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ellesthots · 1 year ago

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Fateful Beginnings

I. “the club within the club”

read on AO3 🦇 taglist 📣

parts: next

plot: Bruce Wayne is an angsty mess and you get thrown right into his tornado when you accidentally discover his secret identity.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MATURE! NSFW! canon-typical violence, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst (with a happy ending!), fluff, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, eventual smut, mutual pining, dual POV, Bruce Wayne needs a hug, mental health issues (psychosis, suicidality), substance use, blackmail (or is it?), serious health issues, grief, brief mention of sa (does not occur), gaslighting, torture

words: 2.4k

a/n: this is my first fic i’ve posted to tumblr and ao3, very excited to see how people like it ✨ same user on ao3 :) comments and reblogs are so appreciated! 💖 'the batman' and 'the penguin' are canon in this fic <3 i'll do warnings at the front ends of chapters when there's potential for the penguin spoilers, and for any of the more intense cw!

"I haven't turned in the assignment yet, I'm so sorry," you fumbled with your book and it slipped forward on the desk. Already a week late, the assignment was to write a piece on happenings around the city—the city was used loosely, because it was school policy to not require students in the field for assignments. You never lingered on what might have caused the rule to be enforced.

Dr. Vry was usually the picture of impatience, but not now. Though you couldn’t see the ‘journalistic prodigy’ frame she placed you in, she had a soft spot for you. Late work, stained sweatpants and haphazardly-stapled papers didn’t exactly scream talented, but you wouldn’t complain with your grade hanging in the balance. While you’d done well in the intro courses, more complex material left you struggling. She would say it was all in your head.

You’d never been great at people, though you’d tried—even going so far as to major in them. Four years of sociology had left you still tripping over yourself. You’d wanted to pivot with your last few credits, but were unaware how much grief taking journalism electives would cause.

"You’re overthinking it." The professor gently shook her head, her salt and pepper hair unmoving in the slick bun. "I'll extend it until the end of next week. After that it's out of my hands!"

With that (and a thousand thanks), you hurried out of class with your book squeezed tightly to your chest. Thank god, you thought. Can’t fail my last term.

Evening rain pounded your tiny apartment window as you nibbled at leftover takeout. The Family Meal was a steal you were too broke to ignore, even if the chow mein became a bit chewy for your tastes at day three. With your free hand you texted Mar, but knew she was out clubbing. How the hell she’d managed an early graduation with her social life was beyond you. How you’d landed in her orbit when you transferred, and that she’d accepted you as a friend, was an even greater mystery.

Less of a mystery after endless nights sharing said Family Meal amidst midnight reruns, but nevertheless.

You stared at your dry phone for a few seconds, letting your mind numb against the backdrop of the ever-present monsoon of Gotham. Companionship was a dream long forgotten; the sting of loneliness here was too great, and since you planned to leave the second that degree slipped into your hands, it was no use forging new connections.

Mar had snuck her way into a crack in the first few months of your arrival. Back when you thought you might find something here; back before you were proven wrong, and you’d given up on this godforsaken city. Leaving everything behind hadn’t filled the void, but you couldn’t accept that it might’ve deepened it.

Mar didn't usually respond but tonight, she did.

Get your ass to the club! I miss you.

You chuckled a little at the idea of getting all ready to be sweaty in a room full of strangers.

No thanks, have fun!

Within a second she’d disliked your message and sent another: You'll find more inspo here than in your studio. I'm sending a taxi, be ready in 10

You groaned and threw the phone down. It nearly fell off the couch entirely, forcing a wince. Ugh. A club? On a Friday?

Men in Gotham were nasty, taking every opportunity to get something from a woman. Plastered across downtown were blistered posters with a faded number to report drink tampering. You should have expected as much with the city's reputation, but coming from a small town left you naive with hope many didn’t deserve.

The day's exhaustion had worn your resolve and the longer you thought about her text, the closer you were to giving in. More inspiration... she might be right. Stifling a sigh, you glanced around your empty walls and noted the waning light outside.

Fine, only for an hour.

You reluctantly walked to your closet to pick your outfit, bemoaning the night ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself shivering under your apartment patio in a dark mini dress. Mascara and gloss had been the only options, because you’d thought your driver might actually be on time.

Staring out at flashing headlights threatened a migraine, so you whipped out your phone and logged onto Scypher, a Gotham-area social platform. Mar teased that you were an adrenaline junkie with how often you stalked the ‘Crime’ tab, occasionally grabbing your phone “to see if the loading screen burned in yet”.

Pretty empty. Some car vandalisms, a fire likely caused by some teens with too much time on their hands. Hmm. As unease pricked your skin, you reminded yourself that this was good, this was great. Wouldn’t want to go out during a crime surge.

You looked up as you heard a tire tempt the curb. The driver called your name, and you slunk into the backseat. The leather was cold, rough, and generally uninviting. Classic Gotham.

The drive was quick, passing clubs practically on every corner. When he pulled up to one of the most elite clubs in the city, cold flashed through you. “I’m sorry, my friend must have given you the wrong directions—”

"It’s correct." He was stern, and when you started taking out cash, he waved a dismissive hand toward you. "Your friend already paid."

Flustered, and frankly confused he hadn't sneakily accepted double payment, you staggered out. He barely waited for the door to shut before slamming the gas. Mar would get an earful.

The line wasn't too long, so you fell into step behind a few people laughing hysterically. On instinct, your eyes dropped first to their hands—empty—then their pockets—green. Tinfoil. Right. Dropheads. Harmless, but annoying in their glassy-eyed, inconsiderate bliss. Why couldn’t they popularize a drug that made you quiet and subdued, not screeching outside apartment buildings in the middle of the night?

You paused, the harsh reflection of your frown in an oil-slicked puddle challenging your cynicism. At least they were happy, too busy enjoying themselves to notice the stranger scowling behind. What would that be like to be completely out of your own mind?

God, it seemed like a fucking vacation.

The line moved fast so you didn't have time to find an excuse to leave. You held out your card to the burly, tall bouncer who gave you a once-over and a smirk. Sexual harassment this time, or being denied entry for an out of state ID? No one moved to this city. No one but you.

He handed your things back, and held out a hand for the club fee. Shit. A nervous look over his shoulder displayed a menacingly-Sharpie’d sign requiring $50 entry, and you managed three crumpled twenties from the bottom of your bag. He smiled, yanking open the rusty door for you. “No change.”

Well, guess I'm eating ramen this week.

Your ears began ringing the second you entered the club, glass-shatteringly loud speakers shoving the bass into your organs. People were packed in like sardines, and before you could even muster a thought you were grabbed fast from behind.

"Y/n!!!" Mar wrapped you in a hug while you tried to steady yourself.

"Shit, Mar,"

"You look SO good! Fuck yeah!" She smiled and smacked your ass as she led you towards the stairs. You hadn't gotten much of a look, but her eyes looked bleary, inflamed. Not damning enough to call out, not with the beams of red stage lights flooding the dance floor.

"I met some guys that got us a lounge!"

She was giggling, but you pulled away. You'd already been sufficiently creeped on by the bouncer, and longed for the sweet relief of your bed. "I thought this was a girl's night,"

"C'mon babe, relax!" A green hunk of tinfoil fell from her pocket when she whipped around. When you yanked your hand back, frustrated, she peeked over her shoulder like a guilty dog. It made you soften, but not by much.

"MAR." You bent down to pick up the litter just as a man came up behind. One press of his hips to your torso made you recoil at the intrusion, and you spun around to shove him away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” A bit of his drink spilled on your side, and you grit your teeth. By this time Mar had stepped up, always a willing wingman.

"Hey, don't fuck with a woman like that, bitch!"

BAMBAMBAMBAM.

Impossibly loud, impossibly close popping noises whipped through the crowd like gunshots. All hell broke loose. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were. It was. Fuck.

You grabbed the railing to pull your shaky legs to the exit when body after body rammed into you, leaving you stuck. Suddenly a kid again, ducking to your knees under the desk, shoving your hands over your head during drills. Crouched now, you wondered what the fuck a hand would do against a bullet. A cool wave of helplessness traveled your spine as someone’s knee knocked your skull against the stairwell in their escape.

The gunshots inched closer, closer, egging on your heart rate, curdling your thoughts sour. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t want to die. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve stayed. What the fuck am I doing? Where is she? Is she dead? I’m going to fucking die, I’m going to fucking die.

You drew a shaky breath that was too loud for comfort, and forced your mind to clear for just a few seconds. What was the easiest place to hit? Images of autoplayed video after autoplayed video swirled your thoughts, trying desperately to parse which position those that survived all those mass shootings had been laying in. What had all those survivors said? What the hell had kept them alive? Luck? Silence? Luck and silence.

A rapid increase in gunfire made you shriek despite your survival instincts. One would fly through the railing, you just knew it. You knew it, you knew it, you knew, why hadn’t you stayed in bed, you’d never shit on your apartment again, you’d live and breathe and die there, no, you’d die right here, right fucking here—

Silence.

Sweat beaded your entire body as it electrified with adrenaline; you squeezed your eyes shut, shoving yourself against the side of the stairwell in an attempt to make your body as compact as possible. The rough concrete texture burrowed into your arm as you jammed harder, harder, harder… I could be dead with just one bullet.

Before more morbid thoughts could form, you yelped as you felt your body being lifted and slung over someone's shoulder. Something was hard and slick against your stomach, and the world whizzed around you when you dared look around. The arm that held you was so strong you couldn’t slip out if you tried. Relief coated you as the chill of Gotham’s night air hit your cheeks.

Short-lived was the relief, as a new panic settled in alongside it. Though you were fully removed from the chaos, the man wasn’t letting you go.

An elbow was the first thing you tried, but it nearly had you choking on tears as it scraped against unforgiving material. Were they armored?

You tensed your abs and fought to roll out of his grip. Nothing. Nothing but a grunt from the man holding you, but you couldn’t even begin to isolate the voice while your ears rang with tinnitus.

So you shouted and wriggled, screaming “Let me GO!” until the cows came home. Or until he let you down, whichever came first.

"Stop fighting." A low, gravelly voice spoke hot against your ear, punctuated by a hard flop of your ribs digging into the edge of his shoulder. Bruises were evidence of struggle, something this dipshit probably wasn’t thinking about. You heaved a breath in preparation of another flop, but it wasn’t needed.

Without warning the man released his grasp and you slid off, landing squarely in a puddle. If this was an EMT, they needed more training and identifiable clothing. Black on black made him hard to focus on, but the shock of a pale jaw knocked the wind right out of you.

The Batman.

“Oh, uh,” the tornado of panic relaxed ever so slightly, and a sliver of shame crept in. “Sorry.” You felt bad for thinking of all the ways to immobilize him, from a kick in the crotch to digging your nails into his eyeballs.

He stood there long enough for reality to seep in. One, that you were safe, and two, that you hadn’t been. You’d finally found yourself in the crossfire and unless a dozen people died, it wouldn’t even make the news. Maybe you needed to leave before graduation.

“Turn around.”

Batman’s sharp tone burst through your reverie, and you spun around instantaneously. His word was good as gospel. In your year and a half here, a few of your classmates had spoken of being saved one time or another. “He never sticks around. Gone as quick as he comes. Thank god for him.” It was instinctual to trust him, like reaching for water on a hot day.

And his voice brooked no argument.

The back of your head lit up in flaming pain. The edges of his gloves caught on some hair strands, and you gasped. “You need stitches.”

A screen lit up on his arm when he stepped back. Your vision blurred at the edges, eyes watering from the pain. "Victim with head wound on Feller and Kelley."

Head wound. Better than a fucking bullet to the chest. Never before had you swooned over the thought of a needle snaking through your scalp. You sighed out a thank you, half-wondering if he planned to carry you to whomever he’d called. You couldn’t tell for sure, vision much too hazy, but he might’ve nodded.

In a blink, the masked man was halfway down the alley. Just when he turned out of view, police lights illuminated the space, flashing off the balmy brick. You swallowed hard, letting the shock wash through you. Part of a fucking shooting. Saved by the Batman.

And you hadn't gotten a good look at him.

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trulybetty · 2 months ago

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once is all it takes | I : trauma bay two

pairings: eventual jack abbot x f!reader, f!reader x emery walsh, jack abbot x emery walsh, jack abbot x f!reader x emery walsh word count: 1,293 warnings: medical inaccuracies, mentions of vehicle accident, mentions of blood, bickering, law and order law degree, tension, hints of something, no beta, mistakes are my own, this is the plot before the smut, I can't help myself ao3: linked ⤷ series masterlist

The emergency department at night is usually a quiet affair punctuated with the odd drunk who’d taken a swing then missed, kitchen mishap or stomach bug that had parents panicking.

But tonight? Chaos.

Both trauma bays are lit up—two teenagers, one wrecked car, two very different cases. Bay One has parents. Consent. Textbook infusion and stitches.

Bay Two? No ID. No one can start on trying to reach the kid’s parents. No one can get his vitals steady. And Bay One’s parents? Already threatening legal action.

Someone had paged you in. You were on call, covering someone on vacation. You don’t know who called you. It doesn’t matter.

You’d just left the parents in Bay One, placated with your promise to keep them updated—translation: please don’t escalate this while I figure out what the fuck is happening. You’d told Bridget, one of the nurses, to page the night-shift social worker. Those parents needed support more than a lawyer.

Now: Bay Two.

You pushed through the doors into heat and noise.

Male. Mid-teens. No wallet. Baggy clothes soaked in blood, shirt slashed open down the middle. Pressure dressings already saturating on his right side. There’s a shoe on the floor—might be his. One wrist wrapped. The other, an IV line and a trail of blood running toward his elbow.

Jack and Emery—senior attending and trauma surgeon—stand on either side of the gurney, already mid-argument.

“Vitals tanking,” someone calls. “BP eighty over—”

“Cuff’s wrong,” Jack snaps. “Try again.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Emery says, cool and clipped. “Pressure’s still dropping.”

“Then we need to get him up to the OR.”

“Not a chance. He’ll crash in the elevator.”

Jack’s expression is locked in that hyper-focused calm he wears when the room starts spinning—like he’s already three steps ahead of everyone else in the room and can’t afford the luxury of expressing how bad things could get.

Emery, on your right, has her arms crossed tight against her chest, jaw set, gloved hands clenched.

You’re at the foot of the bed. No one’s noticed. Or they’re pretending they haven’t.

The monitor’s still dropping.

This was the legal nightmare that dragged you out of bed at 2 AM.

Technically, the hospital can initiate emergency care under implied consent. But implied won’t save anyone in court if a lawsuit follows. Bay One’s already a legal threat. Bay Two could become the bigger one—fast.

And you’re already regretting throwing your name back in the on-call pool.

Even if everyone involved agreed the kid needed care, the decision to perform surgery without documented consent on a minor. That’s a call you, Legal, have to bless.

Jack rolls his eyes, “You can admit him, Walsh, you’ve admitted worse before.”

“He’s actively hemorrhaging.”

“He needs an OR before he crashes,” Jack’s eyes lock with hers, “he’ll bleed out in the bay. I can get him stabilized for transport, we’ll pack him and run. I can keep him alive.”

Emery scoffed, “You want to gamble on a gurney ride with a kid whose pressure’s circling the drain? That’s not treatment—that’s a coin toss, and you know it, Jack.”

“It’s better odds than cracking him open here.” Jack bites back.

If they open him in the ED and lose him? It’s on them.

If they move him and he crashes mid-transfer? Same.

Jack’s betting on movement. Emery’s betting on control.

Emery sucks on her teeth. She doesn’t speak. She looks at the kid again—pale, smaller now. Her jaw works like she’s chewing on the outcome.

“Then what if he arrests in the elevator?” she asked coldly.

“Then we crack him on the gurney. We’ve done worse.”

“We?” she echoes. “You really want to play cowboy here?”

She’s not wrong. That’s what pisses Jack off the most.

The kid is crashing in real time now. It’s not a guess when Emery says he won’t make the elevator. She wants to open him up here and control the bleed before cardiac arrest.

Jack leans in, forces Emery to meet his eye, “We did this all the time at the combat support hospitals, you know that. He’s got a window—we move now.”

Emery doesn’t flinch and holds his gaze.

“Fucks sake, that is your answer for everything—we’re not stitching bodies in the desert.”

“Don’t do this,” he warns.

“No. Let’s do.” Her laugh is bitter. “Let’s unpack your battlefield logic and how it applies to this underfunded, short-staffed civilian hospital.”

You’d seen them argue plenty of times—who hadn’t?—But this is different. Sharper. Slower. More personal.

You’ve seen it building. In the length of their silences. In how they double-check each other’s work.

And it wasn’t the first time.

“Hey—hey. Stop!” You raise your voice.

Nothing. Not a flinch.

They don’t stop.

“You know what I think?” Emery says, voice rising. “I think you’re just set on playing G.I Joe in your head and you’re going to kill this kid because you can’t handle not intervening with some MacGyver shit.”

Jack’s voice goes cold. “And you’d rather stand still and watch him bleed out?”

“I’d rather not operate on a patient who isn’t stable enough to make it up a floor.”

“Then help me stabilize him.”

“I have been!”

You’re still stood at the foot of the bed.

And that’s when the monitor spikes—the alarms scream, and the boy on the table is convulsing, chest seizing beneath blood-soaked bandages.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” a nurse yells.

Jack and Emery move—reflex, muscle memory. Yelling orders off of one another.

And then—as if in sync—they turn and look at you.

“Tell her I’m right,” Jack barks.

“Tell him I’m right,” Emery counters.

You glare at both of them. One well-oiled, dysfunctional machine.

You square your shoulders.

“Minor. No guardian. No documentation. We have a trauma-certified ED and two staff members burning what time they have left on a pissing contest that should have been over,” you check your watch, “five minutes ago.”

You take in the teen, suddenly looking a lot younger than he had just a moment ago. Pale. Still bleeding. One rib sitting a little too high. Bruises blooming purple across his abdomen.

“I don’t give a shit whose turn it is to be right. One of you needs to make the call. Or better yet, agree on one. If you’re asking whether you can treat him—yes—legal clearance is not an issue.”

In the absence of identifiable family or known medical history, Pennsylvania law allows treatment under implied consent if the procedure is deemed immediately necessary to preserve life or prevent permanent harm.

You turned to Jack first, “You move him upstairs, you need to be sure he survives the trip. Because you’ve wasted enough time, you don’t have any if he codes in the elevator. That’s on you.”

Then to Emery. “Crack him open here and lose him because we weren’t ready? That’s on you.”

They don’t speak—but they keep working.

You step back. A nurse rushes past.

“Make the call, because what you’re doing now? You’re just arguing with the clock.”

A long beat of silence followed.

Then you saw it. An unspoken look passed between them. One that said more than either one of them was ready to admit.

Then—

“Fuck it,” Emery says throwing up her hands. “Pack him and get the OR on the phone and tell them to be ready the second those elevator doors open.”

They don’t speak after that. Emery packs the gauze. Jack pushes meds.

You’re already gone.

You grab your jacket from the back of a chair at the hub and head for the ambulance bay.

Five minutes. That’s all you need.

Before loose ends. Before reports. Before home.

#jack abbot x f!reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x emery walsh #emery walsh x f!reader #emery walsh x reader #emery walsh x you #jack abbot x f!reader x emery walsh #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot fanfiction #emery walsh fanfiction #jack abbot #emery walsh #dr. jack abbot #dr. emery walsh

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smilingformoney · 9 days ago

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Champagne Problems

Chapter 11. Never Not Mine

Lionel/Reader

Summary: Lionel Shabandar is inevitable.

Word Count: 12k

CW: 9/11, cancer

AN: Thank you everyone for going on this ride with me ♥ I'm sorry I had to break your hearts a couple of times, but Lionel needed some serious character development. See you all at the next fic I write that spirals out of control ✌🏻

All chapters here!

Read on Ao3 or WattPad or below the cut:

1997

Leaving was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

You didn’t even realise how integrated your lives were until you had to separate them. Even living abroad, you still had plenty of belongings in Lionel’s apartment, and you had to ship them all off to Connecticut. And stashed away in a safe at the back of a wardrobe in an empty room, you had a six-year-old letter from a bank, confirming that your account had been set up. Just as you’d asked, they’d never written to you, and it was only from an off-hand comment from Lionel that you even remembered the account existed.

You made an appointment with the bank and arranged for the account to be closed and the entire balance to be wired to your US account. Although they couldn’t give you an exact figure that would land in your US account, as they couldn’t account for the receiving account’s fees for a large international wire transfer, they could tell you what they were sending.

Your hand clapped over your mouth when they gave you a seven-digit number. Not to stop yourself from gasping, but to stop yourself from laughing.

You were a millionaire. The sum Lionel had given you six years ago had been much lower, but with interest and exchange rates, you’d managed to sit on that sum until it made you a millionaire.

You didn’t tell Cole what was happening. You didn’t want him to change his mind, to think he had to go back to England to keep his parents together. He had to follow his own path, and you wouldn’t let him hold himself back for your sake.

You also didn’t tell Sinclair — not until you were back in the States, and he found you sobbing in the back garden one night.

He didn’t ask you what was wrong. He just sat next to you on the swinging bench and put an arm around you. He was a little sweaty, having just come back from playing cricket, but you didn’t care. You were just glad to have him, because soon enough, he would be gone too.

“You broke up with Lionel, didn’t you?” Sinclair said eventually, once your tears had subsided enough that you’d be able to talk.

You nodded and sat up, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“Was it because of what happened? My accident, I mean?”

You shook your head.

“No, Sinclair, it wasn’t that. It gave us cause to think, but… it’s not your fault. I hope you don’t think it was. We just… we’re on different paths. Mine’s here, and his is in England.”

Sinclair took your hand in his. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

”Yeah, me too,” you agreed with a sniffle. “But — it won’t be like last time, okay? I’m not gonna cut you off again. We can still be friends.”

“Oh, thank god!” Sinclair sighed with relief. “Good, I don’t wanna lose you again. So I can come visit you?”

“Please do! You can come and visit me as much as you want. And if I ever come back to England, you’ll be the first person I call. I won’t stay in touch with Lionel, at least not at first, it’ll hurt too much. We might have to talk about Cole occasionally, but otherwise…” You sighed and shook your head. “If we’re on separate paths, it’s best we stay on them.”

Sinclair nodded. “I understand. And, hey, maybe… maybe one day your paths will reconnect again.”

“…Maybe,” you said.

But you doubted it.

- - -

2012

Lionel didn’t see you again until fifteen years had passed.

It was completely unexpected. He was hosting a gala, and sweet-talking a very strange but rather amusing Texan woman who he cautiously hoped might have the real Haystacks Dusk, and trying not to blow up at Harry Deane, who was once again getting on his last nerve.

“That isn’t a nudist gathering! Someone’s been having you on,” Lionel said irritably when Deane suggested the Eden Retreat was some sort of nudist gathering. Yes, he liked to walk around naked, but in the privacy of his own home. He had no desire to go to some sort of gathering to get his kit off. “It’s one of —”

Lionel froze, staring at a figure that had just emerged from the crowd. Even if you’d been wearing a mask, he would have recognised you. Fifteen years wasn’t enough time to forget the way you held yourself, the shape of your body, the colour of your hair.

Before he managed to compose himself, Deane put his foot in it.

“Crikey, is that [Y/n]?”

You turned your head when you heard your name, your eyes met Lionel’s, and suddenly the whole world fell away.

You looked incredible. You were older, of course - you were both nearly sixty now - but still you were the picture of beauty, your hair and dress modest but more elegant and damn well sexier than any other woman there.

Lionel barely noticed his feet carrying him forward as he went to greet you.

“Who’s that?” PJ, the Texan woman, half-whispered to Deane.

Deane looked at you with a smirk.

“That, my dear, is [Y/n] [L/n]… and she may well be the deus ex machina we needed to pull off this little stunt.”

“Dayus what now?”

“She’s the reason Shabandar bought Haystacks Dawn in the first place. She’s the reason he never married — too hung up on his first love. He proposed to her twice, and she turned him down both times. Men like Shabandar, they like to chase the unattainable — and he’s been chasing her for forty years. Haystacks Dusk might be just the thing to finally win her over.”

Lionel heard nothing of Deane’s scheme. He only saw you.

He stopped in front of you and drank in the sight of you. You looked back at him challengingly with an amused smirk.

“Are you going to say hello or are you just going to gawk at me?”

Lionel smiled.

“Hello, [Y/n].”

“Hi.”

“You look… absolutely incredible.”

“You look old. Are those liver spots?”

Lionel’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile.

“I can assure you, I still have the heart and the stamina of a lion. Though I must ask what you’re doing here.”

“Sinclair invited me. He said you’d found Haystacks Dusk.”

Lionel laughed. “Is that what it took to bring you home? Well, I’m yet to verify its authenticity, so don’t get your hopes up too high. I’ll be having it appraised a little later. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

Your eyes darted to the side. Lionel glanced in that direction, and remembered Deane and PJ.

“Ah, yes. Introductions.” Lionel hovered his hand behind your lower back and guided you back to the strange duo. “Deane. You’ll remember [Y/n], of course.”

“How do you do,” Harry said politely, and you smiled. He was still trying so desperately to be like Lionel. When would he learn that he was wonderful enough as he was?

“And this is Ms Puznowski. She’s brought us Dusk all the way from her trailer in Texas.”

“Howdy! You can call me PJ!” exclaimed PJ, sticking out her hand to you, and you shook it with a small laugh to yourself. Lionel must be optimistic about the painting — there was no way he’d associate himself with someone so boisterous otherwise.

“Nice to meet you, PJ,” you said. “How did you end up with a long-lost Monet?”

“Oh, it’s been in my family long as I can remember!” PJ said, glancing at Harry. “Reckon my grandpappy found it during World War 2 — oh, hey! You boys get your bellies full?”

PJ waved enthusiastically at someone behind you. You and Lionel both turned around to see you were being approached by a group of Japanese men, who all seemed to be very drunk, very happy, and each holding a plate of half-eaten food.

“Blast, here they come again,” Lionel muttered under his breath. “I would rather not have to talk to them. Can’t we just do business?”

You laughed.

“Don’t you laugh,” Lionel hissed.

“I can take care of these old boys,” PJ said confidently, and she strode past you to greet the men.

“Gentlemen,” Lionel said politely as they came within earshot. “Found some nourishment, I see.”

PJ grinned at the men conspiratorially. “Have you boys heard of a little thing called live karaoke?”

One of the men said something to the others in Japanese, apparently translating, although they were already smiling in amusement. They apparently loved the idea, because they agreed with a cheer, and PJ enthusiastically beckoned you and Lionel to follow her and her gaggle of drunk Japanese businessmen towards one of the gazebos.

You tried to back away, thinking “live karaoke” with a bunch of drunk businessmen sounded like hell, but Lionel grabbed you firmly by the shoulder.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not suffering through this alone. We have to keep her sweet if she’s going to sell us that painting.”

“Us? This is your deal, Lionel, not mine,” you said, though you came with him, if only for the entertainment of watching him suffer.

“Dawn is yours as much as it’s mine, so Dusk must be too. Besides, this is why you came here tonight, is it not?”

“It’s why Sinclair invited me. It’s not why I came.”

Lionel looked at you with a curious frown, but he interrupted himself with a groan when he spotted PJ and one of the Japanese men talking to the band.

“Who are those guys?” you asked, and Lionel explained his plan to acquire a large amount of Japanese television channels from them.

“And what’s she got to do with them? They seem friendly.”

“I took her to my lunch meeting with them.”

“Why?”

Lionel didn’t answer. You looked at him, then rolled your eyes.

“You’re such a peacock.”

He shrugged. “She’s quite good, actually.”

“What, in bed?”

“No, at networking. As to her abilities in bed, I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Really?” you said with surprise. “She’s kinda hot, and I don’t see a ring on her finger. You’re not trying to sleep with her?”

“Not anymore.”

“No? What changed?”

Lionel looked down at you with a smirk. “There’s a much more beautiful woman at this gala I’ve got my eye on.”

You elbowed him.

“Cad.”

He just laughed.

The band struck up a song, and the man Lionel had told you was called Katsuhara started to sing in perfect English.

“Hey, Shabby!” PJ exclaimed as she bounded up to him. “You wanna dance?”

She showed off some of her moves, and Lionel laughed politely. She held her hand out to him.

“C’mon, let’s show ‘em how it’s done!”

Lionel glanced at you with an expression that screamed help me!

You slipped your arm through Lionel’s emphatically.

“Actually, Lionel was just asking me to dance.”

“Indeed I was,” Lionel said quickly, catching on. “Excuse us.”

He ushered you a few feet away to a slightly less crowded spot and put a hand on your waist while the other picked up your right hand.

“I can’t say this is how I expected this night to go,” Lionel said with wry amusement. “First you show up, now you’ve got me dancing.”

“I’ll have you settling down next.”

Lionel pulled you in closer and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“Darling, I made it perfectly clear I was willing to settle down with you. It’s you that buggered off to America, as I recall. What brought you back to England?”

“Cole did. Hasn’t he spoken to you?”

“No, it’s been a while. Is he alright?”

You hesitated.

“Maybe we should talk privately —”

A cheer interrupted you, and the band changed suddenly from swing to some upbeat folksy song. You looked over at the small stage, and laughed to see PJ was literally letting her hair down and preparing to sing a song about Texas.

“I don’t know why you wanted to fuck her,” you said to Lionel with amusement. “She’d just ride you and say ‘yeehaw’ when she came.”

Lionel laughed — a real laugh, not the fake laughter he’d been placating PJ and the businessmen with all evening. He looked down at you as if he’d just realised something.

“You know what? I think I’ve rather missed you.”

You smiled smugly.

“I know.”

- - -

Later, you gave Lionel some space as he sweet-talked the Japanese businessmen, and instead you found Sinclair, who was sitting at a table with a baby on his lap, playing airplane with a spoonful of food. The table was littered with dirty plates, which told you his kids had already stuffed their faces and run off.

“Hey, golden boy. How’s the little one?”

Sinclair looked up at you as you sat down at the table and grinned. “Hi, [Y/n]! She’s great, but she’s very stubborn about eating. Not like me at all. But you’ll learn, won’t you, Lily?”

“Bah!” Lily replied, apparently excited to hear her own name, and Sinclair took the opportunity to land the plane in her mouth.

“I saw you and Lionel talking. Are you getting back together yet?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Come on, Clair, don’t get ahead of yourself. Where’s your man?”

Sinclair pointed to the band where his partner, Sam, was tuning his guitar. Sam seemed to sense the attention on him, because he looked up, grinned, and waved enthusiastically at you both.

“Never mind me and Lionel — when are you two getting married?”

Sinclair bit his lip.

“I dunno. I haven’t asked yet. What if he’s planning to ask? How does it work when there’s two men, do you both propose?”

You laughed. Sinclair had adopted six children, and somehow he was raising them all on his own. He had nannies and housekeepers to support him, but he was never an absent father. He was always there at the dinner table, and even with his happy-go-lucky attitude, he still managed to keep them all in line. And when his mother died and left him a sizeable inheritance, Sinclair quit full-time work and became a consultant, working on his own schedule, which allowed him to be at home with his litter of children.

It also meant he had time to host even more parties. At one such party, he found the guitarist for the band he’d hired had been pulled into playing games by some of his youngest, and the rest had been history. Sinclair was what Cole had described as a “late bloomer” — he’d been over fifty by the time he realised his serial monogamy with women in his 20s and 30s was, at least in part, overcompensation for something else.

“Maybe you should ask Cole, he’s the expert,” you said. “But I’d say if you want to ask, you should ask.”

“It’s not too late, is it? I mean, I’m fifty-nine and I’m not getting any younger…”

“Exactly, you’re not getting any younger. You could live another thirty years still, you know. And besides, how can it be too late? It’s only been legal for two years.”

“Do you ever regret not getting married?”

You looked over at Lionel, who was currently deep in negotiations with the Japanese businessmen. He held himself with such confidence, oozing charisma as he sweet-talked them, fake-laughing with charm where appropriate and furrowing his brow in concentration when the talks turned serious.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “We’ve lost out on so much time together because of stubborn pride. But I’ve had an amazing life in America. Would I give that up to have been with him…? I don’t know. I wish I could have had both.”

“I was so angry with him when I found out.”

You looked back at Sinclair with a frown. “When you found out what?”

“That he stayed in England because of me. If I’d known, I would have stayed in America and adopted there so we could all be together! But then again, I wouldn’t have my kids, I’d have different kids, and I’m sure I’d love them just as much, but I love the kids I have now, and if I could change things - if I could go back and stay in America so you and Lionel would be together…”

Sinclair hesitated. You smiled and placed your hand over his, knowing full well what his answer would be.

“It’s okay, I understand — I chose Cole, after all. A parent’s first choice should always be their children. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Lionel was being entirely truthful. It wasn’t just you. I think he stayed for his mum too, and for his home.” You gestured around. “This place is his home. He’ll probably die here. Then God only knows what’ll happen to it. It’ll be Cole’s, I guess… he’ll probably turn it into an art museum.”

Lionel jogged over to you then, with a wide grin on his face that told you his conversation with the businessmen had gone very, very well.

“Sinclair! It’s time for your favourite part of the night.”

Sinclair glanced down at his empty plate of food.

“Second favourite part,” Lionel corrected himself.

“Oh, the fireworks! Great, I’ll get Ben to take Lily inside.”

Sinclair hoisted Lily up to hold her against his chest and wandered off to find his eldest son, who was an adult now, though he’d been a sullen teenager when you’d last seen him. You found yourself alone with Lionel now, who was still wearing a proud grin.

“Will you join us, darling? A drink to toast to the deal, which of course I have just expertly sealed, then perhaps we could have a look at the painting.”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said sincerely, and you stood up from the table. “I do really need to talk to you privately, though, Lionel. Maybe after the painting?”

“Yes, of course. We can do anything you like after the painting.”

Lionel put an arm around your waist and confidently escorted you back to the businessmen, and a waiter appeared out of nowhere to hand out glasses of champagne.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Lionel said to the businessmen as he took his glass of champagne from the waiter’s tray. “This is [Y/n] [L/n]. She’s one of the best business analysts you’ll ever find.”

“Hello! Good day. I am your interpreter from Konichiwa Media Group,” one of the men said with a smile and a bow. “I am Chuck. This is Mr Katsuhara Cho.”

The man next to him, who’d been singing earlier, smiled and bowed.

“Lovely to meet you,” you said. “I saw your performance earlier. Dean Martin, right? Very old-school. Your English was excellent.”

After translating, Chuck said, “Mr Katsuhara thanks you for your kind words, Mrs [L/n]!”

“Oh, no, it’s Miss,” you said quickly. “I’m not married.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is,” Lionel muttered, and you elbowed him. Instead, he plastered on a smile, and raised his glass. “Well, gentlemen, a toast — to the deal!”

The businessmen cheered and everyone sipped from their glasses just as the fireworks flew into the sky and illuminated the entire gala in colourful lights.

You surprised yourself with how comfortable you felt, at Lionel’s side as he played host and charmed businessmen into deals. You felt like you could take on the world like this — as if you were the Queen to the King of the World. Was this what you’d been missing out on for all these years?

“Hey, Shabby,” came PJ’s voice as she appeared at Lionel’s other side.

You looked over at her, and she looked with amusement at Lionel’s hand on your hip.

“Where on earth have you been?” Lionel asked.

“Well… ‘bout that. Seems Harry ran into some trouble up at the house. Didya know there’s a lion running about up there?”

Lionel cursed. He turned on his feet and handed his half-drunk glass of champagne to a passing waiter as he stormed off towards the house. You exchanged a glance with PJ, then seemed to simultaneously decide Harry might need some protection from an angry Lionel; you both followed, you disposing of your glass with the same passing waiter, and managed to catch up with Lionel just as he entered the private gallery of his house.

“Hey, so when you say a lion running about…” you said to PJ as you walked as fast as you could in your heels.

“I mean a great big jungle cat with claws and a huge mane,” PJ replied. “You know — a lion.”

Lionel had a real pet lion. Of course he fucking did. He’d talked about it in the past, but you thought even he wouldn’t be so ridiculous as to keep a lion as a pet.

“God, Deane, this is so typical of you!” Lionel yelled as he stormed up to Harry. “What on earth were you doing larking about up here creating a nuisance? More than a nuisance, a bloody dangerous situation. PJ could well have been mauled, and all to no end.”

Harry said something in reply, but you weren’t listening to their argument. You were looking at Haystacks Dawn.

It had been so long since you’d seen it. Once upon a time, it had been a symbol of your love. You would stand in this very room with Lionel and bask in the history of your love story that it encapsulated.

But now… you felt no such connection to it. It was just a nice painting.

“Zaidenweber,” you heard Lionel announce.

A door opened to the side; a man stood in the doorway, holding a magnifying glass neatly.

“I am pleased to inspect,” the man said in a heavy German accent, and clicked his heels together.

“…Has he just been standing there all evening?” you whispered to Lionel.

Zaidenweber approached the Haystacks Dusk that was propped up on an easel next to Dawn and began to inspect it meticulously.

You looked over at Lionel. He was watching Zaidenweber anxiously, and you subtly slipped your hand into his.

Although Lionel had been fixated on pairing Dawn with Dusk, you had no such eagerness. Sure, it’d be nice for the pair to be together again, but it was Lionel that wanted it. They belonged together, he used to tell you. “Dawn needs Dusk like I need you.”

Would Dawn have left its home to be with Dusk?

You practically felt the excitement coursing through Lionel’s veins as Zaidenweber declared the painting genuine. His hand squeezed yours, and you got the feeling he was about to do something very stupid. Until —

“Bollocks,” Harry Deane announced.

With a flourish, Harry decried the painting, and rubbed it clean — revealing a portrait of Queen Elizabeth underneath.

There was a long, tense silence, interrupted only by Zaidenweber throwing up in his mouth. Lionel’s grip on your hand turned from excited to angry. His jaw tightened, and everyone waited for him to react.

“Martin… I’m disappointed,” he said with surprising calmness.

“Imagine how I feel,” the German replied, almost on the verge of tears. “Auf Wiedersehen, meine Lieblinge.”

With a small bow of his head, Zaidenweber left. Lionel’s hand slipped out of yours as he whirled on PJ.

“And as for you — you’re either rather clever or not clever enough. Either way, it’s clear that you’re of no further use to me.”

“Speaking of clever, what did you expect?” PJ said with a roll of her eyes. “It was hanging on a wall in a trailer in Texas. And besides, I was never gonna be any use to you.”

“Well, no harm done,” Lionel shrugged, though you sensed he was deeply disappointed. “Just a bit of a waste of time, that’s all. Well, Deane, against expectations, you seem to know what you’re on about rather. You will continue in the job.” He slipped an arm around your waist again. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

“I think not, sir,” Harry said.

You looked at him in surprise. You’d never heard any sort of “no” come out of Harry’s mouth before, and certainly not towards Lionel.

“…You think not, what?” Lionel asked, equally surprised.

“I think not regarding continuing in the job. I’m afraid I can no longer render services to a man who’d willfully insult the intelligence and moral character of a woman I have so come to admire and respect.”

Harry looked at PJ with a smile, and she smiled back.

Oh… You understood now what was going on. Harry Deane had found himself someone new to crush on.

He looked back at Lionel and squared his shoulders. “You are a boor, sir, and a bully. And I’ve had enough. And as for you, [Y/n] —”

“Me?!” you said in surprise as Harry turned his attention to you.

“Yes, you. I don’t know what you see in this man, but you must know you deserve better.”

Lionel scoffed. “Oh, and I suppose that’s you, is it?”

“It’s anyone with an ounce of respect for other human beings,” Harry retorted.

“Harry… I appreciate your concern,” you said sincerely. “But I’m a big girl and I can make my own decisions.”

“Very well,” said Harry stiffly. “In that case, I’ll just gather up my kit and bid you a semi-fond farewell.”

You watched as they left. Lionel, bemused by the entire situation, turned to you as soon as you were alone.

“You can make your own decisions, can you? And what decision might that be? I seem to recall that we broke up fifteen years ago.”

“And you’re the one with your arm around my waist.”

Lionel didn’t dispute that. If anything, he held you firmer. He looked up at the two paintings and sighed.

“I really hoped it was the real thing,” he muttered bitterly.

“You don’t need Dusk, Lionel. Dawn is the one that’s ours. And we don’t need that, either. The love we always said was in Dawn — it wasn’t, really. It was in us.”

Lionel looked down at you curiously.

“Why are you here tonight, [Y/n]?”

“Cole wants to propose to his boyfriend. So does Sinclair. And… it got me thinking about you.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” you said, giving him a playful shove to his chest — and you didn’t move your hand away, instead letting it rest on the lapels of his jacket. “I knew I’d have to see you again, but I wanted it to be on my own terms, rather than being forced and awkward at their weddings. And when Sinclair told me about Dusk… it felt like the right time.”

Lionel cupped your face with his hand and rested his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.”

Lionel smiled sadly. “You had to live your life, my love. And I was too selfish to change mine for the sake of yours. Could you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Li. It was no one’s fault. We just… had different priorities. But it was the right thing, wasn’t it? I mean, if we’d convinced Cole to come home — or Sinclair to stay in America — neither of them would have met their boyfriends. Sinclair wouldn’t have that litter of children he has. And if I’d left Cole in America on his own…” You swallowed. “It would have killed me to be so far away when the towers fell.”

Lionel kissed your forehead, then pulled you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you both recalled the one and only phone call you’d had with him in the intervening years.

- - -

2001

It was an ordinary Tuesday morning. You didn’t start work until 10am, so you were in the middle of eating breakfast when the phone rang.

You ignored it at first, your mouth full of bacon, but when it rang again almost immediately, you stomped over to the landline and picked it up irritably.

“Someone had better be dead.”

“I take it you haven’t turned on the news.”

“No, mystery caller, I have not turned on the news. Why, who’s dead?”

“For Christ’s sake, [Y/n], turn on the fucking news! Is Cole with you?”

You frowned. “…Lionel?”

“Are you watching the news or not?”

“Alright, alright, gimme a second. Which news?”

“Any. It’s on every channel here, it’ll be on every channel there.”

You grabbed the remote and switched the TV on. You changed the channel to the first news channel you could think of, and promptly dropped the remote onto the floor.

“Holy shit.”

You stared at the screen. The camerawork was shaky, some poor sod clearly having run out quickly to capture the footage and stream it back to the studio.

Your heart dropped as you read the headline scrolling across the screen.

LIVE: HAVOC IN NEW YORK CITY AS PLANES CRASH INTO WORLD TRADE CENTER

“Do you know where Cole is?” Lionel asked again urgently. “I’ve been trying to call him but I can’t get through. His school’s nearby, isn’t it?”

Panic shot through your heart. Cole was a teacher now at NYAA — which was about a mile away from the World Trade Center.

“I don’t — oh my god —”

Lionel sighed with frustration on the other end of the phone. “[Y/n]! I need you to talk to me!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Lionel, I don’t know where he is! I don’t keep a tracker on him! But he’s probably there, he’s probably at work.”

You heard the sound of something smashing — as if Lionel had just thrown a mug or plate against the wall.

“Fuck! Right — you stay there. Don’t go into work. Can you try calling him on his mobile?”

“Yeah, I will. Can you — wait, is your New York office nearby?”

“Yes, I’m watching their coverage right now.”

You switched the station to Lionel’s American news channel - which you usually avoided - and sure enough, they too were covering the crash; the smoke fumes were visible from their office tower.

“I’ll call Cole now. I’ll call you back as soon as I hear anything.”

You hung up without a goodbye, and hit the speed dial button for Cole’s cell phone. Each ring felt like an age, your fear rising with each second that went by without an answer. Then —

“I’m okay!”

You’d never been so relieved to hear your son’s voice in your entire life. You clutched at your heart and sank into a nearby armchair.

“Cole, where are you?!”

“Walking up Lafayette Street. The whole area’s being evacked ‘cus of the dust, but I’m okay, Mom, I swear. Cal’s with me, he’s okay too. Listen, I know you and Dad don’t talk but —”

“He already called me. I said I’ll call him as soon as I hear from you. Just get as far away from there as you can, okay? And if it’s really smokey, put a wet cloth over your face. If you can find a train station that’s running, I want you to come here as soon as you can, okay? Bring Callum too if he doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

“Yeah, good idea. We’ll do that. See you soon, Mom. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hung up the phone and called Lionel back immediately.

“Is he okay?” he said by way of greeting as soon as he picked up the phone.

“He’s alright, they’re being evacuated from the area. I told him to come here if he can get on a train, but they’re probably all ground to a halt. Callum’s with him too, they’re both okay.”

Lionel sighed with relief. “Thank fuck.”

“Everything okay?” said a female voice in the background.

“Yes, they’re being evacuated,” you heard Lionel saying. “Will you get a message to the New York office, please? … Yes. Thank you, darling.”

Your stomach twisted a little when you heard him call whoever was with him darling.

“Tell him to call me as soon as he gets in,” Lionel said to you. “I want to know he’s safe.”

“Of course. Are you at the office?”

“Yes, why?”

“So he knows where to call. Is it the same number?”

“Yes. Look, I’ve got to go. Tell him to call me the moment he steps through that door, alright?”

“Yes, of course I will. Um, and Lionel…”

“Yes?”

“…It was nice to hear your voice again. We should do this again sometime. But, y’know, without the mortal peril.”

You heard him chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Perhaps we should. Bye, [Y/n].”

“Bye.”

- - -

But you didn’t do it again. Lionel never called you, and you didn’t dare call him, so you got on with your life. He was inescapable, of course — not only did he continue to be famous and to amass more money and power, but he still had a relationship with Cole, and you stayed friends with Sinclair.

Eventually he became background noise, and you were able to live your life. You progressed in finance and became a well-respected business analyst with many high-profile clients, and you even met someone else and got married, though that ended after seven years. But most importantly, you watched your son become the successful artist you always knew he could be, all while teaching at NYAA.

As for Lionel, he put his head down and got to work. He was busy taking over the world, he didn’t have time for relationships. He kept himself satisfied with an ever-expanding little black book of phone numbers of supermodels, pop stars, actresses — any beautiful woman who came into his orbit and found herself charmed him ended up in that book, and whenever he needed a good fuck, whenever he needed to shake himself of the thought of you, he’d call one of them up and he’d have one of the world’s most beautiful women in his bed at the drop of a hat.

But the most beautiful woman in the world — she eluded him. Until now. Because now you were here.

You wandered the gallery aimlessly with Lionel, just chatting, catching up, swapping stories. You laughed when you discovered you’d both had the same reaction to Sinclair getting a boyfriend, and Lionel forgave you for not going to his mother’s funeral, and you didn’t forgive him when he told you he’d been diagnosed with cancer ten years earlier and not told you.

And when you told him you’d been married for seven years, only to be served with divorce papers when menopause hit before you could get pregnant again, Lionel paused at a window and was silent for a long time, staring outside, lost in thought. Outside, you could see Sinclair with his parade of adopted children following him to the buffet table for seconds like a mother duck and her ducklings.

“I can’t have any more children either,” Lionel said quietly after an age. “The treatment made me infertile. I don’t want children, but…”

“...You liked having the choice.”

He looked back at you and nodded.

“Yes. I could always change my mind. Then, one day, I couldn’t… and that was it. Sinclair has no biological children. Cole’s all that’s left of our bloodline. Do you think he’ll ever…?”

You shrugged and perched yourself on the windowsill.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But if he does — at least they’ll be Shabandars.”

Lionel smiled with real, genuine pride — not the egotistical pride he carried himself with day to day, but real pride. Cole had - with your blessing - taken his surname around ten years ago, and he intended to keep it when he got married.

You glanced back out the window. The Japanese businessmen were still helping themselves to all the food and drink they could. Sinclair was currently balancing Lily on his hip and a plate of food in his other hand, watching as the rest of the ducklings piled their plates up with food.

“So… you’re single now, are you?” Lionel asked with feigned casualness.

You looked back at him and chuckled. “Yes, Lionel, I’m single now. It’s very difficult to date in your 50s. Not for you, I’m sure, but for us ordinary folk, it’s hard to find new connections. Especially when an old one won’t stop haunting you.”

Lionel frowned with bemusement and shook his head. “[Y/n]… you are many things, but ordinary is not one of them.”

“No, but I am, Lionel,” you insisted. “I’m nobody. I should be nothing to you. I was just the girl lurking behind the art block when you snuck out for a fag. I could have been anyone. It was only luck that it happened to be me you met that day.”

“If I’d met anyone else behind the art block, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with them. I didn’t fall in love with you because you were there, [Y/n]. I fell in love with you because you were you. And it’s because you’re you that I’ve been completely unable to hold down any relationship with any other woman.”

“Really? Not because you’re so busy being rich and important? I seem to remember you telling me that was the problem before.”

Lionel waved a hand dismissively. “Excuses. I made it work with you, didn’t I? I could have made time for any other woman if I really wanted to — but I didn’t want to. They weren’t worth the effort. You were. You were the love of my life, [Y/n]. You do know that, don’t you?”

You glanced out the window again. Sinclair and his kids were gone again, probably trying to restart live karaoke in the gazebo.

“You still are,” you said quietly.

“Hm? What was that?”

You glanced back at Lionel and blushed when you saw how intensely he was looking at you.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but Lionel took your chin between his fingers and forced you to look at him.

“I’m the love of your life, am I?” he said, leaning forward with a teasing smirk.

His lips were dangerously close to yours now, that smug smirk you both loved and hated threatening to come ever closer.

“You know you are. Why else do you think I keep coming back to you?”

“Because the lioness knows she belongs with her lion,” Lionel purred. His lips ghosted against the skin of your jawline, and you hated yourself for the way his warm breath on your cheek sent a shudder of arousal through your body.

“Lionel, if you’re gonna kiss me, then kiss me.”

“As you wish,” he said with amusement.

Kissing him again was like the first breath of air after being underwater. It was desperate, it was wet, and you didn’t think you could have gone any longer without it.

Lionel pushed you back against the window, hands on your thighs as he pushed your skirt up to allow you to wrap your legs around his waist. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to cling onto him as you kissed him desperately, and this time, you had no intention of letting go.

In the grounds, Harry and PJ were getting ready to leave. PJ looked up at the big old country house — and spotted something in one of the windows.

“Hey, uh, I don’t think Shabby’s too put out by our li’l trick,” she said, nudging Harry to get his attention.

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

PJ nodded up towards the window with an amused smirk.

Harry looked up. He adjusted his glasses slightly as he peered through the evening light to see… you, back pressed against the window, wrapped in a passionate embrace with Lionel, apparently battling to devour each other’s faces.

“Ah.”

He quickly looked away, turning his attention back to PJ. He rather felt like he was spying on something private.

“Well, I wish them the best,” Harry said, and he meant it. “She deserves better, but if that’s what she wants…”

Lionel unstuck his face from yours to catch his breath, and he glanced outside. The Konichiwa men were still eating his food. Despite his little tantrum, Deane and PJ were still there too — and PJ seemed to have spotted them in the window.

A deal that had gone very well, and one that had gone south — but Lionel didn’t care, because the mere possibility of Dusk had been enough to bring you back to him.

PJ watched as Lionel lifted you up and turned to carry you away from the window. She caught a glimpse of your face, laughing, and she smiled.

“You get him, tiger,” PJ murmured, then hooked her arm through Harry’s as they turned to leave.

You thought Lionel would carry you to the master bedroom, the room you’d made love in so many times in the 90s, but he carried you past the double doors and down the hallway — back to his childhood bedroom.

The bed was neatly made up, ready for its guest, and you could tell Lionel no longer occupied the room because the bedsheets were a simple cream colour, instead of the royal gold he’d decorated his teenage bedroom with.

Lionel laid you down on the bed and climbed on top of you to kiss you again, hands grabbing at your dress as if clawing at it enough would get it off.

You’d spent so many hours in this room, making out and awkwardly fumbling and learning each other’s bodies. You remembered the first time you made out in this bed and Lionel had jizzed his pants from the excitement of touching your boobs. A far cry from the proud lion with hours of stamina he’d been years later.

And now here you were again, lying on the same bed, Lionel slipping his hands underneath the hemline of your dress so he could paw at your breasts.

Lionel Shabandar, it seemed, was inevitable.

Sinclair’s words from earlier came back to you. I’m not getting any younger.

Neither were you. You had maybe another few decades in you, but you’d already wasted enough of your life.

“Lionel…”

He grunted, his lips too busy kissing your neck to form words.

“Will you marry me?”

Not much could freeze Lionel in his tracks when he was devouring you — but you’d found the one thing that could short-circuit his brain.

He raised his head slowly, blinking, as if he’d just woken up from a very long slumber.

“…What did you just say?”

“I asked you to marry me.”

Lionel stared at you incredulously.

“Now? Really? Not the first time, when we had our lives ahead of us — not the second time, when we were in an established, long-term relationship — no, now you want to marry me? When we’re almost sixty and haven’t been together for fifteen years?”

Put like that, it sounded almost silly.

“Yes,” you said.

Lionel grinned. “Took you long enough.”

He kissed you again, and this time, when he grabbed at your dress, he pulled it down, causing your breasts to pop out, and he took one in his mouth with fervent passion. With your skirt bunched up around your waist, he had little in the way of barrier as his hand dove between your legs and pawed at your heat.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” you said with amusement as Lionel sucked on your breast, and when he released it and looked up at you, his perfectly styled white hair was sticking up out of place slightly.

“I thought that was a given. I’ve been waiting long enough. Lions are profoundly patient, you know. Only when their target’s in place do they… strike.”

He slipped two fingers inside you very suddenly, and you gasped.

“Yes, I’m going to marry you,” Lionel growled. He retracted his fingers slowly, then pushed in again sharply, causing you to whimper. “And right now, I’m going to fuck you.” Another thrust, another whimper. “I’m going to reclaim this cunt, and no one will ever. go near it. again.”

He began fingering you roughly, his wrist pumping with abandon, and he watched with hunger in his eyes as you moaned beneath him.

“This cunt is mine. You are mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours, Lionel,” you promised, and you meant it. “I’m all yours…”

“Good,” the lion grinned as his lioness succumbed to her place with him. “Now, let me remind you just how perfectly we were made for each other…”

- - -

Admittedly, neither of you had the stamina you once did. It used to be that you could fuck all night and still get up in the morning, but now, you lasted little more than an hour before you both collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed. Still, Lionel had managed to make you cum twice in that time, and he’d lasted an impressive amount of time before finally emptying his balls inside you.

“I can’t say this is how I imagined tonight going,” Lionel said with amusement as you rolled onto your side to face him and threw an arm across his chest lazily.

“No, you imagined you’d be fucking that Texan woman instead.”

Lionel shrugged. “Maybe. But that would have been meaningless. This, with you…”

He looked at you and smiled.

“This is everything.”

“How long before someone comes looking for us, do you think? And by someone, I mean Sinclair.”

“It’s unlikely. He’s got his litter of children to look after now, and he won’t want to tear himself away from his boyfriend for too long.”

Lionel gently stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head. You laid there in silence for a little while, just holding one another, until Lionel finally spoke.

“You said earlier you came back to England because of Cole. What did you mean?”

You hesitated, then pushed yourself up to sit up against the headboard. You pulled the duvet up to cover your naked body, and Lionel knew from the look on your face there was something wrong. He sat up too, allowing the sheet to cover his lap as a feeling of dread hit him.

“[Y/n], is he alright?”

“He has cancer,” you said quietly.

Lionel’s heart dropped. A thousand questions ran through his mind, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing you’d expand in time.

“We couldn’t afford the treatment out there, so we came back. I told him he didn’t have to, that you’d pay for it if he asked, but… I guess he never asked.”

“No,” Lionel said, his voice unusually subdued. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t even tell me. Is it…?”

“We don’t know. He’s still going through treatment. They could have caught it earlier if…”

You sighed and ran your hand over your face.

“He never went for any fucking pap smears. Too embarrassed, he said. Idiot.”

Lionel shook his head incredulously. “Embarrassed? What, that he —?”

“Yeah.”

“I told him, multiple times! If he needed money for surgery, I’d pay for it. He always said he didn’t want it.”

“He didn’t. He still doesn’t. I don’t really understand it any more than you do, but I don’t think we need to, really, do we? Our job as parents isn’t always to understand his reasoning… just to accept it.”

“Not when it ends up with him getting fucking cancer!” Lionel huffed. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t he tell me?!”

“I dunno, Li. Maybe the same reason you didn’t tell me you had fucking cancer.”

“This is different, he’s my son! You were my ex. If I’d told you, what would you have done except pity me? I didn’t want that.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want your pity either.”

“I don’t pity him, I’m bloody pissed off at him! And don’t say he didn’t want my money either, because cancer is not the time to make your bloody ‘I don’t need your money’ point.”

Lionel sighed. He’d always wondered if he should have told Cole, at least, about his cancer. If he had, maybe Cole would have come to him earlier, knowing he’d understand what he was going through…

You took his hand and interlocked your fingers with his. Lionel looked down at your conjoined hands and smiled despite his frustration. You were here. You were really here.

“I’m going to marry you,” Lionel said decisively. “And I’m going to apologise to our son for not telling him about my cancer, and I’m going to smack him for not telling me about his. Then he’s going to beat the damn thing just like I did, because Shabandar lions are stronger than that fucking disease. If you want to move back to America when he’s recovered, then I’ll move with you. I’m not going to be a coward this time, [Y/n]. I’m the fucking lion. Our son will survive, we’ll all get married, and I’ll continue taking over the world from wherever you want to go.”

“What about Sinclair? He’s the reason you stayed here.”

“I’ll kidnap him and bring him along if I have to. His litter too, I’m not afraid to pull a Cruella De Vil. Kidnapping puppies, I mean, not skinning them and turning them into coats.”

“You might have had the cheekbones for it when we were kids, but not anymore,” you said, poking at his cheek playfully. “Not with your old man flab. Anyway, I don’t know yet if we’ll go back. But… whatever we decide… do you mean it? Will you be there?”

Lionel cupped your face with his hand and pulled you in for a kiss, deep and firm, with none of the desperate hunger he’d been kissing you with earlier — this was a statement, a promise.

“I’ll be there,” he swore when your lips parted. “This pride will never be separated again.”

- - -

If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought that Lionel had scared Cole into remission.

His anger was something to behold, but Lionel seemed to forget that Cole wasn’t a cub anymore — he was a lion in his own right. He was a 40-year-old man now, and he didn’t need balls to give as good as he got when he found out that Lionel hadn’t told him about his own cancer.

You and Sinclair were both there when they had their shouting match, which somehow ended with manly tears and hugs and apologies from both of them.

“Men,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes as Lionel and Cole hugged it out.

“I know, right?” Sinclair agreed, and you laughed.

Cole was given the all-clear within six months. Time would tell whether the treatment had rendered him infertile, but he’d frozen some eggs anyway, just to be safe. He had every intention of carrying on the Shabandar bloodline, and if he had to use a surrogate, so be it.

To celebrate, Cole and his boyfriend, Liam, went on holiday to Paris — and came back both sporting engagement rings, as they had apparently both had the same idea to propose on the Pont des Arts.

Sinclair spent so much time dithering over whether or not to propose to Sam that you wondered if he’d been replaced by a clone — it was a far cry from the Sinclair you’d reunited with in 1989 when he’d proposed to Natalie after six months.

Sam, in the end, became the impatient one and proposed — if asking “when are you gonna marry me, sunshine?” in the middle of a game night double date, when you and Lionel were discussing your plans to have a double wedding with Cole and Liam, counted as a proposal. Apparently it did, because Sinclair’s face lit up brighter than you’d ever seen it and he practically pounced on Sam to pepper his face with kisses.

“Oh my god, is this what we subjected him to in ‘71?” you cringed later that night, trying your best to use the pillows to muffle the sounds you did not want to hear.

Lionel just laughed. “I think we should cheer them on.”

“No, don’t!”

“Who do you think’s on top?”

“Stop it!” you protested, but you were laughing.

“I bet it’s Sam. Hey, Sam, are you on top?” Lionel called through the wall, and you wished the already soft mattress in Sinclair’s guest room was even softer so it could swallow you up.

“You know it!” Sam’s voice called back.

“You are not getting laid tonight,” you grumbled to Lionel from between the pillows.

“Oh, I knew that already. I’m not getting hard while listening to my cousin’s sex moans. Unless you want to find somewhere else in the house to fuck? Or we could go out into the garden…”

You pulled the pillow away from your face to give him an unimpressed frown.

You ended up in the garden.

- - -

It took a while to plan the wedding. You didn’t care much for the most part; you just wanted to marry Lionel. Plus, you’d already had a wedding, and you didn’t want the stress of planning another one. Agreeing on details between two people had been hard enough; agreeing between six would be impossible, especially when four of those were strong-willed gay men, and the fifth was Lionel Shabandar. Who on earth had had the brilliant idea to have a triple wedding? (Oh, wait… that was you.)

So Lionel put on his best bossy businessman hat and delegated different responsibilities. Sinclair, of course, was in charge of the wedding breakfast. Sam, as the resident musician, was in charge of the reception music — which had to be a live band, of course, not a DJ. Cole, the artist, headed up decoration. Liam, the level-headed practical yin to Cole’s chaotic yang, planned the guest list and the logistics of how three wedding ceremonies was even going to work. And you were left to budget the whole thing, because even though Lionel was the richest man in the country, he didn’t get there by spending with abandon, and you certainly weren’t going to start your marriage off with irresponsible spending.

Lionel gave himself what he claimed to be the most important job of all: location. At first he suggested St Paul’s Cathedral, because it was big and grand and expensive, and very exclusive, but you bonked him on the head with your budget folder when he suggested that.

“Ow! What was that for?” he grumbled.

“We can’t have a religious ceremony, you numpty. This wedding is two-thirds gay.”

“Oh, right…”

His second choice was the Orsay Museum in Paris. It wasn’t usually hired out for weddings, but with the power of Lionel’s chequebook, anything could become a wedding venue.

You and Lionel flew out to Paris to meet with the museum directors and sweet-talk them into hiring it out as a wedding venue (aka for Lionel to flash his chequebook at them). When you’d visited forty years ago, you’d thought you’d seen it all, but it turned out there was an entire ballroom you’d missed out on. It was big, it was grand, and it was exactly to Lionel’s tastes.

“It’s perfect, don’t you think, chérie?” Lionel murmured in your ear as he held you from behind and you both surveyed the grand room, imagining your wedding ceremony. “The place we fell in love.”

“Will the others like it, do you think? I know it has meaning to us, but…”

“If it weren’t for this place, Cole might not exist,” Lionel reminded you. “None of our lives would have taken the paths they did. Who’s to say if Sinclair and Sam would have met?”

“We’d have still fallen in love, Li… just somewhere else.”

“Perhaps. Who knows? But this place was the start of it all.”

“Surely Winchester College was the start of it all?”

“Yes, but I’m not getting married at my old school. And to answer your question — I think they’ll love it. Cole will certainly love that it’s in an art gallery, and Sinclair will love that there’s a restaurant. Liam and Sam, I can’t speak for so much, but why wouldn’t they love it? When you marry a Shabandar or a Bryant, you know what you’re getting yourself in for. They wouldn’t be marrying into our family if they didn’t love having the best of the best.”

“…Alright, but we’re still showing them pictures of it before you write any cheques.”

Lionel grinned and kissed your cheek. “Just wait, love. This wedding will be one for the ages.”

As part of the deal to hire out the museum, Lionel agreed to loan Haystacks Dawn out to them for a year, free of charge. The museum sent their own staff to personally escort the painting to Paris, and as Lionel had meetings all day, you attended the house the day they were due to arrive.

While you were waiting for them, you wandered into the gallery to have one last look at it. You’d never looked at it alone before, you’d only ever been with Lionel. It felt a little like you were saying goodbye to it.

It had felt strangely empty ever since the day of the gala, like the love inside it had dissipated. But it hadn’t, you knew that much; the fact you were still in love with Lionel after so many years was testament to that.

You stepped closer to it, admiring the detailing — and that was when you noticed something was off.

You’d spent so much time looking at this painting, you knew its every detail, and you certainly knew how it was framed. You’d spent enough time with picture frames to spot little details, such as the way a canvas fit, sometimes a little loose, sometimes a little tight, and Dawn had always been slightly loose. But, looking closely at the corner, the canvas was now tight. Not too tight; it fit perfectly. Almost too perfectly.

But you knew Lionel hadn’t had it reframed. You knew the frame as well as you knew the painting itself, and it was definitely the same frame. So what had changed?

You carefully examined the fit of the canvas along the entire frame, and it was the same all the way around — perfectly fitted. From a distance, it was almost impossible to notice, but this close up, you could see it. The canvas was, even if just by a few millimetres, just a little bit smaller.

Praying Lionel’s security alarm was smart enough to recognise you, you took hold of the frame and very, very carefully lifted it from the wall, then turned it around and propped it up against the wall. to examine the back.

A small piece of paper was sticking out of the seam between the back plate and the frame. You gave it a tentative pull, and it came loose. You unfolded, and it read:

Ha ha :) - HD

You stared, confused, trying to think what HD could possibly mean. High definition? Hard drive? Huntington’s Disease? Harry… Deane?

The paper fell from your hands. You picked up the painting again, rehung it, and looked closely at the detailing.

It was good. Very good. But Harry had already proven he had access to forgeries so good they could fool Martin Zaidenweber.

And he and PJ had disappeared for an unusually long time that night…

- - -

Fortunately for you, Harry Deane had lived in the same flat for the last twenty years, so when you banged furiously on his front door, you weren’t disturbing some innocent new resident.

He opened the door with a frown. He had a coat on but unfastened, as if he were in the process of either going out or coming in. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the flat, which was good, because you didn’t want any witnesses when you murdered him.

“[Y/n]? What a lovely surprise. Is there something I can do for you?”

You shoved him in the chest with both hands, and he took a step back.

“Where’s our fucking painting?!” you demanded.

“Er - painting? Wh - what painting?” Harry stammered.

“You know what painting! Haystacks Dawn! The one you replaced with a fake! It’s good, I’ll give you that, it took me a while to notice. Then I found your little note! Suppose you thought he’d never find it? That no one would notice? You bastard, Harry Deane! I thought we were friends!”

You punctuated every sentence with another shove, until Harry had been backed into his kitchen.

“I — I’m sorry, I didn’t know it meant that much to you!”

“That was our painting, Harry! It might just be a pretty picture of some fields to everyone else, but to us it’s different! It means something! It’s ours. It’s us. And you — you took it! Why? As some middle finger to Lionel? Are you that fucking cowardly that you’d rather steal from him than grow some fucking balls and tell him how you feel? Where is it?!”

“Japan! It’s in Japan,” Harry said quickly, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I sold it to Takagawa.”

“You sold it?!” you screamed. You picked up a nearby magazine and hit him on the arm with it. “You didn’t even want it, you just wanted the money?! You could have stolen any other painting! They’re all worth millions! Why did you have to take that one?”

“Because… it was his favourite.”

You stared at him incredulously. “Of course it was his favourite, you dolt. It was the only one that meant something! The love of two stupid teenagers is in that painting, all our hopes and dreams we had — and you sold it. Like it was…”

“A valuable painting by a famous artist?”

“Yes! Fuck!” you screamed in frustration. You threw the magazine aside and began pacing around with agitation. “This is — I can’t believe — how the hell are we gonna get it back?”

“You could just buy it back?” Harry suggested cautiously. “If it means that much to him, Shabandar will probably pay anything for it.”

“What? No! I can’t tell him!”

“Why not?”

You stared at him like he was stupid, because he was.

“Because you committed a crime, Harry! A really fucking big one! Do you think he won’t call the police? You’re lucky I didn’t bloody call them! I’m still not sure that I won’t, unless you can get that painting back.”

“G - get it back?” Harry stammered with wide eyes. “I couldn’t possibly…”

You folded your arms and stared daggers at him. “Why? Spent all the money already? How much did you get for it, anyway?”

“Er…”

Harry tried to avoid your gaze, but you just stared harder, and he caved. “…Fifteen million.”

“What?! That’s more than Lionel spent on it! And he still overpaid! Fucking hell. Well, where is this fortune, then? Because you sure as hell didn’t buy a new house with it.”

“Charity, mostly.”

You snorted derisively. “Charity. Sure. Because you’re sooo good and altruistic, right? What, am I meant to believe you’re some kind of Robin Hood?”

“Some people are good, actually,” Harry said stubbornly. “That may be hard for you to realise when you spend so much time with the likes of Shabandar, but I think you’ll find it’s true. Not everyone’s like him. In fact, I’d wager most people aren’t like him at all.”

“I’m not stupid, Harry, I know who and what he is. Better than you ever could.”

“Really? Because I worked with him for twenty years. You were together for — what, five, six years in the 90s?”

“I have loved him since I was 18 years old!” you shouted. “I have known every version of him, and I have loved every version of him! Yes, he’s an arsehole! Yes, he’s got an ego the size of Australia! And I love him, because I see through all that! It’s performance, Harry! It’s self-defence! Do you really think he was showing you his true self? You were his curator! You were one of thousands of employees! He didn’t owe you his true self! So yes, I know who he is — which means I know that if he finds out you stole from him, I won’t be able to stop him calling the police. We’re supposed to be lending Dawn to the Orsay, what the fuck do you think will happen when someone realises Takagawa also apparently has the original? Someone will figure it out, and it’ll come back to you! So I’m going to ask you again — where is the money?”

“…In my Swiss bank account,” Harry admitted. “Some of it went to PJ as payment for her part, but otherwise, I don’t even know what to do with that much money, to be honest. It’s just been sitting there.”

“Okay, great, so you can give Takagawa a refund.”

“I don’t know if he’ll agree to that…”

“He will if the alternative is the police showing up at his door with an extradition order for handling stolen goods. What about your friend PJ, huh? How do you think she’ll like being extradited for receiving proceeds of crime? And whoever it was that made the fake painting in the first place!”

Harry’s eyes went wide then.

“[Y/n], please — leave PJ and the Major out of this —”

“Then get me my fucking painting back!”

“Alright, alright!” Harry conceded, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’ll get in touch with Takagawa.”

“Thank you. Was that so fucking hard? You’d better do it soon, because that fake’s going up in the Orsay for a year, and if someone realises it’s fake during that time and Lionel gets into hot water, I won’t hesitate to drag you into the pot. Capiche?”

“Yes, yes, capiche! Crikey, [Y/n]. I had no idea you could be so terrifying.”

“Yeah, well, you think Lionel Shabandar’s scary when he gets mad? You’re talking to the one person he’s afraid of.”

You checked the time. If you wanted to be back in time to meet the staff from the Orsay with the fake Dawn, you had to leave now.

“Get me my painting, Harry,” you said through gritted teeth, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “I can’t promise Lionel will be so forgiving if he finds out.”

Harry mumbled his assurances, and you stormed out, slamming the door shut behind you.

- - -

You had to give the Orsay the fake. You felt horrible about it, and you expected them to declare it fake at any moment, but they seemed happy with it when they picked it up. Lionel made sure his French news outlets advertised how generous he was being by loaning it out, which just made you more worried someone would notice there were two separate people on two separate continents claiming to have the original.

But you heard nothing. Your wedding day crept closer and closer, until finally, with only a month to go, you had a call from Harry confirming that he’d managed to convince Takagawa to part with the painting. He didn’t go into detail, but it sounded like he’d had to offer a little more than a refund in order to get it back.

You arranged for the painting to be delivered to the country house while Lionel was away on a business trip for the weekend. When he came back, you told him everything, although you didn’t get to the part where you recovered the painting before Lionel was on his feet, pacing around the room with anger, which might have been a little more intimidating if he wasn’t stark naked.

“I am going to strangle that little shit!” Lionel cursed. “What the devil does he think he’s playing at, stealing from me?! Wait ‘til the police hear about this —”

“Lionel, no, I promised him no police!”

Lionel stopped his pacing and whirled on you.

“He stole from me, [Y/n]! From us!”

“I know, Li, and believe me, I was pissed. I nearly beat him up in his own flat. But I convinced him to get it back from Takagawa.”

“…You got it back?”

“Yes, it’s downstairs. I was thinking we could say we have the original for ourselves and a reproduction for show, but there was a mistake and we accidentally gave them the reproduction.”

“How on earth did you get it back?” Lionel spluttered in disbelief. “Takagawa would never give that up!”

You shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Harry how he convinced him. But I told Harry that if he didn’t, the police would come down on him, Takagawa, PJ, and the guy who made the fake. He didn’t seem as shaken by the threat to him and Takagawa, but as soon as I mentioned PJ and the other guy, he folded.”

Lionel’s look of rage melted into a proud smile. “That’s my girl. I wish I could have seen my lioness in action. But are you certain it’s the original that’s been returned? I wouldn’t put it past Takagawa or Deane to just give us another fake in return.”

“Oh, it’s real. I knew as soon as I saw it. Didn’t you notice the fake felt… empty?”

Lionel nodded slowly. “I did… I simply thought, now that you were back with me for good, I was no longer using it as an anchor. Now that my love was here, in the flesh…. I didn’t have to see it in the painting anymore.”

“It’s still there, Li. It’s in us and it’s in the painting.”

Lionel smiled, but then he frowned in anger again. “Fucking Deane. It wasn’t enough to steal a painting from me, he had to steal our love too. And our love’s been hanging on Takagawa’s wall like a fucking commodity this whole time! Well, no more.”

He held his hand out to you with a grin and helped you up from the bed.

“Let’s go see it, shall we?”

You grabbed your robe on the way out of the bedroom, but Lionel didn’t bother. He strutted down the hallway naked as he always did, and a passing cleaner barely seemed to flinch at the sight.

“There it is!” Lionel announced as you entered the gallery and he found Dawn back in its place of honour.

Sure enough, it was the real one — he could feel your love story in every brushstroke. The day you met and he introduced it to you as his favourite; the summer you fell in love; his mother’s birthday party, your weekend in Paris, your first Christmas with his family. Your date that wasn’t a date, when you found Dawn up for auction and he brought it home for you; everything you’d been through in the next six years. The good, the bad, the just plain banal — it was all infused into this painting, this landscape of light over two seemingly ordinary haystacks frozen at the beginning of a new day.

He’d been so fixated on finding Dusk — but why? Because if he couldn’t have you, at least Dawn could have Dusk? Because if the sun was going to set on your story, it should set on the haystacks too? Or perhaps it was just because he was a greedy bastard who simply had to have the entire set.

Whatever the reason, Lionel didn’t need Dusk anymore. Of course, if he ever did find it, he’d give up a firstborn (not his firstborn, of course, but someone else’s) to get it. But he no longer had that obsessive need to bring Dawn and Dusk together. After all, if Dawn held your love story within its very fabric, it was apt that Dusk would never come — because your love story was the stuff of legends, forty years going and only just getting started. And in years to come, when you were both dead and buried, Lionel’s name would be in the history books, and yours alongside it.

Lord Lionel Shabandar, revolutionary pioneer of modern art and media, met [Y/n] [L/n], the first and only love of his life, at the age of eighteen. A chance meeting of two students changed the course of their lives and, some may say, the course of the art world as we know it…

#alan rickman #lionel shabandar #gambit 2012 #sinclair bryant #close my eyes #lionel x reader #champagne problems

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alrightbuckaroo · 6 months ago

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when life gives you lemons

With ao3 down, it seems like the perfect time to transfer more stories from my 100 Ways to Say I Love You series over here! Here's one from early 2023. Credit to this user for the divider and I hope you enjoy <3

“TK?” Jonah’s voice is quiet and TK can hear his confusion clear through the question. “Am I doing something wrong?”

He looks up at TK; his eyebrows knitted together, and his lower lip is jutted out. His green eyes showing slight defeat. TK doesn’t know how to do it; but he knows he wants that look to go away. “Of course not, buddy. We just need to be patient; someone will walk by, eventually.”

TK didn’t say it out loud; but he wasn’t too sure how true that would be with it being in the high 80s on a Thursday afternoon in the suburbs of Austin.

Jonah doesn’t seem too convinced by TK’s false optimism so TK tries his next best trick; distraction.

“Why don’t you inside, grab some more markers, huh?” TK suggests. “We can make some more signs, use some of that glitter glue we got yesterday.”

Jonah dejectedly agrees before hoping off of his chair and walking through the opened garage and into their house.

TK occupies his time alone by spinning the mixing spoon in the pitcher of strawberry fizzy lemonade and rearranging the red plastic cups. He feels his phone start to vibrate agains the table and hurries to grab it, at risk of the newly arranged cups becoming askew.

“Hey,” TK answers, not bothering to see who it is.

“Hey babe,” Carlos’ voice is cutting through the line and TK smiles to himself. He sounds exhausted but TK loves the sound just the same. “I’m heading home, did you want me to pick up anything for dinner?”

TK looks at the pitcher of lemonade again before answering. “Do you think we already have everything for chicken Alfredo?”

Carlos is quiet a moment, visualizing what they already have in the kitchen. “I think so, but, I’ll probably pick up some more Parmesan cheese anyways. We just had it a couple of nights ago, is it that high in demand again already?”

TK shrugs even though he knows Carlos can't see him. “It’s Jonah’s favorite and I think he just needs a little bit of a pick me up.”

“What’s going on?” TK can hear Carlos getting into this car, the sound of his voice becoming more insulated.

“We’re selling lemonade.” TK mixes the pitcher again as he sees some of the flavoring start to settle at the bottom. “Well, we’re trying to.”

“TK, I already told you we can afford the science camp we’re sending Jonah to this week.” Carlos jokes.

TK fights a laugh before he replies. “First of all, it’s math camp this week, science was last week and second,” TK leans against the back his chair. “You’re not funny.”

“Oh you know you laughed,” Carlos answers, seeing right through TK.

“Anyways,” TK says, moving swiftly on. “Last week they learned how to make fizzy lemonade as a science experiment. This week, they watched a School House Rock special about how to save money. Long story short, I have a seven year old who has decided to go toe to toe with Country Time Lemonade.” TK explains and Carlos laughs. “Though it’s not looking to good for us but Jonah doesn’t want to give up.”

“Well, he is your brother.” Carlos remarks, off-handedly.

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing, TK” Carlos answers. “You never do anything halfway; you should have known Jonah wouldn’t either.”

“That’s true.” TK mumbles. “And we are both our mother’s child.” TK mutters to himself, thinking fondly about Gwyn. Gwyn always tried her best not to give up on anything, on anyone; on him. “It’s just, we haven’t had any customers and I can tell it’s starting to get to him. I don’t want him to be sad about something out of his control.”

Carlos is silent a moment before replying, “Well, between you and me, I think his luck might change soon.”

TK’s looking over the signs he and Jonah had spent the last 20 minutes working on. He points at a black and yellow blob. “And that is,”

“It’s a bumblebee, TK.” Jonah rolls his eyes. “Can’t you see the stinger?”

TK looks at the drawing closer, not seeing anything different. “Oh yeah, it’s right there.” TK points in a general direction and Jonah moves his finger down until he’s pointing at something completely different. “Ah, got it.”

He holds up the sign, “Why bumblebees? We’re not selling honey.”

Jonah releases a very purposeful and heavy sigh. “They’re yellow? Like the lemons?”

TK nods his head, “Oh yes, obviously.”

Before TK can continue to embarrass himself is front of the seven year old business mogul himself, he sees a movement out of the corner of his eyes. He turns slightly to see Carlos walking down the sidewalk. He’s still dressed in his uniform and TK can’t help but feel a pang sympathy for him. Last time he checked his watch it was 86 degrees; and that was an hour ago.

Carlos walks up to where both he and Jonah are sitting before saying, “Hey there, so I was in the neighborhood.

TK’s eyebrows furrow, “Carlos we’re married, we live together, this is our neighborhood.”

“Just go with it, babe.” Carlos says through a tired smile. “Anyways, I was in the neighborhood and couldn’t help but be drawn to this colorful sign. I really love the bumblebees.”

Jonah’s smile is so bright TK can feel himself falling in love with Carlos all over again. “Thanks! He didn’t even know where the stinger was.” Jonah using his thumb to gesture to TK.

“How could he not,” Carlos jokes and TK can start to see where this is going. “Isn’t it that,” Carlos points to exactly where the stinger is. “Right there?”

“Is there something we can help you with, sir?” TK asks the question; annoyed but more importantly, playful.

“Well, I was hoping to buy some lemonade, and this seemed like the perfect place.” Carlos smiles and TK swears he can see all traces of defeat leave Jonah’s eyes. “What do you have?”

Jonah begins to talk Carlos through the both options: classic lemonade, strawberry lemonade; both fizzy. “It’s twenty-five cents a cup.”

“Hmm,” Carlos looks over the pitchers, weighing his options. “How much for the both pitchers?”

“You want to buy all of it?” Jonah asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, how much are we looking at?” Carlos asks, reaching for his wallet. TK gently nudges Jonah, whispering loud enough for Carlos to hear. “Overcharge him.”

Jonah ignores him as Carlos laughs and pulls out a five. Jonah does the math, and TK watches his work. He can see the math camp is doing him some good. When Jonah tells him how much it’ll be, Carlos hands over the five and tells him to keep the change.

“Thanks, Carlos.” Jonah smiles up at Carlos, one of his front teeth missing.

“Go put that with the money you got from the tooth fairy, okay?” TK suggests. “Then come back out here so we can clean this all up before dinner.”

TK watches after Jonah before turning and looking up at Carlos. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.” Carlos argues and TK sighs as he stands up and begins pouring the lemonade from the cups back into the pitchers.

“You know I do.” TK leans forward looking around them and the houses next to them. “Where’s your baby?”

“What are you talking about, you’re standing right there.” Carlos says the words casually.

TK smiles despite himself. “You’re cute, I mean your car.”

“Parked down at the Bakers; don’t worry, I let Mandy know.” Carlos shrugs, “Felt like parking in the drive way and walking up would ruin the illusion.” Carlos gestures to the plastic bag in hand, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go put some Parmesan cheese in the fridge before this Texas heat causes it to spoil.”

TK grabs Carlos’ shoulder before he makes it too far, “Babe,” He looks up at Carlos. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you two.” Carlos smiles. “Chicken Alfredo paired with a ice cold glass of fizzy lemonade. Sounds like a pretty perfect dinner to me, don’t you think?”

TK smiles. “About as perfect as could be.”

#i guess there's always been a piece of my mind that knows these two would drop everything for this kid #series: this is what falling in love feels like #jonah morgan #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos #911 ls #911 lone star #my writing #tarlos fic

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nyarumie · 1 year ago

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Brains to Brawn. (Chapter 1)

narumi gen x f!reader — 1.7k words, co-workers to lovers, narumi loves kisses, multiple parts, semi canon compliant, in denial reader.

STATUS: Ongoing. Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Author's Note at the end! Happy reading ♡

Cross-posted on ao3.

Requests, prompts, or any messages are appreciated! Just open my ask box.

The shift in the tides of the First Division wasn't subtle. It wasn't the way the large bodies of water swayed with greater force against Ariake Maritime Base's sturdy walls, nor did it have to do anything with Regular Officers being transferred from one division to another.

The first change in the atmosphere was when Second Division Captain, Hikari Shinomiya, died. Tense. Strict. A single drop of needle could disrupt the entire defense force—ironically seeming so quiet despite the sounds emerging from the Officers' even more rigorous training.

The second wave of change felt rowdy, raucous—but hopeful. Narumi Gen had made quite the scenario even before officially joining the Defense Force. An unleashed combat power of 24% even without donning a suit at least once in his life, showing great aptitude potential for Kaiju No. 1 weapons, and... having a blatant display of disrespect and chaos, as the higher ups would describe. What seemed to be the hope of the nation turns out to be the First Division's biggest headache. Most times.

The third was when things started to be more obvious—to most people, a shift in leadership means a shift in everything. Shortly after Narumi joined the Defense Force, the Head of Operations eventually had to retire. Kurusu was given the prestige to be the young Head of Operations. At the same time, Narumi had already been appointed as a Platoon Leader, a sign that the youth will shoulder the fate of this country and power will emerge across all divisions.

The next wave is you.

From the previous year, the Defense Force's annual selection involved both Officers and Operators. You were tempted to apply in both, for simple reasons: As an operator, you know you're extremely smart—emerging at the top of your class in university and having reading as a hobby enhanced your intelligence.

On the other hand, you simply think it would be fun to try the Officer Selection Trial. Who knows? You were pretty athletic, diving here and there to save volleyballs on your university's sports fest. Hell, you even won an MVP award twice.

But you have bills to pay and concerts you'd love to attend, so you let the rational part of your brain win and opt for the safer option. With a fellow youngster like Kurusu leading the Operations, all worries about bonding with your co-workers were thrown out the window.

In fact, it seems like you went overboard with bonding with them. You all were friends and swore to do your job properly so as to stick together til the end, but how come you're the only one facing this... baffling scenario?

'A little fun in your normal working day as an operations manager won't hurt', they said.

'The captain won't find out about this anyway', another added.

You should've known that the normal working day applies only to your co-workers. You, on the other hand? It literally changed the trajectory of your life—for better or for worse. Internally groaning, you wondered why you didn't push harder when you were against their idea of 'fun'.

When your co-workers suggested doing something for fun, you never thought it would be testing out each other's unleashed combat power, if you even have them; you're all managing the operations, after all. Doing calculations in your head, you estimated you'd all be getting a percentage ranging from 1% to 3%.

After pleading with Kurusu for what felt like an hour, your little unassuming friend group got permission to use the combat power technology.

"I'm an MVP for volleyball in our University, y'know? If I get an 8%, maybe I can smash a ball or two on a yoju's head. Might get recruited on the spot too.", you said with humourous arrogance.

Your co-worker who was prepping the machine chimed in, "We don't have balls for weapons. And don't get your hopes up, the most you'll be getting is probably a 2%. It's impossible for anyone to get a 0% after all."

With a pout, you denied that you're hoping for a good result. You're pretty satisfied with your job, anyways. Good pay, safety secured—what else could you ask for?

"Alright, prep done. Who's up first?"

"Oh, I'll go! I proposed the idea, so I should be the one taking the first step!" said your enthusiastic co-worker. There were only 4 of you anyway, enough to fall into a line, letting yourself go last.

Sometime along your little fun, Kurusu entered the room, feeling uneasy about giving permission against official purposes. As expected, your friends got a range of 1% to 3%. They were all cheering as you got ready to lay down, as you were initially against the idea of having fun with these machines.

"Show us your 8%, then!" they laughed.

You rolled your eyes at them as your co-worker is sticking the device to certain pulse points to extract your body conditions.

"Keep your head straight and calm down. I'll activate it in a few minutes. We wouldn't want any irregularities in your readings—like you getting 8% from your volleyball experience." she snorted.

Following further instructions, you closed your eyes and kept your composure. It surprisingly felt comfortable, despite the hard surface. It's probably because you haven't slept well comfortably in so long.

"Extraction in 3, 2, and 1..."

It was Kurusu who surprisingly spoke this time. "Well... You almost got an 8. You're on 6%." he announced, still looking confused at the screen.

"Can somebody give me a gun? Or a sword?" you asked.

You thought their necks will snap at how fast they turned their heads to you. They looked at you as if you just had asked for the most incredulous thing, which in this case, does sound frightening.

"Gonna kill us for doubting you?", they joked. "What for, though?"

"Trying to see if I can get that combat power up if I hold those. We're already having fun here, wouldn't hurt to test a few more things, right? Just don't let anyone know of this, or we'll all lose our jobs." you said.

They turn to Kurusu, eyes hopeful, asking through their gazes if it's still within his given permission to issue weapons.

Curiosity piqued, he didn't hesitate giving approval this time. "Alright. Just do make sure to get some less powerful weapons." With a sigh, he mumbled, "My first year as head operator and I feel like I'll already lose my job..."

Once you were provided with your 'weapons', you were instructed by Kurusu this time. "Just hold them as naturally as you can. You may choose between the two weapons provided. Lay them down next to you if you don't want it tested."

Holding the gun in one hand, you heard their countdown go off again. You let yourself relax while waiting for the results.

"Huh. A small increase, but quite a feat. You're smart for suggesting to hold these weapons. It's actually now on 8%. Try the dagger."

You let go of the gun and did as you were told. It took you a while to get as natural as you can while holding the dagger, but decided to not put in any effort as you were just having some 'fun' anyways.

"...That was higher than the gun. 10%. You're unbelievable."

'What's so unbelievable about that?' you thought. Not a single result elicited any reaction from you. Hell, now-promoted Platoon Leader Narumi had a whopping 24% even as a normal civilian. Why would yours be any unbelievable? Maybe it's the first and only time an operations manager got this number. Who in their right mind would test this out for fun anyway?

"Hey, I'll try holding both of these. Let's end our fun and curiosity here." you announced. By this time, you just want this to end. But you are as intrigued as they are, hence suggesting a final test. For some reason, you felt yourself become uneasy at the last attempt. You know it never ends good whenever a sudden wave of uneasiness washes over you, so you force yourself to keep the relaxed state you were previously in.

From your peripheral vision, you saw Kurusu nod. You took both weapons in your hand. The procedure repeats, for the last time.

And then there was silence. You thought you fell asleep, but moved your fingers just to confirm you're still awake. Opening your eyes, you turn to look at your co-workers who were currently gawking at the huge screen.

"Um... You..." started Kurusu. "You uh, just got an 18% unleashed combat power with both weapons in your hold."

Oh.

Now that's unbelievable.

"...And our fun little session ends here! Can somebody assist me here so I can continue my work?" you asked in a rush.

"No. You stay there, I'm not done with your analysis. I'll have to command everyone to go back to their stations." Kurusu said, seriousness suddenly taking over his voice.

He continued speaking, "Not only do you have an 18% unleashed combat power, you also have a potential aptitude for Kaiju no. 3 cells."

It's as if your ability to speak was taken. 18% unleashed combat power sure is something for someone in your level, but to have an aptitude for an identified kaiju...? No wonder he asked them to leave. Word about this finding mustn’t spread, at least, not for now. Your co-workers are new in the job, so they probably don’t know how to identify an aptitude reading for identified Kaiju.

"Um... So... Do we report this to the Captain or something?" you hesitantly ask after a few minutes of blanking out. You don't know what else you can say at the moment, totally taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Before Kurusu can even respond, you hear a voice coming from the doorway.

"Huh. No wonder those operators flocked out of the room in a hurry. I've spared you the job. The old man is already informed."

Your eyes widened, soul leaving your body upon hearing it. You know you'd have to eventually report this to the Captain, but this soon? And what's worse, that voice...

Standing lazily at the doorway with his phone in one hand is no other than the newly promoted Platoon Leader, Narumi Gen.

Author's Note(s):

My first fic! I've actually never wrote anything like this before, as I've only spent my entire life writing academic papers 😭 Thus, constructive criticism and feedbacks are always welcome!

I also apologize for any inaccuracies in the terminologies I used, my brain is pea-sized when it comes to some canon minor details.

I thought I'll be able to finish this in a single chapter, but I think a max of 3 wouldn't sound so bad. I can't write continuously or my head will explode omg

I'm not sure about the holding weapons thing, but I included it here based off how they tested Mina to have great aptitude for guns. I also recall a chapter saying Soshiro's combat power for firearms is so low, hence why he's a close quarters combatant.

Also, about the Kaiju No. 3 thingy, It's not gonna be canon compliant since we don't have any info on that identified Kaiju so I'll just be making stuff up for the sake of this fic lol.

#kaiju no. 8 #narumi gen x reader #kn8 writing #axia writes for fun #kn8 x reader #gen narumi #narumi gen fluff

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afewproblems · 6 months ago

Text

Difficult Days - Part 8

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six , Part Seven or Read on AO3

“I told you so,” Gus says as Shawn straightens his shirt collar and fixes his hair in the precinct bathroom.

Shawn sighs through his nose and turns on the tap to run the tips of his fingers under a short burst of water.

It's been two weeks since the incident with Lassie and Henry and it has not blown over.

If anything, Lassiter is…weird around him.

Sure he's still surly and quick to yell and argue about their presence in the field and at the station, but every now and again Shawn catches the Detective staring at him.

And not some passing glance or vacant unassuming look, no.

This is the full-on, piercing, cop stare down, complete with a terminator scan and infrared analysis.

Needless to say, it's starting to freak him out.

Shawn has brought it up to Juliet and Gus separately, with Juliet's response being a single raised eyebrow and the question, “since when is Lassiter not monitoring you? I'm pretty sure he only just started trusting Buzz and he's been stationed here since before my transfer, Carlton can be a bit of an intense guy Shawn”.

And Gus's response--

“I told you so”.

Shawn rolls his eyes and runs his wet fingers through his hair, twisting them up to ruffle the ends just right.

“You did not--”

“Uh no,” Gus speaks over him, “did I not say that Lassiter was pissed?”

Shawn looks at Gus through the reflection in the mirror, “Gus--”

“Did I not say that calling him a dog would end in him shooting you?”

Gus raises a single challenging eyebrow as Shawn turns the tap on again to run his whole hand under the stream before flicking cold water at his friend.

“Shawn!” Gus yelps, darting out of the line of fire, “this is a new shirt!”

“I don't think those were the words you used and come on, it's just a little staring right? It's only…a little weird, right?”

Gus raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, looking at Shawn through the mirror.

And yeah, okay, it might be a little more than just a little weird.

“Whatever,” Gus grumbles, "I do eventually have to get back to my real job so can you stop primping so we can talk to Vick?”

Shawn reaches out for the paper towel dispenser and grabs a sheet to dry his fingers before crumpling it up and raising his arm high above his head to throw the makeshift ball into the garbage can. Shawn groans as the tiny ball of slightly damp paper barely hits the rim before it tumbles to the tiled floor of the SBPD bathroom.

“Gus,” Shawn huffs as he reaches down to pick up the paper, “you know as well as I do that people are much more likely to give you what you want if you present yourself well and take pride in your appearance”.

“You literally have a queso stain on your shirt Shawn”.

Tossing the paper directly into the trash, Shawn side steps the comment and Gus as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the doors.

Their caseload has slowed down to a crawl recently. Shawn blames the weather, scorching heat and enough humidity to make a seal sweat. All the potential clients, and criminals, are either holed up at home with AC or busy at the beach --not that Shawn wants crime to happen necessarily, but the lack of cases does present a problem when it comes to their financials, which Gus maintains he should pay more attention to.

Thus the visit to their favourite interim Chief, Vick.

Maybe there's a brand new case that they could assist with, or stowaway on long enough to earn a paycheck.

Either way works for Shawn.

Shawn rounds the corner of the next hallway --Jesus, the precinct is either way bigger than he remembers or they've actually managed to fall into the Labyrinth from Labyrinth.

Not that Shawn would mind running into Bowie at this moment, especially in those pants.

He halts suddenly as he sees, who fucking else, but Lassiter and Henry talking just outside of Sargent Bart's door.

Perfect.

Shawn takes a step back, closer to a display cabinet on the wall and quickly reaches for Gus to pull him back beside him.

“Why the hell is he here again?” Gus whispers.

“Because I'm cursed, because the universe hates me,” Shawn says under his breath as he peeks around the shelf again just in time to see Henry laugh at something Carlton says.

“See?” Shawn says, gesturing towards the pair, “hates me”.

Shawn frowns and closes his eyes, trying to visualize the emergency evacuation floor plan they were provided when Vick hired them, maybe there was a way to get around the pair without being seen…even with Vicks office being two doors down from where his father and Lassiter are standing.

Shit.

“We should have gone left instead of right, that would have been faster,” Shawn admits with a frown as he slumps back against the wall and out of sight.

“If someone hadn't insisted on messing with his hair for twenty minutes we wouldn't be in this situation,” Gus hisses, throwing his hand out to slap at Shawns shoulder, earning a muted yelp which Shawn tries to quell as best as he can.

Shawn retaliates with a slap of his own at Gus's arm and just as he ducks out of the way of another hit he hears Lassiter’s voice float down the hallway.

“Spencer has been a menace since he started”.

“Shh! I hear my name,” Shawn hisses as he peers around the shelf again, he feels Gus move behind him to match the position.

Henry is facing away from them but he can see his dad nod at the Detective.

“He does some good work but he's got no respect for protocol or authority,” Lassie continues looking at Henry with a strange expression that Shawn can’t quite qualify.

“I don't know what the chief sees in that waste of space,” Lassiter huffs, the words are irritated and clipped but his sharp eyes are scanning Henry now.

Evaluating, looking for something.

Henry stiffens at the words, and Shawn watches as his dad steps closer to Lassiter. He breathes out a low laugh that has the Detective’s eyes narrow as though he's caught something, but Shawn knows that laugh intimately and hears ‘Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!’ blare in his mind as his dad's posture changes.

Henry leans in even closer, his voice quiet and cold, as he says, “you call my kid a waste of space again, Detective, I'll put you through the wall, are we clear?”

Shawn lifts his right hand to stick his index finger in his ear, twisting it hard, because there was no way in hell he heard that right.

Since when did Henry defend him to the other officers --especially his new best buddy Lassiter.

He looks at Gus whose raised eyebrows have cut harsh creases across his forehead in surprise, he shrugs as they both turn back to the strange scene down the hall.

Lassiter blinks once, his face triumphant for a brief instant before he schools his expression into one of shock. The Detective nods as he steps away from Henry's imposing shadow.

“Crystal, sir,” he says, adjusting his tie before nodding at Henry and making his way back to the bullpen.

Shawn slowly slips back behind the shelf as though dazed, and lets his shoulders connect with the wall behind him.

Because, what in the hell was that?

“What in the hell was that??” Gus whispers as he falls beside Shawn, letting his shoulder roughly connect to the wall.

Shawn shrugs as he stares unseeing at the floor, “weird, bizarre, peculiar, flummoxing, yeah, that’s it, it’s flummoxing”.

He looks back up in time to see Gus raises a single, exasperated, eyebrow.

“Jules got me a word of the month calendar last week”.

Gus rolls his eyes, but a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he taps Shawn with his elbow, “I'm just surprised you used it correctly”.

Shawn grins, motioning for Gus to head back up the hall the way they came, “it’s always the people who love us who end up hurting us the most,” he sniffs with a false wobble to his voice that has Gus shooting another glare his way.

“You know that’s right, keep it up man”.

Shawn snickers as they make it back to the washroom entrance so they can reorient themselves in a more vacant part of the station, Gus says something about hitting the head while they’re there but Shawn is barely listening.

Henry's behavior in the hall was flummoxing, that goes without saying.

But Shawn couldn't stop thinking about the strange triumphant expression on Lassiter’s face when Henry tore a verbal strip off him.

Something was going on with the Detective, and Shawn didn't need a vocabulary calendar to know it was weird with a capital, W.

Maybe they found themselves a case after all?

***

Shawn should have gone home after his date left, although to call her a date would be entirely inaccurate considering her recent engagement, barring a slight misunderstanding.

Shawn smiles indulgently as the petite brunette immediately snaps the flip phone open, a radiant expression of relief on her face, and speed dials her brand new fiance, mouthing ‘thank you’ at Shawn before disappearing into the crowd of Tom Blair's pub.

It wasn't often that Shawn got to use his observations like this and it always managed to make the tightness of overwhelm in his chest loosen after a long day.

He breathes out a long slow sigh and lifts his gaze to the crowd around him now.

Sometimes people watching would yield something interesting, a breakup, a meet up with a mistress, a promotion --though those were more rare for a neighborhood pub like this.

He tilts his face to the bar and it's then that Shawn's gaze lands on a familiar face sitting at a table in the far corner.

Detective Lassiter, drinking alone.

His blue eyes fixed at a far point in the middle distance as he lifts a glass of dark amber liquid to his lips. His shirt is undone by two buttons revealing a swath of chest hair that his loosened tie rests on.

Holy shit. Lassie looks…good.

If Shawn were being honest with himself, Lassiter has always looked good --if a bit stuffy sometimes. He blames those damn eyes and Lassie's surprisingly strong build. Shawn had been manhandled enough by the Detective to know just how strong he is.

“Spencer?”

Oh holy hell.

The Detective is waving at him, his long, lanky arms curving in a large arc above his head --thankfully not the one holding the glass.

“Spencer! I didn't know you were here!” Lassiter says, his voice carries clear across the pub, causing several other patrons to turn and look at them.

Lassiter stands up, somewhat wobbly from his table, drink in hand, and makes his way over to Shawn.

Just what in the Bizzaro wonderland has Shawn managed to stumble into that Lassiter is coming his way and sitting down?

“You’re here!” Lassie says loudly, turning a few heads as he sits down heavily in the seat beside Shawn. He’s not exactly smiling but the lack of his signature scowl is just as strange, especially directed at Shawn.

“I am,” Shawn hums as Lassiter takes another sip that is more of a gulp of liquor. The acrid smell of scotch floats over the air between them making Shawn lean away, or try to anyway.

But a heavy arm makes its way around his shoulders, suddenly pulling Shawn into Lassie’s side. From this close Shawn can smell the spicy aftershave Carlton only sports on special occasions, what might have prompted it Shawn has no idea for once.

“Listen, since you’re here, there's something I have to get off my chest,” Lassiters's voice is clear even over the din of the bar crowd, Shawn would have expected a slur given the nearly empty glass in the man's hand and the overwhelming smell of scotch on his breath.

“Please say it's not your shirt,” Shawn huffs, trying not to picture exactly that as Lassiter snorts into his glass. He hopes the Detective is distracted enough by the alcohol and the lack of lighting in the pub to notice the way Shawn's ears heat at the image, he's sure they must be a bright crimson by now.

Maybe Lassie will finally explain his weird staring the past month, or maybe the Henry incident, as he and Gus had taken to referring to the very flummoxing Detective showdown in the hallway outside of Sargent Bart’s office.

Lassiter shakes his head, his blue eyes wide as he removes his arm from Shawn’s shoulders and turns in his seat to face him fully.

“You astound me”.

And that's definitely not what Shawn expected when Lassie came over to his table at the crowded neighborhood pub.

Shawn had been surprised to even see Lassiter at a bar on a weeknight, and even more surprised to see him clearly drinking so heavily.

“I--come again?” Shawn pulls on his earlobe roughly because there was no way--

“It’s beyond astounding.” Lassiter says as he reaches over and places a warm hand on Shawn's elbow and squeezes lightly, "it is some of the most impressive reasoning I’ve ever seen.”

Shawn breathes out a startled laugh, “is there a punchline to this?”

“I don’t know how you do it. I mean it’s not psychic-ness –we both know that’s a crock of crap. You sir, are unstoppable. Guaranteed arrests.”

Shawn opens his mouth to speak but Lassiter keeps going, “can I tell you something else?”

“I really wouldn’t recommend it, no”.

“You know how everyone thinks my wife and I have been separated for nine months?”

Oh.

Oh boy.

“Look, Lassie,” Shawn says lowly, he really shouldn't be listening to this.

As much as Lassiter has been grating on his nerves the last few weeks with his rigid, by-the-book bullshit, and his irritating friendship with Henry, it doesn't feel right to stand by while the alcohol makes this straight-laced handsome weirdo spill what is clearly not meant for Shawn’s ears.

“Two years. Two years tonight,” Lassiter continues as though Shawn said nothing, he takes a long draught of scotch and sets the now empty glass down on the hightop with more force than necessary.

“And I’m the one who keeps trying to fix the damn thing”.

Lassiter wipes a large hand down his face roughly and laughs, “you know I used to be a good cop”.

He doesn’t wait for Shawn to respond, “seriously, stunning arrest record,” Lassie punctuates the words with a sweeping gesture of the hand, “one of the best in the department --you know I caught the Back Bay Killer, there was a tip--”.

“I remember that,” Shawn nods as he shifts in his seat, “the blue sedan”.

Shawns eyes widen at the same time as Lassiter’s.

Shit.

He hadn't meant to let that slip, especially not in front of a very drunk and quite possibly armed Detective.

“That, was you?” Lassiter says slowly, he pulls away slightly but keeps his hand on Shawn's elbow.

Shawn feels his heart rate tick up at the proximity and the way those blue eyes have begun to scan him just as they have the whole last month.

“It, uh, it might have been--”

“You know what,” Lassiter interrupts him, pulling out his handcuffs from his back pocket, he slides them across the hightop. The silver metal glints the low light bouncing their sheen on Lassiters face as they move, “you should have these Spencer, you'd actually make better use of them”.

Shawn stares at the cuffs, making no move to take them from the table.

“Lassie--”

But Lassiter continues as though Shawn hasn't spoken, “I have officially hit rock bottom. A month ago I got this case, right? A healthy 42-year-old astronomer dies. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, spends all day in an ergonomically-designed chair charting the night sky,” Lassiter huffs, his face scrunched into a frown, counting on his fingers as he lists the facts of the case.

Which, okay even Shawn is intrigued now.

A waitress comes by their table but Shawn waves her off with a tight smile, the last thing they need is more alcohol at this table. She nods at him with a wide grin that drops into an irritated grimace as she turns on her heel to another table that would definitely yield a larger bill to tip on.

“‘Natural causes’, that’s what the coroner comes back with,” the Detective scoffs, tossing his hand out to connect lightly with Shawn's shoulder before it wraps around his shoulders again and tugs him close.

“Does a full autopsy, no red flags, nothing.”

Carlton sighs, his head drops to hang low enough that his hair brushes the tabletop before he brings his eyes back up to look at Shawn with the most dejected expression he's ever seen on another man's face.

“I know he was murdered, I just can’t…”

Shawn waits for a beat as Lassiters gaze slips into something unfocused. He reaches out to tap the other man's hand lightly, bringing his blue eyes back to Shawn, “can’t what, Lassie?”

“I can’t prove it, Chief doesn’t want us to waste more time on something this ‘open-and-shut’,” Lassiter grumbles, letting go of Shawn to raise both hands to make air quotes before letting them fall to his lap.

And maybe this is the reason for the constant staring at work, has it really been jealousy this whole time?

“Should just retire, fold up shop, it's not like I have anyone that would notice,” Lassiter mumbles under his breath, and nope. Nope.

That is just unacceptable.

“Come on Lassiepants, you’ll figure it out just like you always do. People have your back,” Shawn taps the Detectives hand again, firmly this time, glaring as Carlton scoffs again at the words.

“Like who?”

“Well, Jules, and Chief Vick, and Gus, and me--”

“You?”

Shawn clears his throat, ducking his face to hide the way he can feel his ears begin to heat, “uh yeah, we have your back Lassifrass”.

Carlton hums, his eyes closing briefly for a moment before he looks at Shawn again, “you ever take your own advice Spencer?”

Shawn bristles slightly, annoyed for the first time since Lassiter made his way over to the table.

“Look, this isn’t about me, you're a striking man with strong features, eyes that I--that people--that women,” Shawn swallows harshly, ignoring the way Lassiter’s eyes trace over his rapidly heating face, “women wanna do cannonballs into, you have great posture and uh, penmanship the likes I've never seen”.

It’s like verbal vomit, it just keeps coming and Shawn can’t seem to stop it, “you're honestly a catch Lassie, don't be so hard on yourself”.

Lassiter stares at him frozen as Shawn bites his tongue, swallowing nervously. Him and his big dumb mouth.

“I'm a catch”.

Shawn nods, looking anywhere but at the Detective and his bright gaze, “uh, yeah, yeah Lassie, you are”.

Lassiter continues to stare at Shawn for what feels like an eternity. His blue eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of the pub and Shawn is so, so, aware of how close they're sitting now.

He watches transfixed as Lassiter lifts his hand from his lap to reach up and trace a soft knuckle across Shawns cheekbone then down to his chin, slightly tipping Shawn’s face up.

Shawn feels himself stop breathing.

What. The fuck. Is happening??

Klaxons blare in his mind once again as a chorus of , ‘DANGER, DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, repeats over and over.

Lassiter’s drunk, that's what's happening here, Shawn thinks as his brain starts to come back online, there is no way that the Detective is making a pass at him.

“A catch,” Lassiter repeats, the words rumble in his chest. He smirks slightly, his blue eyes crease at the corners as he tips his face away to mutter something under his breath about catching someone.

Right, Shawn thinks to himself in what he hopes is relief rather than disappointment, the murdered astronomer.

Shawn shakes himself and leans back in his seat, out of Lassiters's immediate orbit.

“You should go home Lassie, sleep this off so you can catch the guy like I know you can,” Shawn says, rapping his knuckles against the bar table for emphasis.

Shawn pushes himself off the stool and shrugs on his bomber jacket with shaking hands, startling at the sudden clatter behind him. He turns just in time to see Carlton stumble and sit gracelessly on the sticky pub floor.

“Jesus Lassiter,” Shawn huffs out as he wanders over, assessing the potential damage as he moves.

“Falling already,” Carlton says, his slurred words taking on a dreamy quality that Shawn has never heard the man use before.

“Yup, that's what happens when you drink half the bar man,” Shawn mutters to himself as he grabs Lassiters hand and hoists him to his feet once more.

Thankfully the Detective isn't so out of it that he can't stand on his own two feet --though Shawn finds it terribly unfair how Carlton leans his face down into Shawns neck as he drapes his long lanky arm across Shawn’s shoulder once again.

The feeling of Lassiters warm breath on his ear is also so distracting that Shawn almost walks them into a pillar as they make their way to the entrance.

By the time they actually get to the front doors, and Shawn has flagged down a cab, Lassiter seems to be vacillating between sleepy petulance at being forced to leave the bar and something resembling contentment as he leans against Shawn heavily.

“Okay Lassie, let's get you home--”

“I'm not that easy Spencer,” Lassiter grumbles and Shawn nearly combusts, his face and neck heating again at the thought. At least the Detective isn't paying attention to him, instead turning his concentration towards buckling his seatbelt.

The cab ride is uneventful but just long enough for Shawn to struggle to keep Lassiter from falling dead asleep; he resorts to flicking his seatmate in the ear, smiling at the irritated snuffle Lassie makes every time he does. Luckily the Detective also has enough cash in his wallet for the cab fare. Shawn refuses to feel bad about using it, it's not like Lassie's paying Shawn's way home too, he'll just walk back to the Psych office to crash there.

It's fine, Shawn thinks; trying his best to ignore the feeling of phantom hands on his face or warm breath on his neck as he makes the trek down the boardwalk. Besides, if Lassiter was drunk enough to look at Shawn like that…

No.

No way, it’s just jealousy, that’s the reason for the staring and for the strange confession this evening. That’s all.

On the plus side, he’s solved the case of ‘what’s been eating Lassiter’ without any additional effort or the need to be held up at gunpoint this time.

But, on the down side, it’s yet another case he’s made no money on for Psych.

Shawn wipes both hands down his face before wrapping his arms around himself as he continues down the well lit path home.

At least Lassiter was drunk enough that he won’t possibly remember tonight.

Not at all.

And that’s fine. Totally fine.

***

“You should have seen him, Gus, he tried to give me his handcuffs for crying out loud”.

Gus rolls his eyes and flips the page of the magazine in his hands, pretending not to follow Shawn’s path as he paces across the Psych office.

It's been three hours since their debrief at the station and over 14 hours since Shawn had managed to drag a nearly unconscious Lassiter home from the bar the previous night.

Shawn is restless and Gus just doesn't quite understand. If he'd been there it would be so much easier to explain, plus Gus could have helped carry the Irish lug to his front door rather than Shawn offering their cab driver a huge tip to help him half drag, half carry the giant Detective.

“And?” Gus huffs, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the desk in front of him, “I would think that Lassie quitting the force would make things way easier for us Shawn, no more having to fight for cases or getting kicked off crime scenes”.

Shawn makes his way to the mini fridge in the corner, one of the few purchases he had insisted on that Gus actually agreed with when they first opened the place. He opens the door and snags a snapple from the shelf.

“I think we should help, it just feels weird for Lassie to be so down and out, like watching baby Darth Vader call Natalie Portman an angel, it's pathetic in an endearing sort of way”.

Gus stares at Shawn with narrowed eyes now and sits up in his desk chair, “endearing? Lassiter?”

Shawn cracks the cap of his drink and pauses to read the ‘Real Fact’ printed on the inside.

On average, a human being will spend 2 weeks of their lives kissing, in their lifetime.

He frowns at the bottle cap in his hand, wondering just how ‘Real’ these facts actually are, or if they’re the product of a bored intern at Snapple.

“Lassie’s all bark and no, we'll that's not right, but that's actually what I mean, he can't be no bark and no bite, that's just craziness in action Gus--”

“Oh my god,” Gus says slowly as he straightens in his seat, “you like him”.

Shawn rears back as though slapped, his mouth opening and closing several times before he manages to say, in a strangled voice, “no--thats--why would you--”

“Because you like people that don't like you Shawn, you always do this, you pick assholes”.

Well that's not fair.

“Gus--”

Gus waves his hands in front of him and stands abruptly from the desk chair which rolls backwards, stopping as it connects with the edge of the rug, “no Shawn, he's threatened to shoot us how many times? He's put his hands on you!”

Shawn tries for a swarthy grin at Gus, “don't knock it till you try it--”

“No! Nope,” Gus cuts him off sharply, “don't try to change the subject or throw me off with,” he shakes his hands again at Shawn, “the thought of naked Lassiter”.

He visibly shudders while Shawn feels the tips of his ears begin to heat, as he feels the phantom warmth of Lassiter's arm around his shoulder from the night before.

Gus sighs, pinching his fingers into his eyes briefly before pinning Shawn with a look “I just don't want you to get hurt again Shawn”.

Shawn thinks of the way Lassiter looked at him that night and the way his knuckle felt against his face and the hand on his elbow, firm in its grip but still gentle and warm from the alcohol coursing through his system. He side steps the thought of how much the lack of recognition in Lassie's blue eyes had hurt that morning during the briefing.

“I might not know exactly what I’m doing Gus, but I think it'll be okay”.

“Now let's go, I hear the planetarium is playing Laser Floyd, may as well grab two birds before the bush kills them”.

Gus looks at him with wide eyes and a bewildered expression that slowly shifts to something very pained, “I think you just butchered two very well known idioms Shawn”.

“I've heard it both ways, now come on!”

“You're so full of shit dude,” Gus grumbles behind him as he locks the front door to the office, earning a bright bark of laughter from Shawn as they make their way to the Blueberry.

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows @steddierthings @newgrangespirals @eriquin @childofposiden71 @theoxymoronicpoet @cinderellarhea

Part Nine Up

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on-a-lucky-tide · 1 month ago

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Hello! I hope I won't come off as demanding, but is there a chance you could create a masterlist of your works on tumblr? I understood that not everything gets transferred to AO3 and you don't seem to have a separate writing tag, and I feel sad thinking that I might have missed some of your amazing pieces.

I totally get if you don't feel like adding another task to your list, though! Just was wondering maybe it was in your plans or you thought about it. Appreciate your writing and thoughts you share a lot <3

I do need to get better at updating AO3. I just have a block in my head about it. It feels like extra effort for a community that doesn't really exist on AO3, whereas I can write and create on here and chuck it into the void/share it directly with a few people who follow me and get that humour and connection I enjoy the most.

I get AO3's just an archive, not a community hub, but I just get so hung up on stats and "success" in a way that I don't on Tumblr; I feel more like I'm just messing around for a small bunch of mates. I haven't checked AO3 in ages because I'm worried about seeing how "bad" the stories are via kudo->hit ratio. 2,400 people read it and 2,150 thought it was so dogshit they didn't even click the heart button. Brutal. I'll put them on there eventually and I'll need to thank the few commenters as well because I do appreciate their effort.

As for the masterlist, I'd just forget to update it, sorry, mate. XD If it helps at all, I am efficient at tagging #nikprice #ghostprice, etc. I'll have a think about whether there's an efficient way I can do it, but work's pretty insane at the moment so it may not be for a bit.

Thank you for reading. I'm glad you enjoy the stuff I throw out there.

#asks #writing

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wellamarke · 4 months ago

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Unusual Customers

For Otter Day 2025! But, brilliantly, also for the Carolyn Month of May prompt of the same title. That’s called being economical that is 😎

Also on AO3

It’s absolutely a prank phone call. This much is obvious from the moment she picks up the phone. But since Arthur, Herc and Douglas are all in full view, in the portacabin, not hidden away somewhere doing a silly voice on the phone, Carolyn decides to play along with the caller to see which of them seems most obviously amused as it unfolds.

“They’ll be kept very calm, in their travel cages,” says the woman who’s calling herself Andrea Morris. It’s not Theresa, that much is clear. The voice is too mature to be Honour Richardson and Carolyn would be very surprised if Arthur’s current pony club girl possessed the brains to attempt this nonsense. “And they don’t carry any diseases that can be transferred to humans, even by bite - not that they’ll bite anyone - as I say, they’ll be kept very calm…”

“I see,” says Carolyn. “This does rather seem like something one would have arranged well in advance.”

“Oh, it was all completely sorted,” says Andrea, flustered. “But at the very last moment the charter firm we’d booked pulled out. They didn’t even give a reason.”

“And you are assuming the reason was not related to you asking them to fly with rabid otters on board.”

Carolyn surveys the occupants of the portacabin. Arthur looks extremely excited, but that’s practically his default, so it’s not suspicious. Douglas looks intrigued. Herc’s expression is a simper, because he has noticed her looking at him, so she rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the spluttering voice on the phone.

“They’re — they’re certainly not rabid!”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Carolyn rotates her desk chair to look up at the wall chart. May as well force it to the reveal. “The twentieth of March, you say?”

“If at all possible. We would be so grateful.”

“Mmm. What’s the conversion rate of gratitude to pounds sterling?”

“Well… we are a charity, so it’s not that money’s no object, but… we really really need to move them.”

Carolyn hums again, considering. “I think we may be able to help,” she says. “I will call you back with the details.”

‘Andrea Morris’ - if that is indeed her name - blusters through copious ‘thank yous’ and confirms that she can be reached on the same number later on, and when a pause eventually arrives, Carolyn takes the chance to say goodbye and hang up.

“So, then,” she looks around at the men, none of whom seem to betray themselves as the culprit. “What is this? Some anniversary of your piano removal day?”

Douglas considers. “That was in the summer, I think,” he says. “Did I overhear correctly - are we actually going to have otters on Gerti?”

“It seems so.”

Arthur looks ready to actually explode. “Brilliant!”

“What have otters got to do with pianos?” Herc asked from his corner.

“Oh, once Martin needed to get a piano to Wales except he’d hurt his ankle so me and Douglas did it with him. And we went to a place where a Saint was eaten by otters.”

Herc turns to his captain for confirmation.

“More or less,” says Douglas. “Ottery St Mary. Little place in Wales. Admittedly I might have embellished the origins of the name for Arthur’s entertainment. I’ve since found out there actually is a patron Saint of Otters, but it’s not Mary.”

“Oh?”

“Cuthbert, apparently.”

Carolyn tunes around from the wall chart she’s been scribbling on. “That’s who we’re flying.”

“WHAT? We’re flying a Saint?!”

“Well, no. But the sanctuary who just phoned me, they’re called St Cuthbert’s Otter Rehabilitation.”

“Brilliant!”

“Well then,” says Douglas. “We surely can’t risk angering a Saint.”

“Wow, I wish Martin was here for this,” Arthur enthuses. Then he casts a guilty look at Herc. “Sorry Herc. It’s brilliant having you flying with us. But Martin was really funny about otters coming on the plane.”

“Yes, he practically went into paroxysms, even though it was completely hypothetical. Or so we thought! How many otters are we having, Carolyn?”

“I hope it’s a hundred!”

“About twenty, I think. Or just under. She wasn’t sure about one of them. It might be in too delicate a condition to move.”

“Wow! I can definitely imagine twenty otters.”

“Or nineteen otters,” Herc amends.

“Nineteen?”

“Your mother just said one might not be coming.”

“Oh. Yes, nineteen.”

“Times really have changed since Martin was here,” Douglas quips. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, but Carolyn catches his eye and grins.

“Can we put it on the group chat?” says Arthur, already unlocking his phone. “Martin won’t believe it!”

“If you can possibly help yourself, Arthur, it would be much funnier if we wait until we can send photographic proof,” Douglas suggests. “And especially if we can make one of the otters look dangerously close to entering the flight deck.”

“They’ll be in cages,” Carolyn points out.

“That’s fine. We’ll pop a cage right outside the door and have Arthur knocking on the otter’s behalf.”

“On the otter’s WHAT?”

“For the otter. Knocking on the flight deck door because the otter can’t.”

“Oh, right.”

“I can’t believe this isn’t a practical joke,” says Carolyn, her suspicions having died back into mere puzzlement. She turns back to finish what she’d been writing. “Of all the planes in all the world, these otters have chosen the one whose crew have been preparing hypothetically for… how many years?”

“I dread to think.”

“Well, I’d better phone the sanctuary back and say they’re on for next Thursday.”

“Hooray!”

Carolyn steals a glance over at Herc, who still looks slightly bemused, but happy. If excitement is Arthur’s default, this is more or less his, these days. She busies herself with the phone again before he notices her looking, and doesn’t care that Douglas already has.

#cabin pressure #otter day 2025 #carolyn month of may

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ladyloveandjustice · 5 months ago

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Paper Flowers- A Natsume Yuujinchou Fanfic

It's a Souko x Reiko fic! It's about what happens when Souko and Reiko reunite later in life, when Reiko was raising a daughter all on her own. Some old feeling reawaken and Reiko, as usual, tries to push them away...

I know I haven't finished my other Souko fic yet, but when I started this one I couldn't stop it. I really enjoyed writing from Reiko's cynical perspective and it was really interesting to thing about what it might have been like for her to have a kid, when she's so guarded and so aware of all the dangerous yokai that could hurt them. So it's exploring that along with Souko and Reiko's relationship. I'm pretty fond of this, which is nice, since I usually have mixed feelings about fics I write!

I include some very short chapters 2, 3, and 4 which are supplemental to the main story, but are little additions I wanted to write.

Ao3 Link (also at the bottom)

Paper Flowers

Reiko didn’t do reunions.

Everyone left Reiko eventually, or she cut ties first to save both of them the hassle. And whether they were human or yokai, once they were gone, she made sure she never saw them again.

Until Souko forcibly, annoyingly, made herself an exception.

Reiko was heading back home after a trip to the pharmacy, her daughter in her arms and some eyedrops in her pocket. She’d figured out the best route through downtown to avoid any yokai, but she remained alert as she walked in the fading dusk.

Then, out of nowhere, she heard something screaming her name. Hurried footsteps pounded behind her, sending vibrations up the sidewalk. It had to be a yokai. Reiko spun around, swung her fist...and barely stopped herself from decking a random woman in the face.

The woman flinched, but she apparently had no sense of self preservation, because she didn’t run away. She just panted and stared at Reiko with wide, disbelieving eyes.

And then Reiko recognized her. She didn’t look exactly the same as when Reiko had met her, her face had more of a healthy flush, her gaze was less hesitant, she stood a little straighter…but her hair still fell in soft clouds, her lips were still the color of peaches, her eyes were still warm and gentle. It was Souko.

Reiko’s fist dropped to her side. She swallowed, feeling a weird swoop in her stomach. She couldn’t find her voice, it was dried up and stuck in her throat. So she looked away from Souko and adjusted Mari, who was whimpering a little. She’d transferred her daughter to one arm when she threw the punch, and her protective grip was a little too tight. She gently stroked Mari’s hair, and her child’s sniffles died down.

Suddenly, Souko burst into tears, babbling that she’d always wanted to apologize to Reiko for the awful things she said, that she’d been desperate to see her again, that she’d waited every day for months in that forest…

“Bullshit,” Reiko cut her off icily, rubbing soothing circles on Mari’s back. “I was the one who waited for you. You never came back.”

She didn’t know what Souko was getting out of this obvious lie, and she didn’t know where this cold anger inside her was coming from. The whole mess had happened so long ago, and she’d never blamed Souko for it before now. It was just another entry on the list of rejections, an inevitable result of who Reiko was. It wasn’t a big deal. Still, she wasn’t going to play along with whatever this was.

Souko blinked. “But…that can’t be.” Her brow furrowed and her lips pinched for a second. Then her eyes went wide. “How long did you wait? Was it two days?”

“Uh…yes.” Reiko mumbled, a little embarrassed to admit it. But how did Souko…?

“I was sick,” Souko said quickly. “I couldn’t even get up for two days. But I came out to our spot on the third day. And I waited every day for two months after that.”

They both stood in complete silence, Reiko’s brain slowly processing. Yokai did tend to make sickly people worse, and Souko had been surrounded by them…and she’d guessed Reiko had waited for two days, how could she know that unless she was telling the truth? And what would the point of lying about this?

Souko really had come back. It had been a misunderstanding. All of it.

She’d made the Book of Friends, spent her teenage years challenging yokai to games, based on a misunderstanding.

Reiko burst out laughing.

She laughed until tears streamed down her eyes, laughed so hard she was scaring Mari, but she couldn’t stop. And she saw Souko was doubled over too, and their laughter joined in a chorus.

Reiko finally calmed down long enough to see to Mari, rocking her child in her arms until her cries abated, though she was still breaking out in fits of random giggles. Souko was wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. Lots of people walking down the street were giving them funny looks, but Reiko was used to that.

“That’s really…really stupid,” Reiko finally managed to say in a raspy voice.

“It is,” Souko agreed. She straightened up, smoothing down her hair. “Let me treat you to dinner. To make up for the world’s dumbest mix-up.”

Reiko raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Souko would never have been so bold in high school. And something about the way she was looking at Reiko made her heart beat a little faster.

Following that feeling was a bad idea though.

“Well, I have a kid to take care of, so…”

Souko smiled down at Mari, who, despite the fact she’d been wailing a moment ago, smiled back. “She can come too. We can eat at someplace casual.” Then Souko’s lips pressed together and her face stiffened. “Oh, wait…I wasn’t trying to…well, I imagine you already have dinner plans, don’t you?”

With your husband was the unspoken assumption. Reiko kept her voice light. “No plans, no. It’s usually instant ramen for me and whatever I can scrape together for her.”

Souko’s mouth formed an “oh”. Time for her to turn away in disgust, and Reiko could get on with her day. But instead, she said, “Well, since you’re free, let me feed you. If that’s okay?”

Reiko should say no. She knew she should say no. But she was so curious know what Souko had been up to, why she was here in this town, if she still liked flowers. And she noticed how Souko’s eyes softened when she looked at Mari, and how Mari was making happy noises.

Maybe just for tonight. To make up for letting the yokai get her sick. For accidentally standing her up. Then they could close the book on this.

“Okay,” she said. “One dinner.”

Dinner was less awkward than expected. The conversation flowed weirdly naturally, like it hadn’t been years since they’d seen each other. Like Reiko was someone who even knew how to talk to people.

Souko explained she was going to a university nearby and had come to town to explore for the weekend. She was majoring in environmental science, she told Reiko shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was something she’d done often as a teenager, and it hit Reiko that this really was Souko.

Reiko wanted to ask Souko some other questions, but Souko steamrolled right over her, hitting her with a barrage. “Do you live in this town? Have you been here long? When did you leave Hitoyoshi? ”

“Slow down,” Reiko said, taking a bite of her curry. She had to bite back a grin too. The way Souko was practically vibrating with curiosity was kind of adorable. “I live here, it’s been about a month and I moved a while back, shortly after I had Mari.”

Obviously, staying in Hitoyoshi had not been an option, not when she had so many yokai after her and so many assholes to deal with. Reiko had looked high and low for a town that didn’t have many yokai, and she’d settled on this one.

“She’s beautiful,” Souko said, smiling at Mari. The restaurant had given the kid one of those paper menus and some crayons, and she was scribbling happily on it.

“She is,” Reiko said, unable to keep a touch of pride out of her voice. “It doesn’t really suit me, the whole mom thing.” She gestured at herself. “I’m not the type. But she’d turned out great somehow.”

Reiko had honestly been terrified about bringing Mari into a world with so many dangers. She’d considered getting rid of the pregnancy at first. She didn’t want her child to go through the same things she did. She didn’t want to be responsible for a little life, one that could be so easily snuffed out, one that would constantly be in peril just by virtue of having Reiko as a mother. She didn’t want to fail Mari the way she’d been failed, hurt her the way she’d been hurt.

But in the end, she’d decided she could face it with him by her side. And now that he was gone, all she had left of him was in Mari, a child so much more than the sum of their parts, someone so unique and beautiful and miraculous.

She could have made a different choice. Maybe it was unfair she'd saddled Mari with this one. But Reiko knew she'd do anything to protect her now. She’d do anything to give her a better life.

“I think you’re the type,” Souko said, interrupting her train of thought. When Reiko looked at her, she quickly looked away, tugging on her earlobe nervously, It was very unfair that even Souko’s ears were pretty, so delicate and petal-like. “When we were younger, you were always so patient, kind, protective…it’s not like a “mom” has to be one type anyway. And I know she’s turning out great because of you.”

Why was Reiko’s throat tightening? Souko was just flattering her. She kept her voice light. “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just who she is. She doesn’t take after me at all.”

And Reiko was grateful for that every day. Mari had so little in common with her. She was sweet and well behaved, her eyes were a warm brown with no strange slit pupils that would invite mockery from other children, and most importantly, Reiko was almost completely certain Mari couldn’t see yokai. When an oni had stared creepily at her while she was playing in the park, Mari had just kept happily running around while Reiko intimidated it into leaving. She’d been completely unbothered by the creature with the chalky skin, stringy hair, and blackened fangs that had lurked in their previous home before Reiko exorcised it. No matter what the yokai did, Mari just never reacted, her eyes never followed them, and fear never touched her. Reiko had almost cried in happiness when she realized.

As far as Reiko knew, people who had the sight usually had it from birth, so she was very hopeful Mari would never develop it. She hoped this meant the curse would stop with her. That Mari would be able to live a normal, happy life and that if Mari had children, they would be able to live normally, and so would her children’s children…

It was more likely that the sight had skipped a generation, though. It had with Reiko’s father. If Mari had a kid, they’d probably be screwed. But, at the very least, Reiko could teach her daughter to accept people who saw yokai. She could spare her potential grandchild a little suffering that way.

“I see you in her though. She’s got that look in her eye. Like she could take on the world.” Souko seemed entranced with Mari and Mari didn’t shy away from her gaze. She lifted her menu up and said “Flower!” pointing to an incomprehensible scribble.

“It is!” Souko said, clapping her hands as if Mari had presented her with the Mona Lisa.

“I like flower,” Mari said proudly.

“I can make you another one! Do you want a flower?” Souko said with a sly smile.

“Yes!” Mari squeaked, nodding her head.

Souko grabbed a napkin and started folding it quickly, her fingers moving impossibly fast. Then she presented the origami flower to Mari.

The kid's little face when slack with awe. She took the paper flower with her chubby hands, surprisingly careful as she held it.

The joy on Mari’s face warmed Reiko, and she laughed. “Wow. She usually isn't a fan of new people, but I guess you're the exception.”

She smirked, cupping her chin in her hands and studying the faint dusting of freckles on Souko's nose. “So you still like flowers?”

That field of blue flashed in her mind’s eye, and unfulfilled desire flickered.

A silky lank of hair fell over Souko’s eye as she grinned at Reiko. “Yes. I can’t garden while living on-campus, though.” Her smile turned to a frown.

“An elite school like that doesn't have a garden? Must be hard,” Reiko replied, her words coming out sharper than she’d meant them. Souko flinched.

Great, now things were awkward and annoying. For some reason, she felt the need to smooth it over. “I bet you’re doing great over there, though. You were always smart.”

“You are too,” Souko said softly.

“Yeah?” Reiko couldn’t hide the irritation in her voice. “Where’d you get that one? I know I’m not as smart as you, so you don’t need to pretend that I am.”

“You beat me at kakuro,” Souko said, sounding slightly pissed off herself. “And shiratori. And crosswords—"

“Those aren’t real skills,” Reiko snapped.

“Japanese and Math aren’t real skills? That’s exactly the kind of thing that gets you into a university—”

“Do I look like someone who can go to university?” Reiko snapped.

Souko paled, ducking her head and twisting her shirt in her hands. “Sorry.”

Reiko bit the inside of her cheek. What was she doing? She was usually so good at remaining calm and impassive, but Souko was just…bringing all this emotion out in her.

She laughed, trying to soothe Souko, but it just sounded harsh and cold. “I’m more suited to working. I’ve got a munchkin to take care of, after all.” Mari was still scribbling away, Souko’s flower on her lap.

“What kind of work?” Souko asked and Reiko could tell she was making an effort to keep her voice steady.

“Odd jobs, mostly. I work as a waitress part time, I do some yard work for random old people, some repair work, that kind of thing.”

To her surprise, Souko snickered, her face gaining some color again.

“What?”

“I want to see you as a waitress.”

“I’m not bad at it, if that’s what you’re hoping for. The boss tells me I have a great customer service smile.”

“You do,” Souko agreed, and Reiko wanted to get irritated at the subtle call out of her fake smile, but the playful real one on Souko’s face mollified her. “I just know you'd be...I mean, I think it'd be cute.”

Souko looked up through her eyelashes at Reiko, ears pink, her tongue slowly skimming her teeth.

Reiko was socially inept , but she wasn’t oblivious. She recognized the way Souko had been looking at her this whole meal. He’d looked at Reiko like that too, once upon a time. Souko’s gaze was blissful and rapt. She’d catch herself when she stared too long, blinking quickly and biting her lip. Sometimes she glanced like what whatever she was seeing was too blinding to look at.

And Reiko found she didn’t mind. That Souko’s gaze made her shiver. That it made a hunger she didn’t know she still had roil inside her.

“Are you checking me out, Souko?” she teased.

Souko paled. She slammed herself back against the booth, startling Mari. Her mouth opened and closed worldlessly, her eyes wild.

Ah, right, Souko’d probably had some bad experiences with girls who’d noticed she was checking them out. She wasn’t a social pariah, like Reiko. Being hated and threatened wasn’t the default. She had something to lose.

“Because I think that means I’m allowed to check you out back.” Reiko gave her best mischievous smile, eyes traveling down Souko, drinking in her sunkissed skin, the graceful curve of her neck, the way her chest was heaving…

Souko’s lips parted slightly. Then they curved into a devilish grin. She leaned forward.

“You know,” she whispered, her breath tickling Reiko's ear. “I still like games, Reiko. And there’s this one I always win.”

Heat shot up Reiko’s neck.

Oh, what the hell. Just for tonight.

And that was how what was supposed to be one dinner had ended with Souko and Reiko panting and naked on the floor of her shitty apartment, while Mari slept in the other room.

“Wow,” Reiko said, laying back on the futon. She was sweaty, ecstatic and utterly spent. “You’re really good at this.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Souko snorted.

“How was I supposed to know you were so talented?” Reiko laughed. "I probably wasn’t any good though. It was my first time with a woman.”

“It’s not talent, it’s experience,” Souko said with an eye roll.

“Oh, is it now? I see college is very educational.”

“Shut up,” Souko giggled, swatting at her arm. “Anyway, you were great for your first time.”

Reiko kept her grin fixed on, ignoring the weird twinge inside her. It wasn’t jealousy really…but she knew those college girls must have offered Souko something better than sex on the floor of a dingy apartment with peeling wallpaper and a weird sour smell. Souko could make love to those girls without worrying about waking a toddler, or enduring the sounds of a drunken shouting match next door. Souko could walk side by side with those girls with her head held high, because those girls had a future.

Snap out of it. So what? Who cares?

Reiko and Souko had gotten it out of their systems now. It had been fun. Probably way more fun for Reiko than Souko, but she’d still touched Reiko with a tenderness Reiko hadn’t felt since…well, in a while. She’d thought she’d never feel that again, but she had, and that was something to be grateful for. Now Souko could go back to those college girls, and Reiko would go back to her life. They could both move on and nobody would get hurt.

But then Souko interrupted her thoughts. “If you want to, um, refine your skills though, I’m happy to help you practice. Anytime.” She was twirling her fluffy hair around her finger, eyes lowered, her face glowing like the setting sun.

What the hell? Why would Souko want more mediocre sex with a poor single mom? What was wrong with her? Well, she’d always been kind. The kind of sap who probably still felt lingering guilt over that ancient comment. She was just pitying her.

Reiko’s fingers dug into the covers, her mouth pressed in a hard line. This had been a mistake. She’d known that from the beginning, and she’d still done it, like a naïve idiot. What was she, a kid?

“It’s late,” she snapped. “Since the trains aren’t running, you’re welcome to spend the night here. I have to leave for work pretty early in the morning. I won’t wake you, but Mari probably will. But if you want to sleep in, I’ll just leave the key on the counter. Lock the door behind you and put it under the plant when you leave.”

She laid down and pulled up her covers, her back to Souko. She closed her eyes, glad she couldn’t see her face. There was a long silence.

Then Souko spoke in an emotionless voice. “I can leave when you leave, I’m a pretty early riser. Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Yeah. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The futon barely had enough room for two, so Reiko had to ignore the heat of Souko’s body pressed against hers, ignore how it made her heart race.

This is for the best. It’s good to end it now. Because if she didn’t, Souko would eventually see the real Reiko and be disappointed and scared and disgusted. No, instead of wasting Souko’s time, Reiko would say goodbye on her own terms, just like she always did.

The ring of Reiko’s alarm clock woke her up. She yawned, feeling empty and achey and like she’d barely slept. Then, with a jolt, she realized Mari hadn’t woken her up. She bolted upright. Was something wrong, was she—

But no, Mari was at the low table, wiggling and giggling as Souko made airplane noises, ready to crash-land a spoonful of miso soup inside Mari’s mouth.

“…Hey,” Reiko said, not quite knowing how to react to this.

Souko gave Reiko a sheepish look. “Sorry, I might have overstepped. I wanted to leave some breakfast for you, as thanks for letting me stay.” She gestured at the little meal of miso soup, rice and tofu on the other side of the low table. “Then she woke up and started fussing, and you were sleeping pretty deeply., so I thought I’d let her have breakfast with me. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Reiko said tightly. She ran her fingers through the mess of her hair. Mari was bouncing up and down, enamored with Souko as always.

“You know,” Reiko muttered. “I’ve never seen Mari like someone this much other than…” Other than her dad. There was stab in her chest, a feeling she didn’t have time for. Souko had no right to remind her of these things. No right.

She silently got up and got ready for work. Once she was dressed, she shuffled out of the closet sized bathroom and found Souko putting her coat on while Mari happily shoved handfuls of rice into her gullet.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” Reiko said, realizing she’d forgotten to say it before, and feeling kind of shitty about that. “Uh, do you need to be walked to the bus or—”

Souko smiled stiffly at her. “I’m fine.” She was clutching her hat in her hands, her knuckles white. “Reiko. I know I shouldn’t ask…but did I do something to hurt you?”

"What? No.”

“It’s just, you seemed upset last night.”

“I wasn’t.” Reiko looked away.

“So then why does it seem like you want me out of here as quickly as possible?”

Reiko jolted, jerking her head back towards Souko. Souko’s hands were shaking, but her jaw was jutting out, full of detemination.

Wow, she did not mince words. It shouldn’t surprise Reiko so much though, even when they were teenagers, Souko had those moments where she was weirdly direct. The way she’d grabbed Reiko’s arm and asked her name. The way she’d challenged her to a game.

“It wasn’t anything you did. I just…I just need this to be a one -time thing.”

“If you’re saying you don’t want me that way, it’s fine. I’m not offended, and we could still be friends if you—”

“It’s not that!” Reiko’s raised voice made Mari’s lip tremble, so she quickly lowered it again. “Souko, nothing’s changed since high school. I’m still violent and scary and strange, just like you and everyone else said. If any of your little college friends see you with the ratty, crazy single mom, they’ll think badly of you. Hell, your teachers will too. You don’t need to ruin your reputation because you feel guilty or something. I’ve never wanted anyone’s pity. I have Mari, and I like being on my own. I don’t need anything else. So just…go back to your fancy school where you belong.”

Souko just stared at her. Reiko was kind of horrified all of that had poured out of her mouth, but she refused to let her embarrassment show. She kept her ever reliable bland smile fixed on her face.

When Souko spoke, her voice was rough, like someone had taken a scrub-brush to her throat. “I’ve been in love with you we were kids, Reiko. I fell for you that first day we met. And I’ve never stopped thinking of you, never stopped hoping I could see you again.”

Reiko's breath hitched. She went very, very still.

“I went to Hitoyoshi to look for you once. I was that desperate to say sorry for hurting you. I asked around, and this girl started saying these awful things about you, even said she’d put some tacks in your school shoes once…and I just…lost it. I screamed at her. I slapped her. And of course I had to run like hell after that!" Souko shook her head, chuckling. "I nearly keeled over…but it felt amazing. I’d never let myself be truly angry at someone before, I’d always swallowed my all my feelings and tried to be good. But after that day, I decided to stop caring about what other people thought. You gave that to me, Reiko. So it doesn’t matter to me what anyone says about us."

She looked at Reiko fiercely, and all Reiko could do was stare back, the smile sliding off her face.

And I don't pity you," Souko went on. " I never did. All I think when I look at you now is... if I’m not careful, I might fall for you all over again.”

Reiko's just stood there, her tongue like glue, thick and useless in her mouth. Her chest was squeezing so tight that it might cave in.

Souko waited a few seconds for a reply, and then sighed. “It’s your choice to whether believe me, and it’s your choice if you want to end this. But. If you change your mind…” Souko took her steady gaze off Reiko and fiddled with the buttons of her coat. “I’m planning to study at Chestnut Park a couple blocks from here. I like to sit under the tree by the tulips. So if you want to give us a chance, or even just be friends, come any time from eight to six. If you don’t, I won’t be upset. It’s just an offer.”

Souko put her hand on the doorknob, then froze. “Oh, but if I’m not there, it’s because I’m very sick or dead or something like that, so do not assume I stood you up.

She opened the door, made to step out, but then she froze up again. “Oh, but in case I do get sick or get hit by a car…” She took a notepad and pen out of her coat pocket, scribbled something down, and slammed a paper on the table. “There. You can call my college dorm if you want, the RA will patch me through. Oh! Another thing! Don’t leave immediately if I’m not there, wait a few minutes! I could be in the bathroom. Right, that should cover it.”

Reiko just watched her as she opened the door again, wondering if she was going to stop again, but she didn’t. She waved at Mari. “Goodbye, Mari! I loved playing with you!”

“Bye Souko!!!” Mari called back, waving, and the door clicked closed.

Reiko gasped softly. She had only ever heard Mari say her name. She’d never even said the name of the landlady who babysat her while Reiko was at work in exchange for a little extra rent. But after knowing Souko for one day, Mari had learned hers. The woman was magic or something.

Whatever. Mari would forget her soon enough. All of those things Souko had said, they didn’t matter. Nothing good would happen to Souko if she got tangled up in Reiko’s life. There weren’t as many yokai here as there’d been in Hitoyoshi, but it still wasn’t safe to be around Reiko. She couldn’t protect both Souko and Mari. Souko would get caught up in something, she’d see that Natsume Reiko. And then she’d leave, just like everyone else.

It was best to keep Souko a nice memory. Just another name she could think of fondly.

I thought of you every day.

Reiko glanced at her tiny closet, where she’d boxed up the Book and buried it in a pile of junk.

I thought of her every day too, didn’t I. I’ve carried her with me for so long. It was her name I wanted to keep, hers I wished I was bound to. All this time.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. These were useless thoughts.

She picked up the piece of paper with the number on it, crumpling it. She wrenched the cabinet with the trash can open, ready to throw it away.

Mari let out a wail, nearly giving her a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?”

Mari was holding a torn origami flower with her messy little hand. It was the one Souko had made. “Broke it…broke it…” She wailed louder. “Souko!!! Souko!!!”

Reiko looked back at her hand clutching the paper. She thought, again, of the flowers she never got to show Souko. Then she sighed, and put the paper in her pocket, and went to see to Mari.

***

Sunlight dappled the woman sitting under the tree, giving her a golden glow. She read her book, hair falling in soft waves over her face, covering one eye. As she tucked the hair back into place again, a shadow fell over her. She looked up.

“Mari tore her flower. She wants you to make her a new one.”

Souko’s face split in a huge smile. “I will. I can make you one too?”

Reiko sighed and flopped down beside Souko, holding her squirming daughter in her lap. “Go ahead. You win this one."

***

Sometime later, Reiko asked Souko to teach her about origami. Then she found some blue paper and made Souko her own flower.

“Like your name,” she murmured.

Souko kissed her deeply.

Chapter 2

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Souko looked up from her menu, eyes twinkling playfully. “Is that any way to treat a customer?”

“Shut up.” Reiko groaned, tugging at the dumb little black bow tie they forced her to wear. “Why are you here.”

“I heard a really cute waitress works here. I wanted to check her out.” Souko put her chin in her hands, observing Reiko appreciatively.

“I’m spitting in your food.”

“Promise?”

My God. What happened to that prim and proper girl I found in the woods.

But Reiko couldn't help but smile a little as she turned on her heel and marched away.

Chapter 3

She knew one day she’d have to chase off a yokai in front of Souko, and she knew that was the day that Souko would leave her.

When the time came, they were in the park under their usual tree, and Souko had Mari perched on her lap. She was reading to her, and her voice was so soothing that Reiko's eyes had drifted closed. Tired from a late shift, she was almost nodding off.

Then she heard something rustle and a strange prickle went down her neck. She snapped her eyes open, and spotted the source of her unease immediately.

It was some kind of bakeneko, and it was licking its chops as it crept closer and closer to her girlfriend and her daughter.

“HEY.” Reiko called loudly, making Souko and Mari jump. The bakeneko snarled, its tail puffing up. Before it could choose fight or flight, Reiko was upon it. The bakeneko lunged forward, swiping its claws, but Reiko grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, lifting it in the air.

“Bad kitty. They’re mine, not yours.”

The bakeneko immediately seemed to realize it was outmatched. It froze, ears flat, watching her warily. She should beat it up, she knew she should. In the old days, she would have challenged it to a match and bound its name in the Book of Friends, ensuring it could never hurt Souko and Mari.

But she couldn't use the Book of Friends anymore. In Hitoyoshi, yokai had started constantly coming after her, trying to seize the Book, and steal its power. This hadn't been a big deal when she was on her own, but now she had Mari to protect. Now even someone like her couldn't throw away her life so easily. So she'd left Hitoyoshi, and vowed to keep it hidden away, out of any yokai's sight and never open it again.

On top of that, well...she kind of liked cats. It was an embarrassing weakness.

So she found herself saying, “I’ll leave some food out here for you if you promise not to eat any people.”

The cat stared at her for a second. “It has to be salmon or no deal,” it said in a scratchy voice.

God, it’s like talking to Madara. “Fine. I’ll give you salmon and I won’t kill you. You’re not getting anything better than that. Now, do you promise?

“I promise.”

Cat yokai were weirdly good about honoring their oaths, so she let it go. It slunk away into the bushes.

Then she turned back and saw Souko watching her, face tense. Resignation settled over Reiko. It had been wonderful while it lasted, but she knew it was over now.

“I’ll pick up some salmon tonight, I guess?” Souko said.

“Uh…” Reiko stared at Souko, suddenly feeling light headed. What was going on? She wasn’t even going to ask her about why she was talking to thin air?

That did sort of match up with what Reiko knew of Souko. She didn’t like to push people. But this? This was way too laid back. She didn’t know what to do. Should she say something? Should she come up with a lie? She just stood there, dizzy and useless.

“Thanks, by the way,” Souko said, tucking her hair behind her ear and lowering her eyes. “For now...and back then in the forest too.”

Static filled Reiko's brain, flooding her vision, buzzing in her ears.

What did Souko know? What did she think she knew? Had she pieced together some rumors when she was searching for Reiko as a teenager and figured it out? Souko was normal, though. Why wasn’t she frightened?

She stood there, dizzy and useless, her mind torn between a million options. She should lie. She should leave. She should tell Souko to leave. She should say something, anything.

Souko stood up, setting her book and Mari gently on the ground. She walked toward Reiko carefully, like she was trying not to startle a skittish animal. Reiko flinched back. She wanted to run. She wanted grab Mari and run far, far away.

“Reiko, it’s okay,” Souko said, holding her hands up as if to show she wasn’t a threat. “I don’t need to know. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just want to be with you.”

She reached out and took Reiko’s shaking hands in hers. How are you real? Reiko wondered to herself.

“We can act like it didn’t happen for as long as you need,” Souko murmured, rubbing gentle circles on Reiko's hand with her thumb. “Just…please. Please stay.”

And inexplicably, Reiko did just that.

Chapter 4

Souko had gotten Mari hooked on gardening. The landlady had allowed them to start a community garden on the property, and Souko had filled it up with colorful blooms in no time. Mari was ecstatic about it. She squealed when Souko tucked flowers into her dark hair, and adored any flower crowns Souko made her, wearing them like a tiny queen. She even tried to make one for Souko, with fairly disastrous results, but Souko had worn the mess proudly all the same. The little girl would quietly watch Souko putter around the soil for surprisingly long stretches of time.

Mari was going to take after Souko more than her, Reiko knew it. She was already showing a gentleness, a joy and a love for the world that Reiko could never muster.

Reiko liked to picture Mari growing up and having her own garden, maybe showing it to her own kids. She liked to imagine Souko’s kindness being passed down the generations, planted in the soil of each new garden, growing into something vibrant and strong.

Reiko started buying seeds for Souko and Mari with what little money she could spare. And one day, she saw something on one of the little packages. Her breath hitched. She picked up the packet like it was something fragile and precious.

“I want to help you grow this one,” she told Souko when she got home that night, angling the packet picture away from her. Souko’s whole face lit up.

Reiko wasn't quite as patient as Souko, but she did her best to water and tend to the plant dutifully alongside her girlfriend.

And when the trembling little bud finally, finally poked its head out of the soil, Souko squealed and hugged Reiko close.

"Just like the paper one you gave me!"

"I can't resist anything that's your color," Reiko said, kissing Souko on the cheek.

***

And then, when Reiko checked one morning and it was in full bloom, she called for excitedly for Souko to come.

“It’s beautiful,” Souko breathed, squatting down beside Reiko to see the azure petals up close.

“There was a whole field of these, near the woods where we met. I never got to show you. A couple of flowers can’t compare, but—”

Souko shook her head, her eyes bright and wet. “I think this is better.” She wiped her tears. “Because we grew it together. It’s ours.”

Mari, who’d been playing in the dirt nearby, toddled up to garden. “Pretty!” she pointed at the flowers.

Reiko held out her hand, and Souko took it.

She’d been wrong all these years ago. It was so much better when you looked at beautiful things with people you loved.

---

And there we go! My idea for this is it's up to the reader to decide if it's an au where Reiko lives (or at the very least Souko is around for both Natsume's Mom (named Mari by me) and Natsume) or you can decide it's canon compliant and they broke up or something happened.

I originally was going to write the scenario for the break up, and then an epilogue where they got back together, and an epilogue where they didn't and canon happened. But I might not do that now, because I like how this turned out. We'll see! I might add some new vignettes later, it's just fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it like I did.

#natsume's book of friends #natsume yuujinchou #natsume yūjin chō #reiko natsume #natsume reiko #souko morinaga #morinaga souko #nyanko sensei #he is mentioned exactly once #fanfic #my fanfic #i want to tag it with natsume's name because i kept clumsily alluding to him but i'll restrain myself #femslash #souko x reiko #reiko x souko #is apparently one of their ship names #reisouko #natsume's grandmas

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! I was trying to find a modern cultivation fic where wwx after a disastrous night hunt, getting a core transfer, is practically kicked out of the Jiang sect, then rescued by wen wing and her family.

The night hunt was against a horde of enemies that wwx eventually fought off but the night hunt resulted in jiang fangmeng death. Wwx was still left with a small part of his core so he could regrow it. He entered a confidential study about growing golden core after suggestion by wen qing as a solution to his housing problem. The study is taking place in gusu near the lan sect. In order to support himself, wwx tried to find a job as a talisman teacher or similar position, and was rejected after not having the right documents.

I could go on since I remember a lot of the story. By the end of the story wwx is essentially put on trial and wins the trial. This fic integrates social media with it so they're online platforms about cultivation and record boards/ leaderboards. This fic actually has two companion stories that are just expanded essentially chat reactions to the live/video that are talked about and included in this fic.

I know for a fact I had this bookmarked but I think it might have been deleted. So I was wondering if anyone had that way back machine link if one exists or if the fic still exists the ao3 link. I know for a fact there is a small blurb in front of the title talking about fighting for a cause of some sort but I don't remember what cause or what the words were

Thank you so much in advance for your help <3

Hello! Do you mean this one?

FOUND! 🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 178k, WangXian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX, caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

- Mod C

#mod c #answers #wangxian fic finder

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reigningqueenofwords · 1 year ago

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Home

Pairing: McCoy x Reader Word count: 3,778 Warning: Tiny bit of angst

Read on AO3

You sagged as you looked at the clock. Another night without so much as seeing your husband. It had been 24 hours since he’d been home, and you missed him. The amount of times you had to pack up leftovers for him was nearing a full week at this point. Other friends were packing up snacks for playdates. You were packing up food your husband would eventually just take to work, and hopefully get time to eat. At this rate, you didn’t think you’d ever have the same type of life as your friends. You really did want a family one day, or at least a dog. But co parenting anything living right now would be a disaster. You’d be doing it solo, and you worked, too!

As you went to get ready for bed, you checked your phone for the hundredth time and sighed. You had been with Leonard for a few years now, but you supposed you didn’t know what you were truly signing up for. Seeing nothing, you put your phone on silent and put it down. You had already showered so you got into bed for the night and found yourself wiping your cheeks. While you loved that he wanted to help people, you would have also liked to not feel single again.

You had gotten together his last year of residency and he was constantly showering you with attention. While you didn’t need it constantly, you now felt you were not worth a text or call. Hell, he could shoot you a damn emoji at this point and it would mean the world. The last time you had a full conversation was at least a few weeks ago. Everything else had been interrupted by a page or call. Could you do this much longer? You’d only been married just over a year and you felt like you already lost him. You hugged his pillow tightly and tried to get some rest.

Come morning, you needed a lot of coffee. You were tired, having not slept well. You were off that day, and didn’t know how to spend your time. You checked the fridge to get your creamer and your heart hurt as you saw some missing leftovers. Was Leonard here? “Leo?” You called out. When you were met with silence, you closed the door harder. He had come home and not even bothered waking you or leaving a note? You felt sick. Putting the creamer on the counter, you pulled out your phone to send him a text.

Thanks for at least taking the food I cooked you, I guess.

Part of you, a very tiny part, wondered if there was someone at work he liked so much he just had to get back. You had worried about that in the beginning since you weren’t in the same field. Your heart skipped when your phone lit up but it was only Uhura. Sniffing, you opened her text, contemplating asking to stay with her for a couple days. You tapped the table a little and decided to do that.

Hi, are you busy tonight? And tomorrow? And tomorrow night? Can I visit? You hoped you didn’t sound completely desperate but you figured she’d understand. You continued on making your coffee as you waited for her to reply.

Of course. Everything okay?

Not great. Haven’t seen my husband in a day and a half. You typed out quickly. Thank you. You sent another, looking forward to not being alone. Want me to grab some lunch on my way over?

Sure and I’ll pull out some drinks <3 Spock might pop in on his lunch break but he won’t bother us. She promised. I’ll see you in a bit.

Running a hand through your hair, you transferred your coffee from a mug to a travel mug. Once you did that you went to get ready and pack. It didn’t take you long, and just twenty minutes later, you were pulling out of your driveway. Glancing in your rearview mirror, you teared up as you watched the house you bought with Leonard get smaller. It had been such an amazing day when you got it. You had pictured a couple of little feet running around at that time, but that image was fading. Your eyes shot to your wedding ring for a split second, then back at the road.

Leonard finally came home at midnight that night, barely making it to the couch before he flopped on it and fell asleep. He had the next couple of days off and planned to rest, which is how he slept a straight ten hours. Finally getting up, he ran his hand down his face and scrunched his nose. “I need to shave.” He muttered. He shuffled to the bathroom to wake himself up, figuring you were still asleep as he didn’t smell coffee. He’d crawl into bed to hold you for a bit after.

Once he was clean and felt brand new he smiled and went to the bedroom. His smile fell when he found a perfectly made bed. He checked the time and had no idea if you told him you had plans. Walking out of your shared room, he went to the office to check the calendar. Nothing. He was starting to worry. He rushed to find his phone, hoping everything was alright. He called you as soon as he had it.

He bit his lip as he waited for you to answer, pacing a bit. His heart was hammering in his chest before he heard you pick up. “Baby?” He breathed. “You okay?”

“Leonard.” You said simply. “I’m fine. I’m with Uhura.”

“Oh.” He sighed in relief. “Glad you’re safe.” He sat down on the couch. “What time will you be home? I’ll order take ou—“ His phone beeped at him, making him pinch the bridge of his nose. “Dammit.” He mumbled.

You sighed. “Goodbye, Leonard.” Your voice cracked.

“Wait. When will you be home? I’ll see what I can do.” He said quickly.

“A couple days, probably.” You sniffed. “You probably won’t be home either way.”

“Babe...I’m sorry.” He said gently. “It’s been a killer week. I know. Maybe for my next day off we go out?”

“It’s been like this for weeks! You don’t ever have a damn day off! I haven’t seen you in three damn days !” You told him. “And you only come home for food. Which is fine but I would’ve been thrilled to be woken up by you.” You sniffled. “I don’t know anymore…” You said honestly as his phone beeped again. “I feel like the other woman. Go. Just… go.” You sighed.

Leonard opened his mouth but you hung up. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. He’d make it up to you. He had to. You were his wife, and he loved you so much. He’d have flowers sent over once you were home. It was a start, at least. Getting up, he groaned as he went to get dressed.

You stared at the wall a day later, not believing you were actually thinking of separating from your husband. Nothing felt right. You stayed, and you broke your own heart. You leave, and you break both your hearts. But you couldn’t see yourself doing this everyday. Licking your lips, you got up off the guest bed that you were using at Uhura’s and grabbed your bag. You packed up your stuff slowly, mind racing. You’d be going home to pack up as much of your life as you could, and wait until he got home to tell him you were leaving him.

You hugged Uhura tightly and thanked her for everything before leaving. She felt for you, and told her that you were always welcome there. The drive back to your house was short and you knew your mind was elsewhere. Your heart hurt, and it felt like someone was sitting on your chest.

You were almost done packing your 4th box the following day when you heard the front door open. The living room had two suitcases and a couple boxes you’d managed the day before. Today you were more numb, moving on autopilot. You sighed as you stood and put your hands on your hips as you waited. This was not going to be fun.

Finally, he walked through your bedroom door. “Babe, what’s with the boxes and suitcases?” He looked at you, brow furrowed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.” You said simply. “I’m going to stay with my sister while I look for a place.” You wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked, not believing he heard you right. “What? Leaving? For how long?” He asked, as if he thought you’d be back. “A break? I didn’t know you needed one.” He was rambling.

Licking your lips, you felt the tears really start. “For good.” It hurts like hell to say. “I’m not the love of your life, the hospital is. I’m basically a live in maid and cook at this point. And I’m not about to be a single mom.” You told him, sniffling.

He stared at you. “No. I’ll fix this.” He quickly went up to you and cupped your face but you stepped back. “Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded.

“You’re the one who left first.” You held your chin high, how? You weren’t sure. “I’m sorry, Leonard. The moving truck will be here tomorrow.” Your voice was shaky.

He looked down. “You’re sure?” He asked, voice broken. “There’s no hope for us?” He looked back at you.

You shook your head. “No. I thought things would get better, but we can’t even talk on the phone anymore without interruptions. I love that you help people, I do. I just never realized there wouldn’t be any room for me.” You hiccuped slightly from trying to hold back tears. “Which means there’s no way this can work.” There would be no little pink plus signs, no adopting a pet, no celebrating more anniversaries. Your future hopes were gone.

He deflated further. “I’m so sorry.” He said quietly. “I didn’t realize how bad it got.”

“You weren’t here enough to realize.” You told him. “We’ll worry about the paper work next week or something.” You knew that would be hell. “I do love you, Leonard.” You said softly.

“I love you so much. Please rethink this. Take as long as you need but...come back.” He begged. It killed you to hear him like this, but you knew that if you stayed...nothing would change. You’d go days without seeing him, weeks without a proper conversation, you’d sleep every night alone, you’d wake up alone, and you just couldn’t mentally handle that. And neither could your heart.

You simply nodded and looked back at your box. “I’m almost finished.” You said, hoping to end the conversation.

He bit his lip. “I’ll always be here.” He said sadly before you heard him walk out of the room.

You focused on your box, willing yourself not to cry again. When you heard the front door open and close, you took a break to hug your knees to your chest.

Kirk opened the door and his eyebrows shot up. “You look like shit.” He muttered. “What the hell happened?” He asked as he stepped aside to let Leonard in.

He sighed heavily. “We’re separating. Well, she’s divorcing me…” He sat on his couch, rubbing over his face. “She’s packing now and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” He gripped his hair in his hands. “It’s over, Jim.”

Kirk sagged slightly as he sat near his friend. “Shit, like over over?” When he nodded, he patted his back. “What brought it on?” He saw you guys as so in love. He used to tease him over how ‘grossly in love’ you two were.

“My work schedule.” Leonard looked down. “These past couple weeks have been rough and I guess that was the final straw.” He shook his head. “She pointed out that the last real conversation we had that wasn’t interrupted was weeks ago. The last time she saw me before today was over three days ago. Hell, I called her yesterday and just as I was asking about getting takeout...my phone beeped. I was worried. I got up from sleeping on the couch and went to clean up. Went into my room to a perfectly made bed, but I couldn’t remember her having plans. I called her and when I asked when she was coming home, she said a couple days. I didn’t understand. Now I do.”

Kirk hadn’t seen his friend cry often, and watching him pretty much fall apart in front of him was hard. “I’m sorry, Bones.” He said gently. He wouldn’t voice it, but he could see where you were coming from. “Any chance she just wants a break?” He was hoping for that.

He swallowed. “No.” He sighed, flopping back on the couch. “She said there’s no room for her, that the hospital is the love of my life, and that there’s no way it can work. I’m sure she mentioned something about papers next week. I’m guessing she’s serving me with divorce papers. For a divorce I don’t goddamn want.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you need. I’ll get you some water.” He stood. “I know you love your job, but can you step down or something?” He shrugged. “I don’t know how that works.” He said before getting him a glass. “Do you have a contract or something?” He handed it to him. “Because I mean, I think in your shoes I’d rather be with her and jobless than at a job miserable because my wife left me.” He wanted you guys both happy, and it’s clear that neither of you were. “I always saw you two having kids and a couple dogs or something.” Was that another reason you were leaving? You wanted a family?

Leonard drank from it and nodded. “Yeah, I thought we would. She mentioned she was basically a live in maid and cook and she wasn’t going to add single mom to that list.” He stared at the glass. “I have a contract but maybe I could talk to someone.” He sipped the water. “When I called her and she hung up I thought starting to make it up to her would be by sending flowers. That’s not gonna do anything.” He muttered.

“No.” Kirk agreed. “She needs to really see a change.” He knew you meant business if you were already halfway out the house. “And it needs to be a big one, and fast. I don’t know how fast divorces go, but if papers are going to be worked on next week…”

Leonard nodded. “The one day I have off.” He mumbled and pulled out his phone. “I’ll schedule a meeting with the boss people.” He sighed. “Not even sure what I’ll say but…” You were worth it. He let out a breath. “She loves that I help people, and that’s what I do. How can I be with the woman I love while doing what I love? It seems there’s no middle ground.”

The blonde nodded. “Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw as he thought. “I mean you can’t just cut your hours right?”

“No. I get called in.” He told him.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I don’t know which you’re willing to give up.” He said honestly. Kirk had known him for years. He was one of the most driven people he had ever met.

There was a long silence. “I’m gonna quit my job. I’ll sell the damn house, and tell her we can move wherever she wants and I’ll find a job at a place I won’t be on call.” Even if it took him time to prove it, you were worth it.

Kirk looked surprised. “Okay. As long as you’re happy. Not worth it if you hate your job and take it out on her.” He said simply. “Take the afternoon to think about the entire situation?”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He agreed, leaning back. “Thanks, Jim.”

Sitting in your sister’s guest room, boxes surrounded you. This wasn’t your home, but even your home really wasn’t your home anymore, either. You were grateful she had room, but you knew you’d have to find your own place soon. You felt like you could just sleep forever at the moment. You hadn’t taken your ring off yet and you found yourself playing with it as you laid back. You knew it was unhealthy but you pulled out your phone to look at old pictures of you and Leonard. Back when he spent time with you. The first one that came up was from six months before. He had been trying to make you a nice dinner, but you kept distracting him because of how hot he looked in the apron. The picture was him looking at you sideways, cocking an eyebrow at you, trying not to smile. Your heart hurt at the memory. Snuffing, you swiped to the next one, unaware that he was doing the same on Kirk’s couch.

It had been a few days and you were barely eating cereal, dreading calling your lawyer for the papers. You’d taken some personal time off work, which you knew couldn’t last forever. Your sister and her husband were off at work, leaving you in the completely silent house until right before dinner. You were sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace when there was a knock on the door. You sighed, figuring it was a delivery or something. You went to open it, faking a smile.

“Hi.” Leonard swallowed, holding out a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Leonard.” You said softly, taking them automatically. “Thank you...but what are you doing here?” You asked, letting him in, chewing on your lip. “I’m surprised you aren’t at work.”

He came out with it quickly. “I quit yesterday.” He said softly.

You stared at him. “You...quit?” You asked, not sure you heard him right. “The job you love more than anything? The one you basically live at?”

“I didn’t love it more than you.” He rubbed his jaw. “So I quit. It wasn’t worth it if I lost you to it.” His voice was soft. He really wanted to pull you close, but didn’t want to risk you pulling away. “And, I want to sell the house.”

You looked more surprised. “Why?” Your brain was still trying to catch up. “You love that house.”

“I do. But only with you in it.” He said simply. “I’m willing to move wherever you want. I have a list of places that I can practice at. As a regular doctor with regular hours.” He explained. “So I can be home, I can spend time with you, and I can work on proving to you that you mean more to me than anything.”

You stared at him, not knowing what to say. This was not close to what you expected to happen today.

He shuffled a bit. “Do...you need time to think about it?” He was really hoping things would go well. He honestly hoped you’d come home.

“I’m just trying to process this.” You went to put the flowers in some water, thinking it over. The fact that he quit his job spoke loudly to you. It was just something that was so shocking that it was like your brain was trying to catch up to that fact. Once you stepped back in front of him, you eyed him. “Will you hate me down the line for making you quit the job you love?” You asked softly.

“No. I’d only hate myself if I completely lost you.” He said honestly. “I could never hate you.” He offered his hand to you. “If I had to work some fast food job to prove that to you, I would.”

You bit your lip before taking his hand. “And you won’t have these hours anymore?” You asked. “No more not seeing you for days?”

“No more. I’ll have lunch breaks and evenings.” He tugged you gently, wanting to hug you. “I’ll get to sleep next to you and take you on dates.”

“I really hope these aren’t empty promises.” You looked up at him. “Please don’t say all this for things to go back to how they were.”

“I’ll prove to you everyday that I’m sorry and that I’ll do better.” He rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. “Come home. Please.” He pleaded. “We’ll find a new place for us, together.” This entire this was a huge stab to the heart for him, and a wake up call. “Even if that’s some backwoods town with 100 people. If that’s what you want, I’m there.”

You teared up again and found yourself burying your face in his chest. You gripped the back of his shirt, scared he’d disappear. He hugged you tightly, kissing your head as he kept mumbling ‘I’m sorry’s’.” He’d spend the rest of his life making this up to you. “I’ll come home.” You finally choked out. “I, uh, have a lot of boxes upstairs.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He rubbed your back. “Have you had lunch?” He asked. “Or can I take you out so we can talk about where we’d like to go?”

You nodded. “Pasta place?” It was your go to when you had hard days. It’d been that way since college. “And maybe tomorrow, when we’re home, we can cook dinner together?”

He nodded. “Sounds perfect to me, darlin’.” He said gently. “I love you so much.” He’d told Kirk the day he met you that he’d marry you one day. It was love at first sight.

“I love you.” You said softly.

Leonard carried another box into your new farmhouse, smiling as he saw you unpacking. He set it down before going to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Hi.” He said cutely. “You look so peaceful right now.”

“I am.” You set down what you were holding and turned in his arms. “This place is so beautiful.” You’d found it on accident while browsing online for a birthday present for your sister.

“More beautiful with you here.” He grinned and pecked your lips. “Like this place was made for you.”

“For us.” You smiled brightly at him, happy you had your husband back. You ran your hand through his hair, enjoying how he closed his eyes for a moment. “How about we finish getting the boxes in and cuddle for a bit?”

“Sounds perfect.” He squeezed yo

#bones x reader #mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x reader

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