#just keeps sipping his tea; unimpressed

[gemissleeping]

Sea Foam | Chapter Two

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read Chapter One here.

Summary: After almost pulling him to the bottom of the Black Lake the night prior, Theodore Nott can’t keep his mind off of you. But you worry things aren’t all that they may seem to him.

Length: 2.7k

Notes: More brash (kind of dark) Theo. Angst. Not smutty just saucy. Not very pc comment about drugs/addiction (but it’s a UK high school in the 90s so… real). Featuring Blaise & Milli the peak friend duo. Sprinkle of hurt/comfort if you squint. Thanks for reading, love you guys <3

When you pulled yourself from the depths of the lake an hour before sunrise, the shoreline was empty and he was gone. You could barely remember anything save for a string of flashes; his lips on yours, hands hungry for each other as you had tangled yourself in him. How you were supposed to face him in the halls today, you didn’t know. You hauled yourself onto some rocks outside of the castle’s view. A tremor running through you like a gentle current, as it always did the next day. Evasion, you eventually settled on, would be your best hope. At least until you decided what you were going to do.

An hour or so later, you were making your way towards the Great Hall. The salt licked curls of your hair the only evidence that last night might’ve happened at all. Only a few students sat, littered across their House tables. The early morning sun was casting patterns through the windows, most students likely still in the middle of their dreams.

Theo would be running Quidditch practice around now, so you wouldn’t have to fret the possibility of your paths crossing. Unfortunately, that also meant you’d have to leave before Milli and Blaise got back from practice too.

Lifting your teacup with unsteady fingers, you sat at the Slytherin table, flipping through The Daily Profit without really taking any of it in. Students slowly piling in with heavy eyes, soft yawns and hushed chatter. Filling the Great Hall until the sound rose to a low, inviting hum.

You took a hesitant bite of some plain toast, never feeling that you could stomach much after a full moon. Your attempt was soured quickly, the toast going down the way you imagined gravel might. Deciding you couldn’t eat anything more, you folded over the paper, going to stand just as a hand clamped down on your shoulder with far too much energy for the current hour.

“Alright Darling?” Blaise Zabini’s melodic voice rang out as he stepped over the bench. Taking a seat beside you with a shit eating grin.

“She’s still waking up Blaise, be nice.” Milli scolded as she sat across from you, her freckled cheeks undoubtedly blushed from the morning air.

“From those dark circles I’m not sure she slept at all.” Blaise quipped, stealing the toast from your plate as you sighed, unimpressed. “You and Nott are two of a kind this morning,” he added, demolishing half of the toast in a single bite as you stilled.

Nausea licked at your stomach, trying to crawl it’s way up. You went to speak, but your voice was lost for a moment as you caught sight of a set of sleep torn, dark blue eyes. They’d cut through the sea of students, found you even from the doorway. You swallowed, flicking open the newspaper on the table again and tearing your eyes away as you cleared your throat.

“What do you mean?” You asked, trying not to appear overly nervous as you glanced over at Milli, who was practically trying to live inside of her coffee mug.

“Looks like he was dragged through a bush backwards,” she echoed into her cup. Only taking a momentary break to answer your question before going back to drowning in her coffee. Panic flickered through your chest as you took another precarious sip of tea, a headache was forming now.

Against your will, you felt your eyes sweep across the gathered students at the Slytherin table. Locking straight onto those same tired eyes as Theo took a seat further down the table. Already looking at you from beside Matt and Enzo. Barely listening to a word either of them were saying as he watched you with an unreadable expression. You felt yourself inhale harshly before dragging yourself away from him. Doing your best to push him to the bottom of your mind as you tuned back into your friends.

“Understatement of the century,” Blaise chimed, polishing off the toast. “Whichever girl of his he shagged last night has him proper messed. Could barely even run drills this morning.” You almost choked on your tea at Blaise’s comment.

“Blaise,” Milli sighed, dropping her empty cup to the table, “you have absolutely no decorum.”

“Which is exactly why you keep me around,” Blaise grinned, pointing at her with his fork. “How else would you two get any of the gossip?”

Milli shook her head fondly as you managed to put on a small smile. Pushing your hands towards the teapot to refill your cup, very aware that Theo was still transfixed on you.

“Jesus, you’re shaking like the smack addict my Mum dated in Third Year.” Blaise crowed as you lifted your magically filled cup, barely managing to keep the tea inside of it. “Anyway enough about Theo’s ugly mug. I’ll get it out of him in Divination.”

“Rather out of character for your Mother.” Milli frowned curiously over her eggs, distracted.

“Well, you know how it goes. His wallet was heavy,” Blaise stated simply, peering over at you with discernment before turning back to Milli for a moment, “good smack’s expensive you know.”

“I don’t.” She glowered.

“Well now you do.” Blaise was looking at you sideways again. He was, unfortunately, even more perceptive than most people believed.

“And what of your Mum’s smacked up ex lovers - dead now I’m assuming?” Milli chimed from across the table. You felt Blaise’s calculating eyes leave you, utterly unamused as he turned his attention to her.

“And you say I have no decorum.”

“Neither of you should throw stones in glass houses,” you murmured, lips against your teacup as you blinked tiredly between your two friends.

“She speaks,” Blaise smiled, a slither of his concern seeming to melt away. Your friends were admittedly idiots, but they both cared for you deeply.

“Seriously though,” Milli spoke up across from you both, “are you alright? You got in after me last night.”

“Fine, just getting my ass handed to me in Potions this year.” The pair shared a glance, but neither pressed further.

The rest of the day had been long, leaving you bone-tired. Through all of the classes you had shared, you could feel Theo stealing glances at you. Perhaps he was angry, or merely curious, confused even. But it did nothing to ease the guilt and embarrassment that was rising through you. It wasn’t until Potions last period when Matt started laughing suddenly from beside him that a thought dawned on you.

You felt like a fool for not having got to it sooner, though you hadn’t exactly been clear headed today. Especially not with this headache, which had only grown. Occasionally gracing you with unwelcome fragments of last night in the middle of your Professors’ lecturing. Yet it hadn’t occurred to you until now; what if Theo told someone about last night?

You’d known him, all of the Slytherins, since you were little. In passing mostly at Galas and Dinners, but you’d never been overly close. Who was to say that he wouldn’t? Your Father had gone to every length to keep your ailment hidden, it was an embarrassment to him. In his eyes you were the worst kind of half-blood, a reminder of his weakness. It couldn’t get out, it would ruin him, ruin you.

You knew what that meant, what you had to do. Whether you could bring yourself to was something else entirely. It was while you were making your way to the Common Room after Potions, thinking about how you would do it. Brow creased with the weight of it all, when a low, strained voice spoke from behind you.

“That’s not fair.”

You turned back in surprise to see Theo at the far end of the hall. His chest rising and falling rapidly, tie loosened as he ran his hand along his jaw. The sight of him sending a wave of memories through your mind as you began to feel unsteady.

Blaise and Milli had been right. While you’d been avoiding so much as breathing in his direction all day, you hadn’t looked at him, not properly. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, the undersides of his eyes practically bruised from the lack of rest.

You felt yourself frowning softly as you tried to make sense of his words, choking on your own. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not fair. If you get to remember, and I have to forget.” He called back with a quiet anger, watching intently. Searching your eyes for something. You froze, locked on him in shock as the realisation slowly swept you.

He knew you had been thinking of obliviating him.

“You’re the reason I’ve had a headache all day.” You murmured, eyes widening with the gravity of Theo’s invasion dawning on you. He walked towards you carefully, like he couldn’t help himself.

“And you’re the reason I can’t think of anything. Except for-“

His eyes fell to your lips.

You knew you should go, turn and walk away. But as he approached, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Completely stuck under his gaze. Distracted by the way his dark curls caught the fleeting light, the shadow against the slope of his nose. You saw him smile as he read you for filth, flitting through your head with ease. Your breath caught as you slammed him out, cheeks flushed.

“You’ve been using legilimency on me?” You seethed in a hush.

“I have,” he admitted, eyes darkening, “and you almost drowned me in the Black Lake. So I guess we’re both bad people.”

He took a step closer to you, and then another. Until he was so unbearably close that you were forced to look up at him. Theo was already watching you, gaze darting between your lips and your eyes as if he had no control over any of it.

“You should’ve listened to me when I told you to go,” you whispered, your own eyes falling to his lips before flickering back to his, cheeks still running warm.

You could feel your chest hammering, breath picking up. Flashes of the night prior came back to you in a flood and you broke away, taking a rushed step back from the tense stare of the boy before you. It had been him, all day it had been him, ever since breakfast.

“Stop doing that,” you gasped. Trying to shove him out of your mind again. But instead your back hit the pillar behind you with enough force to dash the air from your lungs. He closed in.

“Not until you talk to me,” Theo breathed. Eyes trailing lazily across your features in pursuit of something.

You only shook your head, unable to break the gaze he was holding. “We need to stay away from each other.”

But you didn’t mean it, he could hear it. An unbecoming frown pulled him closer to you until you were only a breath away. Theo tilted his head, as though he was failing at unraveling your mind this time. His hand raised, fingertips hesitating towards the exposed skin of your neck.

You knew better than this, knew that you should push him away the way you had last night. Knew that it wasn’t real. But when his fingers brushed so barely across your skin, dancing their way up to your jaw, all rational thought left you.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He murmured, his face dangerously close to yours.

You faltered as his thumb drew deliberate soft circles across the arch of your cheek. Eyes burning with shame as the guilt of last night clawed at you, “I could’ve killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” Theo muttered, his other hand circling the loose sleeve of your shirt. Fingers brushing past it, pushing it up further as he explored. The rough callouses on his fingertips dancing along your arm as he continued to drown in your eyes. Thumb still running gently across your cheek. Until it faltered, a frown flickering across his features.

Trailing across the skin of your forearms, were a string of welts; left by the snaring kelp you had buried yourself in. His eyes softened as his fingers left your cheek, gently pulling the sleeve of your shirt higher with a frown.

You flinched, pulling your arm back to your side. The burning sensation ripping you into reality once again. “Believe me, I tried.”

“What can I do?” He asked, far more softly than you had ever heard him speak. “I want to help you.”

Your eyes stung, wishing that for even a moment you could let yourself believe him. But the truth was that you couldn’t afford to take that chance. You’d had no one to guide you through this after your Mother had left, no clue as to how any of it worked. No textbook had ever helped you, the sirens you found in their pages weren’t like you.

You were alone in this, and you couldn’t let yourself do this to him on the off chance that maybe it was real. Of his own volition and not drawn from him by whatever you had done to him under the full moon. You glanced back up to him as the sun sank through the stained glass windows of the empty hall.

“It’s not real, Theo. The way you feel is a, a reaction,” you could hear the crack in your voice as you sank away from him, “It will pass.”

Theo’s eyes darkened as he took a step back, hurt clouding him. The last of the sun’s warmth leaching from the air as night began to set in.

“Stop,” he breathed as his eyes found the floor, “stop doing that. You keep lying and forgetting that I can hear you.”

“Do you think this is normal?” You pleaded with him, wishing for nothing more than to make him see reason. “I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t-“

“I wanted to,” you snapped suddenly, your voice cutting through his as pain bloomed in him from your words. “I wanted to,” you said again, softening. “Any second longer and I-“ your eyes fluttered, blinking back tears, “I would have done it. It’s not real, Theo. It’s safer for both of us if we just-”

He wasted no time in cutting you off with his lips. Gently pressing them against yours, one hand tangling tenderly through your salty hair. The other at your jaw, fingertips trailing up to tuck some of the loose strands behind your ear. It was different to last night. Gentle, fragile even. You felt your lips part in a mess of surprise and fear at the sensation. It was all the invitation he needed.

He deepened the kiss, tilting your jaw back and eliciting an involuntary gasp from you. Swallowing the sound with the softness of his lips against yours. Hands running over your skin like he was trying to memories you. His fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he pulled back gently.

“You don’t feel that?” He breathed against you, hopeful eyes lingering as he cradled your face in his palms. But you couldn’t answer him without lying, without admitting that you felt it all too. So instead you avoided his question.

“Don’t you think it’s odd? When you never seemed to before?” You countered, desperately trying to shove whatever he had drawn out of you down. “Forgive me, perhaps I’m inexperienced, or naive. But I’m fairly certain that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight.” You finished emptily, growing tired of your rising hope.

He straightened, his hand falling from your cheek. Brushing your shoulder before dropping to his side.

“You seem very certain that it did,” Theo conceded. Taking a step back from you, his eyes hardening as he swept your face.

“What?” You breathed, his face perfectly indifferent as he gazed at you, waiting.

“That I never felt that way before last night.” He clarified, narrowing in on you. You stayed like that for a moment, watching each other carefully. Eventually, you let your eyes sink to the floor. Hand coming up to smooth down your hair.

“I won’t ask you again.” You swallowed, brushing past him as the warmth drained from you. You didn’t have to say it, you could feel him on the outside. Begging you to let him through to your mind.

So you left it there like a note upon his doorstep; that you wanted to forget. Even if it wasn’t true

Read Chapter Three here

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie

[primrosebow]

Idea I had

_--> Vox x reader //

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, vox is a warning of his own right

This is so goofy ya'll.......

//

//

He watches you through the cameras, he sees your every movement: every yawn from absolutely mind-numbingly boring paperwork, every sip of whatever drink you got to try and keep yourself awake, every flick you give to a page to try and make sense of the words after they start to scramble toguether in your mind... he.. felt a familiar pride rise in him as he noticed you do that last one in particular.

Vox... tries to be confident. Were it not annoying, you'd probably commend his commitment to "the bit" (that "bit" being his dominant act). His cold and controlled demeanor carefully stringed toguether by him holds up as well as a sugar cube in tea when he tries to still somehow hold it up even when you are mixed into the situation.

He had been observing you for quite the substantial ammount of time. In your bedroom. In your house. Through your electronics, your every move was permanently etched into his mind so he could look back at it during those times where the strain in his pants got far too uncomfortable to bare- he's getting sidetracked- (probably because that is the exact situation he is in right now) what brought him pride was the way you'd watch his shows with rapt attention, the way you'd talk of him so fondly to your friends, the way he was taking sleep away from you because of how in love you are with him! (Yes, his delusions do run that deep. Whatever it takes not to crush that fragile ego he has, I suppose.) Because you were anxious to be around him because you were flustered, of course, (because he is the equivalent of a ticking bomb except you never know when it's going to explode. But, whatever helps him sleep at night) and it definetly gets to you when you're trying to sleep, and THAT'S why you're so tired (the unshakable feeling of being watched at night doesn't exactly allow for much sleeping.).

And he calls you up to his office, having planned out everything down to his tone of voice. Down to the precise words he would say. His woven persona built with love for what he thinks is what you find attractive laid in front of you as you look at him mildly shocked, but weirdly unimpressed. While of course Vox would do something like this, there is also the "what the hell? What has gotten into him?" Aspect that can't seem to answer itself in your head.

Your silence and furrowed brows as you look at him don't inspire the same confidence he started with. The words that came from you next weren't the kindest, but they made the fuzzy feeling in his brain grow further. Your expression that went from mild surprise to a sly, malicious smile had him reeling- this- isn't going as planned-

"W-Well! Do something about it!" He exclaims after some moments of bickering between the two of you. His voice is slightly glitched out and his screen shows an occasional error message, but, despite that shameful display of vulnerability and lack of control over his emotions, you quickly grabbed onto his thigh and slowly brought it further up so you could get into a more comfortable position yourself. Your willingness to do this made the screaming voices of self deprication get quickly replaced by his unchecked ego. He felt like the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

You look at him again as you reach out to touch where he needed it most- and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. It made his entire body jolt as he finally got the reward he's been desiring for ages-

But he can't ever let things just be good the way they are without interfering in it unnecessarily. His resolve was breaking but he couldn't even tell, his screen brightened noticeably as even more glitches were escaping onto it along with a vague noise like building pressure in a lightbulb that was very hard to ignore. It was in the middle of that where he decided that this was a perfectly good moment to establish his dominance (which he hadn't noticed he was barely grasping at) and degrade you.

"You slu-" his voice is suddently cut off by a seeming "system default" one which overcame your senses with the message "[Error 404: "dominance" not found]"

You wanted to laugh-

This is just too perfect.

Your grin widens as he stumbles over an attempt to make up an excuse for what you just witnessed- though he is quickly cut off by you sliding your finger over the leaking tip of his dick.

Your turn.

// //

//

Goofy recreation of the last scene WHWHEHEHE

I had so much fun with this.

//

@bigfatbimbo as you accepted being tagged in my every post... and because it's vox

I had a blast with this. Not proof read. Not proof anything I'm just word vomiting. It is nearly 4am

[martybaker]

Over the rainbow

So I know we love torturing or at least inconveniencing retired Dream with new human ailments and realities, I love doing that as well, but the thesis of this was - what if Dream retired and he finally got to be at peace and all was well, actually 🥹

(started this for prompt First time for dreamling week but here we are over a week late)

————

“I’ve never been kissed,” Dream announces.

He’s settled on the far end of Hob’s sofa with his knees up, chin settled on top of them and arms loosely hugging his legs, somehow looking both comfortable and relaxed as well as like a model in the middle of a photoshoot.

Hob’s had a hard time not staring but when Dream says that line his eyes immediately snap to the vision on his couch, clothed in hues of beige, wrapped in Hob’s own softest cardigan, and he nearly spills the tea that he was bringing for a sip.

“Huh? What?” He asks dumbly, voice unnaturally high pitched.

Dream merely blinks at him and waits him out.

When the wheels in Hob’s brain start turning again he does try to parse that statement, but all he can come up with is: “But…you’ve had relationships? You had a wife and all, did you not kiss? Was it all like, metaphysical or-“

Dream rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Of course I’ve kissed my partners. Let me rephrase the statement. Murphy has never been kissed.”

Oh.

Dream’s talking about his new human body. His new self, that he named Murphy, a name to be used for dull but necessary identity paperwork that Hob obtained for Dream through rather illegal means.

It’s only been a little over a month since Dream turned human, but he’s been very…calm while settling into his new reality. The retirement was his own choice and he seemed to be perfectly content with his decision, despite the fact that he was forced to live with Hob in his messy little apartment while they figure something of his own for him.

Well, if.

Dream also seemed perfectly content in Hob’s space and showed no interest whatsoever in looking at flat listings.

Not that Hob minded. He would happily spend every minute every day with his friend, if it wouldn’t make him feel guilty about slacking on his job and his students. After all, Hob’s chosen career wasn’t just to keep himself busy, he really enjoyed teaching young impressionable minds about days past, keeping the history alive. Remembering.

But his joy in teaching was currently found lacking compared to the newfound joy of Dream in his home. Not just visiting, robed in dark colors, taking time off of his duties to spend a moment with Hob, but human, dressed in earthly colors, there in the mornings for shared breakfasts and still there in the evenings when Hob returned. Reading a book, slowly going through Hob’s vast vinyl collection, playing the piano, painting, knitting, molding clay. Pale blue eyes focused and clever hands at work, creating, always creating. He’s always been an artist and that part of him stayed true, despite the big change.

All things considered, Hob’s really been having a hard time keeping his foolish heart in check. And with Dream saying things like this, things like-

“This mouth has never been kissed.”

Hob’s eyes drop to Dream’s lips as soon as Dream says that, just to see them twitch in a pleased smile.

Hob stares at him, at a loss for words, while Dream looks back at him expectantly. Expecting…an answer? A reassurance?

Hob clears his throat. “Well…I’m sure it will be? It’s a very lovely mouth,” he says, unable to stop the blush coloring his cheeks.

Dream sighs a long suffering sigh and pets the couch next to himself. “Come here,” he commands.

There’s no ancient power of a monarch of the Dreaming behind it anymore, but Dream still keeps his regality, his head held high, a quiet gravitas to him. Not quite the same as when he was an Endless, but still there.

Confident, elegant, graceful.

And calm, like the still water of an indigo lake high in the mountains.

Hob blinks. What was the question? Oh, right, he was being summoned. He moves to sit next to Dream.

Dream turns towards him, leans in and closes his eyes.

Is he…?

Hob is frozen in shock once again. “Ahh, you, you want me to…?”

Dream opens his sky blue eyes again, staring into Hob’s soul. “Yes,” he says decisively.

There’s a beat when they just stare into each other’s eyes and then Dream closes his again. Waiting, alluring lips just a few inches from Hob’s.

But Hob’s having a crisis. They’ve never done this before! Dream’s never said anything about being…attracted to Hob, he’s never suggested, he never seemed interested that way.

One time, Hob got drunk and Dream had to drag his ass upstairs to bed, and Hob was just enough at his senses to remember that he slurred: “D’ya know what I like best about being immortal?”

“What,” Dream asked as he pulled Hob upwards, making sure he wouldn’t stumble on the stairs.

And Hob smiled goofily and said: “You.”

Dream just blinked at him. He didn’t say anything, not then, not when Hob got propositioned by the shopkeep when they were out together, browsing for new (old) records, not when Death was visiting and she teased if they changed their dates to weekly instead of centennialy.

Not when they were walking in a park, and Dream seemed to be watching a couple on another path on a stroll as well, holding hands.

Hob’s good mood made him act foolish, he reached out a hand in offering, but Dream… he just stared at it. Hob quickly withdrew it, running it through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I was just teasing,” he said weakly, but by that point he was sure his feelings were transparent and Dream’s lack of reaction was a clear signal.

Then again, maybe this was just harmless experimentation? Wanting to know what it feels like, being kissed as a human?

But Hob still hesitates. He feels too strongly about Dream to casually mess around without being wary of the consequences.

“Uhh, wait. I, are you sure? I don’t-“

Dream sighs and his patience with Hob apparently runs out because he pulls Hob towards him by his shirt, kissing him square on the lips.

Hob makes a surprised sound, but then he closes his eyes and falls into the kiss.

It’s unhurried and rather chaste, yet Hob’s heart seems to be doing its best trying to jump out of his chest.

Dream pulls away, slowly opening his eyes.

“How….how did that feel?” Hob asks, reminding himself that this was just an experiment. A one time deal.

Dream contemplates his answer. “Different,” he says.

“Different than when you were..Endless?

“Yes.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Dream frowns. “No such dichotomy applies,” he says, and then he leans back in again and Hob leans away.

He chuckles nervously. “Ahh, haha, hold on. You’re gonna make me think you like kissing me.” He tries to turn it into a joke, holding Dream lightly by his shoulders, trying to prevent him from darting forward again.

Dream glares at him. “And what, pray tell, is making you think I don’t.”

“Oh…really?” Hob lets go of one bony shoulder to pinch his own arm. Surely, he’s still asleep and this is just a …dream.

Dream’s glare turns even more unimpressed. “You’re awake,” he says, sharp, and as if to prove his point he kisses Hob again, more hungrily and passionately, biting at his lower lip, Hob’s hold too slack to hold him back.

They kiss and kiss and it’s far from chaste this time, Dream seems to have made it his mission to explore Hob’s mouth thoroughly, while his hands explore his chest.

Hob’s hand burrows into Dream’s hair, he isn’t able to hold back now, kissing back with vigor, treasuring Dream’s every gasp.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part - by the time Hob has to pull Dream back by his hair to stop him from diving back in.

He can’t help but laugh. “You do actually need to breathe now, you know.”

Dream doesn’t seem too pleased with this reminder. He huffs, sitting back onto his heels.

Hob already misses the feeling of him in his arms.

He clears his throat. There’s a very important question to be asked first.

“Is it…just the kissing that you like?”

Dream tilts his head at Hob like a cat, measuring him. “You cannot tell?”

Hob shakes his head.

“You’re not very bright, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, and Hob would protest, he would tease back, but the words get stuck in his throat when Dream takes Hob’s hand into his own, putting it on his chest and making Hob feel his racing heartbeat.

Hob inhales, blushing.

“You…I…,” he sighs, searching for words. “I still have a lot to learn,” he offers, smiling at Dream.

“As do I,” says Dream.

It is marvelous seeing Dream like this. His words are confident but his heart beats wildly under Hob’s hand, pink colors his cheeks, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He’s trusting Hob with this, with his very human body whose reactions he cannot temper, cannot regulate.

Hob chuckles, feeling warm.

He loves this, the marvelous feeling of finding out your crush likes you back, the feeling that’s always incredible, no matter the time and place, no matter how many times he’s experienced it. One of his favorite feelings, the ones that make life an amazing journey.

“I really thought you weren’t interested in me like that,” he says.

Dream sighs. “I…could not be.”

Hob’s heart aches.

He has to touch, now that he’s allowed, now that he’s invited to. He kisses Dream’s forehead, his cheeks, delighting in the sighs he earns.

He kisses Dream's neck and Dream tilts his head for better access, making Hob feel lightheaded and so full of happiness he can hardly contain it. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you now,” he warns. “I’ll kiss you a hundred times every day.”

“A thousand times” Dream says, and Hob laughs, scraping his teeth against alabaster skin, making Dream moan.

He smirks, gaining back his confidence now that he knows Dream means this. He holds him around the waist, pulling him closer.

“I did learn a certain thing or two over the years,” he says slyly, dipping Dream backwards, laying him on the couch. Dream sighs indulgently, wrapping his hands around Hob’s shoulders, holding him close.

“Want me to show you?” Hob asks, and Dream hums in confirmation, pulling him for another kiss.

Soft notes play from the old record player, outside warm spring sun rays melt the last reminders of winter, birds chirp their welcoming songs.

Hope is in the air.

Dream’s here, in Hob’s home, in his arms. The cold weeks when he was distant and quietly hurting and Hob could sense something was very, very wrong but didn’t know how to fix it now seem like a distant memory too.

Hob pulls back for a second, holding Dream’s head in his hands, savoring the moment.

“Will you stay?” he whispers.

Dream inhales, his hand shaking a little when he places it on Hob’s cheek, caressing Hob’s lips with his thumb.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says, smiling.

————

[avocado-writing]

bc so many of y’all are sending me asks, a little reverse au drabble:

you pull into the car park of the store just before it opens. you’ve pretty much synced your internal clock to it: every day at 9am, the doors unlock and you walk in through them.  

you park up in the space Crowley always has reserved for you. Zira’s caravan has the curtains drawn in its little windows; you’re certain he’s still sprawled out on the messy double bed he spends most of his mornings hiding in. no point in knocking. he’s currently dead to the world. 

the bell rings as you head into Anthony Crolwey & Co, the most luscious flower shop and plant nursery this side of the Thames. Crowley pokes his head around from the office and smiles. 

“hello, darling,” he calls, walking out to greet you. you give him a kiss probably a little too risqué for standing in front of a shop window but feel him smile beneath your lips. you step back - but not too far, you still want to enjoy the warmth of him - and smooth down his lapels, admiring the muted chequered fabric beneath your palms. 

“is this new?”

“hmm?” he asks, feigning innocence. you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “well, maybe i indulged a little…”

“did you?” you say with a grin. you watch Crowley go a little pink. “you and your suits.”

he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. 

“well, you’ve got to have a vice.”

“fine words for an angel.”

he gives you a cheeky wink and you laugh. 

“Zira is still in bed, then?”

“well, it’s before one in the afternoon, so yes.”

he’s clearly unimpressed, but the two of you have tried heaven and earth to wake your husband before midday - and there’s only one thing that works. you take the lead into Crowley’s flat, tucked away in the back of the shop, towards the kitchen where you spend much of your time. 

Crowley doesn’t eat a lot but sips a freshly made cup of tea as you go about your business, happy to chat and keep you company. as you throw the bacon on to cook it doesn’t take long to have its desired effect. you hear a muttering at the fire exit and, as the alarm is miracled off, Zira comes shuffling through into the room. he yawns, groggy, and groans in appreciation at the smell of frying fat. 

“you are a godsend,” he croaks as he comes up behind you, wrapping you in his arms and burying his face into your neck. 

“you are hungover,” you say back, lightly, because you can’t be too angry at him. he might not always remember to drain the booze out of his own system but he certainly remembers to take it out of yours. you’ve skipped innumerable instances of feeling like death warmed up after an all-nighter due to your demon. 

“mmm. fried eggs?” he asks hopefully. you use your spatula to gesture to the carton, ready waiting. “fuck, I love you.”

“and there’s a black coffee here for you,” Crowley says over his paper. Zira pumps the air in triumph and heads over to the dining table. 

“fuck yes. I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s mouth which your husband readily accepts. 

you take a moment to look at them. gosh, they are so utterly different. your angel in his latest saville row suit, your demon dressed in the black joggers and oversized guns n roses shirt he slept in. and yet you always find time for this. to have breakfast. to be together. 

fondly, you twist your wedding ring. their matching ones glint from their fingers as Zira helps Crowley with today’s crossword. 

you’d not change this for the world. 

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Oh wait... There's more!

Previously...

***

Chapter 26

Beorn’s house, July 20th, 2941

Gandalf was sipping tea from a big mug as if he was keeping court when Bluebell found him. She’d learned to trust the wizard less when he looked so serene.

“Gandalf.”

“Oh, Bluebell, my dear. Would you care for some tea?”

Yes… She didn’t like the look in his eyes, but she did need to talk to him.

“Yes, please.” She had to climb onto the chair, but she wasn’t about to ask someone to help her.

“Do you have something on your mind?” Gandalf asked, polite as a prince.

“Actually, yes.” Bell put her hand on her pocket and pulled the ring she’d found in the caves. “I found this. That is how I escaped the caves.” She passed him the ring. “It made me invisible.”

Gandalf hummed as he inspected the ring. “This is quite old. Did it make you completely disappear?”

“Yes.”

“Fascinating.” He slipped the ring on his finger and also disappeared. Once he pulled out and she could see him again, he chuckled. “It is fine. It is harmless.” He gave it back to her.

“Good to know.” She put it away.

“But you do need to be careful with it.” He told her. “Even though it is harmless, you cannot be found if you are wearing it. Meaning that if you lose consciousness, for example, it would be hard to help you.”

“That is a good point.”

They sat looking at each other in silence for a while, locked in a battle of wills. Bluebell was not going to be the first to say anything related to Thorin.

“So…” He started like nothing was amiss. “Queen Under the Mountain, hm?”

Bluebell gave him an unimpressed look.

“And to think you did not want to abandon your mother’s doilies.”

“Don’t be smug, Gandalf.” She told him. “It is unbecoming.”

He snorted. “As you say.” He became serious for a moment. “I could not have predicted this and I certainly could not have orchestrated it, but I am happy for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my dear Bluebell.” He smiled kindly at her. “I cannot think of anyone better suited for this journey or this king.” He once again turned serious. “You do know it will not be easy, right?”

“Yes, Gandalf.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied by her answer. “I believe Master Balin was looking for you.”

Bell sighed. “I am sure he was.”

***

“Fíli.”

The young lad turned his head to him. “Yes, uncle?”

Thorin stopped next to his oldest nephew. “Are you preparing to leave again?”

“Yes.” The youngster confirmed. “Gandalf says we need to leave here tomorrow. I just wanted to be sure we had everything ready.”

Thorin knew he was very hard on the boys, especially Fíli. He knew it was unfair to put on him all the weight of a crown they didn’t even have.

The boys had lost their father too soon and Dís… His sister hadn’t had a choice but to be strong. At times, Thorin envied her resilience. They’d lost so much, and she’d lost even more. Yet, he didn’t know where he’d be if Dís wasn’t by his side.

He didn't know how to do better for his nephews, especially Fíli.

“Is everything alright, uncle?” Fíli asked him.

“Fíli… Bluebell has accepted my suit, which means she will be my Queen if…” He cleared his throat. “When we recover our home.”

The boy smiled. “Yes, uncle. We are all very happy for you two.”

Thorin nodded. “Bell does not believe she can still have children, but even if she can…” This was harder than he’d thought it might be. “Fíli, you are my heir.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “And this is not changing.”

Fíli seemed surprised by that statement.

The truth was that Thorin didn’t even know if Fíli wanted to be King. He’d never seen Erebor, he didn’t know about any of it: the glory, the people, the riches deep within the mountain. For him, those were all old tales, a life he could barely imagine.

A life he - perhaps - didn’t wish for.

“I… Thank you, uncle.” He scratched the back of his head. “The truth is… I wish for your happiness, most of all. The crown does not look as important as that. If Miss Baggins can make you happy and if she can give you children… Then I could not wish for anything else.”

How humbled Thorin felt just then, looking in the eyes of a boy that hadn’t seen half of the horrors he had. If Thorin could, he would keep it that way. He wanted his nephews to grow safer and happier than he had. He wanted them to never know hunger or fear or war.

It was not a life he could realistically give them, but at times like this, he could see the man that Fíli would become. And even though the merit wasn’t his, he couldn’t be prouder of his nephew.

“You are a good dwarf, Fíli.” He squeezed his shoulder in approval. “And our people would be in good hands with you.”

When the boy turned his head to hide his happy tears, Thorin let him.

***

“Out with it, Balin.” Bell demanded. “Let us hear it.”

The older dwarf’s eyebrows went up. “Mistress Baggins?”

“We both know you have something to say to me.” She put her hands on her waist. “So?”

He chuckled softly. “Mahal himself could not have made you more suited to our King.” When she only narrowed her eyes at him, Balin put his hands up in surrender. “I worry that you might be under the impression that I do not wish to see you as our Queen.”

That made Bell relax completely. “Oh. That? No, I do not think that.”

Balin frowned. “No?”

“No.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I was upset when we previously discussed this, but - if I am to be honest - I was more upset at myself. I knew you were not suggesting I was wrong for Thorin.”

“Oh.” Balin hadn’t expected this conversation to go this easy. “Well, I am glad to hear it. I have always liked you, Mistress Baggins. Knowing that you will be with us all the way to the mountain and beyond it… It makes my old heart lighter.”

“Oh you silly old dwarves.” She smiled at him. Bell came closer to Balin. “I understand what you were concerned about, Balin. You were not wrong: I was not ready and I was scared.” She captured his big hands with hers. “But I am not anymore. I will be here by Thorin’s side. It does not matter what happens.”

Balin smiled fondly at her. “Ah lass… You are a true blessing. Not only for him - and Thorin deserves some happiness in this life - but to all of us.” He brought her hands to him and kissed both of them. “A true treasure among all treasures.”

[scribbling-dragon]

Crown of Antlers

Chapter 9: A Day's Interlude

summary:

The moments between the night before and the day of.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(2,384 words)

The morning light peeks carefully behind the curtains, spilling into the small spaces not covered by the thin fabric. It is blessedly cool this early, the heat of the day not yet setting in as the sun just begins its ascent.

Scott takes the small moment where he can, finger idly tapping against the table as he waits for his tea to cool. The breeze that blows in from the half-open window is almost refreshing, only the heavy smell of clay and terracotta making him turn his head away from the slightest hint of cold.

Still, the morning is pleasant and he finds himself enjoying it.

His companion...less so.

“I take it you had a rather eventful evening?” He asks, attempting for sympathetic. Hints of amusement leak into his voice and betray him, though, something that his companion also registers as she lifts her head to glare at him.

“Don’t act all high and mighty on me now, Elvenking.” Katherine sulks, stirring her own drink carefully, switching rotations every now and then – he knows she’s counting it in her head, polite enough to not count aloud.

He doesn’t envy her. The concoction she lifts to her lips has a rather pungent smell of herbs, tasting no better than its odour, either. It’s a popular treatment among nobles and those of higher class, when there may have been instances of overindulgence the night before an important meeting. Only the high cost of the herbs in it, and the skills to know how to brew it yourself, keeps it away from the general public.

He takes a sip of his own tea, now sufficiently cooled. Its flavours are familiar and comforting; something known even in a new place. Mainly because he brought his own tea bags with him, not trusting any of the Mezalean shops to have halfway decent tea. Or even somewhat decent tea.

He’s seen the things that their King chooses to consume at meetings, referring to them as “typical Mezalean fare”, something that did generally seem to be the case. But much of it is far too hot for him, using too many spices – he enjoys drinks with spice in them, designed to chase the frost from your joints on the coldest days; but such a thing is hardly necessary in Mezalea, where the coldest weather is still sweltering.

“I didn’t mean to act in such a way,” he nudges one of the sweeter breakfast pastries across the table towards her, offering it up as consolation for the bitter drink she’s forcing herself to consume. She scrunches her face up as she lifts her cup, pinching her nose as she tips it back in one go. Normally he’d be a little put-off at the lack of decorum, but he sympathises with her plight in this case. The drink’s taste is not something you’d wish to linger on. “I only meant to say that you seemed to be having fun last night, with the…ah, I believe it was the Undergrove’s Ruler?”

Katherine sinks down in her chair, face flushing a bright pink as she drags the plate of pastries rather aggressively towards herself. It makes a horrible scraping sound across the tabletop, one that has Scott wincing and grimacing at her.

“You're not really helping your case by reacting like that,” he comments.

“Oh, yeah?” Katherine looks up, glancing away from the pastry she’s begun to methodically peel apart, shredding it over her plate and leaving bits of flaky pastry everywhere. He sighs, internally. “And what about you and the Codfather, hm? Lots of people noticed how you two disappeared around the same time.”

“We had business discussions.”

“During a party?” Katherine raises both eyebrows at him, obviously unimpressed with his, admittedly, poor attempt at a lie. “At a wedding?”

“Yes.” He grits out.

There hadn’t been much business discussion. A lot of their short escape from the party was spent in silence, watching the stars together. He hasn’t had such a moment in many decades, not choosing to look upon the stars for too long, lest he begin to wallow in guilty and misery. Neither of them are things that a good ruler should dwell on, lest he wishes to begin losing sight of what it is that he hopes to achieve.

But Jimmy had been a good companion for the evening. Simply the gentle sound of his breathing had been enough to occasionally pull Scott’s eyes away from the vast and starry canvas above them, and he had watched Jimmy. He had been able to see the stars in his eyes, pick different ones out and connect them into small, made-up constellations.

Jimmy had created a few constellations of his own, picking out a few stars. He’d attempted to point them out to Scott, shuffling them both closer so he could lean into Scott’s side and guide his eyes, attempting to point out the cod he’d managed to form with a closely clustered group of stars. And then the pair of antlers he’d imagined just beside it.

It had very quickly begun to feel like he was venturing into territory he was unfamiliar with. As though every step caused the floor to fall out further from underneath him, lacking even Aeor’s reassuring presence or ongoing commentary to ease his nerves slightly.

It left him as shaky as a newborn deer, uncertain of what step was right and which was wrong.

He didn’t enjoy the feeling of being wrong-footed. He much preferred being the one in control of information and the way it was distributed, relying on those around him to trust in his guidance enough to follow it with little resistance in the moment, even if it meant hours of questioning afterwards.

With Jimmy, it felt like he was constantly missing a step, plunging down a few feet before he manages to scramble for a hold again. Like slipping down a step and grasping for the bannister before he breaks something. It left him feeling faintly nauseous, with a swooping feeling in his stomach. Not unlike the feeling he imagines birds must feel when they plunge from a great height.

Overall, not a particularly pleasant experience. And one that Jimmy seems to be entirely oblivious to.

Does he not register the effect he has on Scott? Or does he simply not care? Choosing to ignore the way he’s managed to destroy Scott’s perfect hold over his reactions and thoughts, sending them spinning off into unchartered, and therefore dangerous, territory.

“Uh-huh,” Katherine’s smirking at him now, looking far more smug than she had a few minutes ago; apparently the miracle cure has done it’s work, and she’s no longer feeling incredibly hungover and with “one foot in the grave” as she had bemoaned earlier. “Did you exchange this information with connecting your mouths? Or was it your tongues that did the information exchange.”

“You disgust me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Katherine sing-songs. “Denial only makes it worse, my dearest and most frosty friend.”

He sighs. “Please never call me that again.”

“Oh c’mon,” Katherine whines a little as she leans forward, deconstructed pastry decorating the entirety of her plate and a significant part of the table. He’ll have to clear that up before anyone else manages to see. Aeor forbid that anyone thinks it’s him that destroys good food in such a way. “You never let me do anything – how can I give you fun nicknames when Scotty boy already got vetoed?”

“There was good reason for that,” he sips his tea as Katherine glares at him from across the table. He tucks his feet a little further beneath his chair, just in case she decides to stoop to acting as a child and kick him beneath the table. “If anyone heard you call me that, I think I might just have to kill them.”

“Scott,” Katherine gasps, kicking her leg out – attempting to kick him, just as he assumed; unfortunately for her he kicked many legs beneath tables as a child and thus knows the perfect way to make sure your legs don't get kicked – and acting scandalised. “You shouldn’t joke about such things, you know. Someone might actually think you're serious one day.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Hm.” Katherine narrows her eyes at him. “Now, I don't think I can dispute that, because you were still alive when public executions were the best idea of entertainment. You’ve probably killed some people in your time – how long is that again?”

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Oh, Scott, please.” Katherine starts to actually eat her shredded pastry. He personally doesn’t understand the appeal of deconstructing a meal, only to eat the different parts separately – a meal is created with the idea of the ingredients working together to form a particular taste or sensation. To rip it apart and then eat it like that simply ruins the appeal of food. “How long have we been friends?”

“About twenty years.”

“Exactly!” Katherine points at him, eyes gleaming. “Twenty years, and I don't even know when your birthday is! We’ve celebrated mine so many times, and yet I've never managed to do it for you.”

“You do make an attempt every year,” he reasons. “Just because you’ve never managed to guess the exact day is not your fault. You have another three-hundred and forty-four years, if you wish to do it systematically.”

“Maximum,” Katherine says. “I reckon I've got the day this year.”

“Oh really?”

“And once I know the day, you’ll have to tell me how old you are.”

“Do I, now?” Against his best wishes, he always finds himself amused by Katherine. He had originally approached her to give guidance on how to lead such an influential alliance, and perhaps sway her a little more into his favour; but he’d found himself growing rather fond of her as time continued – she was almost like a younger sister, one that was far too excited about everything most of the time, but endearing in the way she did it. “I don't remember agreeing to that.”

“Well, you do!” Katherine grins at him. “Because I said so! Unless you wanna concede now and tell me right this moment.”

He hums, long and drawn out, watching as Katherine leans a little closer, her anticipation building. “I'm at least twenty years old.” And her anticipation disappears just like that, rapidly deflating in her disappointment.

“You're a horrible man.”

“Hm.” His tea is almost cold now. “I certainly am.”

=== === ===

“You still didn’t tell me anything about you and the Codfather.”

“Did I not?” Scott doesn’t turn away from the sculpture he’s inspecting. It’s certainly one of the more modern pieces, with it’s odd construction and composition. It creates an entirely different image from another angle, adding a duality to the structure that he hasn’t seen before. It’s certainly rather enjoyable. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“You liar!” Katherine appears from the other side of the statue, where she was studying the other side, attempting to make her own interpretation without reading the small placard. The artist quote tells him that it is a piece exploring and making comment on agony and joy, and how often the two co-exist. It gets a little too existential in the second paragraph for his personal tastes, continuing on about how the value of joy would be null without the suffering to make it all that much better.

It makes it seem as though suffering is simply something you must accept; something that must be experience for you to gain fulfilment from your life. Personally, Scott thinks that argument is bullshit.

“Quite rude of you to call me a liar, Katherine.” He turns his back on the sculpture, no longer as fond of the duality of it, as he was moments prior. “Especially when I agreed to accompany you to an art museum.”

“Stop being miserable, old man,” she grabs him by the arm. “I know you're loving this.”

“I resent being called old,” he points out, even though he knows she won’t listen. He continues anyway, “I'm rather firmly in what you would call your ‘twenties’.”

“And I resent you not telling me the gossip in your life!” Katherine tugs on his arm. “The Codfather has been mooning over you for so many years already – when are you going to put that poor boy out of his misery and finally kiss him?”

“Probably about the same time you gather the courage to kiss your darling Undergrove gnome.”

Katherine scoffs. “These two situations are not equivalent. The Codfather has been crushing on you for years. I've barely known her a single year! I've got plenty of time to make my move.”

“I'm sure.”

Katherine smacks him. “Try and sound a little less sarcastic next time; I've got game, you know? Unlike you, I actually know how to flirt in a way that isn’t old and outdated courting rituals that only elven people know.”

“Those outdated courting rituals were the way your mother and father married.”

“Ew, stop it.” She shoves at his shoulder, almost causing him to stumble. A few of the bells he wears ring, causing a few heads to turn towards them. Once those people realise who they're sharing an art museum with they very quickly look away again. “I hate that you knew my parents – did you know my grandparents too?”

“I've met most of the rulers’ parents.” He reminds her. “Only a few continue to be a mystery.”

“Ooh,” she grins, leaning in close to his ear, “is this some gossip? Have you got something fun to tell me- oh! Is the Codfather one of the people whose parents you haven’t met?”

“Hm?” He looks away from the canvas hung just in front of them, a swirl of blues and greys and whites that give the impression of snow and ice and rock, only broken up by a brief flash of brightness. Like a sunrise breaking through a snowstorm. “Oh, no. I've met his mother.”

Katherine laughs. “You really need to stop lying – sometimes I can’t even tell when you do, you know?”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you want to move onto the next painting?”

“Just another moment with this one, please.”

“You hankering for a blizzard?” Katherine teases.

“Only slightly.”

[bodhrancomedy]

Hey, hey, who wants one of my favourite scenes from Tocktick the second highest voted novel in my poll?

(I’m working on Flies in Amber, I gotta redo the beginning)

“Why are you up?” Talas asked.

“Why are you?”

Raising an eyebrow at the bite in the other man’s question, Talas leant back on his box. “My body does not like me. Pain is hard to ignore after dark.”

“Oh. ‘m sorry.” It was genuine.

“So, why are you up?”

Sixsmith looked away. “Just am.”

“… can I request a better answer?”

“No. Fuck off.” Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Dun’t tell Emmett.”

Talas tapped his heart twice. “Sun-God’s Oath.”

“’m… havin’ trouble sleepin’. Nightmares.”

“What kind of nightmares?”

Sixsmith hunched, hands clasping the mug like a lifeline. “Bad ones.”

Talas cleared his throat hesitantly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“What does?”

“The nightmares must be terrifying.”

“What?”

“We are having a civil conversation.”

Sixsmith laughed. “We are, aren’t we?”

“I do declare the sky is about to fall.”

He laughed again and Talas felt himself crack a smile. He edged closer to the other man and took a swig of his tea. “What are they about?”

Sixsmith smiled weakly but said nothing.

Talas swallowed another mouthful, feeling the burn down his throat. “If it makes you feel better,” he began slowly, “My worst nightmare is about being chased by a goat.”

A splutter from beside him made him grin. Sixsmith looked up, eyes wide. “A goat?”

“Have you ever seen a Heliokratos goat?”

“No?”

“They are petrifying. Big, golden, three great big – uh –“ Talas made a crown of fingers on his forehead – “spikes…?”

“Horns?”

“Yes! Horns!” he scratched his neck and confessed, “I lied. They are not so very big, but they do have three great horns. I was chased by two as a boy.”

“What did you do?” Sixsmith sat forwards, his eyes gleaming and not just from the fire.

Talas shrugged modestly. “It was a dare. There was a farm not too far from the boarding school. I was trying to take a handful of their… uh… fluff. Wool. They woke up and chased me. I barely made it over the fence.”

Even thought he was expecting it, the bark of laughter from his right made him jump. Sixsmith’s shoulders were shaking, even as he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Hastily wiping the trickle of hot tea down the side of his mug, Talas said archly, “I am glad my nightmare is so amusing.”

“‘M sorry, Talas, but you deserved that one.” Sixsmith took a few fortifying breaths before adding, “It’s just a funny image, you as a wee kid in some fancy uniform runnin’ hell fer leather ‘cross a field wi’ a massive goat on your heels.” He leant over and gently clapped Talas’ shoulder, “Such a diff’rence to the res-pect-able man before me tonight.”

“It was the night time. I was in my pyjamas.”

Sixsmith held up a hand, “My apologies.”

“We spent most of the night trying to wash out the mud before the matron found out,” Talas protested, “it was a memorable experience and I do not know why I do not dream more of that, but evidently the goat made a greater impression.” He paused for effect, taking another sip of tea. “I could not sit properly for days.”

He saw Sixsmith grin, but he had turned back to the fire. He was gripping the cracked mug again, his knuckles white skulls against the cheerful yellow.

Keeping his voice as light as he could, Talas said, “So, what are your nightmares about?” He tried a cheerful smile, but knew it looked as fake as it felt. “Now that you know that mine are utterly unimpressive.”

Silence save for the crackling of the fire answered him. The air was suddenly heavy and thick, the shadows seeming just a little darker.

Talas waited, heart thudding and hardly daring to breathe.

Sixsmith’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed conclusively. Once, twice. He opened his mouth and shut it again, shaking his head.

“I apologise. I was prying. Rude of me, I know -“

“People without eyes.” Sixsmith’s voice was low, but Talas heard him perfectly. “I dream about people who dun’t have any eyes.”

[bsd-brainrot-go-brr]

Dating a criminal is... kinda hard, actually

In summary: Fyodor x gn reader who is mildly unimpressed with the fact that he is never around but stays with him anyway because who wouldn't?

Fyodor Dostoyevsky was a feared man.

For good reason.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky could also be a cruel man.

Not that he ever had been to you(well he was occasionally, but those times always had safe words involved so you can’t really count that), but you’d be a fool to ignore who he was, what he was, to everyone else.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky was a man who always took and never gave, always reaped but never sowed, a demon, the devil incarnate blah blah blah. Back then, when you’d first met him, it had taken precisely 24 days until the rumours and comments got.... boring. Back then, when you’d first met him, which was several years ago.

Time sure flies when you’re dating a global-scale terrorist, huh?

Fyodor Dostoyevsky was, on top of that, currently absent. Which is not a good thing considering it was the day of your anniversary.

You knew you couldn’t expect much. This was either to keep you safe, or to keep him safe. There was no other reason why he’d ever keep radio silence like this. It was still mildly disappointing. Your relationship had never exactly been... conventional but still. Some flowers would be nice, Fedya. Some chocolate, maybe. With that endgame villain paycheck, he could probably afford a nice bottle of wine or a fancy scented candle(your recent trip into the city had shown you that indeed wine and candles had a horrifying price overlap). Yet here you were, sitting on your couch in a small apartment in the poorer parts of St. Petersburg with a cup of tea and a takeout delivery 15 minutes from your door step. The apartment felt cold, shabby and abandoned, despite the fact that you lived here at least most of the time. Sometimes he’d take you with him if he had to leave for longer, but not this time. This time was too dangerous, too much in person involvement, too much fieldwork. You didn’t ask further. Knew better than that. Whatever he was up to in Japan, you were probably better off not knowing. For one because you could in fact not remote control when your moral values kicked in, but also because without a doubt it’d cause a major headache to attempt to remember all the details of those ridiculously well-planned schemes of his.

No. You wouldn’t ask. You wouldn’t join. You’d sit here, in your lifeless little apartment like a soldier’s wife waiting for her husband to return from war. Except he was the war. He was the chaos, the destruction, he was the reason why he wasn’t here.

You should have felt resentful because of that but truthfully you didn’t. If a situation like this had occurred within the first couple of months of your relationship, it would surely have broken it apart. But it had been what? Five years? Longer? You took a sip of your tea, which was cooling down far too quickly, while trying to remember precisely how many years ago it was that he politely informed you that he was yours, would be yours, until the end of time. All those years ago, and he'd kept the promise to this day.

At this point, the only reason you weren’t married yet might have honestly been... nothing. There was no reason, now that you thought about it.

Might wanna bring that up with dear Mister Dostoyevsky next time he felt like visiting. Whenever that might be.Then you’d at least have a fancy ring to keep you company.

But then again marrying him might automatically put you on a couple of government watch lists if you weren’t already. That was fine.

For those eyes looking at you as if you were the only drop of colour in a desolate grey world, for the defeated sighs before successfully dragging him off to participate in any self care activity, for the near endlessly long letters expressing the things he just did not manage to say out loud, for that it was fine. It was okay.

No good friend would have ever advised you to stay with this man, that was ok too. Because he adored you. Because he was yours. No one else knew that. No one else ever would. These were your memories to keep, to treasure, to recall on nights like these when everything was cold and lonely because he wasn't there, and he wouldn't be for a while. Of course memories were not enough to keep you warm on chilly nights like these were the other, empty side of the bed felt like a punishment from the gods above, faulting you for a crime you did not commit. But memories could make the feeling of emptiness, abandonment and betrayal, that were gradually seeping into your bones, a little more bearable.

It took a lot of endurance to stay, made significantly easier by the lack of desire to leave.

The door bell rang, so you groggily got up to accept your box of lukewarm Chinese noodles. You had sat on your couch with your tea, alone. You sat at the table, which had only two chairs because no one else ever came here except you and him, alone. Evening shower? Alone. Nighttime routine? Alone.

And by the time you crawled under the covers of your ridiculously cold and empty bed, the only companion you had was the impending mental breakdown, because there is only so much loneliness a heart can take. But this was okay. It happened sometimes. That’s just how it was. This was a bad day, tomorrow would be better and once he’d return, today would be forgotten, overshadowed by the joy of reunion and the intensity with which that man could love. Adore. Worship. That knowledge, that experience, those memories, were yours. He was yours. Just...

...just not right now.

The next morning you woke up with a dehydration-induced headache and tear-stained, puffy cheeks. When you went to get the mail, you found a thick, high-quality envelope amongst the usual letters. Address handwritten in a way you recognized immediately. 

Instantly, some of the bitterness that had accumulated the previous evening seemed to vanish. Hm, who could a mysterious envelope one day after your anniversary possibly come from?

It was rare for him to use the conventional, publicly accessible ways of contact, (yes, you had shady looking people at your doorstep before who addressed you as if you were the second coming of Jesus Christ himself just to hand you a letter or convey a message in person,) but who knew what was different this time.

It was a little pathetic, how quickly you ran up the stairs back to your apartment, closed the door and leaned against it, ripped the edge of the envelope with a key.

“To whom my heart belongs,”

Oh fuck you, Fedya.

Come back soon. 

-----------

(narration voice:) what the poor fool did not know, because they do not possess meta knowledge and therefore are not up to date with the manga, was that he would in fact not return anytime soon

[nandysparadox]

A Wish Your Heart Makes - Ch.5 ♡

No matter how your heart is grieving

Prev - Chapter Five - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated T - CW: angst (with comfort), emotional abuse and manipulation, slight physical abuse (patton is knocked against the wall), destruction of personal things, magical compulsion - WC: 5385

-

“I have to say, your Highness, you’ve truly surprised me,” L commented, as he poured Roman a cup of tea, “Throwing a ball geared towards finding your consort? It’s a bold strategy, but I appreciate the initiative.”

V scoffed from his seat across the table. “Bold isn’t the word I’d use. Suspicious is more like it. I find it hard to believe that you’ve suddenly had a change of heart regarding all of this and decided to take such a drastic measure.” V narrowed his bright purple eyes, taking a sip of his tea. It just… phased through the shadows that made up his body. Roman would never get used to seeing that. “What are you scheming, Princey?”

“What? Uh– me? Why, I’d never—” Roman struggled around an excuse, but it wouldn’t pass his lips. He sighed, smiling sheepishly. “It’s nothing harmful,” he settled on.

V hummed, unimpressed.

“C’mon, V,  Ro has finally done something interesting for once,” Remus whined, reaching over his seat to throw an arm around V’s shoulders. V genuinely hissed in response. “Maybe he’s even gotten the stick out of his ass! Don’t ruin this for me.”

Roman shook his head, amused, as Remus and his consort began to bicker like they always did. A hand tapped his shoulder while he took a sip of his tea.

“Nothing harmful, you say?” L whispered, so only Roman could hear. “Then I imagine this has nothing to do with your merchant boy, has it, Florian?”

Roman choked. He put down his teacup, clearing his throat.

“The ball is for the people,” he said, firmly, to the three of them. It wasn’t a lie, really. “That sort of celebration shouldn’t be reserved only for the Court, and if I am to choose a consort, I’d hope to give all folk equal opportunity. I can’t do that if I only mingle with the Gentry.”

V tapped against the table, sighing. “I suppose I can get behind that.”

As he took the tea tray away, L shot him a knowing smile. Roman averted his eyes. Truth be told, he had no clue what were the chances that this plan would work. But… he needed to try. He had to act now, or else Cinder might just slip from his fingers forever.

Roman couldn’t let that happen, not without at least making his feelings known.

—♡—

Patton carefully balanced the sash around his shoulders as he strode through the corridor — stitching throughout the hemline to keep the fabric from fraying, all with one hand. He looped the thread at the end and drove the needle through the light blue cloth to tie it into a finishing knot. Pulling the knot tight, he snapped the leftover thread with his teeth. There it was. Patton smiled. He had the luck to snag an old suit at the market for a bargain, and after days of relentless work fixing it up, all that was left for him to do was add the final touches.

As he reached the attic stairs, Jaq came scampering down the banister and lept right over to Patton’s shoulder.

“Hi, buddy,” Patton said, scratching the little mouse’s head with his finger. “Aren’t you excited today, huh?”

Jaq bumped up against his palm with a chirp, drawing a giggle from him. Patton climbed up the stairs with a pep in his step.

“Well, I know I am,” he said, booping Jaq’s snout. He leaned down and whispered, voice barely containing his enthusiasm. “Today’s the day of the Ball, finally!”

Even though it should’ve occupied his mind, working diligently on his suit for the past few days hadn’t discouraged any of the mounting excitement he felt. As he pinned swathes of fabric into place, he found himself daydreaming more often than not, imagining the palace and the ballroom and the glittering lights so vividly it felt as if he was there. And now, he wanted nothing more than to rush to his mannequin and dive back into sewing all the remaining details until time passed just a little faster.

As he reached the top of the stairs, humming a little tune under his breath, he unlocked the door that led into the attic and walked in.

Only to freeze on the spot. Jaq ducked under his sash, trembling.

The Faerie stood by his makeshift wire mannequin, right in the middle of his room, her back to the door. Sunlight streamed between the open blinds, lighting up the dust in the air. Boxes and old furniture surrounded every corner of the space. Her long golden hair swayed as she turned to face him, a toothy grin splitting her lips. Her eyes widened, a little wild.

“Oh, hello there, dear,” She crooned, swinging her hip to the side, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Patton swallowed and squared his shoulders. He gave her a pleasant smile, bowing slightly. “Good afternoon, miss.”

Jaq managed to dart into his pouch undetected. Patton relaxed slightly but kept the perfect posture. It was okay. He could handle this.

The Faerie sauntered towards him. “I only came to the attic to pay a visit to my little darling,” she cooed, her hand coming up to pinch Patton’s cheek. He held back a wince. “I did not expect to find such a beautiful little ensemble here.”

“Ah, well,” Patton chuckled nervously, taking a subtle step back. “It’s just a new project…”

“I see that!” The Faerie said with a delighted clap. She tilted her head to look at his suit, clasping her hands together. “Oh, you are such a talented little thing, aren’t you? Made yourself an elegant little suit and everything. What sort of fabric did you use? I don’t believe I’ve seen this blue kind around here,” She circled around him and tugged at his sash. Patton shifted his weight. “Oh, but I shouldn’t question that, you are one natural scavenger, aren’t you?”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek as she parted from his side and strode back to the mannequin. She lifted a sleeve and ran her fingers over the silver fringe on the hem.

“Oh, I can only wish I had such a captivating outfit,” The Faerie lamented, flicking a tassel. “Especially today. I’m attending a ball, in the Royal Palace, if you can believe me,” she said, glancing at Patton as she dropped the sleeve. “The little princelet’s latest endeavor. I refused the invitation, at first, and when I changed my mind I thought that surely I must’ve missed my chance, but wouldn’t you know what I found…”

The Faerie reached into her pocket and flicked up an envelope, smiling. The parchment had been folded in half, its corners marked by ashen fingertips.

Patton’s heart sank.

“An invite. Wasn’t it just my luck I encountered it amidst your things?” The Faerie said, with the same cadence of someone who’d apologize as they willingly pushed you off a cliff. “Of course, I haven’t the slightest idea about how it would’ve gotten in your hands.”

She slinked behind the dress form, laying her hand on the garment’s shoulders.

“After all, who in their right mind would invite a puny little human to the Royal Ball?” Her nails dug into the seam that connected the sleeve to the armhole — and with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes, she yanked. The thread snapped, and the sleeve tumbled down to the floor, mercilessly torn from its body piece. The Faerie dodged it as she walked away, not sparing it another glance. “That’d be ridiculous.”

Patton shuffled wordlessly toward the dress form, eyes wide in disbelief. He touched the ripped seam, a gash through the outfit he’d spent hours mending. The fabric frayed under his fingertips.

It wouldn’t be difficult to fix. He could patch it up, sew the sleeve back on, maybe even in time for the ball. A wave of sorrow rose in Patton’s throat, and he clutched his fingers around the suit’s lapel.

But that didn’t matter, did it?

A hand brushed against his lower back and trailed up his spine, settling on his shoulders. “But, of course, that isn’t the only thing I found tracking your scraps of thread,” The Faerie whispered — her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Her fingers rose to press against the curve of his throat, impossibly cold. “You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you, my little apprentice?”

He stared at her, helpless, as she detached from his side and slid over to the attic door. The Faerie twisted the handle, glancing back at him without a hint of her usual false delight.

“Follow me.”

Patton did so, hands trembling and hopelessly confused. She left no room to argue in her tone of voice. The stairs creaked beneath his feet with each step he took. The Faerie did not say another word as she guided him through the manor, and it made it all the worse.

It was when they rounded the main stairwell that he understood. They came to a stop there, and his chest caved in. Jaq squirmed inside his pouch, as if sensing his distress, and Patton prayed it wouldn’t try to escape. If it was caught, there wasn’t a thing he could say now that would save it. The Faerie gestured to the hollow space under the stairway, her piercing gaze trained on Patton.

“Come on then, it’s unlocked,” she said, drumming the tips of her fingers against the wall. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve hidden under there, hm?”

Patton stood there, feet rooted to the ground, for a moment too long, and The Faerie cocked her head to the side, hair falling over one of her eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

“Or do you expect me to crouch?”

Panic spiked in his chest and sent him into motion. Patton bent down and slipped under the stairs at her command. He lowered to his knees and planted his hands against the small, wooden door melded to the wall, his legs shaking. It opened for him with a click. He didn’t have the chance to thank the house. With a shuddering breath, he reached inside, past the door. 

One by one, he drew all his things out of the crawlspace. 

The burrow wasn’t empty by any means, but most of his collection, the human items he kept, had been steadily replaced by traded goods. Glass cups of all shapes. Drops of potions in flasks. Gems, crystals, coins. Charms and jars, little silver boxes. Much less fabric, now that he’d sewn his suit. His shoulders slumped as he lined them up on the floorboards. Patton tried to find comfort in the monotonous repetition of organizing, to admire the beauty of them at least one last time, but he couldn’t. He felt as if on the edge of a pier, like one harsh wind could shove him into the sea.

When Patton was done, he placed his hands on his lap, waiting for the storm.

He heard The Faerie approach him, “Say, dear, are you a thief?”

Patton clutched the ragged fabric of his pants. “No, miss.”

“Have you stolen these items?”

“I haven—”

“Then how else did you get your hands on them?” A pause. “Why, if you’ve been here cooped up at the manor, as you so often complain, I don’t see how you could’ve acquired all this treasure. Unless, of course—”

She droned on. Twisting her words, circling a conclusion the both of them knew she’d already come to — for no other reason other than to see him struggle, to keep the upper hand even when she already had him in her grasp. Prolonging the inevitable, like she always did. The Faerie paced behind Patton as she spoke, her voice growing louder with every passing second. Her shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, again and again in a cacophony of noise. His hands tightened into fists, nails digging into his palms, and it was all too much, too much for him, he had to—

“They’re for you!” Patton cried out, gasping.

“…For me?”

He kept his eyes firmly on the crevices between the floorboards, chin quivering. That was it. It would be now, or never. 

“I want to make a deal.”

Her feet clicked audibly as she stopped behind him. The Faerie was silent for a moment, and then she spoke. “Get up then, dear,” she said. “We don’t speak of deals on our knees, it’s undignified.”

Patton scampered away from under the staircase, careful to dodge the things set out of the crawlspace. The Faerie made way for him, and when he chanced a proper glance at her, she seemed… intrigued. Curiosity had taken the place of cold steel in her eyes. A dangerous, fickle, sliver of hope sparked in his heart.

“Well, then,” she said, flicking her hand, “What is it that you want?”

“I want to trade these,” Patton said, as level as he could make it. He looked at her straight on, hoping to muster up an image of confidence he didn’t truly feel, “F-For my name back.”

The Faerie hummed, and Patton held his breath as she elegantly curved down to pick up a blown glass goblet. She examined it, and then, for a moment that seemed to last years, she trailed her finger down its stem, which had been expertly sculpted into the shape of a flower.

With a tilt of her head and a cruel quirk of her lips, she slackened her grip. The goblet fell, shattering into a thousand little shards of glass on impact.

Patton thought his heart might’ve done the same.

She began to laugh. High, strident, piercing cackles that made Patton’s head ring. Her shoulders shook with it, lips wrenching into a smile as sharp as a blade. A thunderous crash split through the air, followed by several more. Patton’s hands flew up to his mouth, and he watched in growing horror as more and more glass smashed against the floor — as potions spilled from cracked lids and metal boxes clanged and busted open. All that he’d worked for all these years, crushed beneath her heel.

“Your name, is it?” The Faerie growled, laughter twisting into a snarl. “So you’ve been scheming behind my back, in my own manor? Playing games?” Her voice dropped into something low and dangerous. “You’ll find I can play games too, darling—”

She stalked forward, eyes glinting silver.

“—It’s a lot scarier when you’re the pawn.”

Another glass crashed and shattered before him. The shards flew too close to his feet for comfort. Patton flinched and jerked away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His vision swirled with fear, and he fought not to stumble.

“You were just hoping to scurry away like a little mouse, weren’t you?” She spat out the words with disgust and an edge of fury, as she backed Patton into a corner. The Faerie towered over him, casting him into shadow. “Very well — but I’m not letting that happen.”

Her hand slammed his shoulder against the wall. Pain struck him like a lightning bolt, and he didn’t manage to slip away before The Faerie leaned much closer, crowding Patton until she could whisper right into his ear.

“I made you, Patton Holloway,” she said, cold and unforgiving. Her magic sizzled around him like a brand. It wrapped ribbons around him, ones that would always land him right there — in her grasp. “If you need that reminder. There’s no repaying that.”

She pressed the heel of her palm harder into the divet between his shoulder blade and his collarbone. Patton hissed through his teeth.

“You gave me your name. And if I have anything to do with it, you will never have it back,” With one last shove, The Faerie backed away. She sent him one last glance as she walked off. “You are forbidden from leaving this manor. Clean this up. If I have to look at it for a second longer, there will be far worse coming your way.”

Patton listened in, perfectly motionless, as her footsteps echoed down the corridor and then slowly faded away. Blinking through his blurry vision, he slid down the wall and onto his knees, as slack as a rag doll tossed onto the floor. Something wriggled near his hip, inside his pouch, and then small paws planted themselves in the side of his thigh. Jaq.

…Jaq was trying to comfort him, weren't they?

The little mouse had to be just as frightened, after that display, and still, there they were.

Patton wished he could return that kindness, and yet, he couldn’t quite find the strength to move. It was as if strings, taut and thin enough to dig into his skin, pinned him into place. And he could struggle, he could writhe, but it wouldn’t set him loose. A thousand knots bound his limbs down — far too many for him to ever untie. It’d been silly of him to think he could. He’d been stuck ever since he’d set foot in Fairyland, even if he’d never wanted to believe it.

He tried. He tried to do things the way of the fae. Strike a deal, offer a bargain. He did everything right, and where was he now? Once again cowering for comfort next to that rickety, old staircase.

After taking a deep breath, Patton willed himself out of his daze and crawled forward, dodging past the scattering of broken things across the floor — with luck, no stray shard of glass caught onto his skin. Chewing on his lip, Patton reached inside the crawlspace and slipped his fingers under a familiar loose tile. Knocking it astray revealed a tiny cardboard box, wrapped by the cord of a glittering, enchanted necklace. Still hidden. Intact.

The only things Patton had left.

A sob tore through his throat — a miserable, wounded cry — and as he cradled the box close to his chest, Patton crumbled. All at once, grief barreled through him like a tidal wave. Tears he could not keep at bay dripped past the end of his nose, soaking his sleeves as he curled tighter into himself. He shut his eyes tightly.

For what might’ve been the first time in his life, Patton couldn’t find it in him to believe.

—♡—

What he hadn’t noticed, however, so lost in sorrow, was that a single teardrop had rolled down his cheek and past his jaw — and that, sparkling, it fell right atop the citrine pendant of his necklace.

And so the yellow jewel began to glimmer, low at first and then brighter and brighter, until the hollow space under the stairs had been bathed in a warm, comforting light. It outshone even the sunset glow that covered the corridor.

The steady click of a shepherd’s crook, sharp against the hardwood floor, echoed down the hallway, too faint for Patton to hear it. It grew a bit louder, until it abruptly stopped. By then, the light had simmered down completely, and Patton had yet to notice anything amiss. Until…

—♡—

“Are you under there, mhi-naistdh?”

That voice, honey-coated, soft, and so achingly familiar, knocked Patton out of his stupor. The spark of magic behind that name tugged at his heart. He lifted his head, blinking through tears, certain that his ears must’ve been playing a trick on him. When he turned around, it became clear that if it had been a trick, it involved much more than just his hearing.

A broom bobbed and danced its way across the floor, all on its own, as if tugged around by an invisible string. In wide motions, it swept the broken remains of Patton’s collection into a dustpan, cleaning it up… for him. Just outside the staircase, behind the broom, stood a pair of legs, dressed in sleek black trousers. The towering figure bent down to meet him, and Patton’s eyes drifted up to find the glow of emerald scales and bright yellow eyes, shadowed by the brim of a hat.

“Dee,” Patton whispered. After rubbing his eyes and wiping away the remaining wetness in his cheeks, he glanced up again, surprised to find the image had not at all budged. “I– I must be seeing things…”

He had to. It… it must’ve been his mind’s way of softening the blow. The thought wasn’t very comforting, but what other explanation did he have?

“It’s no daydream, I’m afraid,” drawled Deceit. Leaning his weight onto his shepherd’s crook, he stretched his hand for Patton to take. Hesitant, Patton obliged. “I can’t be that charming, can I?”

In one effortless, strong pull, he brought Patton to his feet. Warmth bled through Deceit’s yellow glove as he guided Patton away from the staircase, his touch firm and… undeniably real. Patton’s eyes widened, and he wrenched his hand away.

“Wh– Dee, what are you doing?” Patton hissed out. His shoulders tensed, more so when Deceit paid no mind to the warning in his voice — simply humming as he shooed the floating broom away from the hallway. Patton shoved down the urge to drag him away and hide him, fearful of the eyes that might catch the other there. He swallowed dry, adjusting his hold on the cardboard box still in his arms. “H-how did you get here?”

With a smirk pulling on his lips, Dee tipped his hat back. “You needed aid,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, “So here I am.”

“Just like that?” Patton asked, raising an eyebrow. Something tugged at his pant leg, followed soon after by a high-pitched squeak. Patton curved down to cup Jaq in his palm, and with a little scritch behind their ear for good measure, he placed them on his shoulder. “That doesn’t make any sense, you know that.”

“Good things often don’t, Cinders,” Dee mused, drumming his fingers against the heel of his shepherd’s crook. He turned back to Patton. “…But I do suppose you deserve an explanation.”

His eyes flitted around the corridor.

“Perhaps away from prying ears…,” Dee said, offering his arm. “What do you say?”

As soon as Patton grabbed Deceit’s elbow, the world swirled in a burst of color and light. Before he knew it, he’d stumbled out somewhere far off from the corridor, or anywhere inside the manor for that matter. Patton took a step back, taking in his surroundings with awe. Grass tickled his skin where his trouser hem didn’t quite reach his ankles. A faintly starry, still-darkening sky stretched out above him, and he could spot the porch only a few feet away.

Deceit had, in a single instant, brought them to the garden.

“Now how on earth did you do that?”

Deceit snapped his glove on his wrist, stretching out his fingers. “Trade secrets ought to be kept under wraps, don't you think?” When Patton leveled him with a stern look, he huffed out a laugh. “Alright, alright. Let’s just say, it so happens that my magic is at its strongest tonight,” Dee waved his hand around, “I’ve received a… boost, of sorts.”

“A boost?” Patton asked. Jaq wriggled on his shoulder, restless, and he petted their head to soothe them. “Why?”

Dee turned to him, and with a gentle hand, he brushed Patton’s hair away from his eyes. Patton leaned into his touch.

“So that I can finally help you, mhi-naistdh.”

His expression had been pulled into that bittersweet, pinched look, a furrow in his brow. Patton frowned. “…But you have helped me before,” he said, gently, “Tons of times, Dee.”

“Life has dealt you a truly terrible hand, little one. And still, from the sidelines, I’ve seen you grow into an outstanding young man. All the credit for that goes to you. I… I did what I could, kept you out of major trouble, but it has never been enough. But now, now you’ve called for me. Not with your words, but with your heart,” Dee pointed to Patton’s chest, with a smile as soft as a handmade quilt. “How cruel would I have to be to ignore my godson.”

Patton blinked. “Your… godson?”

“Yes,” Deceit said, “Mhi-naistdh, godchild. It’s a bit of a rough translation, but I find it works well enough.”

“Wait, so that means—” Patton said, his head reeling, “—that you’re my Fairy God…father? L-like in the stories?”

“If you wish to call it that,” Dee chuckled, “It means that I’ve taken it upon myself to look after you. I’ve taken you under my wing, so to speak. And that bond, that magic, it has granted me the power to bring a dream of yours to life — but only when you need it most. When the time is right and not a second earlier.”

“And… and that time is-”

“Tonight, yes,” Dee confirmed, resting his chin over the crown of his shepherd’s crook. He lowered his voice to a whisper, a hint of mischief in his yellow eyes. “I’ve heard through the grapevine they’re expecting you up there in the Royal Palace, isn’t that so?”

The memory of the torn sleeve, tossed carelessly on the floor, flashed in his mind. He shook his head.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, um—” Patton laughed, though it rang rather hollow, “—I don’t have an invitation, not anymore.”

“Well, that is easily solved, isn’t it?” Deceit hummed. He reached inside his heavy black cloak and slid something into Patton’s hand. “I’ve never been much of the partying type, if you’ll believe it.”

Patton unwrapped the parchment to reveal the royal crest stamped into golden wax right in the middle fold. He gaped. An invite, one that would work as well as any other.

“I-I still don’t have a way to get there,” he argued, more to tamp down the excitement that threatened to spark in his chest, than anything else. Patton slipped the invitation into his pocket. “I couldn’t get a ride on a carriage now.”

“You couldn’t?” Dee raised an eyebrow. He motioned his head to the side, toward the fenced plot where The Faerie grew her plants and flowers. “Do you see that vegetable patch over there?”

Confused, Patton nodded.

“That pumpkin in the middle looks enough like a carriage, wouldn’t you say?”

Patton opened his mouth to contest that claim, but it promptly clicked shut when the pumpkin in question, the biggest of the lot, creaked, loud enough for them to hear it, and rolled out of the vegetable patch. All by itself. The pumpkin simply skipped and hopped out of the white fence, using its leaves and stems as bouncy springs. Its orange shell glittered and then, in a spark of light, it burst — growing bigger and bigger. The stems stretched and curled around it, in the perfect shape of wheels. In less than a minute, the pumpkin had shifted into a sparkling blue carriage, unlike a pumpkin in everything but its silhouette.

He brought a hand to his lips. It seemed the sort of thing to come straight out of a fairy tale storybook! Moonlight sparkled in the carriage’s golden accents, joined by the silver glow of the small, crystal lamp that served as its guide light, so beautiful and bright it looked like a dream. It felt like a dream — but it was right there before his eyes. Patton couldn’t help but giggle, and it was as if all the enthusiasm he’d lost throughout the evening came rushing back to him in a flurry. 

“Oh, oh that’s beautiful!”

“Well, it is my work, after all,” Dee circled around his shepherd’s crook, a smirk on his lips. “Now, there’s only one detail missing. How about we fix up your suit, hm?”

Patton nodded fervently, which earned him a chuckle from Deceit, who reached for the little box tucked under his arm. Patton let him take it.

“Although, if you don’t mind,” Dee said, as he unwrapped the necklace and handed the box back to Patton. “I’ll make a few… modifications — nothing that’d clash with your vision, of course.”

Closing his palm around the jewel, Deceit pressed it to his chest and his eyes began to glow. Now, Patton had never really understood the spells Dee muttered when casting a glamour, but he certainly recognized these were… different. Some words were familiar, yes, but others didn’t match any he’d ever heard! When Deceit was finished, he beckoned Patton closer, fixing the necklace over Patton’s neck and letting the citrine pendant settle against his throat.

“Dí laothani,” Dee said, tying the cord into a knot, and as soon as he uttered those words, what could only be described as pure, sparkling magic flooded Patton’s senses — unlike anything he’d felt with the glamour before. He gasped and stumbled back, vision filled with colorful sparks.

Ribbons of glowing, glittering light coiled around his body, and it was as if a million stars spun all around him. His skin tingled with the effect of the glamour, as it threaded its way across his features, casting the illusion of fae. Jaq squeaked next to him, and when he glanced over to them, they’d been lifted right off his shoulder, squirming as they floated in a bubble of magic. All that light shifted into swathes and swathes of fabric, weaving together and pinning into place. The light blue of his original suit had been tinged in a sheen of silver, shimmering. Lace and delicate crystal drops added the final touch to his collar and shoulders. When Patton stretched out his hand, a satin white glove crept up to his wrist, the same on the other side.

Patches of cloth floated up and skipped in circles around him, followed by a trail of string, and when he caught a proper glimpse, he recognized, in silver thread, his own embroidery. Stars, skies, flowers, and vines. They fastened to his torso, stitching together in panels to form his waistcoat. His bright blue sash, the one he’d been working on that day, tied itself around his waist. Perfectly tailored trousers draped over his legs and braided cords linked each crystal button of his coat. Patton clapped, unable to contain his delight, and in a swirl of motion his jacket stretched and fanned out behind him like a silver cape.

He spun, giggling and so, so happy it felt like he’d burst with joy — the train of his jacket danced right along with him, in a big show of sparkling magic. When his feet hit the ground again, his worn-down shoes transformed into white leather button boots, with low heels made of glass, which were surprisingly sturdy, too. A cravat wrapped around his neck, and Jaq was safely lowered back onto his shoulder. Patton twirled again, smiling so wide his cheeks ached.

“You look stunning, mhi-naistdh,” Deceit said, a fond look in his eyes as he leaned against his staff. “Just one more thing.”

He drew something from under his cloak, and carefully, he clipped it onto the lapel of Patton’s jacket. A long white feather, with a small blue jewel glued to its quill.

“A boutonniere,” Patton whispered. He tugged at the cuff of his sleeves, feeling the intricate lace under his fingertips. “This is like a dream come true.” 

“Yes, but like all dreams, I’m afraid it cannot last forever,” Dee said, “I’ll only be able to hold this spell for a few hours — at the last stroke of midnight, it’ll begin to fade away. Not the fae glamour, but the rest of the illusion, including the one that’ll keep her eyes away from you, so be careful. Your necklace will glow when it’s time.”

“Alright,” Patton said, “I can deal with that, I think.”

“Wonderful,” Dee walked up behind him and began to nudge him in the carriage’s direction. Patton laughed, but let the other guide him to the door, “Well, go on, then! You don’t want to be too late, do you?”

Patton opened the door and stepped inside, glancing back at him. “You know, I can’t exactly drive myself there, Dee.”

“Hm. You’re right,” Deceit muttered, perking up when Jaq suddenly chirped. “What was that, little mouse?”

Patton snorted as he watched Dee cup a hand around his ear and lean closer to hear Jaq “speak”. Deceit hummed as if sincerely considering their contribution.

When he looked back at Patton, he smirked. “How do you feel about adding a little more magic to this evening, mhi-naistdh?”

-

Song of the chapter: Suffering by Amélie Farren

BONUS: Blue Jay by Sparkbird

[willowwhispers01]

Forevermore(3)

Dhruva sits by a tea stall drinking tea when he notices his friends drive up to him with Ishika in tow. They stop a little ways away and Ishika gets off.

“Come on, let’s drink tea”, Dhruva offers his friends as Ishika walks up to his side.

“What will we do between you two?”, Gautam questions him quite innocently.

“Oye, What’s between us?”, Dhruva questions with annoyance. Ishika look at him, slightly hurt.

“Whatever‘s between you two, It’s your problem. But we have a message between us. If it is found out by our superiors then…”, Ranveer trails off as he signs themselves being flattened like a roti as everyone gives a agreeing hum.

“You all understood very well yaar, very smart”, Ishika compliments them with underlying threat and silently gestures them to leave when Dhruva looks away.

All of them take the sign and leave the two alone by the tea stall.

“Seat nahi hai?”, Ishika questions Dhruva while looking at the seat of his bike.

“Yaha bhi single hi hai, pagal kahi ka”,  She whispers to herself as she lean besides Dhruva, on the bike.

“Aye, Why did you come here?”, Dhruva questions, still annoyed.

“Why did I come here?”, Ishika repeats his question as Dhruva nods at her.

“Actually, that day, I was very inspired by your words. After that for six months only study, study, study and never thought of anything else. The College even hung a medal around my neck”, Ishika ‘explains’ as Dhruva looks exasperated by her BS.

“Proud by all this, my father asked me ‘All this happened because of Dhruva right? Go and thank him’ So here I am!”, Ishika continues as Dhruva just stares at her, unimpressed.

“Tell me the truth”, Dhruva speaks, looking past her lies.

“I couldn’t stay away from you, that’s why I’m here’, She grumbles, spilling the truth.

“Are you gonna follow me all my life? End this here”, Dhruva firmly states annoyed and walks away as Ishika calls after him. A middle aged couple walks side by side after buying medicine, the woman checking the medicines in the bag to see if they had all the ones they needed. The woman accidently drops some and bends down to pick them up, the husband keeps walking without noticing. The bling of her gold necklace catches the attention of a man sitting by the tea stall, sipping tea.

“Bhai”, he calls out to their boss and nods to the woman. The man turns to look.

“Must be around 10 tolas”, He finishes, them and their lackies put on their helmet.

They follow the couple, behind their bike on their own two bikes, two on each bike. One of the bike overtakes them, distracting the husband and wife enough for them to not take notice of another bike beside them. The passenger of the bike quickly snatches the necklace causing the wife to lose balance and fall of the bike. The husband too loses the control of the bike and collapses on the road groaning in pain.

The commotion alerts Dhruva, his friends and Ishika. After catching a glimpse of the scene they quickly hurry towards the commotion. The head of the gang gets off his bike and tries to strangle the man laying the road but soon notices Dhruva and his friends running to the scene. Seeing this he silently asks his partner to hand him the blade they were carrying. He takes the blade and with no remorse slams the blade in man’s neck, the wife begging him to spare her husband’s life. He then takes the chain and quickly  flees on the bike .

As they flee Dhruva, Ishika and his friends arrive at the scene. Three of his friends check the man for pulse and Ishika runs to aid the wife crying on the road.

Quickly thinking, Dhruva aims his phone and throws his phone on one of the thieves so that it falls into the hood of his shirt. The thieves flee with Karan following behind them at a distance, on his bike.

He quickly turns his attention to the husband.

“There is no pulse, he is no more”, Gautam delivers the unfortunate news after checking the man’s pulse.

They stop an auto-rickshaw and lay the wife in the auto with Ishika trying to stop the bleeding on the woman’s head.

“Ishika, there is a hospital on near the next signal, taka her there”, Dhruva advised with urgency.

After Ishika left, Ranveer and Vijay found a ripped poster on the scene.

“They carried the weapon in this poster”, Ranveer states upon unraveling and holding the poster open for everyone to see.

“Aye, Karan is on the call, he lost them”, Gautam speaks worried while holding the phone to Dhruva.

“Karan listen to me”, Dhruva speaks to Karan, putting the phone to his ear.

“I threw my phone in the shirt hood of one of the chain-snatchers, open the find my phone app and keep following the location of my phone”, Dhruva instructs.

“I am getting the location”, Karan gladly confirms.

“Good, we will follow you”, Dhruva replies back.

Dhruva and his friends follow Karan’s location to the Golconda Fort Colony. They split in different directions.

Two of the chain snatchers stop near a biryani point when they hear the ringtone of a phone. They search for the source only to find Dhruva’s phone in the shirt-hood of one of them with Ishika’s contact visible. They quickly power off the phone, causing the signal of find my phone app to cut off.

“Dhruva, the last known location is Bilal Biryani Point near the Golconda Fort entry gate”, Karan informs as he stops at the last known location.

“Which gate?”, Dhruva enquires.

“West Gate”, Karan replies.

“Then we will meet at East Entry Gate”, Dhruva orders.

All of them meet near the entry gate as decided.

“Boys, this colony is surrounded by the walls of Golconda Fort. There are four entry ways”, Dhruva explains

“In the middle are 14 alleys and 500 houses. They definitely live here. We will spread out”, He explains further in detail.

“We will definitely find them here, let’s go!”, He encourages, they then enter the fort and split in separate directions to be able to cover more ground.

“Dhruva”, Comes the voice of Ranveer through the earpiece. Dhruva stops to listen.

“We have found the same poster as before , I think we are close to them”, At this he looks back to see a  rickshaw driver sleeping, two packets of biryani fallen on the floor with its contents spilled out. He gets off the bike to observe the scene better. He looks at the parked two wheelers surrounding him to see bikes. He looks around again, his eyes landing on a bottle of water tucked in the back seat of a scooty. Realization settles on him.

He turns his head straight, imagining and visualizing the scenario that must of take place.

one of the chain snatchers, walking up to rickshaw-wala, giving him remaining amount of biryani he had in a plastic bag. The snatcher then drinks from the water bottle, which he then leaves on the back seat of the scooty and walks away.

Dhruva then takes the water bottle from the seat, opening it and pouring the remaining water on the exhausts of the parked bikes. As the water touches the exhaust of the second bike, it immediately turns into steam, confirming it has recently been used enough to heat the exhaust.

‘They are in the building.’ He realizes.

Soon all of his friends meet near the building. They climb the pipe and get in the building through the open window. Ranveer and Karan are first to enter. They hide near the door to scope out the number of thieves present in the room.

“Dhruva, all the snatchers are here. They have more people with them.” Ranveer informs Dhruva who peeks from his place behind the wall to see the targets better. Two of them were eating while talking to each other. He silently signals Gautam who nods upon receiving it.

Gautam gets out of hiding from behind one of the snatchers who was eating and punches him on the back of the head knocking him out. The snatcher spits out the biryani in surprise. The other snatcher sitting in front of him gets startled by it which gives Karan enough time to wrap a plastic bag around his head which muffles his screams. Ranveer catches the chair before it hits the ground.

Gautam and Ranveer quickly hid in the dark, with Ranveer near the door to the room. Dhruva and Vijay silently approach the door, their backs against the adjacent wall. He raises a hand, silently signaling them to wait. Another snatcher comes out the room, wiping his hands. Dhruva whistles to get his attention. Ranveer quickly knocks the man out. Another one follows after the previous one, he gets startled by Ranveer’s presence. Dhruva knocks him out before he could make a sound to alert the other snatchers in the room. Vijay holds the man against the wall so he doesn’t fall so as to not make any noise.

Dhruva swiftly enters the room. Another snatcher confronts him, but before he could make a move Dhruva wraps his legs around the man’s neck before using his weight as leverage and flipping him on the ground.

Other snatches get alerted by this. They approach Dhruva, but before they could hurt him, two of his kick them down.

They stand in the room, taking a small breather and scoping the room before all of them simultaneously remove the earpiece used for communicating.

They quickly jump into action upon seeing the the snatchers charging at them.

Karan hits one with a pipe, Gautam kicks two, Dhruva lands multiple punches on one before knocking his head on the so hard it breaks the plaster.

All of the IPS’s-in-training fight against all the members of the snatcher gang, rendering them immobile and easy to capture.

In the end only the leader is left. Dhruva blocks the oncoming attack from the man before disarming him. Ranveer and Gautam stand almost surrounding the leader.

“Who are you all!?”, The man questions in rage.

Dhruva punches the man, then Ranveer lands a punch and then Gautam. The man stumbles to the entrance to the room where Karan catches him by the neck.

“Is a human life so worthless for you!?”, Karan Questions with anger before punching the man.

 He falls on the floor. He tries to get up before Vijay kicks him, rendering him unconscious.

The friends ride away on their bikes as police arrives to the scene upon receiving an anonymous tip. When they reach the scene, they find all of the snatcher gang tied up with the video evidence of the gang leader confessing to being the snatcher’s responsible for the chain snatching happening in Vijaynagar and the murder he had committed few hours ago and all the necklaces they had snatched.

Dhruva and his friends park their bike in the parking area of their academy and celebrate their victory by exchanging high-fives and handshakes.

Soon, Dhruva’s phone rings and a worried and annoyed Ishika questions him.

“Bolo Ishika”, Dhruva answers the phone.

“Why did you switch off your phone?”, Ishika questions.

“It was low on battery”, He makes an excuse. “How is she now?”, He questions referring to the wife of the victim.

“She has been crying while thinking about her husband. She has just been given a sedative”, She answers back. “Waise, Where are you?”, Ishika questions.

“Okay, talk to you later”, Dhruva answers before quickly ending the call.

“Aa, Dhruva! Dhruva! Hello-! Tsk, Idiot.”, Ishika calls out before grumbling after Dhruva cuts the call.

Dhruva and his friends drive over to a house, his friends laughing all the while. They friends park their bikes in front of the house as Dhruva follows their actions while quizzically looking at the unknown house.

“Who’s house is this yaar?”, Dhruva questions confused.

He follows Ranveer into the house as Gautam has an arm around his shoulder also leading him inside. Karan and Vijay follow behind.

“Don’t worry man, this is my best friend’s house”, Gautam reassures Dhruva.

Ranveer suddenly haults them outside the door.

“Abe ruk ruk ruk!”, He urgently stops Dhruva before he could step in the house. His leg haulting midway as he balances.

“Place your right leg in first”, Ranveer advises.

“Kyun be?”, Dhruva questions in an annoyed tone.

“Aye Punjabi, Why are you confusing him? He did lift his right leg. Just come on Mama!”, Bujji meets them at the entryway and calls him in with a beaming smile.

“What is she doing here?”, Dhruva question his friends, suspicious of the situation.

“Is there a connection between you physique and your crime thinking? The body should have a little romance”, Bujji asks him sarcastically before making the ‘suggestive’ statement. “Andar, Chicken Kebab ready!”, She teases.

“Teri to-“, Dhruva halfway lunges at her, intending to scare her.

“Chill mama, come on, come on!”, She teases back before ushering them in and walking inside the house.

“Accha, this is your friend’s house, right?”, Dhruva questions Gautam with a slightly threatening tone after realizing where he was.

His friends look away after realizing their plan has been figured out.

“Samajh gaya, aye chhote hathi”,Dhruva calls out to Bujji as his suspicions had been confirmed.

He walks a little further inside the house and quickly notices something from the corner of his eyes. He steps back a little before looking at it. His friends who were following behind notice this and follow his line of vision. It leaves them a bit startled.

Soon, Ishika enters from the corner and notices them standing not far away from the ‘thing’.

“Oh, you all came here?”, She questions in a faux delighted tone before walking to the ‘thing’.

“Come meet my boyfriend”, She states after approaching the ‘thing’.

The ‘thing’ is a cardboard cutout of Dhruva stuck to a homemade mannequin. A pillow is stuck to the torso of the mannequin, three knives are embedded into it.

“No matter how much you curse him, he never talks back”, Ishika speaks as she slightly leans on it.

“Whenever I am angry, I just pull one out and stab it in”, She conveys her anger with her action.

The friends wince at this as Dhruva looks as if he physically felt the knife stab him.

“What are you looking at? If this facility wasn’t available I would have directly killed you out of anger”, Ishika speaks through gritted teeth as she twists the knife in the mannequin.

All of them wince again, while looking at Dhruva with a slight pity.

“Why did you bring me here yaar?”, Dhruva questions, slight annoyance filling his tone as he walks away.

“To solve this dispute between you two”, Gautam answers back as Dhruva and the friends on the sofa seats.

I respected his wishes so I stayed away from him this long. I couldn’t take it anymore, that’s why I came here”, Ishika explains as she stands off to the side with cross arms.

“But when I came here, I saw you all climbing the wall and going somewhere and that him, he is meeting someone alone”, Ishika states not realizing what she had done.

“What?!”, All of Dhruva’s friends let out simultaneously while Dhruva’s expression morphs into slight exasperation with annoyance at Ishika’s reveal.

“How is he alone, we all go together”, Gautam states slightly confused as everyone agrees with him.

“Why are you so shocked, the fact that he goes out alone….you didn’t know it?”, Ishika questions them, confused as all his friends look at him in slight betrayal.

“I am speaking the truth, if you want you can ask you friend sitting there”, Ishika defends.

“Kyun, What Ishika said is true?”, Karan questions with slight anger eminating from voice. Dhruva remains silent,

“Kyun be, you go out without telling us?”, Vijay asks feeling a little hurt of his friends secret.

Dhruva stays silent all the while looking away from them.

“There is no board here saying ‘Silence Please’. You can talk”, Ranveer states in anger.

“Aye, I have some personal things in my own life, I have no need to tell them to you”, Dhruva states as he stands up, looking at Ishika in disappointment.

He walks out of the house as Ishika calls out to him.

All IPS officers in training and IPS officers stand outside, at the entrance of the academy to welcome the Home Minister. Dhruva stands beside a Senior IPS officer as all the trainees are lined up on the stairs.

“Dhruva, Home Minister’s flat is currently being constructed. I want you to supervise and handle it.” The Senior IPS officer instructs Dhruva , he agrees to it.

Soon, cars line up at the entrance of the academy. Karan orders the band to start playing as the Minister’s car approaches.

The cars stop and the Home Minister steps out of the car. Everyone salutes him with respect, but then……they notice him. The man they had just put in jail, walking behind the Home Minister.

Karan and other friends are shocked by the scene before them. Karan slightly hides his face with the hand he was saluting with as the man walks past him. Karan looks at Dhruva in question, Dhruva doesn’t react to it.

Vijay and Gautam slightly lower their faces in an attempt to shield their faces as the man walks past them. Dhruva walks follows the Home Minister. Karan comes to stand beside him.

“What was that?”, Karan questions Dhruva confused, referring to the man they put in jail roaming free.

Dhruva ignores this and continues following after the minister. “Dhruva, How is he here?”, Gautam too questions, confused. Dhruva doesn’t answer his question either and walks past them. Karan, Ranveer, Gautam and Vijay look at each other in confusion.

 Dhruva meets his friends after the ceremony, looking completely unbothered by the scenario that occurred not long ago.

“What happened? Why did you call me?”, Dhruva questions, acting unaware of the reason. He knew why they had called him, but he didn’t want to explain at the moment. It wasn’t the right time.

“Why are you asking so carelessly?”, Karan questions slightly taken aback by his friends careless response. “Can’t you see? Four days ago, he committed a murder in front of our eyes. We worked hard so hard to catch him. A had to hide my face with the same hand I was was saluting with!”, Karan answers back, his voice dripping with disgust, confusion and anger.

“All this happened and you are behaving like it’s nothing?  What’s wrong with you?”, Gautam questions in surprise when he notices Dhruva is not giving any reaction to the situation.

Suddenly, Dhruva’s phone rings. He picks it after seeing the caller ID.

“Yes Ishika?”, Dhruva answers the phone call ignoring Gautam’s question. He puts it down after a little while.

“I have to go. Do you want to come?”, He asks his friends, his tone holding grimness.

Ranveer speaks up at this, his voice holding anger, “Are you kidding? We have been watching you since yesterday. You are not going anywhere without answering our questions!”

“Yeah, we won’t leave before you answer our questions”, Karan agrees.

“Ramaswami’s wife, who was admitted in the hospital, attempted suicide”, Dhruva grimly states. Shock and concern was visible on their face as they heard the news.

Ishika is sitting outside the room waiting and anxiously wringing her hands. All of them rush towards the room.

The woman is laying on the bed and crying in a pitiful state. Her eyes are swollen from crying. Her eyes have dark circles underneath them, signifying she has not slept properly.

“Why did you do it?”, Ranveer questions, concerned.

“They killed my husband in front of my eyes. My testimony will not be accepted in the court”, The woman sobs as she answers. The group present in the room glanced at each other in concern and sadness.

“ ‘He was wearing a helmet, how did you identify him then?’ Saying this, they closed the case”, She sobs out again. Dhruva walks out, unable to hear anymore of this. His friends look at him in concern.

“Lawyer, police, none supported me. If nothing can be done, what do I have to live for? That’s I wanted it to end”, The woman sobs as she lays on the hospital bed, devastated.

Dhruva is leaning on his bike parked outside the hospital lost in his own thoughts. The group walks up to him, just came back from visiting to the woman. “Che! A case with all the evidence takes 40 years to be prosecuted. And him! He got out of jail by showing false evidence in just four days! What good did we do after sneaking out of campus?”, Ranveer looks down, his face morphed in guilt and regret.

Dhruva gives him a sympathetic glance at his crumbling resolve, but stays silent. He is still looking somewhere behind them.

They notice his silence and his absentmindedness to Ranveer’s statement. They frown at this.

“Kya yaar? Why aren’t you speaking? “Will you not answer to us?”, Ranveer confusedly questions. Dhruva still doesn’t answer, his eyes looking somewhere else.

“When we asked, ‘Where have you been going alone?’ you didn’t have an answer. So much has been happening in front of your eyes, but you been standing there like a stone! Have you gone mad!”, Ranveer strains out, not understanding his friends silence.

Dhruva stands up from his position on the bike. Hands swinging back and forth. He finally answers.

“You are right, I have gone mad.”, His answers suprises everyone. “Not paying attention to what you have been speaking until now, I have been observing the unjustice taking place behind you. That is my madness”, He answers without hesitation. He then points behind them. They all turn to look.

“Just a few minutes ago, someone hit someone while recklessly driving and got them admitted into this hospital. He is paying them money as sign of remorse, is what you see. But he is bribing them to save his skin, is the truth. And I can see that is my madness”, They turn to look back at Dhruva.

“The criminals we helped with capture of, you got sad by seeing one roaming fee”, His tone held a slight chuckle as he spoke these words. “All the 32 criminals we helped in the capture are roaming about freely.

Surprise takes over their faces after hearing these words.

“Meaning, everything we did until now, all of it was waste?”, Gautam questions, a slight stutter in his voice.

Dhruva shakes his head in denial, “I would not let  it go to waste”. His eyes hold a spark as he responds. A silent promise.

The door to basement door opens, Dhruva decends down the stairs, others following him.

                        “This is my world, my lab”

News cutouts, pictures, handwritten written notes hang from the strings hang and cork boards in the basement cum lab. They look at them in awe.

Gautam notices a Metal plate with a quote on it.

“ ‘Tell me about your Enemy and I will tell you about you.’ Don’t we say this about our friends?” Gautam questions curiosly.

Dhruva nods his head in agreement. “Yes, the type of friends you have reflects your character, and the type enemy you have reflects you capacity”. The group listens to this, impressed. Dhruva turns back to the hanginfg pictures and news clippings. He points at the picture of the leader of the chain snatching gang.

“Four days ago, this was the man who killed Ramaswami. Ramaswami was a social worker who fought for justice. Him being killed just for a chain felt suspicious to me. That is why I was so eager to catch the criminals. There I found some information”, Dhruva explained as the group intently listened.

He points again at a picture of a man standing with a a bill hook. “That is Irfan Ali who had a involvement in this. No matter how many times we put the chain snatcher behind the bars, he would come out no matter what.”

He walks up to a picture of the Home Minister, sliding it to a news clipping hanging next to it.

“Together with our Home Minister, Irfan Ali forcefully took ownership of a piece of land outside the city, has planned construction on a big level. That land was to be given to the poor by Ramaswami hence they killed him. To make sure nobody was suspicious of the murder, they framed it as a chain snatching and provided false evidence, effectively closing the case.”

Dhruva turns back to face them.

“Now tell me, is he our enemy aur him?”, Dhruva questions as he points at a picture of the snatcher and then of Irfan Ali.

“The 32 cases we solved till now and 500 cases I researched on my own suspicions. All of this are full, detailed analysis”, Dhruva finally stops as the group looks at him, in awe of his intelligence.

“Did you do this all alone?”, Gautam questions in awe.

Dhruva looks at him before smirking a little as he answers, “No.”

Everyone looks at him surprise at his answer. One question floats into their mind as they glance at each other in confusion.

Who helped him?

The silence is broken by the sound of the door opening. The sounds of footsteps fill the silence as a sweet voice speaks.

“Dhruva?”

The person decends down the stairs.

“Do you know what that happened today?”, The woman speaks in a tired yet annoyed tone as she continues down the stairs, her face now visible under the dim lights.

She walks down the stairs without looking, as if she is familiar with them.  Her hair is slightly messy as she holds a cup of coffee in her hands.

She rambles on about her job colleague being an annoyance as she descends down the stairs taking a sip of her coffee, not noticing the stunned and questioning stares of the group standing in the room.

“And then she-“, She finally turn to look at the room only to stop mid sentence. She stands there frozen and wide eyed before her eyes find Dhruva standing amid them.

“Hii~, I didn’t know we had guests today”, She awkwardly waves as she looks at the group of strangers while smiling.

They all stand in an awkward silence before Dhruva walks up to her, standing in front of her effectively blocking her view of the room.

“Y/n”, Dhruva calls out to her in a firm tone. She looks up to him, her lips in a small pout like that of a child found guilty.  She already knew why he took that tone with her.

“How many?”, Dhruva asks as he glances at her coffee cup. It was obvious by her dark circles that she did not sleep last night and Dhruva noticed it. He always does.

“Three”, She mumbles out while looking away with a guilty look.

Dhruva doesn’t say anything. He just sighs before taking the cup of coffee and standing beside her, finally facing the room of people.

He places a hand at her lower back before introducing her.

“This is Y/n. The second mastermind who helped with my research”, Dhruva introduces her as Y/n smiles at the group. He then looks at y/n.

“And these are my friends. Ranveer, Karan, Gautam, Vijay and Ishika”.

Y/n glances at each person Dhruva points out, she nods her head in a hello.

“Is she the one you have been meeting alone?”, Gautam curiously asks.

“Yes”, Dhruva nods with a smile. “She is the one who helps me collect information when I can’t. We have been doing this for years”, Dhruva fondly answers as Y/n and Dhruva turn to each other and smile.

The group nods in understanding.

“So…what are we doing?”, Y/n questions. It was directed more to Dhruva.

“Dhruva was explaining his research on the crimes related to the murder of Mr. Ramaswami”, Ishika quickly pipes in and then looks at Dhruva for approval.

Dhruva nods at her than looks back at Y/n. “ Would you like to help me?”, Dhruva questions Y/n despite knowing the answer.

“It would be my pleasure”, Y/n answers back. Excited to share the information she gathered.

After Y/n and Dhruva had explained everything they had gathered, everyone in the group except Y/n and Dhruva are left in the lab.

Both of them sit and talk more about the plan before deciding it was time to go home and rest.

They both walk out the lab side by side.

“Y/n, I will drop you to your home”, Dhruva offers as he gets on his bike and starts it up.

“You don’t have to. I can take auto”, Y/n responds not wanting to trouble him.

“No. It’s unsafe and you won’t find autos this late”, Dhruva firmly states leaving no room for discussion.

Y/n just sighs and gets on the bike. She wraps her arms around him like she always has.

Dhruva lets out a loving smile at the familiar touch. Her touch…..always felt so safe.

He then drives off to her house.

They reach her house and Y/n gets off. She gives a bye and goodnight to Dhruva and starts walking towards the front door.

“Suno!”, Dhruva calls out to her, she stops mid path and turns to look at him. A questioning look plastered on her face.

“Don’t stay up too late. Go to sleep. Your health is more important than anything”, Dhruva continues with a soft smile.

Y/n smiles back ,“You too, don’t stay up late and stay safe”.

Y/n then turns away and starts walking back to the house, her cheeks blooming with a soft blush.

 His care always made her so happy. His honeyed eyes filled with care always made her want to melt.  

Both their hearts filled with love,

Both too hesitant to convey the love.

In their touches lies the warmth,

The warmth they both yearn for..

I am back from dead!! ~\(≧▽≦)/~

Ok..I know i have been gone for quite a while, .....And the ending is very rushed.

I just have been busy with college registrations and i have to suddenly go out of state for the whole month of june.

But don't worry I will rewrite this chapter. You may notice some mistakes because i have not edited the chapter.

I'M SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE!! （＞人＜；）

OK wish me luck and bye!!

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Morana: *laying in bed swaddled in blankets, whimpering quietly. Roovi flies up from her perch near the window, twittering mechanically as she examines Morana before flying out the window and into the garden, towards Xelzaz*

Xelzaz: Hm? Roovi? *raises his hand to let the little hummingbird perch on his finger, watching her flutter about with an almost nervous energy* Is something wrong with Morana?

Inigo: *dozing off in the garden. His ears perk up* Mn.. Hm? Morana?

Xelzaz: I think she's experiencing a bad day.

Inigo: Damn. Shall we go check on her?

Xelzaz: Yes, we probably should.

~

Morana: *tried to get up to light her fireplace, fell, gave up and is now bundled under blankets on the floor* Mmmmmnnnngh...

Kaidan/Taliesin: *kicks open the door*

Morana: !?

Lucien: I've got hot tea.

Yaksha: I have pain medicine.

Xelzaz: I have food.

Kaidan: I have more blankets.

Taliesin: I brought books to read.

Gore: I didn't know what to bring but I'm here for moral support.

Inigo: I brought Styx.

Styx: Arf!

Lucien: ... Wait, why are you on the floor?

Morana: ... *blushes, hiding her face in the covers* I fell.

Kaidan: Fell??? Why didn't you call us, starlight? *kneels down to help her up, holding her close to him and tightening his grip when her leg gives out* Easy, now.

Morana: *deadpans, staring at Kaidan with an unimpressed look over her noticeable pain* Call you. Yeah. I definitely could have done that, Kai.

Kaidan: I- shit- you know what I mean.

Morana: *stands and laughs, gripping the front of his shirt unsteadily* Yeah, I know.

Taliesin: Shall we get you back to bed? Or would you like to go to the living room?

Morana: Bed, please..

Xelzaz: *casts firebolt, sending it towards the fireplace and igniting it quickly* There's one problem solved. *sets the bowl of food down at her nightstand. He chuckles at her apprehensive look* It's just a light stew. I probably should have asked if you felt up to eating. You don't have to finish it, but you should eat before taking any medicine.

Morana: Okay..

Inigo: *sets Styx down on the bed so she can curl up next to Morana* What hurts today, my friend? Muscles or bones?

Morana: ... Am I allowed to say everything?

Inigo: Of course.

Yaksha: Headache?

Morana: Mhm..

Xelzaz: *opens her potions cupboard* You haven't caught anything recently, have you?

Morana: ... Maybe a fever.

Xelzaz: *without turning around* And?

Morana: ..... Maybe Ataxia.

Xelzaz: There we go. *grabs the potion bottle labelled 'Ataxia'* Hm... *grabs the Bone Break Fever bottle, just in case*

Morana: *taking small sips of the stew and groaning when her stomach churns* .. No more.

Yaksha: Well, it's something. That's good, here. *hands Morana a potion* I tried to make it taste a little better this time. It's a new mix, I'm hoping it will help your joint pain better.

Morana: *takes a sip from the potion*

Yaksha: Better?

Morana: ... It tastes the same. Thank you, though. *finishes the potion and turns to drink the tea Lucien hands her*

Yaksha: Of course. I will try to keep working on it.

Morana: *sighs, setting her finished tea on the table and falling back onto her bed with an arm covering her eyes*

Gore: Anything we can do, blood?

Morana: ... I dunno.

Lucien: *frowns, glancing up and catching Inigo's eye. They share a quiet look before turning back towards Morana*

Morana: ... I feel like I want to cry. *her lower lip trembles, and she laughs* But if I cry my headache will just get worse. And my eyes will hurt. And it'd probably hurt my chest too. So I shouldn't cry. But I want to.

Gore: ...

Morana: ... But crying wouldn't solve anything either. Crying just.. *stops, remembering how the healers would beat her when she cried, or take the opportunity to force more experimental potions down her throat* ... Crying just hurts more.

Styx: *whines*

Kaidan: And you feel like that all the time?

Morana: All the damn time. *laughs, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes and breaking off into sobs* All the damn time. Sometimes I feel like I'm going insane. Even if I never get sick again, the pain won't go away. I haven't found anything to help it. For years I tried, and I just...

Taliesin: *sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running a hand through her hair gently* I'm sure there will be other options we haven't found yet, raven. You were limited on the things you could do by yourself.

Inigo: I am sure there's a way to help you somewhere in Tamriel. If not, then we'll even look elsewhere!

Morana: That's crazy.

Lucien: Crazy for youuuuuu~ *leans into her with a grin, careful not to jostle her too much* It'll be like another adventure! After this whole dragon crisis is over, we all go overseas and explore new lands! Maybe we could even find the remnants of countries like Akavir! *gasps, straightening up* Wouldn't that be exciting?!

Morana: You're getting too caught up in your ideas again, Lulu.

Lucien: Hehehe

Morana: ... That.. *sighs, staring at the ceiling* (It's not going to happen.) That sounds fun. Another adventure. After.. everything is over. *her eyes droop, comforted by the softness and safety of her family* ...

Gore: Hah, she knocked out.

Yaksha: Our cue to let her rest.

Inigo: Mm.. Should we really leave her like this, though?

Xelzaz: *dragging Inigo and Lucien up* I imagine Taliesin and Kaidan can look after her well enough. They obviously had no intention of leaving.

Kaidan: *flushed pink, turning away from the group with a huff* Just get outta here, already..

Taliesin: *blushing gold* Yes yes, I agree with Kaidan. Be gone, please.

Lucien: Alright alright we're going!!

Xelzaz: *turns as he leaves the room, pointing towards his eyes and jabbing a finger in their direction before leaving*

Taliesin: *returns the gesture with a mocking sneer*

Kaidan: ??? What the hell was that about.

Taliesin: Xelzaz seems convinced we would try something while she sleeps.

Kaidan: ... At least we know he cares?

[bakedbakermom]

Stained

Chapter 2: Sedulous // start at the beginning

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

sedulous adjective 1. constant in effort 2. accomplished with careful perseverance --- Research and ruminations.

God, they’re barely more than children , Scully thought, not for the first time, then chided herself for being so dismissive. Mulder trusted them, had known them—at least online—for years, and had vouched for them dozens of times. It wasn’t like her to doubt his contacts and sources. Lord knows the Lone Gunmen had looked every bit as unimpressive at first, and they had come through for them more times than she could count. Deep Throat had given his life for them. Hell, even Bambi Barenbaum had proven herself useful once or twice.

Still, as she listened to them argue, she couldn’t help but wonder if this whole endeavor was doomed.

“I’m just saying, Silence Clarice was lucky Hannibal was behind glass the whole time.” Xander tossed a piece of popcorn in the air, lunged for it with his mouth wide open, and missed. “He would have snapped her like a twig.”

Buffy picked up the fallen kernel and threw it without looking up from her book; it hit him squarely in the eye and he gave a startled yelp. “Small is scrappy, Xander. Don’t make me prove it to you.”

“And it’s just such a classic,” Tara added, face half hidden behind her hair. She put a hand on Willow’s arm. “Sweetie, you know I love the gingers, but you can’t argue the first one still keeps you up at night.”

“Only ‘cause of the thing with the puppy,” Willow conceded.

“Really?” said Buffy. “The whole graphic disembowelment thing doesn’t get to you?”

“I like puppies.”

“I liked that Hannibal fellow,” Anya chirped from behind the counter, where she was sorting a shipment of what looked suspiciously like mummified spider legs, if spiders were the size of golden retrievers. “He had a real flair for vengeance.”

Definitely doomed.

Scully leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. Three hours of pouring through dusty, mildewed tomes while a gaggle of twenty-somethings bickered about pop culture was enough to make anyone’s head pound, even if they hadn’t just donated a couple pints to their newly vampiric partner.

She and Mulder had stopped at a drugstore on their way into town—he stayed in the car rather than face the fluorescent lights—so she could properly bandage her wounds with gauze and some antibiotic ointment. At his insistence, she had also bought a bottle of painkillers and taken two, but the medicine was doing nothing for the throbbing behind her eyes.

“Here,” Giles said, chuckling as he set a mug of tea in front of her. “Trust me, it helps.”

Scully smiled her gratitude and raised the cup to her lips. It was sweeter than she expected, rich with cream, and she lifted her eyebrow at Giles as she sipped. “I thought you Brits looked down on people who don’t take their tea black.”

His eyes traveled meaningfully from her neck, to her arm, and then back to her face. “Trust me. It helps.”

Oh. “Thank you.”

Giles moved so his body blocked her sight of the kids at the other end of the table, giving them some measure of privacy. “Are you all right?” he asked delicately.

Scully bit back her first response; she was well aware of her own penchant for denial when it came to her health, mental or physical. She would say she was fine until her mouth was too full of blood and broken teeth to speak. But the old man was looking at her with such kindness in his eyes, such understanding, that she felt her veneer crack. “No,” she said softly, setting down her mug. The sweetness of it was suddenly too cloying, its herbal aftertaste too much like swallowing graveyard dirt. “And neither is Mulder. I know you’ve been corresponding for years, but I see him every day. You never saw the man he was, and what he’s become now… I don’t know how much longer he can stand it. How long I can.”

“A vampire ensouled is a creature of grief and pain, a demon’s lust for death crippled by human empathy and guilt. I’ve known only one other, and even after centuries to adjust, he was tormented; but he used that torment to do a great deal of good. It’s true Mulder may never be the same, but he can still have a worthwhile life.”

“Centuries,” Scully breathed. “If we don’t find a way to help him, he’ll really..?”

“As long as he avoids sunlight and getting on Buffy’s bad side, he could live forever.”

She thought of the pain in her partner’s eyes, the shameful way he licked her blood from his lips, his cold skin with a monster burrowing beneath it. She imagined him living in darkness, forever, watching as everyone he’d ever known or loved withered and died. He had already lost so much—his father murdered, his mother who took her own life, his sister whom he had lost once and then a hundred times more. What would be left of him when nothing at all of his human life remained? She shuddered.

“And these… kids? They can actually help?”

“I know they look young, Miss Scully. God do I know,” he said, leaning his hip against the table as he sipped from his own mug of tea. “But these strange, loud, infuriating people have been through more than you or I can imagine. If anyone can find something to help your partner, I trust it would be them.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Giles lowered his voice, though the others were unlikely to hear him over their own excited noise. “Xander is the smartest idiot I’ve ever known, though I’ll deny that completely if you ever tell him. Anya has witnessed a thousand years of human and demonic history. Willow is an actual genius, and beyond that she and Tara are intensely powerful witches. And Buffy…”

Sadness and pride passed over his features—a look she remembered seeing on her own father’s face during those sweet, fleeting moments when parents realize their children are growing up. It made her heart ache. “Buffy is a hero. It’s in her bones to help, to save. She wouldn’t surrender even if her life depended on it. Especially then, in fact.”

He rested a warm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t give up on our man just yet.”

He smiled as he watched the group around the table chatter away, the very picture of the indulgent patriarch. Gratitude welled in Scully’s heart as she saw them the way Mulder must have seen them—a family. Misfits, freaks, and outcasts who had somehow found their way to each other, and despite their broken pieces, built something beautiful and strong.

She knew the feeling.

The Magic Box was empty except for their group, its doors having closed to the perusing public around dusk, but the self-christened Scoobie Gang showed no sign of slowing down. This was their third straight night gathered around the large wooden table at the back of the shop, its legs creaking under the dusty weight of ancient texts piled upon it. The discard stacks in the corners grew every hour, but Giles never seemed to run out of new books to bring in from the back room or his own home.

Despite their subject matter, Scully had taken great comfort in those thick, musty volumes; they reminded her of nights spent in the library during medical school, cramming for exams with her friends, guzzling coffee and junk food and chattering about anything they could think of just to keep each other awake. Some of these books even had the same kind of disturbingly graphic yet coldly clinical anatomical diagrams as her textbooks.

Though these books held nearly nothing of the science she loved, they nonetheless represented the same human desire to document the past and carry it into the future, bound in worn leather and yellowed pages; ships in bottles cast into the world in the hopes their messages would help someone else.

Still, the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“Werewolves? Mummies? Demons? You guys actually believe in this stuff?”

“Dated one,” answered Willow and Xander at the same time.

“Used to be one!” piped Anya.

Scully’s headache grew a shade worse. Giles patted her shoulder and went to retrieve yet another box from his car.

She tried to focus on the ponderous tome open on the table in front of her, a book of remedies written in one of the few languages she could understand—presumably some form of German, though roughly one word in eight was too archaic for her to recognize. The other books were written in languages more obscure still; they had gone through most of the English volumes on the first night of their search. Translating them would be the work of a lifetime; even skimming a single volume for relevant words and phrases took hours, and a fear was growing in her belly that all of this effort would turn out to be futile. If the others shared the same concern, they didn’t show it. Three nights in a row they had shown up with snacks, coffee, and an enthusiasm that bordered on mania. They would be half-asleep in their chairs by dawn—or in Xander’s case, fully asleep and snoring—and she loved them for it.

So much of this still felt so unreal; she turned the thick page and began to pick through what turned out to be a recipe for making cough tonic from the scales of something called a polgara, alongside an illustration depicting a reptilian creature with enormous skewers sprouting from its humanoid arms; the author of the tonic helpfully reminded her to exercise caution around the pointy bits. She wanted to slam the book shut, hop on a plane, and return to the more vague and deniable lunacy of her regular life. Mutants and aliens and government conspiracies she could understand, maybe even explain. But magic? Real magic?

She glanced over at Willow and Tara, their fingers twining together as they compared notes. Those first few hours after Mulder’s… transformation… had been bewildering, terrifying, and while she might have been borderline delirious with blood loss and nursing a moderate concussion, she couldn’t deny what she had seen. It was a sight she would take to her grave.

Buffy had bound Mulder in chains, and he hung between them with a face from a nightmare, snapping and foaming pink at the mouth like a rabid animal. While the other Scoobies took up their places in a loose circle, leveling crosses and crossbows at him—and Scully slumped against the wall, refusing to leave his side even now—the two young women stood before the snarling beast that used to be her partner, uncowed as he hurled graphic threats and curses at them. Scully could only watch in stunned wonder as they summoned something so beautiful and so primal that even now she couldn’t find the proper words to describe it.

She had felt the power in that room as white light pooled into the orb suspended between their outstretched hands, the air itself chiming with its purity. She didn’t recognize the language spilling from their mouths, but she heard the music in it, the command; the chanting doubled and redoubled upon itself, echoing through the space until Scully felt she could reach out and pluck the words like birds from the air and cradle them in her hands.

When finally the spell reached its zenith, power throbbing against her skin like the heartbeat of creation itself, Willow had called out one last echoing command; the light that they conjured fled all at once, leaving Scully staggered and half-blind in the sudden dark.

At first she feared it hadn’t worked, that the dying of the light was a sign that the darkness had won, until she saw the last tendrils of that brilliant light fading in Mulder’s eyes— Mulder’s eyes, green as the first breath of spring, staring out with pain and confusion from a human face still smeared with her blood.

She had wept, then, and stumbled forward on weak legs to drape her arms around him. “Scully?” he asked in a trembling voice. “What happened? I don’t—I don’t remember…”

He would remember, and soon, but for that moment he was just Mulder again. Her partner, her friend. The man she trusted with every inch of her soul.

And Willow and Tara had restored his.

Maybe believing in magic wasn’t so preposterous after all.

Buffy slammed her book closed, sending a puff of dust into the air. The table—and everyone sitting around it—jumped. “All I’m finding here is new and inventive ways to kill vampires. I already know how to do that. In fact, it’s kind of my whole thing. Not one word about how to make one all soft and cuddly again.”

Willow set her own book down in agreement. “I’ve got plenty of stories of humans getting turned into vampires—some of which are actually quite gross, by the way—but nothing the other way.”

“I still think we should try the whole exorcism thing. I’m pretty sure this group can handle a little pea soup and swearing.”

“Xander, I already told you,” Anya said, coming out from behind the counter to sit beside him. “Even if we could get the demon out, the body is still dead. Without the demon to hold it together, all you’d be left with is a pile of dust.”

Tara raised her hand. “I vote against dusting. I mean, of Mr. Mulder. General cleanliness is fine.”

“Well hang on,” Willow said. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I think there’s a resurrection spell in here that could—”

“No!” the others all cried at once, some in anger, some in fear.

The girl sat back in defeat, her eyebrows knit together in frustration, and Tara put a comforting hand on her arm. “No, sweetie. You know those never go right. You know that.”

Something dark crossed Buffy’s face, and the rest of the group carefully avoided meeting her eyes. Scully wondered why, and made a mental note to ask Mulder when they were alone again. “She’s right, Wil. It’s too dangerous.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Giles didn’t even raise his voice, but the authority in it was unmistakable. Even Scully felt herself sitting up a little straighter at his tone. “This man is our friend. He has helped us out on countless occasions, and has given us information that has saved many lives, including some of ours, at no small risk to himself. Now I’ve told this woman—” he gestured to Scully “—that there is no group in this world more qualified to help him, and I believe that. So I would like to see a little less naysaying and a little more optimism. We haven’t even touched the Sumerian archives yet, or the Heian healer chronicles—and they were practically miracle-workers. Not to mention the Anstopiary codex, the Aurora archives, I have an order in with a bookseller in Qatar that—”

“Giles,” said Buffy, lifting her brows. “Focus.”

He adjusted his glasses, a gesture Scully was beginning to realize was his equivalent of counting to ten and taking a deep breath. “The point is, I’m sure we’ll start making headway soon. I am not giving up on this. On him. None of us are.”

His chastisement hung heavy in the air for a long moment.

“Giles is right.” Willow had known Mulder the longest—they met in a supernatural chat room years ago, and it was her bizarre story about a possibly vampiric serial killer that had brought them here in the first place. Scully wasn’t surprised that the girl was the first to speak, but it warmed her heart just the same. “We’re the freaking Scoobies, guys. And Scoobies never say die.”

“I think that’s Goonies, sweetie.”

“Whatever. The point is, we don’t give up, especially when our friends are in trouble. So buck up, buckers, we gotta make with some head.” She paused, scrunching her face as she heard her own words. “Okay, that sounded kinda gross, but we’re gonna de-vamp that guy if we have to tear through every last one of these books and the whole Watcher library. Twice.”

“Thanks for the enthusiasm, Willow.”

Scully’s heart leapt; she turned and saw Mulder coming through the doorway to the shop, balancing several paper cups of coffee, fast food containers, and a bag of groceries in his arms. She smiled at the sight of him, looking almost normal in his jeans and soft gray t-shirt. He was still too pale, but he seemed to be moving more smoothly since his little… snack. His expression was no longer so pained, his limbs less stiff. He saw her staring and winked, shuffling his feet in a dorky approximation of a dance as if to say S ee, Scully? All good here , and she fought not to roll her eyes.

Spike followed close behind him, similarly burdened, though she saw a few containers bearing the familiar logo of the butcher shop mixed in among the coffee.

“Ooh, Scoobie Snacks!” Xander said, in a passable imitation of the cartoon, rising to help carry the provisions to the table. A happy murmur passed through the room and Scully smiled; nothing like an infusion of sugar and caffeine to reinvigorate an all-night study session.

Scully’s fingers brushed Mulder’s as she took her cup from his hand; they felt slightly warmer. “You seem a little better. Should we upgrade your condition to quarter-dead?”

He smiled as he settled into the chair next to hers, a butcher’s cup cradled in his elbow. “Not quite that far. Maybe a third. Spike took me to…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away with that bashful half-smile that meant he was about to say something she would find, at best, incredulous.

“What, Mulder? Spike took you where?” Her mind spun, despite herself—did they rob a blood bank? Knock over a Red Cross van? Did they go hunting ?

“A vampire cafe.” He laughed, and the fist around her heart loosened. “Next to a slaughterhouse. Not exactly the most glamorous place I’ve ever been, but they can mix up a cow’s blood blend that’s almost approaching palatable.” He nodded towards his cup. “He also showed me a few tricks to make this stuff a little less vile.”

“Cinnamon’s the key,” Spike chimed in, stepping up behind Mulder and clapping him on the back. The liquid in his cup sloshed, along with the contents of Scully’s stomach. “Makes it taste all festive.”

“Yum,” Scully said, and immediately regretted the sarcasm in her voice. “I’m glad it’s helping. You really do look better.”

“How about you guys? Any progress?”

Anyone else might have missed the fragile hope in his eyes, the way he delivered his words with a lack of emphasis that, to her familiar ear, belied the desperation beneath. Seven years together—she could read him like a book.

“You missed a couple of mostly-inspirational speeches and a spirited debate about cinema, but no. We’re still looking.”

He nodded and looked away, the flexing muscle in his jaw the only outward sign of disappointment. Her hand on his brought his eyes back to her face. She stroked her thumb over his knuckles. It said I’m not giving up.

He placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed. Never.

A/N: Our poor, long-suffering Scully, surrounded by a gaggle of mini-Mulders! I had so much fun writing the Scoobie dialogue. It's strange and exciting combining a show like Buffy, which is renowned for its snappy wordplay, with a show like The X-Files, where so much is unspoken and instead conveyed with touch and eye contact. I hope it didn't give you too much whiplash! As always, comments will be printed, laminated, and put into my Scrapbook of Validation.

[truly-morgan]

[Platonic, WRH takes care of JC for the day]

RuoCheng | Mo Dao Zu Shi 26-05-2021

[platonic ruocheng - father figure]

 Where jfm takes jc with him to a sect conference at NC, but ends up needing to fly back to LP because of a bigger problem happening. (Surprisingly, wrh is in a good enough mood not to make him stay and just move the sl meeting to when he comes back).

This leaves his guest room empty, to which servants go to clean and make everything comfortable for when he comes back. but they find jc pacing around the room!

The poor boy is looking anxious since he woke up and his father was not in his room (which is right next to his). His father says that they should always be on time for breakfast (especially when it comes to wrh temper) and he always makes sure jc is well-prepared to come with him.

Yet it is clearly passe the time they usually go to have breakfast and his father hasn't come back to get him! Of course, the young jiang heir would get anxious about the sudden disappearance of his father.

wrh is immediately noticed about this, making him rather unimpressed by jfm. Has the man really managed to forget his own /son/ in NC when he still took the time to make sure all his disciples were with him? The man couldn't even say that it was out of habit, as it was known that jfm had taken jc with him to multiple conferences already. He should /know/ his son is with him.

He's also informed that the young boy doesn't believe anyone who says his father has gone back home without him, the servant said the young heir looked distressed at the thought of that.

wrh decides to take the matter into his hands (which does worry some of the other sect leaders present), joining jc who was still in his father's room, but this time eating. (after all, he had skipped breakfast).

jc is clearly surprised to see him, standing up to greet him politely and correctly. wrh does smile at how well-behaved the youngster is (he couldn't say this much of some other young boy). he casually takes a seat across from the boy, telling him it's alright to keep eating. "If you want to become a strong cultivator you must eat correctly".

Still, jc only sits back to eat after pouring a cup of tea for the sect leader. 

"Has your father come back to his room?" he asks casually as if he didn't know what his servant had already told the boy.

He receives a quiet but clear no, jc looking nervous.

"I see, so he did return back to lp and forgot his son," he said, clicking his tongue at the end.

jc pales at the thought as if it is confirmed by a sect leader was now enough to believe it. "B-But a-die will come back right?" he asks, worried feeling his voice as if scared that he had just been abandoned.

wrh was a bit surprised by the question (and the tone of it), not expecting for this boy to look as if it was a real worry he had, than to be left behind forever by his father. He tries to keep his expression calm despite the frown forcing its way on his brow.

"Of course he will, I do not think sect leader jiang wants me to raise his heir" he says. He's actually pretty much none of them would leave their kid to him.

Tension leaves the small shoulder of jc, looking relieved at the words. He then looks around a little bit, as if unsure.

"Do you know when he will come back?"

"I don't," says the older man, a small worried frown coming to jc brows.

The boy is silent for a bit, eating silently as the sect leader sips his tea (it's one more common to the yunmeng region, a bit less to his taste, but he'll still drink it after jc offered it so politely). "Have you ever visited the the market of qishan?" he asks, looking back at the boy. jc seems surprised by his question but shakes his head.

His father never took him out of NC when he would bring him to a conference held by the wen. He mostly saw the diner hall, the guest rooms and the training ground.

"What a shame, I'll take you there later, I am sure Qishan will be as entertaining as Yunmeng".

jc looks shocked by the suggestion, as he would have maybe expected for the sect leader to ask a servant or disciple to take care of him. Was he really suggesting taking care of jc /himself/?

"You do not want to?". jc quickly shake his head, before saying he would love to visit Qishan. wow. the man is not as scary and bad as his parents keep saying. How would he suggest taking him out to visit Qishan if he truly was as bad as they say?

He finishes his breakfast and this is when wrh decides to take him. Everything as been put on hold anyway and no other sect leader seems to be needing his attention right now(he suspects they must be happy he's not bothering them).

He learns how quickly the young boy is well-behaved (nearly surprising with how little jfm seems to want him around) though he seems to shy to ask for help, especially when they are in a busier street and the boy nearly lost him because he seemed scared to ask to be lifted up (If it had been wc, the boy would have asked the moment they got there).

obviously, everyone in Qishan knows wrh and so they treat very well the young boy in his arms (a new son? but aren't purple robes the jiang signature?).

wrh is even in a pretty good mood, buying snacks that seem to catch the boy's eyes (he seems to really enjoy spicy food he notices) and little trinket with design and colour different from what you would find in Yunmeng and that jc seems to really like. of course, for most of these jc doesn't really ask first, not wanting to be greedy, especially with slw money.

they come back for lunch and he makes jc seat closer to him (since no one from Yunmeng is here anymore). The other sect leader asks how was his evening with wrh (mostly to make sure nothing bad happen) and is a bit surprised to learn how nice the man had been with the boy.-

later jc admits he has to practice his calligraphy (training and study program he still needs to follow even when away).

so wrh also help in that, doing some calligraphy himself as jc worked on his, showing him where he did some mistakes or where his stroke was not good. but for his age, jc calligraphy is pretty well and he doesn't restrain from telling him. A pleased and bright smile illuminates the boy's face "Really? Father says my calligraphy should be better".

What is the man expecting from a child? Perfect calligraphy? This is good for his age.

He even brings jc to where his disciple trains, lettings him join his sons' training, claiming it is good to see other forms too.

And once dinner comes, jc is yet again sitting with the wen, seemingly talking about his training and how he really enjoyed it. Sure wrh seemed strict and maybe a bit severe when he was training others, but he was still nice to him.

the next two days when jfm is gone the routine seems similar, where wrh takes care of jc alongside his own sons. Some of the other sect leaders would swoop in too, keeping jc entertained and helping him in his training and study.

jfm comes back to a group of somewhat unimpressed sect leaders, clearly looking nervous because /now/ he knows he has forgot his son behind.

jc couldn't be happier to see him finally back, telling him all about how well wrh took care of him. later jfm tries to apologise for the trouble his son might have caused (also apologising on the side for forgetting him).

"Jiang Cheng is a well-behaved kid, it wasn't hard to take care of him" simply replied wrh. "I couldn't say the same from other young members at lp".

jfm smile is a bit stiff on his lips after the comments, letting go of his apologies after that, even a bit more when all the other sect leaders also join in into telling him well-behaved and studious jc is(and some are less discreet in letting know jfm could have done better).

the conference and too soon for jc who had really been enjoying the attention and praises he did from all those great cultivators (although he was still happy to go back to his jiejie and shixiong).

afterwards, everyone (other than jfm) stops being surprised when wrh would act so nicely to the jiang sect heir, having (to the suspicion of some) grown a soft spot for the young man who was simply looking for recognition.

jc probably also becomes the only outsider disciple that wx and wc don't act all arrogant around because of how often they ended up playing/studying/training together when they were younger.

I just want jc to have friends who are ready to stand up for him on the spot like "WHAT did you say about the HEIR of Yunmeng? Are you looking for a beating?!?".

and let's just imagine how wrh soft spot for jc and wx/wc good relationship with him makes it so that the attack on lp doesn't happen. the wen are actually just waiting for jc to take over the sect to make a better alliance with him.

Original

[floralflorence]

POV: Reg teases Finn about his kissing; Finn takes that as a challenge.

"Oh, I'm not too sure about that," Reg smirked, taking a casual sip of his tea when Finn's eyebrows rose. When he then shuffled to face him, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa, his legs dropping open slightly as he lounged there, Reg felt heat stir low in his stomach at the flash of disbelief in his eyes. The three boys all agreed that, although they'd all kiss each other for hours, Finn just had that extra Harzy 'flare' that made your mind blank and your toes curl.

And Finn knew this - he used it against them often enough.

Whenever he wanted to stay cuddled in bed but the others were insistent on getting up and starting the day, a quick roll on top of them and a long, sweet kiss with a hand gently cupping their jaw and they were putty in his hands. Leo getting carried away cooking so he hadn't sat and had a break in hours; a few open-mouthed kisses on the back of his neck until he finally broke and gave him some attention. Then a couple deep, teasing kisses that almost always ended up with Finn sucking him off on the sofa - consequently making him lie there, happy and sated, for a little while at least. Usually longer though, considering one of the boys would cuddle up to him to make him have a rest and probably a small nap with them.

Finn always loved teasing Lo - his kisses only helped. It was no secret that Lo had a not so soft spot for muscles - the strength behind them; the way they tensed and moved beneath their skin even with the tiniest, mundane movements. He really knew what he was doing getting with three fellow hockey players. If Lo was being stubborn about getting subby (AKA was deciding to be a brat), himself and Leo would have to slowly persuade him that he'd much prefer it if he just behaved. It usually began with a few well-placed stretches in a just slightly too-tight tank or shirt. These then became seemingly helpful actions: sidling up behind him in the kitchen and reaching up to one of the high cupboards to grab something he needed, their strong chests and torsos pressed along the length of his back; somehow finding an excuse for teasingly lifting him into their arms with a few scattered kisses along his face in the name of some harmless flirting with their boyfriend - any little touches and caresses they can do while still keeping them seemingly innocent. Without fail though, it was always slow, loving kisses from Finn that became his Achilles heel. A strong hand cradling the back of his neck, the other wrapping low on his hip or his waist, cuddling him in close and safe against his chest and all the brattiness just poured out of him through the small whimpers that Finn swallowed between kisses.

Finn had just been lounging back and surveying Reg for a long while, eyes roving admiringly across him to the point even Reg looked down at himself questioningly. He had his knees tucked up to his chest, tea balanced on his lap with bed-hair and still wearing his pyjamas (a pair of boxers he was sure were not his and an old sweater that had to be Leo's from how far down his thighs it fell and the, frankly absurd, length of the arms). Unable to spot what Finn was apparently so enraptured with, Reg swallowed down another gulp of his tea and asked.

"Can I help you?" He shivered when Finn's face just broke out in his usual lopsided grin.

"What? I can't look at my boyfriend?"

Reg gave him an unimpressed look back, making his smile brighten.

"Looking at your boyfriend is fine, staring like a psychopath at him is a tad excessive."

Humming offhandedly, Finn just let his eyes trail a path of fire down from Reg's own to his lips, sliding down to his neck at the marks scattered across the pale skin, then to how Leo's sweater pooled like water around him before scanning the length of his thighs and the hard muscle there.

"'S a shame. He is very pretty to stare at."

Reg hid his violent blush behind his mug as he necked the rest of it back before placing it carefully on the coffee table. He then made a beeline towards where Finn was sat on the L-shaped sofa, crawling over to him quickly.

"Oh, I'm guessing my cuddles are better than my kisses then?" Finn chuckled, arms wrapping around Reg instantly when he climbed into his lap.

"Hush," Reg mumbled into the skin of his neck, "I'm hiding from a crazy, staring psycho." He couldn't help but smile at the chuckle that rumbled from Finn's chest.

"Maybe you should gimme a kiss," Finn's lips were nestled against the shell of his ear, his breath fanning over the sensitive area to make goosebumps appear where ever it fell, "show him you're off the market." Reg sat back on his heels, still straddling Finn's lap, his arms draped over his shoulders and looped around the back of his neck as he seemed to debate the thought.

"Well," he drawled, "if it's to prove a point then I guess so."

Sinking his teeth into his own bottom lip, Finn hummed in agreement, eyes tracing the sharp points of Reg's cupid's bow before skimming across the soft, plush expanse of his bottom lip. He leaned in until the tips of their noses brushed together, turning his head a fraction so they slid next to each other, their lips only millimetres apart. Finn's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Reg was sure that the tip of his tongue grazed along the seam of his lips, prompting Reg to lean forwards ever so slightly to initiate the kiss. However, Finn immediately mirrored this and moved backwards a hair, a smirk forming across his lips at Reg's outright whine.

"Harzy, baby. Please."

Finn's lips parted at the same time his hand slid around to cup the back of Reg's neck, pulling him closer until he could capture his lips with his own. He pressed them together completely with an arm around his waist, his head tilting to deepen the kiss until Reg's hands flexed where they were holding Finn's shoulders, one coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of his head, the other resting with his fingertips pressed lightly against his jaw.

Resisting the urge to just completely give up the pretense of Finn being anything but a fucking phenomenal kisser, Reg tried to give as good as he got (even though he knew he was thoroughly screwed). These were the kinds of kisses that had their hands trailing to unbuckle Finn's belt after the second one, shirts tugged as quickly as possible over their heads so they could be kissed once again. Seemingly, Finn caught on at the same time as Reg and got impatient, tongue teasing along the seam of his lips until they parted completely for him, slipping his tongue into his mouth. He pulled him in closer, hand tightening on the back of his neck as he tilted both their heads, licking patterns into the roof of his mouth.

At this point, Reg was certain he was shaking. Bolts of pleasure scattered down his spine with every deep kiss and every teasing flick of his tongue. He'd gradually stopped trying to battle him, far too content with just being kissed within an inch of his life. Eventually, they pulled away for longer than a breath and Reg was glad that Finn was just as ruined as he was. His eyes watched the string of spit that connected their lips with a whimper until it broke. They were swollen and sensitive, the air from his own panting making him shiver. He brought his attention back to Finn when he swallowed like he was preparing himself to speak.

"Point proven?" The look on his face and direct glance at Reg's bruised lips and flushed, well, everything, told Reg exactly what point he was referring to. He hummed brokenly back in agreement - "point definitely proven."

[windowlessatmosphere]

A Little Pick-Me-Up, Ch.3/3

Summary: When their regular coffee shop is closed one day, Payu and Prapai end up at a new one. Payu's instantly head over heels for the cute guy behind the counter, and Prapai's not having it until he sees the guy making their drinks. They end up with a new regular coffee shop.

“It’ll be fun!”

“...”

“Skyyy,” Rain pleaded, tugging on his arm. “C’mon, please?”

Sky didn’t say anything for a second, and Prapai tried to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. Rain had jumped up to talk to Sky when he’d come over to check on them, pulling him off to the side. Prapai kicked Payu under the table, then jerked his head in the direction of Rain and Sky and gave him a questioning look. Payu glanced at the pair before switching seats so he was sitting next to Pai.

“Rain and I are going to this festival thing. He wants you and Sky to come, too.” Prapai straightened up at that, smoothing his hair and trying to look like something you’d want to attend a festival with.

“—because you’ll just ignore me—” Sky was saying to Rain, who was shaking his head in disagreement.

“This is a fantastic idea,” Prapai told Payu. “We have to go.” He tuned back in to Rain and Sky’s conversation, sipping his latte to seem casual.

“I promise, okay? It won’t be like that this time,” Rain was saying.

Payu snorted and gave Prapai an amused look. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“They’re up,” Prapai shot back.

“I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure Sky’s gonna stick with Rain the whole time. So, you know, good luck.”

“What kind of friend are you?” Pai groaned exasperatedly. “He’s your boyfriend, just distract him.”

Unfortunately, Payu’s prediction turned out to be correct. Sky agreed to go, but he and Rain determinedly stuck together, and Prapai was left without a pathway to Sky. Payu wasn’t any help, either, staying at least a foot away from Rain and making sure to talk to everyone rather than narrowing his focus to his boyfriend. Pai knew it was only because Rain had asked him to, but it was still incredibly annoying. He’d had to suffer through their clinginess every single day, but the one time he could’ve actually used it, they’d abandoned him.

As retribution, Prapai suggested they get ice cream, and then enjoyed himself immensely watching Payu’s face. He kept zoning out staring at Rain while he ate, then he’d remember himself and refuse to look at him for a minute or so before the cycle repeated itself.

Another idea came to him when they passed one of those shooting games, and he grabbed Payu’s arm and dragged him over. Rain and Sky came over as well, and Rain was eager to give it a try. To his disappointment and Prapai’s delight, he was awful at it. So awful that Payu stepped in to help, clearly unable to withstand Rain’s pouting. He ended up standing behind Rain, pressed up against him as he explained what he should be doing. Rain had clearly forgotten that he was supposed to be keeping his distance, blatantly reveling in the attention. Payu was no better, which Prapai supposed he could be grateful for, just this once. 

He took the opportunity to sidle up to Sky with a grin, and he was met with an overwhelmingly unimpressed gaze.

“Gorgeous,” Pai greeted him with a salacious grin. "You know, you're just my cup of tea," he flirted, laying it on thick and leaning in a little. Sky rolled his eyes and stepped back to maintain the distance between them. “Are you having a good time?” Prapai changed tactics.

“I was.”

Prapai pouted at that, sticking his lower lip out and hoping Sky might take some pity on him. He snorted instead. “You look like Rain.”

“Hey!” Prapai protested, offended. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” Sky returned immediately, still laughing at his misfortune.

“That’s completely—” Pai started, only to get cut off by the arrival of Rain and Payu.

“We’re gonna go do the photo booth,” Rain told them. “It’ll only take a minute,” he added, directing that part at Sky.

“Have fun,” Sky replied, smiling. Rain took it at face value and dragged Payu away excitedly, but Pai could see the frustration underneath.

“That didn’t last long,” he remarked.

“Hmm?”

“Rain and Payu,” Prapai clarified. “Not getting caught up in each other.”

Sky snorted at that, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

Prapai was practically vibrating at the thought that he was currently having a fairly normal conversation with Sky, but he was trying to contain himself. Freaking out about a few sentences probably wouldn’t score him any points here.

“Hey, I have to deal with them every day,” Prapai pointed out. “So, it could be worse.”

“I have to hear about it every day,” Sky rebutted. “All day. Every day.”

“So do I,” Prapai countered. “Payu and I work together, too.”

“Please,” Sky scoffed. “I bet Rain’s way worse than P’Payu.”

“I don’t know…” Pai drew the last word out. “Payu’s pretty far gone. And he tries to keep it bottled up around Rain, so it’s just nonstop whenever he’s not around.”

Sky actually laughed at that, and Prapai realized with a jolt that Rain’s advice was actually working. Even though he hadn’t meant to, he was being himself, being natural with Sky in a way he wouldn’t have believed possible, and it was working. Sky wasn’t rolling his eyes—at him, anyway—wasn’t telling him to go away, wasn’t giving him that look he always did.

They talked for a bit more about Rain and Payu, complaining about how far gone their friends were and swapping stories. Sky told him about Rain nearly breaking the steamer while trying to text Payu back, and Prapai told him about Payu tripping over his own tools and landing flat on his face as he tried to pick up a call from Rain. Honestly, they were both idiots.

The aforementioned idiots came back over just as Prapai was finishing up his story, Sky still giggling at the fact that Payu had tried to photoshop out his bruises to send a selfie to Rain.

“Sky!” Rain was all over him, pulling on his arm to get his attention. “There’s a Ferris wheel!” he squealed excitedly, practically jumping up and down.

“And…?” Sky questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Come with me!” Rain insisted. “Please?” he added, widening his eyes.

“I don’t want to,” Sky told him, pulling his arm out of Rain’s grip.

“P’Pai?” Rain turned to him.

He shook his head quickly. If Sky was staying on the ground, so was he. “Scared of heights,” he lied smoothly. Rain’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, and Payu caved immediately.

“I’ll take you, sweetheart,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around Rain from the back.

“But—” Rain started, glancing between Sky and Prapai.

“That’s a good idea,” Sky cut in, looking at Payu. “Have fun,” he told Rain with a smile, this one much more genuine than the one from before. Rain hesitated for a minute before dragging Payu off to the ride with a wide smile on his face.

All of a sudden, he and Sky were alone, and likely to be for the next twenty minutes or so. Prapai honestly wasn’t sure how that’d happened, but he didn’t want to say anything and risk messing it up.

“Wanna get something to eat?” he suggested, and Sky lit up immediately. Okay, so food was a definite positive. Noted.

Sky ended up dragging him to a food truck, where he was easily coerced into getting one of the two options Sky couldn’t decide between, so he could try them both. He didn’t mind at all, as he wasn’t a picky eater, but Sky seemed like he felt bad about it. He gave him a very brief hard time about it, before telling him that he really didn’t care and it wasn’t a big deal in the slightest. Sky looked grateful and seemed to relax a little bit more at the reassurance.

They walked around with their food, talking about everything under the sun. Their families, their jobs, their friends, how school was going for Sky, how he and Payu had ended up going to the cafe for the first time, and on and on. 

Rain and Payu showed back up, just to let them know they were going to go on some of the other rides, too. They nodded at that, then, of course, immediately started talking about them once they’d left. They eventually landed back on the subject of their relationship, too pleased with the opportunity to commiserate with someone who’d had to deal with the same thing, just from the opposite side.

“Payu’s gotten so annoying about it,” Prapai moaned, “always telling me I need to be in a relationship.”

“Rain’s the same,” Sky agreed, rolling his eyes. “It’s his first relationship, but apparently he’s an expert now.”

“Yes,” Pai agreed. “Payu will not stop giving me advice.”

Sky snorted at that, raising an eyebrow. “That makes even less sense,” he said. Prapai made a questioning noise and Sky continued, “I’m just saying, I’m sure you’re doing fine. I think the rich, hot guy with a motorcycle thing is pretty universal.” He shook his head and kept walking, but Pai stopped in his tracks. “P’Pai?” Sky asked, once he realized Prapai was a couple feet behind him.

“Um,” was what Prapai went with. “You think I’m hot?” he blurted out, once his brain caught up with his mouth.

Sky hesitated for a second, coloring red before responding, “Shut up.”

Pai grinned widely at that, unable to help himself. “Does this mean I can call you hot?” 

“No,” Sky responded emphatically.

“Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical?” Pai asked, closing the distance between them.

Sky opened his mouth to respond, exasperated, then closed it again. “I guess, technically,” he hedged, flustered, “it might be a little hypocritical. So…yeah. I guess.”

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Prapai said immediately, not even taking a breath. Sky colored further but didn’t object. “So pretty,” Prapai added, taking another step closer. “The most gorgeous person I’ve ever—”

“Okay, this is not a fair trade!” Sky hissed. “I called you hot once, this is not—” he broke off with a frustrated noise, waving a hand vaguely. 

“I think you only get to make the rules if you agree to go out with me,” Prapai let him know. Sky just swore at him in response. “So,” he continued, undeterred. “If you really want to tell me what to do, you should let me take you to dinner.”

“Does that actually work?” Sky asked him with a skeptical tone.

“What?”

“Acting like this,” Sky clarified. “Does it work on anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Prapai shrugged. “I’ve never tried it on anyone else.” The look Sky gave him at that was so deeply cynical that he almost wavered, but he pressed on. “Look, I might sleep around, but I’ve never actually dated someone. I’ve never wanted to date someone.”

“That is not encouraging in the slightest,” Sky fired back. “I’m not interested in being a one-night stand.”

“I literally just asked you out,” Prapai reminded him, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“If you don’t date, why are you asking me out?” Sky asked him, frustrated. “You barely know me, and there’s no reason for you to be into me, anyway.”

“But I am into you,” Pai argued.

“Why?”

“Okay,” Prapai started, trying to organize his jumble of thoughts into something that made sense. “Well, yes, you’re gorgeous, obviously. Like, so pretty, and your eyes—”

“Get to the point,” Sky interrupted sharply.

“That was all I was thinking about,” Pai explained, “when I first met you. But..you’re smart, and funny, and snarky, and you don’t take any of my shit,” Sky snorted at that, and it made him smile. “And…you’re a really good friend to the people that you care about. Even if that doesn’t include me,” Prapai added quietly. “But even if you don't want to show it, you’re still sweet and kind to me. Even when I’m hitting on you and you want me to go away, you still make me the drink I want instead of the one I order, just because you think I’ll like it. And you don’t even like me,” he finished, maintaining eye contact with Sky. Sky was the one to break their gaze, staying quiet for a few moments. Prapai was praying that he hadn’t just fucked this up entirely, hadn’t exposed his own feelings too acutely, hadn’t undone any progress he’d been able to make.

“I do,” Sky finally broke the silence.

“...?” Prapai had no idea what he meant, could only give him a questioning look in response.

“Like you,” Sky clarified. “I do like you.”

“Like…as a friend?” Prapai managed to get out, barely hanging on. Please don’t be as a friend, please don’t be as a friend, please don’t be—

“No, you idiot,” Sky huffed, refusing to look at him.

“Yes!” Pai crowed, pulling Sky into his arms immediately. He took a step back a second later, holding Sky at arm’s length. “So, just to clarify, you mean romantically, right?”

“Yes,” Sky was clearly fed up with him, glaring as much as he could muster. Prapai took it all in stride and pulled Sky back into his arms, cheering as he picked him up a little. Sky hit his chest until he put him back on the ground, so Pai settled for pinching his cheeks until Sky swatted his hands away. He was still grinning at Sky, unable to believe his luck when he realized he’d never voiced his reciprocation.

“I like you, too!” he blurted out, practically yelling. “I just forgot to say it back!”

“I know,” Sky informed him. “Your reaction wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“Have dinner with me,” Pai requested, pulling Sky in again. “You just said you like me,” he reminded Sky, just in case he was on the fence.

“Hmm,” Sky considered, tilting his head to one side. Prapai was holding his breath, eyes glued to Sky’s face as he pondered. “One date,” he acquiesced. “And then…we’ll see.”

“Yes!” Prapai squealed happily. “Great decision,” he told Sky, brushing his hair back. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

“I think I’m already starting to,” Sky let him know.

“Nooo,” Prapai whined, immediately pouting. He stuck his lower lip out further when Sky didn’t respond, and did his best Rain impression.

“I’m not, really,” Sky said quietly, looking determinedly at the ground. “I’m…looking forward to it,” he added. He was still looking away from Prapai, but he blushed a little as he said it. Pai couldn’t help but melt at that, totally unused to this shy sweetness from Sky.

“Me too,” he told Sky, unable to keep the lovesick note out of his voice. Sky looked pleased at that, and darted forward to peck him quickly. Pai melted down completely at that, not quite sure if this was actually happening, or if it was just something he’d concocted in his mind.

“Skyyy,” Prapai dragged his name out as he clung to Sky’s side. He darted in to kiss Sky back, enjoying the startle he got in response.

“Whatever,” Sky was still blushing, and it was such a lovely color on him. “Let’s get moving, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” Prapai grinned, “my Sky.”

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Clarity 19

"Are you meant to be here?"

Aiko flashed a guileless, pretty smile at the kindly baa-chan manning the desk and lifted her coffeeshop bag to show it off. "Ne, I just wanted to see Sasuke-kun..." She let her voice trail off softly and blinked twice.

That wasn't her primary objective, but it also wasn't a lie. He was highly placed in Konoha, after all. Sasuke would be a good person to worm her way close to. And he'd seemed surprisingly open to her presence last week. She was starting to suspect that he had been serious about his office door being open to her, way back on the day she woke up in Konoha.

She almost regretted pulling the fire alarm when he was the one watching her, in retrospect.

The older lady sighed and rubbed at her jade pendant in what looked suspiciously like a prayer, but didn't stop Aiko from knocking on the door to his little office in the anteroom that led up to Tsunade's. The only response was a grunt. She took it as permission to push the door open and swung the bag of canned chai tea in ahead of her, holding it aloft in offering. Everyone liked chai, right?

Her target was looking down at a frightfully large pile of folders and running his hands through the messy spikes at the back of his neck.

'Aww. Is Sasu-chan having a hard day with sensitive documents I might find interesting?'

"I come bearing refreshments," Aiko announced, and unceremoniously sat on his desk. Sasuke's fingers froze and he looked up at her, dark eyes blearily suspicious. "Not even slightly poisoned refreshments," she wheedled, pulling a drink out of the bag and popping the tab. She took a sip and then held it out to him.

He leveled an unimpressed look at the offering, then up to her face. "Do you have any idea what type of pathogens you could spread to my person like that?"

Wait, what?

"Are you …calling me diseased?" Aiko questioned, tilting her head slightly. She was meant to be charming him, but it was hard to keep the insult off her face. In challenge, she pushed the can slightly further into his personal space and steeled her expression. If he'd turned her down politely she wouldn't have cared. But now? Now he was going to enjoy some delicious tea if she had to shove it down his throat personally.

They exchanged stares for a moment. Sasuke sighed, breaking eye contact. When he did, she took the opportunity to glance at the paper he'd been reading. Oh. Accounts of recidivism rates something-something. Boring, in other words. "No," he admitted testily. "If only because Shizune-senpai would have noticed. That's still a foul habit. Do you share your food with everyone?"

Her lips thinned. "Just you, hime. Does that make you feel special?"

Sasuke rolled his eyes and finally took the can. He paused before taking a sip to furrow his brows and shoot her an uncertain look. "You came directly here, correct? You didn't attempt to reach me at the hospital first?"

Aiko snorted and ignored the grossed-out look that crossed his face at the sound. "Of course I didn't bring try to bring comestibles to your wing of the hospital. I've heard Shizune talk about what goes on there. I'm not going there again without a facemask and gloves."

And a living will. Honestly, some of Shizune's coworkers sounded frightening.

He let both his eyebrows travel up and pinched his mouth into an expression that clearly said, 'not the worst idea I've ever heard'. Then Sasuke finally took a sip. He shrugged and then drained the can, effortlessly crumpling the metal and tossing it across the room into his bin. "Not bad."

Her eyes followed the trajectory of what had been her drink. "You're welcome," Aiko said blandly, stretching her face into what vaguely resembled a smile.

'I love that tea.'

Well, at least she had one more can. She'd intended that one for him, but now-

"Hn." Sasuke looked away. "What are you really doing here?"

She widened her eyes innocently. "Sasuke?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"What, do I have to have an ulterior motive to come visit?" She snaked a little closer on his desk, twisting her body to face him more fully. "I just thought I would spend some time with you."

Wait, was that just a little bit of a blush-

"Oh, shit." Aiko hopped off his desk and to her feet, but didn't manage to escape out the window before Shizune pushed open Sasuke's door and leveled Aiko with a pleasant smile.

"Ready to go, Uzumaki-san?" Shizune asked as though she hadn't found her wayward ward hiding from her psychiatric appointment. She favored Sasuke with a polite nod but didn't take her eyes off of Aiko.

'This should have been the absolute last place she looked for me. How. How did she know?'

Her shoulders slumped. "Yes," Aiko lied glumly, letting go of the windowframe. She gave a transparently miserable sigh and dragged her feet when she crossed the office to follow Shizune out.

Sasuke waved once and opened the other can of tea, because apparently everyone in this town was a monster.

"You're late today," Yamanaka-sensei observed. His voice gave no indication as to how he felt about that.

Aiko averted her eyes to the smooth blue wall behind his head and wished there was more distance between their oversized chairs.

'Of course I'm late. Shizune found me sooner than anticipated.'

It really was an ugly office. It would look so much nicer if she tossed a smoke bomb into it and ran off.

'If I'd had my way, I'd still be hiding in Hokage tower. I can't believe she thought to look for me there.'

Aiko slouched back a little further into the soft cushion of her chair and didn't even care that she was openly pouting.

"No matter." Knuckles cracked ever so slightly as the older man adjusted, a now-familiar sound that brought her back to the pointed banality of the office setting she was currently trapped in. The small amount of poise she had managed to regain trembled tenuously.

'I need to pull myself together. Sure, he's spectacularly creepy. But he's just one old man. He's got to be like thirty. He's probably tired from hobbling to the office. We'll spend the session talking about Akatsuki. And fuck those guys, really, I don't need to protect them. Under the bus they go.'

Bravado aside, she couldn't bring herself to look at his face. Yamanaka-sensei's hands were scarred and wrinkled, prematurely aged by his profession. He wasn't a desk worker, she was certain of it. And thirty wasn't that old. "I thought that we would try my jutsu again today."

She would have winced if her muscles weren't already wound tight, strings ready to snap with tension.

'That was exactly what I didn't want to do.'

Who would want a near-stranger in their head? She'd heard his spiel about his family jutsu, and the thought of it made her queasy. It was unnatural. If she had possessed even the slightest bit of hope that it would work, she would hiss and try to protect her head with her arms.

That hadn't helped last time. Only the secret ninja art of 'stress vomiting' had saved her when he had first attempted his jutsu to roll around inside the open wounds of her mind.

'I might be able to put him off and distract him if I tell him about the recent dreams, if only because he could consider them worth investigating when he eventually goes into my head.'

Admittedly, the dreams she had been having lately were less tantalizing hints of lost memory than they were increasingly brutal scenarios of how Obito was going to try to kill her for quitting his boyband. No, that wasn't worth it long term. She needed to get it over with and not delay the inevitable. It was just like snipping sutures. She could do this.

The pep talk fell flat.

As much as she didn't want to risk eye contact, she was too high-strung to keep from watching when movement caught her eye across the coffee table.

"Try to relax, Uzumaki-san." He shifted forward, ageless blue eyes contrasting with weather-worn wrinkles on tanned skin.

It was unfair that he was so blasé about this.

She was probably just going to be ill again and all her worrying would have been for nothing.

'I'm aiming for his fancy hair this time,' Aiko thought with dark purpose. She made eye contact before he could order her to, holding onto pathetic shreds of pretense that she was a willing participant.

And then the office slipped away into darkness. Yamanaka-sensei wavered in front of her, a white chalk outline sketched into the unending confines of her mind.

That was about as far as he'd gotten last time, politely expelled by the shock of being dragged into her own consciousness disturbing her stomach. Unfortunately, the jolt was less jarring this time. She still hated the loss of physicality. It was uncannily similar to the confining quietness that Obito's kamui enforced.

Aiko looked down, raising her hands. They were just white lines as well. Feeling ill, she clenched one and slowly turned it, examining the changing visibility in what really appeared to be a two-dimensional version of herself. Her head swam, pinpricks of pain bursting behind her eyes. Everything was so wrong. She couldn't feel the weight of her body moving- there was no gravity.

"Do you need a moment to acclimate?"

The polite tones of Yamanaka-sensei's educated diction were somehow lower here, stretched out to vibrate slowly across what certainly wasn't air. There was no air here. She wasn't breathing. The realization made her inhale hastily, stubbornly reaching for oxygen where she knew there was none. Her lungs should be aching for it, but they were fine. She couldn't reply. She was too busy trying to breathe with no air.

"Please do not be troubled. Your disorientation is normal." There was no sound whatsoever when Yamanaka-sensei took a few steps away to give her space, giving an interested examination of the bleak void that surrounded them. It really didn't merit that. One patch of darkness looked like any other patch.

'Maybe he can see more than I can. This is his jutsu.'

She latched onto the thought, because if he got what he wanted maybe they could just go back to talking about the Akatsuki and the political situation in Fire Country and whatever stupidly banal shit he wanted to ask-

His hands were moving, but she couldn't tell what he was doing. It didn't seem like hand signs. It was difficult to concentrate, troubled as she was by the void pressing in on her.

And then she gasped, bending over to press her face into shaking thighs. Aiko dug her hands into the sides of her chair, relishing the sensation of fabric under the pads of her fingers. There was soft light again, and the poorly muffled conversation of someone out in the hallway.

"I think that's enough for today." His voice was back to normal, an unimpressive, perfectly standard arrangement of auditory stimulation.

What-

The clock on the wall claimed that twenty minutes had passed. Impossible.

That didn't reduce her need to get somewhere far, far away from that man and his awful ninjutsu. Aiko straightened and stood, noting that her feet were numb. Her stomach twisted, as did the room. The ugly tiled floor was moving towards her- only a calloused hand around her arm stopped her from ending up on her knees. Liquid splattered.

Ah. There was the vomit she had been waiting for. Glamorous.

"I'm sorry about that," Yamanaka-sensei said sincerely, pulling her back and settling into her chair again. He gifted a gentle pat to her left hand. Something fouly sour bubbled up in her throat again, but she had the presence of mind to swallow it this time. Her expression must have tipped him off, because he really did look sympathetic. "That jutsu was developed in usage against enemy nin. It isn't as gentle as one would hope. In addition, you appear to have a stronger reaction than most." He backed away, passing the nearby chair he had been in earlier now that there was no need for physical proximity.

That was the one thing she liked about him. He was good at giving her space. That didn't make him any less abhorrent. Aiko drew her knees up to her chest, not even realizing that she was dragging her dirty feet up onto the chair.

"I hope you will be reassured to know that we made significant progress today." She heard air move as the chair on the other side of the office compressed under his weight. "Your memories appear intact. I have attempted to reconnect the links between your conscious and subconscious, but only time will tell how effective this session was. There is a possibility that you will begin noticing the resurgence of information or outright memories connected to certain stimuli. On our next sessions…" he trailed off in thought. He was probably planning to do something like this to her again.

'Sadist. I hope he knows he's lost all chance at my friendship.' The scowl that twisted her face was downright ugly. But he couldn't see it when her nose was pressed between her knees. 'If I could get away with it…'

Aiko drifted off into violent fantasies for a moment, but pulled herself out with a shake. She would never get away with revenging herself on her doctor. Shizune was the most intuitive person she'd ever known. Aiko pictured that quietly disappointed expression with big dark eyes watering in sorrow, and lost her resolve to murder. For the moment.

Pen scratched against paper. The door opened off to her right. Yamanaka-sensei's civil timbre rang out again.

"Ah, Hagomono-san. Would you grant me the kindness of fetching something to clean up that mess?"

There was a murmur, and then retreating footsteps.

There was no chance in hell that Aiko was going to politely offer assistance. She levered her legs over the side of her chair to avoid stepping in still-warm vomit, awkwardly sliding off the chair. Her stomach jolted again, but her teeth remained firmly pressed together and nothing slid up her throat. Aiko pushed out her right hand to rest against the wall and used it as support. She took a step- yes, she was recovered enough to walk.

Her spine prickled. She didn't have to turn to know that Yamanaka-sensei was watching her ungraceful retreat. It was unforgivably impolite to depart without at least bidding him goodbye. No matter how she felt about him, he was her elder and a scholar. She opened her mouth to give him his due and breathed out a stink that could be classified as a gaseous weapon.

Nope. Aiko didn't give him a backwards look, much less verbal regard. By the time she had stumbled out of his office and onto the street, her balance had mostly returned. The morning market was still going strong- it wasn't even nine am yet.

'If I asked, Yamato would probably agree to cancel training today. He is an excruciatingly reasonable person.'

She gave it very serious consideration, pinching her nose closed with her fingers as she walked to avoid sensory overstimulation from hundreds of samples of body odor, mixes of soaps and perfumes, and fresh foods. The seafood's persistent notes turned her stomach regardless.

No. Asking for a day off felt too much like displaying weakness. She couldn't afford that. Even Obito hadn't given her slack in training, and he'd- Aiko shook her head, brushing off that infantile, lingering delusion that he had wanted to coddle her. She didn't want to think about him now.

'At least the jackass let me off early. I have an hour to rest. I should be in fighting condition by the time Yamato shows up.'

It didn't take long for her to regret that decision.

"Again."

Aiko clenched her teeth and exhaled slowly, testing her muscles for a moment by opening and closing her hand. She'd jarred it when flipping over unexpectedly lumpy mokuton in their first spar of the day, scraping her knuckles and breaking a nail down to a painful, ugly little stub. She glanced down- still bleeding a bit. Luckily, there shouldn't be any more acrobatic failures for the day. She wasn't supposed to move her body in their current exercise- just the chain. That was a pity and a blessing.

'These stupid chakra chains… I need to master them. They're the only thing I have a chance of using against Obito.'

He'd taught her everything else she knew, after all. Chakra chains were her only chance of surprising him. Obito would come for her eventually. When he did- well. He would probably kill her for betraying him, moment of weakness aside. But if she had any say about it, she'd take him down with her, or at least give him an ass-kicking to remember her by.

Their next jutsu clash was a moderate success on Aiko's part, but-

"What was that?" Yamato shook his head. "This time, I want you to stop it much earlier."

Luckily, chakra chains were all Yamato ever seemed to want to work with her on, for whatever reason.

She couldn't help but snort at that thought. Whatever reason indeed. 'It's certainly not that I'm pretending not to know any other ninjutsu.'

Feeling decidedly lackluster, she tried to ignore the knotting pain and stiffness in her back and shoulders. Her right shoulder twitched forward when she directed a chain into movement, slicing through Yamato's jutsu and looping to block the wood chip shrapnel that flew her way.

And- missed? She blinked dumbly, lowering the arm that had shot up to protect her face. Most of the shrapnel bounced off to the grass. But there was a small cluster of splinters sticking out of the meaty part of her forearm, bits of wood clinging gently to her shirt and settling disagreeably into her bra.

'I suck so hard.'

She blinked back tears- not from emotion, but from the pressure behind her eyes. Fucking Rinnegan. Even when they weren't activated, they were bothering her. She hadn't used them since she woke up in Konoha. Was that good for her health? Or worse?

'It's so painfully stupid to sit around in the medical capital of the world and not even try to investigate what damage my implants could do to me. If I told them what Obito did to me, they would look into it. Sexy kage does seem to want me to trust her.'

Because that wasn't fucking suspicious at all. Yeah, she was apparently of some small amount of political importance, having been produced with authentic Hokage genetics. That didn't merit this kind of leniency. Unless Konoha really was managed by optimistic, forgiving loons…?

An unnatural light bled through the clearing, illuminating Yamato's strong features in that stupid way she hated. "Pay attention!" He clapped his hands, summoning a little green wisp that turned into a twisting vine within the space of a heartbeat. "You did much better yesterday. Are you sure you don't want to call it a day?" Her training partner frowned, the lines of his face etched into disapproval. "Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah."

His mouth just kept moving. Aiko tuned out the last part, caught up in guilt for being unable to work past the effects of Yamanaka-baka's jutsu. No matter. It had probably just been more boring scolding.

"Blah blah blah!" Yamato put a hand on his hip, waving the other. "Blah blah, blah blah…"

The only thing was… hell. He was right- she hadn't been focusing, and the world was still lilting disobediently in the way it had been since she'd left Yamanaka-baka.

Wood loomed, growing like a virulent fungus out of a seed she hadn't noticed in the grass. It snapped up, remaining lightweight and flexible in similar dimensions as her chakra chains.

It didn't take long to survey her options. She wasn't ready to block the incoming attack and she wasn't allowed to dodge for the purposes of this exercise. Aiko winced but remained obediently planted, lashing out her single chakra chain. She fully expected it to deflect only the worst of the incoming attack. It wouldn't be the first time that Yamato had whapped her solidly with mokuton. She went home black and blue most days.

But Yamato took pity on her at the last millisecond, slowing his attack trajectory. Her chain managed to turn the vine away, twisting with it into what almost appeared to be a homely plait. He cut his connection to the mokuton and dropped the vine while she was still struggling to unwind her chain and shook his head. "Let's take a break for a few minutes."

Aiko flushed, humiliated that she must seem so pathetic today that he felt like pulling his punches. She didn't like losing.

'I could take him, if I abandoned the pretense of lacking jutsu. He's skilled, but he's a one-trick wonder. Fire, I think, would do well against the Mokuton.'

Of course, that might also have the bummer side effect of burning him alive. Obito had been fond of Katon, but they were the most dangerous jutsu to experiment with in terms of friendly fire. She was almost too petty to care about the very real possibility of what would happen if he failed to dodge.

'On the other hand, he's pretty cute. And he usually pays for lunch.'

Yamato seemed like a genuinely good person when he wasn't mercilessly running her into the ground. It wouldn't be very nice to murder him because she was a sore loser. She assumed. Aiko didn't claim to be a philosopher.

"Ready to go again?" He gave her one of those dopily bland smiles, exposing precisely the right amount of white teeth to thaw her temper.

'Fuck it all. He's adorable. I hate him and he's adorable.'

Aiko heaved a sigh and let him block and deflect her chakra chains with practiced skill. There was no doubt left in her mind that he had trained against her chakra chains before and was familiar with their weaknesses and strengths as weapons. He was an excellent sparring partner for her aim of hasty improvement. No matter her speed, he always seemed to know how to turn and twist at the last instant to dominate their spars.

'Not that he would stand a chance if I used the ninjutsu Obito taught me,' she thought sullenly. But she couldn't. It was too risky. She was in a far too tenuous situation to play up to her inexplicable need to impress him.

Well. Perhaps it wasn't completely inexplicable. He was the only person she'd had an outright flashback of while with Obito. She could still remember the shocking whisper of familiarity when Obito had first used Mokuton on her. That was familiarity that she had probably acquired in spars much like this one. They must have been companions of some sort to spend that much time training together. Maybe even more. Teammates? Lovers?

Clearly, she'd seen something in him at some point.

"Aiko! Pay attention!"

Whatever that mysterious appeal was, it wasn't his bossy-ass nature when working out. She scowled. He was skilled, attractive, and intelligent. But at the moment everything in her being was screaming at her to go kick him in the shins. Fuck the chains for today, she didn't have the focus anyway. She screwed up her muscles and bolted across the clearing, ditching her bloodline ability altogether for pure speed.

Aiko didn't bother to tell him that their match had suddenly become taijutsu. He'd figure it out.

On reflex, Yamato side-stepped when she was only four steps into her ten step sprint and brought his arms up defensively to block the high kick or punch he was expecting her to aim. She didn't. She didn't even slow.

There was the briefest moment in which Yamato's professionalism shuttered over into 'what the actual fuck'. He must have expected her to stop playing around; take a taijutsu stance. She instead dropped a shoulder at the last millisecond and body-slammed him, using momentum and enthusiasm to make up for the body mass she did not have.

Yamato had been in a perfectly stable athletic stance, after all. Kicking him in the shins wouldn't have done much.

Her shoulder dug into Yamato's diaphragm, winding him even as he wheeled backwards for the inevitable crash. Aiko was still registering the mild pain from her intentional collision when surprisingly bony hands gripped her waist and adjusted her momentum so that she was flung over his head instead of landing on him. His ass hit the forest floor- but his arms had flashed through the counter-move without his apparent consent, if his mildly surprised expression was any indication.

She did not have the ANBU-trained reflexes to recover from being thrown head-first parallel to the ground in any graceful way.

'Wow, the ground is close.'

She flung her palms out and attempted to recover with a flip, but couldn't shift the momentum Yamato had so kindly leant her in time. Instead she plowed into the dirt, somewhat protected by her elbows and knees. She rolled immediately and popped to her feet, because Yamato was already right there, ready to sweep her legs out from under her with a low kick. Aiko barely side-stepped it.

In the back of her mind, the thought tried to dawn that perhaps Yamato had been attempting to encourage this kind of aggression from her. He didn't seem like a naturally infuriating person. Aiko pushed it down in favor of grunting with effort to throw the hardest punch she could at the doubtlessly now-sore part of his torso she had already targeted.

Yamato caught the fist instead of deflecting it, which was really just needless showing off his strength. But he did use two hands to do it which left him open, so-

He let her hand go a moment later when she attempted to take advantage of his preoccupation to get in a good groin kick, big brown eyes widening in alarm. He moved enough that she only ended up kneeing his upper thigh and then had to hop back on one leg to avoid the next blow.

She grinned up at him.

'He probably did not expect me to fight like a barroom brawler'.

To be fair, it wasn't her strength or even a good idea against a serious opponent. It was just enjoyable.

That unorthodox tactic had somewhat worked, but lost novelty. Her mind whirred- she needed a new strategy now to counter his advantages and experience. He had superior reach- that could be ameliorated with a weapon, but they were fighting bare hand. He had superior strength- if she had any sense, she would use that against him and not let him get a good grip on her. She was slippery when she put her mind to it. Slippery, what would help with-

Ah. The lake.

She took off instead of moving in to attack again, knowing that her sparring partner would be hot on her heels.

Aiko slunk back to the apartment three hours later, sore and filthy from the taijutsu spar that she may or may not have turned into mud wrestling and then lost at.

"What was I thinking?" She groaned. When she rolled it, her neck crack-crack-cracked, but brought little relief. She padded into the room that had become hers and gingerly tugged down her green houserobe. For just a moment, she stood indecisive. Was it worth the ten seconds that it would take to find a bra, panties, and socks?

No, she decided, and sequestered herself in the bathroom to scrub away the pain. It didn't work, but it didn't not work either.

At least she was clean and nice-smelling when the hot water ran out. Aiko dragged her limp body reluctantly out of the steamy bathroom in search of a way to kill time before dinner. It was only about fifteen minutes after she had gotten settled on the balcony that she heard the front door open and close, indicating that Shizune was home.

"Hard day?"

Shizune settled into seiza on her balcony, cupping hot tea in her palms. She wavered slightly out of visibility behind the steam slowly drifting up into her face. It made her look made her look ethereal and wise when by rights she really should have just looked sweaty and a little sticky.

Aiko felt tension rising in her shoulders, stiffening beyond her control and trying not to breathe in the fragrance of shiroi tea.

Shizune knew damn well that Aiko had had a hard day. She'd probably known that Yamanaka-baka was going to try that jutsu today.

She looked away and pretended to be completely immersed in the very complicated task of shaping her nails. They were almost finished, trimmed and filed short with blunted edges that hopefully didn't look too ridiculous next to the broken nail on her right index finger. Having nice nails wouldn't do anything for her pounding headache or muscle soreness, but it wasn't like she had much else to do.

Wordlessly, Shizune leaned over and nudged the small bucket of her own accessories that Aiko had pilfered from the bathroom. She tapped the top of a light blue polish. Aiko glanced over, noting the slightest bit of glitter twinkling in its depths.

It was rather nice, if more subtle than she tended to aim for.

She took the recommendation, extracting the paint and setting it by her ankles. For the next few moments she waited for a reaction or comment, but Shizune seemed disinclined to comment on her reasoning. After about a minute, the older woman let out a soft sigh that tickled at Aiko's ears.

'I could ask her for help figuring out what's wrong with me. If I actually told a medical professional about my symptoms, I could get better. Shizune is slightly terrifying, but she gets shit done. And she does seem-'

She cut herself off there, before she could sink back into the comforting stupidity of trusting kind words and shows of concern. Obito had seemed just as concerned for Aiko's welfare once.

'And I still don't have any evidence to convince them that Obito is who we're dealing with instead of Madara. The library didn't pan out, but there has to be another source of information that could help. Some resource- just something. Anything.'

"Michiru is coming along nicely." Shizune's voice was mild and inoffensive. "I predict that she'll complete her masterwork project within the year."

"Oh?" Aiko unscrewed the base coat bottle and pulled the cold brush over her nails, not really seeing the glint of fading sunlight on the gloss. She couldn't tune out the sharp smell of the polish, giving three sneezes in quick succession. It burned, re-starting the watering of her tear ducts. Ugh. How was it that even when she was leaking water, her eyes felt dry and hot?

Shizune gave her a sideways glance that betrayed sudden comprehension about Aiko's decision to take her nail care session to the open air. Aiko sneezed again, eyes watering.

"Would you like me to-" The older woman gestured politely at the bottle.

She was tempted to say no. But the watering of her eyes was making it difficult to neatly apply the clear paint, so she handed over the polish. Aiko probably looked feline when she stretched, pushing her palms over the balcony's floor to Shizune, but the slight scrape of soft wood felt interesting on her skin. She would much rather focus on that than the cramps in her shins, because ow.

A tenseness that she hadn't registered in Shizune relaxed at the admittedly small concession. The older woman smiled, bright and sunny. "So, as I was saying. I fully anticipate that our toxicology department will be expanded in the coming years. Goodness, we have some talent in the hospital. Karin-san, for example, has been working on a charming project with neurotoxic venom that consumes living tissue…"

Aiko closed her eyes, letting familiar workplace babble wash over her while Shizune painted her nails with quick, sure swipes. As the base coat dried, Shizune gave a slight tug on Aiko's left ankle. A pedicure? That hadn't been in the plan… But. She let the medic take her foot and shape the nails while her hands dried.

"Aiko-san, I don't believe you've heard a word I just said." Amusement lilted Shizune's voice a pitch higher than usual.

Her lips curled up lazily. "Necrosis," Aiko parroted without opening her eyes to see the exasperation that her technically correct answer should prompt.

Shizune hummed, low and noncommittal. "That was literally the last word I said, yes. Did you hear any of the ones that came before?" She heaved a sigh and poked at Aiko's foot with a finger. "You're exactly as bad as Tsunade-sama. Everything goes in one ear and out the other if you don't want to hear it."

Cheeky, Aiko half-sung, "Aa." She rolled out of the way and popped up to her feet before Shizune could bop her nose in retaliation, leaving the older woman blinking at the air and holding two fingers aloft.

"E-eh?" She scrunched up her nose and blew air out the side of her mouth, sending her silky bangs fluttering. "Aiko-san…"

'Agh, she's adorable.' Aiko interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms out in front of her body, twisting to open her torso towards Shizune cutely. "Ye-es?" She tilted her head to the side, lips slightly parted.

"You can paint your own nails," Shizune said sharply, brushing off the front of her kimono with her free hand. The nail polish bottle hit wood with a clatter, rolling to clink gently against the railing. She gave an imperious head toss, lifting her chin up high as if to show off her elegant neck. Then Shizune sailed into the apartment, away from the heathen who didn't properly appreciate scintillating accounts of biological weapons research.

'Being cute had worked much better against Obito.'

Aiko grinned openly, now that there was no one to see. "Don't you love me?" Aiko called, raising her voice to be heard through the door. She heard the faintest, 'hmmph!' in response, and then the sound of the tea kettle being set on.

Still, there was something she should do. She padded into the apartment, pulling the door shut behind her. "Shizune?"

"Hmm?" The medic didn't look up, absorbed in measuring out some kind of spice.

Aiko leaned her back against the table and pressed her lips together to wait for Shizune's attention. She'd noted before that Shizune wasn't entirely capable of holding conversation when her mind was somewhere else. She'd hear things, but not respond until she'd finished her current task.

After a few moments, Shizune's eyebrows creased slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry Aiko-san. What were you saying?"

"I was wondering when Sexy-Kage wanted me to work on that Konan thing." Aiko shrugged, despite the fact that no one was looking at her. "She mentioned it was important that I be able to give the testimony Konoha needs to get Konan off the charges. Should I be reading the report I originally wrote about my time with the Akatsuki, or…?" She trailed off, not certain about what else she could possibly do to prepare for this trial. How could she possibly fool anyone who had known her before?

She was starting to feel niggling worry that Konoha had decided she wasn't worth the investment after all. That was ridiculous. They wouldn't be training her if they were about to discard her. Would they?

Shizune smiled up at her. The table digging into her back felt just that little bit colder.

"That's a good idea, Aiko-san. Tell you what, I'll see what Tsunade-sama would like for you to start with tomorrow."