#or simply think that Time would be able to neatly replace his wife with her Terminan counterpart?

[pocketramblr]

Time and the Deity

I am thinking of a land saved by a little boy, that saved a little boy.

Termina watched the stranger soothe the pains of another child gone, and gave him another song, another bit of magic. He acted to save. Termina's heroes were dead or dying, so the land gave them to the boy to strengthen him, to reforge a new living hero.

And he blossomed in this, collected such happiness, dragged the land back from the brink again and again and again, until he could save everyone. Until he and the land and the power shaped a deity, and did save everyone that had poured life into them.

And that deity is Termina too - it's people, their gratitude. Gratitude so divine it could cleanse a demon- or change a human into more.

But then the boy left Termina. And the deity is not known in Hyrule, not needed in Hyrule. The hero child isn't either.

Come back home, the god in mask calls. Come back to Termina. We need you. Why did you leave?

The child says nothing and ignores the call. He is looking for someone else. Someone that left him without a word.

But eventually, years later, he needs the god again- he puts the mask back on and draws a divine sword.

The enemies fall at his feet. And then his feet step over the bodies, moving back towards Termina. He cannot stop, he cannot turn the direction of home, the ranch, his wife and life there now- the god of Termina can move once more, and he is going back.

So the hero, no longer a child, cuts the godhood off him.

He can't put the mask back on, ever. If he does he will be whisked away to another world, and he won't come back. It's a beautiful world, Termina, one that he loves and is grateful to- but he chose to leave. After everything he has lost, he will not lose that too.

[rayshippouuchiha]

A Tobi/Naruto/Madara where Naruto is drunkenly reversed summoned to bridge the divide between the 2.

“They’re at it again,” Mito grumbles as she clutches her heavily doctored teacup, too irritated and done to bother brushing aside the tendrils of hair falling down from her buns to frame her face.

Hashirama, sake dish in hand, grunts in agreement, flinching minutely as the screaming and crashing in the Senju private training ground grows ever louder and more vicious.

He’s going to have to repair basically everything once one or both of the idiots finally get through throwing their respective tantrums.

“What’re they fighting about this time?” Mito asks.

“Honestly?” Hashirama drains his sake dish in one deep swallow.  “I’m not sure if even they know anymore.  I think it started with Tobirama saying something about going fishing and then Madara said something about Inarizushi and the next thing I know they were screaming and throwing chakra around.”

“By the Sage I wish they’d just fuck instead of resorting to this petty behavior,” Mito announces bluntly.

Hashirama just raises his now refilled dish in his wife’s direction in silent support and agreement, long used to the coarser aspects of her personality she only shows him in the privacy of their home.

There’s a moment of long, companionable silence between them, broken only by the shrieks and thundering crashes from outside.

“Wishful thinking,” Mito finally murmurs as she drains her teacup and reaches for one of Hashirama’s many sake bottles, no longer bothering to pretend.  “They’d never be able to get that close without it ending in a fight.”

“They need a babysitter,” Hashirama mutters, watching his wife down two entire bottles of sake in rapid succession without flinching.  Ah, the Uzumaki.  True wonders of the world that Clan.  He’ll be forever grateful that he married one who hadn’t felt the need to murder him in his sleep. Yet.  “A permanent one.  Thought about making it an S-class mission but there’s no one in the village who’d take it.  Or anyone besides the two of us who realistically could.”

“Babysitter indeed,” Mito scoffs as she clutches a third sake bottle to her chest.  “We need to find some idiot stubborn and strong enough to put up with both of them.  Someone who can bridg-”

Mito breaks off suddenly, sitting bolt upright from where she’d slowly begun to slump towards the table.

“Mito?” Hashirama blinks and stares at his wife who’s staring into the distance with a look of glee slowly beginning to dawn across her face.

Mito’s moving in the next second, sake bottle still clutched in one hand as the other sweeps out across the table, sending the the cups, papers, and tea setting sitting there flying across the room. Hashirama just raises his hands above his head to avoid to keep his sake from spilling and waits her out.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” Mito cackles, a truly disturbing grin splitting open her lovely face.  It reminds Hashirama of that truly painful but glorious week they’d spent in Hot Spring Country.  He still aches sometimes just thinking about it and Tobirama always looks vaguely nauseous and flees from his “perverted daydreaming expression”.

“Beloved?” Hashirama calls again.

“Go get me some of both the idiot’s blood,” Mito orders instead of answering as she pulls out the brush and ink kit she’s never without from the folds of her kimono.

“Yes dear,” Hashirama knows better than to argue.  Instead, sake dish still in hand, he ghosts out of the room and down the hall to Tobirama’s quarters.  He side steps the traps absently and makes his way towards Tobirama’s at home workdesk.  It’s the work of moments to rifle through one of the drawers and pull out two vials, both filled with blood and neatly labeled.

Madara would probably explode if he knew just how many samples of his blood, hair, and tissue Tobirama was storing.

Hashirama on the other hand is used to it by now.  Tobirama, his beloved brother, is a scientist and enjoys his experiments and research.  

When he makes it back to the sitting room it’s to find Mito balancing on one finger in the center of the table, sake bottle resting on the flat of her foot above her head as her free hand moves the brush across the wood with lightning quick but flawlessly steady motions.

Looks like he’ll have to replace this table too although he knows better than to say anything about it.

Instead he just sets the vials of blood down within her line of sight and flops back down onto one of the pillows.

“This’ll fix the little bastards,” Mito murmurs.

“You’re not banishing them to the shadow realm are you, dearest?” Hashirama feels the need to ask.  “Because we’ve talked about that.”

“Unfortunately, no, not this time,” Mito answers absently even as she switches hands smoothly, the sake bottle on her foot not even wavering.

Ah, what a woman.

“Then can I ask?” Hashirama prompts her.

“A bridge,” Mito tells him.  “If those two idiots can’t get along on their own and there’s no one in the village who can or would take them both on then I’ll simply have to find someone who can.”

Mito pushes up off of the table, body moving upright in a flurry of silk even as she catches her sake bottle absently in her free hand.  She drains it, tosses it aside, and then reaches for the vial of Madara’s blood.

She uses a finger to draw more seals with first his and then Tobirama’s blood in the center of the array.

“Someone strong enough to match them both,” Mito proclaims.  “And kind, loyal, and stubborn enough to actually bother doing it.”

“That’s a tall order,” Hashirama mutters.

“Which of course means it will probably have to be an Uzumaki,” Mito tells him as she bites down on her pinky hard enough to draw blood and adds only a single drop to one of the seals directly in the middle of the array.

“Probably the only real option from any of the Clans we know,” Hashirama agrees because it’s true.  Hashirama knows Tobirama well enough to know that’s true and Madara is an Uchiha and, well, that pretty much says it all.

Only an Uzumaki could deal with both of them at the same time.

“That should do it,” Mito announces, hands already moving through signs at a rapid pace and her chakra beginning to flare and pulse.  “Let’s meet the answer to our prayers, husband.”

Mito slams her palm into the center of the table and the room erupts into blinding light.

And then there’s only chakra.

It washes over the room like a golden wave, tinged with something that makes the hair on the back of Hashirama’s neck stand straight up.

He barely registers it when the shoji doors are practically ripped off of their tracks as Tobirama and Madara spill into the room together.

“Ow,” a voice, husky, warm, unfamiliar but obviously male, sounds out then.  “That hurt.  What’s the big idea?”

The smoke from the summons finally begins to clear and even Hashirama is taken aback by what he sees.

Sprawled out on the table in a mess of silk and spikey golden hair, is a man.

With golden skin bared by the gaping collar of the kimono tied shut with a Konoha headband, sky blue eyes that blink at all four of them in confusion, and rolling chakra that makes even Hashirama want to do a confusing mix of either cower or close his eyes and nap, he’s stunning.

“Who in the hells is this?” Madara is the first to break the silence and Hashirama’s more than a bit shocked to note the slightly breathless quality of his voice.

“I’m Naruto,” the man, Naruto, answers.  “Uzumaki Naruto.”

“Fishcake,” Tobirama murmurs, eyes not wavering from Naruto.

“Ridiculous,” Madara seems to agree.

“Maelstrom,” Naruto protests hotly, cheeks puffing out just a bit as he pushes himself up off of the table and gets directly in Madara and Tobirama’s space.  “Not fishcake!  And the only thing ridiculous is how stupid both of your hair is.”

Naruto reaches out a hand in both of their directions to yank fearlessly at their hair.

In the background Mito abruptly begins to cackle madly.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 15: Thunderous

Despite the sword in his hand, raised and pointed at another, Esredes was quite calm in the present situation.

It was just a mere lone Dragoon, which was not exactly something to take as mere even alone, but Esredes wasn’t going to let the supposed danger get to him. He had the high ground in one way he could work with- the mind.

For the Dragoon was not taking seeing the dragon it had attempted to attack shifting down into a person and drawing its sword very well.

“You’re supposed to be gone,” the Dragoon said, taking a step back with his grip on the lance tightening further. “How the hell are you still a person, heretic?!” “Ease yourself,” Esredes commanded with simplicity, as if he had any authority to do so, and slowly circled the Dragoon while keeping his sword pointed at him. “If you try to strike me again, I can go between shapes and throw you distances you could leap. How about we slow down a moment and put aside the adrenaline rushes? You might have struck first, but I am not exactly looking to kill somebody today.” “What the hells,” the Dragoon said. He did not, in fact, do anything Esredes asked, and only followed him as he circled. “I’m not here to talk to heretics.” “I wasn’t exactly searching for conversation myself either, but you came into my domain without invitation. It’s rather unavoidable at that point,” Esredes retorted. “The blood does not consume me, if you must ask. I am perfectly able to bend it to my will. It’s possible if you don’t immediately go overboard on such an aetherically charged substance, you see.” “Why are you out here.” “Just hunting the day’s supply,” Esredes said. “And what about you? What brings you out here alone without any of your comrades to attack a dragon minding its own business in uncivilized territory?” “Why don’t you ask yourself the same question, heretic?!” Esredes paused at this, staring the man down before deciding his best reaction was to pull his sword back for a moment, just a moment, and shrug. “I wasn’t looking to attack anyone but some wild beast. I don’t see how it applies. I was minding my own business, yes?” He decided to bring his sword back in a more defensive position instead of pointing it right at him. “Some heretics are better at minding their own business than others, you’ll find out. Your kind doesn’t learn that in training.” “And you expect me to buy that for a second? That you took the blood just to hunt wild animals??” “I didn’t claim that much. That’s another subject entirely. It is a curse brought upon me I did not ask to receive.” “What the hell does that mean? You took it. You poured that vile substance down your throat in a desperate grab for power.” “I think you know what it means.” Esredes said, peering into that helmet as if he could see through it to the man’s eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen it happen for yourself? I’m simply one of the lucky ones, is all.” The Dragoon was silent to that, but from the way his body tensed up, Esredes could decipher his shot in the dark had landed. “I know,” he said in a softer voice. “I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, to go through that. Whoever it was, I can only hope you were able to slaughter those responsible.” “She was my wife,” the Dragoon said. “She was out on a caravan run, you bastards attacked her and forced it down her throat. By the time the knights came, there was nothing but a monster left… And yet you’re right here, as if you hadn’t just… Why a filthy bastard like you, and not her?!” Esredes lowered his sword completely to his side and frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said. “You’re right. I am certainly less worthy than your wife. Much as I try to see otherwise, the world’s natural justice is completely misguided like that. And so that’s it since, hmm? Even all your training and the memories you relive, over and over and over again, all the dragons you kill- none of it is enough to replace the hole she left in you. None of it will ever be enough.” That would have to be it, that would be the story. When one puzzle piece came to you, the rest fit so neatly. And the way the Dragoon’s grip only seemed to further lose stability was enough confirmation for Esredes he had guessed the mark correctly. “I can hear it,” he continued. “The screaming in your own mind. You are screaming very, very loudly, and no one around hears it but you. That must be painful to listen to after a while, hmm?”

“Shut up!” The Dragoon screamed, thrusting his lance forward towards Esredes, who quickly jumped back and away from it. “Shut the HELL up, you son of a bitch! You took her away from me!” He leapt at Esredes, and Esredes raised his hand up, firing a pink beam that hit right through the Dragoon’s helmet. The man screamed again and stumbled to his knees, planting his hands in the ground and just screaming a few more times. Esredes flinched at the noise. He backed further away from the Dragoon and waited until the noise calmed down to speak. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You came too close and I had to react. It’s harmless, now that it’s wore off you’re fine. Are you okay?” “No I’m not fucking okay!” The Dragoon pulled himself to his feet and picked up his spear in one hand, staring down Esredes. “Speak any more and I will rip out your tongue!” “Look, look.” Esredes said. “I did not turn your wife. And so you haven’t answered my question. Did the knights kill the one who did?” “No,” he replied. “Everyone was gone but her.” “Hmm, hmm.” Esredes raised an arm up by his cheek, resting its elbow on top of his other arm. “Then I understand why you want to blame me. You never got true justice for such a crime. But taking shots in the dark aren’t going to bring you any closer to finding it out, yes?” He took a few steps closer to the man. “I have a proposition for you, if you would be willing to hear it out. For better and worse, I know much of the sort of heresy that happens out here. Some of it harmless, some of it downright horrible. There are groups like the one you describe hiding in deep shadows everywhere, who kidnap civilians and military for the fun of watching them turn into monsters. I was a Temple Knight once myself, before my curse was laid upon me. Yet even as a mere knight of the wilderness, seeing to justice has not left me. I want to find them, and I want to kill them. So do you. Why don’t I help you figure out who it is, so you may capture them and do as you please with them? All I ask of you in turn is to not kill me.” There were faint tear streaks visible under the helmet’s coverage by this point. Esredes observed the Dragoon a long moment, then walked over and stood in front of him, holding a hand out. “You don’t have to suffer alone,” he said. “You deserve to have peace, and to be able to grieve with closure.” “I’m not touching your hand.” The Dragoon said. “Put it away. If you’re going to claim to know anything, then you better say it now or else, heretic. I want the truth and nothing else. I am not here to give into the lies of your kind.” “Very well.” Esredes put his hand behind his back. “Sheathe your weapon and I sheathe mine, all right?” The Dragoon did as requested, and Esredes put away his sword. Now both of his hands were clasped behind his back.

“Start from the beginning and tell me what you can of what happened. Any little piece of information could be a lead…”

[lightsburnbrite]

Things We Do for Love: Part 2

(Third part to Such a Thrill and The Devil is in the Details)

As the months passed, Leon slowly started to form normalcy. His apartment resembled more of a bachelor’s pad as Karina’s personal items were removed. In an effort to get his mind off of things, it wasn’t uncommon for two or three of Leon’s friends to come and stay for weeks at a time and he genuinely appreciated the company but it didn’t replace the fact that Karina was gone. Mathea, never one to miss an opportunity, soon moved herself in and resumed her role as the doting girlfriend.

“Ha! I’ve found her.”

Leon let the basketball rebound off the floor before holding it still. Putting the net up in the living room seemed like both his best and worst idea to date. “What? Found who?”

“Karina.” Sebastian called back out. He wasn’t Leon’s official agent, but he acted in a managerial capacity in addition to being Leon’s close friend. “She’s listed on the website as the Associate Curator of European Art.”

Leon put the ball down and walked over to the sofa where Sebastian was lounging. He stopped short, trying to decide if he would feel better knowing where Karina was or if he would feel worse. “What website?”

“AGO.” Sebastian looked up from the screen at Leon. “Does Marius really not know where she is?”

Leon shook his head. “No. Their parents haven’t come out and said it but he figured they’d cut him off too if he tried to get in touch with her. What does AGO stand for?”

“Art Gallery of Ontario.” He turned his laptop towards Leon. “As in Ca-na-da, eh?”

Leon smirked at Sebastian’s over pronunciation but he couldn’t help but smile at Karina’s picture placed alongside her bio. She looked essentially the same, her hair might have been a bit longer and she had it straightened in this picture, but she looked genuinely happy. Leon knew that Karina had a “professional smile” that she used to counteract her natural inclination to frown but the smile she wore in her picture proved her to be happy and proud of this new position.

“Oh damn,”

Leon turned back to Sebastian who was on his phone now. “What now?”

“Looks like she’s got a new…” Sebastian hesitated. “Well, have a look.”

Sebastian had pulled facebook up on his phone but he didn’t know the person who’s profile it was. It was a picture of a group of six people at what looked to be an outdoor wedding reception, the bride and groom were placed in the middle with two people on either side. Karina stood to the very right, tucked neatly against the side of man who looked to be about the same age, her hand resting on his chest while his was placed low on her hip. Again, Karina smiled brightly while the man had more of a smirk and that instantly put Leon off him. He had been hoping maybe she was just the man’s plus one as a favor but then he read the caption and his heart sank.

Happy Siblings Day to these two weirdos. Loved having everyone together again at my wedding. Loved it even more that we finally got to meet baby brother’s new girlfriend who is the sweetest!

“What’s his name?” Leon looked over to Sebastian again. “Can you tell?”

Sebastian took his phone back and shrugged. “Look at the tagged names. Obviously we know Karina’s and if they are siblings then look for last names that are the same. Here we go…Cosmo is your guy. Or, I guess it’s more like her guy. Heh. What the fuck kind of name is Cosmo.”

Leon groaned but curiosity eventually got the better of him. At various points throughout the day, he was looking through multiple forms of social media belonging to a floppy haired hipster that had somehow caught Karina’s eye. He was mainly active on instagram, posting random landscapes and other seemingly artistic compositions. Leon was relieved that he didn’t see any pictures of Karina on there but when he came across a few pictures of Elsa, that was somehow worse. It had now become a serious relationship in his mind because Karina had allowed her beloved dog around this man.

Karina had effectively vanished from the face of the Earth in the 14 months since she left Leon. At first, Leon thought she had just blocked him but when she ‘liked’ one of his posts about a charity endeavor he and Joshua were working on, Leon realized she had just been silent. That initial ‘like’ broke the seal, it seemed, and just like that, she became active again. There were a few selfies and a few more pictures of Elsa but then came the pictures of Elsa and the new boyfriend. It wasn’t a blatantly obvious picture of the two of them, but he recognized the fragment of a roman numeral tattoo he had on his arm from other pictures.

While laying in bed one night, Leon was scrolling through pictures. Mathea moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, um..” Leon cleared his throat and thought of how he could explain that he was essentially stalking the new love interest of his estranged wife. “Karina has a new boyfriend.”

Mathea took his phone and looked at pictures of the two of them and sneered. “He’s got a big nose. Whatever, you’re hotter.”

It made Leon feel at least a bit better to hear her say that, but there was now way Mathea could be objective. He had decided to give Karina a call and see if she would actually answer. Karina had donated a sizable amount to his charity and calling to say thank you seemed to be a good reason. To his surprise, she answered.

“Hi Leon, what’s up?”

He instantly smiled. “Hey, Maus. I, uh, wanted to say thank you for your donation. That was really generous of you.”

“Of course.” She held the phone away and coughed. “You and Joshua are doing great things, I’m happy to help.”

“Right…” He nodded even though she wouldn’t be able to see him. He wanted to say it was good to hear her voice, that he was happy she was ok and hoped she was doing well but all of a sudden, the words came before he had the chance to stop himself. “Mathea found your wedding dress the other day. I guess I could ship it to you?”

“Oh, um, honestly, I don’t want it back. You can do what you want with it.” She hesitated. “Listen, Leon, I was thinking it’s time that we finalize things. We’re kinda in limbo right now and I think we both just need to move on. I’m going to be in Munich next week, would you be able to meet with our lawyers?”

Leon let out a sigh. She was right, but it still hurt him to hear it. “Um, yeah. We can do that.”

They sat in a meeting room around a circular table and had an unsurprisingly civil conversation.

“I see that you maintained separate accounts so that makes the division of assets somewhat more straightforward.” Leon’s lawyer shuffled some papers before addressing Karina specifically. “Will you be petitioning for spousal support, Ms. Müller?”

Karina shook her head. “No. I’m not asking for anything, I just want this to be finalized so we can move on.”

His lawyer nodded. “And you are fine with returning the ring and vacating the residence?”

“My client has already returned the ring and has maintained a residence in Toronto for the past year.” Karina’s lawyer interjected now. “We are mainly concerned with making sure that your client will not be trying to get anything from Ms. Müller.”

“I see there is a dog, was the animal obtained together-”

“Elsa belongs to Karina. I’m not contesting that.” Leon spoke up. “Any piece of artwork too, it’s all hers.”

“Ok,” Karina’s lawyer responded. “Both parties agree to part with what they entered the marriage with. Is this correct?”

“I don’t know…I guess i just feel like…” Leon sighed heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel like we’re rushing things along.”

Karina sat perfectly still in the chair next to him, straight as a pin. “Leon, we’ve been separated for over a year, it’s time for us to move on.”

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Leon sighed again and tried to wrap his mind around how their relationship had progressed to this point. “Alright. What do you need me to sign?”

Once the papers were signed and notarized, their lawyers shook hands and departed leaving Leon and Karina to sit in silence.

“Do, um…” Leon was getting frustrated with how hesitant he was feeling. “Would you want to get dinner tonight?”

Karina opened her mouth before frowning slightly. “Leon, that sounds very nice but I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s just this feels like a shitty way to close things.” He shrugged. “I thought this would be an ok way to make it up to you.”

She started to say that there was no need to make anything up to her, she held no ill will towards him but ultimately she thought better of it and simply nodded. Karina would have rather done anything else than to sit down to dinner with him but considered it one last good faith effort before moving on completely.

Leon set the reservations at the restaurant of the Charles hotel where Karina was staying. He had done so out of convenience for Karina, she knew that, but she also knew he had probably forgotten the time when they sat in the same restaurant and she confessed that she was hopelessly in love with him.

With a sigh, she pulled a simple black shirt dress from the closet and made sure it hadn’t gotten too wrinkled in travel. After deciding that her hair and makeup were fine, Karina checked at the front desk but was shown to the table despite Leon having not arrived yet.

She glanced over the menu but didn’t see anything that really jumped out at her so she let her eyes wander around the restaurant. Karina looked up towards the entrance just in time to see Leon holding the door open for Mathea who was wearing the same dress Karina wore to their wedding. Seeing the two of them walk in together caused Karina’s stomach to plummet to the floor. She saw a server pass and she held up one finger to flag him down. “I’m sorry, could I get a double vodka soda with a slice of lemon, please? Thanks.”

She stood as they were ushered to the table, avoiding any sort of eye contact as they sat down.

Leon smiled and placed a hand on her forearm. “You look great, Mausi.”

Karina smiled but more out of a desire to be polite. Mathea being there to begin with put her on edge, but the display of affection from Leon only made it worse.

Mathea didn’t pass up the opportunity to look her over from head to toe, ending her gaze with a smirk. “Do you ever wear anything with color?”

“Rarely.” Leon had to stop himself from laughing as Karina delivered the line deadpan.

Her expression turning to a sneer, Mathea would not let Karina get away with besting her. “You look like a nun only there’s the problem of your devil worship-”

“Mathea, enough.” Leon cut in now, attempting to keep a somewhat civil conversation.

“It’s nice to see you as well, Mathea.” Karina offered a kind but entirely forced smile. “A bit unexpected if I do say so, especially in that dress.”

Mathea grinned. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? I needed to have it taken in, I was practically swimming in it before!”

Leon immediately ducked his head. “Sorry, I thought you’d be bringing…sorry.”

“Bringing who?” She pressed him, curious as to who Leon would have had in mind.

He inhaled deeply. “I thought your boyfriend would have come with you.”

“Nope. Just me.” Karina forced a smile. “No boyfriend.”

“Hmm.” Mathea smiled more smugly now. “That’s a shame. Leon and I just got back from Ibiza, we had a great time together with Marius.”

“Lovely.” Karina nodded slightly, attempting not to bristle at the mention of her brother. “Glad you had fun.”

Leon went on about various events and goings on, seemingly oblivious to Mathea’s desire to agitate Karina and Karina’s subsequent distress.

“You know,” Mathea looked over to Leon and smiled fondly. “I’ve always wanted to see what you call ‘the big house’. I’ve always wondered of it really was that big.”

Leon hesitated, knowing that would be a sore spot. “No, that’s not really-”

“It's being rented, actually,” Karina hadn’t intended it to be a jab but the shocked look plastered on Mathea’s face was incredible satisfying. “About eight months ago.”

Mathea shook her head. “No, you had no right to do that without consulting us. What if we wanted to use it? I thought it would make a nice setting for a wedding.”

“A wedding…” She spoke softly and did her best not to show her irritation that Mathea was even part of this discussion. “It's my house, my estate. I discussed my thoughts with Olga and she was ready to move on as well. Apparently Marwin told her that he didn’t want me to feel weighed down by the house and should sell it if I wanted to. I thought about that but I didn't want to part with it because of my memories with Marwin there.”

It wasn't intentional, but Karina enjoyed watching Leon flinch when she mentioned wanting to hold on to her memories of Strohmann.    

“But you were married. Leon should have gotten half.” Mathea was practically scowling now. “Or spousal support.”

Leon held his hands up. “No. There is no reason for me to ask anything of Karina just because she’s worth more than I am. I’m not going to be petty or vindictive because you want a bigger place to live.”

The waiter had arrived with Karina’s drink and prepared to take their orders as well when she stopped him. “Thank you, but I think I’m actually just going to take this to my room. If you could charge their meal to my room as well?”

Slightly dumbfounded, the waiter nodded as Karina stood and raised her glass to Mathea and Leon. “Enjoy.”

Back in her room, Karina drained her glass quickly. The alcohol hit her hard on an empty stomach but it wasn’t enough to numb her yet. She grabbed the room service menu and ordered a dinner she would appreciate much more than anything at Sofia’s and a bottle of Prosecco to wash it down with.

Leon was visibly sullen for the rest of the evening which only frustrated Mathea.

“What are you so pissed about?” Mathea sat in the passenger seat and sulked.

It took Leon a minute to respond. “You could have pretended to be nice.”

“Sorry? I just figured we’re never going to like each other and we’re never going to see her again so why bother?” She reached over and rested her hand on his thigh. “Besides, we can actually talk about getting married now.”

Leon didn’t respond. He figured it would be better to wait to tell her that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get married again.

[gongju-juice]

She never lied.

This was requested by anonymous. For future reference, please follow my page and send a message for requests. I may not be able to get everyone, and I may not give you exactly what you want but please be patient and understanding mah bois.

Warnings: Psychological Instability, Angst

“Mr. Park, how are you feeling today?”

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting around the white walls of the office. Every time he visited, the same family photos and certificates hung mockingly on the wall. Once upon a time, Jinyoung was once successful. He had his degrees, his career, his woman; his heart. Those days belong in another part of his life. A life that no longer existed.

“Mr. Park?”

“I feel. . .” he paused to find the right words, “hollow. Not as empty as usual, but the hole is wider today. It burns around the edges.”

The psychiatrist lowered her head in disappointment. Ms. Kyeong-un was one of the most talented mental health physicians in Changwon City. Her accomplishments were renowned and praised in all of South Korea. But with all her fancy background and text-book knowledge, she simply couldn’t understand the complex young man. 

“Have you been doing your therapy sessions like we’ve talked about?”

“No,” he admitted, “well, yes, at first. My medicine makes my head feel weird, and every time I try to breathe like you showed me how, all I inhale is her perfume. When I go out for walks, I see the pretty cherry blossoms—cherry blossoms were her favorite, you know.”

“Do you still work at the elementary school?”

Jinyoung recalled the prior day’s events. He was supposed to take the kindergarteners out for recess on the playground. But instead of doing that, he led them to the parking lot where cars maneuvered in and out of the blue lined spaces, tires screeching on the hot asphalt. Children yelling as they came inches from death by the silver bumper of a car’s front.

“No, I was fired.”

“Fired? But why?”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t know why. I was just trying to let them have fun.”

She closed her folder and clasped her hands together. “Mr. Park, I don’t see any improvement in our sessions at all. Your progression has been stagnant for months. It’s time you take initiative.”

Jinyoung didn’t see what else he could do. Sleepless nights led to terrifying hallucinations in the morning. Those hallucinations made him do terrible things in the day. How was he supposed to know that the friendly bunny standing in the parking lot of the school was not real?

“I have an idea,” she announced. “Admittedly, it is a little unconventional and slightly discouraged, but I think it may help your case. Would you like to know what it is?”

He shrugged. She reached under her desk and pulled out a thin, iridescent card.

“I have a friend named Lee Taemin. He takes on special orders at this location. Just tell security your name, and they’ll lead you there. I sent a picture of her so he’d know what she looked like when she was. . .alive.”

“A doll?” Jinyoung chuckled mirthlessly. “And you think one of those things can help me get over my wife? The life, the sunshine of my entire existence?”

“It’s worth a try, Mr. Park.”

Sometimes, Jinyoung seriously wondered about the insanity behind people’s motives. He was crazy. He knew this and knew it well. But this woman, this doctor, was supposed to fix the cloud of despair that was his mentality. And she thought she could accomplish this by a figurine made of plastic and synthetic human flesh. Who was crazier?

The next night he arrived at the building. It was made entirely of glass, a tree in the metaphorical urban jungle that dominated first-world society. Above the gold embellished revolving doors, the name of the owner shimmered in the morning sun.

He told the clerk his name, and she brought him into an elevator and up to the top floor. The long hallway had a clear view of the city, sprawling alive and awake in the rush hour time. All of it was meaningless. None of it meant a thing if he couldn’t have his girl. He used to dream of exploring the whole world. Now he sat on his bed staring at the tv blankly. Nothing had color any more.

“Mr. Park,” Taemin called, swiveling around in his chair. He wore a dark suit, his hair neatly parted to the side and meticulously groomed. “Kyeong-un told me all about your dilemmas.”

“And you’re wasting your time. Nothing or no one could ever replace my Mina. I don’t even know why,” he sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You’re here because you want a chance. You want a chance to get rid of the pain that’s been eating away at your heart. Don’t feel bad, Mr. Park. Everyone has their mediums. Whether it be drugs or alcohol—crime or sex—you’re allowed to do whatever is you have to do.”

He pointed at the box by his desk. “Take a look inside. I won’t judge you.”

Jinyoung as he was told. A cold, robotic body with her signature long black hair and glassy brown eyes laid inside. She was even the exact height, the shape of her lips and arch of her brows all a perfect replica of the woman who used to be.

“Do enjoy,” Taemin said. And with that, Jinyoung left the building.

He set the doll down on his bed. For as much as it resembled her, he knew her eyes were not animated. Her breath, her painted smile was fake. The real Mina was six feet underneath the dirt.

Sometime, maybe it was a week or two. Jinyoung revisited the forgotten doll abandoned in her cardboard prison. He lifted her body, cradling her to his chest. 

“My girl! My darling, baby girl! How could I leave you all alone when you’ve been so cold, so lonely? I won’t ever do it again, I swear it!”

His angel was back. His life was back. 

In the mornings, he bathed her in exquisite perfumes, brushing her hair delicately with care to the nurture of every single strand. He made her tea, and together, they drank in the golden rays of the sun.

The thing is—he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t crazy. When he held her in his arms, she was real. She was smiling, she talked to him, she held his hand. Mina was alive, she wasn’t a doll. And Mina wouldn’t lie to him. She never lied to him. How could she lie about being real?

Got7 is one of my favorite Kpop groups, and Jinyoung and Jaebum are both my bias wreckers lol. (Jackson gege is my precious bias tho). 

This is a slightly altered form for what they requested, but that’s just because their idea was very grand, and I was little worried about cramming half-done work in this one-shot. I’m also not sure if I will write smut for actual (real-life) people in the future. For fictional characters it’s cowabunga and all that, but I haven’t made up my mind about actual people.

[ladyrussellsprouts]

Prologue To A Rivalry I

A Faulty Lock

Our hero and heroine learn the importance of locking doors when sharing living spaces in the ranch house at First & Co.

Kylo Ren had very few things to be thankful about in his life. However, the silence that greeted him in that moment easily topped the list. His day had been filled with the sounds of urgent demands, annoying questions and broken machinery. He didn’t need to come home to more false pleasantries in the bunkhouse at First & Co. 

Thankfully, most of the inhabitants avoided him but there were a few people who were still trying to engage in friendly banter. Kylo wasn’t here to make friends. He lived here because it was a condition under his contract with Order & Co. He was aware that it had been a ploy to keep eyes on him but it had been too amusing to watch Armitage Hux squirm at offering free housing.

Generosity was a word unfamiliar to Hux and his wife Phasma. The couple governed the farmlands at Order & Co. and the bunkhouses on the First & Co. properties with an iron fist. Those who could not abide by their rules were immediately thrown out and had to walk to town for accommodations. 

His boss could be a right bastard at times. Today had been one of those days where covering his ass had been more important than the safety of his workers. Kylo did not stand for that sort of bullshit and had said as much to the man’s face. In retaliation, Hux had insisted that Kylo’s passion for the safety of the workers should translate into personally investigating the tractor explosions within the warehouse. 

The ginger’s little mocking voice still circled Kylo’s mind as he slid off his muddy boots. Glancing at his wristwatch, he exhaled tiredly when the time glared 1:33 AM in neon green. The climb up the stairs and toward his assigned room was slow and treacherous. Awake since the crack of dawn, he wasn’t sure how he was still able to function. 

Flicking on the lights in his room, he assessed the space to make sure DJ, the live-in hacker, hadn't made off with his belongings. He stared longingly at the neatly made bed in the corner contemplating the necessity of a shower this late at night. The grime under his nails and the stench from his overalls mocked him silently. Sweat and dirt soaked through his plaid button up and stuck to him like a second skin. 

Huffing, Kylo rummaged around his closet for a clean towel. His parents hadn’t been around to teach him much but they had on more than one occasion mentioned the importance of cleanliness.

---

Rey rolled across her bed again, splaying her legs trying to cool down. For most of the night, she had flipped her pillow over hoping that one side would be cooler than the other. It didn’t last long but she was running out of options.

Given the temporary lack of screen, her window was opened as wide as she dared. She wasn’t about to wake up with insect companions in her room or God forbid, an animal companion. The window situation didn’t seem to matter though. The air was still and muggy outside. It was wishful thinking for a cool midnight breeze.

Rey cursed the stinginess of her landlady. Phasma only complied with requests outside of the housing contract when it suited her. The unanticipated heat wave in their county did not suit her so the AC would remain off until the designated Summer months. The importance of replacing Rey’s broken window screen had also fallen to the wayside as new people had moved into the bunkhouse. First, the awkward radar technician had moved in at the beginning of the month and now it was the stoic farm hand that Phasma’s husband had recently hired. The latter had caused the most gossip within the bunkhouse. 

Kyle Ron had not made an effort to meet the other people living in the bunkhouse and people had noticed. Everyone found him to be strange and standoffish, often answering questions with sarcasm or unnecessarily rude replies. She avoided him as best she could after hearing the horrifying stories from DJ and Randy but she found his use of two names very strange. Not simply Kyle or Ron but Kyle Ron. What had his parents been thinking? That name did not match the man at all. 

Rey shimmied out of her shorts and tossed it toward her laundry basket hoping the partial nudity would make some kind of difference. Groggy, she begged for the sweet relief of sleep. She had been awake since the crack of dawn finishing the decorations for the final batch of cupcakes at the bakery. Her neck, back and feet still throbbed at the memory of swirling buttercream frosting across cupcakes in the same position for hours. Her muscles begged for rest and recuperation but her mind would not cooperate. It was so hot!

At the end of her rope, Rey stumbled out of bed and grabbed the towel hanging on her closet door. She had run out of ideas but she was sure that a cool shower would be her only option to cool down tonight.

---

There was something infinitely soothing about standing under a spray of warm water. His eyes were fixated on the shower drain. The water had pooled in a disgusting brown but had cleared slowly the longer he stood under the shower spray. He felt remade, renewed. He felt like a new man. 

Kylo was probably losing his mind from the exhaustion. Who knew that a tired Kylo Ren could be so spiritual? On a sigh, he grasped the shampoo bottle almost dropping the stupid thing. Soaping the thick strands of his hair, he almost groaned as he massaged a particularly pleasurable spot on his scalp. He was passing a bar of soap from one shoulder to another when he heard a distinctly female gasp behind him. Reflexively, he turned.

In his state, Kylo Ren was not sure how to interpret what was in front of him.

Through the clear glass of the shower, he saw a woman in nothing more than a short top and undies standing at the bathroom door. A pale yellow towel lay at her feet as if it had fallen from her slack hands. Rumpled light brown locks swirled around her shoulders while hazel eyes widened in surprise. 

He was surprised to see her eyes dip slowly down his body but he found himself doing the same thing. Her top was a thin silky affair that did nothing to hide the outline of protruding nipples. One strap hung loosely from a smooth shoulder adding to her rumpled appearance. White cotton undies encased curved hips that led toward long, toned legs and dainty feet. Half of a working brain cell wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist. 

In the next moment, the hot water shut off, dosing him in ice water as if to punish him for the uncleanliness of his thoughts. The shout that came out of his mouth was inhuman as he tried to move out of the shower spray. 

---

Rey snapped out of the spell as the man before her made the most jarring sound while jerking oddly to the side of the glass cage. Self-preservation had her twisting her body around and power walking toward the safety of her room. 

Randy stepped out into the hallway. 

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he asked, “Is everything okay?” 

“I saw nothing!” Rey replied a bit too forcefully. 

His eyes widened a fraction before confusion settled in. He turned toward her looking as if he would ask more questions but Rey powered past him. 

Slamming her door shut, Rey immediately locked the door and leaned against the wooden frame. She held her breath as male voices murmured in the hallway before doors were shut quietly. The sounds of the shower continued. Scanning her room as if it had answers, she stewed in the silence trying to process what had just happened. 

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her hands over her face in embarrassment. The darkness enhanced the images of a broad muscled body twisting as rivets of water trailed down thick thighs. 

Rey groaned into her palms before stepping toward her bed. This is what she got for being distracted and sleepy. She had not asked herself why the lights were already on beneath the bathroom door or why the shower was running inside. She had just opened the door.

In truth, she had stared uncomprehendingly at shifting shoulder blades and tight gluteal muscles a little longer than necessary before she realized what was happening. The sharp gasp had been involuntary. As Kyle Ron had turned around, she had gotten an eye full on bulging biceps, a broad chest and a shredded six pack. Oh, she was a terrible person because she had looked. She had looked! 

Traitorous eyes had followed the drops of water leading between two sculpted thighs and stared. Rey made a noise, flopping onto the bed with a new wave of notification. Sleep forgotten, she buried her face in a pillow not knowing what to do with herself.

The sudden silence of water pipes shook her out of her mental scuffle. The shower was no longer running. A lead weight dropped into her stomach as the sound of what could only be the bathroom door opened. Anxiety over the coming confrontation thrummed in her veins as footsteps drew closer and closer. 

The footsteps stopped in front of her door. 

Rey wasn’t sure she was breathing as the silence dragged in the darkness. The crickets were silent as they also waited for what would happen next. 

Then, the footsteps retreated, heading toward the other side of the hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief but something drew her toward the locked door. Unlocking it slowly, she eased the door open and peaked outside into the hall. It was empty. All the adrenaline left her body in a rush. 

She was about to shut the door again when she noticed something on the ground. The towel she had forgotten in the bathroom lay in a neat fold on the ground. 

---

Part 2

This story can also be found on AO3 or FanFiction.net

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “What Grows in Winter”

Alright it’s here, the fluffiest thing I will ever be able to write for Jonsa.  A post-series arranged marriage/marriage of convenience AU.  I took a crack at it.  I tried my hand.  Please don’t shame me, lol.

What Grows in Winter

“There are too many years ahead to think of the years before.”  -  Jon and Sansa.  Through the years of a harsh winter, they tend their love.  

* * *

He weds her in winter, as Starks have done for generations.  And he is now – he well and truly is – a Stark.

Jon looks at his new bride beneath the fall of steady snow, her cheeks pink from the cold, copper hair curling in the faint light of dusk.  Sansa’s lips are cold and chapped when he kisses her, a soft press of mouths to seal the bond.

Later that night, after he’s removed the cloak he’d only just donned her with, Sansa takes his hands in hers and sets her gaze to his.

“You do not love me, Jon.”

He opens his mouth to speak but she hushes him with her fingers at his lips, fine-boned and sure.  She offers a comforting smile.  “And I do not love you.”

He looks to his boots.

“But you are my husband now, and I think there can be something of love between us, if we tend it, build it – if we let it grow.”

Jon looks back up to her, face half-hidden in the flickering shadows cast by candlelight.  “I would be good to you, Sansa, if you let me.”

Her fingers slip from his lips to cup his jaw, her head tilted in fondness.  “I believe that.  And do you believe I would be good to you?”

“You already are.”

She laughs gently, shoulders easing out some of her tension.  But then her lip is caught between her teeth, laugh silenced as quickly as it started. She looks to the bed.  “Jon, I don’t know if I can… if I’m ready to – ”

Jon links his arms around her and holds her to his chest.  “Then don’t. Not tonight.”

Sansa nuzzles her cheek against his, sighing into his embrace.  “It’s going to be a long winter,” she whispers warily, fingers curling into his tunic, “And they say in winter, nothing grows.”

One of his hands finds its way into her hair.

She is his wife now, and he is her husband, but he has no name for the kind of love between them.

Not yet.

* * *

“You miss it, don’t you?”  Sansa asks him one day, eyeing the way Jon gazes yearnfully at the snow-laden hills past the walls.

Jon glances back to his wife.  “What?”

Sansa fits her gloved palms neatly together before her, stopping beside him along the ramparts.  “The ‘true’ North, as Tormund so fondly calls it.”

Jon offers a short chuckle, lip quirking with the sound.  He doesn’t answer her.

Something catches in her chest, her heart stuttering at his pointed silence.  “If you wished to return…” she begins, not knowing exactly how to finish.

Jon heaves a steady sigh.  “My place is here.”

“But if you wished it – ”

“My place is here,” he repeats, voice firm, eyes finally meeting hers when he grabs for her hand.

Sansa nods, lips pursed tight.

She isn’t precisely sure if she believes him or not.  But he doesn’t look back over the ramparts.  He keeps his gaze fixed to hers.  He keeps his gloved palm in hers.  He keeps his thumb rubbing languidly over her knuckles, until she tugs him inside from the cold and finds that she wouldn’t have been able to finish the thought anyway.

* * *

“Ow,” Jon snaps accusingly, lurching back from the cloth Sansa places to his forehead.

She tuts reprovingly, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him back, dabbing the ointment-lined cloth along the scrape at his temple while he sits on the edge of the bed.  “Oh stop, you’re being worse than Arya.”

Hissing at the sting, Jon scowls up at her.  “Aye, well, Arya doesn’t get absolutely mauled by you, does she?”

Sansa smacks his bruising shoulder, only minutely regretfully when he winces in response.  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have challenged her to a spar.”

“It’s not like I lost, really.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, shifting in the space between his legs, leaning to the side to better view his scrape.  “It’s not like you won, either.”  It’s a playful scoff that leaves her.

Jon frowns, eyes flitting from her face.  He reaches a tentative hand to her hip, fingers bunching in the material of her skirt.  

Sansa blinks at him, hand stilled at his temple.

“You’re my wife now,” he says lowly, almost petulantly, if she thinks too long about it.  “Shouldn’t you be on my side?”  He tugs at her dress lightly, like a child craving attention.

Or perhaps just affection.

Sansa smothers her laugh with her lip caught between her teeth, straightening up and dropping the cloth to the table beside the bed.

Jon raises his brows at her when she cups his face in her hands.

She smiles down at him.  “You were very valiant, husband.”

Jon beams.

Sansa pushes his face away, smirking as she reaches for the cloth once more.  “For a play fight.”

“For a play fi – ”

His yelp of pain when she presses the cloth back to his forehead is far more satisfying than she thinks it should be.

* * *

Sansa takes her seat beside Jon at the head table easily now, as though it has always been thus.  She raises a cup to Arya across the hall, smiling when her sister reciprocates, settling into the space next to Gendry.  

Jon releases a long sigh, tearing at a piece of bread.

Raising a brow his way, Sansa catches his gaze on Arya as well.  “She’s a woman now, Jon, and she can make her own choices.”

“I’m not – ”  Jon whips his gaze to her, stops, slumps further into his chair.  He rubs a hand down his mouth and tries again. “Of course she can.”

“But?”

Jon is quiet for a long time, fingers curling around his mug.

She lets him be, takes a sip of wine, settles back along her chair and simply waits.

Jon finds his words eventually.  He always does.  And she has learned to let him.

“Does he love her?” he asks softly, frowning.

Sansa’s fingers thrum along the handle of her goblet. “Not every union is made with love.”

It isn’t an answer, she knows, not really, but it’s a truth – one she recognizes all the more clearly when she catches his look out of the corner of her eye.  She sighs once, quiet and yielding, face softening in the candlelight.  “But yes, I think he does.”

More silence – a not uncomfortable one.  And then Jon shifts in his seat, leaning toward her, weight resting over the arm of his chair when he peers at her.  “Have I been unloving, wife?”

She cannot help the smile that tugs at her lips. Sansa reaches for his jaw, tutting gently when she brushes the crumbs from his beard with a thumb.  “You are…inelegant, husband, but hardly unloving.”

He dips his head down when he chuckles, eyes glinting with humor.

Sansa feels the hot puff of his exhaled laugh against her palm just before she retracts her hand.

The warmth blossoms across her skin so quickly – fierce and unexpected – that she has to bunch her fist in her lap beneath the table.

* * *

Sansa is silent and stiff all morning long following the last meeting of the lords.  It is not the first they’ve discussed heirs.

But she is just so tired of the conversation. And she finds she’s just been too foolish all this time, to ever think being a mother would be anything more than obligatory as Queen in the North.  To think it could ever be a choice.

“Do you not want children?”

Sansa looks up from her letter, quill stilled in her grasp.  She blinks at Jon, considering.  “It was a dream of mine once,” she says carefully.

“Is it still?”

Her eyes drift to the shut window.  The ink drips from her quill, unattended.

“I think you’d make a great one, actually.”

Sansa swings her gaze back to his, brows furrowed in confusion.

Jon clears his throat.  “A mother, that is.  Not a dream.  Or, well – I mean…”  He chuckles, shifting in his seat.  “I guess you already make a great one of those, too.”

Sansa sets her quill down, rises from the table, and strides across the room to Jon in six easy steps.  She kisses him, hands cradling his cheeks, tilting his face up to hers.

His hands fit tentatively to her hips from where he’s seated.

“Thank you, Jon,” she whispers tearfully against his mouth.

She tastes his smile at the corners of his lips.

* * *

“Will you help me, Jon?”

Jon looks up at Sansa, catches her gaze reflected in her vanity mirror.  She’s sitting with her back to him, fingering the end of a long braid.

Jon pushes up from the bed and makes his way over to her.

It’s a quiet bloom of affection that branches through his chest when he pulls the first pin free, watching a tress of copper tumble down past her shoulders.  And then another.  And another. Until her sigh of relief is signal enough.  Jon stops, resting a hand along the juncture where shoulder meets neck, her undone hair cascading over his wrist.  He slides a hesitant thumb slowly up and down the bare stretch of skin.

Sansa’s shoulders stiffen beneath the touch.

Jon pauses.

When she lifts her gaze to the mirror, he’s already watching her, already waiting.

And here’s the truth of it:

That faint graze of his thumb along her skin lasts like an echo.  He feels it even now – just beneath his touch.  Her breath, her warmth, her pulse – rippling past his fingertips.  He doesn’t know how to stem the tide.

He never could.

Jon swallows tightly, eyes never leaving hers through the mirror. He chances another swipe of his thumb.  “Is this alright?”

Sansa nods mutely.

He leans lower, mouth hovering over the space where his hand rests.  Sansa’s breath hitches.  His hand slides away, his lips replacing his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

The tension leaves her shoulders, a subtle spasm lighting her skin, her fingers curling along her lap.

“And is this alright?”  His breath is a wet puff of air along her neck.

Again, she nods, but his eyes are still shut, and he cannot see her keenly anxious expression.

So in answer, her hand finds its way into his hair, and then she’s turning in her seat, and then she’s kissing him.

The echo lingers, dancing off the corners of his mind, drowning him with its unexpected fervency.

* * *

Sansa is asleep along the settee in her solar when Jon finds her.  There’s a scroll unraveling from her hand down to the floor, her cloak slipping from her form and pooling over the stone.  He rights it immediately, smoothing the fur over her shoulders.

Sansa groans in her sleep, fingers clutching at the scroll, scrunching the parchment in her grip.

“Lady,” she mumbles, a yearning sort of keen lighting her sleep-touched voice.  She nuzzles against the armrest, seeking warmth.

Jon pulls back slowly after replacing her cloak. He watches her for a moment, and then he leaves.

When she wakes, Sansa recognizes the warm tuft of fur her face is somehow buried in.  Ghost rumbles beside her, discomfited but unmoving.  Sansa opens her eyes to white, her arm linked around his neck as he lounges against the settee.

He smells like Jon, in a strange, somewhat sharp fashion – like oak and musk and soiled snow, a rich sort of tang not entirely unpleasant.  Like a grounding winter.  Like the scent of the godswood at the hour of dusk.

Sansa closes her eyes and holds Ghost close, laughing at his responding snort.

* * *

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Sansa’s hands still at the edges of his tunic. She glances back up to him, something passing over her face he can’t quite identify.

He’s watching her with dark eyes, mouth a firm line, his throat flexing as he swallows tightly.

Sansa presses into him, catching the way his breath hitches and his lips part on a ragged exhale.  She smiles secretly to herself.  She continues with his tunic, pulling it up and over his head, letting it fall from her trembling fingers.

“Sansa.”  It’s more a rumble in his chest than any breath of air that leaves him, his hands already moving for her arms, holding her to him.

“Do you want it?” she asks him, splaying a hand over his bare chest, her other snaking into his hair.

His eyes flutter closed, his chest heaving. The unconscious groan that leaves him at the flex of her fingers in his hair staggers him slightly, his hands gripping her arms even tighter.  “Aye, Sansa. Gods, but I do,” he whispers in the space between their lips.

She slides her hand up his chest, anchoring it at the nape of his neck.

He releases a sound that’s not quite relief, not quite pain, his head falling forward to brace against hers.

“But if you – ”

“Jon.”

He blinks his eyes open, stares heatedly at her.

“If you ask me what I want, I’m going to say you,” she tells him firmly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks.  “I’m always going to say you.”

Jon stares at her with unyielding tenderness, his mouth opening, but no words find air.

Sansa steps back, her hands slipping from him, and he almost yanks her back, almost drags her to him with a fierceness that scares him, before he notices her hands undoing the laces of her shift.

It falls to the floor and stays there until morning.

The echo is back.

‘Her’ it says.  Over and over.

Her, her, her.

If she asks him what he wants, he’s always going to say her.

* * *

She finds him in the rookery one evening.  He’s just let a raven to air, his hands still outstretched, eyes trailing the path the bird takes through the snow.  He turns at her entrance, faint candlelight smoothing the edges of his silhouette.  

She smiles her greeting, making her way to him.

Jon winds a hand around her waist instinctively, and Sansa finds her chest constricting.  She takes a steady breath, resting her hand along his shoulder.

He doesn’t seem to notice the way such casual intimacy still flusters her.

“Tormund is well?” she asks, choosing to ignore the thrum of something dangerous brewing between her ribs.

Jon chuckles, a dry scoff leaving him.  “As well as can be expected with that one.”

In the years before, she might have missed the affection lining his voice. In the years before, she might have misinterpreted the soft press of his fingers at the small of her back.  In the years before –

Sansa doesn’t want to think about the years before.

There has been enough blood between them, enough war in the North.  There has been enough time wasted.  Enough love squandered.

Sansa reaches up and traces the lines of his forehead in the dim light.  

Etched in every fold is a lineage of loyalty, and fierceness, and staunchness so palpable she feels it in her marrow, in her bones, lancing through her with every look he sends her way.

Jon questions her with a low hum and a piqued brow.

“You said once that your place was here.  Is that still so?”  Her fingers dip down along his cheek, gliding over his jaw, and then his nose, feathering back up along his temple.

“Sansa,” he breathes, and she knows.  She knows suddenly, but she needs him to say it.

“Is that still so?”  Her touch falters to a stop at his lips, her breathing stopping with it.

He peels her hand away and leans in, lips braced just before hers, almost – almost touching – and she thinks she can hear his smile in the dark.

“Would you allow anything else?” he chuckles against her lips.

Sansa pulls back with an indignant scoff, but he catches her wrist easily, tugging her back to him, crashing his lips against hers heatedly, his laugh gone, her scoff silenced.

My place is here, he tells her, with every brush of his lips, with every deep-seated sigh, with every flex of his fingers along her spine.

Always.

There are too many years ahead to think of the years before, Sansa reminds herself.

His hand keeps to the small of her back when he kisses her, open-mouthed and languid.

His hand keeps to her.

* * *

Jon watches Sansa from the corner of his eye. Her head’s cocked in observation, hands held at her back, taking in the sight of Arya sparring with Brienne.  A smile forms along her lips – so small he cannot discern whether it is fondness or pride.

Perhaps there is no difference when it comes to their sister.

Jon nudges the toe of his boot into the snow, alight with sudden doubt.  “Do you ever miss being siblings?”  He doesn’t know what makes him say it.

Doesn’t know how to take it back, either.

Sansa turns her gaze to him.  She’s silent for a moment, lips pursed in thought.

Jon looks around the courtyard to distract himself.

“No, I don’t.”

He looks back at her, licking his lips nervously. “Why not?”

She turns fully to him, hands slipping from behind her when she offers him a perceptive smile.  “Because then I couldn’t be your wife.”  She reaches up and straightens his cloak, brushing the snow from his shoulders.  “And I think I would miss that more.”

Jon blinks at her, lungs giving out.  And then he snakes an arm around her waist and drags her to him, kissing her boldly and unabashedly right there in the open courtyard.

* * *

Sansa sighs, staring out over the ramparts.  It’s a familiar scene – the white arcs of hills, the snow-blurred sky, the long stretch of the North winding far past their walls.

She always knew it would be a long winter. She came prepared for it.

She married her inelegant husband in the height of winter, and she would marry him again, for convenience or not.  She would marry him for her.

For Starks have long been unafraid of cold, and Jon and Sansa know how to build their own fires.

Jon announces his presence with the crunch of snow beneath his boots.

Sansa finds that building love is much like building a fire.

“They say in winter, nothing grows,” she says in greeting, gaze softening at his.

Jon’s chuckle reaches her through the gentle wind, one of his hands winding around hers, the other spreading fondly over her rounded stomach.

Smiling, he tells her, “Some things grow.”

[tarithenurse]

Agent of Hope - 14

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: (Brock Rumlow x fem!reader), Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Loads of angst and dealing with trauma. I’m won’t tag for cussing anymore, just assume that it’s there. A/N: This chapter’s been a long way coming due to GISH and getting used to working, but here you go. 

14 - Under the Skin

Logic has no place in your mind anymore. You must have lost it during the time Brock kept you prisoner. It’s not the only part of you that’s changed either. Any sudden sound scares you, especially if it comes from just the other side of the door, from the part of the world that you haven’t dared go out into. Not yet. The room is a cave where you can be safe because you are the one who can lock it as you please, meaning you can keep people out…and you do. The only one who’s given access is Natasha.

When your redhead hero is with you, things feel better. Less twisted, less grotesque. The looming shadows become peaceful rather than threatening as if, for a moment, Tasha has been able to restore your mind that otherwise makes monsters out of nothing. The horrors are still there when you close your eyes or when you look at the wounds healing under the attentive care of your saviour, and you wish the broken parts of your soul could be fixed as quickly as the rest of you. It can’t.

Waking in the night, screaming, it’s Natasha’s cool hand that wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks. Her lips that murmurs in your ear to breathe.

“It’s a nightmare. It’s not real.” She leads your hand to her chest. “Feel my heart, feel the bed you sit on…that’s real.”

Hearts synchronize. Breath calms. She’s your haven.

…   Romanoff’s PoV   …

The two redheads are breathing deeply as they leave [Y/N]’s room. Pepper’s beaming with elation at the progress they’ve witnessed, but of course Natasha can’t shake the worry. For the first time since the return to the Compound, the woman in recovery has lower the defenses enough to let in another person.

“She’s doing much better,” Pepper offers.

“Mhm.”

“And I promise to keep you updated…I’ll be there for her each day.”

Natasha knows she owes her friend a glimmer of optimism despite the turmoil. Of all the parts of her life affected by the fallout after dumping SHIELD/Hydra intel on the net, leaving [Y/N] behind for a few days is the worst. It’s inevitable, of course. The moment the former Russian became the spokesperson for the agency and the Avengers during the hearing, she knew it’d be near impossible to dodge out of any hearings and the week she’s been granted is much more than she could have hoped for. Now the time is up.

“Get Jarvis to monitor her sleep discreetly…she has nightma–“

“I know. Nightmares.” There’s nothing but kindness in Pepper’s voice. “You’ve gone over everything twice already. Now, you’ve got to get going or you’ll be late.”

Still, it’s with reluctance that Natasha grabs the few things she’s packed and heads for the car, only pausing to wave at the guys sitting in the lounge. Clint’s on the phone and Nat knows he’ll be sending greetings from the family later. Just for her. No one else knows about the wife and kids.

…

She makes it in time for the hearing although she has to change in the car – at least Stark has made sure the windows can be completely darkened, having had his own experiences with the press. And the throng of shouting and chaotic people can only follow to the sets of double doors leading into the opulent building. By the time Natasha takes her seat, she hasn’t checked the phone much more than a dozen times.

The hearing is long, exploring the history of Hydra with the help of “trustworthy” intelligent officers and historians which requires very little direct involvement from the Avenger’s side with the exception of a senators attempts to hold her responsible for events older than the redhead. Ticking away slowly, the clock marks the seconds as slowly as though they were minutes. Time comes to a near standstill while Natasha studies the people around her, then the condense water on the side of the glass as it slides onto the table to form a ring…anything but the phone that feels heavy in her pocket.

…   Rumlow’s PoV   …

“She WHAT?!” Spittle flies onto the lowly agent standing in front of Rumlow. “The order was – it –”

Words fail the man as he paces back and forth, momentarily lost to the world around him. He doesn’t give a shit that the scar grows red and throbbing when the blood rushes to his head, doesn’t give a damn if the people in the room think he’s overreacting. Firstly, it’ll be his ass on the line with the higher-ups hear about this. Secondly, even a dimwit should’ve been able to know why [Y/N  Y/L/N] could never be allowed to fall in the hands of the Avengers one more time.

Rounding on the pale and shaking agent, Brock gets up close and personal to whisper: “Either you go finish the job…or I’ll acquaint your brain with the floor.”

“Bu–“ Rather than finish the protest, the agent bites his tongue then nods and leaves.

“You,” Brock barks at another random agent, “follow and make sure he does as told.”

Rubbing the tender wreck of a face, Rumlow tries to calm down, marching out of the room with a tall man in tow. Not a word is said while the first cools down and the second polishes the monocle before replacing it with a click and folding the handkerchief neatly. Who uses that anymore? A glance over at the buzz shaven man is all Brock can muster right that moment. Handkerchief. Monocle. Bloody German.

“Zo, you are certain zis voman of yourz is gifted…but you let ze Afengers take her?”

Oh, what wouldn’t Brock give to punch the guy in the face. Preferably with a sledgehammer. “I was told to retreat and leave the cleanup to the imbeciles.”

“Many good agents vere lost ven SHIELD fell.”

“Yeah, well…they’ll be honoured.”

“Indeed. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Finally alone, Brock stomps the last of the way to his quarters and locks the door behind him.

Kicking off his boots to feel the cold concrete under the feet, he stands with eyes closed and arms hanging lose, breathing deeply as he counts under the breath.

At five thousand his eyes snap open, his gaze landing on the ceiling where pictures and notes are attached in perfect rows linked together with a few pieces of strings. There’s an overwhelming amount of photos featuring the same face over the span of several years, most of them taken without the subjects knowledge to capture the soft smile or the tongue escaping from behind the lips due to concentration. And the eyes blazing with a tenacious stubbornness that kept her from breaking during the time they last were together. [Y/N], how could I not end you? It was close alright, but each time he thought she’d reached the point some hidden source of resistance would well up.

After so long, it only makes sense Brock’s superiors wanted him off the case and on to something that could wield results and he’d been fine signing off on her death warrant. Or so he’d claimed. But his ex isn’t dead and his soul screams to the deepest pit in Hell with agony at the thought that she’s with someone else rather than him.

…   Romanoff’s PoV   …

Several texts are waiting, and one voicemail from Clint. He’d called Laura just as Natasha had suspected, asking for any sort of advice the sensible woman could give them. Naturally, the Mrs. Barton repeats the same things they already know.

“Miss Romanoff,” a drawling voice calls out, “care to explain where you’re going?”

Dark-red hair bounces as she pins the senator with a cold stare. “The hearing has been adjourned for the day and I intend to do exactly as I’ve been asked…hole up and wait for the session tomorrow.” She considers adding some less diplomatic words but thinks better of it.

Walking down the hallways, the glow of the phone in Natasha’s hand helps ward some curious people off while the rest get the point with a glare. Pepper. Cap. Automated messages from Jarvis. None of them are from [Y/N], and the woman can’t help the heavy knot of worry that’s growing in the stomach though nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. It’s gonna be a long night, she sighs, putting the phone away.

…   Reader’s PoV   …

It’s just not the same. Even if you try all the mindfulness and meditation techniques you can think off, your heart keeps racing and you can’t sit still. Turning the restlessness into intense training (as much as it’s possible in the little room without any equipment) has barely made any difference except that you’re now sweaty and weak.

You step into the shower on shaky legs, carefully avoiding to look at the reflection in the mirror and glass door. Eyes fixated on the tiles a foot above your head, you stand under the warm water, allowing it to flush away the dirt from a long day spent on your own.

Well not entirely alone because Pepper had stopped by both with the most delicious meals anyone else could want (but not you) and simply for the company. It’s a bit better than no one, but eventually the oppressing worry radiating from the kind woman became to much and you pretended to be tired only so she would leave.

Reaching for the soap, the bright scars on your hands and arms come into view causing you to freeze mid-motion. The wounds are healing well, and Natasha is confident that the barely will be anything left to see thanks to Dr. Cho’s prescribed treatment. It’s not even the scars that bother you the most. Under the healing skin are parts that still are broken and you’ve no idea how to put it all back together. Pieces of you seem to be missing, others have been graffitied on to the point that you don’t recognize it. The scars? They are the reminders, together with the fading bruises, and the thinness of your body. You know the changes all too well even if you haven’t dared look at yourself because you couldn’t keep your minds blank as Brock did what he did. You felt it all. Felt it and hated it, and now you hate what he’s left you…but it’s all you got, and an ember of stubbornness tells you to grow strong and rub his face in it.

[megalony]

I do love you- Part 4

Another part to my newest Roger Taylor series which I hope everyone is enjoying.

Taglist: @marshmallowmae  @langdonzvoid  @mcrmarvelloki  @butlegendsneverdie  @jennyggggrrr  @reedusteinrambles

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning his head to the left Roger smiled warmly at the little girl sitting in the middle of the bed, trying to neatly set Roger's things into a line on the bed for him. Her tongue pressing between her lips as she looked at his possessions in such concentration he had to bite back a laugh.

He had been very nervous when he sat Rosie down a few days ago to tell her that he was going to start packing his things up to move. Promising she would be fine to come and stay with him whenever she wanted and reassuring her that he would come round lots to see her and take her out for the day. She was only five so Roger wasn't sure whether she would start bursting into tears or even understand that her parents were splitting up. But when he told her he was moving she seemed rather okay with the notion that she would be staying with him some nights of the week and he would still be coming home to visit her. She hadn't cried which had made him feel such a swell of relief he hadn't experienced before. Rosie didn't seem too bothered by Roger moving out although she was a bit upset that he wouldn't be home every day with her which was as to be expected really.

Roger would have stayed for a while longer if (Y/n) wasn't ill and in hospital, he would have eased his way out of the house to make it easier for Rosie rather than starting to pack everything now and leave. But he couldn't slowly transition away from home when things were like this. He and his wife weren't on the best speaking terms at the moment and (Y/n) was getting worse rather than better like they first thought. The easiest thing at the moment was for Roger to cut down the hours at the studio which the band thankfully didn't mind at all. Giving him more time to pack his stuff and move that to (Y/n)'s apartment where he could grab his and her things and spend more time with her at the hospital.

Or else when she was eventually able to leave the hospital it would mean carting everything about and putting into the apartment when right now it was vacant and able for Roger to stuff everything in before helping her reorganise again.

"You alright princess?" Roger questioned, looking over to her as he started packing his overnight bag for the hospital. Another slightly larger bag resting on the bed that held the rest of his clothes. Most of his things seemed to be from his rather extensive wardrobe.

"Can I have this one?" Reaching over Rosie held up one of the photos that Roger had kept on his bedside table or in one of the draws. He had already argued with his wife before which led to him snatching many of the photos from the walls and stuffing them into a box that he took to the apartment. Not willing to leave his memories behind. He had taken all of the pictures he kept of the band through the years and the framed awards they had gotten but his wife didn't seem to want him to have that many of their personal ones. Roger went around the house taking ones from the wall that were of him and Rosie or just Rosie. But the ones on his bedside table and in the draws were ones he wasn't leaving behind.

Looking at the one she was holding up Roger smiled, the memory passing before his eyes. The frame containing a photo of the pair of them sitting behind his drum kit, a proud smile on Roger's face as Rosie was attempting to play the drums.

"Of course, baby. You can have whatever photos you want- except that one." Reaching over quickly Roger grabbed one of the slightly larger frames that held his favourite photo he couldn't part with. The one that showed him cradling a newborn Rosie in the hospital. Roger couldn't leave that memory behind, it was one of his best memories and he had fallen in love with that photo the moment it had been developed.

Smiling up at him Rosie held the photo frame to her chest, knowing there was something about that photo in particular that she loved.

"Where are you going to, daddy?"

Quickly stuffing the photo and the few others Rosie had lined up for him into the other larger bag next to him Roger smiled at her. Moving so he was sitting on the edge of the bed before picking Rosie up and setting her down on his lap, his arms wrapping around her middle holding her to his chest. Smiling when she nuzzled herself into his chest, still holding the photo of them both in her small hands.

"I'm going to stay with auntie (Y/n) when she's feeling better. When she's back home you can come and stay with us whenever you want, baby." With (Y/n) being one of Roger's best and closest friends, she had been in Rosie's life from the beginning. The little girl doted on her and vice versa which made Roger more relaxed knowing that Rosie would feel comfortable coming to stay with them since she had known (Y/n) all her life.

"Why isn't she well?" Pressing his lips to the top of her head Roger took a moment to think. He was desperate to tell Rosie that she was going to be a big sister but at the same time with (Y/n) not being well it increased the risk of something happening to the baby. He didn't want to get Rosie's or his own hopes up if everything came crashing down around them.

"Because... we're having a baby, but her and the baby are sick at the moment so she needs to stay in the hospital for a while." Roger would take his chances. If anything were to go wrong or happen to the baby it wouldn't be as if Roger would simply not tell Rosie he had another child. He wouldn't hide that from her or anyone else so telling her now didn't really change very much. If he didn't tell her and everything was fine with the baby she would be a bit confused that the baby seemed to just appear without her knowing about it beforehand. He didn't want to lie to her.

"You having a baby with auntie (Y/n)?" Setting the picture in her hands down on the bed Rosie leaned back against Roger's arm so she could look up at him. Confusion written all over her beautiful features that held resemblance to Roger. Her eyes wide with curiosity as she waited for him to explain. She had friends at school who had siblings so she was clearly going to be confused that it wasn't her mum having the baby but someone else.

"Yeah, that's why I'm going to stay with her. I don't love you any less though, remember that." Roger wouldn't be able to live with himself if Rosie ever thought he was trying to replace her or that he didn't want her anymore because he was having another child with someone else.

"So... will the baby be my sister?" A smile started to replace the confusion written over her features at the thought of having a younger sister to play with. The fact that they weren't going to share the same mum not really crossing Rosie's little mind, only caring that she was going to have a sibling if everything turned out alright which Roger was begging for it to. Smiling down at her Roger leaned to press a kiss to her temple before gently moving her so she was sitting back in the middle of the bed. Standing so he could start to pack everything knowing they could talk whilst they worked.

"You might have a brother, but yes they'll be your baby brother or sister. You'll just have a different mum is all." Roger responded, smiling at the look of excitement on her face as she nodded, clapping her hands at the news. Watching Roger begin to pack his bag, putting the last few items such as a few watches, nick nacks and books that he had kept scattered around the room. Placing his glasses into his overnight bag knowing he didn't wear them half as much as he needed to, although his sunglasses were also prescription to help him which was enough for now.

"Can it be a girl daddy? I'd like a sister." The sudden but very polite request send Roger's heart fluttering as he chuckled.

"It might be but I'm afraid I can't choose what we'll have sweetheart, sorry. It doesn't work like that, we'll just have to wait and find out." With a small huff, Rosie nodded her head, upset that Roger couldn't wave a magic wand to ensure that she was going to have a sister. But it wasn't definite yet so she could still hope for a baby sister in the meantime. Roger didn't care what the gender turned out to be, he just wanted the baby and (Y/n) to be okay. "Right, I've got to go and see (Y/n) now sweetheart but I'll be back to see you tomorrow when you're home from school. Okay?"

Zipping up both bags he had packed Roger straightened up, looking to Rosie as she nodded, wanting him to stay but knowing he needed to go. Reaching out she held her arms out to him clearly asking for a hug which he obliged to instantly. Picking her up and swaying them for a moment or two.

"Can I come see auntie (Y/n) and baby soon? Please daddy?"

"We'll have to see if auntie (Y/n) is feeling better but maybe you can come visit next week." Pressing another kiss to her temple Roger gently set her down, grabbing the two bags he had packed before starting to follow Rosie out of the room. Watching as she made her way to her own room instead. "I love you, sweetheart, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Love you, daddy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A sudden trembling set in Roger's bones the moment he opened the hospital door to the room that held his best friend. His eyes widening as they locked onto her frame that sent shivers running down his spine.

(Y/n) was sitting upright on the bed, her arms wrapped around a pillow that was being pressed tightly to her chest and stomach. Her lips and nose pressed to the top of the pillow as Roger could just about make out her moving back and forth just a little though she didn't seem to realise this herself. Tears were drenching her cheeks that were blotched red like patches of ink from crying so much already. Her hand was tapping rapidly against her other arm as she seemed to be trying so hard to calm herself down which Roger guessed was because of her blood pressure.

When her eyes looked up at the sound of the door such a feeling of relief shot through her system as a sob escaped her lips at seeing it was finally the person she had been begging to walk through the door. The pillow being discarded falling onto the floor since it was no longer needed.

Carelessly slamming the door shut behind him Roger bolted over to the bed, his bag dropping from his hand to land on the floor out sight and mind for the drummer. Leaning over (Y/n) wrapped her arms around Roger's neck, her head pressing into his shoulder as his arms tightly bonded themselves around her middle. His heart hammering away against his ribs to the point every beat was beginning to hurt as he wondered what had happened whilst he had been gone. Roger admitted he was about twenty minutes later than he normally was when he arrived in the evening but he had already seen (Y/n) today. He had been by in the morning and stayed with her until later on when he went by the studio and then home to collect a few things.

"Sweetheart, what's happened?" Gently pulling back Roger tried to look at her, his stomach tensing when she tried to hide against him. "M-my liver count is up and my blood cells are breaking down... t...they want to do a C-section now."

Roger's lips pressed to the side of (Y/n)'s head as he felt the tears falling from his eyes. This couldn't be happening to them. Three days ago one of the regular blood tests (Y/n) was needing to have, came back showing that she had developed a condition that affected the blood. It caused the red blood cells to breakdown and made the proteins in the liver to rise to a bad level which was dangerous. (Y/n) had been put on yet more medication to lower the protein levels which seemed to have risen again.

It scared the couple when the nurse had told them that the only way to get rid of this condition and for the condition to be treated was for the baby to be born. Now it seemed that the baby had to be born to make sure that (Y/n) wasn't going to get any worse and that the baby would be okay.

They still had another two weeks to go until they were at 37 weeks where they would be at a safe time for them to have their baby. Having their baby now posed the risk that their baby would have complications but at the same time if both (Y/n) and the baby were at risk now it might be their only option.

"Maybe it's for the best sweetheart." Roger hated to say it and he hated to admit it to himself but this seemed to be the best thing even if it came with a lot of risks. They couldn't try and wait this out if it was making (Y/n) worse, Roger knew if her liver count went up much more she risked going into liver failure and then she and the baby would be in dead lumber. As awful as it was, having the baby now stopped all of (Y/n)'s health problems. Pre-eclampsia disappeared when the baby was born and her sudden liver count and blood problems would disappear or be able to be treated once the baby was born.

"No, Rog it's too early! I'll lose them."

Her head fell back to Roger's shoulder as he rested his hand over her own that was pressing to her stomach. (Y/n) didn't want to do this now because it wasn't safe, she felt like she was failing their baby because it was as if she was evicting the baby to save herself.

"If we don't have the baby soon I could lose both of you." Roger's tone was an octave higher than normal as he tried not to sob through his words. "It's safer this way sweetheart, you'll get better and they can look after the baby. If we wait much longer and you get worse we could still lose the baby anyway." It seemed like they were at a loss whatever they did. Having the baby now came with problems and waiting came with even more problems, there was no safe option. Just a way with fewer risks.

"They're too small they won't be able to breathe Rog-" Lifting her head (Y/n) tried to plead with Roger to see this from her point of view. Right now the baby didn't have to breathe, digest or do anything because that was (Y/n)'s job. As soon as she evicted their baby they would have to have help breathing, help digesting if their stomach wasn't developed enough, they would need constant monitoring but they could still lose their baby.

"Please, baby, listen to me. If we have the baby now, they get help, they can breathe with a ventilator, they'll get given nutrients and food and anything they need. But if we wait you'll be in danger and the baby could suffocate or worse. This is to help both of you."

Brushing his thumb over her stomach Roger leaned his forehead against her own, his eyes pleading with her on this. He couldn't sit and watch (Y/n) get worse thinking it would help their baby when it posed yet more risks to them both. His eyes fell closed as a breath of relief left his lips when a small whimper left her lips when she nodded. Feeling his hand tighten around her own as he prayed that this would work out in their favour because Roger didn't know what he would do if it didn't.

[admhawthorne]

Next Time Use the Doorbell

“It’s New Year’s Eve, Ms. Grant. Even you can and should be able to take a break for that.”

Cat pulled her glasses down enough to glare at the brightly colored superhero currently floating in through what she thought had been a locked window on the second floor of her D.C. Brownstone. “Hurry up and get inside, Supergirl. You’re letting all the warm air out.” She glanced back to her monitors, not bothering with warm welcomes. “I thought that window was locked.”

The young blonde awkwardly touched down in front Cat’s desk after pushing the window closed and fiddling with the lock for a moment. “I guess you forgot to lock I the last time you had it open?”

Cat snorted. “Three months ago? Hardly. Did you at least repair the damage?”

Supergirl glanced backward at the window and gave a little shrug. “Good as new?”

Again, Cat looked up over the tops of her glasses. “Let’s hope so.” With an overly heavy sigh, she closed the lid of her laptop and leaned back in her chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure this evening? I assume even you have some sort of party to go to or whatever it is you Millennials do for New Year’s. Hang out?”

“Well, I,” the younger woman awkwardly cleared her throat. “…yeah, I mean, yes, of course I do, but so do hundreds of other people tonight. It’s a dangerous time of the year, Ms. Grant, so I usually help my cousin and together we do extra patrols around the world to help with the worst of the issues that crop up due to New Year’s celebrations.”

The older woman huffed, reaching for the bourbon seated neatly next to her computer. “Of course you do.” Taking a contemplative sip, she eyed her surprise visitor with a critical eye. “So, are you going to tell me what brings you to the other side of the country to come see me via breaking and entering, or are we going to sit here until midnight and pretend to enjoy this stilted conversation?”

“Is it really breaking and entering if I fixed the damage? I mean, there’s no real breaking…” Supergirl trailed off, face starting to color slightly red.

“Semantics.” Cat motioned for the other woman to take a seat on the office’s sofa where she joined her a moment later. “You could’ve just rang the doorbell.”

“I didn’t want the Secret Service detail asking me why I was visiting you,” Supergirl admitted with a grimace.

“Well, that is interesting.” Cat sat her glass down on the side table and turned her body to completely face the younger blonde. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I just… It’s just that I think it might look suspicious if Supergirl was visiting the White House Press Secretary at 11:30 at night. I thought it might be better, more discreet, if I came in through the window.”

“Yes, I could see where that might cause some issues for some factions of the president’s constituency, but those are the same factions who don’t really care for me as the mouthpiece for the White House, so I doubt she’d care much if there happened to be controversy. Of course,” Cat added with just a hint of a smirk, “it would look far less suspicious if my former assistant were to come for a visit.”

Supergirl groaned at the implication. “Ms. Grant…”

“Kara, I have a top secret security clearance with an SCI. There is very little I no longer know, and what I don’t know is limited to about ten people. If you don’t think the very first thing I did after receiving my clearance was to crosscheck my instincts and confirm what I already knew about both you and your sister, then you clearly don’t know me at all.”

Kara released a long, heavy sigh as so leaned back and allowed her head to fall upon the back of the sofa. “I really should’ve realized that. I guess you know all about the DEO, then?”

“Yes, and I’m aware of the recent events surrounding it,” the older woman replied calmly as she picked her glass up to take another sip.

“Right, of course you are.” Kara sat up again and ran a hand through her hair as she considered her options. “I came here tonight because…” She grunted frustratedly. “Honestly, Ms. Grant, I’m not sure. I was truly doing patrols, but I saw your light on, and it’s been a so long since we’ve talked, and I miss our talks. You’ve always been so good at helping me work through things whenever everything started to feel like it was unraveling, and I just…”

“Feel unraveled?” Cat raised an eyebrow at the slow affirmative nod from the other woman. She finished her drink and replaced the glass on its coaster before she replied. “The DEO reports tell me that you had to shoot Mon-El into space before you could stop the invasion. I believe as a precautionary measure to protect him from being harmed?”

Kara nodded. “Yes. There was no other way.”

“And I understand that you quit your job at Catco, which we will return to shortly, but decided to return after Lena bought the company from me. Is that right?”

Again, the younger woman nodded. “Yes.”

“And now Mon-El is back and with a wife, no less?” Cat rolled her eyes. “That didn’t take long, did it?”

“Well, technically, he was away for seven years. Time travel is often complicated, and seven years is a long time,” Kara countered weakly.

Cat’s eyes rolled again, this time accompanied by a derisive snort. “Is it? I’ve literally gone without sex with another person for longer than it took that boy to find another skirt to chase, and it wasn’t because I’d lost my supposed true love to anything. I was just too busy working to bother with it.”

“Ms. Grant, it was seven…”

“Years. Yes, I read the reports.” The older woman brushed the argument off with a deft wave of her hand. “Kara, let me ask you something.” She leaned a bit forward, fully pulling in the other woman’s attention. “Do you really love him, or do you love the idea of what he could have been if he’d actually changed for himself?”

Kara shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve read the reports, and I’ve watched the videos of training sessions between the two of you. I’ve seen the DEO surveillance footage, and I know his history both before he arrived here and after he landed. I know how he treated you and some of the things he said. Nothing about any of that leads me to believe he had good intentions. What I see is someone who changed their pattern of behavior to impress the girl they wanted to bed.” Cat held her hand up to stave off the protest about to fly at her. “Kara, I’ve seen it a hundred times. People who change for another person don’t change at all. It’s a façade, a lie they perpetuate to get what they want. People who change for themselves because of some internal realization external of what anyone else may want them to do are the ones who actually change. If someone tells you they’re a better person because you’re around or because of you, if they’re only good or better when you’re present, and if they consistently demonstrate a pattern of behavior that indicate they don’t embrace what they claim they have, then can you honestly say they’ve changed or are truly on the way to changing?”

For a long time, Kara sat quietly and stared at the carpet as she honestly thought about what Cat had said while Cat simply sat and waited. With a deep breath, Kara finally answered quietly, begrudgingly, “No.”

“Well, then, I think you have your answer to most of your issues, then. Don’t you?” With a quick pat to the younger woman’s knee, Cat stood to take her glass back to the bar. “When you can find someone who changed in a positive way not because you made them a better person but because they wanted to be better based on inspiration from you, then I think you’re on the right road to finding Mr. Right. Until then, I hope Mon-whatever was at least a good lay.”

Kara quietly snorted.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Cat replied with a half-hearted sigh.

“What if,” Kara’s voice started shaky but slowly found strength, “it’s not Mr. Right I’m looking for?”

“Well, you should know I’m equal opportunity, Kara.” Cat spun around and leaned nonchalantly against the bar. “Mr. Right, Ms. Right, or Mx. Right. Whatever floats your boat so long as what’s floating it is actually supportive and not the anchor holding you in place.”

Kara stood, flipping her cape out and shaking her shoulders a little as she took a few steps toward the older woman. “You changed.”

Cat gave her a slow blink. “Well, I shifted.”

“No,” Kara replied with a soft stubbornness coloring her voice. “You changed. You said so yourself. You’ve told me more than once that I inspired you.”

“Well, that’s true, but,” Cat shifted slightly, “I told you that so you’d understand how important you are to me and the rest of the world. Self-doubt in a superhero or a reporter is an undesirable trait.”

The younger woman narrowed her eyes. “Right.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a quick moment. “I have tomorrow off. Would you like to maybe have lunch?”

“Lunch with Supergirl, superhero to the world, or lunch with Kara Danvers, ace rookie reporter?” Cat raised her eyebrows in question.

Kara rolled her eyes but smiled. “Lunch with Kara Danvers, friend of Cat Grant’s, for now.”

“For now?” The older woman quirked an eyebrow. “Brazen.” She smirked. “Lucky for you I like brazen. Swing by around 11:30. I’ll let the Secret Service know to expect you.”

The younger woman’s smile widened. “I’ll be here.” She turned to make her way back to the window. “Will you lock this behind me?”

“As if I have a choice,” Cat replied with faux annoyance. “Next time,” she called quietly after the retreating form of the superhero, “use the doorbell.”

[baekberrie]

m i s t l e t o e - bbh ❄️8❄️

Winter AU, romance, fluff, angst

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Previous

"If this will be our last christmas together, let's spend it well, okay?" The woman softly spoke, her husband nodded in agreement.

"I hope we can spend it with whole family, but you know that chance is very small, it's our fault Baekhyun moved." He said, more to himself than his wife, with a sigh he leaned against the kitchen counter, falling into deep thought again.

"We are so selfish." She blurted out, anger and regret clear in her voice as she nervously fidgeted with the fingers in her lap. The husband's head snapped up at her statement, he gave a confused stare.

"Huh?"

"Don't you actually realize?!" She snapped unwillingly sounding harsher than she had planned, as she finally met his eyes. In his gaze, she couldn't find any light, any sign of happiness. How had they ended up like this?

" We only think about ourselves while we fight. We only think about our pain and not our sons'. Because of our stupid mistakes, because of our childishness, because of our stubbornness, they suffer. Because we can't forgive each other. You know I married you for a reason, my heart belongs to you. And if you want a divorce, I would never be able to live. Things weren't supposed to end like this. We were so happy since when have we started being so selfish towards each other? Since when did we stop caring for our sons?" She said the tears stung in the waterline of her now glossy eyes, a pleading tone in her voice. She didn't want to end it.

Her husband looked at her, eyes wide with shock and realisation. His head hung down as he let the words sink in, she was right. They had let their selfishness take over, forgotten about their sons feelings to the point one of them moved out of the house.

He quietly nodded, and looked up at her wife.

"You're right, let's... Let's spend this christmas like the family we once were, let's forget our mistakes for today. And after we'll make out what our relationship is destined to." He stated, a certain determination in his voice made her heart swell up with hope as for a short moment, she saw a younger version of her husband in front of her.

                                                                                                 ***

With his hand clasped around yours, the two of you walked through various christmas markets at the park you were visiting. You had figured at it would be better to not come to Baekhyun's house empty handed. It was christmas after all, so you had insisted in making Baekhyun buy something for his family members, and so did you. You bought a champagne bottle to give his parents.

There was no need to lie, you were feeling a bit nervous. You wondered what his parents' reaction would be when they saw you, would they like you at all? Would they approve you? What you feared the most was how the atmosphere was going to be. So far you knew, Baekhyun's family members weren't in the best of terms with each other. Your brain had already started making up different scenarios about the Byun family fighting in the middle of the christmas dinner, screaming and discussions. You quickly shook the thought away.

You didn't want to be like that, you had prayed every night for Baekhyun's family to not break down, you couldn't just drop the hope like that. You were the one who gave Baekhyun a bit hope, so you should at least hold onto your wishes for his family as hard as him.

"Are you okay?" Baekhyun whispered softly into your ear, voice full with genuine concern, the way his lips had accidentally brushed against your ear had let tingles spread into your body. You exhaled heavily, and nodded your head at Baekhyun.

"Yeah." You breathed.

"Just a bit nervous." He squeezed your hand reassuringly at the statement as he gave you a soft smile.

"It's going to be okay." Baekhyun soothed sweetly, his voice soft like silk, so were his features. The smile on his face was angelic and you could feel yourself drown in his dark orbs, twinkling with your reflection. Though these words felt wrong spoken by him at the same time they eased you. But he was the one who needed reassurance, you were the one supposed to say that.

You nodded once again and teared your gaze from his, looking at your intertwined hands, admiring how well your hand fitted in his.

"It's going to be okay." You repeated quietly to yourself, feeling the big urge to also say the words yourself.

                                                                                            ***

You eyed the wooden door in front of you with slight horror, your knees weak and paler skin. You weren't supposed to feel this terrified, but you couldn't help yourself. Baekhyun was eyeing you with a concerned expression.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Baekhyun said while staking a step in front of you, covering the door out of your view, and then you were able to only concentrate on his face. His soft dark eyes, small nose, full pink lips, flushed chubby cheeks, the blonde hair perfectly swept back.

He gave you another of his blinding smiles, showing his pearly white teeth, your heart clenched at the view.

"You can take it easy, they won't eat you or anything." He chuckled as he dived his head, placing his lips on your cheek for a little peck whom didn't fail to make a rush run down your spine. You felt your insides melt at his closeness, you decided you'd be okay.

Baekhyun finally opened the front door and the two of you stepped inside. The warmth was immediately comforting your cold body. A familiar scent overwhelming you as you breathe, Baekhyun's smell was everywhere and you could only point out how nice it made you feel, how comfortable it made you feel. You let out a deep breath, realizing that you had held in your breath this whole time before entering.

"I'm home!" Baekhyun casually yelled through the hall as soon as the both of you had removed your jackets and shoes. You faced the corridor as Baekhyun's slender hands rested on your shoulders from behind, his fingers massaging your knots carefully.

"Baekhyun?" A female voice provided from further inside the house, and you could feel your heart pick up its speed, hammering loudly inside of your chest.

"Yes, it's me." He stated as he slightly pushed you forward to start walking,  as you did his hands still rested on your shoulders, and you were silently great ful that he hadn't let go, or else you would've felt lost.

The house wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either, it was a nice villa. White and pastell blue walls, decorated with photos and christmas lights. Your eye catched a few pictures of Baekhyun and his little brother, some were of the whole family smiling, a carefree expression on every face. The sight warmed your heart.

A figure approached you from what seemed to be the kitchen, a woman in a white polo neck dress who reached her ankles. Her hair was black, almost silver as it was losing its color. Her eyes were soft even with the genuinely surprised expression she on her face. Her eyes were the same as Baekhyun's and you noticed almost right away.

"What a surprise to have you here! It's nice to see you son." She then said, a sweet smile reaching her eyes at the sight of her beautiful son, whom at the moment was giving his mother a genuine fond look.

"Yeah, I figured it could be good to be here on christmas, you know, to make up." He said, voice calm and sweet as honey, the mother just nodded, the smile never leaving her face as she then turned to face you.

"And who is this lady?" She questioned, a pleasant tone in her voice as her eyes switched to Baekhyun again, full of expectation. Baekhyun's cheeks flushed slightly as he let out a cough.

"This is Y/n..My girlfriend." Baekhyun said, his voice wasn't hesitant, though you could make out that he wasn't sure if it was okay for him to claim you as you hadn't discussed it yet. But you didn't mind. The title made you feel euphoric, you could feel your heart swell up in your chest, as a sweet smile curled onto your lips.

You gave a quick bow to his mother.

"It's nice to meet you mr.s Byun." You greeted, and she did the same.

Mrs. Byun turned to Baekhyun once more, the same smile resting on her features as she spoke.

"Baekhyun, how about you go up and call Baekbeom down?" she begged and Baekhyun nodded with a kind smile, taking your hand, dragging you with him before you could react.

You took the stairs up, which lead to an are where you supposed all the bedrooms were, it was a sort of a hallway, pictures hanging neatly on each wall, 4 bedrooms. You guessed the fourth one was a guest room as they were only 3.

Baekhyun stopped in his tracks in front of a certain wooden door, a sign hanged on it with a quoted "Baekbeom's room." on it.

Your boyfriend reached out for the doorknob, though he hesitated and drew back his hand. You watched him in confusion, but realisation washed over you as his fist knocked softly on the door a few times. For some reason you were feeling nervous again. The last time you had seen Baekbeom, the scene hadn't been inviting, so you were fearing his reaction.

The doorknob twisted, screeching quietly, it opened, revealing the questioning face of his brother. When Baekbeom saw Baekhyun, shock and surprise traveled across his face. You felt a weight lift from your shoulders when you didn't find any trace of anger or dark feelings on his brother's face. Just a genuine amazed expression.

"Baekhyun? What are you-" he started, voice quiet and low, though Baekhyun cut him off with his own voice.

"Merry Christmas." He said while lifting up the little bag with a present for him. He did it so simply, yet there was a certain sincerity in his voice, a feeling of peace, whom told you that he didn't want anything but to be co with his brother. As if he forgot any bad things that had happened, because today, they didn't matter- they wouldn't matter anymore.

Baekbeom's eyes widened slightly as he eyed the bag with confusion, which he earned a chuckle from Baekhyun.

"Take it, it's for you." He smiled and shoved the bag gently into his hands.

"Fo- for me? Can I open it?" The younger one questioned, the confusion was now replaced by undeniable excitement as his cheeks flushed into a darker shade.

Baekhyun laughed as he punched Baekbeom not too hard on the arm.

"No silly, you'll open it after dinner, just like the rest of us." He said, a wide smile curling on his lips, Baekbeom scratched the back of his head a bit embarrassed though he laughed to and agreed with his brother.

"Thanks bro." He then said, giving him a quick hug and disappeared down the stairs, your heart warmed up at the scene, you knew there were hidden words behind Baekbeom's actions, and the same with Baekhyun. Though by now you could let yourself relax completely, cause you knew they had reconciled.

You looked up at Baekhyun, just to find him staring fondly at you.

"What?" You chuckled out and he shook his head, the smile never leaving his lips as his hands found yours again. You could never grow tired of the feeling of his slender fingers braid themselves through yours, carefully, yet eagerly.

He dragged you down the stairs, and you got to meet his father. The two looked extremely alike. The best way you could describe him was to tell yourself he was like an old version of Baekhyun. Maybe a liiittle different. Nevertheless his age, he had charming looks, just as his wife.

They offered you to stay for the rest of the Christmas evening, and you had gladly accepted. You lived quite far from your parents, and visiting the  this Christmas hadn't been able, so spending the holiday with Baekhyun  and his family sounded more than amazing.

For a moment you had feared an awkward tension, though it was nothing like that. The dinner was full of smiles, laughter, jokes, and conversations over any possible subject. Not once had you felt left out, but in fact, Baekhyun's parents had made sure to make you feel as welcome as ever. And they hadn't failed. You weren't going to leave soon, yet you already looked forward to the next time you would meet them and Baekhyun.

When Baekhyun had told his father that you were his girlfriend, surprise had flashed in his eyes, though it had quickly been replaced with joy as he said he was happy that his son had someone who brought him happiness.

Later on the four of you had gathered in the large living room, gifts were placed under a wonderfully decorated tree whom you couldn't stop staring at. You gave them the champagne bottles you had bought them, and they accepted it with genuine amazement and gratitude, no having  expected anything from you.

Mrs. Byun had felt bad for not having a gift for you too, with a smile you had assured her that it was okay, she couldn't had known you would've joined.

The family shared hugs, laughs, and smiles that reached their eyes. Once again you could feel your insides warm up at the wonderful view. There was such a lovely community between them. You could see the strong strings binding them together. If it wasn't for Baekhyun and Baekbeom,  you would've never guessed that this family was falling apart. But perhaps it wasn't anymore?

They all looked so genuine, and the thought about them breaking apart made a strong pain hit your gut. You shook the thought away and instead enjoyed the warming scene in front of you with an unstoppable smile.

You could feel your heart swell with happiness are their happy faces,  at Baekhyun's smile. You once more begged your God to have this family last forever. To bless them, because they deserved it more than anything.

Suddenly a tap on the shoulder woke you up from your dazed state and you flinched and Baekhyun who seemed confused with your reaction. He shrugged it off and pointed behind him with a shy smile.

"Want to see my old room?" He said, and before you knew it you were nodding.

When he opened the door you were welcomed by the strong smell of his scent, and it was so good that you almost felt dizzy of it. Baekhyun everywhere. The walls were painted with a pastell blue color, the bed was neatly made, untouched. Though there was no dust, you supposed his mother cleaned often in here.

You swirled around the room, taking in every single detail, the pictures of his childhood, medals from won competitions and much more.

"Woah." You breathed out, and Baekhyun watched you with a satisfied grin.

"Like it?" You nodded eagerly and turned to face him, grinning widely yourself.

"A lot!" You exclaimed, he nodded understandingly with a cocky smirk, full of himself, you just laughed at his childish behaviour.

"Actually Y/n, I have a gift for you." He admitted and your head immediately shot up at his statement, he laughed at your reaction, and without hesitation he closed the distance, standing face to face with you.

Slowly he picked up a black velvet box and held it up for you to examine. You felt your blood pump in your ears as they didn't really know what to expect. His fingers curled against the box's upper side, opening it for you, exposing the glittering gift.

A simple necklace, a slender chain with a floral pendant, ornated with colorful small diamond whom were glittering beautifully under the light. Your eyes sparkled at the view as you snapped up to look at Baekhyun with big eyes. Your jaw almost fell to the floor, and Baekhyun let out a pretty laugh.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me this past time. I'm truly happy to have met you this year, I can't really imagine my life without you in it anymore. I hope we can spend many more years together." He said sweetly, voice soft and slow, eyes sparkling with your reflection as he confessed honestly. All you could do at the moment was throw your arms around his neck.

By then he knew you felt the same. He stumbled back a bit before regaining his balance and eventually bring his arms around you, pressing you against him in a tight embrace, swirling you around in his arms. Laughter filling the room as you felt butterflies tickle in your inside, mixed with what people would describe as fireworks. You took in the safe feeling of having his arms around you, the smell of his perfume, how soft his hair felt when it tickled against your cheeks.

Baekhyun loosened his hold around you, placing the box on the desk further away. His gaze fixed on yours once he did. His arms were once again, steadily around your middle. Your bodies tightly pressed together.

The heartbeat was speeding up and you could feel the heat radiating from his body against yours.

Without realizing, both of you had leaned closer, your foreheads touching, his breath fanning your face, lips slightly parted, debating on how they should kiss you.

He tilted his head slightly before diving into you. His lips placed themselves on yours carefully, dangerously slow. They molded perfectly against yours. Lips moving in rhythm with each other. His sweet taste whom you could get drunk with. The softness of his lips made you want more.

Baekhyun's lips parted yours, deepening the kiss, pressing you closer, as if no matter how close you were, it would never be enough. You melted against him as you felt something warm brush against your lower lip and you opened your mouth for him once again. Your mind was blank, only Baekhyun.

After a moment you broke apart, no matter how much you would've want to keep going you still had to catch your breaths. Foreheads leaning against each other as you pant.

"I'll need to thank Kookie for pooping on my shoes. I really do."

The End. ---------------------------------------------------------

Hi angels💕 this update came a bit late, but I hope you enjoyed it. It wasn't my best story, but I hope you could enjoy your winter with it.

I hope we'll meet in my next stories whenever I'll do another one. Check my past ones if you haven't, feedback appreciated 💕💕

So did you like this story? Tell me about it!

[nosleepemily]

Flew too close to the sun...

Dream Dec 23, 2020

A young woman was recruited from a college campus through an internship program. It’s still COVID19, which is understood but seems to not exist in this casino/resort. She starts working as a greeter at in the front entrance of the resort. It looks like a ski lodge from the 1980s with floor to ceiling green carpeting. During her break she goes to the service halls near one of the kitchens to eat her sandwich. It almost looks like the hallways where the interns in Grey’s Anatomy would eat and take their breaks. It was stark, with stacks of broken chairs and other neglected furniture. A pretty standard hotel service hall. At the end of it, there was a group of three or four beautiful girls in robes. They were chit chatting and snacking on things left over on a room service cart. She was curious, but didn’t approach them or ask anyone. She wasn’t really interested in knowing anything about her coworkers, if that’s what they were.

She finishes her break and goes back to the front. At this point she is wearing a badge that has a red lanyard.

The next day, she comes to work and a manager type approaches her and tells her to head to a different entrance. She notices when she gets to the entrance that it is mostly men and presumably their bodyguards. At this point it’s understood that questions would be unwelcomed at this point. Her boss tells her to let them in through a velvet rope set across the doorway. The bodyguards don’t follow. After some time another person comes to relieve hre from that post and she goes back to the break hallway to find the gaggle of body guards candidly speaking about their bosses. Overhearing a lot of seemingly private details, one standing out about a man who was already in the building and has been for a few days and a wife getting suspicious. Her boss finds her and says she is done for the day and thanks her for filling in. The young lady’s pay check arrives and it has nearly doubled for the day that she filled in on this post.

Now I become the young lady. I take an active role in trying to get that gig back. I find the boss who has now materialized in a power suit accompanied by a jet-black power bob. I pass by a mirror while I approach her and catch a glance at what I look like, and it seems I have imagined this girl to look like a 2020 version of Melissa Joan Heart, with a hearty silver blonde ponytail and a blazer covering a relatively humble t-shirt and jeans. My red lanyard foolishly still worn around my neck while my boss’ light blue lanyard was neatly twisted around her wrist hidden by the sleeve of her suit jacket. After passing the mirror, my boss sees me and meets me half way. We’re in that green carpeted resort room entrance again.

When we join each other, she let’s me know that I’m done with work for that day and I will be paid despite spending merely 20 minutes there. Before I’m able to ask why, she tells me to return the next evening at 5pm and to expect to stay until 1 am, and to report to the post where the velvet rope was located. I didn’t think that I did anything remarkable to expect to be put back in this position, I was simply interested in the pay check it yielded. It became apparent that my silence, won the favor of one of the bodyguards who encouraged my presence. I assume it was the bodyguard who took an active role in one of the conversations I pretended not to hear. Maybe it was a test, but either way I passed.

Before I left, my boss replaced my red lanyard with a light blue one. With the new badge, I walked through the corridor and saw some of the girls I saw earlier. As I walked past the group, a girl asked me my name and I gave it. That was the extent of the interaction.

I showed up the next night and was pulled into the room behind the velvet rope. It was a huge ballroom with no one really there but a few disheveled yet well dressed men at a corner couch area near a bar with cigarette smoke billowing around them. My boss tells me some sort of orientation of the room and handed me a clipboard. She advised me that I was to take patron inventory at each location in the ballroom over the course of the night. The whole room was red carpeting with velvet red walls and a wall of huge windows looking directly at another snowy mountain. I guess we were on a mountain too. I understood what my task was and did it diligently, identifying patrons by their membership types and where they were spending their time.

Truly not thinking beyond the paycheck, I handed in my clipboard after my shift was up. I didn’t even realize I didn’t take a break, I must have been enamored by the lavishness of the night and all of the people enjoying their night.

When I came in through the corridor for my next shift, there were some tired bodyguards and ones who may have just arrived. Some of the girls were chatting again, and when I entered, they all dulled down their conversations to a whisper. I must have taken an inventory of some members who weren’t supposed to be where they were when I took their account. I then understood that it had been some time since consequences were applied to the elite members of this resort.

After a few nights like this, it was clear that there was an area where there were couches set in a sort of waiting room style near another curtained door. Here is where the patronage from previous nights, had declined significantly. Not recalling any member of particular note, the gentlemen sat at these couches now were clearly regarded highly. As waitresses surrounded the couches and the employees monitoring the curtained door casually conversed with the members, the vibrancy of the situation increased. I also noticed that in other parts of the room, when I would walk by the members shifted. I was no longer unnoticed.

Following this, my boss moved me again behind the curtain between those couches. Going through the curtain, it was another massive room lined with hallways with closed doors on either side. A bar to the left of the entrance and a massive hostess style desk on the right. This is where I was put, and told to direct a plethora of deliveries to different wings of this part of our resort.

On breaks, I would converse with some of the girls and the body guards I had previously avoided. After building a rapport I got the nerve to ask them what exactly I was doing here, and why nothing was ever really explained in full to me. The girls were more aloof in their answers before returning to work, but one of the bodyguards told me I was the assistant gatekeeper to the services these girls provided. And though I wasn’t in charge of the appointments, they alluded to the fact that I was a part of the management of a high-end brothel.

At a local watering hole after work, a body guard friend and I were talking and he let it slip that some of those deliveries we were receiving weren’t just food or toiletries. Sometimes we were pumping party drugs through there to the rest of the resort. Some of the harder drugs stayed in the brothel. At the time I didn’t think much of it, none of it was my business really.

It was about to become my business, because my boss told me that I was about to take over her account here. This meant I was going to be placing the orders and sitting monitoring each of these rooms through surveillance in an office. She showed me around a really 1980s looking office with tons of tv’s every angle of the floor. The office was stocked with a lot of booze and seemed like a really nice gig. I knew all the ins and outs that my boss did and had a really good rapport with everyone now. I guess I had their respect.

I spent a few months with no issue and I was getting to know the high end members. They were slime balls, but their general lack or morals was somewhat entertaining. A lot of members came with their wives? It wasn’t like a swinger club or anything there was just a lot of freedom to make unconventional choices. I was just there to let them do it.

Cut to my first guest overdose. This never happened under my boss, so I had no idea how to react to it. I asked the man’s bouncer to get him the fuck out of here and take him to the hospital. Either way he couldn’t be here anymore. Then I remembered we had a card for an MD in my office. I gave it to the bouncer and sent them away. Then I shut down the rooms for the night.

That’s when I first felt a shift like I had done something wrong. I invited my friends into my office during the next night while their bosses enjoyed their night, this time with the floor “dealers” heavily monitoring how much they were giving everyone. I asked for their insight and what happens when this type of incident occurs. Fundamentally they said that there is always an event when what we are being delivered isn’t the highest quality. I asked how I check this and they all just sort of looked at each other. One of the newer bodyguards said that it may be a supplier issue and gave me the card of someone he knew who may be able to help.

I guess I called this person and found him really charming and attractive. So, I made them my new supplier, and I put in contingencies so that the quality was checked and assured every night. We spent months with no issue, no OD’s everything was fine. As I walked into my office one night, my old boss was already there. No pleasantries were exchanged before she grabbed me by the arm,  and shoved me behind one of the curtains near a side door to exit my office. She whispered, “leave.” As in hide or literally leave? I was confused.

While I was behind the curtain, a man sauntered in with four or five body guards around him. I watched my boss scramble and snap for some of the girls to come in. Clearly she wanted to distract him from looking for me. A lot of girls walked in and he exclaimed that he wanted to see the Asian girl make out with an inanimate object while a blond girl suck his dick. I knew what was happening in those rooms, in theory, but I had never seen it in action and I cringed at how degrading this seemed.

While they were getting in position for the act, the man very calmly asked my boss where I was. She answered that I hadn’t come in yet today. He nodded. While the girls started in on him, his body guard handed him a gun, and he looked back at my boss and shot her right in the face. The girls screamed and shuddered, and he yelled and asked why they stopped and told them forcefully to keep going. They did so, while quietly crying.

I winced, and quietly opened the door, quivering. I started walking down the familiar corridor taking off my blazer and slipping off my badge. I made my way to the exit and threw my work phone in the snow. I pulled out my personal phone, and called that hot guy dealer and asked him where the fuck he was and told him he needs to help me. I hopped in my car and drove to the pin he dropped.

It was a run down stand alone white row home with a small shitty fenced in yard. I got there and quietly or calmly or not in noticeable shock asked him who this guy was and why he was looking for me. Turns out, hot guy is scary guy’s brother. When the OD happened and I gave him a call, and switched suppliers, scary guy took that as a play against him. He thought I was trying to take over that branch of his business.

This is when I freak out. I am yelling at this guy saying that I barely knew the ins an outs of something like this. I just didn’t want drama on my floor and for people to get hurt. Why did no one tell me that this was one of this man’s mafia’s biggest money makers?! How could I have no idea about this?! In the middle of my freak out, the hot guy clasps his hand on my mouth and we both hear someone breaking in. He shoves me in a disgusting bathroom and shuts the door. I start climbing out the window of this second store bathroom and get onto the roof. I scurry around to the drain pipe to climb down to the street and get my car. As I climb down, I fall a lot farther than I meant to. I’m now bloody and injured and I hear a gun shot. I take a huge shocked gasp, and start walking through the back of the yard to the other street to get into my tiny blue car.

I’m now on a concrete street lined with warehouses. In the corner of one of the warehouses, I see that there is a pub open. I quickly pull over. Limping and crazed I walk into the bar. I begged for any of these old timers to let me borrow their phone. Before any of them answers a voice behind me says “of course, you can borrow mine.” I wake up.

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

Section Fifteen

A/N: This is kinda of a prequel kind of thing to Learn To Be, it takes place before the main story. This is part one and it’s from the perspective from Jason Quinn. If I need to tag anything else please let me know, I want everybody to be safe! 

Word Count: 1,586

Tw: domestic abuse, child abuse, violence, cursing, unhealthy relationship 

Most parents waited with bated breath for the teal envelope with the black seal that’s contents would pave out their child’s future to arrive, but Jason Quinn wasn’t one of them. He held no doubt that both of his children would get into section one, the section for only the most powerful children, the section for the people destined for greatness, the section he had been in himself. After all, half of them came from him. He had been preparing his daughter Jester for her placement test since she hit the age of seven. Within those three years she had gained complete control over her rather limited power and was able to give off the impression that it was much more than it was. While Jason hadn’t been preparing his son Jesse his wife, Heather, had. Despite her weak parenting approach Jesse’s emotional manipulation had managed to develop rather powerfully. Everything was going according to plan, he had no need to worry about those two.

That’s why he let his wife open the letters first, she had been far more anxious than he had. She wouldn’t stop gushing to Jason while they ate dinner how much she missed her little boy. Heather had even gone out and bought a frame for Jesse’s letter to go in once it arrived. Jason refused to do any sort of dramatics like that for Jester, getting into section one was an expectation, not something to celebrate. Anything less was simply unacceptable. He sat on his and Heather’s shared king sized bed watching the television mounted on the wall while his wife fumbled with the letter opener. The television's sound was off at Heather’s request so she could have an easier time pretending that he was listening. In reality they both were fully aware he was reading the captions, he always wanted to be up to date on everything that was happening. 

“Oh Jason he got in! I knew he could do it, and my frame is the perfect size. Should I keep the envelope?” Heather squealed and rambled on to Jason’s annoyance, but he didn’t tell her to stop. Her excitement was good for their image when they were out in public, if he snapped at her now her bubbly joy would feel less real later. If both of their happiness seemed fake it would be glaringly obvious, and they would be no better than the Taski’s. “Do you want to open Jester’s yourself?” She asked, holding her daughter’s envelope with two fingers, letting it dangle in the air.  Her midday sky blue eyes looking for space on the wall, no doubt trying to plan where she wanted the framed letter to go. 

“No, you go ahead darling, I know you’re far more excited than me,” he answered, although when it came to Jester they were both aware of Heather’s distaste. The blonde had never cared much for her daughter, hence why Jason was the main disciplinary for Jester. His wife didn’t protest though, instead she finally put her pretty lips together and tore open the envelope. The television switched to an ad for a restaurant that seemed to serve plenty of spaghetti. Jason considered taking Heather there to snap her out of the mood she was sure to fall into after she hung the letter up. It would help distract her from the empty home. 

“Jason…” Heather whispered, she must have taken a step back because he could no longer see her in his peripheral. All of this pointed to Jester failing, an annoying setback but not something to difficult to work from. Heather was always overreacting. 

“Out with it, how bad did she do? Section two, three?” He kept his voice soft but firm, he didn’t need Heather hiding away from him over nothing. 

“No, none of those,” he waited for her to finish but she just trailed off again. He sighed through his nose and counted backwards from five in his head. Despite trying to keep him from being angry she always managed to push his buttons. 

“Well, what is it then? Four, five?” The commercials were still playing, now an ad for a jewelry store.

“Fifteen,” the shakily whispered word consumed all other sound in the room. Jason sat statue still for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he had actually heard correctly before turning off the television and turning to look at his wife. She had tucked her skinny ass into the corner of the room partially blocked by their polished dark brown wood dresser. Jesse’s neatly cut open envelope and letter rested on top of said dresser while Jester’s ripped apart envelope had been discarded onto the floor right next to the plastic black trash bin. Jester’s letter however was clutched in both of his wife’s hands blocking her large chest from him. Something that annoyed him further since he knew she had been wearing a lacy low cut ruby red tank top that would have given him such a lovely view. 

“Let me see that,” he didn’t yell, there was no reason to yet. Perhaps it had been a misprint, or Heather had read it wrong. She eyed him before pulling herself away from the ash gray walls and with a shaky slender hand gave him the letter. He took his time reading the letter, it was clear most of it was standard in every letter. The first two paragraphs were about how happy the school was to be taking care of your child and a description on what they would be learning. The third paragraph was where things seemed more personal. It began:

‘We regret to inform you that your child did not take part in the placement test, as only children whose powers are extremely dangerous refuse the placement test your child has now been placed in section fifteen. With time in this section we guarantee your child will no longer be a threat to themselves or others-’

Jason didn’t need to read any further, in fact he couldn’t as his clenched fists had pulled the paper apart.  Heather was back whimpering in the corner and part of him wanted to slap her so she would just be silent for once but if he hit her she would just get louder, she always did. Jason couldn’t just do nothing however, his shaking fists and roaring thoughts wouldn’t allow it.

With the speed and grace of a fox on the prowl he stood up off the bed and grabbed the framed picture of the four family members together. He stared at his daughter’s smiling face, she was only nine in the photo but it’d be too easy to mistake her for a teen. She wore makeup that made her features look sharp, dark green lipstick, and purple eye shadow to match the family crests colors. He threw the picture at the wall close to his wife and watched as it left a small hole in the wall. Heather squeaked at the thump as her eyes followed the now cracked glass. She reached down to pick it up but he stomped over and crushed it under his black clad foot, almost catching her hand in the process. 

“Jason!” She screeched, partially out of fear but he could also hear her exasperation. “That was my favorite photo…”

“ Who gives a damn? Just buy a new one- but cut that traitorous bitch out!” He snapped back finally giving his wife his full attention.

“Traitorous? What are you talking about?” She asked, he never understood how someone so stupid got through medical school.  

“Did you even read the letter? Don’t answer because we both know you didn’t.” he cut her off as she opened her mouth to defend herself no doubt. “Jester didn’t take the damn placement test, she played the ‘my powers are too dangerous card.’” What he couldn’t figure out was why?

“Perhaps she got cold feet?” Heather suggested. Her usual disgust when talking about the girl missing, replacing it was a high pitched whine that made everyone of her words feel like their own question. 

“Perhaps her stupid fucking mother got involved and screamed at her one to many times for using her power on Jesse like I had told her to!” Jason shouted in her face as his fist came crashing down like a hammer to a nail on her cheek. Her head hit the wall and she curled up on the soft maroon carpet sobbing. At least she could do that quietly. Jason doubted that Jester was too scared to take the test, she knew what would happen if she disappointed him. When she came home-

“Oh, she thinks she’s so clever…” He mumbled to himself as he realized his initial thought had been right. She was rebelling, and there would be no physical consequence until the holidays. Jester believed that she could do whatever she wanted while she was away at school. He would just have to show her how wrong she was. Her being in section fifteen threw a wrench in his plans, but he could work with it. After all, he knew Jester could get the job done, he just needed to teach her another lesson. Perhaps it was time to create a new national holiday…

“Clean yourself up honey, there’s a new restaurant I think you’ll like,” he spoke with a wide smile while giving her a hand up. Yes, he knew that he could make all of this work out, perhaps even better than before.

[warlizard]

a little backstory...

working on a new character- a really neat lago called Wake-Robin. I was researching some folk names for plants, and there’s just so many good ones.

Wake-Robin's nose twitched as her dark-tipped ears swiveled towards the sound of hoofbeats. Travelers- just two, from the sound of it, coming from the direction of the manor. Light horses or ponies, certainly not the big destriers of a knight. She leaned on her staff, a stout walking stick her father had carved out of mangrove years ago, and waited for the horses to come into view.

Dust clouds on the road, and the horses were upon her. She recognized the vibrant colors of her employer's couriers. A smile crossed her muzzle- payday.

She tugged her ear in greeting as the halfling courier doffed her hat. Her guard, a tall doggish-looking fellow of indeterminate origin, simply nodded. "Watching the road, Wake-Robin?" she said with a smile.

"Sure am, Sam," she said. "Nothing coming for miles, but you probably knew that. Not much happens around here, despite what his lordship would like to believe." This elicited a snort from the guard and a chuckle from the halfling, who leaned towards Wake-Robin and whispered theatrically.

"Cadogan's in some trouble this year. His tenants had a decent harvest, but his son got a wretched price at market. Boy's got no head for negotiations, and Cadogan's got far too many ideas about what nobility should be to understand what he actually is. Fills the boy's head with dreams of being a knight for the king- but good luck with that when you can't even afford a proper warhorse... or a proper staff!" Humans tended to prefer to hire humans, but everybody knew that Lord Cadogan was hard-up and as unimportant as the sleepy backwater he held. Still, Wake-Robin was surprised enough that she'd been hired. She was quite young and relatively inexperienced.

"Cadogan might be in trouble, but the question is, can he still pay me?" The lago smiled, whiskers twitching. Sam pulled a small bag of coins from her belt.

"See for yourself," the hafling said as she tossed it. Wake-Robin snatched it from the air, catching it neatly and relishing the clink it made as it hit her hand. She weighed the pouch of coins for a moment before tucking it in her rucksack. "Thanks, Sam. That'll buy my bread- and pudding too, maybe."

"And there's a letter for you here, too," Sam said, rifling through her satchel. Wake-Robin recognized the sender immediately- the seal of her family's warren held the letter closed in her favorite sister's brown wax. "Says it's from Mangrove Warren. That's your folks, right?"

"Mmhm. Looks like it's from one of my sisters- Dog-Hobble, the one I told you about before? She's two years younger than me and she's probably coming out here when our parents can spare her- which should be soon, because they have far, far more children than necessary. But we're cheap to feed- the swamp isn't like here. You hardly have to work to grow anything, and if you're really unlucky, you can always go fishing."

"It sounds nice," said the halfling. "Nice, but perhaps too humid in the summer. Would you be presenting her to Cadogan as a guard?"

"That or a runner- she's about as fast as I am. But I'm planning on moving on come spring- I'm feeling the itch to move on, and Cadogan doesn't pay enough to tie me down." She thumped her foot, demonstrating her restlessness. "If Dog-Hobble comes out here, I can present her as my replacement, train her through winter, and head out in spring. She's a better conversationalist than me, you'll get along great."

Sam nodded, understanding well the transient nature of guards for hire. "I'm sure we will. Speaking of guards, we have to run now- the south gate warder needs his pay, too. Fare well, Wake-Robin!"

Wake-Robin waved the halfling and her guard off, letter gripped tightly in her other hand. Hearing from her family was always a treat. Her siblings were excessively numerous, but she loved all of them fiercely. She missed Dog-Hobble sorely; it'd been quite a while since she'd been back to the warren and even longer since she'd last seen her sister at sea. Satisfied that there was nothing coming up or down the road, she settled in the shade of a beech tree to read the letter.

"Dear Wake-Robin,

Hope you're well. Mum and Dad send their love, and so do Rosie and Fiddle-leaf and Seven-Bark and Camphor and I'm sure all the rest do too, but those are the only ones around right now- Pepper and Blush and Bluebonnet took a load of herbs down to the White Oak Warren to sell, but we all know they went over there to flirt, really- it's just as well, there's not really a lot of decent-looking young bucks around here we're not related to. Bottlebrush and Hagbrier are working the ferry, and honestly I don't know where the three littlest ones are. Aunt Locoweed's had twins recently, so they're probably over there, getting into all kinds of trouble with Mockernut and Spleenwort while she's occupied. You haven't seen them in a while, but they've shot up like weeds. They're really lording it over our little ones while they can.

We heard from Fortune's Palm earlier this week. He's done really well this season, despite his leg acting up. He said that Mum's ballads are really popular, and he's made enough for not only an extremely nice mandolin, but also a small vardo for his troupe! Now he just needs to buy horses. Dad started grumbling again about why he just doesn't come home, and how no good comes of leaving the swamp to go adventuring, but Mum said if no good came of adventuring, then that must mean that her coming here and meeting him wasn't any good. So that shut him up. Still haven't heard from Gherkin in a while, but that's understandable. It's hard to get mail across the ocean. Our cousin Gourd's got a sister-in-law called Hens-and-Chicks who's something of a hedge witch- she knows a lot about weather and says it's not storm season, so Gherkin's ship is probably fine.

I very much appreciated your last letter- I talked to Mum about it, and she thinks that it's good if I come out to join you after the summer season's over. It's that or go to White Oak, because if I stick around here I'm worried I'll end up stuck. Mind-Your -Business has been courting me in earnest, and while he's cute enough and certainly has fine business acumen, I don't want to be a cloth merchant's wife. This Lord Cadogan of yours sounds like a decent enough employer, and I've got the same training you had when you left. Working in the dry lands doesn't sound too difficult- once you've had to chase off as many alligators as we have, stuffed shirts and pompous windbags looking for a fight don't sound too bad. And besides, I have bigger feet than you- I can certainly give a mighty kick if I have to!

Oh, that reminds me. Speaking of kicks, Aunt Locoweed's oldest- Freckleface, the one who's my age? He's in trouble. Big trouble. He and Sand Lily from White Oak are in the family way, and Sand Lily's furious. She came down and gave him a dressing-down and a cussing-out you wouldn't believe. The wedding's in two weeks, on account of she won't be able to fit into her best dress soon. Don't think I've ever seen Freckleface so happy- he really loves her.  It's enough to make you sick. Mum and Dad aren't being pushy about it, but Aunt Locoweed certainly is- and Bottlebrush, too. His wife's something like four months long now, and you'd think he was the first lago to figure out fatherhood. And Hagbrier's not much better. She and her wife are up to five now- Hag's two, and then Harrier's had three, and they've both been asking me and Camphor if there's anyone we fancy. Camphor's got his eye on like three people, and I just want to leave. And I miss you an awful lot. Can you tell me more about the estate? I want to know more about the plants in the area, if you can tell me.

All my love,

Dog-Hobble"

Wake-Robin smiled and folded the letter carefully, tucking it in next to the coins. She'd write her sister tonight- maybe get some leaves and flowers pressed to tuck into the letter when she sent it- but for now, with the road secure, it was time to let the day stretch on ahead of her. Hefting her rucksack, she headed out to patrol the woods. It might be a strange life for a lago, but it suited her- and at least for now, she wouldn't have any other.

Rumors Positive: She's known to be reliable- gets the job done quickly and efficiently- and it's rumored she's the fastest courier in the area.

One time at the harvest fair she managed to win the pie eating contest by a margin of two pies, a story which has spread around the area and gotten embellished so much so that as the story goes, not only did she eat all her pies but then she started in on her neighbor's. She certainly eat a lot, and is known to both appreciate a good feast and cook pretty well herself.

Negative: It's said that she has a weakness for gambling and betting on games of chance, and that she's liable to lose greatly at the table- and that this can be used to manipulate her.

Supposedly, she likes carrots. She does not like carrots. Carrot jokes are something of a berserk button for her and she has to work very hard to keep her temper when offered carrots, especially when somebody does it with that cutesy little smirk, you know the one. 

Wildly untrue: Rumor has it she's responsible for masterminding a series of crop thefts around the M'kgregor encampment, a massive farmstead run by a clan of orcs and half-orcs.

This is blatantly false.  She doesn't even like carrots.

[kia8088]

Divorce Lawyers: The Fic

[allyinthekeyofx]

Painting by numbers 1/? (W.I.P.)

Case file - season 6 Heavy on the Mulder angst/hurt/injury

CHAPTER ONE

October 19th 1989

*He takes his time. There is no rush. Everything must be in order. His thoughts, his feelings, his quietude. They think he needs rage and violence and harsh light to do this work. But they are so wrong. It is precise. With great measure, understanding and detail. It cannot be hurried or the colours will not sing to him. And he needs to hear them. To burst forth and fill his soul with their beautiful words.

The canvas gleams white, inviting him to share his inner most thoughts and desires. It’s almost alluring. Tempting him in, knowing that he will not be able to resist. That only by immersing himself in the darkness, can he ever hope to gain the understanding he needs.

It speaks to him. Whispered words that invade his dreams. Taunting him, testing him. Finding him to be somehow wanting. Building him up before discarding him again.

Stripping him away to his very core. A mind laid bare. Knowing that what he is doing is wrong. So very wrong. But the voices are filling his mind, he can no longer fight against this need inside him. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think beyond this moment.

Flesh, blood and bone.

The pallet of the Gods.

Laid out for him to take. Only then can he hope to understand.

He picks up the paintbrush, it’s tip glistening deep scarlet in the diffused light that caresses the small room.

He does not see the red. At least not in a sense he understands. It is red, but at the same time it shines a myriad of colour and form. It is everything. It is nothing.

He closes his eyes, an almost rapturous expression on his face, feeling a jolt of electricity in his very core as he brings the paintbrush to the roughened surface, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as the lines begin to take shape before him.

The blood is congealing by the time he has finished. But he is happy. Spent. Sated even.

And he drops the brush on to the floor of his apartment, soiling the carpet below. But Mulder doesn’t notice. He concentrates only on his work*

XXXXXXXXXX

J Edgar Hoover Building Ten years later 7:09am

But the 28 year old Dana Scully was no more. That youthful exuberance that she could change the world had long since disappeared as she came to realise that it wasn’t she who could change the world, but rather the world who had changed her. Those days were gone. And the woman who had replaced her, while outwardly the same, was more damaged inside than she thought she would ever be. As each painful betrayal eroded her a little more, the blind trust she once had seemed like a lifetime ago. And over the years, she had learned to be ever more suspicious of those imposturous allies who alleged to be her friends.

But the one constant each morning had been this man. Aside from a brief absence when his wife had passed away prematurely a couple of years ago, Moses Abraham had been the one who, each day had been the first to greet her as she made her way to work.

“Morning Agent Scully. It’s a beautiful morning today.”

Scully flashed him a smile, same as always.

“It sure is Moses.”

“Early meeting?”

“Afraid so”

He nodded. In all these years they had never exchanged more than a dozen words at once. But the easy familiarity was there.

“Well you have a good day Agent Scully.”

“You too Moses”

Scully made her way to the elevator, relieved to discover she was the lone occupant. Because as fiercely independent as she was, she had never quite got used to the curious glances that seemed to follow her around the building. Since her near death and subsequent recovery from terminal cancer – a condition that had become the hot topic of discussion amongst her peers despite her every effort to have it remain private –the glances and whispered speculation had increased tenfold.

Mrs Spooky wasn’t just spooky by association anymore. Oh no. Now she was a walking, talking, breathing X-File all of her own. And the rumour mill flourished as a result.

Mulder had learned to ignore them. Or at least to never react. But Scully knew that on the occasions when a whispered comment managed to reach her and the faint flush appeared to blemish her fair Irish skin, that she would never become accustomed to being the butt of so much speculation from her colleagues.

If only they knew – even the half of it – then perhaps they might not rush so headlong in their judgement.

The interior of the elevator was mirrored and Scully glanced across to check all was in order. A meeting with AD Skinner, regardless of the hour, demanded that she look her professional best. He had been their friend when no one else had, but that didn’t make him any the less uncompromising in his expectations of her as an Agent and she used the time to smooth a few errant wisps of hair away from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ears in the hope that it would stay there. It was shorter than she’d ever worn it, a decision taken when she had first been diagnosed. To try in some way to take control over at least a small part of her body. And also, in some kind of mental preparation for when the drugs destroyed the follicles and it began to fall out. To her surprise though, the hair loss had been minimal, which, given the amount of drugs they had pumped in to her, was nothing short of miraculous. But aside from a few more strands than usual washed down the drain when she showered, her hair had remained largely unaffected.

It wasn’t usual. But then nothing about her cancer had been usual and a fine collection of hats donated by various family members still languished, untouched on a shelf in her wardrobe. At one time it had seemed like everyone was throwing headgear at her in an attempt to validate their support when there was nothing else left to do or say.

Everyone except Mulder that is.

When she’d admitted her fears to him in a rare moment of female fragility – ridiculous fears given the gravity of her illness – that she was terrified of losing her hair, that she would somehow become less of a woman, he had simply put his arms around her and told her without having to speak, that she could never be any less to him than what she already was.

She had kept her hair the same length since that day.

And now it had become almost a kind of talisman against the cancer coming back. A stupid, childish deal with God but one which still seemed important.

The elevator reached its destination, the sharp chime dragging Scully’s attention away from the mirror and, dropping her hands back to her side, she exited quickly, side stepping slightly to avoid the pair of Agents waiting to enter. She vaguely recognised them from her brief but painful secondment to the domestic terrorism section where she and Mulder had spent long, fruitless days searching for and cataloguing the nation’s agricultural fertilizer purchases. It had been, in every sense of the word, a shit assignment.

Her keen ears caught the word ‘Mulder’ although nothing else registered. But for once it didn’t bother her.

She and Mulder had escaped the shit.

They hadn’t.

And that was enough of a victory for her to hold her head high as she walked along the corridor to Skinner’s office.

She entered the small ante room where his secretary normally guarded entry like a lioness protecting her cubs. No appointment, no audience. No excuses and no exceptions.

Mulder had butted heads with her on more than one occasion, but, like most unannounced visitors, he had usually been sent to wait on one of the hard chairs that bordered the room. Tail tucked firmly between his legs until she granted permission to enter the inner sanctum. She might not be a fully fledged field agent, but Holly Merryman took her responsibilities very seriously.

But the hour was just early enough for Holly to have not yet made an appearance and the desk was unmanned so Scully crossed directly to the door which opened even before she had a chance to knock, bearing witness to the fact that Skinner had been looking out for her.

He held the door open and waved her inside.

“Agent Scully.”

Scully nodded slightly.

“Sir.”

Skinner wasn’t generally big on the perfunctory greetings, deeming them a waste of time.

Scully was surprised to see that another Agent was already seated on one of the two chairs directly in front of Skinner’s desk and she was slightly heartened to see that he, at least, acknowledged she was female, rising a few inches out of his chair and hovering there until she had seated herself beside him.

Skinner took the chair behind his desk and waved a hand in the direction of the unknown male.

“Agent Scully, this is Special Agent in Charge Robert Roberts”

Scully felt her left eyebrow start an ascent up in to her hairline and she suddenly wished Mulder were here. Only a few days ago they had shared a fairly hilarious conversation over one too many beers about the very subject of parental imagination –or lack thereof- when it came to naming their offspring. They had concluded that, despite the obvious butt-clenching childhood embarrassment, children with memorable names tended to be more destined for success. There was absolutely no scientific basis for this, especially given that ‘Fox’ was possibly the most out -there name Scully had ever encountered and career-wise at least, Mulder was in no way batting a thousand. Or even a hundred for that matter.

*Robert Roberts. You’d love this Mulder.*

But aware of Skinner’s eyes on her, Scully quickly composed herself, holding out her hand which Roberts shook briefly.

“Pleased to meet you Agent Roberts”

“Likewise Agent Scully. Thank you for coming in at this early hour”

Scully nodded. He didn’t need to know that she had been awake since just before 4am – since the cancer her sleep patterns were royally screwed and bouts of insomnia were still a regular occurrence in her life. She had confided in both her doctor and her partner. The medical suggestion had been pills. The Mulder suggestion had been to just sleep when her body told her it was necessary, shrugging it off as no big deal when she occasionally fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon in the car on their way to a case, or with her head resting on crossed arms as she grabbed a nap at her desk while he worked quietly at the opposite side of the room. Sometimes he would wake her up with a gentle touch to her shoulder, occasionally to her face. At other times he would just leave her, allowing her to awaken when she needed to. Never making her feel awkward that she had zonked out on him again. Ironically, she seemed sometimes to have less energy now than when she had been fighting to stay alive. But Mulder just accepted it.

Her body was still adjusting he said. Her mind was still adjusting. He got it. He also got that it didn’t need constant analysis by either of them. For the moment at least, it was just something that happened occasionally.

“You’re welcome.”

And then she looked questioningly at Skinner.

*Why am I here?*

Skinner reached over the desk and handed her a manila file stamped ‘confidential’. A case file.

“Agent Scully are you familiar with the portrait murders?”

Scully glanced down at the file she now held in her hands and dragged her mind back.

“Um…..I believe they were a series of murders that took place in the late 80s in the DC area. A random series of victims who were found with their throats cut…..I believe the killer painted a portrait of them and left it at the scene beside them…..um….I believe the murders ended abruptly in 1989 and the killer was never found.”

Skinner nodded.

“In a nutshell Agent Scully. Although there were a few aspects of the case that were never released to the media. “

“Sir?”

Skinner nodded his head towards the file.

“Take a look”

Scully slipped a thumb between the cover and the first of many pages beneath and flipped it open. She gasped as the first thing she saw was an eight by ten of one of the victims – a young woman, maybe in her very early twenties. Slumped against a wall, eyes unseeing but wide open, her mouth fixed in a silent scream of terror. But what really struck Scully as particularly grotesque was the way her head lolled to the side, held in place by nothing more than a few sinewy strands. Her throat had been cut with such force that she had almost been decapitated. The blood loss was horrific; in fact it was like she had bathed in it. She must have bled out incredible quickly because the entire floor around her was awash, a crimson sea, slightly darker around the edges where the blood had begun to congeal.

And then she saw it, just to the left of the body. An artist’s palette, a selection of brushes, a few tubes of what looked like acrylics and in the foreground, a framed canvas, depicting the image of a young woman, smiling, highlights bouncing off glossy hair, eyes crinkled up in amusement. It was beautifully painted in every sense of the word and Scully swallowed, quite unable to reconcile this exquisite work of art with the ravaged and defiled woman beside it.

What’s wrong with this picture?

Scully narrowed her eyes. Aside from the obvious, something wasn’t right. The detail of the portrait was undeniable. The skill was undeniable….but……

Scully gasped and her hand flew to her throat. A purely involuntary action brokered by the sudden realisation.

“Oh My God. It’s her blood.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“He painted it using her blood?”

“Yes.”

Scully closed her eyes briefly. The psychosis at work to decapitate a victim with such force was one thing. But to paint using the spilled blood as a medium? That went way beyond criminally insane. It was almost inhuman.

“You see why it was never released in to the public domain?”

Skinner didn’t wait for her to answer.

“Has Agent Mulder ever discussed this case with you?”

Scully looked at him sharply. She was suddenly aware of a pulse beating in her ears. And she knew with a certainty she couldn’t explain that whatever was coming next, it was going to be bad for her partner. She shook her head slightly, her mind’s eye still focused on the bloody canvas in the photograph. And then she knew.

“This was Mulders case?”

Skinner nodded.

“Yes. Mulder was lead profiler. He……..Agent Scully it didn’t go well for him.”

“Sir?” She heard the way her voice’s tone had jacked up a notch. “What do you mean ‘It didn’t go well for him?”

Skinner rose from his position behind the desk, coming around to instead perch on the corner, arms folded as he regarded his female agent.

“Agent Mulder got in very deep. Too deep Agent Scully. He became immersed in the victims, in the murderer. He claimed he was inside his head…”

“Mulder was a profiler Sir” she said, stating the obvious, “A profiler by their very nature…”

Skinner cut her off

“Mulder was 28 years old Scully. Twenty eight. He was barely out of the academy but already making a name for himself as a brilliant criminologist. His ability to put the pieces together, to find cause and effect….well, it was uncanny. But he didn’t know when to stop. When to take a break. When to rest. You know what I’m talking about. We’ve both seen it in him.”

“The Mostow case?” Scully was barely aware of asking the question.

“Yes. But that was just a taste. Compared to the portrait murders, the Mostow case was like a walk in the park…….but there were…….similarities in Mulder’s behaviour during both cases.”

He reached forwards and took the file from Scully’s hands, flipping through it until he found what he sought.

Another portrait, this one slightly cruder. A young man. Younger. So much younger than she had ever known him to be. But despite the age of the subject, the less gifted hand, the way the lines blended together on the canvas, she would know that face anywhere.

Scully felt a sudden burning at the back of her throat.

To know an artist you have to look at his art……

“Mulder did this?”

Skinner took the file from her once again and laid it face down on the desk.

“Yes. “ “Whose blood is it? Is it his?”

“No. It’s pigs blood. Mulder had a receipt from an abattoir.”

“Oh God”

Scully wiped a hand over her mouth, suddenly desperate for a drink of water.

“There’s more Agent Scully”

*More? How much fucking more can there be?*

Skinner’s voice sounded tight. She had heard the tone before. Used only when he was either desperately annoyed or desperately worried. She was in no doubt that it was in response to the latter.

“Agent Mulder didn’t report to his ASAC that night. He was found in his apartment. He had overdosed on barbiturates. He barely survived. “

Scully heard a gasp. It took her a moment to realise that the sound had come from her and she suddenly found that drawing a breath was impossible. Her heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would break out of her chest.

*I don’t want to hear any more.*

“Mulder was hospitalised of course. He recovered. He was immediately removed from the case and relieved of his investigative duties. He underwent intensive therapy and returned to work six months later. Shortly after that he requested a transfer out of the unit. It was granted without question. The murders ceased. As you said, the killer was never caught.”

Scully tried to absorb what her superior was telling her and her eyes widened in shock.

“Sir, you don’t think Agent Mulder……..?”

Skinner held up a hand.

“No Agent Scully. NO I absolutely do not think that. There was nothing to tie Mulder to the crimes….”

“ I’m sorry Sir I don’t understand…….”

“Agent Scully?”

Scully started as Roberts spoke for the first time. She had almost forgotten he was beside her, so focused had she been on Skinner. Dumbly she observed the file he held in his hands, almost identical, but clearly newer.

“Three nights ago a woman’s body was found. Next to a portrait. A portrait painted in blood…..yesterday morning I received this from my Assistant Director….”

He handed her the duplicate copy of a paper form she knew well. She had filled out hundreds of them since joining Mulder on the X-Files. It was a form that requested involvement on a case. A case being handled by another agent, department or field office. Protocol dictated that permission must be given.

She recognised the slightly untidy scrawl immediately.

Mulder

And with a rapidly escalating feeling of dread, she realised his request had been approved.

Continued chapter 2