#maybe some of it too comes from now living alone and Seriously struggling to appropriately take care of and manage myself n my space

[uwooyoungs2]

//

[space-helen]

Sweep

Words: 1460

Pairing: Nick Stokes x Reader

A/N: Not proof read again but I wanted to get something out for you all. I hope you enjoy! :)

Request: Maybe a dangerous situation, someone hurt, protective I dunno.I just like to read more nick x reader ^^ - @pumpkinfriend

______________________

The house was cold and uninviting. An eerie silence echoed throughout the property. You followed the police officer ahead of you into the room the victim lay, Nick a couple of steps behind you.

The police officer gestured to the body “We’ll be outside. Call if you need us.” and with that they were gone.

You looked around the study for a moment. “Interesting house layout.” you commented

Nick agreed “Study leads into the bedroom. No living area.”

“Maybe studying was his way of life.”

The man laughed and started to snap pictures of the man in his desk chair. Taking another look you could clearly see the gunshot wound to his head. “It was reported an hour ago right?”

The man nodded “yeah. Reported when neighbours heard the shots. Officers were the first to find his body, still waiting on Superdave to arrive.”

“Poor guy.” you snapped pictures of the photo frames nearby. The shelves looked like they’d been rummaged through. “Looks like he was close with who I can only assume were his parents.”

“He’s really young too. Officer said twenty three.”

“Nice place for a twenty three year old.” you commented “A big collection too. You don’t often see someone this young with material like this.” you gestured to some books on the shelf. “You’ve got it covered here?”

Nick nodded “Yeah, yeah. You take the bedroom.”

You moved across the room through the door into the bedroom. You took in your surroundings and snapped pictures. The man had lived what seemed to be a very clean, and organised lifestyle.

You noticed a drawer in the bedside table open, taking a picture of it, you carefully moved towards it and opened it. Snapping a picture of the inside you noticed that it was unorganised, a huge contrast to the rest of the room. You contemplated moving through to the previous room to grab print powder when you noticed that the wardrobe door was slightly ajar. You could have sworn it wasn’t when you’d come into the room.

Looking through the photos on your camera a cold chill went through your spine “Nick it looks like we have a ghost in here.” you nervously called. But just as the words left your mouth an arm was around your neck and you were being pushed harshly into the wall. 

You fought against the man’s grasp and he tugged at your camera that was around your neck to bring you close to him. Wrapping his arm around your neck he squeezed, slowly cutting off your air. Kicking and scratching at the man you finally got free and called for Nick. You were unsure if he even heard you.

The man grabbed you again and pushed you harshly to the floor. You felt a vase smash beneath you on your way down, it must have been knocked over in the struggle. You got to your feet and attempted to move away again.

“Y/N?” Nick instantly reached for his gun when he saw the sight in front of him but instead of drawing it he rushed to break up the fight. 

Amongst the struggle between the three you were pushed into the wall and hit your head. Sinking to the floor the realisation your legs and hand were bleeding settled in even though the fight before you was still underway.

Nick pushed the man into a corner and drew his gun. “Hands up. I said hands up.” The man obliged and Nick called for the officers. “Smart move pal.” Nick spat as two officers dragged him away. 

The original officer who’d shown you into the property hung back to talk to Nick. “I’m sorry, we did a sweep of the property but-”

“Well now you know for next time to do it better.” he came across slightly patronising “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that. Accidents happen, just don’t let it happen again.”

“I understand.” was all the officer said before disappearing. 

Nick quickly made his way over to you. “Y/N? You good?” he took in your features, you were really beat up.

“I’ve been better.” you tried to laugh but it sounded pathetic.

“The first aid kit’s in the other room let me grab it.” The man pushed some hair behind your ear before running into the next room and returning with the first aid supplies. “Now let’s see what I can do before we get you some real medical help shall we.”

You laughed.

“Alright. Show me your hand I can see it’s bleeding.”

You obliged “I cut it on the vase. I think. Also got my leg too but I haven’t checked it out… I’m scared too. It feels bad.” 

He nodded “Your hand doesn’t look too bad just some scrapes.” he gestured to your trouser leg “May I?” you nodded and he rolled it up.

You winced at the pain and he apologised “It’s ok.” you squeeze your eyes tight. How bad is it?” you could feel the warm wetness on your knee.

“It’s not nothing. I’ll clean it up a little but I think you have some glass in there. I don’t want to mess with it too much but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

The man got to work on your knee. During a particularly painful part you reached up and grabbed his shoulder. The man allowed you to squeeze it.

“Alright that’s all done. Anything else?”

“I hit my head pretty bad.” you admitted “It hurts a lot.” the splitting pain from initially hitting it had eased slightly but it was still bad. 

“Feel sick? Drowsy?”

“No, it just hurts.” 

“Alright.” he nodded to himself “What a ghost hey?”

You genuinely laughed this time. 

“Now that’s what I like to see. Alright, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“The scene-”

“We technically can’t take it anymore because of this little…” he words trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah I knew that.” you shook your head “I’m sorry I just forgot.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry.”  He gave you a sad smile as he packed away the supplies. “Ready to stand?”

You nodded “I might need some help” The man got to his own feet in front of you.

“That’s ok.” he put his hands out and you took them gratefully. “On three. One, two, three.”

On his count you got to your feet and he supported you. As you stood you attempted to take some uneasy steps.

“It’s alright I’ve got you.” he reassured. 

You smiled as he slipped a bag strap over his shoulder. “We’ll stop at the hospital first then go back to the lab.”

“Sounds good to me.” 

The man kept you close and supported you as you walked out to the car, he helped you into the passenger's seat before throwing his kit into the trunk and slipping into the driver's seat.

The journey to the hospital was quiet, and he kept looking at you throughout to make sure you were awake and ok. Although you said you were fine he couldn’t help but worry.

Nick parked up the car and was at your side instantly opening the door and helping you out. He sat you down in the waiting area before registering you into the emergency room it didn’t take long for someone to call you into a room. Nick stayed silent and by your side the entire time, watching the Doctor clean and dress the wound appropriately.

“That’s you all set. I’d suggest staying away from heavy work or even taking the rest of the day off. Rest the leg and let it heal.”

And with that you were being sent away from the busy emergency room. 

“Back to the lab or home?” Nick offered, knowing which you would pick.

“Lab. I need to make myself useful in some way. Even if it’s just looking at footage or research.”

“Thought so.” he smiled “You just won’t stop will you?”

“Stopping isn’t in my nature.”

“You know they’re going to try and force you to take time off and give you the ‘don’t push yourself’ talk right?”

“I know I just can’t be home alone. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

“I get that.” there was a pause “but seriously if you need some time off and want company take it and I’ll take some time as well.”

You took a second and thought it over “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“Yes you can.” he laughed “We’ll get some take out and watch a movie.”

“Only if I can pick. The last movie we watched was terrible.”

“In my defence Greg picked out that movie.”

“True. We have another movie night with him tomorrow so you better pick a good one.” you teased.

“Only the finest.” 

Tag List: (open)

Nick Stokes: @wanniiieeee​  @pumpkinfriend

CSI:

[fanficbitch]

In Another Life // First Time Babysitting

October 2008

It’s been pretty obvious that Hotch has been under a lot of stress. Every night he is here later and later and I know it’s killing him. That’s why I’ve taken it upon myself to offer my babysitting duties. I would’ve offered a long time ago, but things haven’t smooth sailing between us the whole time I’ve been here. A lot of the nights at the BAU, Hotch and I are the last ones here. Hotch is here because he actually has stuff to do. I’m here because I am guilty of being a suck up and doing extra work. Tonight is the same.

It’s finally time that I gather up my things and after I do, I stop by Hotch’s office. I knock twice on the door and then he answers. “Come in,” he calls.

I push the door open. “Hey Hotch,” I say.

“You’re still here?” he asks.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I’m always here,” he shrugs. “Anyway, can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” I say then move closer to his desk. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh no,” he sighs.

“No, no, it’s good,” I say. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been a little tired lately and have been here a little too much. So I wanted to offer my babysitting services.”

Hotch scoffs. “I’m not tired,” he says. 

“Yes, you are,” I say. “And that’s nothing to be ashamed of. So I will babysit Jack while you take a nap or go grocery shopping or do whatever you want. Please? I want to help you.”

I can tell by his narrow eyes that he is thinking it over. He actually looks really handsome when he is intently thinking, but that’s not the point. “Deal. Tomorrow night?”

“Um, yeah. I can do that,” I say.

“Okay, I’ll let Haley know. You can meet her at my apartment. I’ll send you my address,” he says.

“I’ll be there!” I call as I leave his office

                                                        **********

Finding Hotch’s apartment was a lot harder than I thought, so I’m running late to babysitting. He lives in some complex on some side street in some part of DC that I’ve never heard of.

I finally land outside of his apartment and knock on the door. It takes a moment, but a blonde women opens the door with a smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be Haley,” I say as I shake her head. 

“Yes, yes, come in,” she says and stands to the side. I step into the apartment and notice that it is pretty bare. I know Hotch just got divorced and recently moved, but other than that, I don’t know much. He must not have had time to decorate. “Thank you for coming to watch Jack. I sometimes need a break from mom duties,” Haley says. 

“Oh, it’s no problem! Hotch has told me that Jack is such a great kid,” I say.

“He really is,” Haley assures me. “So, he’s already eaten and been bathed and is in his pajamas. So all you need to do is put him to bed in about an hour.”

“Sounds good,” I say.

“Jack!” Haley call. “Come in here!”

Within seconds, there are speedy steps that land right in front of Haley. It’s easy to recognize him because of all the pictures Hotch has in his office. “Jack, this is Y/N. She is going to hang out with you for a little bit.”

“Hi Jack, it’s so nice to meet you,” I tell him.

“Hi,” he says quietly. I notice that Jack is wearing a pajama set covered with trains.

“Your pajamas are so cool. Do you like trains?” I ask and he nods.

“Why don’t you show Y/N your trains?” Haley suggests and he nods. “Okay, bye buddy,” Haley says and wraps him in a hug then disappears out the door. 

“Alright, let me see your trains,” I say and Jack takes my hand and leads me down the hall. We reach a room at the very end of the hall. Now, this is a room that is decorated. There are hand drawn pictures all over the walls and toys all over the floor. “Wow, Jack you are a really good artist,” I say as I look around the room. As I look, I notice Jack’s small bed covered with a soccer blanket and a bookshelf bursting with books.

“Here are my trains,” he says and goes to one of the toy bins. I look through them and begin to recognize some of them.

“Do you like Thomas the Train?” I ask and he nods. “Me too, I think he’s super cool.”

“Percy is my favorite,” he says then hands me a toy Percy.

“I think my favorite is James. He’s my favorite color.”

“My favorite color is green,” Jack says.

“I see a lot of your pictures have green in them,” I say as I look around the room again. “I also see you like soccer.”

“Yeah, I’m really good,” he says which causes me to laugh. “Daddy teaches me.”

I start to laugh again because the thought of Hotch playing soccer is just hilarious to me. “Alright, so what do you want to do? We can color, play with trains or-,” I say.

“Can we read a story?” Jack asks.

“Of course! Pick any book you want,” I say. Jack goes to the bookshelf and carefully selects a book that is large in his tiny hands. It’s If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. “Get comfortable,” I say as I pat the bed and he slips under the covers.

So we read that book, then another book, then another one until it finally got to eight o’clock and told him he had to go to bed. 

“Please? One more?” Jack begs.

“I can’t. I don’t want to get in trouble with your Mommy and Daddy.”

“A secret,” he whispers. I sigh. I have to admit, he’s really cute so it’s hard to tell him no. 

“How about this, we have a different secret that just the two of us know?”

“Okay,” he smiles. I hum for a moment in thought.

“Okay, here’s the secret,” I say then lean in. “Your daddy is the coolest dad in the world,” I whisper.

Jack giggles once I tell him. “Now, you can’t tell anyone. It’s our secret,” I say and he nods. “Okay, goodnight,” I say then stand up.

“Wait,” he says and I turn around. “I need a goodnight kiss.”

A kiss? I didn’t realize that babysitting required a kiss goodnight. I’ve never dealt with this before. I get down on my knees and press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight,” I whisper.

When I finally get out of the room I let out a sigh. That wasn’t so hard. I know every parent says that their child is well behaved, but Jack actually is well behaved. He really is a great kid. 

I suddenly realize that I am basically alone in Hotch’s apartment. I know I should go sit on the couch and wait for him to come back. But, I can’t help but be a little curious.

There are only two other doors down the hallway. I take a guess with one and open it, but it’s just a bathroom. Due to my detective skills, I have deducted that the other room is Hotch’s bedroom. I carefully press the door open and turn on the light. I’m a little bit surprised even though I shouldn’t be. This is the most Hotch room that I have ever seen. There are two pillows on the bed and a grey comforter, a single nightstand with a lamp and a picture on it, and a dresser. There is no art on the wall or any decoration. Again, the most Hotch room I have ever seen.

I flick the light off and close the door just in time because the front door opens. I rush down the hall to see Hotch struggling with at least 10 bags of groceries. “Let me help you,” I say and take a few of the bags and set them on the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” Hotch says breathlessly. “How was everything?”

“Easy peasy,” I say and Hotch smiles. 

“Good, maybe I’ll have to call you more often,” he says.

“Honestly I’m free anytime,” I say. There is an awkward silence between us as we try to figure out what to do next.

“Well, I can’t offer much. But if you help me put these groceries away, I can offer you a glass of wine,” Hotch says.

“It’s a deal,” I say and begin to unpack the bags. “So you just went grocery shopping with your free time?”

“Yes, it was actually pretty fun,” he says and I laugh.

“Leave it to you to find grocery shopping fun,” I say as I place a bag of dino nuggets in the freezer.

“I take my alone time whenever I can get it. If it happens to be while grocery shopping, so be it.”

Within minutes, we get through the bags and once we’re finished I turn to Hotch. “So I’ll take one glass of wine please,” I smile.

Hotch pours each of us a glass then leads us to the couch. “Hotch, you got to let me do some decorating for you.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“You need some color in here,” I say. “Have you seen Jack’s room? He knows how to decorate.”

“I guess I could put up a few pictures,” he says.

“You know what? I’ll buy you some art as a housewarming gift.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Hotch tells me.

“No, I want to do it,” I assure him. He gives me a small smile that I haven’t seen from him before. It’s nice.

Before I know it, we’ve both finished our wine. 

“Well it’s getting late,” I say as I stand up from the couch. 

“Again, thank you so much for watching Jack,” he says as he stands up too. 

“Seriously anytime,” I smile in the doorway. I look him in his brown eyes a little longer than is appropriate. I jerk my head away then nod. “Okay, see you at work!”

“See you.”

[redux-iterum]

A Kindling: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Shut up.”

“Yep.”

“Shut up.”

“Yep!”

Rusty was tickled by Smudge’s expression—mouth dropped open enough to catch a ball, eyes wide as Rusty’s paw. Smudge had listened to his story in complete disbelief, and now was visibly reeling from Rusty’s adventure.

“And they actually meant it,” Smudge said at last.

“I mean, I don’t know why they’d offer if they didn’t want me there.” Rusty’s chest was filled to bursting with excitement. He couldn’t help tip-tapping his feet to release the energy. “But Smudge, the forest—the smells, the plants—it’s amazing there! If I could—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Smudge held up a paw and shook his head. “You can’t be taking this seriously.”

“Well, they meant it, right?” Rusty said, purring in delight. “So I am!”

“No, not just that they offered it.” Smudge leaned forward, looking alarmed. “You can’t just leave and bugger off into the woods! We have no idea what’s out there. You could get killed, you could get sick, or starve, or—”

He cut himself off, eyes searching Rusty’s face, desperate. The excitement in Rusty’s chest settled down immediately and he softened his voice.

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “I know. But… honestly, I’m willing to take those risks. It’s just…” He looked up and a little sideways, searching for the right words. “It’s not horrible here, but I’m not… I feel like I could be doing more. Seeing more. Just living in this neighborhood, it’s not…”

“Fulfilling?” Smudge offered unhappily.

Rusty nodded.

Smudge looked crestfallen; he didn’t even meet Rusty’s eyes. He drew in a big breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“If you go, we can never talk again,” he said, quiet. “Your new friends won’t let you see me. I’ll have no idea if you’re doing okay or not. Or if you’re even still alive.”

Rusty lifted a paw, halfway to reaching out to Smudge, then retracted it. “It won’t be all bad. I can at least walk by the border once in a while and wave to you.” He tried a more cheerful tone. “And I’ll know that you’re safe in your house, getting fatter and comfier by the day, right? You aren’t going anywhere.”

Smudge made a breathy noise that could have been amused, but he still didn’t look up at Rusty.

Rusty tried again. “I just don’t know if this is the life for me. When I went into the forest… it was like a part of me woke up. I started hunting without knowing what I was going after. It felt natural.” The recollection stirred excitement in his blood, and his voice took on a tone of wonder. “If the Clan cats hadn’t shown up, I-I don’t know! I might not have come back. Not for a while. There’s so much to see in the world, in that forest alone. It doesn’t scare me. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t.”

Smudge’s eyes flicked up to him. Rusty reached out again and rested a paw on Smudge’s head, trying to be comforting. Honesty came out instead.

“I don’t know what could happen to me,” he said. “Or what will happen to me. I could die, yeah, but I don’t know for sure. And I like that. It feels like being alive. Here it just feels… the opposite.” He tilted his head. “Does that make any sense?”

Smudge’s eyes drifted down again, and for a moment Rusty was afraid he’d lost him. Then, slowly, he raised his head. Rusty quickly took his paw away and waited as Smudge regarded him with a sadness he had not seen in his friend before.

“You never were content here,” Smudge finally said. “Even when I first met you. That’s why you wandered all over and pestered everyone by going into their yards. Your home wasn’t enough.”

“Right,” Rusty said softly.

Smudge briefly shut his eyes and sighed again. His sadness was now a little more affectionate.

“I guess…” he started, paused, and then, again, “I guess I’m not willing to stop you from being happy. If you want to be with those ferals… if you really want to live out there and risk your life… if that’ll make you happy, then maybe you should do it.”

Rusty purred, halfway between pleased and trying to comfort his friend. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I have to leave you behind. I really am. I wish they’d let me talk to you, at least.”

“Eh.” Smudge waved a paw with a blatantly false casualness. “I’ve got plenty of cats to talk to here. And you certainly will have company, if they’re really a group.”

An idea came to Rusty. “Maybe… maybe my human will get another cat, and they’ll be even better friends with you than I could ever be.”

“I doubt that,” Smudge said fondly. “You’re pretty awesome. Hard to top.”

Rusty’s tail curled. “Thanks!”

“And I’m pretty awesome too,” Smudge prompted, somewhat sarcastic.

“You’re very awesome.” Rusty stood up and bumped his head against Smudge’s shoulder. “Here, let’s meet at noon tomorrow. We should hang out and play as much as we can before I go.”

“That’s a good idea.” Smudge returned the gesture. “In the meantime, I’m going to sleep. So should you. It’s late and I’m tired from all this life-changing talk.”

Rusty snorted and turned, waving his tail. “I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” Smudge said, and a bit of unhappiness crept into his voice again. Before Rusty could say anything, he clumsily hopped off the fence and plopped onto the cut grass, trotting back into his house. Rusty could hear his human cooing over him and shaking a kibble bowl.

Rusty didn’t feel like going to sleep. He felt like running straight into the forest again and calling for the Clan cats to let him join them now. Some small, reasonable thing in the back of his head reminded him that he should still be thinking things over, but the greater part of him was fluffing out his fur in a pre-emptive thrill of exploring the woods. His tail wagged up and almost over his back, and his paws kneaded at the chipped paint on the fence.

His mind ran wild as he returned to his yard, scenario after scenario making him forget the irritating clipped grass beneath his feet. Those cats were giant—would they all be taller than him? Would the kittens be taller? How many members of the Clan were there? How long would it take him to see every step of the forest? What about the other Clans that were mentioned? What were they like? Would he get to meet them?

The possibilities made him shiver in delight. The bell on his collar jingled tauntingly and his delight vanished in an instant, replaced by irritation.

Right, he thought. One other thing to do before I leave.

He stepped through the door-flap, pawing at his collar every other step. It wasn’t particularly tight—his neck was too skinny for that—but it wouldn’t go over his head. A few paces into the house, he sat down and started pushing at it with his back foot, trying with all his might to squeeze his head through the gap. The metal clasp dug into his throat and it became difficult to breathe. The back of the collar pressed against his head, touching his ears. He unconsciously let out a frustrated growl (strained a little by his current situation).

At this, there was a shift of cloth. When he looked up, his owner was walking towards him from the living room and into the kitchen. They crouched down in front of him and tilted their head, making high-pitched, soothing noises.

Rusty stopped struggling and met their eyes. It occurred to him that he had never quite paid attention to them before, couldn’t remember their face—had never even studied their face, really. The moon had vanished and reappeared since he had come here, and it was only now that he realized his owner’s eyes were dark and soft.

Perhaps that was a sign that he should leave.

Rusty was jarred out of his thoughts when their hands came to circle his neck and began fiddling with his collar. He sat still, waiting politely until the collar was unbuckled and lifted away. The human spoke again, a little louder and sweeter, and gently scratched around where the collar had been. He thanked them with a purr and rubbed his cheek against their hand, though the gesture meant little to him. They stood again and walked away, setting the collar down on the counter before moving back into the living room and sitting down on their chair.

Rusty watched them distantly, the image of some animal running around on their lit box. He stood up and slowly turned his head, observing his surroundings. It was all flat and even and perfectly curved or cut with an exact line. The floor under his feet was cold and completely smooth. The air in the kitchen was stiff and a little too warm. The one or two smells he could pick up were stale (his kibble) and nastily foreign (whatever flowers were sitting at the windowsill).

It was plain, he thought. Simple. It was no wonder he had been blown away by the forest—there was so much to it. Here…

Smudge had given him the right word. It wasn’t fulfilling. It was nothing. A life of nothing, he thought, was not one he wanted to live.

  At noon, Rusty jumped onto the rail splitting his yard from Smudge’s. His faithful friend was sitting on the grass, looking morose. Rusty called his name and the look faded instantly when Smudge noticed him.

“I was worried you were going to sleep in again,” he said as Rusty jumped down into his yard. “You haven’t happened to change your mind, have you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Rusty offered an apologetic half-crouch when Smudge hung his head. “But we still have time. What do you want to do?”

“Well…” Smudge stood up. “If you’re about to go, we should go around the neighborhood and say ‘bye’ to the few cats you haven’t annoyed by intruding.”

“They’ll be thrilled that I’m gone.” Rusty puffed out a jokingly dramatic sigh. “I think you’re the only one that will miss me.”

“Then we should get one last pester in,” Smudge said. His tail, still kitten-short for his size, thwapped Rusty’s back leg. “What did the homebody call it? ‘Blaze of glory’ or something.”

“That’s for when you’re about to die.” Rusty led the way to the fence and climbed up again with ease. He turned around and waited for Smudge.

“Where you’re going, that might be appropriate,” Smudge muttered as he clambered after Rusty, making a cheerful face when Rusty gave him a pretend-irritated look.

Once Smudge was on the rail, Rusty led the way down the row of yards, his tail high. Saying farewell to everyone, he realized, was not going to be as sad as he might have thought. To him, it was just a symbol of his transition into his new life.

He just hoped that everyone in the Clan liked him more than everyone in the neighborhood did.

[saphirered]

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy! 

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will. 

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him. 

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable. 

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle. 

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question. 

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic. 

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right? 

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other? 

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him? 

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance. 

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important. 

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects. 

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age. 

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate… 

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it. 

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain. 

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.” 

“Another time then?” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him. 

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine. 

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention? 

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he? 

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too. 

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss. 

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently. 

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion. 

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage. 

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter. 

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely. 

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states. 

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is. 

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly. 

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you. 

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context. 

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel? 

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor. 

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you. 

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to. 

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had. 

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you. 

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt. 

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck. 

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner. 

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption. 

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents. 

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it. 

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that. 

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye. 

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now. 

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner. 

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment? 

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.” 

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible. 

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard. 

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away. 

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances. 

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank. 

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist. 

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate. 

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it. 

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

[twistedtummies2]

Giants in the Sky - Part 1

As I promised, here - at long, long last - is a story based on “My Hero Academia!” This is actually an AU story I came up with, intending it as a trade with another person (who shall remain anonymous). That person found their schedule was way too busy, and as time went on, I decided it might be best to just give this AU a try myself. So here I am to do so! As I said, originally this was going to be a two-parter, but I decided to change it into two separate stories, and each story itself will be two parts...effectively making this a four-parter. (Get it? Got it. Good.) I’m going to begin work on the second story hopefully this week, but in the meantime, here’s the first tale. Part one goes up today, part two shall be up tomorrow. This first part is primarily exposition/plot-based; the “fun stuff” comes in the next half, and trust me, there’s PLENTY of it. >:)

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Once Upon a Time, in a Kingdom Far, Far Away… The Green Knight smiled, his armor shining like emeralds as he stepped out into the sunlight. He walked out with pride – a young man whose freckled face and wild, dark green hair belied his bravery and chivalry. He held his helmet under one arm, the other gripping his sword, as he stared down at the crowd of people below him. His heart swelled and he nearly felt like crying as he heard them all cheering his name…then came the voice of the King himself, echoing in his ears and making his pulses sing with joy. “All Hail Sir Midoriya of Shi-Tan! The Greatest Warrior in All of Ua! A True Hero!” The crowd cheered louder. The Green Knight closed his eyes and sighed, warmth fluttering in his heart. In truth, the adulation was just a bonus: as he heard the voices calling up his name, he knew he had helped them all. He had saved many lives by slaying the terrible Dragon of Belfast, and now they could sleep peacefully – be they peasant or nobleman – without fear of danger and destruction. Every single voice…every single life…they’d all be happy and secure. That was what truly mattered…but the recognition was nice. He felt…like he finally belonged. Like he was where he was always meant to be; where he’d wanted to be for his entire short, young life. So many years of struggle and toil…and now, here he was, his praises being sung across the empire. He whispered the words he’d heard to himself, dreamily, as he felt the warm Sun upon his youthful face: “A True Hero…” “OI! MIDORIYA!” “YAH!” Izuku Midoriya’s eyes jolted open and he jumped about a foot in the air. He gasped and panted, looking around himself in alarm, a glimmer of confusion in his wide, bright green eyes. The Castle and its courtyard had disappeared. He found himself in a wide, brown field; to one side of the field, not so far away, was the edge of the forest; just over the tops of the trees, he could see the distant, glittering, pearly shine of the Castle he’d been daydreaming about. To the other side was the farm where he worked. He looked down at himself, and sighed somewhat dismally; his beautiful green armor had been replaced with a peasant’s tunic of green, along with a dull red vest and matching shoes, his green trousers held in place by a white rope belt. Before him was the plough he had been working, pulled by a dull-eyed donkey, which swished its tail lazily as it looked back at him, serene patience in its half-lidded eyes. Midoriya smiled bashfully at the plough animal. “Sorry, Mineta,” he said to the donkey, scratching the back of his head. “I got distracted I guess…” “You do that too often.”

Midoriya blinked and froze. “…Did you just talk?” he asked the donkey. The donkey snorted, and then the voice came again… “No, you little fool. It was me. The one who pays you and gives you a home, remember?” WHAPP! Midoriya yelped and turned around as a light but firm swat bapped him upside the head. He timidly looked up and chuckled nervously at the figure who had smacked him. “Oh…uh…s-sorry, Mr. Aizawa.” Aizawa was a tall, thin man. His black hair was long and frequently unkempt, his unshaven face abnormally pale. Between these features and his seemingly permanently bloodshot eyes, Midoriya often worried the head farmer would flop over from lack of sleep. “What do you expect?” the farmer would say, when the youth addressed him about the issue. “I have to deal with you and that other rambunctious kid every day, ANYONE would lose sleep.” Aizawa frowned, and Midoriya flinched back; there was always such a dangerous, smoldering look in the older farmer’s eyes when he was irate…which was quite often. The irises could go from hollow and almost lifeless to sharp as daggers or hot as scorching flames in an instant. He wore dark clothes that were a little nicer than Midoriya’s, but not by much; with a grunt, he jabbed a thumb towards the cattle pen on the premises. “Kaminari’s having trouble with Milky White,” Aizawa grumbled. “One of you can finish ploughing later. Right now, put Mineta away and then go help him out.” Midoriya’s smile became less nervous, and he nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir,” he said, and set about undoing the plough and bringing Mineta with him by the halter to the barn where the donkey slept. Aizawa’s farm produced three things: a great abundance of poultry, with the chickens being sold to market at regular intervals, and of course the wheat in the fields…and milk. The milk all came from a single cow: an old heifer appropriately named Milky White. The name not only came from the cow’s appearance – with short, coarse hair of purest, snowy white all over her body, not a speckle of brown or black to be found beyond her huge, doe-like eyes – but for the product she put forth. Far and wide, across the Kingdom of Ua, the milk was considered to be the whitest dairy anybody had ever seen. It fetched quite a handsome price at market, far more than the chickens or the wheat ever did, and allowed the trio who dwelled on the farm to get by well enough. Midoriya had lived on the farm most of his life; he and Kaminari were orphans who had met on the streets and befriended each other. One day, many moons ago – the two were scarcely older than seven – Kaminari had suggested breaking into the home of the farmer who lived alone at the edge of the woods: Shota Aizawa. Midoriya had been hesitant, and to this day, Kaminari claimed it was his hesitant nature that got them caught (though Midoriya was fairly sure it was more likely how much noise Kaminari made while they were breaking in). Instead of turning them into the authorities – the Kingdom was not kind to thieves – Aizawa had decided the two would work on his farm for a while to “pay their debt.” That was how it had started…but after some time, the farm became like home, and the pair just…stayed there. Aizawa never seriously complained. The keyword being seriously. He ALWAYS complained. In the years he’d spent on the farm, Midoriya had developed a much closer relation to Milky White than Kaminari. After putting Mineta away, the young man with green hair trotted to the cattle pen; Milky White quietly grazed on a big trough full of barley. Beside her was a battered wooden stool, and seated on the stool was another young man – sharp-featured and with unusual, amber-colored eyes – his messy blonde hair swept away from his face. He was glaring and grinding his teeth with frustration, trying to squeeze milk out of the cow’s udders. “Rrrrgh…it’s no good!” he snapped as Midoriya stepped through the gate into the pen. He threw up his hands in defeat as he continued: “I can never get her to give me anything! It’s like she clams up!” Midoriya chuckled; his blonde friend pouted childishly. “You’re always either too rough or too gentle,” he said, patting Kaminari’s shoulder, then smiled helpfully. “Let me try: she should give me something.” Kaminari sighed and nodded in supplication, then got up from the milking stool. Midoriya sat down and gently stroked Milky White’s side. The cow let out a pleased moo, and he then began to try and milk the creature. However, after several tries, his smile faded. He was doing everything the way he always did, yet absolutely nothing was coming out. “Hey…what’s wrong, old girl?” he asked softly, patting the cow’s side. Milky White’s rather sleepy-looking eyes looked towards him and she blinked slowly. “Huh? You’re having trouble, too?” Kaminari asked, kneeling down; he’d been watching to try and figure out what he’d been doing wrong. The blonde frowned; Midoriya had NEVER failed to get milk before. “Yeah,” the green-haired boy nodded, and a worried expression crossed his face. “The past two weeks, she’s been giving less and less…maybe it’s something we’ve been feeding her?” “Impossible!” Kaminari insisted with a shake of his head. “We haven’t ever once changed her diet!” “Something wrong?” The two looked to see Aizawa leaning against the gate; he looked so tired, one swore the gate was all that was keeping him up. “She’s not milking,” Kaminari answered, gesturing to Milky White. Aizawa frowned, looking concerned and confused. He looked toward Midoriya…and tilted his head. The young man’s eyes were steadily moving between the udders and the bucket, an intense look of concentration on his face. His hand rubbed at his chin as he mumbled and muttered unintelligibly to himself. The head farmer and the blonde stable lad shared a look, then looked back to the other boy. “Oi,” Aizawa called out. “Izuku…kid, what do you think’s up?” Midoriya jumped and yelped, pulled out of thought again. He sighed with relief, and rubbed one arm. “Well…I-I was just thinking, Milky White is a pretty old cow,” he said slowly. A pause. “…And?” Kaminari pressed, while Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Oh! Um…well…I hate to say it, but maybe she’s just gotten to an age, finally, where she…can’t give milk anymore,” he shrugged. “It would explain why it’s been harder to manage her and why we’ve been getting less and less.” Milky White let out another moo, looking offended at the implications she was so old. Midoriya smiled and patted her side reassuringly. “I think you may be right,” Aizawa nodded, and sighed wearily. “Well…in that case, there’s only one thing to do.” “Um…make apple strudel?” Both Midoriya and Aizawa stared a Kaminari, who was smiling a dopey, chipper smile. “…No,” Aizawa answered slowly, then paused before elaborating simply: “We have to sell the cow.” “Sell her?!” gasped Midoriya, while Milky White’s own eyes widened in surprise, and she let out another moo that sounded quite alarmed. “Do we…d-do we really HAVE to?” “Yes,” Aizawa responded bluntly. “I don’t have the money to keep a cow on the farm that doesn’t put anything out. At least if we sell her, we’ll be able to make some money off her one last time; hopefully enough to buy another cow.” “But their milk won’t be nearly as good as hers!” protested Midoriya. “Probably not, but if she’s not giving ANY milk, that doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Izuku felt that couldn’t easily be denied, and bit his lip. “Don’t we have any other options?” Kaminari asked, noting the conflict on his friend’s face. Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Well, you could slaughter her yourselves, yeah.” The boys looked VERY ill, and Milky White was visibly shaking. “Yeeeeaaaah…I-I’mma pass on that,” shuddered Kaminari. “Then it’s settled,” Aizawa sniffed. “At least if she’s sold, she might be able to be a pet instead of someone’s dinner,” murmured Midoriya, rather sadly. Aizawa decided it wasn’t worth telling the rather forlorn-looking boy how unlikely that was. “Who’ll be in charge of giving her away?” Kaminari asked, while Midoriya petted the cow’s side gently. “I have some work I still need to do of my own,” Aizawa said, and pointed to Izuku. “Midoriya, you’ll take Milky White to market.” “M-Me?!” squeaked out Izuku, eyes wide. “Hey! Why not me?!” huffed Kaminari. “I haven’t been to market in ages!” “There’s a reason for that,” droned Aizawa, giving the blonde a withering stare. “The last time I sent you into town, I asked you to buy a dozen apples. You came back with two dozen pears.” “Hey, in my defense, they do taste sort of similar, AND you got more than-” “And the time before that,” Aizawa pressed on, “I sent you into town to buy some meat, and you came back with cheese! MOLDY cheese!” “I…well, um…uh…” “And the time before THAT,” Aizawa nearly growled, “I sent you to buy some milk…and you came back covered in lipstick marks, babbling about some cute blonde who traded your money for PERFUME.” Silence. Kaminari flushed, lowered his head, and kicked at the ground. “…She c-called me handsome…” Midoriya closed his eyes and shook his head, while Aizawa sighed and slapped a hand over his face. He mumbled something about being cursed into his palm, then looked back to Midoriya. “This will be your first time in the market, at least for my sake,” he said, somewhat warningly. “Please, DON’T make the same mistakes Kaminari has made.” “I won’t,” Midoriya promised, and stood up from the stool. “How soon do I leave?” “At once. Get the halter and I’ll tell you how much to ask for her, and give you further instructions…”

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“No less than five pounds, no less than five pounds…”

Izuku Midoriya – a red cap perched upon his head – muttered the mantra to himself over and over again under his breath, as he led Milky White along a crooked, broken road. The route to market passed through the forest that surrounded the farm. It had been a very long time since Midoriya had set foot on the road, and he idly wondered if anyone in town would recognize him in the least as one of the two waifs that had rambunctiously lived about the streets. Milky White let out a sad moo; Midoriya smiled kindly and paused to pat the bovine’s snout. “I know, old girl, but don’t worry,” he soothed. “I’ll make sure you get a good home, if I can. I promise.” He thought the cow smiled faintly, but he wasn’t sure. The boy continued on his path, carefully looking from left to right; he road he was taking had curves, but no forks or other paths. It was a more or less straight shot to the marketplace from here. He still had a long ways to go, however, and the forest seemed to grow denser around him, the branches of the trees twining together as their tops swayed slightly with the breeze. He had often thought the woods could be frightening, but in truth, the forest was very beautiful; the green leaves seemed to sparkle in the sunlight that shimmered between them, and he could hear birds chirping overhead. As Midoriya walked, he soon came to a patch of forest thinner than the rest; through a gap in the trees, he looked up and saw the sky. Two huge, white, puffy clouds painted the blissful blue backdrop. A sweet, vacant, daydreaming smile came over the wandering urchin’s face. In his mind’s eye, one cloud looked like a knight preparing to duel a frightful monster, represented by the other cloud. He was so lost in his daydreams, that he failed to hear Milky White’s warning bellow. And a moment later… WHUMP! “Oof!” “Ach!” Izuku thudded into something – or, rather, someone – and stumbled back clumsily before landing on his bunce with a grunt. He heard the other person fall in the same manner. “Ow,” Midoriya mumbled, massaging his sore backside for a moment before climbing up onto his feet and moving towards the other person, apologizing hastily. “I-I’m so sorry!” Izuku pleaded, extending a helping hand. “I should have watched where I was going, I just-” “It’s okay, it’s okay, stop apologizing,” the other fellow said, and stood up brushing himself off. Midoriya stepped back, withdrawing his arm and looking over the man: he was tall and exceedingly lank, with a bony face and deeply-sunken blue eyes that gave him an overall almost skeletal appearance. A huge head of wavy blonde hair adorned his scalp, and he was dressed in what appeared to be a nobleman’s coat: gold in color, with black pinstripes. Midoriya gulped nervously, eyes widening as he took in the strange man’s appearance, nearly quivering. The Mysterious Man was clearly of noble blood; would the gentleman be angry with him? He really didn’t need any trouble, he just wanted to get to the market soon… “I’m…I d-didn’t mean to bump into you, sir,” he peeped timidly, and the man – who was dusting off his coat – raised an eyebrow in his direction. “If, um…if there’s anything I can do t-to make it up to you, uh…” “Nonsense,” the Mysterious Man smiled benevolently, and gave a wink and a wide, toothy smile. “Good morning to you, Young Midoriya!” Izuku froze, mouth clapping shut. He blinked. “…Good morning to you. Uh…h-how come you know my name?” “Where are you heading this morning?” the Man asked, politely, not at all answering the question. Midoriya frowned and took a slightly suspicious step back. “I’m going to market,” he responded, lifting the part of the halter he held in emphasis. “My master’s cow here won’t milk anymore, so we’re hoping to sell her. As a pet,” he clarified, in the firmest voice he could. “Hmmm,” smirked the Mysterious Man, lifting a hand to his chin and cocking his head to one side. “I see…” A pause. “Who are you, sir?” Midoriya thought to ask. “Call me Yagi,” the Man said, simply, then smiled a bit wider. “How much are you demanding for this cow, Young Midoriya?” “No less than five pounds,” recited Izuku. Yagi frowned slightly. “Why such a sum?” “Well…um…m-my Master told me to ask for it,” Midoriya answered, honestly, and with a hint of embarrassment. “Ahhh,” nodded Yagi, then smiled anew. “And what would you say if I offered you something worth more than money?” Midoriya blinked, and looked towards Milky White, who rolled her great brown eyes up at him skeptically. He then gave Yagi an equally dubious but also keenly interested sort of look. “Such as?” Yagi smirked, and bent down, placing his hands on his knees as he was now eye-to-eye with Izuku. “Tell me, Young Midoriya…if you can…how many beans make five?” “Two in each hand, and one in your mouth!” Midoriya chirruped back, sharp as a needle, remembering the old chestnut from when he was a little boy. “Right you are!” Yagi chuckled, and tapped Midoriya on the nose. He chuckled louder as the younger man let out a childish squeak and covered his “booped” nose protectively. “And here they are now: the very beans themselves.” So saying, and with a flourish of one hand, the Mysterious Man – seemingly out of nowhere – pulled out a handful of five large, strange-looking beans: each was the size of a cashew, and each was brightly colored in different shades – red, yellow, blue, green, and pink – so that they seemed to form a little rainbow patch in the tall, thin man’s palm. “And as you are so sharp, good Midoriya,” Yagi went on, “I don’t mind offering a trade with you: how about you swap your cow…for these extraordinary, extravagant, extra-large, extra-extra-extra beans?” Midoriya looked at the colorful beans, then Yagi’s face…and frowned, scrunching his brow and looking a little confused and more than a little doubtful. “No offense, sir, but…um…why would I trade my cow for some beans?” he said, sensibly. “I mean…especially when I’ve been asked to get money. It just…doesn’t seem very wise.” “Normally, I would agree with you,” Yagi nodded, his voice equally reasonable, as he then lifted the beans a bit higher, their colors almost seeming to glisten in the sunlight that peered through the treetops. “But you haven’t got the slightest idea of what sort of beans these are. These aren’t ordinary beans: they’re MAGIC beans.” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “Magic?” “Yes,” Yagi said. “If you plant these beans tonight – under the light of the blue moon – by morning they’ll grow into a stalk tall enough to reach the top of the blue sky itself! And not an inch less.” Midoriya’s eyes widened; now he had some interest. “Really?” “Yes, really!” Yagi grinned widely, blue eyes wide and bright. “I would stake my reputation on it!” Midoriya bit his lip…then fiddled with the halter. Milky White moved her head slowly, swinging it to watch the conversation with her own sense of dopey interest. “Again, no offense, but…I don’t know you. Sir,” Midoriya reminded the Mysterious Man. “So…what kind of reputation can I trust a stranger to have?” Yagi opened his mouth to answer…then blinked…and paused, tilting his head and looking up to the sky. “Huh,” he muttered, scratching his cheek with a long, skinny finger. “That’s reasonable enough, Young Midoriya.” Midoriya nodded and gave the halter a tug, attempting to pass. “Right. Well, thank you for your offer, sir,” he said, politely, “But I just can’t-” “Hold on, hold on!” Yagi exclaimed, with such power in his voice it made Midoriya yelp and jump back in surprise. “Let me make you a deal: the time now is…” He paused, and – with his free hand, for the other still clutched the odd beans – reached into the pocket of his nobleman’s vest, pulling out a pocket watch – both as golden as his coat – and checked it before tucking it away again. “…The time now is six o’ clock,” he reported, and then went on: “If by tomorrow, at this hour, you discover anything has happened differently, in any way at all from what I promised…then you can meet me at this exact same spot, and I’ll give you the five pounds you asked for. Now there’s something we can agree on, yeah?” Izuku still looked unconvinced. Yagi’s eyes roamed up and down the young man’s form…and he sighed before kneeling down before him. “Young Midoriya,” he whispered softly, in a voice so low and so heartfelt it caught the green-haired youth off guard. “I know we’ve only just met…and I know you haven’t got much reason at all to trust me. But I have seen the way you looked at those clouds. I know of the daydreams people say you have. Tell me something: what do you wish for, more than anything in the world?” The young man paused before answering, figuring it would do no harm: “I want to be a hero. I want…I want to help people. I want to help my village, my friends, and I…I want to BE somebody. Not just a farmer’s helper, but…someone important.” “For money or fame?” “No. Not really. I mean…those are nice, but…just knowing I did something with my life, and knowing that I helped so many other people…that’s what I really want. I want to be remembered. And I…I want to do something amazing. Something that will be worth any risk if it helps others.” Yagi’s smile widened; there was a twinkle in the thin man’s eye. “I know those dreams very well,” he said sagely, and opened his hand once more, offering the beans to the youngster again as he went on: “Take these and plant them, just as I told you. I can’t promise you what will come of them will be easy for you. I can’t promise you it will be safe. I can’t even promise you that you won’t regret it. But if you do as I say…if you take this chance I’m giving you…maybe you can be a hero.” A pause. Midoriya took a deep breath. “…Do you promise to take care of Milky White?” “I do.” “And if anything does go wrong, you do promise to pay me the five pounds?” “I’ll make it ten, if you want.” Midoriya smiled. “Then I guess there’s nothing to lose, is there?” “I wouldn’t say that,” chuckled Yagi, “But you won’t be any worse off than you are now, will you?” “That’s true,” Midoriya nodded slowly in consideration…then smiled widely, eyes lighting up. “Alright! Deal!” The bargain was executed quickly, as Yagi pulled a small leather bag out of his coat pocket. He poured the beans inside, and traded the little bag for Milky White’s halter. “Farewell, Young Midoriya,” Yagi smiled, giving a mock salute to the young man. “And a pleasure doing business with you!” “Same to you,” Midoriya smiled, adjusting his scarlet cap, and turned away, opening the bag to inspect the beans. He took a few steps away, and made sure all five were inside. Nodding to himself, he turned around again, looking up, preparing to wave goodbye… …Only to find, to his amazement, that both Yagi and Milky White had seemingly vanished into thin air. Midoriya stared at the spot where they had stood…then looked at the bag of Magic Beans…then his smile returned, and with a whoop a laugh, he pocketed the beans and ran pell-mell back down the woodland path towards the farm. He couldn’t wait to see Mr. Aizawa’s reaction!

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“YOU. LITTLE. FOOL.” With a snarl, five brightly colored, cashew-sized beans sailed out an open window in the farmhouse. Midoriya gasped and tried to grab them before they hit the ground…but it was too late. They scattered into the dirt, and must have been covered quickly, because he couldn’t see where they landed. He then whimpered and cowered as a very, VERY angry Shota Aizawa nudged him back, barring his way and glaring down at him. “Beans,” he sneered. “I’m disappointed in you, Izuku. I trusted you to make good choices. And of all things you come back with…you come back with five painted beans?” “I…b-but…but Mr. Aizawa, he said they were magic!” Aizawa’s glare didn’t shift. He just glowered, unblinkingly. Midoriya sighed and hung his head; it did sound very, very gullible, now that he thought about it. “…He…he also said…w-we could…have ten pounds…i-if it didn’t work…?” he added, hopefully, not daring to look up as he said so. “You BELIEVED him?” Midoriya remained silent. He sniffled once, and said nothing. Aizawa’s gaze softened slightly, and he pinched his brow, closing his eyes as he pointed off in another direction with one hand. “Bed,” he ordered. “Now. We’ll talk about this more in the morning. Don’t come out of your room till I tell you to. Understand?” Silence. “UNDERSTAND?!” “Y-Yes…yes, Mr. Aizawa…I’m…I-I’m sorry…” With a final sniffle, not daring to lift his head, Midoriya darted upstairs and out of the room. Aizawa sighed as he watched the young man go…then looked out the window. The sun was setting and the night was riding in fast. He shook his head despondently, grumbling to himself as he headed towards his own room.

------------------------------------------------ He needed sleep desperately…and probably a drink, as well…

Kaminari squirmed a bit uncomfortably as he sat in his bed, which lay across from Midoriya’s in the small room they occupied each night. Midoriya was lying on his side, facing the other wall, turned away from Kaminari. He hadn’t moved a muscle for an hour or two. “Hey,” Kaminari whispered. “I, uh…I just wanted to say…it’s really not as bad as you think.” Midoriya gave no response. “I mean…you know all the dumb stuff I’ve done, yeah?” Kaminari chuckled, trying to shrug and giving an uneasy smile. “And…well…Magic Beans DO sound a lot cooler than, like…I dunno…moldy cheese, r-right?” Still no response. “…Midoriya? Are you asleep already?” No response. Kaminari sighed; he’d tried. Shaking his head sadly, he lay down in bed, and turned away to face his wall. “G’night,” he mumbled out, softly. In his own bed, Midoriya said nothing. His eyes spilled tears onto his pillow as he lay totally and completely still, curled up defensively in his bed, as if trying to coil into a ball. He hugged himself as he lay on his side, and sniffled softly before wiping his eyes on one arm. A flicker of light fell over his face, and he looked up to see the blue moon shining down. With a despairing sort of look, he lay down on his belly, face in his pillow…and after several minutes, cried himself quietly to sleep.

Neither he, nor Kaminari, nor Aizawa downstairs never noticed the way the ground not so far beyond the window shifted as the moonlight passed over it…they certainly never noticed the tiny green sprout that began to wind out of the ground as they slumbered…nor how it burst with leaves and pods as it continued to grow…

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

Izuku Midoriya opened his eyes to darkness. He gazed about, trying to figure out where he was…he opened his mouth to call for his master and his friend, but no sound came out in the dark, hollow void. A disturbing, hissing noise echoed out from somewhere behind him. He turned around fast…and turned pale as a sheet as he beheld a hideous, indescribable beast: as big as a house, its whole body a mass of writhing green tentacles, like some of the great sea monsters he’d seen in storybooks! He wished for a weapon…and suddenly, he found his fingers grasping the hilt of a silver sword. He looked to the sword, then the hideous creature…then glared, and took his best battle stance, holding the sword ready, challenging the beast. The tentacles swept towards him. He jumped out of the way, hacking and slashing with the blade, chopping them into pieces…but each time he struck, two more tentacles came flying at him.! He ducked and dodged as quick as he could, whirling his blade about his head as fast as he could manage… …Then, suddenly, a tentacle grabbed his arm, and with a wrenching twist, tore the sword away! He gasped, as a tentacle then grabbed his other arm, and another green tendril lashed about his waist! Izuku watched in horror, as a fourth tentacle transformed; the end of it malformed like clay, turning into a huge, green, fang-filled maw. The hideous monster licked its lips…and with a roar, the maw came careening towards him, ready to swallow him whole! “AAAAGH!” Midoriya jolted, pushing himself upright in bed…then, he settled, and panted, flopping down again with a groan as he realized he’d been having a nightmare… …One can thus imagine his reaction when he rolled onto his back in bed…to find what looked like a huge horde of green, curling tendrils pushing through the bedroom window. “YIPE!” With a shrill, almost comical yelp, Midoriya flailed and fell out of bed with a thud. He froze, as he heard Kaminari – still asleep in his own bed – groan and grumble something about “pretty girls” in his slumber. For several moments, Midoriya didn’t move…then, he scrubbed at his eyes, and took a better look at the” tendrils” poking through the window. He had quite forgotten, in his alarm, what had happened the day before. He found that the whole room had a vague, greenish hue cast over it, and the source was soon clear. His eyes widened, amazed, and he was suddenly filled with a sense of action. In a flash, he threw on his green tunic, red shoes, vest, and cap, and fastened his white rope belt before creeping downstairs quickly but quietly, not wishing to wake Aizawa or Kaminari. He stepped out of his house, and craned his neck upwards, barely able to believe his own eyes: there, in all of its splendor, rooted not more than a couple yards away from the house…was a GIGANTIC beanstalk, such as there has never been in the history of any world! It was thicker than any tree in the forest; it stretched high, up and up and up – he couldn’t see the end of it! At length, Midoriya realized that it was stretching far, far out of sight, piercing the blue sky itself! “Just as Yagi said,” he breathed, and began to quiver, a smile slowly forming on his face as his eyes danced with delight. He hadn’t been tricked! He hadn’t been fooled! The beans WERE magic! Almost without thinking, Midoriya darted forward, and grabbed hold of the two lowest branches of the spiralling beanstalk. He paused for a moment…took a deep breath…and then began to climb. He climbed till he could see through his window into Kaminari’s room…he climbed till he could jump down and hop onto the roof, if he wished…he climbed till he could look down and see the whole farm in all its vastness. He climbed, and climbed, and climbed; he had no thought in his head to keep climbing. His arms and legs seemed to be working without his will guiding him, hauling him up, up, up! He thought he would have run out of breath, one way or another, yet somehow he STILL climbed! He could see the tops of the trees, he could see birds – who looked VERY befuddled – flit past. He could see the crest of the Sun as it rose in the East, just beyond the pearly castle of Ua. Higher and higher Midoriya went, never once considering how in the world he was going to get down again safely. His heart was pounding with unparalleled excitement; even just climbing the beanstalk was an adventure in itself! Each time he looked down, he felt no fear, but an overwhelming sense of freedom and awe; seeing how small and yet how vast the world was, all at the same time, the more height he gained. Up, up, up… …Till, finally…as he reached…his fingers brushed what felt like fine, powdery sand. It was as if he were at the entrance of a well, a sea of white just beyond his reach. He reached further…and realized the beanstalk had come to an end. For the briefest of moments, panic entered his heart, as he now realized the harrowing knowledge he would have to climb back down, and that would be much harder than going up…but then, he remembered the sand, and – taking a risk – he heaved himself up daringly and held his breath… …As he popped through the whole in the sky…and found himself standing on solid ground. He had reached the point where the sky itself came to an end. A world above the clouds. Midoriya stared around in awe, stumbling forward, too thunderstruck to speak as his jaw dropped and he took in the sights around him. Ahead of him stretched a long, wide road of blue, powdery earth. ENORMOUS trees – taller than any he had ever seen – stood before him: their trunks were silver, and their leaves were a pale, sugary white. The sky itself was a pale, unusual violet hue, with streaks of orange passing through it – the colors of sunset, but without the steady shift. That was just the color, all the time, he wagered. The air was uncannily still; a few times on the climb up, he’d had to pause to hold onto his cap, to keep his hat from being blown miles out of his grasp. Now, though…there was no wind at all. “Whoa,” he murmured to himself, unable to say anything else as he began to walk down the road, staring and staring at the peculiar new plane he had discovered. His heartbeat only continued to quicken; this was the most spectacular thing he’d ever experienced. GRRRLLLB… “Ah-ah!” Izuku winced sharply, scrunching his eyes shut as he paused in his walk, and clutched his stomach…then sighed as he rubbed it gently. “Right…didn’t eat breakfast this morning…or supper last night, for that matter,” he muttered, a little sourly. His stomach whined again, and he bit his lip; it actually felt quite painful, the hunger pangs scraping against his gut lining. He looked around, his mind leaving the sense of wild adventure in favor of the more practical desire for food. Another world or not, he figured there had to be SOMETHING to eat around here! Sure enough, his green eyes soon spotted something: a white bush, covered in dark purple berries, not unlike grapes. Curious, Midoriya approached the bush; the bush alone was TREMENDOUS, about the size of the toolshed back on the farm. Carefully. He reached out and plucked one of the grape-like fruits off the branches; they were the size of footballs. Midoriya sniffed at the berry; it smelled sweet, and he smiled before taking a bite…only to gag and sputter, spitting out chunks of the stuff as he dropped the berry and rapidly scrubbed at his tongue. “Ugh!” he choked. “It…it smells nice, but…it TASTES like frog skins! O-Or rotten fish!” His stomach whined, pleading for something. He sighed again, and rubbed it, mouth starting to water with hunger as he lurched onward, desperately looking around for something to eat as he left the foul-tasting berry bush behind. Whatever THOSE berries were, he could survive without them…they were probably toxic, anyway, given that flavor! On Midoriya traveled, and louder his stomach growled. Everything around him was larger than he was used to; he’d ducked when a huge shadow, which he thought was an eagle, flew past his head…and nearly thought he’d faint when he realized it was a black-and-blue-colored butterfly, drinking from a pink flower the size of a small tree. He shook his head and continued forward, hoping he might find some breakfast soon… …And then…he froze. What looked like a gray wooden bridge was stretched across a black river, which sparkled like a starry night sky. And on the other side of the bridge was a giant house; it was not as poor as the old farmhouse, nor as splendid as a nobleman’s manor…somewhere in the middle, Midoriya guessed. Despite this middling state of obvious expense, the place was bigger than any house he’d seen…except maybe one… “It’s as big as a Castle,” he breathed…and with a light shake of his head, he hustled forward towards the building, almost desperately. A place that big was bound to be home to some kind of adventure…and if he was lucky, he thought, adjusting his white belt, maybe it was home to some food, as well. Midoriya dashed across the bridge, till he came to the door of the big house. There was no hope of reaching the doorknob, and some sixth sense told Midoriya that knocking would not only be likely fruitless, but potentially dangerous: whoever lived here was clearly no ordinary person. His mind started to race, wondering what COULD live in this house above the sky: a demon? A dragon? A clown? Hey, clowns were creepy. Whatever the case, Izuku’s hunger had quite a grip on him, as did his curiosity; he wasn’t turning back now. He soon noticed there was a gap under the door – he guessed big enough for a mouse to wriggle under. It was telling of how small he was compared to everything else that Izuku was able to wiggle through this gap, and soon found himself standing inside the enormous house. The interior of the giant building matched the exterior: it was neither especially poor-looking, nor particularly grand. The overall style reminded Izuku of a hunting lodge: rugs that appeared to be made from animal skins covered the wooden floor, and weapons the size of boats were displayed. What looked like a cow’s skull was mounted in one spot…but the skull, as well as the skins, were far more monstrous in their dimensions than any animals of the same kind Midoriya had ever encountered. His attention was drawn away from his surroundings when a sumptuous smell caught his nose; his poor, empty belly growled, and he had to wipe some drool away from the corner of his mouth before creeping carefully in the direction of the smell. He truly did feel like a mouse right now; he had the distinct sensation of invading some larger, more physically superior creature’s territory. He had to be careful: he had no idea if the one(s) who lived here might be home. If he got caught, this adventure could be over FAR quicker than he liked. Thankfully, he didn’t get caught, as he scampered across the floor, and found his way to a warm, welcomingly-lit kitchen. He looked up, and his eyes lit up with joy; he almost squealed with glee! Eager as could be, he scurried up one of the table legs – he’d just climbed a beanstalk that reached to the sky, THIS was nothing – and hauled himself up onto the tabletop. A tremendous feast lay before him: a huge hambone, a roasted chicken, apple dumplings, a block of cheddar cheese, a half-rack of beef ribs, and a lamb stew with carrots and potatoes all sat upon the table. Not only were these six separate courses quite a substantial amount of food in general, but because everything around Izuku was at least twenty times bigger than normal, any ONE of these dishes would have been enough to feed him and his fellow farmers for a whole week. Midoriya grinned and clapped excitedly, as his mind immediately started turning: perhaps this was how he could become a hero! Some of this could bring food to the whole village, or at least be sold at market for more than enough money to help out around the farm! The question was how to carry it all back… GRRROOOUUURRRRG… He hissed and clutched his belly with both hands…and laughed weakly. “Right,” he murmured. “I, uh…I should probably NOT try thinking on an empty stomach, huh?” His tummy answered with a grumpy-sounding grumble. Midoriya patted it gently, and looked around the table…then – as if he couldn’t feel more rodent-like already – he made a beeline for the cheese. He knelt before the giant block, and licked his lips before sinking his hands into it, pulling away fistfuls of cheddar, peeling it away almost like clay. He inhaled the scent, relishing his well-earned feast, and then began to shovel the cheese into his mouth rapidly, gobbling it with almost animalistic abandon. He sighed after several mouthfuls, eyes fluttering closed as he chewed and then swallowed heavily. “GRULP!  Ahhhh…this is the best cheese I’ve ever had,” he crooned, and grinned wider than ever, stomach still roaring for more as he reached for another fistful… THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP…! Midoriya froze. His ears pricked up as he heard a rhythmic, steady pounding; like some huge hammer slamming down again and again into the earth. He quickly recognized the sound to be footsteps. Very, VERY big footsteps. The sound grew louder, as whatever made the footstesps drew nearer. Midoriya turned fast and gasped as he saw a huge shadow come creeping across the wall, growing larger by the second! Thinking fast, he stuffed the last fistful of cheddar into his mouth…then, cheeks still bulging with the food, he hustled over to where he saw a salt and pepper shaker set, and ducked behind them quickly. No longer in the open, Midoriya peeked out from behind his hiding spot. His green eyes widened more than ever, terror striking his heart like a lightning bolt, as he saw the owner of the footsteps – the owner of the house – come swaggering into view. “A Giant!” The Giant stood at about fifty feet high, and the more Midoriya looked at the ogre, the more frightened he became. The titan was a handsome but imposing young man – roughly the same age as Izuku himself – with a head of spiky red hair that almost resembled flames. His eyes, too, were a shade of almost glowing scarlet, and as he yawned and stretched, Midoriya whimpered at the sight of a mouth full of razor-sharp, craggy-looking fangs. The young Giant wore a black vest lined with fluffy-looking red fur, and a pair of black leather trousers. Thick black boots were on his feet, and a long, flowing red sash was lashed about his middle The behemoth was bare-armed and bare-bodied, wearing no shirt beneath the vest; his abdomen was toned and athletic, rippling with powerful muscles, and his limbs were much the same. Between the colors, the fangs, and the overall size and demeanor of the Giant, Midoriya was trembling: he’d never met a giant, but he’d heard stories of them, and they were never very good. Giants were said to walk like men, but had appetites like devils; they would eat men, women, and children for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, often swallowing them whole. They would raid villages, devouring everyone and almost everything in sight, often never leaving till their bellies were swollen and heaving with all they had consumed. Then – despite their gargantuan masses – they would simply and suddenly disappear, with no evident explanation. To slay a giant was a feat few knights had succeeded in, and to meet a giant, for most people, was surely a death sentence. No one had ever figured out where they actually came from. It seemed Midoriya just had. Or, at least, he’d found where ONE of them came from. The scarlet-haired giant thankfully never noticed Midoriya; he smiled as he clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly, looking over the food on the table. Izuku ducked back behind the shaker to avoid being seen. “Well…now that that’s taken care of,” the Giant mumbled, seemingly talking to its own food, “I’ve just gotta get a drink, and we’ll be ready! Don’t worry, breakfast: I’ll introduce you to my belly soon enough!” The Giant cackled and patted his muscular, trim belly in emphasis, then began to hum a jaunty tune as he strode over to another part of the kitchen. Midoriya gaped as he looked around the table for a moment. Breakfast…ALL of this…was breakfast for ONE giant?! No wonder their appetites were legendary. At least nothing here was alive…except for Midoriya himself, he realized, with a shudder. A sound of running fluid caught the youth’s attention, and he peeked out from behind the shaker. The Giant had stomped over to large barrel or keg, with a faucet stuck into it. From the spigot poured a stream of what looked and smelled like cherry cider. (Absently, Midoriya wondered how many cherries on HIS world it would take to fill a barrel of cider that big.) The Giant was smiling a happy, cheery smile as he watched the cider fill the thick clay mug he was holding… …Then, as he turned the dial to stop the flow, his mug filled…he froze. Midoriya saw the Giant frown in confusion…then, the red-eyed monster lifted his head up and began to sniff the air. His nostrils flared, becoming huge black holes as his ears pricked up, clearly alert. Midoriya internally cursed, biting his lip and ducking back behind the salt shaker as he heard the Giant approach the table again. He heard the dull “clunk” of the huge mug being put down… “Hmmmm…something smells good around here,” the Giant mumbled. “And it’s not the food…” Midoriya fought the urge to whimper, hugging himself and curling in on himself. His heart pounded with terror as he heard the ogre begin to search room; he could hear him open the larder and the cupboards…then heard the rattling of dishes as he searched the table itself, sniffing at the air all the while. “Please don’t find me,” he whispered to himself in a breathless prayer. “Oh, please don’t find me…please, please don’t find me…” The hopes were vain ones, and he knew it; the Giant could smell him, and once it found him, he had no doubt he’d a VERY intimate experience with those razor sharp teeth. Mind racing, Midoriya looked towards the edge of the table; perhaps he could make a break for it, scramble down the table leg and find a better place to hide, then head back home via the beanstalk. But then he’d be leaving empty-handed…empty-handed was better than dead, though… Just as he was measuring his options, his blood ran cold as he felt the shakers he’d been hiding behind get lifted away…and an ominous, thorny-looking shadow fell over him. He gulped nervously…and, very slowly, looked upwards towards the source of the shadow. The blood red eyes of the Giant fell upon him. The ogre tilted its head…and then grinned, showing off all of those huge, jagged teeth. “Oh! Hi, little guy!” the Giant boomed. “What are you doing here?” NOPE, was all Midoriya could think, as he leapt to his feet and sprinted towards the edge of table. “Hey, now, don’t leave in such a rush!” Midoriya squealed as a huge hand swooped down and grabbed hold of him. He froze, not daring to squirm, as for a few moments, he was wrapped up in huge fingers that felt like pythons coiled around him, pressed against a palm that was both soft and somewhat leathery in texture. He could feel gravity change around him, sensed himself being lifted higher… …Then jolted as a second hand joined the fray, cupping him gently as the fingers parted slightly, revealing a red eye about as large as he was tall. “Peek-a-boo!” sang out a voice, followed by a snigger. The fingers then parted fully, and Midoriya found himself sitting the middle of the Giant’s hands, the huge titan smiling down at him widely. “Hey there!” the Giant sang out gaily. “I’m Kirishima! Eijiro Kirishima! What’s your name, little fella?”

To Be Continued…

[agentfreckles]

So I saw this video on Instagram where this woman was pranking her partner and basically she randomly got all dolled up and claimed she was just going to the grocery store to see how they would react. Do you think UB would have any funny reactions to that prank??

This is probably not at all what you were looking for, anon, but the second I read this I was immediately hit with inspiration. Long story short, your ask allowed me to complete my first fic after over a month of intense writer’s block. So I hope you enjoy my dumb little Adam drabble because I am seriously so thankful for you rn 😭

All Dolled Up 

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,308

Pairing: Adam x Female!Detective (Ramona Gibson)

Summary: Ramona selects a highly unconventional outfit for her trip to the grocery store. Adam is not amused. 

Notes: This is my first time writing specifically for Ramona which has me feeling all kinds of happy. Her name is only used twice and there are no pronouns used, so hopefully it’s not too distracting if you want to imagine your detective instead. But I’m so excited to finally give Ramona a voice and I hope you all like her as much as I do!

"Oh, come on!" I mutter angrily, about ready to rip out this stubborn curl that has decided to flop in front of my face yet again. My reflection stares back at me through the hallway mirror as I shove the lock of hair back in place for what must be the hundredth time in the past five minutes.

I don't even know why I'm putting so much effort into some lame practical joke anyway. The fact that I'm even doing a prank at all is completely ridiculous and so unlike me. Surely Felix hasn't been that much of a bad influence on me the last several months, right? But then again, he was the one who brought this concept to my attention by showing me some video he had found a couple days prior before not-so-subtly suggesting I try out the same thing on a certain Commanding Agent next chance I get. 

And somehow despite my reservations I ended up taking Felix up on his proposition and spent the better half of one of my rare evenings off getting all dressed up for what exactly? Just to get a rise out of Adam -- something that I can do just fine without having to fight to get my hair under control or squeezing into a form-fitting dress and high heels? Sounds like a hell of a waste in retrospect when it seems like all I have to do these days is breathe in his general direction to press his buttons, given how much tension there's been brewing between us the past couple of weeks.  

Now that I think about it, maybe it's that same tension that has me feeling compelled to act out in this way. Perhaps this whole thing was bred out of some desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, seeing me all done up and glamorous will give Adam the push he needs to throw away his inhibitions and finally-

No. I won't even entertain the thought.

This is just a silly little prank amongst coworkers. No big deal.

Renewed determination quells the nerves in my chest and I give my reflection a resolute nod before squaring my shoulders and striding down the length of the hallway. With one final calming breath and a whispered "You can do this, Ramona," I give the living room door's elegant brass handle a twist and step inside.

No turning back now.

Adam is sitting on the worn leather sofa near the fireplace when I enter the living room, looking lost in thought as he stares into the crackling flames with a deep-set frown. He breaks from his pensive state and stands at the sound of my footsteps before turning to offer a greeting, but the sight of me, or rather my outfit, makes the words get caught in his throat. When he does eventually speak, it's in a voice so soft I nearly miss it. 

“Ramona...”

Heat blooms on my cheeks both at the unexpected use of my name and the way his gaze passes over every inch me with the reverence and care of a lover's caress. With the help of the dim light from the fire's glow I am able to detect a glimmer of desire in those icy green eyes, the intensity behind them making my brain fog up with so much steam that I nearly forget about the practical joke I'm supposed to be pulling entirely.

"Hi," I offer pathetically, immediately clearing my throat to dispel some of the tension in the room and restore power to my malfunctioning brain. Miraculously, it manages to do the trick as even Adam seems to break out of the trance-like state he was in. He folds his hands behind his back, adopting the familiar rigid stance I've come to associate with the Commanding Agent when he's attempting to appear guarded and aloof.

“I haven’t heard mention of any formal events in your schedule," he remarks cooly. A soft smile grazes my lips when I notice his gaze still lingers on me a few seconds longer than necessary despite his attempt to convey casual disinterest. "May I ask where you’re headed?”

I smile, everything from the expression on my face to my body language a perfect picture of innocence as I deliver the punchline. “Just to the market to grab some groceries."

I wish I had brought a camera to record the speed at which Adam's eye dart up to meet mine, immense confusion overtaking his features. Suddenly I'm not so sure which reaction I enjoyed more: the unmistakable attraction radiating off of him in waves when I  had first arrived or the perplexed, almost outraged look on his face now.

"You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”

“I beg your pardon?” Adam scoffs, ignoring the invitation and instead cocking a brow and folding his arms disapprovingly as he studies me with a far more judgmental eye than he had before. “I fail to see how cocktail attire is an appropriate garment choice for a supermarket.”

Oddly emboldened by the clear distaste in his words, I decide to push a little further.

“What, you don’t like it?” I reply in mock offense before turning once in a small circle, my pace deliberately slow to give Adam the best possible view of the way the fabric clings to my every curve while I try not to get too wrapped up in the feeling of his eyes hungrily drinking me in once more.

“I didn’t say that.” Adam replies once I've finished my little display, coughing lightly in an effort to hide the slight strain in his voice as he speaks. “However, my point still stands. You are far too overdressed for a simple errand run. I would highly suggest you change into something more practical that is better suited to the task you aim to complete.”

Oh, now that's a bit of a mood killer.

Really, out of all the possible outcomes I was hoping to get out of this, an impromptu lecture from Adam was not one of them. The heat that was steadily building up between us fizzles out at his commanding tone and annoyance quickly takes its place.

Must he always be such an ass?

The indignant scoff that escapes my lips this time is completely genuine. “Says the guy who wore a button up and slacks into a sewer not too long ago.”

“I-You—Those were entirely different circumstances!" Adam splutters, clearly not expecting to have that particular incident brought up again, let alone in the middle of a debate he was so certain he had won just a moment before. The disbelieving look I toss his way helps him regain his composure quickly and his expression hardens once more as he fixes me with an icy glare. “And even if they were somehow similar, my motivations for doing so were far more commendable than whatever ridiculous excuse you’ve managed to come up with for this, I'm sure.”

“Oh really?” I mimic his stance, folding my arms across my chest and raising a challenging brow. “And what were those motivations exactly?”

“I...“ My chin proudly raises in triumph as I watch Adam’s stony mask crumble, a blush now rapidly coloring the pale skin of his face and neck as he struggles to speak. I must admit his reaction comes as a bit of a surprise. I’ve never seen him quite so flustered. And clearly neither has he judging by the way his gaze darts around the room in search of something, anything to rescue him from the nightmare this conversation has turned into.

"Well?"

Just as the red tinge on his cheeks is beginning to reach tomato-like levels of intensity Adam suddenly straightens. “I have work to do.”

And with that he turns on his heel, quickly marching past me and out of the room.

[peralta-guaranteed]

Romantic epiphanies are dope

At what point, though, had she decided that it was Jake of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

After all, if 11-year-old Amy had been asked to create a binder on her future husband - Jake would have not even been mentioned in the footnotes. If she could’ve wished for a partner back then, she definitely wouldn’t have specified that he had to be dorky and clumsy, constantly making bad jokes, living on a diet that would send any other person to the hospital for malnutrition, obsessed with action movies and cop heroics, spending his free time and money on the most useless things anyone could think of, and pranking and bothering her to his heart’s content.

-*-*-*-

On the evening of their engagement, Amy wonders about her own romantic epiphanies and what made her decide that Jake was the person she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

Read it on AO3

“What about you?”

The scene at Shaw’s bar had settled down a bit after the united ring of the squad had broken down into their own little groups as they always did. Gina was busy admiring Terry’s biceps from a corner booth, phone in hand as always, while he played a game of darts with Jake, who was shooting glances over to Amy every few seconds as if they had been apart for months again instead of just a few minutes. Charles was extolling the virtues of some new restaurant to Captain Holt, who definitely looked like he was preparing to leave ever since he’d stepped foot into the bar. Hitchcock and Scully were… well, somewhere, either asleep or eating, probably.

And Rosa was sliding onto the barstool next to Amy, a cocktail glass - Moscow Mule, her favourite, Amy had learned after literally a year of sleuthing - in her hand and a curious glint in her eye that didn’t quite fit the usually stoic face.

“Hmm~?” Amy gave her a quizzical look - she was not yet anywhere on her scale of drunkenness, still holding the beer she’d used to cheer during today’s round of toasts. She didn’t  want to get drunk tonight - she wanted to remember it all, forever. The little diamonds of her wonderful new ring were shining just perfectly against the dark brown bottle.

“What about you, Santiago. When was your romantic epiphany? Knowing that you’ll say yes if he asks?” Rosa raised an eyebrow and schooled a more appropriate, serious look on her face. “Because let’s be honest, as sweet as Jake is, his’ was pretty lame. You do cross word puzzles like, every night.”

“Oh, I see.” Amy gave the label on her beer a good scratching, peeling off the edges slightly. “I guess-” she started, but nothing else came.

While Rosa usually enjoyed drinking in silence far more than anything, right now she was on the level of inebriated where she would actually let loose enough to, ugh,  chat . And she wanted to chat with Amy, of all people. Well, she supposed, maybe that wasn’t quite so strange, considering she was one of her best friends. Actually, her best friend. Girl-wise, next to Jake. It was still a struggle to admit to herself that these two absolute dorks were far more than just co-workers to her, sometimes even more than just simple friends.

But Amy was still silent, staring at her drink as if it held the answer to everything (which it definitely didn’t if it turned her into Spacey Amy on drink 1).

“It’s fine if you don't have one, you know. S’not always like the movies.”

“No no, it’s just- it’s kinda-” The beer’s label was peeling some more, and the bottle was almost empty after another sip.

It was just kinda… the fact that Amy had always been split down two very different sides concerning marriage.

On the one hand, it had never really occurred to her. Her life plan, hanging proudly over her bed while she was living alone, now replaced by a movie poster of Jake’s that was luckily not Die Hard and the plan relegated to her little office corner, made no mention of it. She had plans for her career - many of them - and actually a few goals for her private life as well, to maintain a healthy work-life-balance as one should. But marriage? There had never been a date set on her wall for that. It was too risky, she’d reasoned even as a teen while drawing up her first plan. Unpredictable, since it involved a whole other person, and relationships couldn’t be planned and dated down to the day, which she hated to think about, and she wouldn’t have much time to date anyway if she was gearing up to be the youngest female Captain in NYPD history. And, if she was completely honest, it was sometimes too scary to think about as well - she knew she was a difficult person to be around, in some ways. Definitely difficult to handle as a romantic partner. What if she couldn't find a man willing to put in that work? And then see the dates on her calendar pass by, alone, or crying from heartbreak? No, marriage was not on her life plan at all, she’d decided at the ripe age of eleven in her pink and off-white bedroom while writing down all the big moments of her life to come.

On the other hand, it had always been an obvious yes. Having a husband,  having a family - she could imagine nothing else, growing up with all her siblings, with her parents still being obviously in love with each other after all these years, with her tias and tios and abuelas and abuelos all around her. What would life even be like without that kind of family? Without people over at her place every holiday, without someone trusted by her side tag-teaming all the tasks and duties of everyday life, without that little group of people that she knew would always be there, would always be loving and caring for her the way she loved and cared for them. It was unimaginable. She’d seen the endlessly romantic scenes in films and read about them in her books, and while she was not easily impressed or swayed even as a teenager, she was definitely... expecting some of that in her own life. She wanted the romantic moments, the flashbacks to tell her children and grandchildren about, the beautiful proposal, the perfectly-planned wedding, the photo album of years and years together, of all the milestones a couple could have. Yes, marriage was definitely on her life plan, tucked into the back of her mind and ever present.

At what point, though, had she decided that it was  Jake  of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

After all, if 11-year-old Amy had been asked to create a binder on her future husband - Jake would have not even been mentioned in the footnotes. If she could’ve wished for a partner back then, she definitely wouldn’t have specified that he had to be dorky and clumsy, constantly making bad jokes, living on a diet that would send any other person to the hospital for malnutrition, obsessed with action movies and cop heroics, spending his free time and money on the most useless things anyone could think of, and pranking and bothering her to his heart’s content.

Then again, that wasn’t Jake anymore - maybe it had been during their first few years as only co-workers, but he was constantly changing, growing up step by step, maybe a bit later than others, but definitely growing. He was always willing to learn, as much as he’d moan about it all. He was willing to get better, spurned on by competition, maybe, or by the desire to be the best -anything- he could be, not just best detective, but he was willing no matter the reason.

And then again, that wasn’t all that Jake had really been, ever - maybe on the outside, to the unknown onlooker, but not to those who really spent time with him. As careless as he was with his own health, he was always caring for everyone else in his own subtle and not so subtle ways. As ridiculous as his jokes and pranks were, he also knew exactly when they were not appropriate anymore, and he could lend a hand or a sympathetic shoulder just as seriously as he could stand guard for you if you needed a moment alone in the evidence lock-up. As much as he would boast about himself and throw jabs at everyone else, he would also turn into the ultimate hype-man for everyone on the squad at the mere mention of one of them failing or stumbling.

And if Amy had been given the chance to write a wishlist for the man she wanted to spend her life with at any point of her planning - that kindness, compassion and support would’ve definitely been on the top of it.

She realised she still hadn’t answered Rosa. Luckily, Diaz was exactly the kind of person who knew how to hold onto a weighted silence and give her all the time she needed without interrupting her. She simply sipped her heavy-on-the-vodka-please drink and waited.

“I don’t think I-” Amy started up again, realising that her beer bottle was now completely label-less, a small heap of paper on the bar counter next to her. “I don’t think it was one big moment, to be honest. I think it was a lot of little ones.”

“Like what, buying folders together to get his desk straightened out? The moment when he actually used a five-syllable-word right? The day he finally stopped mixing gummy bears with red vines and calling it ‘sugar bolognese’?”

“I know you’re making fun of it, but those were all milestones in their own way, okay?” Amy shot Rosa a little glare, which proved to be extremely ineffective against the other Latina’s taunting grin.

“But they weren’t the moments?” Rosa continued to poke her, turning her voice several octaves higher for the last words. “Where Jake turned into the knight in shining armour baby-Amy definitely used to draw into her diary?”

No, they weren’t. Sure, Amy was proud of Jake for all of them. But they weren’t the moments where she’d realised that this was it, that this person was  her person. That there would never be anyone who loved her the way he did, and that she could never feel for anyone else what she felt for him.

She tried to think of something romantic, something big to throw back into Rosa’s face, make her stop the jokes and understand. Make her see that it wasn’t about the grand gestures or the perfect match that made Jake her one and only, as cheesy as that sounded.

They’d had many big moments, that was for sure.

When he went in front of the whole precinct here at Shaw’s to cryptically talk about how much just six days with her meant to him. When she knocked on his door to say  screw light and breezy and his eyes lit up as if she’d just taken the weight of the world off of his shoulders. When he sat at the back of an ambulance, a bullet wound from her in his leg and the memory of Figgis’ gun still on his temple, and none of that seemed to matter because they were back in sync and he’d get to finally go back home with her. When he forfeited a bet, lost a collar and gave up his entire apartment for her happiness. When she was knee-deep in files at the precinct long after her working hours and her phone rang, an unknown number on the screen, and when she picked it up she heard his voice so far away and metallic and realised that he must’ve broken several rules and put himself into danger just to get a phone into prison to talk to her. When he spun an entire Halloween heist around today to get her to win it, all so he could give her that soft scared smile as she turned and saw him down on one knee.

Rosa knew about all of these. She’d witnessed them, or heard her drunkenly ramble about them during their weekly get-togethers. And they were all big moments, good moments, special moments she would re-tell to everyone who wanted to hear about her and Jake and their story.

But they weren’t all of it. They were the big plot points in their shared book of life, that was for sure. But they weren’t the kind of quotes she’d underline, the ones she’d write little notes into the margins for. The ones that made her love this book more than any other story she’d ever read.

Yet when she thought about those definitely underlined quotes that came up in her mind now, they all seemed so… trivial, compared to what you’d expect about romantic epiphanies.

Like the time she picked him up at the airport coming back from prison, when he leant back in his seat and took a deep, almost inappropriate sniff of her stupid little pinetree air freshener, telling her how unreal it seemed that someone could miss a smell like that, but that he’d longed for it for weeks now. That it wasn’t pinetree to him anymore, it was the comfort of Amy’s car, and their morning drive to the precinct when he was too tired to get into his Mustang, and Amy picking him up after a few hours too long working on a case, all wrapped up in one scent that he never realised he could miss. He was sniffing an air freshener, with his uneven beard scratching all over it, red eyes from an early flight and maybe a few tears they’d shed at the pick up area, and Amy was sure her heart could never ache as much for anyone else as it did for the tired man sitting in her passenger seat.

Or the time she’d come home from work on his first day off after they’d moved in together, expecting to see her prim and proper apartment turned into a slouchfest the way his old place had been. Only to realise that nothing had changed - safe for the take out containers next to the sink, which had enough left in it that they could share it for dinner. Only to realise that he had actually done all of the laundry,  and  folded all her socks and underwear exactly right,  and  even folded the fitted sheets properly,  and put it all into the closet in the system she’d developed but never actually written down, because it came to her like second nature. Only to realise that meant that he’d watched her, every time she’d done it, to learn it all perfectly so he could do it for her. And she looked at him as he jumped up from the couch to heat the take out for her as she changed out of her work clothes, and realised that she never wanted to share her home with anyone else.

Or the time he’d first been invited to the big Santiago summer get together, and she’d stressed over it just as much he did, making information binders on her family and their quirks and their habits and what he could say and what he should absolutely not say. But when the party finally came, and he’d squeezed her hand so nervously stepping into the living room, he managed to remember every single brother’s, sister-in-law’s, niece’s and nephew’s name, made extra time for her abuela Claudia’s stories and waited for her tia Maria to translate everything someone yelled in Spanish for him, sat down at exactly the place on the table that would’ve secretly been reserved for him as a test, and slipped into dinner conversations and children’s games down at the lake as if he’d always been there, always been a part of her family. She watched him running from her nephews’ water guns and secretly rolling his eyes at her while talking to her brother David and offering his arm to her abuela Sofia on a walk the way he would usually offer it to her, and she realised that it fit so well because he should have always been there, that this spot in her family had always waited for him.

Or the time she’d started her period while staying over at his place for the first time ever, waking up to stained sheets and cramps and the rushing feeling of pure embarrassment, telling him she was so, so sorry and would buy him new sheets and probably better get home so she could deal with this and not bother him for the rest of the weekend despite the plans they’d made. And he’d simply gotten out of bed, rummaged through a cabinet in his bathroom and returned with painkillers, a hot water bottle, and a box of pads and tampons he’d bought after an awkward day at the academy when Rosa had lectured him about always being prepared for anything his fellow detectives could need. And he’d parked her on the sofa after she’d changed into one of his boxers, and the washing machine was already cleaning the sheets and her underwear, and he said  be right back and returned from the bodega on the corner with ice cream and salt & vinegar chips and her favourite chocolate. And she looked at him as he sat down on the other side of the couch, remote already in hand to see what they could binge-watch this weekend, acting as if nothing was wrong and she hadn’t just completely inconvenienced him and weirded him out with her problems, and she realised that she hadn’t. That they’d been together barely a month and a half, and he was already so comfortable having her around that he was prepared for anything. That she could lay it all on him, without the fear of being embarrassed or rebuked as she had been with any other man in her life before him.

Or the time she cancelled what was meant to be their second date ever (after that awkward, chaotic, yet happy-ending first one) because she’d gotten sick. When he showed up that evening at her door, she’d been worried he hadn’t gotten her text (she was too stuffed up to speak properly on the phone, she’d realised when calling in sick to work). But he was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants instead of a date outfit, and carried a grocery store bag and a drug store bag, and then he made her take a bath with one of those cold-remedy bath salt sachets he’d found, and cooked her his mom’s sickly-soup (with store-bought matzoh balls, he had to admit, he never quite got those right), and let her pick any movie she wanted to watch while they ate their soup wrapped up under one blanket so she could steal all of his body heat. He’d been to her place as her boyfriend only twice before, but she realised as she snuggled into his arms under the blanket and blew her nose into one of the extra-soft tissues he’d bought that she’d felt so wrong being sick and alone at her home, that she’d subconsciously hoped he could be there to rub the vapo-rub on her back before she went to sleep that night, and that nothing felt more right than him already whistling in the kitchen when she woke up feeling slightly better the next morning.

They were all these little moments, these facets of life that barely even mattered to outsiders, that happened and re-happened several times a year. But they did matter, and they came into her mind every time her mom warned her on the phone not to be ‘too hasty’, every time her non-work friends asked her if she was really sure she was talking about ‘Peralta, the guy you used to moan about so much’, every time someone made a joke to Jake and her about her being ‘above his pay-grade’ or them being ‘an odd couple if they ever saw one’. It was these little moments that mattered so much more to her than any grand romantic gesture could, and that manifested in her mind that Jake was it, and always had been.

The bottle of beer in her hand was still label-less, but she noticed that it was also empty. She didn’t know when she’d transitioned into Spacey Amy, but looking up at Rosa’s face, seeing Gina next to her who’d apparently walked up at some point, she realised that she’d been talking, not thinking all of this.

“Daaaamn, girl.” Gina replied, but her voice was quiet, not even close to the usual mocking tone she’d take on for Amy. Rosa next to her was silent, blinking hard, and if she didn’t know her any better Amy would’ve almost believed she was fighting back a few tears. Which was ridiculous, because this was Rosa, and she’d only had six drinks, which brought her barely close to the emotional level she needed to even think about crying. Rosa’s drunk-scale started a lot later than Amy’s did.

Amy swept away a little tear from her own cheek while grinning awkwardly down at her bottle.

“Good thing that was one drink Spacey Amy and not two drink Loud Amy, huh?” She tried to joke, but Rosa only shook her head.

“Santiago, shit like that, you should shout from the fucking rooftops. Or at least into your fiancé’s stupid grinning face. Damn, I’m genuinely so happy for you two dorks, you’re so perfect. Don’t ever quote me on that, though.” Rosa had at least reached the swearing stage of drunkenness, the one where she’d wrap genuine emotion in as many rude words as possible to make it seem like she still didn’t care as much as she did.

Amy looked over at Jake and caught him looking away just as quickly. He’d been watching her again. He often did when he thought she wouldn’t notice, she’d realised that early on in their relationship. They’d be watching a movie, or hunched over case files, or simply hanging out at her kitchen counter nibbling on take away leftovers and discussing their day, and she’d look up and notice him almost flinching away. On the rare occasions that she woke up after him - once in a blue moon, when the night had been far longer than she’d planned, like tomorrow, probably - she would roll to the side and meet with his eyes, half-closed and shining and definitely, completely focussed on nothing but her.

It was almost unsettling to be the centre of someone’s attention like that, but in a good way. In a way that made her heart skip a beat, because she’d never expected to be anyone’s point of focus like this, ever.

Maybe, besides all the little moments and epiphanies, that had actually been the point of no return for her, love-wise - when she realised just what she was to Jake. Everything, he’d told her not just once during his more romantic moments, whispering in her ear and pressing a kiss to her temple.  You’re everything to me, Ames, and sometimes I think you’re even a bit more than that.  

“Hey.” She heard his voice next to her as he walked up from the long-forgotten dart board, where Gina was quick to jump in and challenge Terry to another round to see him flex his shoulders.

“Hey yourself.” She grinned back, one drink Amy still on the clock.

“Thought I should come over here to tell you something really important.”

“Oh, sure.” The serious tone in his voice made her steel herself almost as a reflex. “What is it?”

“I realised I’m absolutely, crazy in love with you. Is that okay?”

And there was this grin, this stupid wide grin she knew so well, that always looked a bit different when it was directed towards her than anyone else. Amy couldn’t help but laugh as she softly punched his arm.

“Yeah, you know.” She looked at the ring on her finger as she stroked over the space she’d only just hit. “I think that’s pretty okay.”

He leant down for a kiss, and they could both hear a gagging sound from the side.

“Knock it off, Diaz.” Jake shot Rosa a fake-angry look. “You’re not allowed to make fun of us today.”

“Alright, alright. I don’t need to watch it, though.” Rosa stood up from her bar stool, only to punch Jake into the other arm, definitely stronger than Amy just had. He grinned at her nonetheless, knowing full well that was as close and emotional as a tight hug would be from his old friend.

“Better take your fiancée home before she turns into two drink Amy, though. Think you’ve got some stuff to say that shouldn’t be heard from the whole bar.” She grinned again before walking off to beat both Gina and Terry at darts.

Jake followed her with his eyes before smiling back at Amy.

“My fiancée.” He repeated, and she could see how strange the word still felt in his mouth, strange and new and absolutely joyful.

“Your future wife.” She smiled back, and it didn’t sound strange at all. It sounded perfectly right. Because it had always, always been.

[aperrywilliams]

Maxcer HC/Blurbs: Taking Risks

Hello, people out there. Here is another one for Maxcer HC/Blurbs/Mini-fic! requested for the lovely @dreatine. As always, any like, reblog, or comment is appreciated.

Request: “I loved ‘Trust Issues’! May I request a sequel to where they talk after the argument? Thank you!”

Word Count: 1k.

Warnings: Some Spencer’s insecurities (pretty common). Angst references but mostly fluff.

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“Hey,” Max greeted when she opened the door.

“Hi,” Spencer replied. He looked nervous, biting inside his cheeks and fidgeting with his satchel’s strap.

“Come in,” Max invited him, getting the door wide open. Spencer stepped inside the apartment. Max shut down the door and gestured Spencer to the living room. Spencer left his satchel aside and sat on one side of the couch. Max followed, seated on the other side. After a few moments of silence, Spencer started talking.

“First of all, I owe you an apology. The last time I didn’t act appropriately. I snapped, and that wasn’t nice.” Max nodded.

“Okay. Apology accepted,” Max said calmly.

“I - What? Do you forgive me for that? Just like that?” Spencer asked in disbelieve.

“You want me not to?” Max asked back, frowning.

“No. No. Uh. I mean. Thank you? I thought you wouldn’t...” He trailed off.

“I must be honest. I wouldn’t say I liked it, of course not. But in some way, I get it. That doesn’t mean I would accept it again. Spencer, you have to know that my intention never was to be annoying or intrusive in your personal life. I get it, we only have been four months together, and I understand that you don’t want to share some things with me. And it’s okay. Everyone has the right to their personal space,” Max took a pause. “Well, it’s just... It’s just I think it could be healthier for you if you let out some of that weight from your shoulders. It doesn’t have to be me necessarily. Sure, I would like to be the person you trust, but that is on you, and I am not going to feel bad if you choose anyone but me. Well, except for that psycho.” Max let out a little chuckle. Spencer was speechless because he didn’t expect that reaction from Max. However, it hurt him to know that she felt non-worthy of his trust.

“Max. I do trust you,” Spencer said, shifting on the couch to be more close to her. He took her hand hesitantly, thinking maybe she didn’t want his touch. But Max accepted him. She was about to say something, but Spencer hastened to continue speaking. “It’s not easy for me to express my feelings or talk about the things that I’m struggling with. I know that isn’t an acceptable excuse for my behavior, though. I only want to say that because sometimes, when the nightmares appear, my world turns upside down, and I don’t like the people I care about have to deal with that. I’ve been carrying this alone for so long that it’s hard for me to show myself vulnerable and lean on other people. Let alone people that show up genuine interest in me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. It’s the opposite. It’s the feeling that if you know enough of me, you want to get rid of me.” Spencer confessed. Max’s eyes softened.

“Why would I want to get rid of you? You’re a great human being, Spencer. I saw that on you the first time we met. And these months only have given me more evidence of that,” Max told him, squeezing his hand.

“I’m a broken man, Max. I’ve been trying to put my shit together all these years. But in the end, happiness always slips out of my hands,” Spencer sniffled. Max grabbed both of his hands on hers.

“That is going to stop you? I think not. And I want to help. If there is anything that I can do to provide you peace of mind – anything - I’m more than willing. I really like you, Spencer. I truly think you’re worthy of everything good in this world.” One of Max’s hands settled on Spencer’s cheek. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

“Do you think I’m enough for you?” His voice cracked. Max now cradled his face with both hands.

“Hey! Look at me.” Spencer opened his eyes. “You’re more than enough. More than I expected to have in my life – and I’m telling you this seriously. You’re perfect for me, Spencer. With your flaws, because everyone has their own. And, okay, maybe I don’t know everything about you. But I’m a girl that takes risks in life, you know?” Max winked at him, and Spencer chuckled.

“Can I kiss you?” Spencer asked in a whisper. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He felt lucky next to this woman who was willing to take risks with him, for him.

“Yes. You can, and you must. You don’t go to rid of me so easily, Doctor Reid,” Max replied, smirking.

Spencer leaned and caught Max’s lips with his own in a sweet and deep kiss. Max kissed him back immediately. When both parted, they looked at each other with a spark in their eyes—both with smiles plastered on their faces.

“So a girl who takes risks, uh?” Spencer rephrased Max’s words, looking at her lovingly. Max chuckled.

“Yeah. With you, for sure. Although, I think there is one that I won’t take,” Max mused. Spencer frowned.

“Which one?” Spencer asked with concern.

“You cooking again. That one is too risky. For now, at least. I don’t want to see my apartment on fire,” Max laughed. Spencer shook his head, smirking too.

“Fair enough,” he said, pecking Max’s lips. “Should we call for some take-out then?” Spencer asked.

“Good idea,” Max replied, kissing him again. “I’ll take the risk of you picking something.”

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Permanent Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @andiebeaword @calm-and-doctor @mind-of-a-girl @katelynnwrites

Maxcer’s Army: @dreatine @andiebeaword @ironwoman18

[ghostiewriter]

I had an idea for 39, I can picture them dress shopping for a kook event kie has to go to and shes getting jjs opinion on them

Ahhh I’m sorry this took so long but I hope you like it! Also thank you for saving me having to come up with something totally alone 💀😂

Word Count: 2.3K

Prompt: “What colour do you like better?”

“So, what is this one for again?”

“The annual country club charity gala.”

“I thought that was last month.”

“Yeah, they have multiple galas, dude. Catch up.”

Kiara was appreciative of the life she was given. She understood her privileges, and she as grateful to live in a world where she didn’t have to worry about the food on her plate or the roof over her head or the money in her account. Her parents had worked hard and it paid off. When she met the pogues, her appreciation grew but she also learnt that she didn’t have to be the only one with these privileges. The boys were stubborn though, so most of it was subtle and never made them feel like she was treating them like charity cases. And the boys also appreciated that despite her background, Kie wasn’t like the usual kooks who rubbed their money in your face. She was humble about it. She used her privileges for good whenever she could.

However, it was easy to forget that Kie was a kook sometimes. Even she, herself, forgot sometimes. She was a pogue at heart, through and through. But then she was thrown into the deep-end of the kook lifestyle by her parents and it was always a harsh reminder. The worst ones were the galas—because what else did rich people have to do in their lives other than have countless parties and events they claimed were for charity and the greater good but was just an excuse to dress up and show off? The answer was nothing. They had nothing else better to do.

Kiara despised these events with a passion. She was all up for raising money for charities and supporting the local organisations that could achieve so much with enough funding. In fact, Kie had dragged the boys down with her to help in local beach clean-ups and charity events where they could help support. However, these kook events just sucked the charity out of the galas and left her with a night of dealing with passive aggressive comments and nosey adults who needed to mind their business.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could never get out of them. It seemed like her mother always had the perfect blackmail to use against her, she knew the perfect things to say that trapped Kiara and gave her no choice but to go to these galas. It was how she now found herself in the mainland boutiques, searching for a new dress. Originally, she had planned to drag Sarah with her but the other claimed she was too wrapped up on event planning that she didn’t have enough time. So, Kiara took her next best options: JJ Maybank, the only person who was free to join her on a day trip to the mainland.

However, dress shopping was a little out of JJ’s comfort zone. When Kie said that they were heading to the mainland, he was expecting something a little more exciting or action packed, not following Kie around some small boutique as he carried the dresses she was picking out of the racks and ignoring the judgemental stares he was getting from people far more appropriately dressed than he was. Apparently the rich weren’t huge fans of tanks and khaki short and combat boots. Sucks to be them.

“They really have no life beyond playing dress up, do they?” JJ muttered as he watched Kie pick up two dresses: one silver and one a light pink. She tilted her head, looking them up and down before she slipped them back onto the rack.

“It’s all they are good at.” She retorted with a snort, not giving JJ much warning before she began to head to the other side of the store.

“You know, for someone who is adamant that she hates these things, you sure take them seriously.” He commented, glancing down at the pile of dresses he had been lugging around since they entered the shop around forty minutes ago.

“Unless I want my head bitten off by my mother, I kinda have to.” She said with a shrug as she took out two dresses before turning to him. “What colour do you like better?”

He glanced between them. One was black—long sleeved, low back and the hem was brushing the floor despite the fact she was holding them up. The second one was red, and JJ noted the long slit that was running up the left side of the dress. The image of Kiara in either of them made him clear his throat a little, hoping that his cheeks weren’t noticeably burning up. “You look hotter in red.”

“Charming.” She deadpanned but she placed the red dress in the pile before she continued to move along the racks. Eventually, Kiara decided she had enough options and dragged him to the dressing room.

JJ sat on the small couch across from the dressing room, head leaning against the wall as his fingers tapped aimlessly against his thighs. “Kie, it’s been like two hours. How much longer?” He whined.

“It’s been like two minutes, dumbass.” She retorted from behind the curtain. “Just gimme a sec.”

“How long does it take to put on one dress?” He muttered. “You know, if you need help undressing, I am happy to offer my assistance.”

“I’m gonna pretend you want to keep your balls and didn’t say that.”

“Ooh, mama’s mad.” He could almost imagine the glare she was sending him through the curtain. “All I’m saying is—” But the words were lost the second the curtain opened and he saw Kiara on the other side.

She was wearing the red dress—the one on the top of the pile. JJ didn’t even know where to focus: on the slit that ran up her leg and made them look never-ending, or the way that it clung onto her body so perfectly like it was made for her, or how the crimson colour complimented her skin and made her look absolutely stunning. He was pretty sure some higher power was laughing down at him and the stuttering mess he had become.

“Uh, yeah,” He mumbled, scratching his nose. “You...it…yeah.”

Kiara smiled a little. “Yeah?”

“That one, should definitely wear that one.” He finally got out, gulping a little before he finally looked up at her.

“I still have five more dresses to try one.” She narrowed her eyes at him before she turned back around, closing the curtain behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He let out a sigh, running his hands over his face. He could barely survive one dress, let alone five more.

The next hour or so seemed to pass excruciatingly slow. JJ was pretty sure he was in hell and this was his torture, having to watch Kie model all these dresses and look jaw-droppingly beautiful and not be able to do anything about it. It was like the universe decided being stuck in the friend-zone wasn’t bad enough.

Eventually, she was done and sent him to wait outside whilst she paid for the dress she chose. He wasn’t sure it was a blessing or not that he didn’t know which one she would wear. Maybe because he knew that he wouldn’t be the only one that would see her in that dress, and unlike himself, maybe they had a chance.

When Kie exited the store, she gave him a grin before she began tugging his hand as they headed towards a store across the street—further away from the dock where he suspected they would be going.

“Did Cinderella remember she needed some glass slippers?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No,” She turned to give him a wink. “She just remembered that her Prince Charming needs a suit.” He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he convinced himself that she was just joking back with him.

You see, JJ was so caught up on the dazed state he felt after seeing Kie in all those dresses that it took him up until he was being shoved into the dressing room that he realised what it all meant. She was taking him to the charity gala. He was her date to the charity gala. And just when JJ assumed the torturing couldn’t get worse.

That was how JJ found himself standing amongst some of the richest people on the island, champagne glass in hand as he and John B tried to ignore the judgemental glares being sent their way. They had been told they would meet their dates at the gala, and now both of them were really regretting that plan.

“I don’t know, dude, she never said she was taking you as a friend. Maybe it does mean something.” John B suggested, sparking a little flame of hope in JJ that he quickly extinguished.

“She also never said that we weren’t going as friends.” He muttered with a shrug, downing the rest of the bubbly liquid with one gulp.

“You both are the most oblivious people, I swear.” John B huffed with a shake of his head. “And that’s coming from me of all people.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“THAT!” John B exclaimed, although after receiving some pointed looks, he quickly lowered his voice. “You just proved my p—holy shit!”

JJ’s head snapped around just in time to see Kiara and Sarah at the top of the stairs, however, the blond couldn’t even bring himself to look at the middle Cameron, his eyes were completely drawn to Kie.

And she was in that fucking red dress.

If JJ was struggling for words when he saw her in the dressing room, he was absolutely rendered speechless now. She looked beautiful—no, better than beautiful. She looked like a goddess. JJ had to pinch himself as she walked down the steps towards him just to make sure he was actually alive and hadn’t just died and went to heaven.

And when she stepped off the final step, she couldn’t help but smirk as she placed a finger under his chin. “Better shut your mouth, you’re catching flies, Jay.”

Oh, he was definitely dead.

JJ wasn’t sure how long had passed but he could barely take his eyes off her, and it seems like the other guests couldn’t either. He hated the jealousy that flared up inside him, mostly because he knew that he had no right to feel this way. But that didn’t stop him.

He tried to be subtle about it: stayed by her side for the whole night, casually had his arm around her in any situation he could, made sure to give slightly pointed looks to anyone that stared a little too long at Kiara. He thought he was being subtle but Kiara noticed. Of course she noticed, she wasn’t blind.

They finally had a moment together when they were on the dance floor, a slow song playing around them as the couples populated the dance floor. They were surrounded by people and yet, they still felt like they were in their own bubble.

“So, how pissed is your mum?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips. However, he noticed her confused glance and quickly continued. “You know, that you brought me and not some kook eye candy.”

“I’d say you offer better eye candy than any of them could.” She commented with a small laugh. “But, surprisingly, she wasn’t too bothered. She expected it.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “She did?”

“Jay…” She trailed off, her hands around his neck faltering a little as she stopped moving, now just staring at him.

“Have I told you how breath-taking you look?” JJ spoke up, desperate to change the topic of conversation. “I mean, I hate to say I told you so but you do look pretty hot in red—”

“JJ.” She said in a soft but firm voice. “Why do you think I brought you as my date?”

He gulped a little, putting on that usual smile he used whenever he was uncomfortable or hurt. She hated that he was using it with her. “Just thought you wanted to get some revenge on your mum since she dragged you to this thing.” He said with a shrug. “Who better to bring into the kook-fest than good ol’ JJ Maybank, right?”

“You can be really dense sometimes, Maybank.” She muttered, her words contradicting the soft expression on her face.

“What?” His voice barely a whisper. They both stood still in the middle of the dance floor, faces inches away from each other.

“I like you, Jay.” She whispered, smiling at him. “And I invited you because I thought you’d finally catch the hint.”

JJ looked at her, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process what she saying. “Y-You like me? As in, like-like me?”

She laughed a little, nodding her head. “Yeah, I like-like you.”

His grin grew a little. “I like-like you too.”

“Good, because otherwise it would be really awkward if I did this.” She murmured before she took his face in her hands, bringing his lips down to her own.

His hands instantly tightened their hold on her waist, tugging her a little closer. They became wrapped up in one another, neither one bothered by the judgemental looks and disgust from the people around them. In that moment, it was just JJ and Kiara. Just Kiara and JJ.

When they finally pulled away from each other, foreheads pressed against each other and matching grins on their faces, JJ found himself once again believing he was dead and in heaven. “I’ve been waiting so long to do that.”

She hummed. “Me too.”

“And to tell you that your ass looks great in this dress.”

“Always the charmer.”

“Only for you.”

“Your ass looks great too in those pants.”

“I know.”

[rockofeye]

Out of the depths.

It is somehow appropriate that a re-emergence and re-alignment comes with the beginning of the month of May. May is a big month for vodouizan; we celebrate Kouzen and all his family this month and, for people from Jacmel, it is a month devoted to celebrating Jacmel's heritage, which is tied closely to Kouzen. It is said Jacmel is where Kouzen was from before he went to more rural areas; it's not a coincidence that fet Jacmel and fet St Jacques e St Philippe (the patrons of Jacmel) are celebrated on the same days as fet Kouzen (May 1 and May 2).

I've been thinking about Kouzen a lot lately. It's been a difficult year in a lot of ways, but not a bad year. COVID has really permanently changed how things in my professional field work, and with the help of Kouzen and a few of my other lwa, I managed to leverage that into a position using all my professional strengths with the org that has been my target for employment for years. Landing that has not only been life-changing and future-solidifying, but really reinforces that I know what I know and that I am an expert at what I do.

That's a lesson that comes from Kouzen, and it's one that I struggle to learn and remember in my life. Kouzen shows me balance: he is the expert worker in his field (literal and figurative), but you might never know that from how he does his work. Underestimate him and you'll find out, but how he carries himself keeps his mastery of work and growth and agriculture from being the first thing that you see.

I'm pretty okay with that part, but that's the part I get tripped up about. I don't find anything fulfilling professionally or personally about illustrating what I know,, but there is a difference between going about your business and actively hiding from those moments where you can insert who you are and what you know.

I'm a hider. It might sound kind of funny coming from someone who has been writing a blog in the internet for close to a decade, but it's true: I am actually pretty shy and private and being the center of attention--professional or personal--is kind of horrifying to me. I've reached the point in my life where I don't feel I have a lot to prove because I know what I know, but in many ways that's just not possible for me. I don't work in a field where I can just close my office door and have it all be fine, and the lwa have made clear time after time that I cannot just ride off into Ginen with them and live a private life.

This has something that is always a struggle for me because I am introverted and like my alone space and time. It comes back to the good ol' lessons the lwa want me to learn over and over: balance and vulnerability. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes I react like a cat thrown into a bathtub full of water. The lwa win some, I lose some.

I had to get my ass in gear with the notions of balance and putting myself out there and being vulnerable in knowing my worth and demanding (politely) that it be recognized when I found myself completely dissatisfied with my job(s). I was working two jobs (houngans and manbos know about that hustle...) and making good money, but I was ready to work one job and free up time for spiritual work and projects.

I took a chance and applied for a job that was juuuuust within my experience. It was definitely bigger than what I was doing and while it was within my experience level, I honestly wasn't perfectly qualified....but you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, so I buffed up the resume, sent it off, and sat with my lwa about it. I told them that if this was where I was supposed to go next, I knew they would clear the way.

I didn't get it.

I made it through two rounds of interviews, but ultimately there was an incumbent with 10 more years of experience than I have, and that's almost always a losing equation. I was okay with it because I still had work and at the end of the day, I don't have to love my job to cash the paychecks.

BUT....the lwa had another plan. The team of interviewers liked me, and so I got headhunted for a position that was very, very in line with my professional experience and goals. I spoke with them several times about it and they made me an offer....and it was so low I almost rejected the offer outright.

I was both angry and scared at the same time; angry because the salary offer was ridiculously offensive based on my career history and scared because I have never been in a position to turn down a job offer or, honestly, negotiate.

This time was the first time in my life that I was planning to leave a job because I wanted to. I grew up in a upper working class home and as an adult have spent too much time jobless and underemployed to discount steady work and a regular paycheck. It was scary as hell to be staring down the possibility of kicking the steady paycheck to the side in favor of taking a step into the unknown.

When I got the offer letter, I sat down with the lwa and literally cried because I was so burned out with my other job that it was affecting my performance, but here I was getting a bullshit offer for a hugely involved job. It felt like a loss if I took it and affirmed that both my experience and what they were asking of me was only worth what they were offering. It felt like a loss if I didn't take it, because those opportunities do not come alone like that very often.

It was such a moment of unique despair. Like, I was not hurt or anything tragic but that feeling like I was painted into a corner and that the choices in front of me would leave me at a loss was HUGE and real. For me, when I feel like that it's hard for me to turn on the part if my brain that's analytical. I just need to sit in my misery for a minute (or more) until I get it together enough to figure out what to do.

That is where the blessing of Kouzen (and really all the lwa) came in. He told me to go back to the table, creat another option, and ask for my worth. Like, not swing my proverbial dick and be an asshole, but go be vulnerable and say that the offer was disappointing and that I expected more. So weird because it makes so much sense, right? And yet there I was totally sold that I was either going to be worked like a mule for less money than I was making already, or I was going to remain in The Bad Place until something else came along.

So I did. Even if I felt pessimistic about it (I did) and thought they would say no (convinced of it), I did what I was told because at the end of the day I agreed to sèvis lwa because I believe in the vision the lwa have for me. Some days I say that through gritted teeth, but that's my guiding principle and they have never let me down.

I sent in my counteroffer and waited for the 'we're sorry, but..' email. It was fucking scary. My agency is a behemoth in my field and has been around forever, so pushing back felt a little bit like David versus Goliath, and I didn't have the benefit of a sling and a rock.

It took two days but they got their offer almost to what I asked for, so I took it and it was a huge relief. I am sure that somewhere in the background Kouzen maybe did a quiet fist pump of 'Alex learned a thing' before going back to his work.

In all seriousness, that's a lesson I have struggled so hard with and it was a moment where I had to put it all into practice and rely on what the lwa have taught me as being an ultimate truth. Knowing my worth is not enough; I have to be able to communicate that in a way that both opens doors and doesn't get me used as a doormat. Not doing that seems like it would be almost offensive to Kouzen because, at least in this case, it would be essentially leaving money on the table and wasting it. My Kouzen is very rational about money, but the idea of not trying to set up my financial future makes his eyes bug out and would probably result in Having To Have A Conversation, which I avoid at all costs. Nothing like the lwa reminding you not to fuck up your own blessings.

Getting settled into this particular blessing has been what has been occupying my time the most these days. I came back from Haiti and went right into this job. I have finally clawed my way into administration and, in a very Kouzen twist, am responsible for managing several million dollars worth of grants and spending them both quickly and wisely. I work closely with the person in the position I originally interviewed for and am really happy I didn't get that job, as I am able much better fit where I am.

What else? In late January, I turned in a final draft of a chapter I was tapped to write for a book detailing the experiences of people who are converts to African Traditional and Diasporic religions. I'm excited to see the book when it comes out; I was the only writer on Haitian Vodou, and so it is chock full of other experiences from people from all different places who converted at some point in their life to a huge variety of African and African Descended religions and cultural practices. It's a project that has been in the works for several years, and it was interesting to see personal growth during my involvement in it and while tracking and detailing my journey from a fairly conservative Protestant upbringing to where I am now as a sèvitè lwa.

My living situation has changed up in the middle of this and I am once again at a point in my life where I have a dedicated space for my lwa. Living in one of the most expensive cities in the US has meant roommates and keeping my lwa in a closet in my room (my most recent roommate lovingly referred to them as the Closet People), but the lwa managed to swing it so I have a room dedicated to my spirits.

I have longing for that for so long...it's been years since that was a reality, and now it's finally a thing again. I always have the room for my lwa as my studio space too, since they are a creative force behind a lot of it, and it make my heart so full again to have room to spread out. It's such a gift for me. No more sitting down to pray and having my roommate start to have sex with their partner on the other side of the wall....I cannot tell you how many times that has happened.

Recently I listened to my mother tell some folks how to make tchaka/Kouzen's favorite meal. The regleman/ritual food is one of the most important parts of both ceremony and personal relationships with the lwa, and Kouzen reminded me that it had been quite awhile since I made him tchaka and boy his stomach would feel so much better with some tchaka in it and I already had a lot of the ingredients and wouldn't it be delicious to make some doumbrey for the tchaka too?

...so I went shopping for what I would need for tchaka for my beloved Kouzen because I have clearly neglected his stomach for too long. Living in a city with a huge Haitian population is great because the Haitian grocery store I went to had joumou/Haitian pumpkin, lalo sèk/dried jute leaves, tritri/tiny dried shrimp, djondjon/Haitian black mushrooms, fresh kowosol/soursop(!!!!!), and fresh lam veritab/breadfruit(!!!!!!!!!!).

It is so rare to find fresh kowosol and lam up here in New England because it def doesn't grow here and it doesn't last well when it's shipped....but it looked great today. The kowosol is going to be for me...ji kowosol ak lèt is a favorite, ESPECIALLY with a little Barbancourt poured in...and Kouzen will either get some tomtom or at least boiled lam veritab with his tchaka. Also have the makings of some bonbon siwo, so this husband is gonna eat GOOD. He deserves it.

And then...? Our live-on-Zoom socially distanced fet Kouzen will be sometime late in May. Making our fets available for folks to 'attend' at a distance has been surprisingly cool. I was not thrilled about the idea because of my personal hangups (I hate being on camera) but it's been really wonderful and has been a way for people who can't get to the temple to be able to share energy and get a taste of what a real Haitian fet is like. COVID isn't going away anytime soon, so we'll probably keep doing our fetes this way for awhile.

And...Haitian Summer is coming. I could write another whole post on what's going on down in Haiti, but I am very much looking forward to our kanzo and fet cycle this summer. My very favorite ceremonies are part of kanzo, and I love the opportunity to see the lwa in their home in the temple. I've been so lucky to be able to travel safely to Haiti several times during this mess, and it has fed my soul. It's safer for me and many of my family members now that we are vaccinated, so one less thing to worry about.

With Kouzen's month and the season of spring, I hope for growth in new directions for each of you, complete with all the blessings that Kouzen can bring: fertility and fecundity, inspiration, energy, commitment, rootedness, solid partnerships, and wise investments in self, community, relationships, and business ventures. May the fresh breeze bring you health with every breath and wealth with every exhale.

[roro-mo]

Love can wait

Hi all,

i posted this fanfic on fan fiction.net in the New Year and thought I should share this on tumblr for those who are looking for more ZoNa, just like me. You can find this here.

This was one of my first fanfics but I haven’t updated the story in like forever so am looking to go back to writing fanfics. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the chapter as much as I did. 

You don’t need to read the other chapters as they are not really connected - sort of. We haven’t entered the main plot at all so not connected as of yet. But reading chapter 6 may help you understand some of the things in this chapter. 

Summary: What if Zoro and Nami were childhood friends? How different would their lives be? Lot's of one shots set in an AU where Zoro and Nami are childhood friends. Mugiwara crew will also make an appearance. (It’s one of those close balcony friendship - cringe i know lmao, was young when I started LOL)

Rated: M (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: One piece is not mine.

Also, Italics are what the characters are thinking. 

Zoro was completing his usual workout, but from home. He groaned, lifting the 15 kg weights for the 96th time. He needed to lift the weights 4 more times and he had to do it soon or Nami was going to barge in, ruining his schedule.

"97...98...99" he counted. He was lifting it for the last time when he smelt her signature fragrance.

"100" he grunted, dropping the weights and closing his eyes in peace. He felt her soft bosom on his back and her arms around him, as she completely pushed her body against him.

A single trail of sweat dropped from his temple to his cheek from the work out. He was too tired to push her away so he stood still, just breathing in and out to stabilise his heartbeat. However, this proved to be difficult as he could only smell her with every breath, and felt her soft small hands on his abs...wait... did he just feel her hands underneath his shirt?

"What the hell witch?" he spat, as his hands automatically stopped hers from outside of his shirt.

Nami was a flirt and loved teasing men, especially Zoro. She loved taking advantage of her beauty and loved getting her way. It was either her way or the highway. She was a greedy witch and she loved every part about it.

"Zoroooo" she said with a tone, a tone Zoro knew too well. It was a tone she used to get her way. A tone that often worked in nosebleed kun, which was not going to work on him.

"Seriously, what are you doing Nami?" he said, turning his head slightly to see what Nami was up to.

"I'm helping you remove your top." She said trying to move her hands, which was useless as Zoro clutched onto them.

"What do you want?"

"To eat." Nami said cheerfully. Today both their parents were out drinking while Nojiko was at university so it was only him and her. But their parents trusted them, hell they even encouraged to utilise their alone time and do something naughty. Nami's stepfather, Genzo, loved Zoro's wisdom and the way he respected elders. He would want nothing but for Zoro to take his no good spoilt daughter as his wife. While Zoro's father loved having Nami around and would be happy if someone, anyone could accept his muscle idiot of a son.

"And what does eating have anything to do with getting naked?" Zoro said with an eyebrow.

She withdrew her hand from underneath his t-shirt, away from his well built abs. Zoro was saddened at the departure of her warmth but was glad at the same time.

She pinched her nose, "well you kinda stink."

"Hurry and go take a shower. We are going to Baratie." she said, folding her arms, knowing Zoro was going to complain about meeting Sanji-kun.

"Baratie?" Zoro said, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to.

"Yes Baratie, Zoro, Baratie" Nami repeated it twice for her words to reach Zoro's head.

"We will be meeting up with Luffy there as well. Have a nice dinner and drink something nice. Well, Luffy won't. But we can." she said, making drinking gestures.

Zoro liked the idea of drinking with Nami. Maybe, they could resume their ongoing bet as well. Their bet of who can withstand drinks longer was still on hold as they either tie or come out drunk at the end of it. But seeing that shit head took the fun out of it.

He turned around, wiping his forehead clean with his left arm, showing off his biceps in the process. Nami's eyes fluttered to his biceps, enjoying the view he presented her.

"Will we see nosebleed kun as well?" he asked.

She made a face, "who is nosebleed kun? Don't make fun of Sanji kun." She said slapping his chest. Just to feel how hard it was and oh, it was hard.

"Just answer the damn question." he said, removing his top in front of her. His whole body seemed to be living as Nami could see each and every muscle in his body ripple against his skin whilst he removed his t-shirt. His nipples whispered hello to her and oh god, his abs. She trailed a single sweat that dropped from his neck, which made its way between his collar bone, past his chest, crossed his abs and disappeared in his belly button

"like what you see?" He said smirking at how fixated she was with his abs.

She quickly looked up to see him smirking at her, with that stupid grin. She was not gonna let him be the only winner.

"Nope, not at all." she said turning, throwing her hair to his face in the process, and moving towards the door. Zoro closed his eyes naturally and as he opened his eyes to shout some vain remarks to Nami, all he saw was her ass and hips moving side to side towards the door. She didn't need to say anything because she knew he was already looking.

"Be ready by 5 and come over as soon as you're ready." She said before leaving the room completely.

"Oh and invite law." she said with a wink.

///////////

Zoro was ready in 10 mins. He put on a simple white top, jeans and a simple black denim jacket. He looked over his balcony to the other side with a frown.

She is definitely still getting ready.

He went over anyways to pressure her into getting ready quicker, only to find her putting on a skirt that didn't fit. Zoro could see the plumps of skin near the waist of the skirt and her ass as she was struggling to put it on. She was wearing a pink lace thong that illuminated the pale skin underneath. His shameful eyes drank the scene in front of him; her buns juggled as she shook her ass to try to fit the skirt. Damn, that is one big ass, he thought. His hands twitched to slap her right cheek but he shook the thoughts away.

"I don't think that fits Nami." He spoke in a low husky voice.

His voice surprised her, causing her to trip over herself and lose her balance, falling face forward. As a result, her ass was high up in the air and Nami put herself on display for him. He choked on his own spit at the scene in front of her. And that thong was not helping, it practically covered nothing with her ass high up for him to see.

With a tint of blush, he turned around to give her privacy.

"What the hell Zoro!" she turned her head from the ground and was relieved when she found him facing the other way.

She got up and got rid of the skirt. The skirt was velvet and in the colour red. It was short enough to show her smooth legs and just long enough to cover the important parts. Although the skirt didn't fit her, she got it on a 80% sale and her first instinct was to buy it. It was a bargain and was the last piece after all! It's a shame it doesn't fit as it would definitely look good on her.

She was dressed casual for today and was wearing a white cami top with lace detailed front. She was going to wear that velvet skirt with it but decided to replace it with high waisted ripped jeans. She felt a bit exposed after Zoro found her in her thong trying to wear a skirt that didn't fit! So she decided to go with something that would cover her legs.

"Just so you know," she said putting one leg through her jeans, "I'm charging you for that." She said putting the other leg in.

"What the hell witch!" he complained.

"How dare you walk in here and try to see me naked. I didn't peg you to be a Sanji, Zoro." She said walking towards her makeup table to brush her hair. Sanji is a term they use as an inner joke to call men who basically, well, act like Sanji-kun.

After what seemed to be an appropriate time to Zoro, he turned around to state his dissatisfaction.

"Well, it's not my fault you're not ready yet. You're the one who told me to hurry and now you're the one who's not ready. How is it my fault that you're still getting dressed after an hour?"

"You tell me to come over and now, you tell me not to come over, make up your damn mind witch." He said with a frown.

"Zorrroooo, I'm a woman. I'm allowed to take time to look my best." She said in a haughty manner.

She stood up, happy with her hair and turned to him.

"This," she said waving at her body, "doesn't happen overnight. It takes me time to look this good."

He just scoffed. Although he wanted to disagree and say she wasn't all the hotshot she thought she was, he didn't want to make her change clothes, which is something she would do if he disagreed.

He went to sit on her bed and complained that she was slow again.

"Did you call Torao-kun?" She asked reapplying her lipstick one final time. She checked her makeup once more before spraying her setting spray.

"Yes woman, yes, I called your ride." He said with a displeased voice.

Zoro met Law as a child in a kendo club. He was 5 and Law was 10. Zoro was always working hard and stayed behind every time to train harder. He muttered about getting stronger and this piqued Trafalgar D. Water Law's interest in the little boy. Law always teased Zoro for being a little boy yet having big "goals", to which Zoro always challenged Law and they somehow ended in a draw everytime. After leaving the kendo club, Zoro was still close with Law and had been together in every stage of each other's life. Nami and Luffy met Law only after an incident that required Luffy to visit the hospital.

Luffy unfortunately amputated his pinky finger from one of his stupid antics. Nami freaked out so much that she almost fainted when she heard the pinky land on her bedroom floor with a tap. Zoro fortunately knew Law who was a medical student. Law was from a family of doctors and his dream was always to follow his father's footsteps. He would spend hours reading on human anatomy and diseases when he was a child. Law was very smart as a child and eventually skipped grades before he entered medical school.

Zoro remembered law immediately and asked him for first aid through the phone. As they both sounded so distressed over the phone, Law asked them to visit his hospital where he was working as a placement. Zoro and Nami rushed Luffy to the hospital while Luffy was wailing and sobbing about his missing finger. Law helped Luffy calm down and proceeded to ask routine questions about the incident before helping to reattach his finger with surgeons (one of them being his dad). Thankfully, it was a success due to the first aid Law provided. Law was so surprised at how Luffy severed his finger, somewhere along the line due to his interests in Luffy's case, he became Torao and Luffy's friend without his approval. All he said was "so how did you cut your finger?" And Luffy hasn't left him alone since then. Nami thinks it's because Luffy was hysteric over his cut pinky and thanked Torao for (in Luffy's term) "saving his life."

Oh but Zoro knew. He's been with Law for a very long time and they grew up together after all. Zoro knew that wasn't the reason why Law still hangs around Luffy and Nami, and sometimes without Zoro. He's seen the stolen glances and the way law looks at Nami. Law wouldn't be wasting his time to drive them to Barati if he didn't fancy her.

A car honk was heard from outside of Nami's window. Zoro didn't miss the small smile that crawled on Nami's face and wore an annoyed look on his own. Nami sprinted out to her balcony and waved at her older friend.

She turned around and said "let's go!"

Zoro followed her with heavy footsteps. But he still followed her, he was compliant every time and he didn't know why.

As they got nearer to the parked car, Law lowered his passenger window and Nami leaned in on the opened window, revealing her cleavage to the driver. Zoro grimaced, acutely aware of what she was doing. Nami smiled and whispered a sweet 'thank you'.

That's when it hit Zoro. This witch knew. She knew Law had a thing for her and was using him like a Sanji.

Law's eyes followed the top that slightly slid down as Nami leaned over and settled at the cleavage that revealed itself to him. Law smiled in response and gestured Nami to get in the car. To save Law's dignity, Zoro shoved Nami aside and got in the front seat.

"Hey, what the hell?" She asked, ticked off at Zoro's actions.

"Sit at the back." he said gesturing behind him to the back seat.

She pouted because now she would have to sit alone at the back but got in anyways as she was hungry.

Baratie was a beautiful and a fancy restaurant owned by Chef Zeff, who Sanji admires and sees as a father figure.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by a well-lit restaurant with full-length windows around the whole restaurant for natural light. At night, the bulbs that hung on the ceiling were lit in different colours - purple, red, yellow, all creating beautiful lighting during the night. The wall was painted an elegant white, which matched well with the light pink velvet carpet on the floor. In the centre of the restaurant, one could find stairs leading down to the kitchen and up for more seating.

The receptionist recognised the distinct hair colours of Sanji's friends and she didn't even have to ask them about their reservation. She welcomed them and took them straight to the table reserved for "Sanji's queen" as was directed by Sanji in the morning.

"Here are the menus."

She didn't recognise the guy with the tattoos but proceeded to ask the other two whether they would like to order the same as usual.

Nami closed her menu and sweetly smiled before nodding her head. Her usual at the Baratie was a medium steak with chips and red wine, while Zoro's was a signature bacon burger with melted cheese and chips. Law read through a couple of pages before ordering a classic carbonara with white wine. She nodded before proceeding to head towards the kitchen.

Nami was sitting across Zoro and Law was sitting in between them. Zoro saw Nami looking around and guessed she was looking for Sanji.

"Where's Luffy? I thought we were supposed to meet him here." Zoro asked Nami. Nami finally looked at Zoro, he doesn't know why but it felt like she hasn't looked his way today at all. Frankly speaking, Nami was too embarrassed to look at Zoro after the whole thong incident.

With her cheek on her palm, she responded "You'll see him soon enough! He was supposed to come with us but he said he'll already be here by the time we arrive."

Zoro munched on some garlic bread and asked, "Where's nosebleed Kun?"

"Who's nosebleed kun?" Law asked as he didn't remember anyone who was called that.

"Yes, Zoro, who is nosebleed kun?" Nami asked sarcastically, tilting her head to the side.

As if Sanji heard her, he came running with the drinks while singing "Nammmiiiii-swannnnn!"

"My love, my body has been waiting this whole day for this moment." Sanji said, skilfully twirling towards her, without dropping any of the drinks on his way.

"Ah, Sanji kun!" she said clapping her hands together.

"Here you go mademoiselle, one red wine." He said, kneeling down for her.

"Hey, where's my drink?" Law questioned, but it was completely ignored by Sanji.

"Thank you." Nami said lifting her hand gracefully and touching Sanji's cheek.

"I missed you so much." She cooed.

"I can't wait to eat the food your very hands made." she said touching his hands now.

"Namiii-swannn, I know our love was meant to be. For you, I've cooked only the finest and delicious food."

"Ahhh, but I don't have enough money to pay for the finest meals in your restaurant." She said with an act.

"And it's all free for you Nami-swan." Sanji said holding Nami's hand on his and lifting it lightly to kiss her hand.

She giggled.

"Great thank you, expected nothing less from you, Sanji-kun." She said rubbing his chin before looking at the two pairs of eyes watching her in shock.

"You're going to hell." Zoro stated.

"And you, how can you be so dumb you idiot cook."

"It's not free for you shitheads. You guys have to pay." Sanji said to the boys coming out of his love trance.

"Nami-ya, if you can't pay for it then I will pay for you. You don't need to resort to such...err…" His words died on his lips when she sent an angry look directed at him.

"No, thank you law. You guys owe me money, not the other way around. I don't mind a free meal but I don't want to owe you." She said in a pompous manner.

If this was a cartoon, Zoro's eyes would've literally come out of their sockets.

"How in the world is it any different to what you're doing to nosebleed kun?" Zoro said facepalming.

He could hear the 'ohhh, he's nosebleed kun' on the background as law finally put two and two together.

After handing out the drinks including Law's and Zoro's, Sanji lit his cigarette and looked at the tattooed man before him.

"Who the hell are you and why are you calling Nami-swan without honorifics you shithead?" He said, trying to intimidate law.

"Now now, calm down Sanji-kun. He's a friend." Nami introduced Law to Sanji and vice versa.

"By the way, Sanji-kun, do you know where Luffy is?"

"Oh, you didn't know? He's working with us to pay for his tab because he's a big eater." Sanji said taking another puff.

"Are waiters allowed to smoke here? What a terrible service this restaurant has." Law said as a little bit of jealousy stung him when he saw how close Nami was with this "nosebleed kun".

"Huhhhh, what did you say you tattooed shit head. Don't think I'll be intimidated by the word death tattooed on your dainty little fingers." Sanji said rolling his sleeves.

"Oh boy" Nami shook her head.

"He's a chef, not a waiter and yes, why are you waiting our table you idiot. Go back to the kitchen. I don't want to see your face, shitty cook." Zoro said crossing his arms.

"You asshole, you wanna fight. I'll take both of you on." Sanji said making a commotion on his restaurant, causing many customers to look his way now.

Once the customers started whispering about Nami's table, Patty, the rowdy chef in charge of Sanji, came out stomping his feet.

"What are you doing here Sanji? You should be inside the kitchen. You're making a fuss and disturbing other customers." He practically screamed at Sanji, making things only worse.

"Now come apologise." Patty pulled Sanji and apologised to others by bowing to the customers and forced his neck to bow as well.

As Sanji and Patty were apologising to everyone, a corner table got Nami's attention when both the customers started acting a little strange. Zoro, on the other hand, was watching Nami instead during the commotion and had seen the table that caught Nami's attention. Nami's attention was then taken away from said table by Luffy.

"Oiiii Namiiiiii, everyone, you guys made it." Luffy said cheerfully while waving his arms.

Nami's eyes widen in shock, "Luffy be careful, you're carrying a lot of food, it might all come ….."

Before she could finish the sentence, she heard a loud noise which now caught everyone's attention in the restaurant.

Luffy lost his balance and dropped all the plates of food he was carrying.

"Luffy you bastard, that better not be Nami-swan's food." Sanji said walking towards him.

Patty just screamed, knowing it was the wrong decision to hire Luffy as a chore boy. They were losing more money than making money!

Law was quiet as he watched the scene unfold before him. Sanji was beating Luffy and Patty was beating Sanji while Luffy just cried and said "shumimashe". But if it is one thing Law knows about Luffy, it is that wherever Luffy goes, trouble always seem to follow him.

Nami sighed. Great, yet another perfect day, well night, wasted. She thought.

She moaned as she got up from her seat, she was tired of the same shit happening each time they went out together. Before she could walk away, Zoro's question stopped Nami on her tracks.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"For fresh air and away from these idiots." She said pointing at the two chefs and Luffy who was also beginning to fight back after shouting "I didn't want to work as well." on the top of his lungs.

Oh but Zoro knew. He knew where she was going, he had watched her the whole day after all.

He watched her as she walked past the trio, who were still arguing about the wasted food, and saw the path she was taking. She was planning to go towards the back door, which leads to Baratie's beautiful garden where one could enjoy food and nature together. But the table that caught her eye earlier was on her way as well.

That clever witch.

She walked towards the back door, her waist moving from left to right and then finally stopped when she was next to the table in question. He watched her as she turned her head towards the table, as if someone called her name and saw the smile that creeped on her face. As soon as she looked at the table, the two people visibly jumped and looked towards the window, avoiding Nami's gaze. To their dismay, Nami started walking towards their table.

Zoro chuckled and Law made a mental note never to go anywhere with these psychos. Two were still arguing in front of him, his food all spilled on the floor, and his friend was laughing at the sight like a psycho. Psychos, they're all psychos!

Zoro got up to follow Nami. He started to become extremely curious and wanted to know who Nami found sitting at the table.

"Well, well, well." Nami said hand on her hip.

"Isn't this a beautiful surprise." She said looking at the couple in front of her, their date apparently interrupted.

In front of her sat the student counselor, Nico Robin and Zoro's home room teacher, Cutty Flam, also known as Franky. Franky was hiding behind the menu while Robin nervously laughed.

Zoro's jaw dropped as soon as he caught up to Nami. "Franky, what the hell are you doing here and why are you with herrr!?"

Although Franky was a teacher and should have authority over his students, he often behaved like his students and was seen as a friend rather than a teacher by his pupil. He was always seen hanging around his students and giving life lessons to kids in school.

"So what is this, a first date or perhaps, a proposal?" Nami asked, walking towards the table, trying to work out whether this was a serious relationship.

Robin finally processed all the information and her brain switched on. She picked up her wine slowly and brought it to her lips. She was thinking of numerous ways to play this and was planning her next move. She finally smiled and held Franky's hand that was on the table.

"Yes, we are on a date," She smiled, "aren't you both as well?" She asked softly, her smile provoking Nami further.

Robin knew how gutless Nami was when it came to Zoro. Robin knew Nami could charm the whole world, yet she could not charm Zoro, with whom she's spent all her life with. Zoro was the only man that didn't fall under her spell and it ticked off Nami to her bones. Robin knew that and while Nami waits to make her move, Robin already made hers and was proudly showing off her results to Nami.

Nami frowned, recalling their first meeting. This was Robin's win.*

Nami also reached out to grab Zoro's hands before responding, "Whatever we do is none of your business." Nami did not want to disclose any information and give Robin the satisfaction of knowing whether they were going out or not.

"Let's go Zoro." Nami demanded and walked the other way, back to their table. Zoro didn't have much of a choice as she was still grasping his hand and pulled him towards her.

"Hey, where are you going? I thought you wanted fresh air!" Zoro asked while following Nami.

Nami turned around to face him. She was exhausted; she just got defeated in the battle of wits with Robin and she was hungry! She was hungry and all she wanted to do was eat and drink. She looked at Luffy who was now planning on quitting the job as a chore boy. She wanted to get away, away from all the drama and just eat, something, anything. Just as she was about to suggest going elsewhere for food, as if Zoro read her mind, Zoro asked Nami, "Wanna ditch them and go to a bar for food and drinks?"

Nami has never been happier.

"But what about Law?"

"Screw him, he'll find his way back."

Nami was happy, extremely happy with where she was with Zoro. They are good friends and understand each other well. Sure, they argue from time to time but he (yes, I said he) will always compromise for her and isn't that what a relationship is all about. She has it all and she didn't want to lose what she has with what she could have. She would rather have him near her as a friend than lose him forever. So asking him out can wait just a little longer.

"Okay."

This time, it was his turn to pull her towards the exit of the restaurant. It was going to be just him and her, just the way it should be. And the rest can starve to death, for all Zoro cares.

"Zoro, that's the wrong way!"

"Damn, it!"

/////

* Reference to chapter 6. 

Hope you enjoyed it.

Hope you have a good day/afternoon/evening/night. :) 

[rokutouxei]

together through the fog

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | 1770 | T

Born frailer than your average pureblood vampire, she's doomed to need fresh human blood—not just rouge—to survive. Drinking from them will cost more than just blood: and she doesn't want to make them pay that price, especially not the one she loves the most. What decisions are you free to make when you don't really have a choice—and how is Theo going to convince her that staying a little longer isn't so bad if he's with her?

chapter 1 of 3

One of the most important rules of being in the art dealership industry is to make good connections. No amount of great art at hand will amount to much if the dealer does not have the appropriate connections to get these art into the proper hands. Of course, wealthy patrons are always much appreciated, for the invasion of the new art into the eyes of the more conservative aristocracy is one way to usher in the new dawn, but there are other types of connections that have to be made—and that is, to those who are not only interested in the art, but are also willing to lend a hand in the sharing of this art to the rest of the world.

Theo has a lot of clients. In the handful of years he has spent in the industry, he has collected his fair share of interested patrons and sponsors for the artists. Favoritism is of no use in this world. But if one were to ask—it would be easy for him to say that his best, perhaps his favorite, client, was a Comtesse that lived at the outskirts of town.

Rich, born of old money, in a large mansion where she lives alone, besides perhaps her singular, nosy butler. They’ve known each other for a few years now, after having met when they were much younger, and they have become, to some degree, friendly with each other, not only with regards to his work. Make no mistake—she is not his friend for superficial reasons like appearance or wealth. It’s that she has a great eye for art—and a big heart for it as well.

“Theo! it’s been a while since you’ve come around.”

Her greeting comes instantly as the door to her study opens, Theo being ushered in by her butler, Sebastian. She’s sipping from a teacup in front of a fireplace, bundled up under blankets—even when it isn’t too cold outdoors yet.

“You know how the industry is,” he comments, as he settles on the seat across her, setting down the framed painting gently on the soft red carpet of her study. Once Theo’s own cup of coffee is poured, the butler leaves the room, the door closing with a silent click. Theo does not miss the expression on the butler’s face before he disappears. He turns back to his friend, gauging. “When I saw this piece I had an inkling that it would be to your taste.”

She chuckles, a little embarrassedly, putting down the teacup on its saucer. “Now, now. You make it seem like the kind of art I like is on the predictable side.”

“I wouldn’t say predictable, but you do have a taste.”

She nods. “Oh? I had not even noticed. Maybe you watch me a little too keenly, Theo.”

“Just for work,” he quips back with a friendly smile, as he uncovers the painting he has brought with him.

-

Theo was right—the painting is to her taste. It was a painting of a morning through the frame of a window, overlooking a snowy mountain. The gentle texture of the brushstrokes from the view outside made the snow falling seem so real, delicate and soft, and the thicker, rougher ones along the inside of the room made it feel closer, a little warmer. By a yet-unknown artist, of course, and she contemplates hanging it along the main hallway of the mansion, making sure it will catch the eye of anyone who will pass by, hoping it would spark something.

And then the dizziness returns.

There was no doubt Theo noticed her spacing out during their little conversation, but there is only so much she can do in hiding how unwell she’s been feeling. She had instantly sighed in relief when Theo was guided out of the room—as now she can clutch her head freely and whine a little in the throbbing inside of her skull.

But it’s okay. At least she has the paintings.

The one thing she can do.

It doesn’t matter if she isn’t going to last long, not anymore. But at least, if she can do something for the things she loves… maybe it will be worth it in the long run.

-

Theo has always had his wits around him, particularly in terms of being observant. While he’s not infallible, the little things generally do not escape him, and he makes sure he stows them away in the back of his head for safekeeping.

Theo was 25 when she first wrote to him about it

She wrote: How would you feel about it if I were a vampire?

This really didn’t surprise Theo as awfully as it ought to have. There was one particularly intriguing rumor that spread around town about her family. Whether or not the people knew, had a clue, or if it were just the result of their imagination, is beyond him, but there have always been rumors about her family being a family of vampires. Of course, it is easy to shrug off: the human imagination is an interesting thing, and with the rise of rational science throughout the past few centuries, vampiric lore has simply fallen out of favor. Besides, this kind of rumor is unsurprising when the area’s oldest and longest living aristocrat families live such a secretive, mysterious life outside of the rare social events they decide to engage in.

Theo had the same thought process, of course. He had written back rather amusedly, saying that even if she were a vampire, it would not change the fact that she was a good friend of his. No fang or lost blood will get in the way of my fondness towards you, he had written.

Fondness—fondness is too simple a word for what he feels towards her.

But what matters is that she had written back, in her small, delicate handwriting: Well, then it is my pleasure to tell you that I am.

That was just three years back, but it feels like a million years ago. He had not given it much thought then. He had not given it much thought as of late.

Until now.

Until today, really, sitting across her in her study watching her space out as the tiny sharp tips of fangs protruded out from where her lips can no longer hide them.

If she was not lying to him, then that’s alright.

But there was no denying that look of desperation hiding in her eyes, as she tries to focus on something else in the room other than him.

He turns before the mansion’s main door gets shut behind him, turning to the butler with seriousness in his eyes.

“Sebastian, I have a question I have to ask you.”

-

She had met Theo when he was much younger—he was 18 at the time. And she… Well, greater vampires age a little differently than humans do, but she must have looked about 16. Her parents had brought her to an exhibition that day. it was part of her training—much was needed for an eternally-living vampire to be able to fit into human society without standing out too much.

Her interest in art was another thing altogether, though.

While her parents had gone away to talk with their acquaintances and other friends in the gallery, she had decided to walk around to enjoy the paintings that were on display. She grew up surrounded in art—part of the privileges of being born into the aristocracy—and these weren’t new to her, but some of the paintings… felt different. They were painted in different ways, looked at things in different lights. They piqued her interest. She wanted to get to know them more and-

She met Theo.

Theo was one of the youngest art dealers present during the show, which had been overseen by the company he was working with. She is still not entirely sure what had drawn Theo to her at that time—perhaps it was their seeming-similarity in age—but that day, they had made good friends, talking about art and paintings and the life of an artist. She wasn’t an artist herself, but the discussions had made such an impact on her that afterwards—they had exchanged addresses, and promised to write to each other.

That now feels like a lifetime ago.

How long ago was that, even? Surely at least a decade past. Time is a fickle thing for creatures like her. A decade is no more than a human’s millisecond. In a few more centuries, she will have forgotten everything about this little life, maybe even this mansion in the outskirts of Paris. The oldest of her family have been alive longer than humans would expect.

But not her.

It seems… unnatural, but she was born sickly, frailer than your average vampire. On occasion, she catches what is perhaps the vampire equivalent of a flu—weakness, fatigue, body pains, fever, and dizziness. Of course, this is curable with a good drink of blood, as is most things for vampires like her, but there is a catch—drinking it fresh from the source is always the better option. She would need bottles and bottles of rouge to recover from one “flu”, but fresh blood—

Fresh blood is different.

Drawn straight out of the vein, still warm from flesh…

That would cure her in minutes.

Too bad she has gotten a little too fond of humans.

Ah, how can one not, when you spend most of your life watching them struggle to live when death knocks at their door so soon after their birth? Humans have a strength she cannot comprehend. One she wishes she had. So she’s sworn to never drink out of a human ever again; even if it is at the cost of her health. She can acquire all the rouge she needs to recover. She cannot replace a random human’s short meaningful life at the cost of eternity for her own convenience—and she does not have the heart to drain one into death, if to spare them from the curse of living throughout perpetuity.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, they say.

She clutches her chest as the coughs overtake her, so strongly she is thrown to her knees onto the ground. Her butler rushes to her aid, but does not make it before she collapses onto the floor with a thud.

She doesn’t want to drink from humans anymore. And especially—not from the one she loves the most. But maybe this time she doesn’t really have a choice.

[pamphletstoinspire]

The Lord is Just (and Merciful)

It’s no secret that society is in a downward moral spiral. Family, self-control, self-sacrifice, defense of the defenseless—none of these are a given anymore. It isn’t the first time that this has been the case in human history, but it makes it no less concerning. 

Moved with a desire to console the heart of Jesus, I’ve seen a lot of fellow Catholics speaking out on social media about their plans to take on additional penances, as reparation for the lack of love that so many show God. I trust their discernment to the spiritual fathers in their lives, and I am glad that there are people in the Church that are focused on taking on additional penance for the sake of the love of Christ.

Many of us may find ourselves unable to take on the penances that we would like to this Lent. We love God, but our life and vocational circumstances make it imprudent to do so. A mother of a newborn isn’t necessarily called to begin going to early morning daily Mass. Someone with special needs (like autism or an anxiety disorder or ADHD) might not be able to manage a full holy hour. Someone deep in the throes of a new grief probably won’t be able to lead a Lenten Bible Study. Even when our spirit is very willing, our flesh is often weak.

Actually, let’s look more closely at the story in Scripture where that phrase comes from.

Mercy in the Garden of Gethsemane

When Jesus went to pray in the Garden of Gethsemane, he brought along his apostles. I always find it interesting that he didn’t bring his mother or any female disciples with him. I am sure that those women would have been wide awake, ready to offer him comfort as he wept.

Of course, Jesus knew that. But still, he brought his apostles. Bless their hearts, but the apostles just struggled to get it right in the Gospels, didn’t they? They had one task that night—stay awake and pray. They knew Jesus was acting strangely that night, and that something was seriously wrong. But what did they do? They fell asleep.

I didn’t grow up with brothers, but as I’ve gotten to know other men over the years—friends, spiritual fathers and spiritual sons, my husband—I can attest to how predictable this behavior was from a group of men. Men have a deep, deep desire to “fix” things when someone they love is suffering. When they can’t fix it, you can see the incredible weariness on their faces. Their exhaustion comes not from apathy, but from a sort of system overload.

Now, if I had been Jesus, I would have climbed down that hill, seen all my best friends sound asleep and felt a wave of deep sadness, loneliness, and maybe some frustration and anger. I would wonder if their slumber meant a lack of love, if it meant that they didn’t care.

But Jesus arrived at a very different conclusion. His heart was moved with a loving sort of pity for them. He knew that they had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of grief.

Perhaps it would have been just of him to chastise them for not keeping vigil. But the justice of God doesn’t operate in a vacuum. It is also tempered by mercy.

How does this relate to our own Lenten practice?

Penance Received by Mercy

I have three living children, aged 10, 7, and 3. My expectations for them are wildly different. I know what each child struggles with, and I can tell when they are trying as hard as they can (and when they’re trying to get away with mischief). Right now, my three-year-old is in a stage of classic three-year-old behavior—yelling, meltdowns, disobedience, etc. She spent the whole day recently, getting into one scrape after another and refusing to obey my requests. I tried time outs. I tried raising my voice and speaking firmly. But, in the end, I remembered—she’s three years old. She’s grumpy because that’s developmentally appropriate. Disciplining her is important (and she is working towards breaking the family record for time-outs, apparently) but so is loving her in more lenient ways. On the day in question, I knew that she had woken up too early, hadn’t been napping, and was tired. So, in the end, I finally stopped trying to put her in time out alone, and I laid next to her and gave her a snuggle. It worked. She needed mercy.

God is a far better parent than I am, and so he knows this even more. His children are different, and they each have unique weaknesses and struggles. He knows the perfect balance of discipline and affection for each child, and he knows when a child of his is giving him their best. He doesn’t point fingers and say, “Child of mine…why can’t you be more holy like that person??” He knows that for some of us, this Lent will begin with our attempt to break the world record for time-outs…errr, I mean, penances…and will likely end with him wrapping our grumpy selves in his loving arms.

He knows us. He loves us. He sees our efforts. And, like my grumpy three-year-old—he wants us to know that we are safe to struggle with improving our prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. He is consoled by our weak (but sincere) efforts.

This Lent, as we stumble along with our penitential practices, let us remember he receives them with not just justice, but with the most tender Fatherly mercy we can imagine.

BY: MICHELE CHRONISTER

[when-they-write-stuff]

42 + 43 with a worried Derek?

“No more stupid stunts, please?” & “You scared the shit out of me!”

- -

First of all, Stiles would like to say he didn’t agree with Derek’s definition of ‘stupid stunts’. And second of all, falling out of trees really hurt.

See, Stiles hadn’t planned on being in a tree that Saturday night. He hadn’t woken up that morning and decided “Hey, you know what’s a good idea? Climbing up a tree and then proceeding to fall out and break two bones. That sounds like a wild time.”

That thought never crossed his mind. You know, like a normal person.

But then Derek proceeded to swing through his window and notify him that the latest Beacon Hill’s threat was a flock of gargoyles. And Stiles was the bait.

He loved his life.

That all was how he ended up being in a tree. Stiles wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to climb up there when gargoyles could fly, but it was the first thought that had crossed his mind when he was running through the preserve for his life. So yeah, there was that.

Gargoyles had wings. Stiles decided to remember that next time Derek made him the bait. 

He would like to say that in his defense, Stiles had been watching Tarzan earlier. And when he went out into the preserve that night, he might’ve been thinking about how cool it would be to be able to swing from tree to tree. Not like that influenced his later decision or anything.

Okay, it might have.

“You’re the bait,” he muttered, swinging his baseball bat back and forth as he walked. “You’re always the bait, Stiles. But don’t worry, we’ll all still consider you the token human and call you fragile when things come down to it! But how do you feel about risking your life every other weekend anyway? It’ll be fun!”

Stiles didn’t think this was fun at all. 

Up until today, he hadn’t even known gargoyles were a thing. They most certainly weren’t supposed to be, thank you very much. Gargoyles were supposed to be stone figures that sat on top of creepy old buildings and didn’t move. But instead, they were giant creatures with leather wings and sharp claws that screeched like dying cats when they attempted to kill someone.

Stiles learned that first hand.

When they were attempting to kill him, that was.

“Derek!” he shouted, really wishing he had laid off the curly fries that summer as he ran through the seemingly empty forest. “Derek, you furry asshole, now would be a good time to come to this token human’s aid!”

Stiles didn’t know where the hell the wolves were but if he died out here tonight because they were being lazy, he was so going to come back and haunt them all.

The moment he managed to duck out of the gargoyles’ sight, the first thing Stiles saw was a nice, tall tree. His dad had always told him if he was running from predators, the best thing to do was climb the nearest tree, so Stiles took off toward it.

He didn’t really stop to think things through.

It was only when he was about fifteen feet off the ground that Stiles remembered gargoyles had wings, he was really bad a climbing, and currently, he was all alone.

Still though, the moment he saw beady yellow eyes and sharp fangs, Stiles did the first thing that came to mind. He jumped toward the next closest tree.

It was then that Stiles remembered he wasn’t Tarzan either.

When Stiles hit the ground, he heard something crack. He cried out and curled his fingers into the dirt, feeling the pain like a punch to the gut. Faintly, Stiles heard the sound of the gargoyles and their screeches growing louder and mentally braced himself for the claws about to tear through his back.

Except then finally, Stiles heard the sound of sharp howls cutting through the night. He let out a sigh of relief and went limp, trying to think of something other than the pain currently curling through his gut.

Derek reached him first.

Stiles could hear the sounds of the other wolves fighting, but then there was a presence by his side and he didn’t need to look over to know who it was. Derek touched his arm and then snarled, pulling back.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, Sourwolf, that usually happens to humans when they remember they can’t fly.”

“Is it bad?”

Stiles shifted and then hissed. “I think I broke something.

“A bone.”

“No,” Stiles said. “My face. Yes, a bone!”

Derek muttered something that Stiles didn’t catch and then swept an arm underneath his legs. Before Stiles could react, he was being picked up off the ground and pain crashed over him once more. This time, he wasn’t able to hold back a shout.

“Derek, you asshole, put me down!”

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“No, I’m continuing to lay on the ground. Derek, that hurts! Put me down!”

Of course, Derek ignored him. Stiles would struggle if he could but he’d really rather not hurt anymore, so he just stayed limp in his arms. Derek growled something to the rest of his pack and then turned away but at that point, Stiles was sweeping in and out of consciousness.

His everything hurt.

“Stay with me, Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles huffed a laugh.

“I’m not dying, asshole.”

“No, you’re not.”

“But maybe I could be. Cause dude, I hurt. Like a lot. Can I just be dying instead?”

Derek only growled in answer. Stiles laughed and then gasped, everything turning black for a long, painful second. When he came snapping back to reality, Derek was setting him in the Camaro and Stiles let loose a loud whine, feeling like his bones were grinding together.

“Stop it,” Derek said. He looked visibly bothered by Stiles’s sounds of pain. Stiles only made louder noises and went boneless in the seat.

Derek shot him a glare as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

“Why the hell did you climb a tree?” 

“It was the first idea that came to me,” Stiles groaned. Derek looked even more irritated.

“To escape from monsters with wings.”

“I never said it was a good idea.”

“Dammit, Stiles,” Derek said, stepping on the gas. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Is that a compliment, Sourwolf?”

“No more stupid stunts.

“Then maybe you should stop making this token human bait,” Stiles rasped. He kept one arm wrapped around his side although he was pretty sure that was doing nothing to help with the pain. Derek glanced sideways for a moment and then sighed, reaching over and placing a hand on Stiles’s knee.

Almost instantly, the pain started to lessen.

“You know,” Stiles said. “Maybe we could just skip the hospital altogether and go to the loft instead? I trust your, uh, splinting skills, dude.”

“That’s not how you fix a broken rib.”

“Oh, is that what you think this is?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled. If Stiles looked over, the man’s face was startling pale and his fingers around the steering wheel seemed to tremble slightly. Stiles grinned despite himself.

“Dude, are you worried about me?”

“No.”

“I’m not dying,” Stiles said. “Seriously.”

“You could have been.”

“From falling out of a tree?”

“If you hit at the right angle,” Derek said, eyes flashing. “Yes.”

Stiles felt his smile slip away. He glanced back toward the road and the rest of the drive to the hospital was a silent one. Stiles already knew what was awaiting him; a lecture from Melissa, a call to his dad, and the ultimate (possibly life-threatening) grounding.

Probably.

Derek came around the side of the Camaro and Stiles sighed as the man picked him up again. With one of Derek’s hands on his arm, some of the pain was leeched away, and he didn’t feel like he could black out this time. He still winced every time Derek jostled him too much though.

The man seemed to notice that.

“Sorry,” Derek said. Stiles smirked up at him.

“I forgot I wasn’t Tarzan.”

“What.”

“How cool would that have been?” Stiles said, mostly to himself this time instead of Derek. “If I could have jumped from tree to tree? Dude, I should totally be Tarzan. Just drop me off on a deserted island with a bunch of gorillas for a year or two.”

“I think you’re in shock, Stiles.”

“Naw, dude,” Stiles said. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t need a baseball bat if I was Tarzan.”

The man looked down at him, shaking his head. Stiles grinned.

The moments between the waiting room, Melissa coming into view, the foretold lecture, and waking up in a hospital bed were all a blur. Stiles felt woozy when he came back-to and the first thing he noticed was that his dad wasn’t around yet. The second was that Derek’s head was on his lap and he was pretty sure the man was asleep.

Stiles froze and stared at him. Then, as if he was trying not to wake a sleeping bear, he shifted a little. But of course, that was just enough.

Derek startled and his eyes snapped open. The man went rigid and then relaxed, blinking tiredly for a moment. A shiver ran down Stiles’s spine as he was fixed with a red-eyed gaze.

“You don’t speak of this to anyone, Stiles.”

“Oo-kay, Softiewolf.”

Derek blinked at him again and then pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair. It looked kind of adorable. Like a mouse had made a home in the middle of it.

Derek raised a brow. Stiles stared back until he realized all of that had slipped from his lips. In a panic, he clapped his hands over his mouth. But Derek only looked a little amused.

 “You’re drugged.”

“I am not.”

“Stiles, you just told me that my, and I quote, ‘bunny teeth would appropriately suit a mouse living in my hair. Because both of those things are adorable and they just make sense.’”

Stiles stared at him. He didn’t remember saying that.

“Just because you don’t remember saying it doesn’t mean you didn’t.”

“Dude, stop reading my mind!”

“I’m not reading your mind,” Derek huffed. “You just happen to be thinking out loud.”

Stiles glared at him, deciding he no longer wanted Derek to be his caretaker. Derek sucked. He wanted his dad even if it did come with an eternal grounding.

“Your father is still on a shift,” Derek said, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. “He should be here in a few hours.”

“Oh my god!”

“Not god,” Derek said. “Just a werewolf.”

“Stop it,” Stiles said miserably. “You’re not allowed to have jokes. Mind reading grumpy werewolves aren’t allowed to have jokes.”

Derek’s face softened. He reached out and touched the back of Stiles’s hand, black lines starting to creep up his arm. Stiles sighed despite himself, practically melting into the touch. Derek shook his head.

“No more stupid stunts, Stiles. Please.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You broke two ribs.”

“I was trying not to get killed,” Stiles mumbled. Derek’s face tightened a little and he almost looked… guilty?

“No more stupid stunts,” the man said. “And no more bait.”

“No more bait?”

“We’ll use one of the betas. Or Jackson.”

“They won’t like that,” Stiles said. Derek only chuckled and squeezed his hand a little tighter. The man actually looked sincere. Stiles didn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m the Alpha.”

“Wow, dude.”

“They’ll do what I say.”

“Sure.”

Derek rolled his eyes and removed his hand again. There were no more black lines creeping up his arm, though, and Stiles didn’t really hurt anymore. He just felt tired now. Tired and a little brain heavy.

Maybe he was drugged.

“You are,” Derek said. Stiles grumbled something dark and the man only chuckled, pulling the blankets up to Stiles’s neck. He was a little woozy but he could’ve sworn gentle fingers traced down the side of his cheek before pulling away. But maybe it was the drugs.

“It wasn’t,” Derek said softly. Stiles tried to look at him but his eyes were heavy now too. Derek leaned back as Stiles let them flutter closed.

He might do a stupid stunt once and a while, he decided, if it got him this kind of special treatment. But then the last thing he noticed before going unconscious was Derek growling. Then the man leaning closer, breaths warm on his face.

“Don’t you dare.”

Stiles laughed himself back to sleep.

- -

Okay, this one was super fun. I feel like “No more stupid stunts” is something Derek says to Stiles 24/7 so it fits them perfectly! Thank you for the prompt, nonnie <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[ibijau]

Lan Xichen needs a husband

Sometimes you rush through writing 2k of fem!lxc needing a husband so the Lan elders won’t bother her about being a female sect leader, and deciding that her Da-Ge’s little brother is the least awful option she can think of.

blaming @theivorywriter for accidentally putting that idea in my brain

It took all of Lan Xichen’s willpower to keep smiling as a servant announced her presence to the three men in the room. The instant the door closed again and she was alone with them, the smile dropped.

“I was going to say it’s nice to see you,” Nie Mingjue commented, “but I guess the feeling isn’t mutual?”

“I am furious,” Lan Xichen replied, “but not at you. It’s the elders.”

Jin Guangyao, ever the perfect host even though Qinghe was no longer his home, poured some tea for her while Nie Huaisang hurried to position a chair between her sworn brothers.

“Did they change their mind again?” Nie Mingjue asked, pushing a plate of sweets her way as she sat down. “Your brother won’t be fit for his duties for months and after what he’s done in Nightless City, nobody would trust him anyway.”

“Wangji cannot remain sect leader, they are not questioning that,” she replied with a sigh. He never wanted to be one, she didn’t add. “But they are unsure about giving me the title. A frail woman, one so young at that, they doubt I could ever handle the pressure.”

Nie Huaisang, sitting in a corner away from them, snorted from behind his book. His brother shot him an angry look, while Jin Guangyao nodded in sympathy. 

He knew better than the other two the pain of being dismissed over an accident of birth. He had seen how hard she had worked to organise things behind the scene during the Sunshot Campaign while her brother played the tragic hero and fought the Wens alongside Jiang Cheng. Not that Lan Xichen hadn’t seen her share of battles, hadn’t also earned her title in blood and fire.

“I am sorry that they underestimate you so,” Jin Guangyao said. “Xichen-Jie is more capable than many men I know. But who would they give the title to if not you? Your uncle?”

“They tried. He refused. Uncle is my main proponent at this point,” Lan Xichen sighed. “No, their new idea is far more perverse in a way: they want me to be married, so I can have a man to guide me.”

It gave her some comfort that both of her sworn brothers appeared appropriately annoyed by the news. The elders might dismiss her every chance they had, but these two heroes saw her as an equal and were quite vocal about it.

“Stupid,” Nie Mingjue grumbled. “You’ll have your uncle helping, and that’s more than enough. What would you do with a husband?”

Again, Nie Huaisang was heard trying to contain a bout of laughter and Lan Xichen, who could guess where his thoughts had gone, found her cheeks heat up a little. Thankfully, neither of her sworn brothers appeared to notice.

“Have they already decided on who they want you to marry?” Jin Guangyao asked, oddly tentative. 

“I’ve been given a list of names to consider, but I am allowed to make suggestions,” Lan Xichen explained. “I’m sure anyone I offer up would be promptly rejected though. If I cannot be trusted to rule my sect, I certainly cannot be trusted to choose my own husband. I do not think a single man on their list is under sixty, and they are all inner circle Lans.”

It was not that Lan Xichen had any dislike for the idea of marrying someone within her sect. It was a wasted chance for a political alliance, but it meant living with someone who already knew how to bear with the rigidity of Gusu Lan’s rules, something spouses found outside the sect often struggled with at first. On the other hand, all these old men were related to her to some degree.

They were all, also, very old.

Lan Xichen had learned early on that she should not expect too much from her future marriage, but she had always hoped to at least marry someone her age, or only a few years older. It had seemed like such a reasonable expectation to have, especially with so few girls born within the Great Sects in her generation, and so many young men in need of a spouse, but apparently she wouldn’t even get that.

“Maybe we could help Xichen-jie find some less unpleasant alternatives,” Jin Guangyao politely offered. “There are many fine cultivators out there, surely if we all work together, we can find someone that might work better than your grandfather’s cousins.”

“I would be so grateful to Er-Di and Da-Ge for their help,” Lan Xichen replied.

“Then let’s get thinking.”

Before all else, they gave consideration to the Four Great Sects.

If anyone could have fit in Gusu Lan, Lan Xichen would have already tried. In fact she had thrown a few names for the elders to think of, only to be denied each time.

Yunmeng Jiang was quickly eliminated as well. None of its disciples came from a background prestigious enough, and as for its leader… Jiang Cheng would hardly have been an option at the best of time (“he’ll want his wife to enter his sect, and he wants her to have a mild personality,” Nie Huaisang assured them) but at the moment he was still mourning the bitter loss of his sister and it would have been in bad taste to offer a marriage to him.

Qinghe Nie had a few men the right age from minor branches of the main clan, but Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang quickly pointed out that their personalities were too proud and loud to fit Lan Xichen’s need for a husband who wouldn’t stand out too much. 

A similar problem would be found with a husband coming from Lanling Jin. The young masters from that sect would never allow for their wife to stand higher than them, and anyway Jin disciples always had troubles with the lifestyle of Cloud Recesses.

With this settled, they took a look at smaller sects, but with little more success. This young master was already engaged, that one had a bad temper, another had a reputation for being untrustworthy, one might have fit her but would never be accepted by the elders… there was always a problem which either Jin Guangyao or Nie Huaisang would point out.

After a few hours of discussion, they ran out of possible husbands for Lan Xichen. She felt very disheartened that no one seemed to fit. Her own demands were small (a good personality, unambitious but still clever enough to be able to support her when needed) but the elders would not be easily satisfied (they would demand high birth, a good political alliance, good cultivation, good education, good manners, mastery of the six arts, good looks, and plenty more).

Nie Mingjue still wouldn’t give up and was trying to think of distant sects that might fit, but Jin Guangyao, ever pragmatic, tried to comfort her instead.

“I would offer myself, but…”

Lan Xichen smiled at him and shook her head.

“We are sworn siblings,” she reminded him. “It would be very odd to marry you after such an oath. I would much rather keep you as a brother, A-Yao.”

Not least of all because she wanted a husband with as little ambition as possible so he wouldn’t try to claim power from her and relegate her to the shadows. Lan Xichen loved her younger sworn brother dearly, but she knew they both shared the bitter experience of being forced aside by stubborn old men, the will to prove themselves in spite of it. It had brought them closer. She would not let it tear them apart.

Thankfully, Jin Guangyao looked as though he had expected that rejection.

“It’s hopeless,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “Who haven’t we considered… Huaisang?”

It took Lan Xichen a few seconds to realise that her sworn brother was not suggesting his half-brother as a candidate, but only asking if Nie Huaisang might have other suggestions.

She turned to look at the young man. He had set aside his book, and appeared to be considering the problem with great seriousness. In fact, all of his remarks so far had been spot on. He was polite and clever enough when he wanted, but suffered from an acute lack of interest in politics and cultivation that made him as unambitious as a young master could ever be. He was the Second Master of Qinghe Nie and while Gusu Lan already had an alliance with them, it never hurt to further strengthen that. He also fit in her criteria for age. Beside, and while that was not something Lan Xichen ought to have considered as important, he was also not too unpleasant to look at, though he was rather short. It would look funny when he would stand at her side, since she was already taller than most men, but she could live with that.

“Da-Ge?”

“Yes?”

“You have not started looking for a wife for your brother, have you?” Lan Xichen asked, keeping her eyes on Nie Huaisang to check his reaction.

It was a strong one to say the least. Nie Huaisang’s eyes opened wide in surprise, his entire face quickly turning a bright shade of red as he stared back at Lan Xichen.

“Xichen-Jie shouldn’t tease like that!” he spluttered, quickly opening his book again and hiding behind it, apparently not noticing it was upside down. “I’ve been trying to help, too, and now you’re being mean!”

That sounded encouraging, Lan Xichen decided. He wasn’t outright rejecting the idea or laughing to her face. She turned to Nie Mingjue, who gave her a very serious look.

“I haven’t really had time to think about marrying him off,” he said. “Things have been complicated enough and it never felt urgent. He’s never asked for it, anyway.”

“Is San-Di not interested in marriage?” Jin Guangyao inquired.

From behind his book, Nie Huaisang muttered something that they did not quite catch.

“Enunciate,” his brother barked at him.

“I said it does not matter whether I’m interested or not!” Nie Huaisang muttered. “And… and you three really need to stop teasing me like that! It’s not nice from you! Xichen-Jie’s elders would never let her marry me. Don’t you remember how bad my grades were in Cloud Recesses? Because they won’t have forgotten! They will say I’m unfit to stand behind their sect leader!”

A fair point to bring up, Lan Xichen thought. He really was smarter than he tried to appear. He also wasn’t saying ‘I don’t like her’ or ‘I don’t want to’ or ‘I’d never’ about the idea of marrying her. For some reason, that pleased her. If he had really hated the idea, Nie Huaisang was earnest enough that it would have been his first protest. 

“San-Di makes a good argument,” Jin Guangyao sighed. “He could fit your criteria, but not the elders’. So we are back to…”

“There’s always the option of forcing their hand,” Lan Xichen mused. “They would hate it but… I know uncle will do everything to avoid becoming sect leader, so there will be little choice for them.”

“What do you have in mind?” Nie Mingjue asked, sounding a little doubtful but not outright disapproving.

“Nothing at all unless you agree to it,” Lan Xichen promised. “It is only a thought. But… of everyone we have considered today, your brother is the only one to whom I find no objections.”

That statement must have surprised Nie Huaisang, who lowered his book a little and gaped at her, his face somehow even redder now. Their eyes met, and with a panicked little noise Nie Huaisang raised the book again. He still wasn’t protesting though.

“I don’t like the idea of going behind your elders’ backs and imposing on them a marriage they would disapprove of,” Nie Mingjue said, before grimacing slightly. “I also do not like the way they are treating you, though. You don’t need a husband to be a good sect leader, you’ve more than proven you’re capable of making good decisions. I suppose Huaisang wouldn’t bother you too much while you do your job. Wouldn’t help you much either, though.”

“I’d help plenty!” Nie Huaisang protested, peeking over the cover of his book. “I help you, don’t I? I can be useful if I have to!”

“So you would agree to marry me if it came to that?” Lan Xichen asked, feeling her cheeks heat up at the idea.

Nie Huaisang quickly hid again. “Better me than someone who would bother Xichen-Jie and treat her badly!” he squeaked. “If I can help Xichen-Jie, then… then of course I would!”

At these words, Lan Xichen felt her heart beat faster, and she knew she had to be blushing for certain. Even if it was only political scheming, it was the first time someone professed an interest in marrying her, and she was not unaffected.

“So all three of you agree,” Jin Guangyao summarised with an amused smile. “Then the only problem left is how to push for this in a way that the Lan elders cannot dismiss, but without harming Xichen-Jie’s reputation. It will require some careful planning to figure this out.”

“That’s why we’ve got you,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “Put that scheming brain of yours to good use for once and find us something.”

Normally, Lan Xichen would have objected to that aggressivity and tried to smoothen things between her sworn brothers. At the moment though, she was too preoccupied. She had spent the whole trip from Gusu to Qinghe resenting the idea that she would be forced to marry but now, glancing at Nie Huaisang who kept shyly peeking at her over his book…

It wasn’t an ideal situation, not by far, but if Jin Guangyao could find a way to make this work, Lan Xichen wouldn’t be too unhappy to marry after all.