like the back of his hand.

tagged:  @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy jessewa26 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo

[lookslikechill]

WIP Song Summary Game

Tagged by: @requiemesque​ and @katerinarevel (thank you so much, I love writeblr tag games that incorporate music!!)

Rules:  what are three (3) songs that really embody your wip? how do they relate to it?

3 songs that embody Daydream Walking below the cutoff!  Warning, I got super rambly, especially for the first song.

Tagging: I’m not sure who hasn’t already done this, soo if you wanna do it, just say I tagged you!!

**Even BIGGER Warning!!!!  I dug much deeper into the many many heavy/hard to stomach themes that are very much present in/going to be present in this work!  For the first song I mostly just talk about masculinity, but for the second two content warnings for: abuse, murder, death, drug abuse/addiction, mentions of cocaine and alcohol, mentions of accidental overdose and vehicular deaths, police neglect/incompetency, mentions of weapons (guns, knives, etc.), and one single rape mention.**

Man to Man by Dorian Electra

So you want to play rough in the parking lot See you acting tough, but I know you're not We can take it outside, scuff up in the streetlights I just really wanna fight with you

Man to man, hand to hand One on one, friend to friend Are you man enough to soften up? Are you tough enough to open up? Man to man You gotta let me in 

This song perfectly represents the elements of masculinity vs. toxic masculinity, and internalized homophobia in DW.

Admittedly, when I first started writing Daydream Walking, I felt rather guilty for a period of time about how male-centric it is, with three main men and a whole lot of male side characters.  However, I realized there’s no reason for me to feel bad about it. It’s there for a reason. I’m a man, a trans man, and I often recognize and am bothered by the presence of toxic masculinity around me, the way a rigid standard of masculinity hurts both men and women.  And I certainly hope to address it in DW.

Clay is what would be considered effeminate today, he certainly comes off as gay.  In the futureverse of Astervale 4146, he does not stand out, it is okay for him to express himself the way he does- dramatic and charismatic, grinning and talking, dancing and joking.  When he’s plunged into the past, into the grim reality of 1947 Port Cassandra, California, he sticks out like a sore thumb, even when disguised and toned down.

Alistair actively conforms to the standards of masculinity of his time, both because that was what he was taught to do and also out of a sense of paranoia, a fear of what will happen if he’s caught, a fear of being viewed as weak, as less than a man.  Though some of this protects him, it also leads to his mental health issues(PTSD) being unresolved, which harms him. His stoic refusal to share his feelings and express emotion also harms his relationships, and though he may not recognize it, is part of what leads to his wife wanting to divorce him in the first place.  Not only is he different when he returns, supposedly alive and well, from war, but he won’t say a word about it to her.

Despite how progressive the future may initially seem, harmful ideals about men and women and their roles still exist, especially among Astervale’s rich and powerful, and this has an impact on Quince; on his belief in himself, his willingness to look more closely at his own situation, to speak out, to say no.  It certainly doesn’t help that it’s the men in Felicity’s life that Quince is most often coming in contact with, whose opinions of him he knows. The existence of Quince and Felicity’s relationship in this wip, this novel-beast of mine, is partially to prove a point, to bring the issue of abuse against men, but especially at the hands of women, to the forefront of the mind.  I can’t believe how many men I’ve spoken to who believe they can’t be abused- if a women tries to rape him, he’ll just hit here, right? Because all men are inherently stronger than women, right? Because any man would be willing to, and capable of, physically fighting off an attacker, right? It just comes with so many more harmful ideas, I simply cannot unpack them all right here.

In short- Men should be allowed to express, or not express, masculinity in many different ways, as long as they are healthy and do not harm women or other men.  Men should also be allowed to express emotions, and not only that, be but taught how to express them and deal with them in a way that doesn’t harm others. This is definitely a broad theme in DW.

Freaks by The Hawk in Paris

We have a flair for the shade and the inbetween We like to run with the wolves from the darker scene When we turn the safety off, the shots are automatic All our friends tell their friends we're so dramatic

We'll have you wrapped around our trigger finger Queen bee yellow, you're the skin for our stinger We'll make you swoon, make it hurt just a little We're the boys and the girls and the freaks in the middle

We know the halls you walk are unforgiving It's not the kind of place to find your place among the living We have a plan, we've got the means for your liberation You'll only have to blur the lines on a few occasions 

This song hits the themes of corruption and manipulation right on the head.  I also just love the sound of it- shady and smooth, lyrics flowin’.  In both the future and the past in Daydream Walking, there is corruption.  

In the past, it is more deeply rooted, at least in Port Cassandra.  The Captain is listless, dispassionate, and careless, past his prime and clinging to glory days gone by.  He largely ignores problems growing right underneath his nose.  Half the police forces is using, and addicted to, cocaine, as well as drinking heavily.  There are many more ways in which the police force in Port Cassandra is SUPER flawed, from each individual officer/detective to their aged/out of date vehicles, but it all tracks back up to the man in charge.  Not only does he not take care of brewing issues, he actively makes choices that get in the way of the productivity of the force.

In the future, well, I choose not to reveal how corruption has a role there, quite yet. >:3c

As far as manipulation goes, Quince is most certainly being manipulated/gaslit by Felicity, and manipulation also plays into corruption in Astervale’s government.

To end this section, the lyrics “the boys, and the girls, and the freaks in the middle” are fitting because of the many different characters appearing in DW, including quite a few nonbinary characters! (Note: Not that I think of nonbinary OR trans people as freaks, just seems to reflect some general societal outlook, especially historically unfortunately hhhhh)

Florida Kilos by Lana Del Rey

We could get high in Miami, ooh-ooh Dance the night away People never die in Miami, ooh-ooh That's what they all say (You believe me, don't you baby?)

Come on down to Florida, I got somethin' for ya We could see the kilos or the Keys, baby, oh, ya Guns in the summertime, chic-a-Cherry Cola lime 

And this one nails the drugs. Port Cassandra is up to its nose in cocaine, and not only it is inside the police, but many of them are also heavy drinkers.  The majority of people also smoke.  Quince is an alcoholic self-medicating subconsciously to deal with the abuse he’s been experiencing at the hands of his wife, and Clay is temporarily out of commission when he comes into contact with a new street drug.  Themes of addiction, recovery, and, yes, accidental death all show up in this thing.

The murder and death.  We start off dipping our toes into the waters of the investigation into the murder of the Morgans in Astervale, and many follow after that.  In Port Cassandra, many murders and “accidental deaths”(read: cocaine overdoses/drug associated car crashes) crop up, keeping the small police department stretched thin.  

And the presence of weapons, including guns, wands(which are treated as weapons/only issued to certain Government officials, mostly Enforcers(wizard cops)), knives, and even, cars. Clay’s means of travel into the past is an enchanted knife that cuts through the fabrics of time.  Alistair is almost constantly armed, or has a weapon nearby.  Clay, Daphne, and the rest of the Enforcers all possess wands, which allow them to do things with magic that cannot be done without a wand (for example: bodily manipulate somebody without their permission).

Additionally, the dreamy, slow sound of it feels really fitting, especially to the portion of the novel-beast set in Port Cassandra.  

(End note: Quince DOES get a happy ending, goddamnit!!  I feel like that is very important.)

If anybody has any further questions, please please please send them in!! I would love to answer them, and thinking about these things helps motivate me and figure out the rest of the story and what I should do next!