#knowing that it might be what others would consider a 'waste' of her energy ; just on the off chance that it helps him even a LITTLE

[variantia]

BELLUM. it's bedtime and I'm yawning but I am being kept awake by sheer feels alone HELP

[targaryenluvs]

Infatuation

pairing: simon basset x fem!reader

warnings: darkish simon? a kiss, young reader (16ish!!) pushy and possessive simon, implied fem!reader and poc!reader, not proof read

notes: idk what to do so i just rambled 😭 this is just a two parter i think. and the storyline is a bit scrambled :) WHAT THE HELL IDK WHY I GOT SO MUCH ENERGY TO WRITE THIS BUT HERES ALL THE PARTS IN ONE DAY!!!! hope you enjoyed <3

PART I

Lady Whistledown: Dearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season. Consider the household of the Baron Featherington. Three misses foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless, mama.

Far better odds might exist in the household of the widowed Viscountess Bridgerton. A shockingly prolific family, noted for its bounty of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

Or perhaps in the loving household of the Marquess of Anderton, Lord and Lady Y/L/N? With their two eldest sons, known not only for their intelligent selves and gorgeous faces, but for their stunningly bright younger sister, who is not just a pretty face.

Not only are the two families extremely close, but practically family, how very perfect, indeed!

It is only the queen's eye that matters today. A glimmer of displeasure, and a young lady's value plummets to unthinkable depths.

It has been said that, “Of all bitches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine." If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth.

My name is Lady Whistledown.

You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear reader, I certainly know you.

how on earth had you not yet read this?

one of the things you’d looked forward to besides meeting everyone had been the scandal sheets and you’d missed out on receiving one yesterday.

“this woman seems quite powerful. you know how easily words can ruin someone’s image. it’s interesting to see a lone woman hold so much sway in just her writing. i truly do wonder who she is. any guesses?” you asked pen, daphne and el as the three of you waited for your mothers and pens sisters to catch up as you made your way to the park.

eloise smiled, “it has to be a widow! no married woman would have time for this, she’d have an estate to care for and children pulling on her every day. a widow with her own home and responsibilities. perhaps lady danbury?”

you had to giggle at the guess, knowing whistledown herself was right with you. you’d managed to meet penelope at least, so that was one person of your list. lady danbury would be next with her ball tonight, and perhaps simon as well.

“what’s so funny? i haven’t heard a guess from you!” eloise groaned as you smiled, “i have no guesses besides, pen?” penelope’s head shot up straight away from the ground, “what?” “i was going to ask if you had any.” you could see her cheeks flushing, and her breathing quicken at the idea of being caught out.

and as you all walked together through the park, you’d mistakenly enthralled yourself in conversations, going so far as to walk with your back facing others. walking backwards as to face the girls.

“look out!”

before you’d fallen you were caught, by simon.

“i, i am so sorry. i was not looking-” simon smiled, “well that’s obvious no?” he joked as he lifted you up. you straightened your dress out and smiled, “of course. forgive me your grace.” you curtsied, in the presence of the person you’d been most excited to meet, you’d forgotten all about your friends behind.

as they all met him you couldn’t even take your eyes off of him, and neither could he for you. and once lady featherington came around she wasted no time to throw her eldest daughters upon him. the misery in his eyes hurt your soul so you took it upon yourself to rectify the situation.

“your grace!” simon turned towards you, as did everyone else. “yes, lady y/n?” you smiled, “would you like to accompany me, to promenade?” simon tilted his head, pondering your question.

he couldn’t help but be taken aback, usually many girls weren’t so forward. and god were you beautiful. rather than dealing with annoying girls who wanted a title the second they saw him, he could walk with someone he actually found interesting.

“i- would love to.” he smiled as he took a step back, allowing you to walk with him. you could hear the chatter from the girls behind you as well as your mother and violet.

you’d spent so long together, walked for so long your feet ached afterwards. and you didn’t miss the longing stares from other men around, and the women for him.

and even if it had taken so much energy of yours to keep walking, you wouldn’t have given up the chance. everything he said, you replied to. every joke sent laughter rippling through you and you could not help but feel content. he was, even better then the show. and as you got to know him you felt unbelievably happy.

and so did he.

he went home with all his thoughts containing you. he found himself smiling at every memory of his time with you that day. your smiles, your laughter, your beauty, you. and he had no clue why. he’d never been this taken with someone and he found himself struggling with why.

over the season you found yourself taken with him, your family allowed you to attend balls and do as you wish but you were under no obligation to dance or do anything you did not wish to.

yet you found yourself undeniably enthusiastic every time you realised you were going to a ball because you’d see simon. you’d dance, you’d laugh and everything else because he always gave you something to look forwards to, as did you for him, he was truly an amazing friend.

and he was completely besotted with you.

much to not only anthony’s surprise but danbury as well.

and simon was so intent upon being with you.

as much as you liked him you could not help but love how you were. your family was amazing and so happy. you had amazing friends within daphne, penelope and eloise. marriage seemed so far away in your mind and your life was sweet and favourable.

lady trowbridge’s ball was, scandalous, to say the least. you couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked in, half naked dancers spinning around, and quite uptempo music for a woman in mourning.

“lady y/n, may i-” lord wellington was promptly cut off in his endeavour to dance with you by the person you’d been looking for.

“y/n?” simon called out as he made his way to you. “simon! there you are, i was wondering where you’d gone off to.” you smiled at your bestfriend as he made his way to you, nodding in acknowledgement to his friend lord wellington. you thought they were friends at least.

and so did simon, until he saw him coming after you for a dance.

“come along now.” he smiled as you also nodded at the lord, “it was nice to see you my lord.” you curtsied as simon dragged you away.

“oh my god, i thought he would never leave! he tries to dance with me every single ball yet he doesn’t take notice of my indifference towards him!” you snorted as simon laughed louder, “i did not know such an unbecoming sound could originate from such a lovely women!” you scoffed, “that is no way to talk to your best friend!” you fake cried as you wiped literal tears from your eyes, the paintings in-front taking your eye.

simons breath hitched, best friend? best friend?

is that what you thought of him as? he thought the world of you, over the time he’s gotten to know you, he held you in the highest esteem. you were everything to him and he was a mere friend for you. no, he would not have it. who else loved you as he did? wanted you as he did?

“best friend?” simon questioned as your laughter died down at his seriousness, “what?” you giggled as you tried to compose yourself. “you named me your best friend. am i nothing more to you? just a friend? you see me as an acquaintance, as a brother?”

“no i do not see you as a brother, my dear simon.” you smiled, “you are amazing. every day i wake and think of seeing you, for the time i have known you, you have been nothing short of my favourite person. i look forward to seeing you, speaking with you and dancing. arguing over who’s literature is better, who’s right and who’s wrong. i have never known someone’s company besides daphnes to never annoy me. i love you, i do but-”

“but nothing. we love each other, that is all that matters. y/n not a day goes by where i do not wish to be in your presence, to see your gorgeous face. to hear you say my name, to feel you hit me when i say something utterly scandalous. i cannot and will not imagine myself spending my life with no other women but you. you are my other half, you are the air i breathe and the only person whom i’ve ever loved as much as i do. there are not enough words to describe my love for you y/n/n. it is you who i wish to wake up with everyday, it is you who i wish to be with, you who i would start a family with. your laughter that shall echo through my halls for as long as we live. i cannot and will not fathom the idea of you not being here for me, you are made for me.” simons grip encircled your wrists as he pulled you close, his face drawing near as he met your lips.

you never imagined yourself here with simon especially. he’d been nothing short of amazing in your time here, your best friend. but here you were, kissing him.

kissing him?!

you immediately detached from him as you retained your senses and drew your hands to cover your face in shock. “i’m so- so sorry. i do not know what that was your grace.” you rambled as your heart quickened, had someone seen? how could you be so stupid!?

his eyes furrowed at your words, your grace? what was with the formalities, you were to be wed, to be together. and here you were reverting to old habits. “my love there is no need to use such proper titles.”

your head whipped up the second he stopped speaking, “simon do not say such things! endearing terms as such are for, married couples. we are not.” you whispered as you made your way towards the party, but not before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him as you collided with his chest.

he couldn’t let you go, everything, his head and his heart were screeching at him to ‘hold on tight’, to not let you go. so he did what he thought best,

lie.

“someone saw us.”

your eyes widened to the heavens as your breathing quickened again, “no. no they didn’t- they didn’t.” you shook your head as he placed his hand on your cheek to have you look at him. your eyes began to water and he felt himself tense, he hated it. he hated the idea of you being upset, but he was so close to having what he wanted so he continued.

“my dear y/n, i will treat you better then anyone ever could, deep down you know you are better off with me then any other. i love you, we will be together.” simon explained as you buried your head in his chest, you were so young, you hadn’t even properly debuted and now you were to be wed. how did you let this happen?

but a little voice piped up in your head, ‘it’s simon, your simon. the one who is always there for you. marrying him will give you a life of happiness and peace. marrying your best friend is the best thing you could ask for. you loved him when you didn’t know him truly, and now you do. be happy.’

and you wanted to be, simon was so good to you.

but you knew you weren’t ready. with marriage people would expect a child, a family. and your real life, the one back home? what would happen? would you ever go back? or would marrying him cement you in this world, forever.

“shh, you’ll be okay. i’m here, right here my love. you are my love, my heart, my infatuation.”

and you didn’t know it but you were right, the second you allowed him into your life, you were never going to go back home.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Star Crossed - Chapter 8

| Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 |

The Star Crossed Masterlist

My All Of Us Are Dead Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

Warnings: Normal AOUAD things,

WC: 5,538

Just before running through the door to escape the inbound zombies, you saw a withered bouquet of flowers leaning against the corner of the wall.

They were your favorites.

Running through the door, you turned around and slammed it shut with the help of Cheong-san. Afterward, the both of you leaned with your backs against the door before sliding down to sit against it, not willing to waste any more energy on getting the attention of the chopper above that obviously was not coming back. You looked over when you heard the boy next to you groan and bumped his shoulder with your own. “You alright?”

He looked over at you and offered a tight smile. “As good as I can be.”

You nodded at him and leaned your head back to rest against the cool metal of the door when a sudden strong force hammered against the door and you quickly jumped up, on edge again after the moment’s rest. Cheong-san jumped up with you and you both stared at the door, preparing for the worst. After a moment of silence, you leaned your ear against the door to hear what might be on the other side and another hit sounded. You flinched back, almost falling onto Cheong-san who steadied you. You all held your breath as one more strike was heard before silence enveloped everything again.

“He’s gone.”

You turned around to look at Nam-ra when she spoke.

“Who’s gone?” Su-hyeok asked.

“It’s Gwi-nam, right? He’s gone now,” you spoke with disappointment lacing your tone. You weren’t sure if it was disappointment that he left or disappointment with what he’d become.

Maybe both.

Nam-ra nodded with an empathetic frown in your direction. “It's his smell. I hear his breathing.”

You nodded to the floor, not really in agreement or disagreement with everything but just a nod to get your body to do something other than to fall into a pit of despair. Not looking at anyone, you turned to go walk to a corner of the roof and sat down, leaning against the wall. You lifted your hands to your face and pressed harshly on the sockets of your eyes, seeing little stars and shapes appear until you heard the sound of someone sitting next to you. Lifting your head, it took a while for the ability to see to come back but you then saw Nam-ra sitting next to you with a guilty expression on her face.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted her softly. “I know what he’s become. I know about how he’s trying to kill Cheong-san for whatever reason and how he bit you while fighting Su-hyeok. I know my brother’s gone.”

She looked at the side profile of your face as you refused to look her in the eyes, instead deciding to stare off into space with no specific object having your full attention. You closed your eyes and let out a sniffle when she wrapped her arms around your shoulder and pulled you down so she was cradling you against her chest. You refused to cry, feeling like you had cried enough already and knowing it was the exact opposite of how your father had raised you. Granted, you never really listened to your father considering how much you hated him for the words he would spit at you for any slight mistake.

You both stayed there for a minute or two until you saw the group gathering materials to make the SOS sign bigger. You slowly got up so as to not bump into her and then held your hand out for her to grab. When she did, you lifted her up and started walking in the direction of the group to help, gathering some materials on the way. You looked over when Hyo-ryung was warning Joon-yeong to be careful as he climbed on top of a platform to look at the sign.

“How does it look?” Ji-min asked him and he hummed with his hand holding his chin.

“First… the ‘O,’ it's just too narrow.”

“Why do we need to make the ‘O’ bigger? It’s a distress signal it doesn’t have to be perfect?” You questioned to Hyo-ryung who stood beside you and she just shrugged her shoulders with a small laugh before going over to help as you did the same.

Working together for a bit, with the assistance from Joon-yeong’s instructions, you all stepped back to take a look at your work and saw the most beautiful and perfect SOS signal you have ever seen before.

“Yeah, well, there's no way anyone can miss that,” Joon-yeong spoke proudly.

“Right?” Dae-su agreed and Wu-jin nodded.

“We did do a good job.”

Everyone spread out a little bit, Dae-su and Cheong-san walking over to the copper circle they had placed in the middle of the ‘O’ to center it.

“It's a little crooked, though,” Hyo-ryung commented and you playfully pulled her to your embrace as you covered her mouth and she laughed beneath your hand.

“Nooo. If you say anything we’ll have to do more work!” You joked and she laughed again.

As you let her go with a smile, she turned around and gave you a hug which you didn’t return for a few seconds until it registered in your brain what she was doing. When she pulled back, she looked at you with a sad, guilty smile. “I’m sorry. For all of our preconceptions of you. You’re nothing like what we expected and I wish we became friends under better circumstances,” she told you. You smiled at her and instead of responding just brought her into another hug which she returned.

“Thank you, Hyo-ryung.”

“What does SOS mean?” Dae-su asked as you all were sitting around, resting. He was messing around and moving the parts of one of the ‘S’s to make it less crooked.

“It's a distress signal,” On-jo answered.

“I know that. What does it stand for?” He specified.

“It-”

“It doesn't stand for anything. SOS is just SOS,” On-jo answered, unintentionally interrupting you but you didn’t mind.

“That makes no sense,” Dae-su looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed.

“That's just how it is. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Then rescue quickly… speed of save… save?” Dae-su looked towards you as if he figured it out and you opened your mouth to speak again when On-jo unintentionally interrupted you again.

“Why'd you ask if you're not gonna believe me?”

“I thought you'd know.”

“I do know. Look it up. You'll see I'm right.”

He rolled his eyes as you saw Choeng-san stand up and start walking towards the three of you. “Whatever. How can I look it up? I don't have a phone.”

“Actually-” You started only to roll your eyes when Cheong-san interrupted you. You knew they weren’t doing it on purpose but it was annoying nonetheless.

“What?”

“I asked On-jo what SOS means, and she said it doesn't mean anything,” Dae-su scoffed as he looked at her. “Just say you don't know next time.”

“Well, it’s true,” On-jo huffed.

“It's true,” Cheong-san confirmed and you just shook your head, walking over to where Nam-ra stood and starting up a random conversation with her, unable to stand the love oozing out of Cheong-san’s pores into the atmosphere, all of it directed towards On-jo.

Minutes later, Dae-su walked up to the both of you. “Hey prez, hi (Y/N). What does SOS mean?” He asked and you looked at Nam-ra to see if she would answer but she didn’t, only looking at you for the answer.

“Okay… well. In English, it stands for ‘Save Our Souls’ or ‘Save Our Ship.’ When boats would have a problem in the middle of the ocean, they would send that out for help. It usually just means ‘Save Our Souls’ when people use it in everyday circumstances.”

“Haha!” He exclaimed and turned back to where Cheong-san and On-jo were. “I knew it stood for something! You were wrong!” He boasted and you just laughed as you watched them start another argument. You looked away for a moment only to look back to see On-jo walking away from Cheong-san kneeling down in pain with his hands holding the back of his knees.

“The sun's setting. Let's start a fire,” she directed and you nodded with an amused smile that she rolled her eyes at but couldn’t help to return.

As you all gathered around a plank of wood, On-jo started rotating a stick back and forth to start a fire. When she was unsuccessful, she stood up. “I'm done.”

“Already?” Wu-jin asked but Joon-yeong just got in her place.

He started off strong, twisting it back and forth quickly as he tried to start it.

“You'll get tired. Slow down,” Dae-su warned but Wu-jin smacked him across the arm.

“The fire won't start if he goes slowly.”

Dae-su looked contemplative before turning back to the boy. “Do it faster. Faster. Faster. I said come on, faster! Rub it faster!” He ordered and Joon-yeong let go of the stick in pain, rubbing at his hand. “What is it, cramps?”

“My hands. I can't do it,” he explained and Dae-su gently pushed him away as he took his spot.

“I'll do it. Step back.”

He grabbed the stick and started rolling it in his hand very slowly which caused some of you to groan, you especially and you crouched down in front of the wooden plank.

“Hey, should we kill him?” Wu-jin suggested and you sighed before leaning over and pushing Dae-su back and away.

“Oh, move over already,” you demanded before taking up the stick. You started twisting the stick, faster than everyone who was before you and smoke almost immediately started to pile out of the hole.

“Smoke!” Su-hyeok exclaimed and tried to push you away but you stopped him.

“If I stop now, it won’t be enough friction,” you told him and he nodded. After another few moments, the fire started on its own and the stick lit up. The group oohed and ahhed and you just laughed as you threw it into the wooden pile you all had created.

“Wow! (Y/n), you’re so talented!” Dae-su praised but you just rolled your eyes.

“Nam-ra had a lighter this whole time so we could’ve just used that,” you pointed over at the girl as she held the lighter out, ready to hand it over but you had already succeeded.

“I was going to give it but none of you heard me,” she explained and when everyone remained looking at her with the same shocked look, she continued. “Well, I smoke sometimes.”

You laughed.

“So do I,” you told all of them with a grin as you pulled your own lighter out of your pocket and held it up for everyone to see. Su-hyeok looked at you in astonishment, his mouth opening and closing a few times before you just laughed at his shock. “I’m just kidding. I don’t smoke, I just always carry a knife and lighter on me. I used the knife in the first classroom we were in and the lighter’s been in my pocket since. I haven’t needed to use it until now.”

“You had it this whole time?” Wu-jin asked in exasperation and you just shrugged with a wink sent in his direction as you walked over to the pile, seeing how the fire had died down to only a few sparks.

“Why didn’t you bring it out earlier?” Joon-yeong asked you in confusion.

“Well, I needed to show off my skills,” you laughed as you lit the stick back up and held onto it as you lit more of the wood on fire.

The sun finally set and you all settled around the fire, pulling out blankets and whatever you could to keep warm. You sat to the left of Nam-ra, sharing a blanket with her and On-jo. There was a comfortable silence that settled over all of you until Su-hyeok turned to Dae-su.

“Dae-su.”

“Yeah?” The boy hummed with his cheek resting against his elbow.

“How was your audition?”

Dae-su scoffed. “They said I have to lose weight.”

“Well they’re missing out. You’re a good singer, Dae-su,” you told him and he looked at you with a smile.

“I never knew you'd heard me sing, (Y/n).”

“Being the quiet kid makes it so you see and hear everything. I’m like a spider. I’ve got eyes on the back of my head,” you joked and Hyo-ryung shivered.

“Oh! I hate spiders!”

You laughed at her reaction along with a few others before Su-hyeok spoke to Dae-su again. “Sing for us. I wanna hear it.”

“Just forget it. I don't want to,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“I actually really like that song,” Joon-yeong told him.

“What song?” You asked in confusion, not picking up on any context clues.

He turned to you with a smile. “Just wait, you’ll hear it.”

“You really like it?” Dae-su asked and Joon-yeong nodded.

“It's really nice.”

“You sing well,” Su-hyeok complimented to sweeten the deal.

“It'll cheer us up,” Wu-jin added.

Dae-su cleared his throat and sat up straight before starting.

♪ Let's go once it's over ♪

♪ Let's go anywhere ♪

♪ Once we're done studying hours a day ♪

♪ Once the annoying sounds are over ♪

♪ Let's go hand in hand ♪

♪ Let's not run ♪

♪ Let's try walking slowly ♪

♪ Is that drool or sweat pooled on the book? ♪

♪ No one notices the plop, plop ♪

♪ The plop, plop ♪

♪ The falling rain drops ♪

♪ What is boiling? Simmer, simmer ♪

♪ It's Mom's doenjang stew ♪

♪ Mm-hm, a bowl of instant noodles ♪

♪ In front of the TV which plays nothing but static ♪

♪ Let's go anywhere together ♪

The singing ended in a nice silence, the only sound being the breaths being inhaled and exhaled.

“It was such a nice song,” Hyo-ryung said softly.

“Didn't you say that it sucked?” Dae-su countered.

“Well, now that I actually listened to it, I think it's kind of nice,” she reassured.

“That was encouraging, Dae-su,” Wu-jin told him and they exchanged a small laugh.

“How long… have you been smoking for?” You heard from beside you and looked to see On-jo looking at Nam-ra as she asked.

She looker over at her. “Since eighth grade. I had no friends and a lot of stress back then.”

On-jo looked at the fire as she tried to think of what to say in response. “Did you ever need a friend, though?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t really tell.”

“You always put up a wall. You'd wear your headphones all day, and you never said anything. Wasn't it because you hated us?”

“I never hated you guys,” Nam-ra dispelled. “I just… didn't have any friends,” she said. You gave a little sad smile and looked at the ground and as if she could sense your feelings of rejection, she kept going. “Up until (Y/n) came into my life, I was pretty much all alone. She was the first person I was sure I could call my friend.”

You smiled and knocked your shoulder into hers which she smiled back at you for.

“Well… I never really liked you,” Hyo-ryung spoke and ruined the moment which you glared at her for until she continued. “I thought you and (Y/n) didn't talk to us because we were beneath you.”

“I kind of hated you. There were times that I wished you would just disappear.” Joon-yeong confessed bitterly.

You grabbed Nam-ra’s hand underneath the blanket which she squeezed in appreciation. She didn’t let it show on her face but you could tell that it affected her.

“Aren't you close? You're the top two students,” Ji-min asked from beside him.

“That's why I hated her. No matter how hard I worked, I was always second,” he exclaimed frustratedly before he sighed. “But it's okay now. I think I was able to come in second, because of Nam-ra.”

“Hey. Second's good too,” Dae-su encouraged. “I can't even be 20th,” he turned to Su-hyeok and Wu-jin. “Right?” Su-hyeok’s hand let go of Wu-jin’s shoulder as he brought it to fist bump against Dae-su’s.

“I always thought you hated us too, (Y/n),” On-jo expressed. “You always seemed too quiet and were always glaring at people, but now you seem so different. What changed?”

You gave her a weak smile. “Nothing changed, actually. I only glared at people when they were being dicks. Have any of you ever actually seen me glare at you?” You looked around and everyone seemed puzzled before shaking their heads. “I never talked to anybody because nobody ever talked to me. What was the point in striking up a conversation when it seemed obvious nobody was interested,” you turned your head back to On-jo as you continued. “I don’t know if you remember, On-jo, but I actually talked to you about a week into freshman year. We talked for a little bit at the start of class until you asked me my name,” she looked shocked with realization as she remembered what you were talking about. “I told you it was Yoon (Y/n) and you got so scared you ran away and ended up transferring classes that entire year,” you laughed painfully and turned away from her, looking back at the fire.

“But you always seemed to act like your brother. You even bullied the bullies!” Ji-min pointed out with a questioning and disbelieving tone as she couldn’t believe what she had believed for the past 3 years was wrong. “Like Na-yeon! She was terrified of you!”

“I gave her a few talking to’s when I would catch her being mean so she would stop. Last year she was much worse but I like to think that I helped calm her down, even if just by a bit.”

Ji-min looked down at her lap in realization. She’d never considered you did all of that just to protect the people she ended up bullying.

After a blanket of silence settled over the group, this one much less comfortable than the last one, Hyo-ryung spoke up as she turned to Dae-su.

“Hey,” she started as she hit his arm. “You shouldn’t compare yourself to Joon-yeong.”

“Huh?” Dae-su asked.

“When you talked about being in 20th place. Don’t compare yourself,” she stressed and he scoffed.

“I was just saying. Why do you always get on my case whenever I say something?” He looked at her in, what he thought was, realization. “Wait a second. Do you like me?”

She scoffed and harshly slapped his upper arm which you smiled lightly at as the others laughed lightly.

“Shut up, you moron!”

“I'm going to put it out there, so you don't get hurt,” he warned. “I like somebody else. So don't like me.”

“I don't like you!” She complained and slapped him again as he held him arm. I'm not interested in you at all.”

“Dae-su. Who do you like, then?” Joon-yeong asked curiously and Dae-su sported a sheepish and shy smile.

Wu-jin groaned. “He's, he's a total freak.”

Su-hyeok pointed at Wu-jin’s head from above. “His sister.”

“Ha-ri from Archery?” Ji-min asked incredulously and he nodded. “You're insane.”

“I go crazy when I'm in love,” Dae-su cooed and Nam-ra looked down with a smile as you stared at Dae-su, your own smile gracing your face, but with a sadder, more longing, demeanor. “She's like my little Cupid.”

“Stop it,” Wu-jin laughed. “If we get out of here alive, I'm gonna tell my sister.”

Dae-su looked at him in shock at his words, reaching over to rest a hand on Wu-jin’s arm. “Will you really tell her?”

“Yeah,” Wu-jin confirmed.

“What?”

“To shoot and kill you. I said not to like my sister.”

“You can't do that to me, future brother-in-law,” Dae-su complained as he wrestled Wu-jin over Su-hyeok’s lap and tried to pull him into a headlock.

“You… Hey!”

“Will you tell her? Promise?”

“Yeah. To kill you.”

“Stop it. Seriously. I love her,” Dae-su told him and Wu-jin groaned.

“Whatever. Somebody else say something so I can forget everything that just happened within the last 2 minutes,” Wu-jin begged and everyone stayed silent and still until Ji-min spoke up.

“My mom and dad prepped everything for my transfer,” she started with a pensive look. “They said to just go to Seoul. But I really didn't want to go there. I wouldn't have had any friends, and I was afraid of the Seoul kids. I didn't know what to do,” she sighed. “Then On-jo gave me a great idea. She said I just had to cut school for five days. Then the principal can't write you a recommendation,” On-jo smiled at her words and looked down to her lap. “So that's what I did. It's all thanks to On-jo… that I didn't have to transfer.”

On-jo held up her hand in a peace sign and you smiled over at her and her adorableness.

“I should've just gone to Seoul.”

Ji-min’s voice brought your eyes over to her and her look displayed one more of bitterness now.

“Then none of this would have happened to me.”

On-jo’s fingers fell and you gave her a grim smile as she nodded solemnly to Ji-min’s words.

“People have always said…” Wu-jin started and the attention went back over to him. “My sister was an archery prodigy ever since she was little. So our parents only cared about trying to get my sister onto the national team. They've never paid attention to me at all.”

“I'll give you all my attention, brother-in-law,” Dae-su told him. “Don't be sad. You have me,” Dae-su groaned as Wu-jin pushed him backward so he was lying on his back. Su-hyeok had moved from sitting in between them during the scuffle they had so he was now sitting beside you. Wu-jin then laughed with a shake of his head.

“Thank God that I have Dae-su.”

The attention turned to Su-hyeok but he just shook his head to pass. Then the attention moved onto you.

“I’ve always been seen as my older brother’s little sister. I don’t think that I’ve ever been known as just (Y/n). If not the little sister of the infamous Yoon Gwi-nam,” you imitated puffing out your muscles to mock your brother in a lighthearted manner but it faltered and you just held your hands in your lap. “Then it was the youngest daughter of the Yoon family. My father, as I’m sure you all know by his reputation, is not a good man. Not only to everyone he meets but also to his own children. Growing up, Gwi-nam was the only one who would protect me from him. I guess I don’t really need that protection anymore. I’m sure my father’s probably in a safe haven hundreds of miles away from all of this. He always was a fucking coward,” you laughed bitterly and felt a hand grab your own. Looking over, your eyes traveled up from where the hand held your own and found that the hand connected to Su-hyeok. You smiled at him, your mood lifting slightly. You looked back at the fire with a small smile still gracing your face. “In other, happier, news; as of yesterday, I am officially 17 years old,” your smile dropped as you remembered the situation you were in. “Happy birthday to me…”

“Fuck…” You heard Su-hyeok whisper from beside you and you looked over to see him frantically looking around the roof, looking for something but you weren’t sure what.

“What? What is it?” You asked him and he shot up off the ground. He jogged over to a section of the roof and you all watched on with curiosity. You stood up when you saw him take a tarp off of something to reveal an opened picnic basket and a cooler that fell on its side, the contents seeming to have been taken. You walked over to him as he looked through the picnic basket with a worried expression before it faded to one of relief when he apparently found what he was looking for. “Su-hyeok,” you asked slowly and quietly as to not scare him. He looked up at you and hid the items in his hands behind his back. “Are you okay?”

“I… uh…” He looked around sheepishly for an excuse but you just rested a hand on his arm.

“What’s going on?”

The chatter from behind you had stopped, everyone emotionally investing themselves into the lives of their former outcasted classmate and one of their best friends.

Su-hyeok brought the items out from behind his back to reveal a small black velvet jewelry box and a beautifully drawn card that had the same drawing of the same girl that was on his notebook from yesterday on the cover. He tilted his head and gave you an unsure, quite frankly, adorable, smile. “Happy birthday?” He handed the gifts to your frozen body. You hadn’t been expecting anything like this. “I’m so sorry I forgot. With everything happening I wasn’t able to fulfill the plans I made for yesterday.”

“What were you going to do?” You asked him breathlessly.

He blushed and scratched the back of his neck, looking towards the ground where he kicked an imaginary rock. “I was planning on taking you up here to have you skip class with me and then after a while, I would confess to you.”

“Confess what?” You asked cluelessly and looked back at the group briefly as you heard some of them groan.

Looking back at him, his eyes locked onto yours and he took a step forward. Reaching his hands out, he took the gifts and set them down before grabbing your hands. Staring you deeply in the eyes while you blushed harshly at the way he was acting and how close he was to you. “Confess… that I’m in love with you, (Y/n),” you gasped but he continued. “I have been in love with you since the day I met you. I don’t expect you to share my feelings, but I would love to take you out on a date one day after all this is over and be able to call you mine.”

You stared at him for a moment and just as he sighed in rejection and let go of your hands to back away, you grabbed onto his tie and pulled him down to your level so you could kiss him.

He took a moment to return it, but once he did, he kissed you so softly and with so much more love than you could ever imagine. He pulled your waist into him, forcing you to stand on your tippy toes to reach him, and lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek gently. When you both pulled away, it was because you couldn’t contain your smile anymore and you hid your blushing face in his neck as you hugged him. He laughed and held you to him, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist.

“So is that a yes? May I call you mine?” He asked against your temple and you leaned back to give him a slight peck against the lips before smiling again.

“Yes, Su-hyeok, you may call me yours.”

The group behind you erupted into cheers and you flipped them the bird as you leaned down to pick up the gifts he had set down. Deciding to put the card in your pocket, considering it was small enough for it, you went back to sit down, Su-hyeok right on your trail, following after you like a love sick puppy, and returned to your original spots. This time, you were no longer sharing the blanket with Nam-ra and On-jo, but leaning against Su-hyeok as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You looked down to open the box and gasped when you saw the beautiful golden necklace inside of it. You opened the locket to find one side filled with small dried flowers and the other side to be empty. You looked up at the boy holding you and he smiled down at you.

“I was hoping we could fill it with a picture of us,” he told you and you melted. Giving the necklace to him, he helped you put it on and you smiled up at him once more before turning back to the group who was looking at you like they were watching a soap opera.

You looked over to On-jo, only to see her smiling at you brightly. There was a tiny hint of disappointment in her gaze but mainly happiness for her two friends.

“Anyways! Onto the next person. What do you say prez? You wanna go next?” You teased Nam-ra lightly as she smiled at you compassionately, happy for your successes.

“I don't really have anything to say. I wouldn't really know… but I feel like I made friends.”

You smiled at her and held a hand out for her to take which she did before turning to look at On-jo who smiled at her reassuringly. The attention shifted over to Cheong-san as he put a stick into the fire before speaking. “Me and… On-jo…” He paused and sighed. “I just, well… I just want some water, really.”

“Not stuff like that,” Hyo-ryung complained. “Be completely honest.”

“Be completely honest,” Dae-su continued. “Do you like someone?”

Cheong-san took a moment to think before humming in approval.

“You do? For real?” On-jo asked and you smiled as you watched Cheong-san try to hide his feelings from the one person who didn’t know about them.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you keep on stalling? Do you have a crush?” She interrogated him.

“Uh, pretty much.”

“Pretty much? What does that mean? Who is she?”

You looked around to see everyone pretty much having the same expression on their faces. Joon-yeong smirked as he put another stick into the fire.

The two lovebirds stared at each other before Cheong-san looked away and dismissively said, “No one.”

“Who is she?” On-jo begged. “Do I know her?” She looked like she was putting on a teasing face for the group but you could hear the slight hesitation in her voice.

Maybe the love wasn’t as one sided as you thought it was.

“Who is it?”

“You… It's you, On-jo… I like you.”

On-jo looked stunned by the news and Dae-su’s mouth opened comically at the confession.

“Two confessions in one night?” He whispered dramatically.

On-jo scoffed at Cheong-san. “Hey. Stop that,” she turned back to the group. “He doesn't mean it. He's just kidding,” she gave a soft chuckle. “I mean, we were friends and neighbors since kindergarten, that's all,” she then turned back to him with a more serious face. What nobody could see except you and maybe Su-hyeok from the excited smile on his face was the dash of hope hidden within her eyes. “Stop joking.”

“I'm not joking,” he confirmed and she let out a shaky breath. “Ever since I was six years old, I've always liked you, On-jo. And I always will.”

“Awesome,” Dae-su expressed after a moment before On-jo got up and walked to the corner of the roof.

Cheong-san looked down in sadness and rejection before you lightly kicked his knee from his cross legged position. “Cheong-san,” he looked up at you and you pointed at On-jo while Su-hyeok tilted his head in her direction, the both of you encouraging him to go and talk to her.

As he stood up and walked over, Dae-su expressed his surprise into words. “Did you know? I had no idea.”

“You're the only one who didn't know,” Hyo-ryung explained to him.

“Everyone knew?

“Yes. I don’t know how you didn’t, you hung out with them everyday and I only saw it from across the classroom but I could still tell,” you told him and he just looked furrowed his eyesbrows.

“Why didn't I know?”

“I didn't, either,” Wu-jin told him to comfort him.

“Because you're you,” Hyo-ryung told the former boy with an eye roll that you laughed at.

“Cheong-san's so cool.”

The spoken boy soon walked away from the girl to stand on the other side of the roof, looking away from On-jo as she watched him longingly. You watched between the two of them as you wished they would just be able to accept each other’s feelings which they so obviously have. Although On-jo’s was more subtle and she obviously tried to hide it with her ‘feelings’ for Su-hyeok, you could tell that she had liked him back.

For much longer than just a while, too.

While distracted by your thoughts, they were brought out by Cheong-san screaming On-jo’s name. As you looked up, you saw the one and only Gwi-nam running across the rooftop towards Cheong-san who was running towards him too. They slammed into each other and Gwi-nam got the better of the situation by slamming Cheong-san onto the ground on his back.

“Cheong-san!”

~~~

| Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 |

~~~

Taglist!

@multifandom-lover01

@justmare

@hellomotherfuker

@queenjang21

@d1tzy-bl0nde

@madislayyy

@she-kills

@c4tv

Lmk if you want to be added!

Special thanks to @loveforjen for reminding me to post this 😭😭 <3

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU

(masterpost)

exactly what it says on the tin! as you may know I've not written in months so I'm super super happy that I enjoyed this and got it done!!

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation + dehumanising language

-

The guard dog had been taken in. Everyone at the shelter was shocked, but none more shocked than the pet himself. Even better than that, he had been named. He was Col now, or sometimes Colton. He had figured that Col was the nicer, more affectionate version, but his new Master used it all the time, so perhaps he’d misinterpreted. Humans named all sorts of possessions, from plants to cars to, it seemed, guard dogs. Col happily accepted the gift.

The second he laid eyes on his owner, Col felt every ounce of loyalty he possessed being placed squarely at this man’s feet. He would be a worthwhile purchase, and protect his Master no matter what.

Master had come as a bit of a surprise at first, when Col was taken from the dog shelter to his home. He didn't look like the kind of person to make much use of a guard dog. Col stayed up all night, watching for threats, but Master's entire road was as peaceful as the man himself. The worst he'd ever seen was a few teenagers letting off fireworks.

Everything was just... a bit strange, with this new Master. He didn't have any heavy weights, no punching bag, nothing to keep Col strong. He never doled out punishments, never made sure Col knew where his devotion was placed. Col knew anyway, he was a good boy after all, but he thought all Masters needed to enforce it. His old owner had talked a lot of weak minds and needing to keep the lesson fresh. Clearly Colton's new Master had quite a bit more trust in him.

Which was weird, considering Col was a stray. But it made him all the more determined to prove himself.

Col made sure to keep busy during his otherwise unnaturally quiet new life: he lifted plastic bottles of milk for hours until his arms finally gave out; he filled a suitcase with books and squatted with it; he recited his rules at night, fighting off sleep, fighting off complacency. He spent the daylight hours pacing the house unless Master told him to calm down, which he soon realised was an order to come and kneel by his side.

The day Col fucked everything up was a day the same as any other to begin with. Master had gone shopping without him, like Col was useless, and that always made him frenetic with anxiety. He had begged, knelt with his head to the floor, to accompany him, to do his job and keep his owner safe, but Master had refused. I'll be fine, Col, he'd said softly, and then as a follow up, you can guard the house, right?

Col had done step-ups at the bottom of the staircase to try and work through his wasted energy, and when that hadn't worked, he'd stared out of the kitchen window like a hawk, every wail of an ambulance siren or police van sending his mind spiralling downwards. By the time Master returned unharmed he was a nervous wreck (utterly unfit for a guard dog, no wonder he wasn't allowed out) and he'd thrown himself at his owner's feet in relief. He knew what a wonderful rush of power his old owner had got from such an imposing pet cowering below him, and Col hoped Master might want to take him out next time, keep that feeling of power going.

In the present, Col was dutifully following Master's order to do some yoga.

The cat, Jaffa, was doing her own set of stretches alongside him, something that pleased Master greatly.

The sound of the front door unlocking pulled him from his meditation. Someone was trying to get in, Col realised, with a burst of aggression.

He sprang up like a startled animal and ran into the hall, but he still wasn't fast enough: the stranger was inside. Col noted a lean, strong build, with no obvious weapon, and tried to plan accordingly in the split second before he collided into him. He grabbed the human roughly by the shoulders and slammed him against the back of the door, letting his head crack against it with the momentum. Not enough to do any real damage, just to make him see stars. He wasted no time in pressing one forearm against his neck, letting it sit snugly against the windpipe, tight with pent up force. There was no mistaking that if he needed to press harder, he would. His other hand stayed gripping the man's shoulder, holding him in place.

'Who are you," he growled.

"Whoa! F-fuck, Linden! Get off me you crazy bastard!" the man shouted, but there was a smile on his face, which only made Col angrier.

Before he could bark his question again or tell the man to shut up, his Master appeared, running over to them. Col bent his head just enough to see both him and the intruder- he had been trained that dealing with a threat was not an excuse to ignore his owner.

The intruder gasped in what sounded like a sigh of relief, or a strained laugh. Col was still pushing on his throat.

"Mate, get off me," he said, and it was infuriating that he didn't seem at all bothered by Col's presence. Col had the upper hand, didn't he? Was there something he didn't know? Maybe this man did have a weapon concealed somewhere?

"I take orders from my Master only," Col replied, and hoped he would get one.

"Let him go, Col," Master said, "and come over here, please."

He obeyed instantly and moved to stand behind his Master's left shoulder, arms folded, glaring at the stranger. Hoping he knew that it would only take one wrong move for Col to knock his lights out.

He expected Master to tell the man to get the fuck out of his house; Colton was more than a little confused when the stranger instead threw one arm out for a hug, and Master leaned in happily.

"Hey Vik."

"Hey. Nice bodyguard you've got there."

"I'm sorry about that. Col," he turned to face his dog, "this is Vik. My brother."

His brother?

Oh, fuck.

All the blood drained from his face and he actually flinched back, his arms unfolding and instead resting hesitantly by his side. Now wasn’t the time for him to look dangerous.

He looked between the two men. Their physical similarities were suddenly glaringly obvious.

Col had fucked up. He'd fucked up and he didn't know how to make it better. He'd just tried to choke Master's brother for god’s sake, and Col was strong, sure, but he still howled when the belt was used on him, or when his owner had held his lighter to Col's arm, or when his back was slashed open and his owner kicked him between the shoulder blades. He was going to have to pay dearly for this.

"-hear me? Col? Hey, hello?"

Col blinked. His mind had wandered- a bad habit he never shook off despite hours of training. Master and his brother were stood together, eyeing him.

He pulled himself together enough to curl his hands against his heart and bow in submission.

"I'm so sorry for my mistake, Sir, it was unforgiveable, and I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out mechanically. He didn't sound remorseful in the slightest, and he'd said he was sorry twice, it sounded stupid. His panic was starting to seep through. "I didn't know, b-but that's no excuse, and, and I'll take any punishment you see fit."

The sentence was familiar, and Col managed to dig deep for some composure. He'd be a big brave dog for this. Guard dogs didn't feel fear- they didn't feel anything. Col didn't feel anything. He straightened up, but kept his head bowed, and listened to his heart pounding in his ears. He waited to see if Vik was the type to show mercy.

Master spoke first. "No, it's okay. Just a misunderstanding, right? Vik has a key, so that's how he just appeared-"

"Hey, stop giving me evils."

"-and you were just doing what you thought was right, Col."

Col looked up slowly. Master seemed to be waiting for a response.

"What I did was unforgiveable," he tried, the panic smothering his thoughts. He had to get this right and he just didn't know how- except through pain. "I promise I'll take my punishment well, Sir, very well."

He saw Vik's eyes widen as he tried to catch Master's gaze, but it stayed fixed on Col.

"Well... you could apologise to Vik, I suppose, for- for-" Master's words were eaten up in an outburst of laughter. Col's fear took a sharp, and weird, left turn. What the fuck? "I’m sorry, I just can't believe you almost bollocked my older brother, that’s fucking hilarious!”

"Stop laughing!" Vik snapped, giving Master a mild shove that made Col bristle. "Or go do it while making me a cup of tea."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, haha, I'll leave you two alone for two seconds, I'm gonna-"

Master put a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter, and breezed past Col towards the kitchen, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he went. Master figured this was all a big joke, then.

Left alone with Vik. That would be Master's strategy, and Col figured it was more than fair. Vik had been the offended party.

He was about to lower himself to his knees, but Vik reached out a hand, stopping Col. He tensed just a fraction, no more than that: he wasn't allowed to mitigate pain.

"Fair play, mate, you were very quick. Good form, too. Got the jump on me like that." Vik snapped his fingers, making Col stiffen even more. "But we can be cool now, yeah? Now you know my face. You'll probably see me a lot, I come round all the time. So let's put this behind us and shake on it like two gents."

Col realised why Vik's hand was held out.

He thought about protesting for half a second- his old owner had always reminded him how dirty he was- but the last thing he wanted to do was look like he was buying time.

Vik would probably grab his hand and pull him down, try to throw him to the floor. Col didn't think he had the strength, so he prepared to fake it.

The handshake was the most human thing Col had ever done. Vik did pull, but towards him, and not in the rough way Col had expected. He'd forced himself to go so limp that he almost stumbled into him- he caught himself at the last moment and stood still, grazing Vik's shoulder.

"My brother's a really good man," he said, and Col was sure he knew the threat that would follow it up. So if you make one wrong move, I'll break you.

But instead, Vik's voice stayed low, and calm, with no hardness that Col could discern. There was even a smile on his face. "You're gonna be fine here."

. . .

"You're gonna be fine here," he said, doing his best to use his inside voice because he couldn't let Linden hear him being nice about him for once.

And also because the big guy still holding his hand seemed shit-scared already.

Vik had a damn good view being so near to him: Colton's face was absolutely littered with scars. That was meant to be a bad sign when it came to guard dogs- meant they were volatile or picked fights constantly. Vik wasn't so sure. He'd backed off the minute Linden intervened, and Linden had already told Vik that Colton was clearly terrified of him, even though he tried to hide it. Standing with him now, Vik reckoned he wasn't hiding it very well at all. He could feel Colton's heartbeat thrumming from his wrist like a drum.

He briefly imagined a scene in the far future, when Linden's gamble had worked out and this man was alright again, where the three of them were hanging out together, where they were all close friends. Vik would tease him for the time they first met, when Col had tried to chuck him straight back out onto the street. Linden would probably make some joke that he should’ve gone through with it. They’d all laugh – Col would be laughing hardest of all.   

Right now, Vik felt like laughing wasn't a physical possibility for Colton.

"Please punish me as you see fit, sir," Col replied, just as quietly.

"Ahh, well," Vik said brightly, giving Col a pat on the shoulder - making him flinch - and drawing back to a normal distance. His voice raised with it, giving his brother a hint that all was okay. "You weren't to know. No harm done."

Except for the back of my head which hurts like fuck, but whatever, I don't want this guy to start grovelling.

Col looked at him, his frown loosening a little bit. “Really, sir? You’d give me mercy?”

Ew. “Er, yeah, man. We’re cool.”

Linden’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the sharp rings of a teaspoon being tapped against the rim of a mug, shaking off the final drops. “Tea’s ready!”

Col looked at Vik, waiting for something- instruction, probably. Vik gestured forward. “After you, mate.”

. . .

The rest of Vik’s visit passed without incident. The two brothers settled on the sofa so fluidly that Col got the impression they both sat in the exact same place every time. He felt overwhelmed with shame and apprehension as his mistake replayed in his mind. Running at Vik and pinning him to the wall, snapping at him, intending to hurt him. His Master must feel so embarrassed to have such a poorly-behaved pet.

Col knelt behind his owner and stared at nothing, keeping his back straight and his ears on the world outside. Occasionally the cat threatened to distract him with her purring and big eyes, but Colton didn’t allow himself to enjoy the sight of her. She wasn’t for his enjoyment, anyway.

“Come to mine next time, yeah?” Vik asked.

“Sure, it’s been a while. That’d be nice.”

“Alright, well I’ll head off. Nice to meet you, Col.”

Vik’s face appeared in Col’s peripheral vision, and Col looked over, giving him a nod and looking to his owner for permission to speak.

When his Master gave him an encouraging smile, Col said quietly, “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s alright, Col,” Master said, reaching down and giving Col’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Col flinched that time, too. The shame only twisted deeper in his guts. Master turned back to his brother. “I’ll wave you off.”

“You’re always keeping me out of trouble, aren’t you,” replied Vik with a wry smile.

. . .

Linden didn’t have to catch Vik before he walked out the door – they clearly both wanted to have a debrief. Their chat had been more than a little stifled with Colton kneeling right there, ramrod straight, his eyes wide and unfocused. Vik bent to put his shoes back on and stared up at Linden with a face that said what the fuck.

“Yeah,” Linden whispered. “Someone’s clearly done a number on him. Did he hurt you?”

“No, no,” Vik said, unconvincingly. “It was funny anyway. But he really is fierce when he wants to be.”

“At least I know he’s… loyal, now. Not that I took him in to be loyal. Or violent. Ah well.”

“I know, but I get it, it’s good to know he doesn’t want to use any of that strength against you. You’re safe as anything as long as he’s around.”

“Bless him. He’s so nervous all the time. He won’t even pet Jaffa.”

“You’ve got this, mate,” Vik said sincerely. “He’s still new. Maybe you’ve gotta be a bit more clear with things. Next time he looks at Jaffa, just tell him to go and pet her.”

“I’ll try. You should still come round whenever, I’ll tell him not to worry about you.” The thought of Vik almost having his ass handed to him made Linden’s lips curl up again. “Maybe buy a helmet for next time just in case.”

“Oh shut up, I could still batter him and you, you better not start thinking I’m soft. I’ll see you later. And buy him some weights or something, for god’s sake. He’ll go crazy otherwise.”

Linden laughed as Vik headed off. When he walked back into the lounge, Colton was still kneeling. Of course he was – Linden hadn’t ordered him to do anything else.

“Uh…I’m glad you’ve met my brother. Please don’t fret about earlier, Col. You’re genuinely not in trouble. Vik wasn’t mad in the slightest.”

Col didn’t move except to cast his eyes towards Linden’s face. It made him look creepy, like a mannequin. “Thank you, Sir. It won’t happen again. Thank you for this mercy.”

“It might be helpful to mark Vik as someone who’s completely trusted, you know. You don’t have to be afraid when he’s around. You don’t have to be… on high alert. He’s not going to do anything.”

. . .

Col nodded. If Vik made a move to attack, it would be for him, never his Master. Col wasn’t to fight back. “I understand, Sir. Thank you.”

-

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70  @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld  @cupcakes-and-pain  @bumbumbea @whumpfigure  @yet-another-heathen  @secretwhumplair  @whumps-up  @as-a-matter-of-whump  @getyourwhumphere  @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly  @penny-for-your-whump  @briars7  @legallylibra @angel-stars  @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies  @badluck990  @rosesareviolentlyread  @vickytokio  @neuro-whump  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight  @whumpsy-daisies  @control-whump  @theydy-cringeworthy  @starnight-whump @cursedandtired  @jo-doe-seeking-inspo  @justabitofwhump  @glamrockgregory  @rippedjeansandfadeddreams  @genesissane  @justbreakonme  @addyez @httyd-chocolate  @littlespacecastle  @haro-whumps  @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass  @downrivergirl914

[juanabaloo]

one day i'll learn to make gifs but until then you get this little unhinged BTVS rant (with bonus pieces of other people's gifs).

ep: 3x19 choices - Faith is fully aligned with the Mayor and in her spiral. But she hasn't killed Prof. Lester Wirth yet, that's not until 3x21.

AND THEN THIS!

ep: 6x21 Two to Go - Willow stole magic powers from Rack and is in her spiral. She killed Warren in 6x20 Villains and has JUST killed Rack.

"It's way too late," said casually and cheerfully versus "I promise it's not too late," said with such aching hope. How Faith lashes back at Willow for hurting her. How Willow lashes back at Dawn for (inadvertently) hurting her. More script quotes below the cut if you want this to gnaw on your brain.

ep: 3x19 choices - Faith is fully aligned with the Mayor and in her spiral. But she hasn't killed Prof. Lester Wirth yet, that's not until 3x21.

"Check out the bookworm." "Faith!" [Willow is surprised] "Anyone with brains, anyone who knew what was going to happen to her, would try to claw her way out of this place. But you, you just can't stop Nancy Drewing, can you? Guess now you know too much and that kinda just naturally leads to killing."

"Faith, wait. I want to talk to you." "Oh yeah? Give me the speech again, please. [Faith is sarcastic here.] Faith, we're still your friends. We can help you. It's not too late." "It's way too late. [Willow says this quickly, calmly, cheerfully, casually.] You know, it didn't have to be this way."

[Faith's smile fades, she retracts, very very slightly.]

"But you made your choice. I know you had a tough life. [Faith is back to smirking.] I know that some people think you had a lot of bad breaks. Well, boo hoo! Poor you. You know, you had a lot more in your life than some people. [Faith studies Willow here, considering her violent options.] I mean, you had friends in your life like Buffy. Now you have no one. You were a Slayer and now you're nothing. You're just a big selfish, worthless waste."

[Faith punches Willow in the jaw and she falls to the ground.]

"You hurt me, I hurt you. I'm just a little more efficient."

[Faith pulls her knife on Willow. It seems like Faith might actually kill Willow, but The Mayor interrupts.]

COMPARE TO

ep: 6x21 Two to Go - Willow stole magic powers from Rack and is in her spiral. She killed Warren in 6x20 Villains and has JUST killed Rack. "Dawnie, what are you doing here? 'Cause if you're looking for me? Now's not a great time." "You look terrible." "Do I?"

... "I have to go." [Dawn is nervous]

[Dawn moves to the door but Willow appears blocking her way. Dawn cries out, definitely scared.]

"Why? So you can run and tell Buffy?" "Willow … please, just listen to me." "You don't have to talk. Just think real loud. I can hear you."

[Willow advances menacingly.]

"You're freaking me out." "Oh, don't be like that. I'm just a little wired. And I have some things to do. I thought if anybody'd understand - " "I miss Tara, too! But this? [Something plays over Willow's face. I think she pauses for a second, she feels the pain a little more.] What you're doing here? This is not the way to go! You're only going to make things worse! [Willow studies Dawn, considering her options. I think she steels herself for what she plans to do, resigned to it.] But I promise, it's not too late to - "

[Willow proceeds to be very cruel to Dawn. She hurts Dawn with her words, efficiently.]

"You miss her?" "Yes." "Did you cry? [Dawn is shocked.] Of course you did. I get that. I understand the crying, you cry because you're human. But you weren't always." "Yes, I was." "No, please. You're telling me you don't remember? You used to be some … mystic ball of energy. Maybe that's why you're crying all the time, Dawnie. 'Cause you don't belong here."

[Willow continues, taunting Dawn and mocking her, super cruel.]

[Willow backs Dawn into a wall. It seems like Willow might actually kill Dawn, but Buffy interrupts.]

Gifsets of some of this, both by starryeyesxx ep: 3 x 19 choices ep: 6 x 21 two to go

I think S6 Willow is eons scarier than S3 Faith, but Faith could have killed Willow with her knife, maybe. I think Faith is super glad The Mayor interrupted so she doesn't have to decide. Good doggie Faith (affectionate). I think Willow wanted to hurt Dawn, and then as she got going she thought death by Buffy was an OK option, and what better way to ensure death by Buffy than killing Dawn?

Also later in 6x21 Willow says, "I've got big party plans." Just like Faith in 3x10 Amends!

[genericpuff]

Omfg the fact that Rachel deadass traced that painting of H&P from that other artist 🙄🤮

right, like I know it might seem accusatory/farfetched but how can it not be traced when this is what her sketches NORMALLY look like:

And that's not even me making fun of her roughs (though they are VERY goofy) my point is that her actual genuine roughs tend to have way more mess to them, you can tell there's at least SOME thought process even if it's a thought process that only makes sense to her.

Compare it to the Lynn Buckham "study":

Like, you can tell which spots were directly closely traced (such as Hades) vs. which spots were improvised because the improvised sections are way more 'scribbly' and not as committed (particularly in Persephone's arms).

You can also weirdly see this in the "bonus sketches" in the books. Some of these sketches look more like they were traced directly off the panels AFTER the fact, rather than authentic roughs, just because of how close they are to the finished result and how weirdly "clean" they feel compared to her usual sketches:

Considering the bonus episodes in the earlier books themselves were DEFINITELY drawn specifically for the books (rather than being drawn and rejected because that would be a waste of her time and money and the art style is definitely more like S2/S3), it really makes me sus that the sketches, too, are just copied off her own work from ages ago, from a time when the art was at least somewhat put together.

Anyways, have some old sketches from her Doctor Pepper/Foxglove days. They're pretty neat though at this point I'm losing hope in how much of her work was actually authentic and not just directly copied off something else. I'd like to think just from the sheer energy in her linework here that these were completely her, with full genuine effort (unlike LO which she clearly takes shitloads of shortcuts with). Can't believe these were made by the same person.

[nartml]

"now she even gets to parade around wearing that Uchiha crest like the trophy it is to her, while having done nothing to earn it!!!"

She's literally an Uchiha do you expect her NOT to wear it???💀 sakura haters get a brain challenge

Ah, yes, hello anon.

No time to chit-chat, let's break this down:

The fact that Sakura has that symbol plastered everywhere, even when Sasuke himself either never wears it or does so discreetly, is proof of how much of a trophy he is to her.

She doesn't love Sasuke. No, she doesn't love him, but she does love his status, the influence, the aura that comes with the Uchiha name.

Does she even know the truth about his clan? Is it even confirmed? And whether she does or doesn't, you realize how, well, not okay it is for her to wear that symbol so casually?

If she does know about his clan, then why is she okay with burying it under the rug? Why has she not raised a single concern about it ever? The fact that she would take no issue with Konoha, the system or just the injustice happening to the supposed love of her life, and still have the audacity to wear that crest is revolting.

And if she doesn't know? (Something that wouldn't be surprising, considering she didn't even know if he fucking wore glasses) Then that's a testament to how little she cares. And how little Sasuke cares too**. Because she could never truly understand who Sasuke is and why he's done what he's done, if she doesn't know the truth. And that she never cared to ask? It's either that she's delusional enough to assume she already knows him (which she doesn't; she knows the made-up idealized version of him) or that she doesn't truly care about Sasuke at all.

Plus, does she even truly understand what the Uchiha symbol represents? Does she, again, even care to learn?

Either way, she looks like a horrible person, and doesn't deserve nor has she earned the right to parade with that crest everywhere.

Sure, she might be an Uchiha on paper, but she shows no true respect for the clan, the symbol, and her husband.

____________________________________________

**In case you don't get what I mean here, anon, I'm saying that if Sasuke doesn't really care to tell her, well, that puts into perspective how few the fucks he gives about what Sakura thinks of him are. And if he doesn't tell her because he doesn't trust her, then shit, that might just be worse.

Anyhow, I love how you didn't even bother addressing any of my other points. Kindly saying this, don't even bother. This isn't an invitation to, I'm not interested.

(And I say that in an entirely neutral and good-natured tone, I actually feel very guilty the moment I say something even passively mean. Forgive me though, I can't resist sometimes)

And please, spare both of us from any escalation of this argument. We see things differently, it happens, it's a waste of energy ,especially because I'm right, you're wrong and maturing is realizing it /jk

[deaconusdelirium]

Readers Unconscious

Alright, it’s been a long time since I wrote for any CoD characters, so forgive me if they seem OOC (but hey, it’s fanfic so who cares?)

—

Request: "I am so excited for the campaign. But I also had a request sent to you in the past, about how the Cold War characters would carry you if you were to pass out. Could I change that to the Task force 141, Los vaqueros and shadow company? Maybe add Woods? Also, they have feelings for the reader but they don't want her to know 👉👈"

You're wish is my command love<3

———

Simon 'Ghost' Riley-

Ghost is used to people being in his personal space. He wants the enemy to know that he's not scared of them especially with how close they are. So he tries to wake you up at first, shaking you a bit, and there's really no time to sit and wait. He was going to just carry you with both arms but he has all that extra equipment on his chest and he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. So he kinda just.. pulls you up onto his back, like a piggy back ride. He couldn't care less on personal space in a time like this so he pretty much just lets you take all the time you need.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish-

This man has feral energy. We've seen first hand his level of sarcasm and what his humors like. But he can also be very serious, so when you're out like a light, he panics before trying to radio Ghost on what to do. However he's not picking up and that leaves him alone. He tries to find the best position to pick you up without making it awkward, considering the feelings he's had tucked away for awhile. But the easiest way for him was to just last you across his shoulders like basic training does. He's not the best in stealth so it leaves room for him to reach for his gun without dropping you

Alejandro Vargas-

My man is very very respectful, he doesn't want to touch you in anyway that makes you or him feel weird or bad about it later. If anything, Rodolfo is most likely with him, so he can always ask to have him throw one arm around his shoulder while he grabs the other. But say it's just the two of you, then what? He's straight to the point about things, so he's not wasting any time. He wants to get out of this situation fast, he also wants you to be safe, making him speed up the process. He doesn't wear many stuff, so throwing you over his shoulder will do, so even when you wake up he'll just plant you right back on your feet

Phillip Graves-

Graves is respectful when others are around, but when they aren't, all that, just goes out the window. He probably wouldn't like it when you do pass out, most likely reprimand you later on. But he also can't help but feel bad, he wants to show you he can be caring, so not taking it out on you is him being nice. If anything, he'll have one of his shadows carry you instead of him doing so himself. But if they're all out in different positions leaving just the two of you. He's already somewhat upset and having you unconscious gets a little more on his nerves. Don't expect him to be gentle, he keeps one hand on his gun and the other is grabbing the little handle on the back of your vest and dragging you along. Just be grateful he didn't leave you where you were, that's him being generous

Frank Woods-

I feel like his is pretty obvious, but that might just be me. But remember when Woods had to drag Mason? It's like that, but it's not. He likes you, and the thing you two have going on is something he wants to see where it leads to. He's very touchy feely with you, and has no problem carrying you bridal style, we all know he has a chaotic personality, so carrying you like this is probably the most gentlest way he could carry you in this situation. He somewhat takes it serious within that time, careful not to hurt you or put you in an uncomfortable position. He checks on you every now and then just to make sure you're still breathing

———

Copy and pasted from Wattpad.

Get ready fckrs, this new game has me feeling… feelings

Ghost👀

[jj-5656]

Mercy On Me

With; James Potter

A/N: FINALLY. I am so sorry for how long this shit took. Honestly, I was expecting this idea to be short and sweet. Nearly 7k words later and here we are. Appreciate all your ongoing support, and I hope you enjoy!<3

Summary: The one where the two bumbling idiots are blind to the others’ affections amongst their argument, and James gets wasted. 

TW: Drinking, cursing NOT YET PROOFREAD

      Rain patters harshly against the pane of your window, with thunder grumbling every now and again. Wind whistles through the air outside, cutting through the comfortable silence of your bedroom. You love this weather. Finding solace in the sound of the rain and the grey hue that elicits in your bedroom. It helps you focus, convenient now that you’ve spent the past couple hours finishing up on homework assignments and studying for your upcoming Astronomy exam. The dynamics of the celestial sphere and the names of stars making up a series of constellations swim through your mind, yet theres’s an incessant fear you’ll manage to sit down in your desk come Tuesday and forget every piece of information you’ve just relayed. 

James Potter, one of your dearest friends, isn’t nearly as accommodating to rainy days. It means quidditch practice is canceled, you can’t meet up in the courtyard for the groups’ daily catch up, and you’re banished to the confinements of four walls. He’s sprawled across your bed, rotating through doodling, practicing new charms, and bugging you. 

He’s antsy. Your best friend is much like a hyper active child, and with no outlet for all his damned energy, he’s opted to pester you all afternoon. You try to block out his absent-minded humming and the scratching of his charcoal sketch sticks, but Prongs never makes blocking him out very easy. You swivel your chair to shoot him a glare when his rubber blending tool makes contact with he back of your head. 

“Can I help you?” It takes everything in you not to flick the shit-eating grin adoring his face now that he’s gained your attention. 

“Does it say anything in those books about dying of boredom? Because I’m starting to feel faint.” 

“Can't you go bother Pads or Moony? Why have I been chosen to bear the weight of your undiagnosed ADHD?” 

“You’ve been at this for hours, you’re not finished?” 

“Not even close, Jay. You know this exam is important.” 

“Can’t you at least take a break? Let’s take a nap.” He yawns, stretching over the expanse of your mattress. And while the prospect of sleeping beside him sounds tempting, you shake your head. It’s bad enough his offer elicits butterflies throughout your gut, when he’s merely seeking the company of a friend. 

“What about important exam are you not gathering?” He rolls his eyes, reaching down to grab the tool he’d used as a weapon and begin sketching again. Though not without a series of muttered complaints. 

You’re irritated. It’s not like you enjoy spending the better half of your day doing schoolwork. If you could afford it, you’d be right next to him and fast asleep ages ago. In a boarding school where you’re surrounded by peers for 80% of your day, there are times you wish to be alone. You regard the time to yourself as a chance to reset, considering your fragile social battery. Potter finds the notion completely foreign, and couldn’t possibly fathom why anyone would choose to not be around other people. You’re a little moody, sure. Which might be why you find his drumming of the charcoal against the book particularly distracting. 

After a few beats of deep breaths, you confront it. “Would you mind, Ringo?” He pauses, looking just past the pages to send you a cheeky smile. Your attraction only angers you further. It’s bad enough your feelings are unrequited, he could at least try to look less fucking good looking all the time. 

“If I weren’t being ignored, I’m sure I’d be less intolerable.” 

“Why don’t you go find Sirius, I’m sure he’s bored. Or even Lily, sure she’s studying in her own dorm.” He’s not particularly thrilled with your tone in regard to your shared red-headed friend. His crush on Lily, though having been topic of conversation every time he opened his mouth, was fast and fleeting last year. He hadn’t regarded her anywhere close to that sense ever since-Since forever ago. Additionally, James Potter hates feeling needy. Like you don’t want to share his company. Like his affections are too smothering, unrequited. 

“I’m not sure why you have yourself so worked up.” There’s a twinge of venom to it, you’ve unknowingly struck an insecurity. Your brows furrow with frustration, unaccustomed to his attitude. 

“Not all of us can thrive off our athletic reputations, or effortless grades.” You almost regret it as soon as it’s said. You hadn’t been looking for an argument, but you’ve definitely found one. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, loosened tie covered by the fabric of his robe. 

“James, I didn’t-” 

“No, you did.” He moves to sit up on your bed, hazel staring daggers into yours. Daring and unkind. It twinges something close to nausea in your stomach, though your blood still boils. “What did you mean?” 

“I mean you don’t even have to try! Your marks are near perfect yet you rarely study. And if anything, you have quidditch to fall back on for an excuse.” He scoffs, nothing short of disbelief and indignation. 

“So what, you think I don’t work for what I have?” You’ve definitely struck your nerve, but the bastards been disrespecting your social boundaries all day, and it’s most definitely gotten to you. 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“But it’s what you meant.” He stands, looming figure no longer comforting as it usually is. He’s almost intimidating, glaring at you as if you’ve just cornered him. 

“I only mean athletes get treated differently, sometimes. It’s not you fault it’s, just not necessarily fair to the rest of us.” There’s that scoff again, a roll of his eyes as he wets his lips.

“You’ve lost the plot, mate.” 

“Well of course you wouldn’t notice! You are one James, how would you be able to see it?” 

“I’m glad that’s how you regard me, y/n. Freeloading off quidditch as if I don’t work hard as well?” There's a tone of distaste as your name crosses his lips, it feels like a punch to the stomach. 

“Again, that’s not what I said.” You stand too, shoulders tensed with anger. 

“Whatever. I’ll see you later, considering I’m such a bother.” He’s out the door before you can open your mouth to respond. You jumped the sound of your front door slamming, collapsing back into your chair with an exasperated sigh. 

**********

Dinner is undoubtedly awkward. The rest of your friends are enveloped in conversation, but you and James keep to yourselves for the most part. Unfortunately, you were the last to make it to the Great Hall, and the only open seat was beside the only boy you’re currently at odds with. Mary’s been trying to get your attention the past ten minutes, Pads too. An evident ‘what’s with the tension’ but you and Prongs brush them off. 

Landon O’Connor is a friend of a friend. A fellow Gryffindor that photographs many of the school events and quidditch matches. James knows him fairly well, which is why he’s astonished the brunette boy approaches your table with a curt nod to James with his eyes only on you. Aiming to sit in the awkward gap between you and him with a kind smile. 

You have to grip the table to steady yourself when you’re pulled swiftly into Jame’s side. The boy has wrapped his leg around yours from under the table and pulled you toward him. Shooting a look to the bewildered photographer, he ignores your heated gaze. The group snaps their heads to watch as James squares his shoulders, eyes darting to yours for only a second before he offers your peer a gentle smile. 

“Evening, everyone. Doing alright?” There’s a chorus of commonalties Landon nods along to before his eyes land on you, flitter to the brooding chaser, and then back to you. 

“Y/n, still studying for Sinistras exam?”

“You kidding? I haven’t stopped.” He chuckles, settling beside you and allowing the group to fall back into their own discussions. Though you get the feeling they’re most definitely paying attention to how this is gonna play out. 

“You’ll be fine, you’re a smart girl. Besides, a couple friends of mine are meant to get together to review the material in the courtyard tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to join us.” A pleased smile pulls at your lips, falling immediately when James scoffs into his chalice. 

“Alright, Potter?” The boy nods, arm brushing against yours when he turns to face the both of you. 

“Fine. It’s just, y//n typically studies alone. Doesn’t appreciate any distractions.” You bite your lip, matching the boy’s challenging stare. There’s that same venom in his words, anger still prevalent from your argument. You break away first, offering another bright smile to Landon. 

“Actually, I’d love to join you guys. The company’s fine as long as it’s productive.” James feels his skin run hot when you shift on the bench to face completely away from him. Your attention solely on the bloke to the left. 

“Isn’t there a photography meeting during evening hours on Thursday’s, O’Connor?” You can feel James loom closer to you, and by the look on Landon’s face, his expression is not nearly as welcoming as before.

“Well, yeah. But today’s was optional and I thought-”

“I’m sure the lads are probably wondering where you are, yeah?” Irritation is heavy in his tone, it’s an apparent but unspoken  ‘get lost’. 

“Right, probably.” The brunette surveys your friends, not letting their quickly averting eyes go unnoticed. “Y/n, if I don’t see you at the library tomorrow, will I be seeing you at the party this weekend?” 

“Definitely. Good seeing you.” There's a shared grin between you both as he stands again, a hope he hasn’t been scared off indefinitely due to the awkward encounter. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, love.” James actually laughs this time, shoving at Sirius’ shoulder when the raven-haired boy kicks him under the table. Landon either doesn’t notice, or chooses to disregard it in lieu of being polite. 

“Could you be any more rude, Potter?” 

“Must be the privileged athlete in me.” 

“Must be!” And with that, you’re both silent again. Flushing under the bewildered looks of the rest of the Marauders. They get to talking again, a feeble attempt at concealing their eavesdropping. 

“You know, I’m starting to understand the whole ‘cutting tension with a knife’ phrase.”

“Shove it, Pads.” Both of you heat even more having said it in unison, only making the boy across grin even wider. Hands raised in a half-assed surrender, doing little to hide his amusement. 

**********

You feel much better about next week’s exam after studying with Landon’s group. Though the boy was fairly distant during your time in the library. It was bad enough you and James were at odds, now the bastard was scaring other boys off. What was the reason anyway? Potter had never made a move, never insinuated any interest despite your own. Sure, it hurt, but you wouldn't resent him for seeing you only as a friend. It made his distaste for O’Connor’s flirting nonsensical and infuriating, As if he didn’t necessarily want you, but didn’t anyone else to have you either. 

“Y/n/n, darling. Where are you? I’m risking poking an eye out with this eyeliner.” Sirius usually gets ready with the girls, arguing your pregame is much more fun than that of the boys. He maneuvers around the rest of your friends getting themselves ready amongst you and Marlene’s dorm. Arguing over which one of your tops they’ll be stealing for the night, or adding the finishing touches to their makeup. Sirius drags you onto the mattress beside him, offering the eyeliner stick in silent pleading. You oblige, tilting his chin up to begin. 

“Look up, Siri. Stop looking at me, especially like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m wounded or something.” You’re both quite enough so the girls singing along to the music from the record player or in the middle of conversations can’t hear. The raven-haired boy sighs, doing his best not to blink too hard and ruin your work. 

“It’s just, you and James haven’t spoken in ages.”

“It’s been two days, Pads.”

“That's a new record for the both of you. I can’t stand the constant moping, you’re both killing my buzz.” You laugh despite it all, rolling your eyes with fondness for his melodramatics. 

“I’m not sure he’s interested in speaking to me at the moment.” You hold up a tissue from your desk for him to wet with his tongue, wiping at any excess liner under his lash line. 

“Trust me, you’re all he’s been talking about. He’s not particularly happy with how things ended between the both of you. As are you, I’m sure.” His eyes dart over to your mirror, lips upturning in a pleased smirk at your handiwork. 

“Of course I hate to fight with James. I was in a bad mood and I just wanted to be alone. I should have communicated that to him.”

“Then why don’t you say so?” 

“Well what was that stunt he pulled at dinner the other night? Arguing with me gave him no reason to take it out on other people.” Sirius chuckles, shaking his head and reaching over to grab the bottle of liquor on your desk. 

“I think he would have given O’Connor lip had you been fighting or not.” You cock your head, about to press on when he passes you a shot. Holding out his own glass for you to clink. “To the first shot of the night, and most definitely not the last.” 

You hum, connecting your glass to his before throwing your heads back. Cringing at the burn in your throat and the shitty taste. “I’ve never understood your affinity to whiskey.” 

“Mends the soul or something, I don’t know. Alcohol is alcohol.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before standing, nodding his head toward the door. Marl’s Lilly, and Dorcas are already headed out to the common room as you follow suit. 

********

It’s well into the party when Remus approaches. Collapsing onto the well-worn couch beside you. You greet him with a warm smile, stretching before resting your head on his shoulder. He was your partner for beer pong, and you’d played against Sirius and James. Needless to say, you’d lost and both had to drink  more than your stomachs were comfortable with. 

“Alright, Rem?” You wrap your arm around his, enveloping him in warmth because he’s almost always chilly. He shakes his head, smile etching over his features. 

“We suck at Pong. I think I can literally feel the beer sloshing around in my stomach.” You groan, hiding your face into the fabric of his sweater with self-pitying chuckles. 

The game hadn’t been too awkward. You hadn’t spoke much to Potter over the course of the game, but laughed along with him at Sirius’ tipsy smack talk. His lingering gaze had etched a lump in your throat a couple times, but you’d choked it down with more beer. Hence the comfortable, warming buzz. Remus presses a kiss to your head, digging in his pocket to retrieve his usual chocolates. You oblige instantly, because he’s right, they always make you feel better. 

“Love.” He breaks the comfortable silence, surveying your cheekily drunken peers with admiration. “If I asked you a favor-” 

“Anything, Moons. You know that.” He hums, pressing the side of his cheek into the top of your head in acknowledgment. He’s never minded affection with you, and you’re more than grateful to be one of his few exceptions. 

“Would you talk to Prongs?” 

“Rem-” 

“For me?” His palm opens to offer you another chocolate, and you scoff at the clear bribery but snatch it anyway. “Sweetheart, he’s practically moping in the corner. Won’t even be Pad’s partner anymore. And you know how much James hates to break a winning streak.” 

“It’s his brooding athleticism, I suppose.”

“Y/n.” It’s a warning, a push to forgive.

“He was a jerk, Remus.” 

“You know how he can get, love. Some things you have to lay on him easy. Our Prongs is quite stubborn.” 

“You can say that again.” 

“But so are you sometimes, yes?” You meet his eyes, feeling properly chastised. “You know it’s only because he cares about what you think of him so much. He hated hearing you thought less of him for something he couldn’t possibly control.” 

“But that’s not what I meant, he should know that!”

“Perhaps our boy isn’t as self assured as he lets on sometimes.” His words send a pang to your heart, you know better than to believe Potter isn’t almost always in need of reassurance from his friends. “Regardless of how it was intended, you’ve both hurt one another. Yes?” 

“Yeah.” You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling terribly guilty. And rightfully so.

“So will you go comfort him? Because he’s just about trollied, and will not stop whining about how much he misses you. It was cute at first, but now it’s beginning to become quite irritating.” 

“Fine. But only because I love you.” 

“We both know that’s not your reason.” He scrunches his nose at you, teasing. You pull away with feigned disgust. 

“Oh, shove off.” 

Potter’s across the room in an arm chair, moping just as Moony had said. Even worse than you’d imagined, actually. A pout on his lips as he takes swigs from the beer in hand. Heart aching at the sight of him, it becomes clear just how much you’ve missed him too. He doesn’t notice once you approach, even when you rest your hands on the arm of the chair and bend at the waist to his level. Tapping his knee so he’ll lift his gaze from his lap. James goes from a deep frown to fighting a grin at the sight of you. A definite pinking to his cheeks, from the alcohol or your presence, you’re not sure. 

You wish to slap the voice inside of you that aches to press your lips to his. 

“Hi.” He’s beaming now, hand instinctively reaching out to push a stray strand of hair from your face. It risks your knees giving out right then and there at the gentleness of it all. 

“Hey, Potter. What’s up with the moping, Sirius needs his partner.” You nod to the game ahead, cheering along when Sirius scores. A large, warm hand slides up your forearm, and you tilt your head back down to see his hazel eyes staring up at you with an emotion you can’t quite read. Fondness fills you to the brim at the sight of it. 

“I’m not in the m-mood.” There’s an adorable hiccup that sounds between the last word, the ache in your heart growing tenfold. “Where’s O’Connor? Thought you’d be with him.” It’s genuine, there's no self pity or ill-intent behind his words. Instead, it’s almost solemn. Much unlike the James you’re accustomed to. 

“I’m sure he’s around somewhere.” You shrug, clear in your indifference. “But I wanted to check on you.” The corner of his lips twitch upward, but he bites it away. Another squeeze to your arm he hasn’t found the strength to release just yet. 

“It’s okay if you want to go hang out with him, Y/n. I’m fine. And you’re angry with me.” 

“I’m not angry anymore, James.” You can’t help but run a hand through his unruly curls, smirking when he leans into the touch. 

“You aren’t?” You shake your head, crouching to get more comfortable. 

“I mean, I was. I didn’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth. But I understand why you got defensive. It wasn’t fair of me to be rude just because I didn’t want to communicate needing some time to myself. I’m sorry, Prongs.” 

“I’m sorry too. Really sorry.” He runs a thumb over the arm still in his hold, eyes averting to observe the line of goosebumps it elicits with a soft smile. You fear you’re much too smitten of him for your own good. He pats the arm of the chair for you to sit on, and you comply. Looking at the partygoers around you. It’s comforting, despite longer participating in the festivities you’re still enjoying the atmosphere. 

Eventually James shifts, settling his head over your thighs with a contented sigh. He waits a beat, taking hold of your wrist and plopping your hand atop his head. You shake your head with a scoff, pretending to be irritated with his silent request. Fingers coursing through the strands of his hair once again. You catch Remus’ eyes across the room, sticking your tongue out to ward them off when he leans over to Sirius, the pair staring fondly. James doesn’t notice, hazed from the alcohol and the scent of your perfume. 

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders slows, so you lean over to meet his face. 

“Don’t fall asleep down here, Prongs. Don’t think I’m able to get you to bed otherwise.” The corner of his lip curls up despite his closed eyes, and you’re quite sure you’d be able to watch him for hours. 

“Can we go to bed, then?” 

“James Potter leaving a party early? Why, I must be dreaming.” He ignores your teasing, pulling himself off you and standing to his full height. There’s a slight wobble to him, one he has to balance by grasping either arm of the vintage chair. Consequently putting his head only inches front yours. A wave of pine and mint consumes you, along with a faint, lingering scent of whiskey. His eyes follow yours, having caught them averting to his lips. James smiles, one of his cocky, smug concoctions that urges you to smack or kiss him. Combative urges you usually tend to get when in his presence. 

“You’re trollied, Jay. Let’s get to the dorms before you lose your footing for good.” Your tone is light in teasing, missing the fall of his features as you duck under his arm and get to your feet. 

“Should we say goodnight to Moony and Pads?” The taller boy rubs at his eyes, letting you adjust the glasses he’s just pushed crooked. You look around the room, landing on the pair who are pouring another round of shots for your shared group of friends. James doesn’t notice, busying himself with fixing your necklace to bring the clasp to the back of your neck. Praying he doesn’t notice the goosebumps running over your skin, you nudge him toward the stairs with a gentle shake of your head. Knowing he’ll most definitely insist on another shot in lieu of being left out. 

“I’m sure they’ll be up soon, cmon.” He’s surprisingly easy to persuade, allowing you to take hold of his arm and guide him toward the steps. 

It’s a bit of a struggle. He’s nearly twice your size, so any miss-step he makes in his drunken stupor is a threat to both of you. 

“Gryffindor house truly is the best. Don’t you think, lovely?” A hiccup before he goes on. “I mean, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Wouldn’t have met any of my best mates had any of us been sorted otherwise.” He pushes a finger to your cheek, cocking his head when you swiftly shush him. Unaware his volume is much too loud to be this close to the dorms or your respected, sleeping peers.  A grin spreads across his face as he mimics you, pointer finger pressing to his lips as you approach his dorm. 

He collapses onto his mattress, shuffling under the covers and sighing as if the exertions’ exhausted him. 

 “Will you stay with me?” It’s almost unintelligible with his cheek pressed into the satin pillow.

“James-”

“Please?” Those puppy dog eyes again, he’s well aware of what he’s doing. You huff, fighting a smile as you discard your shoes. “You can grab a pair of joggers and whatever else you need from my drawers.” 

“I can’t stay here all night.” 

“Why not? The boy’s will be gone for hours, love. I don’t wanna fall asleep alone.” The alcohols undoubtedly loosened his lips, he wets them before continuing. “Always hated it when I was little, you know? I used to crawl into my mum and dad’s bed in the middle of the night. I’d hate waking up to nobody being there.” He turns away so you can change, pulling the comforter to the side so you’ll be able to slip in. 

“I loved my parents bed too.” You smile fondly at the memories, pulling one of his shirts over your head and admiring the emboldened, crimson, ‘Gryffindor’ lettering across your chest. “When they sent me to bed, I would sneak out of my room and wait on the steps. I liked listening to the telly when they were watching it together late at night. Always felt left out.” You both huff a laugh, slipping in next to him as he turns to face you again. 

James pushes a stray stand of hair from your face, eyes wandering over your features. You gaze up at his ceiling instead, admiring the constellations Sirius has permanently charmed on the ceiling. 

“You’re so pretty.” It’s unthinking, muttered into the darkness of the room and slipping away. Your heart thrums against your chest, and a there's beginnings of forming lump in your throat.

“Don’t, James.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say...Say things you don’t mean.” His brows furrow, offended.

“Of course I mean that. I’ve always thought it.” You press your palms to your eyes, willing emotion away. 

“I mea- I mean things you don’t intend to act on.” You fumble out, unsure of your own words and their risk. “Things I’ll overthink.” A pang of hurt shoots through his chest, but you don’t notice the own despair running over his face as you watch a shooting star pass overhead. Wishing he’d really meant it, really wanted to act on it.

“I just think you’re beautiful. That’s all.” 

“Please, Jay. This is mean.” You hate how your voice cracks, how he creates distance between you. 

Mean. He’d prefer just about any other insult in the book. Somehow, mean sounds far worse than anything else. Especially when he’s taking a chance. 

“Merlin, how is that mean?” 

“It’s just-” “Have I made you uncomfortable?” 

“No.” You’re almost incredulous, unable to imagine an instance he’d ever overstep a boundary like that. “No, of course not. That’s the issue, actually.” 

“Well...I’d like to kiss you, then. Would that prove it?” You almost choke on your own saliva, gaze snapping over to his for any signs of jest. He runs a thumb over your brow, blinking slow. 

“You’re drunk, James.” There's no cruelty to it. If anything, you seem relieved, maybe even pleased with him. Potter’s smug again, an inkling of hope igniting in his chest. 

“Sober thoughts, lovely.”

“Maybe-” you swallow, nerves stalling you. “Maybe you can kiss me in the morning, when you're sorely hungover and regretting all the beer pong.” 

“Alright.” His cheeks are beginning to hurt from smiling, so he turns on his back so he won’t be able to look at you any longer. Hoping it aids the burning desire to cement his words. “You’ll stay though. Yeah?” 

“Always, James.” 

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

You’re weighed down by something awfully heavy the next morning. Sunlight seeping through the red and gold curtains adorning the window across the room. Sirius is sprawled out on his bed just under it, most agape with slumber. You narrow your eyes, confused with your surroundings. Up until you recognize the weight as a tanned, toned arm. Pulling you closer subconsciously. James is so close his breath fans over your neck, sending chills down your spine. You make a meek attempt at biting back the grin pulling at your lips as the memories flood in. 

Though the smell of coffee beckons you from your admiration of the sleeping chaser in front of you. Seriously, how someone looks that angelic fast asleep is beyond you. Carefully, you push the greedy extremity from your waist, slipping out of the sheets and shuffling toward the common area of the dorm. 

Remus stands over the stove and tends to pans of food whilst averting his gaze to a book beside him on the counter every now and then. You considered yourself a bookworm before you met him, having been utterly humbled ny his sheer addiction for literature. 

“Morning.” Its awfully complacent, Lupin doesn’t even look at you during his greeting. Tone heavy with self-satisfaction and suggestive teasing. 

“I slept next to him, Moons. I’m not having his children.” You pour yourself a cup of coffee, eager to indulge in the boy’s expertly crafted blend. 

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to.” You both turn your heads into the direction of an audible groan. James shuffles toward the both of you with his head low and shoulders hunched, grabbing at air until it connect with your mug. 

“I was drinking that.” It earns another grunt, you and Moons sharing an amused glance at the boy’s obvious hangover.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“What, too much fire whiskey for our renowned chaser to handle?” James can only gag at Lupin’s teasing, shooting him a death glare through watery eyes. You rub his back, snatching back your coffee when he leans into your touch. 

“You minx.” He mutters, betrayed. “You know I’m vulnerable.” You only roll your eyes, accepting the plate of food remus hands over with a grateful smile. James  snags a piece of your toast, desperate to soak up the liquor in his stomach and much too keen on stealing from you today. 

“I’m going to attempt to coax Padfoot out of bed. Watch the stove, y/n.” Remus  weaves around the kitchen island with his own toast hanging between his teeth, hair still tousled from sleep. 

Potter’s staring at you, unreadable expression amongst his features as he chews on his (your) food. “I’m assuming you got me to bed last night?”

“Not without difficulty.” James winces, a hand running through his hair. 

“Sorry if I was a pain, love. If I’m honest, I don’t remember much past our reconciliation.” He adorns a tight-lipped smile, guilty with a twinge of hangxiety. You only shrug, aiming to reassure him. “We’re good though, right?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking awfully adorable despite the effects of last night’s alcohol. 

Truth be told, James remembers bits and pieces. He remembers laying in such close proximity, wasted and aching for your lips on his. He can’t shake the feeling that you’re holding back. Had he made move? Had you rejected him? You couldn’t have kissed. Surely no amount of alcohol would have erased that daydream come reality. 

“We’re good, James. And you weren’t a pain. If anything, I can always count on you for being a fairly good-mannered and giddy drunk.” There’s a tilt to his head, a sudden glint in his eyes.

“Can’t say I was too well behaved, yeah?” Your eyes narrow, curious if he’s hinting at your conversation just minutes before sleep. His gaze doesn’t leave you as you approach him, standing on your tip toes so your face is mere inches from his. Just when his lids risk fluttering closed, you back away, having pulled a new mug from the shelf behind him. 

“I’d argue otherwise, Potter.” 

 “Oh?”  Oh. Are you...flirting with him? That confirms it, something had happened last night. “No usual antics then? We just, went to sleep?” Your eyes narrow at his questioning, uncovering the suspicion in his tone with ease. You decide you quite like when he’s nervous. He approaches where you’ve sat yourself on the counter. Subconsciously fitting himself in the space between your legs. Eyes averting to the pair of his sweats you have on, drowning your feet from the length on you. His heart swells with an emotion he can’t quite pinpoint, something between elation and pride. 

“What else would we have done?” You take a smug sip from the steaming cup in hand, nose scrunching in feigned distaste when he takes it from your grasp and sets it on the counter. 

“I dunno.” It’s practically a whisper, his voice still rasped from sleep as his eyes search yours. Eager to sense any sort of hesitation or discomfort on your part. Large hands graze the collar of your borrowed shirt as they reach your neck, cradling your head as if it might dissipate in his hold. You wet your lips, swallowing hard. There's an evident acceleration in both your breathing, and you’re convinced this’ll finally be it. This will finally be the moment James Potter proves to you you’re not just one of his best mates. 

And he thinks so too. 

“Don’t be worried, folks. King of the castle is very much alive and well. I know you’ve all missed me dearly in the agonizing time without my presence.” Sirius waltzes into the kitchen with remnants of eyeliner clouding the skin around his eyes with a bright smile. Bastard, no matter how much alcohol he consumes, just about never gets hungover. He stutters in his approach to the kitchen, a clear realization he’s most definitely just interrupted something. 

Prongs rips away from you like your skin has singed him, scratching at the back of his neck with poorly executed nonchalance. Embarrassment looks bad on him, but likely worse on you. Considering how stupid you must look with such hurt flashing over your face. 

Maybe its a sign, an indication from some higher power this isn’t meant to be. Considering James’ breakaway from the embrace, it seems as though this was merely a heat of the moment occurrence. But you don’t do casual, and you definitely don’t jeopardize years of friendship for some crush that just may actually be unrequited. 

You’re off the counter and awkwardly adjusting the much too big clothes swarming you as Remus reaches the group of you. He takes one look between the three of you, silently snatching the newspaper in lieu of the crossword, and slipping back into the bedroom.

“Did I-”

“No!” James and you are shaking your heads with feigned laughter before Sirius can even finish. Mirth settles comfortably on his dark features, crossing his arms with raised brows. 

“I was just gonna ask if I missed the doorway for a cup of coffee.” Prick doesn’t even attempt to hide his glee, ignoring the daggers James bores into him with his now murderous hazel eyes. 

“Still plenty left in the pot, Pads.” You tuck invisible strands of hair behind your ears, ignoring James’ shift of attention that lingers on your frame. He looks like he’s about to speak, but you’re already turning toward the front door. 

 “Jay,” despite the nickname, there’s no lift to your tone like before. “I have to go. Fluids, today. Or you’ll feel like shit for even longer.” He nods with a mock salute, fully aware he’ll perpetually be feeling like shit for a completely different reason. 

You shout a farewell to Remus, and a pleading smile to an awfully merry Sirius before slipping out the door. Rushing down the hall and toward the girl’s wing without a second thought. 

Black shoves the slightly taller boy in front of him in a fit of exasperation. Fed up with his bumbling idiot of a best mate. 

“You’re a coward, Prongs. Really.” James shrugs him off, recounting your proximity mere minutes ago with an overwhelming surge of glee. He smirks despite it all, biting back the oncoming lovesick grin.

“You know, she’s the only one that calls me Jay?”

“Merlin, you’re hopeless.” 

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

There’s a knock at the door as you reach for your lavender-scented body wash, closing one eye to avoid the trail of shampoo threatening to run into it. 

“It’s unlocked Marl’s, just come in.” You assume it’s one of your roommates of course, but are shocked at the voice that sounds from the other side of the door. 

“It’s me, actually.” James presses his forehead against the cool wood of the bathroom door, reconsidering whether or not he should actually go through with this. 

“Who’s me?” He feels like a fucking moron. 

“Oh, uh, James.” A wince, an oncoming urge to bash his head into the door to knock some sense into himself. 

“James?” You tug on both sides of the curtain to ensure it covers the entirety of the shower. “Um-”

“I’d wait for you to be out but,” the chaser rolls his shoulders, unaccustomed to such lack of self assurance. “This is sort of urgent.” And now he sounds like a perv, swell.

“Everything alright? Just come in, I can barely hear you.” He does as told, knocking over your array of skin care products set up on the counter because he’s shielding his eyes. You poke your head out to watch him scramble with the bottles, dropping one as soon as he grasps another. 

“Shit. Fuck, sorry. So sorry.” You can’t help but laugh, eyes narrowed in endeared disbelief as his gaze stays trained on the floor, unable to even glance in your direction. When it’s finally settled, he gathers what little dignity he has left to sit with his back against the ledge of the tub. 

“I’m sitting, is that alright?” 

“Its fine, Jay. What’d you need?” And there it is again. Fuck, are you doing this on purpose? A quick shake of his head, and he scoffs despite himself. The only answer his mind can manage is ‘you’ but he figures that’s likely not the best start to this. 

“It’s just, I can’t stop thinking about last night.” He wets his lips, wringing his hands together. “I feel like I may have said more than you let on.” 

You hum, biting back a smile. “Said something you regret?” It’s playful, but the subtle worry in your tone is most definitely there. Potter knows you better than that. 

“What? No. Merlin, no. If it’s what I think, then definitely not.” The grin wins this battle, you ensure all the suds have been rinsed out of your hair before you peek your head out. 

His eyes are still screwed shut, despite his back facing you. He’s tense, body hunched in an attempt to make himself smaller. Though it doesn’t do much. You feel particularly fond of him, just then. Committing this frame to memory. 

“And what do you think it was?” 

“You’re making this sort of difficult, love.” You figure you’ve tortured him long enough. Though it's what he deserves, considering he's left you with bread crumbs the entirety of the past year. 

“James?” He’s barely heard it with the combatting sounds of the running water, but it was there. Soft, sweet, enough to have him wishing you’d say it a million times more, and then some. 

“Y-yeah?” He lets you tilt his head back, his jaw clenching with the tension. You bend at the waist, ensuring not to drop any water on him whilst clutching the curtain tight against your frame. 

And just like that. In the middle of the muggy, steam-ridden bathroom. You kiss James Potter. 

It’s a little awkward in this position. Though he’s so tall you’re not completely bent down, it’s straining for both of you. Which is why you finally decide to reluctantly pull away, his hand taking hold of your jaw to pull you back for a couple swift kisses that unleash a hoard of butterflies throughout your stomach. 

“You said you wanted to kiss me,” your lips hover over his as you whisper. Pulling completely away to preserve your racing heart. Potter scrambles to his full height, adjusting his sleeves because he’s unsure of what to do with his hands now that they’re not on you. 

“Can. thank the whiskey for the confessions, I presume.” You giggle, and he has to fight the urge to shoot his gaze toward you at the sound. “You’re so pretty. I always thought so.” It’s unthinking, rushed out because the shared silence discomforts him. He feels like an idiot again. But you’ve scrambled up any sense of his ego or wit and he’s a mess. “Thought I should say that.” He’s not entirely sure how to clarify how he feels without accidentally professing his all-consuming love for you. Might come off a bit strong, he thinks.

“Oh, you did. A few times, actually.” Potter groans, pressing his palms into his eyes and bowing his head to shield his flushing cheeks. You laugh even more. 

“Have mercy on me, sweetheart. Please.” Its your turn to flush, unaccustomed to the new pet name. James cocks his head after a beat of silence, arm over his eyes to face you without actually being able to see you. “Ah, you liked that one. Didn’t you?” 

“Piss off.” 

“In just a minute, sweetheart.” He’s awful, straightening with pride when you can’t muster a witty response to the teasing. “Can I just have one more kiss?” He steps closer, hoping he won't trip considering the lack of sight. “And when you’re finished up, I’m taking you out.” 

“Hogsmeade?” Your voice lifts with excitement, forcing a smile from him. 

“Whatever you want.” He searches for you, lips jutted out pulled into a frown when you let him chase air. His hand goes out, aiming find you but quickly reminded of your current state of undress. It drops immediately, fists clenched and then releasing. “Must you make me suffer even more?” You roll your eyes, pressing a peck to each corner of his mouth and then his jaw. Pulling the curtain between you just after. “Wh-what was that?”

“Another kiss.” You note simply, going for your conditioner. “Kisses, actually.” 

“We’ll have to work on that definition, dove.”

<3 Masterlist <3

[pluto-bop]

The Person You Care For Most (Terurei-ish)

When Teruya receives his motive video, he already knows who he’ll see. He still doesn’t take it well.

(This is my first DRA/SDRA2 fic, and I haven’t written anything in about a year, so sorry if I’m rusty or the characters seem OOC. And shoutout to @i-cant-stop-fandoming-help for inspiring me to write this!)

“The details of the video are different depending on the person, but each will feature the person you care for most.”

As soon as the words left Monocrow’s mouth, Teruya went stiff. He could tell people had started to talk again, started to ask questions, but their words all went in one ear and right out the other. His gaze lowered to the floor, and his mouth felt dry. The person he cared for most… even now, without her by his side, he could picture her perfectly in his mind. Her piercing golden eyes, her soft ginger curls, that warm look she always saved just for him…

…It couldn’t be, right?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, being jolted out of his thoughts by an abrupt, booming voice. “You’re right!” Shinji cried, his gung-ho energy no less apparent than ever. Who the heck was he talking to…? Who was right about what? How long did he zone out for? “We can just choose NOT to watch it!”

For a few seconds, Teruya almost considered the idea. No way something Mikado called a motive would be any good to them, and maybe they’d be better off not knowing anyway. Maybe he’d rather not know… but as his mind drifted back to her, countless conversations replayed themselves in his head. Countless conversations where, over and over, he’d been told the same thing. Setsuka, Nikei, Sora… everyone. “Dead,” they each told him. “That Rei woman is dead.” Even when he refused to believe it outright, the thought haunted him every waking hour. The question never completely faded. Teruya clenched his jaw and let his hand fall to his side, carefully hovering over the pocket that held his Monopad.

“If you don’t watch the video, you’ll be punished.” Any other day, Teruya might have found the thinly veiled annoyance in Mikado’s voice amusing. Heck, he’d have found it hilarious. But this time… he couldn’t this time. Not now.

One or two people piped up in protest. Hibiki first, then Nikei after her. Part of Teruya wanted to snap at them, to tell them to just be quiet so they could watch their videos, so he could learn the truth, so he could see her face one last time… the other knew better. Of course he was antsy, his concern only growing with each passing second he was left in the dark. But could he really blame them? These people couldn’t be trusted. He knew that much. But still, when they tried so hard to keep it together and work as a team, this kind of setback would be demotivating for everyone. He knew that all too well. Still, the hand he kept waiting over his pocket twitched impatiently, and no amount of sympathy could stop the questions hurtling themselves around his mind in their own little hurricane of stress and anxiety. Teruya grimaced.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted to see her.

He needed to know if she was safe.

“Enough with the nonsense. If you’re gonna show us something, do it already. It’s already nighttime, and we’re wasting valuable time here.”

Teruya’s head snapped upward. He never thought he’d see the day he and Syobai agreed, and he felt a little guilty that they did. Maybe it was too blunt, and maybe it was a bit insensitive, but… what good would stalling be? A few people glared his way, not that Syobai seemed to mind. “Hmm… very well then.” Monocrow conceded with a firm nod. The room went silent, and everyone held their breath. In no more than five seconds, a number of dings went off. “I’ve now sent the videos. Please check your student handbooks.”

No one had to tell him twice. Teruya wasted no time damn near yanking his monopad right out of his pocket, briefly fumbling with (and nearly dropping) the device in the process. One or two others had already checked their student handbooks by the time he’d caught himself, but he barely noticed their reactions, let alone had time to acknowledge them. His focus was entirely set on the device in his hand, held so tightly his knuckles turned white. On it, a black screen with a white play button awaited his input.

Teruya braced himself, and hit play.

At first, nothing happened. No audio. No visuals. Nothing more than silent, black nothingness. Just as he thought to ask if it was glitched, some crackling noise stopped him. He focused back on the video with wide eyes and bated breath. The black began to fade, and the first thing to catch Teruya’s eye was the bright, illuminating flames growing higher and higher in what looked like a plaza. Where was this video taken…? He didn’t remember ever going to a plaza, nor did he remember anyone mentioning one to him, but for some reason it all felt so familiar... Screams erupted from within the video, and for a moment he could have sworn he heard his own among them. The camera zoomed in, slowly travelling closer and closer until it was enveloped by the flames. Teruya subconsciously brought the tablet closer to his face, fully engrossed.

Nothing could have prepared him to see his partner standing in the middle of all that fire.

Unsurprisingly, she recovered from the shock faster than most would have. Rei took a deep breath as she examined her surroundings, keeping her composure despite it all. Teruya had always admired Rei’s ability to keep calm even in the most dire of situations, but even she couldn’t hide her fear behind that stoic expression for long, and a similar sense of dread slowly began to wrap itself around Teruya.

“Damn it… Teruya!?”

He could feel his breath hitch when she started to frantically shout for him. “Teruya!” Rei shouted again, more firmly this time. He desperately wanted to respond, to tell her he was right there, that everything would be okay, and that’s when it hit him. Rei was there, and he was here. She was in danger, and Teruya wasn’t there with her. He was completely helpless to do anything but watch. As the video went on and the realization slowly creeped up on him, his heart began to sink. “I’m fine, just listen—“ she yelped, suddenly yanking her hand away from the fire. She tightly grasped her hand in the other with a pained hiss, but continued to call out to him. “You need to get out of there!” Despite her almost screaming by now, the horrified cries of whoever was on the other side seemed to completely down her out. Rei swallowed, the fear growing more evident on her face as the ever-growing flames closed in from every direction. “Get back to the boat, I’ll—“

Teruya and Rei gasped simultaneously as the bottom of Rei’s coat caught fire. Rei looked just as horrified as Teruya felt as she searched fruitlessly for a solution. An escape. Anything. She swore under her breath, running her fingers messily through her hair. “Alright,” Rei muttered to herself, her face pale and sweating. Her whole body trembled as she opened her mouth to shout one last time. “Teruya, I—!”

The screen went dark.

Teruya waited.

Nothing happened.

He felt sick.

He kept staring blankly at the screen, silently praying. This was just a glitch. There was more. There had to be more, that couldn’t be it. All those desperate attempts to convince him of Rei’s death came flooding back, and each argument seemed to repeat itself over and over on a painful, endless loop. Even as the others finished their own videos one by one, even as they began to scream and panic and cry, even though he’d so desperately wanted to help when he first arrived, Teruya did nothing. He couldn’t. He couldn’t comfort anyone, he couldn’t save anyone, god, he couldn’t even…

Teruya slipped his monopad back into his pocket. His vision blurred, and he struggled to tell if it was his hands shaking, or the rest of him. With everyone talking over each other, he could barely make out what they were saying. He couldn’t bring himself to try. All he could think of was Rei, the fire, her terrified expression, whatever she had tried to tell him before the video cut off… just picking apart his emotions felt like an impossible task. Fear. Despair. Rage. Confusion. And though on the verge of passing out, he just managed to tune back in once Monocrow cleared his throat.

“…To explain, you’ve probably seen a scene involving your most precious ones.” He scanned the crowd as if taking the time to analyze each individual face, and yet seemed to somehow avoid looking any of them in the eye. “I don’t know what kind of state they were in, but you each know what your own was like. So, here’s the highlight: three days! If a murder occurs within three days, I will show the blackened the final part of the video they watched.” So was why it cut off…? “In that video, you’ll see what happened to that person, where they are, and the state they’re in… so, you’ll get to see everything.”

The rest was a blur. So that was it. That was the motive. Teruya wanted to break down and cry, or hit something, or just do anything to rid himself of the utter misery that had befallen him. To be given a choice like that… killing someone to find out what happened to Rei, or never knowing… god, it was cruel. Teruya couldn’t kill anyone. He wouldn’t. He had made enough mistakes in his life, and he wasn’t eager to make more. But having seen all that, having no idea where Rei could be, and having no idea how to proceed… his whole world stopped. He took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out, grasping his scarf for comfort. Keep it together, Teruya. He told himself. What would Rei do? What would Tsurugi do? What am I going to do…?

“M-Mikado… Sannoji…” He whispered, his desperation barely contained as he seethed. “You bastard… what— what did you do to her…!?”

“Oh my,” Mikado sneered. “Has my dear Teruya already forgotten? You can find all the answers your heart desires all by yourself! You don’t even need to ask me! Well…” A sadistic grin formed on the masked half of his face, the other half deadpan as ever. “…If you want it badly enough.”

Teruya froze. It didn’t take a genius to understand the implications. Not after it had been explained so clearly. But he refused to believe it. Any of it. Rei wasn’t really dead. He wouldn’t really have to kill anyone to find the truth. None of this was really happening. Images of that damned video flashed through his mind despite his attempts to cast them out. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. “I-It can’t be true,” Teruya declared aloud, desperately clinging to that last, baseless strand of hope. “Yeah…” He reassured himself again. “That can’t be true!”

He pushed past someone—he couldn’t tell who—in his beeline for the exit. He could hear somebody calling after him, but didn’t look back. He just needed to think. It was a coincidence. No matter what he saw or what anyone told him, there had to be something else. Something that could explain what he saw. All he had to do was find it.

Rei was still alive.

She had to be.

Even if no one else believed it.

Even if Teruya didn’t believe it.

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance​ based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, T.

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

By Any Other Name…

—

Long-haul freight trucking isn’t for everyone. Days, sometimes weeks, away from home; a lot of gas station coffee, leaky motel rooms, and diners with sticky floors and dead-eyed waitresses whose smiles reflect lifetimes of missed opportunities.

Fíli fell into it after uni.

Unlike the majority, he loves his time on the road. Appreciates the peace the job offers. Of course, he misses his loved ones when he’s away for lengths of time, but he’s always been a bit of a hermit. He’s better at listening than engaging, which is perhaps why he considers the radio perfect company.

In particular, a mid-morning radio show that he maybe-sort of-but not really schedules his day around.

            “—And that was Last Christmas by Wham!. Sorry to those of you who almost made it this year!” The DJ cackles, not sorry at all. “Better luck next year.”

            “You’re a menace.” The cohost snorts before introducing the next song, something from the Top 40 to keep things moving.

Kíli Oaks is an incredible radio personality who makes the time pass quickly. Fíli deeply enjoys listening to Kíli’s show whenever it’s on, be it when he’s hauling freight or at home in his kitchen. And while it could be said that harboring a crush on a celebrity is a waste of energy, Fíli is content to indulge it.

His mother worries his interest in Kíli Oaks is hindering his chance of finding someone, “what with dedicating your attention to a disembodied voice.”

It’s a point of contention between them, but Díssandra Durin is a good mum and does her best to be supportive.

Exhibit A:

            “Doesn’t that man on the radio live in Pelargir?” She asked Fíli before he left.

            “And?”

She shrugged as if to say not that it matters, but “Aren’t you going to Pelargir?”

            “Mum, even if I lived near the radio station, the chances of ever meeting him are slim to none.” Fíli said, trying to keep his tone light despite it being the third time she’d made a remark of that nature.

            “You never know.”

            “Trust me, ma, I know. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?” Not that Fíli was angling for an answer. Of course it would be weird.

            “Or it could be a funny story you tell your kids one day.”

Fíli eyed his mother suspiciously, “Or it could be a traumatic story he tells the police.”

He expected her to drop the issue but, instead, she jutted her chin toward the coffee table and said, “Either way, that’s for you.” and carried on knitting as if she didn’t just blow the top of Fíli’s head off with surprise.

Fíli’s stomach clenches in excitement, glancing at the envelope on the dashboard.

While his mother doesn’t endorse his crush on Kíli, she found out about a Christmas special Kíli and his cohost are putting on to raise money for a Christmas charity. In front of a live audience.

An audience Fíli now has a ticket to be a member of.  

He doesn’t know how she did it, considering Kíli has more fans than there were tickets (the show sold out in minutes after the tickets went live), but Fíli’s infinitely grateful.

He listens as Kíli reads a listener’s text aloud, adding an anecdote of his own before both he and his cohost dissolve into fits of breathless, soundless laughter.

            “—That’s not what I said!” Kíli wheezes after his cohost accuses him of defiling a snowman.

Their producer urges them along, trying to herd the chaos into something manageable but Kíli and his cohost keep bantering.

            “Boys,” The producer says sternly, “The next song, please.”

Fíli imagines Kíli wipes the tears from his eyes and composes himself, “Right, right, right,” It seems that what’s cued to play isn’t what Kíli expects because he barks another laugh, “Nooo!’

His cohost squeezes the title of the next song out between giggles, “Here’s Snowman by Sia.” And off they go again, their laughter cut off as the song starts to play.

Fíli grins like an idiot, as if he’s part of the silliness. The adolescent, world is my oyster, everything is possible part of him would love to exchange funny stories with Kíli, watch him laugh until his eyes are glassy, cheeks ruddy and wet. The realistic, adult part of Fíli understands that such things can only happen by divine intervention. Which, in his experience, doesn’t actually exist.

Thus, he’ll go to the show, have a good laugh, respectably ogle Kíli from afar, and then end his evening reading over a cup of mulled wine.  

Brilliant.

***

“He’s so … sad.”

“Are you sure he isn’t too—” Finding the correct words to say ‘serial killer’ without actually saying ‘serial killer’ is difficult. “—antisocial?” Is just as bad, really, but better than ‘maladaptive’ or ‘socially awkward’.

A long, tired groan sounds from between the other two voices. “Don’t either of you have anything else to do?”

            “No.” The first two voices say in unison.

Meet Divine Intervention.

Thranduil peers into the Palantír, silvery hair curtaining his expression, though Gandalf guesses it’s one of disdain. Thranduil has a type; usually six-foot-four and Doriathen, with yodeling accents and donning colorful knitwear.

By contrast, Fíli Durin is a combination of broad strokes and blunt shapes, and a penchant for more subdued seasonal layers.  

            “He isn’t too far away, is he, Gandalf?” Radagast wonders, hovering over Gandalf’s shoulder to watch Fíli’s image in the milky glass, “Will he make it on time?”

            “If you two leave me to my work, I can see to it that he does.” Gandalf puts as much emphasis behind his words as he can muster around the bit of his pipe.

Thranduil and Radagast are deliberately trying to sabotage Gandalf’s progress, he’s certain. It isn’t his fault he has the reputation of casting some of the most intricate and everlasting Tapestries—or as Belinda from HR, in an attempt to rebrand the realm into the 21st Age, calls them: Love Stories.

Gandalf puffs his pipe grouchily at the idea.

As long as there have been a moon and stars, there have been Weavers tasked with the choosing and care of the roses from Lorien’s garden. Each rose contains within its petals a communion, some more momentous than others, but all serving a significant purpose in the lives of those selected to sustain them. A Weaver’s sole responsibility is to match a pair worthy of a rose’s influence and have them meet before the final petal falls. If things go well, the rose blooms anew, radiant and golden, until the span of the—Gandalf shudders—Story is complete.

Otherwise…

Well, nothing happens. Some roses aren’t meant to be epic tales worthy of Shakespearean prose, mild in colour and force. Other roses burn too bright and fizzle out before a Weaver can say Tom Bombadil. It depends partially on the rose and partially on the Weaver’s capabilities.

And Gandalf’s capabilities far exceed those of many Weavers, a fact highlighted by the shelves of thriving roses encases in their glass cloches.

He has full confidence that the pair he selected are absolutely perfect for each other.

Fíli may be content in his aloneness, but he is strong and patient and has so much love to give. And Kíli? Kíli is—

***

“You’re being obnoxious, Kee.” Boromir says, slingshotting another rubberband at Kíli’s forehead.

It hits with a dry snap and falls into the mounting pile in Kíli’s lap, leaving behind a blossoming red spot right between his eyebrows.

“Am not!” Kíli wails through a wide smile, gathers all the rubberbands and lobs them in Boromir’s general direction.

He isn’t. He’s being prudent; a word his grandmother would never use to describe him, but there he is, being just that. Someone’s future happiness rests entirely in the palm of his hand and he will not risk ruining it.

            “You are.” Boromir insists, ignoring their producer, Merry, as he frantically signals for Kíli to prepare for the interlude. “You’ve got that glassy-eyed look you get after a good shag.”

            “I don’t like that you know that about me.”

Boromir bobs his head in consensous, “Nor do I.”

And they’re back on air. Kíli dutifully lists the titles of the songs they just played and introduces the next queue, promises he and Boromir will return for their typical Wednesday slot of Say It or Spray It—a game their old producer concoted to embarrass the shit out of Kíli on his first day hosting the midmorning show.

Needless to say, it had only fueld Kíli’s fire, and look at him now, several years later and a staple at GBC Radio 1.

As soon as their mics are muted again, Kíli whips out his phone, presses his thumb to the print verification button and opens his professional TikTok account.

Boromir rolls his eyes.

Kíli sticks out his tongue.

            “See?” Boromir points toward Kíli with his hand, “Obnoxious.”

Kíli scrolls past hundreds of unread DMs to the thread he’s revisited about forty times in the last hour, swipes through the thread until he reaches the picture attached.

It’s of a man, close to Kíli’s age. Kissable lips swept into a gentle smile, square shoulders and a barrel chest accentuated by the thin, visibly loved band t-shirt worn when the picture was taken. A candid shot at what appears to have been a cookout, hinted to by the long twig he’s hold with a marshmallow speared through the tip.

He’s handsome—very handsome—exactly the sort of bloke Kíli topples head-over-heels for.

            “Your love life is so tragic that someone’s mum is taking pity on you.” Boromir teases, nudging Kíli’s foot with the tip of his shoe.

Kíli wants to sling a comeback at him, but finds he can hardly disagree. Besides, Kíli wouldn’t mind taking the man’s mum up on the offer.

Tragically, she isn’t offering.

She messaged Kíli hoping to get a ticket to Kíli and Boromir’s live audience Christmas special. When Kíli asked his producer about available tickets, he was stunned to discover they’d sold out faster than a Taylor Swift concert.

            “We reserved some for family, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Merry told him.

Kíli replied to the woman, Dís Durin she called herself, with the good news, happy to offer one of his personal tickets to Dís’—very handsome—son, Fíli.

“You’ve got that goofy look on your face again.” Boromir announces. “New update on your boyfriend?”

            “Naff off.” Kíli kicks Boromir’s shin under the table. Boromir oufs in surprise, fixes his face into a glare and retaliates by swatting the top of Kíli’s head.

            “Don’t start, you two, the song’s almost over.” Merry warns, crossing his arms sternly. He slants his gaze toward Kíli, “But Boromir has a point, Kee, you might want to work on that dopey face you make before you meet him. Bit unattractive.”

            “Oi!”

***

Draped across Gandalf’s armchair, where he retreated when he and Radagast were shooed away from the Palantír, Thranduil indicates to Kíli, “I like that one, he has passion.” Then he slides a bored glance back to Fíli, “All that one does is drive around in a big truck.”

            “He must have something up his sleeve,” Radagast says in defense of Gandalf as if he’s not there to do it for himself. “The old rascal wouldn’t risk losing.” That is, the bet Gandalf made with Elrond, a Spindler from the third floor who specializes in forks in the road.

A bet made because, to be frank, Weaving loses its charm after a Weaver’s third millennia performing the task. Sometimes, they need incentive, and high-stakes gambling is the motivation Gandalf requires to ensure he doesn’t wilt a rose into lost opportunity.

            “Quite right.” Gandalf lifts his chin proudly and reprimands Thranduil, “How dare you question my artistic process.”

Thranduil meets his stare flatly. “So,” He says, his tone suspiciously matter-of-fact, “All he has to do is get to Pelargir by the strike of 6?”

            “Yes.” Gandalf says cautiously.

            “Very good. And how exactly do you plan to get him there through an avalanche?”

Gandalf whips his head back to the Palantír, alarmed. Although an avalanche is a mighty exaggeration, the scene unfolding in the glass isn’t much better. Wiggling his fingers in a rapid, deliberate pattern, Gandalf hunches over the Palantír with fierce concentration.

Fíli’s truck rumbles merrily along in the cloudy image to the left. In the image to the right is an unholy dumping of snow. Fíli’s still far enough away that Gandalf has time to maneuver a solution, but the window is narrow.

The situation may require—

Thranduil and Radagast watch Gandalf intently, look at each other and then back to Gandalf.

Slowly, his face set in determination, Gandalf raises from the ether a shovel with a wide, metal blade.

—Drastic. Action.

***

The trouble starts just as Fíli leaves Minas Tirith. Snow falls in sheets, thick and sticky, forcing Fíli to slow his speed and call Central.

            “I stayed ahead of it for awhile,” Fíli explains of the weather, “But it finally caught up to me.”

Bofur snorts, “Guess that luck of yours is finally running out, ay Durin?”

            “Not a chance. Just a little bit of delay. I’ll still make it by this evening.” Fíli reassures, “Just let them know, yeah?”

            “I’m on it. Drive safe, lad!”

Fíli smiles, “Cheers.” and disconnects the call.

Unfortunately, Bofur might’ve been right about Fíli’s luck running out.

Things get worse by Aglarshire, a road closure forcing Fíli to take the exit into town for an impromptu break. After eight hours at the wheel, he’s due one anyway, but he’d hoped to get as far as Karaborough before making the stop.

The snow is really coming down now, and the townships between Minas Tirith and Pelargir aren’t equipped to handle removal like the big cities.

Still, Fíli tries to stay positive.

Almari’s café serves the best stew and crusty bread this side of the White Horns. Almari herself is the motherly sort; a short woman of stout figure and a kind face, somehow able to discern what Fíli needs as soon as he steps through the door.

The café is quiet apart from two men arguing about livestock. A traditional, rustic ambiance of dark wood and brass accents, mismatched tables rubbed in places of their stain and chairs that creak when occupied. An impressive oak bar stretches the length of the wall across from the entrance, hosting a row of tall stools with worn leather seats.

From where she’s polishing silverware, Almari indicates with a blunt knife to a snug corner at one end of the bar. Fíli obliges, pinching off his gloves on the way. He has to remove his coat to sidle between the wall and the counter, and plants himself on the lone stool at an awkward angle before he can maneuver his legs under the bar. Once he’s situated, he turns to hang his coat on the hook above his left shoulder.

It’s a questionable fit, but the space offers a sense of cozy privacy; just what he needs to settle his nerves after driving through nasty weather.

Almari appears and sets a steaming cup of strong coffee in front of him, smiles warmly, and pats his forearm with the affection of an old friend.

            “Bit nippy out there.” She says, brushing snow from his beard with the towel she’d been using to polish the silverware. “Wouldn’t go out there for all the money in the world.”

            “It’s not so bad.” Fíli assures, “At least it’s not icy.”

Almari looks skeptical, “I’m just happy I don’t have far to go when I close up.” Her apartment being directly above the café. “Would be a nightmare trying to find my car after all this snow.”

Fíli agrees. “A real archeological dig, ay?”

Almari considers him sympathetically for a moment before she breaks the news Fíli feared when he was redirected toward Aglarshire. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. The plows might not get to our neck of the woods for awhile yet.”

Fíli’s heart leaps to his throat, but he arranges his features into a neutral guise. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Almari straightens and smooths down her apron. “The usual, then?”

            “If you don’t mind.”

            “Never, when it comes to you, boy.” Almari leans over the bar again and pinches Fíli’s cheek softly. Then off she sweeps into the kitchen, barking Fíli’s order to the cook, Randolf, her husband of thirty years.

Fíli glances outside, brow knitted. He can hardly see the road through the curtain of snow. He slips a hand in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater and gently holds the envelope he tucked in there for safe keeping, contemplating his options.

At best, he’ll be late. At worst, he’ll miss Kíli’s show altogether and have to apologize to his mother for money wasted. Not that she’ll mind. Nah, she’ll probably take it as a sign from the cosmos that Fíli needs to plant his attention in reality.  

No sense fretting, Fíli resolves and fishes his book from his coat pocket.

Whatever happens, happens.

…And say it again, with feeling.

Fíli huffs through his nose, molars grinding, and flips his book open to where he left off.   

***

This is wholly unorthodox, Weavers traveling through the curtain into Arda, but Gandalf’s mind is made up. Why Thranduil and Radagast join him, he doesn’t know, their motivations none of his concern.

They land as a unit, dropping like stones into the snow from above. Gandalf and Radagast disappear for a moment beneath the plush white, while Thranduil’s head and shoulders pierce the snow, his long, dainty legs the only bit of him now visible to the world.

Gandalf and Radagast pop up, pull themselves free and brush themselves off. Thranduil’s legs kick frantically before either notice he’s stuck. Together, they yank Thranduil free and resume orienting themselves, scanning their surroundings for anything that can help them on their journey.

            “Aha!” Gandalf sees it first, the depot the town uses to house their massive machines.

            “That’s what you have in mind?” Thranduil sounds incredulous, “I thought we shelved your idea to shovel three hundred kilometersofroad.”

Radagast wrings his hands, worried for Gandalf’s sanity.

            “Not shovelling,” Gandalf corrects with a wicked glint in his eye, “Plowing.”

            “Oh my…” Radagast squeaks, as Thranduil erupts, “You cannot possibly think that’s a better solution! You’ve never even used one of those ghastly contraptions!”

Gandalf waves him off, “How hard could it be?” and trudges forward, carving a path for Radagast and Thranduil to follow.

As it turns out, it’s incredibly hard. For three whimsical beings of the Otherlands, anyway.

Once they locate the right machine, one boasting a large, yawning blade at its front, they struggle to bring it to life. Gandalf and Radagast fiddle with levers and buttons, pressing and pulling things at random.

            “What about this one?”

            “No, no, no, it must be this one.”

            “Or this one.”

Thranduil rolls his eyes, content not to participate. No, he’s a being of acute intelligence and has a better idea than pushing and prodding everything like toddlers in an elevator.  

Without saying a word, he marches toward what a sign specifies is the Main Office. He enters and slips behind the front desk to study a corkboard filled with rows of keys, all labeled neatly for convenience.

At least these Gondorian neanderthals are organized, he muses.

It takes less than a minute for him to locate the right key. Just as he wraps his fingers around it—

            “Hey! Who are you!?” A man shaped like a star demands. He’s round in the middle and thin everywhere else with a head of stringy black hair. The stench of self-importance radiating from him suggests to Thranduil he’s the one in charge of the fleet of machines.

Thranduil groans dramatically, completely put-off by the whole situation, “Well, shit.” In a calculated act of defense, he grabs the computer off the front desk and brings it down on the man’s head.  

He crumples into a heap instantly.

Thranduil takes the right key, steps over the man elegantly, and marches back to Gandalf and Radagast.   

***

            “Looks like it’s your lucky day,” Almari tells him, watching through the snow the silhouette of a snowplow thunder down the road at speed. She frowns, “Can’t always believe what they tell you on the news, can you?”

            “‘Spose not,” Fíli chuckles, fishing a Ꞓ201 note from his wallet and dropping it on the bar. “I’d better be off.” He shrugs on his coat, flashing a bright smile at Almari, “Thanks for lunch, it was delicious as ever.”

            “Stop in on your way back.” Almari instructs, “I’ve a special Christmas menu that I think you’ll enjoy.”

Fíli nods, walking backward a few steps, “Will do.” He salutes playfully then spins around and pushes through the door. The wind and snow hit him like a brick wall, almost forcing him backward. Thankfully, he’s made of stronger stuff, and shoulders his way toward his truck.

Though the road has been cleared, the car park is still covered in a blanket of white that reaches halfway to Fíli’s knees. Not ideal, Fíli thinks, but doable. If he leaves now, he’ll make it to Pelargir and complete his delivery by early evening, as intended with the mild delay.

He only hopes things go smoothly from here.

***

Kíli squints against the stage lights, but it’s impossible to distinguish anyone in the audience. Both he and Boromir are already in their places, microphones adjusted to their preferences, muted until the broadcast starts.

He kept an eye out for Fíli while backstage, peeking into the auditorium as often as Merry would allow (which wasn’t often, between frog marching Kíli to hair and makeup, and debriefing Kíli and Boromir on their lineup of special guests and the playlist).

Never in a million years did Kíli think he would be this dedicated to making a fan happy. Usually, that’s PRs job, fussing over giftbags and food boxes, when and where fans can meet the DJs, and so on. This time, Kíli forced his involvement, questioning Rosie about Fíli’s seating arrangement and whether or not he’ll receive a one-on-one with Kíli after the show ends.

Rosie massaged her temples, said in a clipped tone, “Kíli, please, let me do my job.”

            “I just—”

She raised her hands in a gesture parents use to calm their children, “I understand this is important to you, but just worry about the show. I’ve taken care of everything. Your guest will be treated like royalty, just like the other invitees, alright?”

Kíli swallowed and nodded shortly, “Alright.”

Now, he fiddles with the ungodly Christmas blazer wardrobe forced him into. The pattern is bright green-and-red plaid embroidered with sparkly gold thread. Beneath he wears a thin sweater in a crisp white with the image of a fluffy Christmas tree on the front, and, under that, a red, collared shirt.

Boromir dons an equally as gaudy combination, though he seems far less uncomfortable, sprawled in his chair like a king at a feast, texting his wife who sits in the audience only meters away.

“Two minutes.” Merry announces, coming up to them. “You two ready?”

“Yes.” Boromir says at the same time Kíli says, “No.”

“Well, pull it together, man,” Merry insists as he grabs a handheld microphone and prepares to deliver his welcome introduction to the audience. “Don’t forget to smile!” He urges, tracing an exaggerated U over his mouth with his forefingers, before trotting to the front of the stage and signalling to the sound booth.

            “Mate, you’ve never been nervous a day in your life.” Boromir reminds Kíli, “You’ve got this.” He reaches forward and squeezes Kíli’s shoulder. “Right?”

            “Right.” Kíli says and, for the first time since he started a career in radio, he doesn’t believe it.

***

After abandoning the wreckage of the snowplow in a ditch for the town to deal with, Gandalf, Thranduil and Radagast stomp through the door of Gandalf’s office, dusting snow off their shoulders and shaking it out of their hair.

            “That was the worst thing you’ve ever done.” Thranduil says, plopping into the armchair. “I can’t believe we weren’t killed.”

            “Close enough,” Radagast winces, rubbing the lump at the back of his head.

Gandalf grins, pleased with himself. “It worked, didn’t it?”

            “Fine and well,” Thranduil flaps a hand toward the Palantír, “But what about that? You want to plow through a bunch of civilians, too?”

Deflating, Gandalf watches the image shift from Fíli’s truck to the kilometers of bumper-to-bumper traffic heading into Pelargir. Construction lights and road signs herd cars into one of five lanes, the other four closed for repaving.

Because of fucking course it is.

            “He’s not going to make it,” Radagast laments, hand over his heart. “Even after all we’ve done…”

            “Mmm.”

Thranduil pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but: you are aware there’s a whole city and many hours of night at your fingertips, yes?”

Gandalf stares at him inquisitively, inviting Thranduil to continue, “They don’t need to meet at the show.”

Radagast brightens, “They don’t need to meet at the show!”

            “I’m surprised how much you care.” Gandalf admits to Thranduil. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

            “Oh, shut up. I just don’t want to see you lose your bet. Elrond is insufferable enough as it is.” He amends and stands, holding out a hand for Gandalf to take, “Now, let’s see this shitshow through to the end, shall we?”

            “Indeed.”

***

Fíli didn’t make it.

The traffic into the city was worse than Fíli’s ever experienced in all his days hauling freight. It crawled ahead by inches for close to two hours, during which Fíli listened to the Christmas special with a broken heart.

He knows better now than to get his hopes up about this sort of thing. Not that he expected much out of the evening, at most an autograph or a handshake.

Still…

Fíli shakes his head, hellbent on turning the night around.

The delivery successful, albeit an hour later than scheduled, he takes the underground downtown and roams the busy streets. Pelargir looks like something out of a Hallmark movie, glittering under strings of gold and coloured lights. Storefronts are decorated with garland and baubles and tinsel, all arranged to evoke Christmas cheer.

It works, the chill of dismay lifting ever-so-slightly from Fíli’s chest.

Fíli plucks his way through the bustling crowd, keeping an eye out for somewhere to eat. He’s decided to treat himself to something fancier than he’s used to. Somewhere with cloth napkins and unique cutlery for each dish.

He spends twenty minutes wandering up and down the maze of streets, reading menu displays and peeking in windows at restaurant floors crammed with guests. Turning another corner, Fíli’s just about to throw in the towel and find the nearest fast-food joint when he, quite literally, stumbles upon a small sidewalk a-frame that’s chalk lettering promises Festive Fancies Within.

Fíli scans the area, hoping that no one saw him trip over the sign, and sets it to rights.

It’s as good a place as any, less busy than everywhere else, though still hosting a fair amount of people. Fíli is greeted by a cheerful looking older gentleman with twinkly grey eyes and a beard to match.

            “How many?” The gentleman inquires.

            “Just me.” 

            “Ah, for one. I can only offer a seat at the bar, I’m afraid. Though, rest assured, the service is exceptional.”

Fíli shrugs, already unwrapping his scarf and shoving his gloves in his coat pocket. “Suits me just fine.” He says and allows the gentleman to escort him to a seat near the middle of the bar.

The bartender casts him a smile, indicating he’ll be right with him, and continues to expertly shake and prepare multiple drinks at a time. Fíli watches the bartender pour the contents of one shaker into a chilled martini glass with a flourish, while bouncing another shaker from his elbow into his hand before emptying it into a rocks glass filled with a single, large cube of ice.

Fíli doesn’t bother to hide his awe, never having been anywhere the bartenders perform tricks. It’s obvious the bartender appreciates Fíli’s open admiration since he slides Fíli a drink with three discernable layers— seasonal red, white, and green—in a tall glass, garnished with a spear of dark cherries and lime, and a sugar-frosted rim.

            “Thank you.” He says when the bartender approaches to drop a menu in front of him.

            “My pleasure.” The bartender smirks, “Just signal me when you’re ready to order.” And off he swans, plucking a long chit from the machine behind the bar and filling its order in an intricate series of movements not unlike a ballet.

***

Kíli feels like he’s being followed. He’s not unfamiliar with the sensation. Since being on the radio and hosting a handful of televised events, a few enthusiastic encounters occurred on behalf of fans. Normally, he invites the adoration, wanting to accommodate those who support his career; they’re responsible for his success, after all.

Tonight, however, he’s not in the mood.

He wasn’t expecting to feel such crushing disappointment when Rosie informed him after the show that Fíli hadn’t been in the audience. The show itself was a resounding success, deserving of the standing ovation it received when the broadcast ended.

Only, Kíli can’t bring himself to be proud. He was looking forward to meeting Fíli, had a plan to invite him out for a drink—maybe a meal—get to know the man whose mother loves him so much, she’d slipped into Kíli’s DMs.

The tingling at his nape increases, the feeling of being followed morphing into something ominous.  

Not wanting to be axe-murdered, Kíli picks up his pace, striding around a corner as quick as he can without drawing attention to himself. As he’s about to break into a full-out run, he trips and crashes into a restaurant a-frame, ill-placed in the middle of the sidewalk.

            “What the shit!” He cries, hurrying back to his feet. It’s then that he notices a crooked figure rounding the corner. “Vala—” He bolts up the cobblestone path to the door of the restaurant and practically falls inside.

There are a fair few people (witnesses, Kíli thinks, relieved) conversing over expensive looking meals and bottles of wine. The place has an old-world charm about it, stone walls and exposed beams, the waiters donning bowties and polished shoes.

            “Hello.” The host greets him, startling Kíli.

            “Hi!” He chokes out. The host looks ancient, sort of wizardlike. “Hi, yes, sorry.” He tries again, surreptitiously glancing behind him to see if the crooked figure has followed him inside.

The doorway is empty.

            “For one, please.”

The host picks up a menu, “The bar is open for full-service, tonight,” he explains, “Unfortunately our tables are reserved for parties of two or more.”

            “Sounds great,” Kíli follows the host to the end of the bar, unzipping his leather jacket and pulling off his scarf. He’s so focused on getting himself sorted that he doesn’t notice the bartender delivering a pint of Guiness he didn’t order until a coaster is placed in front of him.

Kíli’s about to say something when the bartender, a dazzling man with silvery hair, informs him, “From the gentleman at the end.” and hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he’s referring to.

            “Oh,” Kíli slopes to the side to see around the bartender and his jaw drops. “Oh…!”

He can’t believe it. There, sitting alone, slouched over a book that has his full concentration, is Fíli Durin. Kíli can’t help the airy laugh he lets out and quickly gathers his jacket and scarf.

            “Thank you,” He says to the bartender, who sports an oddly conspiratorial grin, “I’m just going to—yeah.” In his excitement, Kíli almost forgets his pint, grabs it at the last second, and scurries—not too eagerly, lest he present himself as a wanker—to fill the vacant seat beside Fíli.

Fíli, so enraptured by his book, doesn’t notice.

Kíli clears his throat, “Um, hi there.”

Fíli’s head jerks up, eyes wide, and slowly turns to face Kíli, face slackening into pure shock. Kíli’s heart is in his throat, palms suddenly clammy. Fíli is more handsome in person than in the picture Dís sent.

            “I—you don’t mind, do you?” He asks about the seating arrangement.

Fíli blinks, seeming to come back to himself, “No. No, please, go ahead.”

            “You’re Fíli. Fíli Durin, right?”

Visibly confused, Fíli answers slowly, “Um, yes. How did you—?“

Kíli cuts in quickly to avoid being mistaken for a stalker. “—Your mum sent me a message a few days ago.”

He’s never seen anyone look so delicious when processing the shock and horror of a mother’s good intentions. Fíli makes it work.

            “Oh, Mahal, she didn’t.” Fíli drops his head into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as he chuckles through the embarrassment.

            “I thought it was adorable.” Kíli admits and catches Fíli’s gaze, holding it for a few seconds before casting his eyes downward.

Fíli barks a laugh, a sound that sends a jolt of heat to Kíli’s gut, “You did not.”

            “I did!” Kíli shifts closer to Fíli and winks, “I really appreciated the picture she sent, too. I didn’t know Nibin Noeg had any fans left after their last album.”

They banter back and forth; the way Kíli doesn’t know Fíli always imagined they would. The conversation swells and eases by turns, the two slowly losing themselves in one another as the world around them trickles away.

Fíli is interesting and funny and more than Kíli assumed, and Kíli doesn’t want to be anywhere else ever again.

From the look Fíli gives him, Kíli thinks Fíli feels the same.

***

Collapsing into various seats around Gandalf’s office, the three Weavers heave sighs of relief.

            “We did it.”

            “Understatement of the century, Gandalf.” Thranduil retorts, summoning a cup of elderberry tea. He directs his next statement to Radagast, “I can’t believe you got him—” that is, Kíli, “—there on time.”

Radagast shrugs helplessly, “I didn’t. I lost him outside the theater.”

They allow the information to marinate between them for a minute before Gandalf snorts and then erupts into booming laughter. Thranduil joins him next and then Radagast, though somewhat less enthusiastically.

There are three things a Weaver understands intrinsically.

One, Weavers aren’t miracle-makers.

Two, Weavers can’t force love to happen where it doesn’t want to.

And three, Eternal Love is a rare gem that will bring two people together.

With or without a Weaver’s interference.

Gandalf flicks his wrist and catches a stein of lager that appears, takes a deep drink, and says thoughtfully, “What a bloody waste of time.”

            “At least you get to keep your hat.” Radagast points out.

            “Very true, old friend, very true…”

 ***

END

1 – I wanted to incorporate Castar currency, but there obviously isn’t a symbol for it so…this is what I liked best XD

[angelcqre]

Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The ship is warm when you step into it. It’s jarring - in the empty vacuum of space, it’s difficult to maintain warmth, an expenditure of energy that most sentients agree is wasteful at best and suicidal at worst. It’s all too possible that your engine runs out of energy in the middle of nowhere, stranding you for any sleemo to come up on you, especially in the Outer Rim.

And this is deep kriffing Outer Rim.

The airlocks hiss as you step further in, sealing you with the armored man and his crew and the signature in the force that twinkles bright, a splay of youth-curiosity-exhaustion that reminds you of the creche. Of home. Fortuitous, really, that you had been conducting the watchman’s circuit, that you had been so close. A fresh knight in the right place at the right time.

The man before you doesn’t have his helmet on - displays a face that looks older than it should, warm eyes crinkling at the edges even as he looks at you with skepticism and distrust, inscrutable in the force, but mandalorians are like that, are trained to be like that. Jedi hunters, you’re reminded of when your people were at war.

You have no doubt he’s as deadly as any legend of old.

“You’re the jedi,” He says, and his voice is gruff, not a question, no, an accusation. You hum in acknowledgement, hands folding in front of you where you know he can see them, far from the lightsaber hitched onto your belt. "C'mon then - the child is waiting."

You fall into step with him easily, cognizant of him watching you out the corner of his eye. He's good - you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't tuned into his presence in the force. As well-shielded as he is, his awareness is a heavy, distinctive thing, scrutinizing and considering. You think he might be sizing you up. Beneath the armor, you can tell the man is broad, large, surely strong enough to lug around at least seventy pounds of armor, if your own assessment is accurate.

He'd probably give you a run for your money. Your lips quirk at that, curl. It's been a while since you've had a good fight.

He leads you through the small ship to what appears to be a common room - a rounded table embedded into the floor, surrounded by three stools and a backed bench that edges the wall, all smooth durasteel.

In the corner is the largest mandalorian you've ever seen. The man is huge - even beneath his armor, you can tell he's built, broad shoulders and a barrel chest and thick thighs. He'd be downright intimidating - he might still be intimidating - if he didn't have a child nestled into the crook of his arm, dozing happily against the fabric of his cape, one small hand wrapped around his gloved finger tight. She radiates into the force, a steady stream of comfort-safety-sleep that has your own eyes feeling heavy, made worse by how warm the ship is.

You take a step forward as you hear the other man head to the cockpit, curiosity getting the best of you, but the man in the corner's head snaps up, fixes on you like a predator's would, and your breath catches in your throat.

He's like a black hole in the force. It's unnerving - where there should be at least an outline of him, there's a void, unnatural and odd, nearly swallowing the child he's holding and all of her brilliance. You have to fight the urge to snatch her away, to soothe the feeling of strangeness that lingers in the air.

Good shields. Too good - he's all but erased himself in the force. It's a degree of fascinating that has you eager to edge closer and just as eager to step away.

"Tion'cuy?" He asks, voice a low growl, his voice modulator making it worse, and as you approach, you can see that there's some sort of paint along the black beskar, a stylized skull on his bucket and bones etched onto his gauntlets. "Ibic cuyir te jetii?"

"Basic in front of the jedi, vod, captain's orders," Drawls a voice from behind you, a force signature registering alongside the steady sounds of boots on metal grating, lighter than you'd expect for the kind of greaves you're sure he's wearing. "He's askin' what you are, bonnie lass, case you were wonderin'. 'M Soap," He hooks a thumb, gestures to himself, and then to the black-armored mando- "'N that's Ghost."

Unlike Ghost, Soap's armor is lighter, intricately painted in swirls of color that look almost to be like.. explosions against the deep green color, bursts of orange and yellow in sporadic splatters of pigment. His helmet is on, T-Visor dark and obstructive, but his voice is friendly enough, accent thick and warm and low.

"Soap and Ghost. It's a pleasure to meet you both," You say, letting some of the tension loose from your shoulders, gaze flicking between the two of them. "I'm a jedi - a knight. The closest one the council could send. They said it was an emergency case.." Your eyes trail down to the bundle in Ghost's arms, one brow arching when he shifts to hold the baby girl a bit more protectively, wary of you in the way that mandalorians often are. You don't move from where you're standing - not when Soap leans in to inspect you, not when a third lopes out, bucket under his arm and an easy smile on his face.

"And this one's Gaz." Soap rumbles, and this one - this one is different. An easy smile, long lashes, full lips, he's undeniably beautiful, but more than that -

He's force sensitive. You can feel him sprawled out through the force; easy, confident, not enough to qualify for the temple but enough to notice. You hum softly, rattle off your name, try not to take it personally when none of them take note of it.

There's a lightness to his presence. You wonder how it presents; with those just toeing the edge of sensitivity, it typically manifests in gifts, specializations. There's a clearness to Gaz's eyes as he looks you over, a sharpness.

"So you're here to keep the ik'aad from tearing our ship up more?" His voice is smooth, easy, a crisp coruscanti accent that has you tilting your head in curiosity and nodding. He rewards you with a smile, relief flashing in dark eyes, his posture loose and easy. His helmet goes to rest on the table as he drops into a stool, loosing a low sigh and reaching out to the baby.

"That's the idea. Untrained force sensitives are.. difficult," You respond, doing well to keep the question out of your voice. You doubt he knows, and even if he does, it's none of your business. "It's why we start them in the creche from as young as possible. Big feelings, a lot of power, no idea how to control that power.. it's a recipe for disaster, especially on prolonged trips."

Slowly, you move to sit at the table as well, gaze trained on the faceless man holding the child. You can feel his eyes on you - feel him assessing you, just as their captain had, but there's intent behind it that the other man simply hadn't had. Like if you moved wrong, he'd have no qualms squashing you like a grub.

"And that wouldn't amplify the.. difficulty?" Gaz asks, leaning forwards, brows raising, fine lines on his forehead becoming more pronounced. He looks young - you wonder if he's had his fair share of stress. "All of 'em together?"

"Thankfully, no. Between the crechemasters and the creche itself, crechelings are kept pretty settled," You say, gaze once again flicking to the baby. "We, ah. We project calm."

"Some of that jetii banthashite, bonnie?" Soap drops into the bench beside Ghost, utterly oblivious to the ache.

"Something like that."

"Well, s'long as it ain't pointed at us," He says, smiling with a bit too much teeth to be anything other than perfectly clear - friendly as he might be, the wariness is sharp. "'M sure ye ken not to misbehave with us, hen."

You keep your face schooled into impassive placidity, the perfect image of a settled jedi, even if the hair on the back of your neck rises at the suggestion of a threat. Your own eyes reflect back to you on that mirrored visor, and you swallow, soften your eyes, offer an easy, calm smile.

"Of course not."

It's going to be a long trip to coruscant.

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Can you believe it’s finally canon confirmed that the Shinra Infantry is Co-ed?

Anyway, if Cloud’s an omega he’s rooming with Tifa and Aerith when there's only 2 rooms available. They decide that for him. (And I'm starting to play around to re-remember how I write everyone's voices)

Tags: omegaverse

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

“I’m very sorry,” the Innkeeper says, looking up at the group of them after closely checking over his records. “We only have two rooms available.”

Cloud winces at it because he knows he’s the reason two rooms would be a problem. It not considered appropriate for omega men to sleep in the same room as either men or women that aren’t their family or mate.

Even Shinra would always sleep them separately. Which often left Cloud rooming alone when out on missions. Something he would have been grateful for if not for feeling like he was being kept segregated from the rest.

At least once he made SOLDIER the separate room felt like a privilege not a punishment.

“That’s okay,” Aerith says.

Cloud expects her to say that he can share with Barret and Red XIII. It may be improper and dangerous in the eyes of most for an unmated alpha and omega to share a room even if they both are men but Cloud feels completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping in the same room as Barret. If the situation was really pressed he would be comfortable with the girls sleeping in the same room as well. He knows Barret would never even think of taking advantage of them.

Hell, Barret is always the most offended when people misinterpret their group as him being a very lucky alpha.

Arranging the rooms that way will save them some gil as well.

“Cloud can room with us,” Aerith continues in the exact opposite of what Cloud expected, grabbing hold of his arm and grinning up at him when he turns on her to argue.

“Wha-?” is all he actually manages to get out in protest.

“Uh – if you’re sure,” the Innkeeper says, looking awkwardly at them.

Would he have handled Cloud’s idea that he share a room with the alpha of their party instead better?

That thought doesn’t matter now as Tifa steps forward to grab hold of Cloud’s other arm. He has yet to figure out a way to escape when the two girls agree on an idea no matter how much he doesn’t want to take part.

“Yep, we’re sure,” Tifa informs the Innkeeper with a sharp nod. Her and Aerith’s grips feeling like shackles on Cloud’s arm.

“We’re all omegas anyway,” Aerith says. And Cloud knows she isn’t ignorant of the well-documented differences between omega men and women. She’s just choosing not to care in this instance.

He opens his mouth to try and protest the decision but only manages an Uh before Barret is slapping their gil onto the counter and the Innkeeper handing over the keys. The girls all-but frog-marching him up the stairs to the room they’ve decided is theirs. Barret’s laughter trailing after them.

“Don’t look so unhappy,” Aerith chastises, poking at the side of his face. “It’ll be fun – just us omegas.”

“You agreed to be our bodyguard remember,” Tifa says before Cloud can say anything. Not that Cloud understands how that fact has anything to do with the situation at hand. “Just think of it as part of that. Staying with us to keep us safe.”

That argument does make it marginally better.

“Fine.” He’s not going to change their mind anyway. Might as well stop wasting his energy fighting it.

The girls grin at each other around him before shoving him first into the hotel room.

Of course once they discover there’s only two beds they quickly decide he gets the couch.

[rose-tinted-vision]

Fic: 是不甘與你只做路人

Fandom: Mysterious Lotus Casebook (莲花楼)

Relationship: Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi

[read it on ao3!]

inspired by @la-muerta's wonderful gifset, a continuation of the DiHua fanwork telephone

They emerge from the cherry blossom shade together.

Li Xiangyi remains strangely quiet, as he had been since the tree announced the deal complete, radiating an unnerving sort of silence that sets off the alarm bells in his head. Di Feisheng still does not know what that tree had done to Li Xiangyi, which memories he had given to the tree in his place.

“Li Xiangyi,” he turns to the other man, momentarily struck dumb when all he receives is a blank stare.

“That's me, but who might you be?”

”Li Xiangyi, have you forgotten?” he demands, fighting to keep his voice level, mindful of the Keeper of the tree watching them.

Perhaps he had said spoken too harshly, as Li Xiangyi jumps, taken aback at his tone, “what am I supposed to remember?”

—

It started like this:

The wangchun flower had not proven entirely effective, as Li Lianhua had predicted, leaving him only partially healed. He had expected as much, but it was something that neither A-Fei nor Xiaobao were particularly pleased about, the both of them exhausting whatever resources they had in search of alternative cures despite his protests.

One such prescribed cure led them to this. A harmless looking grove full of lush greenery, with a singular cherry blossom tree standing proudly in the middle of it all.

Li Lianhua had been on his guard from the moment they set foot past the treeline– the tranquillity of it all felt a little unnatural– there would be a price to pay for this, he thinks, faintly recalling childhood tales of forest demons that demanded for humans lifespans in exchange for their services.

“A-Fei,” he starts, about to suggest that they return, when A-Fei fixes him with a glare.

“I said that I will find a cure for you.”

That was that, Li Lianhua supposes, arguing with A-Fei was something he preferred to avoid– the man was too stubborn to reason with, too used to his subservient subordinates– he would rather not waste his energy on a pointless squabble.

They meet a little old lady guarding the tree, who warns them that the cherry blossom shade required payment in return for its flowers. What kind of payment, she did not know. Neither was the payment ever the same, she claimed. The tree always asked something different from each of its visitors.

Figuring that they had nothing left to lose anyway, they had accepted her terms, and stepped under its shade to barter for one of its flowers.

A cherry blossom for a treasured possession, that shall be the trade. Which one of you shall it be?

“Me.” A-Fei steps up to the tree trunk, tilting his head to better observe the tree’s blossoms, “Di Feisheng.”

In exchange for one of my precious flowers, I ask for something of equal value to you. What shall it be?

Li Lianhua looks at A-Fei, slightly perturbed. Most nothing managed to surprise him these days, but a sentient tree would most certainly take the cake. A-Fei, for his part, just looked thoughtful. As if he was seriously considering the terms.

“I offer my blade.”

You would consider that of equal value to my flowers? You have sought me out to use them as a cure for his illness, have you not?

“I have brought nothing else.”

Nothing of material value, that is. Consider. I can deal in spiritual value as well. Which memories, which emotions, hold the greatest value to you?

“A-Fei,” Li Lianhua starts, noting the tightening in A-Fei’s jaw at the mention of his memories. Losing them once had been enough, he would not allow him to go through that again, “let’s just go. I don’t need this cure.”

Child, did you not listen to their warning? Once you step under my shade, it is a done deal. So, which one of you will it be?

—

Li Xiangyi had struck first, hitting his acupoints to freeze him in place– a low move, and one that would only take him a moment to break, but it was more than enough.

“I’ll give you my memories,” Li Xiangyi says to the tree wearily.

“Li Xiangyi, what are you thinking!” he snaps, breaking free of the paralysis in an instant– but that instant had been all Li Xiangyi needed to close the deal with the tree, “I offered my memories first!”

There was no response from the tree or Li Xiangyi, and Di Feisheng could do nothing but glare at the tree, stoically fighting against the burn in his eyes as he took in its– admittedly spectacular– shade of cherry blossoms that seemed to mock him in all their beauty.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

The other day I wanted to show someone a photo of something on my camera. This involved clicking through a LOT of pics.

On seeing some of my sculpted faces… “What do you DO with them?” Well, I sculpt them like doodles, take pics to post on Tumblr (and have a record if they break) during breakfast, and then wrap them in tissue before throwing them into a storage container. When the storage container is full I start another, but they never come out again….

I mean, what could I do? Little faces sculpted with little care, no work space or money to buy materials for casting or adding them to anything, and too fragile for a lot of handling.

I sculpt them because my fingers need to sculpt. I sculpt because it’s a quick and easy way to have made something at the end of the day. I sculpt to hold the hollowness of my existence at bay. The act of sculpting and having sculpted is all that matters. Turning them, reducing them really, into a product never crosses my mind!

On seeing my photos of the woods… “You need to make Tik Tok videos of them! People make a LOT of money on there and your photos are so good!”

Well, first, most people on Tik Tok probably don’t make any money at all. And the ones that get rich are the equivalent of community theater actors becoming movie stars. They are rare.

Secondly, TikTok means videos. I don’t even make video things I want to record (ex. those otters chatting and playing) because my very old tech is so rickety and out of memory. I can’t fit a video on my computer, and I can’t edit it. Plus my internet is so poor I doubt I can upload videos if I wanted to.

Thirdly, as far as I can tell without being on TikTok, it involves a lot of people filming themselves. I can NOT put my ugly face and hideous voice online as it might be considered a crime against humanity!

Look, there isn’t enough me for MORE social media. Just posting on Tumblr is getting to be almost too much for me. It has been YEARS since I posted on Facebook (hate it! That place does my brain in). I keep meaning to do something with my Ko-Fi, but I can’t even get around to adding more pics. I’d never have the time or energy for TikTok!

I get it though. I have heard it before. Someone once said there was “No excuse” for someone so “talented” (HA! That’s a joke!) not making money. They think it’s just a matter of throwing things out there and the world will flock to you.

It isn’t like that. Even if I were as talented as they assume, it would take at the very least a huge investment of time and energy I don’t have. I got soooo envious of a sculptor at a comic con who told me how her husband takes care of the business so she can make art. Not everyone has someone to help them. Mostly though, success is simply a matter of luck!

But there people go, letting you know that anything you do that doesn’t make money is a waste. It’s proof you aren’t trying hard enough.

There are people creating masterpieces out there that will die in poverty, but their making things is NOT a waste of time! It’s not a waste of time to make things that make you happy, even if you never make a damn penny! If your life is better for it, that’s enough!

And here I am, working my ass off to survive, living in isolation and wearing myself away, even cutting back on my own food to save money (grocery shopping once a month now…oh, joy!), and yet I am made to feel guilty for spending a couple hours at night sculpting or taking pictures during my increasingly rare and short walks in the woods. How dare I make myself smile instead of falling down dead chasing hypothetical dollars???

I’m barely sculpting anymore. I’m struggling to get to the woods at all. I’m so worn out I’m having trouble even finding these things fun anymore, and now I’m supposed to add guilt and shame because I’m not making a profit?

It’s like if you live in a desert but have a spring on your property. The stream is drying out, but you need it to survive. And someone rolls up saying, “Hey! You need food, so why haven’t you sold your water rights?? I’m being helpful here, but you just aren’t trying!”

People always assume I’m sitting on a gold mine I’m just too lazy or stupid to exploit. It makes me angry. And tired.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 40: Alternate View: When it comes to time travel, it’s good to have a moderately awesome ninja in your corner.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

As it turns out, it is not possible to grow penicillin in the kitchens of a feudal Japanese castle. Granted… I had no idea what I was doing, and as easily as things had molded over in my fridge in modern Japan, it is not as simple as leaving food in a warm place and hoping for the best.

“What are you trying to do, Kats… er, Kaya?” Yuki peered at the bowl of yuzu peel that … hadn’t developed any mold in the three days it had been sitting out.

“Ummm, hopefully something medicinal.” At Yuki’s expression of complete skepticism, I added, “It’s better than doing nothing.” By this point, Aki had been delirious for over a day, and prior to that had had little energy for much talking. The evening he and I had arrived, Katsuko had managed to claim his attention for one, long private meeting. As much as I knew she deserved her time to be with him, to rebuild whatever it was that made things awkward between them, I didn’t miss out on what might be his final days. I was the one who pulled him off that battlefield. I was his daughter too.

“I don’t know. When Shingen was still sick, some of the medicines he tried made him sicker.” He poked at the hardened peels. “Seems like a waste.”

“It’s not like anyone eats this part of them anyway.” Probably they just would have been tossed into the baths to make them smell pretty. “And don’t touch them. I’m trying to grow penicillin, not boy germs.”

“Peni… um, boy what?” He made a face. “You’re weird. You look like Katsu, but you don’t really act much like her.”

Well, we hadn’t been the same person for seven years. Or eleven, depending on which date we were using, and… “This whole situation is weird.”

He scraped his hands through his hair. “I’ll say. But you’re still weird.”

“Did you come in here just to poke at me, or was there an actual reason?” Although at least he was willing to talk to me, even if he was kind of rude. The way most people here at Tsutsujigasaki castle avoided me, I was beginning to feel like the Yokoi that my sort-of nephew had accused me of being. Even the servants, who thought I was Katsuko’s younger sister, did their best not to look at me.

“Oh. Yeah. I was right. Sasuke got here already.” And then, because I was already halfway across the kitchen, he yelled after me, “Does this mean I can throw these out?”

By the time I caught up with Sasuke, he was just about to enter Aki’s room. “Greetings and salutations, Alternate-Katsuko.” His face was as impassive as the Sasuke from my timeline, but I was just happy to connect with someone who didn’t treat me like I was a demi-demon. “Katsuko-prime and Shingen have filled me in on the situation.”

“Um, hi, Alternate-Sasuke… um… do you have any idea how to make penicillin?” If anyone could, it would be Sasuke. Well, or Toshiie, but he wasn’t due back from China apparently for several weeks. Aki could not wait that long.

“Er… no, it’s not something I’ve thought to attempt. I have considered making a battery out of a potato, but it’s going to be another fifteen years before potatoes are cultivated here… so… hashtag time travel goals.” He glanced through the doorway where Aki was fitfully sleeping. “On a more serious note, I am happy to meet another Katsuko, even though it’s not under the greatest of circumstances. Has there been any improvement?”

I shook my head. Two days before, Shingen had fetched another healer – one who hadn’t fainted at the sight of Aki’s shoulder. She had packed the wound with some sort of poultice, which stabilized him somewhat, and the other-me had proven skilled at getting him to swallow willow bark tea, explaining that she had had a great deal of practice with that.

But now, even the effects of the poultice were gone, and no matter how much tea we forced down his throat, Aki’s fever still raged. “It feels like we’re running out of options… here.”

“I can hear you.” Apparently having one of his moments of lucidity, Aki signaled us to enter. “Hello Mister Mikumo.”

Sasuke greeted Aki formally, which was all the conversation that my father had energy for. Immediately he dropped off into sleep again.

“Ah. I see the need for antibiotics.” The smell of Aki’s wound permeated the room. "Although I am a theoretical physicist, not a doctor." The joke was stated with just a slight quirk at the side of his mouth to indicate the humor. "Have I made that joke to you before – your timeline’s alternate version of me?"

"No." I was not in the mood for humor. "What about modern medicine? I mean, I’m not a doctor either, but doctors in our time can cure infections, right? You can help me get him home, can’t you?”

After all that had happened, I refused to let Aki die.

"I've already checked." Sasuke pulled out what looked like a hand sewn notebook and flipped through it. It was full of numbers and calculations. "Honno-ji won’t open until the winter solstice – Togakushi a month later." He didn’t mention that Aki couldn’t wait that long, but the unspoken words hung in the air.

"So Shingen and Katsu didn’t tell you about the device?" A device, that during Aki’s lucid moments, he explained was a prototype. Maybe they’d forgotten (unlikely) or decided to leave that story up to me. “It… I’m not sure how, but it opened the wormhole that dumped me onto that battlefield.”

"Device?” He slapped his forehead. “I didn’t even think to question how you ended up here. But of course, if there had been wormhole activity, I would have known.”

“There was a wormhole, but before that, it wasn’t.” Once again I explained how I had ended up in 1586, this time to an audience who had scientific questions that were far beyond my patchwork high school attendance. After my third ‘I don’t know,’ I gave up and turned the device over to him.

“Fascinating.” Sasuke pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He cautiously flipped the thing over in his hands, but it still just looked like a somewhat advanced version of a cell phone. He glanced at Aki. “He said it’s a prototype? That suggests that it’s still a beta. Do you have any objections to me studying it?”

“As long as you don’t zap us all into prehistoric Japan. I don’t think my heart could take the Jurassic period.” I paused, waiting for Aki to interject whether or not he had problem with Sasuke taking control of the device, but if he did, he wasn't saying. “This” I waved my hand to indicate my alternate’s home, “is already unsettling enough.”

"You mean the rare experience of meeting another version of yourself?" Sasuke seemed almost envious. "Have you noticed any unusual physical phenomena? Do you find yourself fading, or do you feel like you are losing parts of your memory?"

"No. In fact it feels like I'm instead gaining memories I've never had." I wasn't sure how to explain it further, although it had been a relief to confirm my theory that those odd moments of deja-vu-esque images were not my memories, but some kind of multiverse effect.

"Yes." Katsuko entered the room carrying another pot of tea. "Me too. Like the memory of a spider crawling down the front of a pink kimono - and I don’t even own one."

"I've not had that one, and I do have a pink kimono." Well, I did have one. I'd left it behind with Mitsuhide. "But a spider never crawled down the front of it." Just a kitsune. "Aki yelling at me for jumping out of a tree."

That one had been pretty vivid. Katsuko tapped her chest. "Actually happened. And then he abandoned me there." She sent Aki a look that was half anger, half exasperation. "It turned out to have been a con, but of course he didn’t warn me first."

"How very Mitsuhide of him." That dang kitsune. We’d been apart for over a week (not counting that one hour at Genba), but he was still hacking my brain.

The ninth thing I hate about Mitsuhide, even when I’m four years and an unknown number of timelines away, I can’t stop thinking about him.

She looked at me. "I have questions about that but-" She sighed. "It feels so surreal to talk to you."

Ah. That's why it had been so easy to avoid her. She'd been avoiding me, too. "I know. We're not twins, or clones. I've been trying to think of you as an older sister." Since this Katsu would have to be four years older than I am. Or maybe just three? Yuki had told me she'd been stuck in the wormhole (or a wormhole) and missed a year.

"Could you guys not talk over me?" Aki muttered, in another moment of lucidity. "I haven't departed this Earth yet." His eyes flicked over to Sasuke and greeted him as if he had not done so just twenty minutes before. "Hello Mister Mikumo. Still climbing things?"

Ok, not as lucid as all that then.

Sasuke bowed to him again, as if he had not done so before. "Professor."

“Katsu. I told you. Don’t bother me unless the world is ending. Don’t bother me then either.” He closed his eyes again.

"Not yet old man," Katsuko set the teapot down with a clonk, and poured a cup of willow bark tea. "Time for your medication." With Sasuke's help, she propped him into a sitting position and got him to swallow the tea, before he slumped back on the bed with a moan.

Again, I swallowed that feeling of envy that she, my other-self, had managed to get Aki to obey her. It wasn’t important. The important thing that was he had drunk it. That everyone was doing whatever we could to keep him alive until Sasuke could figure out how to get the device to open the wormhole.

Stand back! He’s trying science.

“I wondered where you were hiding.” I looked up from my failed experiment (Yuki had not thrown out the yuzu peel as threatened), to see my other self, my older self, who had returned to the kitchen with the empty teapot.

“Well, I figured it would just be easier if I stayed out of everyone’s way.” I sat back and watched her bustling about with some kind of wooden contraption, before I realized that it was a pulley system that retrieved fresh snow from outside without anyone needing to trek out into the weather to get it themselves. “That’s pretty cool.” I’d never seen anything like it before.

She smiled. “Shingen built it. He’s really good with his hands. Er… in an engineering kind of way.” The blush on her face suggested he was good with his hands in all kinds of ways.

“Of course he is.” Oh shit. I said that out loud. My sarcasm turned our moment into something seriously awkward.

“I’m jealous of you too,” Katsuko eventually said.

“Me? Why?” This version of myself seemed to have it all figured out.

“Because Aki told you he was our father. He didn’t leave you on the side of the road, feeling like everyone had abandoned her.” She slammed the now full of snow kettle on the brazier. “I mean, I know he did it to fool Shingen into taking me. I learned pretty soon after that he didn’t mean it. But it was cruel, and … he’s said a lot of hurtful things to me that he apparently never said to you.”

“Oh.” I reached in my kimono and pulled out Aki’s letter. It was the one thing I had on me when Iekane pulled us into the wormhole. “He didn’t tell me. He disappeared, left me holed up in an Inn for weeks and when I finally went in search of him, I found this letter at Francisco’s. I imagine, that if you were to go to Sakai, you might have this same letter waiting.”

I sat back on my heels, and watched her read the letter, noticing when she smiled – she must have hit the ‘cloud city moment’ line. Finally she folded it up and gave it back to me. “Thanks. I don’t know why it helps… but it does.”

“Well, good. I’d hate it if I hated me. Er, well… you know.” Yup. Still surreal.

“Yeah. I do.” She paused…. Then. “Um I sort of don’t want to know, but I also do want to know. What is up with Mitsuhide and you?”

Ugh, I can’t even pass the Bechdel test with myself! “It’s a long story that probably doesn’t even matter, because he’s in love with Mai. Unrequitedly, but it’s still not something I want to hang around to watch.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I kind of thought he was in this timeline too. But, I only met him for like two hours, during which he threatened to kill me, beat me at shogi, then turned around and gave me some really good advice.”

Well…. That’s on brand at least.

It was another day before Sasuke emerged from the room where he was mad-sciencing it all.

Once again, we were gathered in Shingen’s private office, and again drinking tea that Yukimura had prepared and Katsuko had helped to distribute. Shingen also produced another basket of pastry that he claimed was from his private stash. Given that he always seemed to be able to produce a basket of pastry from somewhere, I suspected his ‘private stash’ was actually a sweatshop full of bakers kept prisoner somewhere on the castle grounds.

“First of all, some background on our wormholes. It isn't merely that the atmospheric conditions need to be correct, for the wormhole to actually form, there needs to be enough charged ions to, in layman's terms, shock it open." Sasuke took a moment to to gulp down some tea, and rubbed the corner of his eyes. "That’s what Iekane's device does, it concentrates a jolt that opens up a corridor to the closest wormhole."

It kind of sounded like something out of Back to the Future…

"A mini flux capacitor?" There went Katsuko, voicing aloud what was in my own brain. Aki aside, I needed to get out of this timeline for my sanity.

"Flock's capacity? You want to bring birds into this?" Yuki bypassed the pastry and glared a bit at the double serving on Shingen's tray. "What will that do?"

The others ignored him beyond giving him a fond smile.

Katsuko nodded to Sasuke. "Makes sense. Thunder-snow. Yuki, do you remember there was thunder and snow when we encountered Iekane at Togakushi? But our timeline’s Iekane didn’t have a device – or I suppose he didn’t need it. We were already expecting that wormhole to manifest."

"And unfortunately, we don’t have time to wait for the solstice. Therefore, I believe our best course of action would be to try to use the device to send Kaya and Aki to the future. Her timeline." Sasuke pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Theoretically, this timeline’s Iekane does not have the prototype, or one would think he would be using it often.”

Shingen looked at Sasuke and nodded. “I trust your best guess. That said, we don’t know where ended up after he and Katsu went into the wormhole, so my spies will keep searching for Iekane."

"As will mine." Katsuko grabbed a scroll and brush and jotted down a note.

“You have your own spies?" Not only does this timeline's Katsu have what appears to be a perfect partner, she gets her OWN spies?

"Birthday present," she murmured. Ok. That might blow Mitsuhide's gift of a lock pick set out of the water.

He also got you that pretty robe, and he played the flute for you when you were unconscious…

My inner voice was apparently feeling especially snarky today.

Sasuke brought out the device. "I've managed, theoretically, to override the device’s initial coding." Sasuke proceeded to go in to a technical explanation that was at its basis, a pretty sophisticated form of hacking. "So, Kaya, all that I need is your thumbprint and you can use it to take Aki into the future."

That’s all?

I was a bit nervous to have control over the device. "You don't want that honor for yourself?" After hearing about Katsuko’s terrifying experience, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be the pilot on this adventure.

"While I would, in fact be otherwise thrilled to do so," Sasuke exchanged glances with Katsu and Shingen. "I’m afraid I could set it off course."

Oh right. If Sasuke had control over it, we'd just end up going to his future - which would be fine for Aki, but would keep me in the wrong timeline. Although at least if that happened I would never have to run into the version of Mitsuhide who was in love with Mai (although apparently he loves her here too, so… I was kind of SOL no matter where I went).

The thought was brief, and somewhat selfish. Who knew what kind of chaos would come about if I continued to stay in the wrong timeline? And, I still needed to return to my timeline’s Sakai and follow up Aki's information on Toshiie.

“For a similar reason, I have come to the conclusion that I will be unable to accompany you on a journey to your own timeline.” With a slight attitude of reluctance, he set the device down on Shingen’s desk. "I would relish the opportunity to have a long discussion with another version of myself."

Was I imagining that everyone else seemed a bit scared of that idea?

He looked down at his paperwork. "However such a conversation could present a danger to the balance of the multiverse, and with no guarantee of returning to this particular timeline-" He gave a sideeye to Shingen, "although I am relatively certain between myself and I, I could figure it out- I have decided not to make the attempt."

Subtext: he had been planning to go anyway, and Shingen talked him out of it.

With Aki’s condition worsening by the hour, we decided not to waste any more time waiting. Shingen and Yuki helped carry Aki to a deserted area behind Tsutsujigasaki Castle. In the distance were some archery targets, so I figured that was what it was normally used for. Good plan to leave from here – the castle inhabitants would avoid this area when Katsuko was out here, to avoid getting hit by stray arrows.

Although, since she was me, there wouldn’t be any stray arrows. We’d both learned accuracy one stable wall repair at a time.

Sasuke handed me a packet containing his contact information and a letter I was to give to his other self. "I hope, that at some point, he will be able to figure out how to communicate with me – or however many versions of me there are."

Unlike me, Sasuke seemed not at all weirded out by the prospect of a multiplicity of selves.

While Katsuko took a private moment to say whatever she needed to say to our father, I gave my goodbyes and thanks to Lord Shingen and Yukimura. "It must have been strange for you two, thank you for putting up with me."

"Surrounded by another vision of my devil? Not strange at all." By now, I knew Shingen well enough to know that the flirting was second nature, as was a dry sense of humor, so I simply bowed to him again.

Yuki just grinned at me and punched me in the arm. "You’re not so bad, dummy." High praise from that one.

Katsuko left Aki’s side and I found myself in a long hug with my alternate… no this isn't weird at all. "Good luck. With everything." That was all she said. But maybe she figured I would know what she meant by 'everything,’ since she was me.

Then, per Sasuke's instructions, I put my arms around Aki, activated the device, and once again, hoped there wouldn’t be any dinosaurs.

There was that sharp buzzing noise, and the world dissolved into grey once again.

All sounds muffled, then faded out.

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