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snowdice · 4 years ago

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Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 18]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

I have homework due tomorrow, so let’s go.

Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

“It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

“My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

“Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

“I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

“I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

“We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

“Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

“Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

“Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

“Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

“Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

“Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

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“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

“He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

“Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

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Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

“Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

“There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

“Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

“You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

“Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

“You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

“Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

“It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

“He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

“Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

Because of the lockdown of all nonessential time travel, people working for the TPI were not allowed to go home for the night. They were allowed to pick up anyone or anything dependent on them for care like kids and pets if there wasn’t someone in their home time to care for them, but other than that, they were unfortunately all sleeping in their offices for the foreseeable future.

“You are the only tolerable one,” Janus told the cat who upon being let loose in the office by Remus, immediately jumped on Janus’s lap.

“I have literally done nothing to you,” Lena said, but then added. “Yet.”

“You exist. In my space.”

“Can’t we just all get along?” asked Fred. “It’s only been an hour past when we’d usually go home. I went and grabbed milk and I have my giant thing of different flavored hot chocolate under my desk. We can try them all and vote on which is better.”

“Fuck your hot chocolate, Fred,” Janus growled, having been one of the three who had chipped in to buy it for him on his last birthday.

“Don’t go after Fred, jackass,” Lena spat.

“He’s just testy because his boyfriend escaped,” Remus contributed.

Janus’s lips turned down into a frown and he cupped Diesel Fuel’s face. “We agree we’re eating him first, right?” he asked her.

She purred her agreement.

“I’d have it no other way,” Remus replied.

“There is plenty of food,” Fred said, sounding stressed. “In fact, I was thinking we should all chip in on ordering take-out soon. “What does everyone like on pizza?”

“This is not a slumber party, Fred,” Janus pointed out.

“Shut it,” Lena snapped and turned to Fred. “I’m fine with almost everything, except…”

“Bananas and tuna salad!” Remus interrupted.

“…whatever Remus is about to say.”

Janus rolled his eyes as that started a debate about whether or not fruit and/or fish belonged on pizza. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, which was when there was a knock on the door.

He froze when he heard the familiar voice. “Hello, hello,” said Emile, cheerfully. Janus looked up to see Emile standing at the open office door. Shit. Apparently, the man had decided to give up on sending lackeys to come fetch him and had decided to track him down himself when Janus couldn’t even escape without breaking a time lockdown. They met eyes briefly and Janus could see irritation if not anger in his eyes despite his otherwise cheerful expression and tone.

“Janus,” he said when he’d gotten their attention. “I’d like to have dinner with you.” The word choice told Janus everything he needed to know. Usually Emile was careful with how he said things to make sure people knew they had a choice. Typically he’d say something like, “I was wondering if you’d have time to have dinner with me tonight,” or “I’m about to go get food, would you like to come?” Today, there was no choice in the statement.

Janus still dried to dodge anyway. “Uh,” he said. “We were actually about to order pizza.”

“Go ahead,” said Fred kindly. Janus wanted to strangle him. “We can order pizza with olives if you’re not here.”

“I…” said Janus. “Guess, I’ll be going with you.”

“Great!” Emile said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Janus said. “Uh, now?”

“Now,” Emile said a bit of uncharacteristic steel to his tone.

Well, Janus was screwed. He swallowed his nervousness and got to his feet, taking Diesel Fuel with him. He turned to hand her off to Remus with a plea in his eye, but he just got an eyebrow raise in return. Traitor.

Then, he followed Emile out of the office door. “What would you like to eat?” asked Emile.

“Uh,” Janus said. “I don’t know. You asked me to eat, don’t you have any ideas?”

“I don’t actually,” Emile replied. Right.

“…Noddle Bar?” Janus threw out the nearest restaurant he knew.

“The one noodle restaurant? Sure,” Emile answered simply. They walked side by side out of the front doors of the TPI building. Janus actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken these stairs. He usually used his timepiece to get in and out.

The noodle bar was only moderately busy at this time. They were quickly able to find a table near the back and Emile pulled his menu up in front of him. Emile hummed as he flipped through the different displays. “What are you having?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Janus said, only then pulling up the menu himself, but still not quite looking at it.

“What about the fortune noodles,” Emile suggested.

Janus shook his head. “I don’t like those,” he said.

Emile glanced at him through the menu displays. “You used to.” Fortune noodles were a bit cheekily named. They didn’t actually indicate anything about your future. They were just supposed to taste like what you wanted from your future. A grad student might experience a feeling like they’d just aced a paper. A child that they got to stay up an hour later that night. Janus had liked the experience when he was younger, but in recent years, he’d begun to taste the underlying chemicals in the dish until that’s all he could.

“Well,” Emile said lightly, eyes on his menu. “That makes me even more worried for your mental health than I already was because of the almost three years of you avoiding talking to me.”

“No small talk, huh?” Janus asked.

“Forgive me,” Emile said, eyes now focused on Janus, and tone much darker. “How has your life been since I last saw your face 5 months ago during a business meeting and you refused to look me in the eye? Anything interesting happen? Shave your head and let it all regrow? Develop an allergy to peanuts? Join a convent and take an oath of silence that you only just broke today?”

“No,” said Janus quietly into the table.

“Great,” Emile said clipped. “Small talk over. Order your food.” Janus reached up blindly to select the first thing that came up on the food and drink menu as Emile punched something into his own and both menu displays disappeared, meaning there was nothing between their faces anymore. “You know, I was willing to give you a year,” Emile said. “I was willing to let you deal with it on your own because I thought eventually, you’d come talk to me about it, but apparently I was mistaken. The next year, I thought maybe you thought I didn’t want to talk to you, so I subtly made myself available, and you never took me up on the offer. I thought maybe I was just not being clear, and I should make my desire to talk to you more explicit, but as you have been routinely, clearly avoiding me at every single turn, I’ve decided I’ve had enough. So, let’s lay it all on the table. Is it me or do you need help?”

Janus closed his eyes. “It’s not you.”

“Then you need help,” Emile concluded.

Janus shook his head.

“Yes,” Emile snapped. “Whatever this is has gone on far too long.”

Janus stood up and slammed his hand down on the table. “And it’s going to keep going on!” he said. The food popped up at that moment. It appeared Janus had ordered lasagna and bubble tea, and Emile had ordered something with spaghetti and a fizzy drink.

“So, you’re just planning to go on being miserable then?” Emile asked, and Janus wasn’t sure if it was worse or better that he didn’t sound angry anymore.

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Janus slapped his hand down on the “To Go” button and his dinner was insta-wrapped by the table. “Yes,” he said.

“What exactly do you think you’re paying penance for, Janus?” Emile asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Janus said, paying for both of their meals with his fingerprint.

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” Emile said. “All you’d have to do is talk to me. Or even just talk to someone else. Please.”

“Just…” Janus said, grabbing his bag of food to avoid looking at him. “Just, leave me be.” He walked out of the noodle shop without another word.

Chapter 10

“And I thought Remus was going to be the most disgusting roommate in this equation,” Lena grumbled. Janus and Lena were apparently the earlier risers in the group as Fred was still curled up around a pillow and Remus was sprawled out under his desk.

Janus flipped her off.

“Protein infused Poptarts and caffeinated orange juice for breakfast?” she asked. “Just eat an energy bar and have a cup of coffee like a normal person.”

He took another pointed bite of his Poptart.

“You’re a horrible roommate. This is why they gave us different partners.”

“Yeah, well you snore, asshole,” Janus said after finishing off his meal.

“I’d tell you to go eat shit, but you already did that once this morning.”

A pillow flew across the room and somehow managed to hit the both of them. “S’op fighting,” Fred mumbled. “It’s sleep time.”

“It’s morning Fred,” Lena said.

“No,” Fred mumbled.

Janus ignored them, turning back to his integration port to continue to keep plugging in phrases of interest, but he kept getting nothing.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked after a few moments of him huffing at his screen reader.

“Trying to do anything that may change our current living arrangements.”

She puffed out an amused breath. “Can I help?”

“Can you see any connection between these words and phrases?” he asked, pulling away his screen reader and tapping at the words he’d typed out.

“Paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback, love Bug, BB good, Mandy, Macy Misa, I believe, cool, that’s just the way we roll, burnin’ up,” she said. “What are these?”

“They’re things Pat said when we interrogated that struck me funny,” Janus explained. “I feel like he was saying something more than what he said.”

“Hmm,” she said. “PTI for the first three?”

“Maybe,” Janus agreed, “but what about the rest of it? I feel like I’m missing something.”

15080

“Millennia,” Remus mumbled from under his desk. Janus hadn’t been aware he was awake. “He said something something about it being the only time he could see the change of the millennia.” He turned his head to look at Janus. “Considering he’s a time traveler, that’s definitely a weird thing to say.”

“Millennia,” Janus contemplated. “A different turn of the millennia. Oh no.”

“What?” Lena asked.

Janus sighed, and rubbed his temple. “I know someone who studied the 1700-2200s.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No,” Janus groaned, “because now I have to go talk to him.” He stood with a sigh and then paused. “How do I even get to Silver Mountains University without my timepiece?”

#study break stories #not writing

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cirrius-akiyo · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff, Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Established Relationship, Bury me with all my grammatical errors, Not Beta Read, Songfic, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content Series: Part 4 of Love in the Dark Summary:

Buck is going to fight for their love. Sugar, sprinkles and all.

[Finally we reach to the final chapter of the fourth installment ;) Thank you all :)]

Salvation of a Sinner

Eddie can smell his husband first before seeing him when he wakes up that morning. Buck smells like warm sugar and chocolate, with a hint of whipped vanilla.

For the last two and half days, Buck and Chris have been experimenting with the baked goods they supposed to prepare for the upcoming Bake Sale. Chris was quite indecisive and Buck having all the time on his hand now, decided to indulge their son and to try and see what came out the best.

The baked goods were then brought to the 118 with voting papers attached. The station actually looked brighter the moment Buck stepped inside with Carla in tow, all smiles and radiant. Eddie could see the small tension in Buck's shoulder melted away when he chanced a glance towards the locker, seeing his nameplate and gears were still there, loyally waiting for the owner to return.

Eddie himself can't wait for his husband to be cleared for duty, but presently, he needs to get ready for work, which will be long and arduous without Buck besides him.

He shifts towards Buck who is still very much asleep, marveling at the view of the peaceful features. Warm breath puffing in small huff from the parted mouth and Eddie can't resist but to lean down and kiss the edge of the red pouty lips. Buck scrunches his face when Eddie's morning stubble scratches his nose.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Eddie nuzzles into his husband's cheek, deliberately scratching the skin with his stubble knowing that will goad Buck awake.

"Ugh, go away you scratchy devil." Buck croaks, voice thick with sleep as he tries to push Eddie away before snuggling deeper into his pillow.

"Well husband of mine, do I need to remind you that you got 300 batch of Krispy treats and brownies to make today?" Eddie proceeds to scratch Buck's tousled bedhead, feeling the soft hair there, which only cause Buck to melt further in content.

"It's Rainbow Rice Krispies Treats and Cookies-and-Cream Oreo Fudge Brownies." Buck sasses. Those two got the highest vote from 118, much to Chris' delight. Despite being indecisive, Buck knew Chris was leaning towards the two, so if Buck rigged the votes just to give Chris some sense of validation, their son doesn't have to know.

"Which will not get done by themselves, fancy name or not." Eddie sasses back.

"Urgh, you’re so mean." Buck whines while stretching his elongated body like a cat. "Why can't you stay home and help me bake 'em?" Buck then plops his head into Eddie's lap, smacking his face into his husband's stomach, teasingly blowing raspberries like he usually does with Chris.

Eddie just chuckles, reminding himself how much he loves this man not to smack his arse away.

"Because you know I can't bake shit and I don't want to get my feelings hurt when you kick me out of the kitchen later. And also, why I already enlisted Carla's and Abuela's help." Eddie replies.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I can manage myself." Buck curls his hands around Eddie's waist, content with the warmth there.

"And risk Abuela killing me? No thanks." Eddie quips back. He swears even before they got married, Buck is already Abuela's favourite grandson. The man is charming, Eddie can't compete with that. But most of all, Buck is still prone to exhaustion and dizziness. Eddie sometimes caught him trying to steady himself once in a while, and while that obviously worries him, Eddie doesn't want to be condescending or patronising to Buck. Buck will hate him if he was to be treated like an invalid.

His hand then slowly travels to Buck's lower back, nearing the edge of his sweatpants and start to trace meaningless pattern there which only cause Buck to shudder with anticipation.

"Don't start something you can't finish, husband." Buck warns, breathing slightly hitched. He is not to be left alone in wanton if Eddie decides to rile him up before leaving him unsated.

"Who said I can't finish them?" Eddie smirks, bowing down to meet Buck's lips before kissing him causing Buck to grin in delight like a Cheshire cat.

"Prove it." Buck challenges.

Later, Eddie will find himself rushing through their front door trying to get to work on time, but not before leaving a very satiated husband in his wake.

///

Evan: The treats are almost done! >_< *image attached*

Eddie: They look fantastic, sweetheart! Good job! :)

Evan: But this treat *image attached* is far from being done. ;)

Eddie chokes on his freshly brewed afternoon coffee. One moment he was looking at arrays of fancy looking brownies and Krispies Treats cooling on their respective trays, then another moment he was staring at his half-naked husband, covered only in the “Lick the Spoon” apron. Buck was standing against the kitchen counter, flaunting his miles long leg with one hand teasing the gap between the thin material of the apron and the milky skin while licking a chocolate covered spatula held by the other hand. Some chocolate even dripping onto his bare chest. How did he even manage to snap this picture?

Eddie: R you crazy? Carla might see you! Or Abuela or Chris!

Eddie swears he never type that fast in his life before. He’s anxious, slightly furious, nobody is going to tell him otherwise, but he’s still saving the picture for you know, record purposes. But Eddie really wants to save Abuela, Carla and Chris from the nightmare of catching Buck sauntering around in their house naked.

Evan: Why? This treat isn’t that inviting? :(

Eddie: Evan, NO. =_=

Evan: Mean. :(

Eddie puts away his phone, determines to finish up his coffee before another alarm rings. They were having back to back medical calls all morning, so a quiet afternoon is very much appreciated.

When he is halfway through his cup, his phone vibrates again. Eddie rolls his eyes, expecting another antic of Buck sulking.

Evan: How about now? *image attached*

Eddie sputters, immediately stands up and fled downstairs while muttering furious curses under his breath, leaving a very confused Hen and Chim who are throwing each other silent glances, wondering what’s going on with the man.

“What’s up with him?” Chim whispers underneath his magazine. Hen shrugs. “Maybe a stir-crazy Buck is driving his husband out of his mind again.” Chim scoffs. “Glad I’m married to the other Buckley.” Hen smirks deviously. “Don’t be so sure. She’s still early in her pregnancy. Wait until she’s big and swollen, then we can have this conversation again.” She pats his shoulder before standing up to fix her own cup of coffee, leaving a very rattled looking Chim.

Safe in the deepest part of the storage room where nobody can take a peek on his phone screen, Eddie dares to open again the last image Buck has sent to him, slowly releasing his breath that he doesn’t even notice he’s holding. Eddie emits a strangling noise once the image popped up.

Buck is in their bedroom, grinning widely at the mirror while still wearing the damn apron. Only now his bare ass is on full display, with little to nothing left for imagination saves only with the ribbon-loop of the apron loosely tied on his waist.

Buck flaunts his body in a way that he definitely knows is able to wake Eddie’s primal desire and he can’t risk gawking upon the picture in the common area. He has a reputation to hold, a man of principle that is not easily swayed by his sexy and charming husband.

Eddie: Goddammit Evan! I’m at work. >:(

Evan: See you at home, husband. :)

Evan Buckley-Diaz is a menace and a chaos, but Eddie loves him anyway.

///

Later when Eddie return to a quiet home, his mouth water for totally different reason. Buck is no longer in the skimpy apron. Instead he found his husband sleeping on the couch engulfed in Eddie's LAFD hoodie and a very short shorts. Booty shorts short. His bubble butts perfectly filled them in, and it took greater self-restrain than Eddie initially thought he needed to stop himself from groping that ass, hard. From the look of it, Eddie dares to say Buck is trying to entice him when he comes home that night but finally succumb to the grip of sleep.

If Eddie didn't notice how tired Buck looks, Eddie would have him ravished there and then, consequences be damned. Plus, his husband has been riling him all over at work, but Eddie is a sensible man who thinks with his brain and not his dick, and his brain is telling him Buck needs his rest and sleep.

"Let's get you to bed, sweetheart." Eddie pulls Buck hand, trying to tug him into sitting up after he switches off the TV that is still flickering at the background.

"Carry me." Buck whines adorably, now hunching forward into Eddie’s tummy, still half-asleep.

Eddie scratches Buck's scalp before scooping him up in bridal carry. Buck has gained some of the lost weight, but he's still far along from bulking up to how he was before. At least his face is less gaunt, and he has more definition in his cheeks now.

Eddie peeks inside Chris’ room when they passed his slightly ajar door.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Eddie asks once Buck is safely deposited onto their bed. He then drags their duvet to tuck his husband in and fluffing his pillow up, pleased to see how content Buck looks.

"Em hmm." Buck replies albeit inarticulately.

"You're sure you don't need any of us accompanying you? Might be a lil bit late for me to opt out from work, but Carla and Abuela would be glad to do so. I can even cash my shift change with John tomorrow morning." Changing into his night wear, Eddie makes his way to the bathroom to wash up, keeping the door ajar. He already showers at the station beforehand so that he doesn't disturb Buck in case he's already asleep.

"Chris will be there." Buck replies while shifting on the bed to face the bathroom door.

"Chris doesn't count, sweetheart." Eddie leans on the doorframe with toothbrush still in hand.

"Just help me load them into the jeep first thing tomorrow morning and we're good." Buck half mumbles.

"Mmm." Eddie agrees, mouth full of toothpaste. “Are you sure?” He continues after spitting out the foam.

“Positive, Eddie. Now can you come in here faster. I’m cold. Need my human-radiator.”

Finishing up, Eddie proceeds to slide in under the duvet, shutting off the night lamp before pulling Buck into his embrace.

"Alright, your human-radiator is at full service. Go to sleep now. I love you." Eddie whispers to the crown of Buck's tousled head, soft curls tingling his nose.

"I love you more. Sex me." Buck starts to trace lazy patterns on Eddie's abs, nearing more to his happy trails, while trying to grind his groin with Eddie’s thigh together albeit weakly. The thin material of his booty short definitely doesn’t help Eddie’s cause here. While that is very inviting, he doesn't want them to make another hospital trip with Buck in tow. Eddie doesn’t want to be answerable to any of their family and friends as to why Buck is admitted again. Dying by being dicked.

"You're tired. I'll sex you up tomorrow morning if you up to it." Eddie swiftly catches Buck's wandering hand, immediately stopping the man from cupping his dick. If his half-hard dick has eyes, they would be giving Eddie stink eyes at the lost of sensation.

Buck seems to contemplate on the idea. "Sex me up good?" He finally concedes. Buck does feel tired. Exhausted really. If Carla and Abuela didn't help, he's positive Eddie might be coming home to him passed out on the kitchen floor.

Buck feels Eddie's lips pressed against his temple before Eddie brings Buck’s wandering hand up onto his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

"The best."

"Promises, promises."

Eddie can feel Buck relax in his hold and melted against his chest. A beat after that, Buck is already snoring softly. While Eddie feels like the weight of the day lifted from his shoulder, the weight of his husband pressing against him grounding him in a very comforting manner. Before long, Eddie finds himself drowsy and sleep comes peacefully to him.

"I thank God for everything

That you showed me, that you showed me, yeah

And I thank God for everything

That you showed me, that you showed me"

///

Buck is not a stranger at Christopher’s school events. Even before they got married, Buck had attended few show-and-tells, few plays and some projects exhibitions. However, when it comes to anything related to Chris’ English Class, Buck tends to avoid them like a plague, worried to collide with one Ana Flores. Buck is a firm believer that no confrontation is the best defense.

Ana Flores who is smart, pretty, lovely and everything nice. Ana Flores who had made Eddie acting like a fool the very first time he met her.

Ana Flores whom in Buck’s drug induced dream, smiling in their annual family Christmas card, who stands beside Eddie on Christopher’s graduation day, who sits at the front row when Christopher standing at the altar, waiting for his spouse-to-be.

So, what if Buck feels threaten by another woman. Hen said his feeling of insecurity is valid when Buck turned to her one day. Even though Ana now is not Chris’ teacher anymore, she is still the teacher responsible for special education kids. So, it was not surprising when Eddie bumped into her during the last parents-teacher meeting that eventually had led to all this mess.

Buck has forgiven Eddie and they’re past that. Even if Eddie still find it hard to believe it, Buck honestly doesn’t hold any anger, what’s more any resentment towards his husband. Eddie has confessed right after he got home that night, and ever since has been trying so hard to make amends. True, the doubt on his self-worth seems to be amplified, but Eddie keep proving to him repeatedly after the aneurysm to not be. Buck takes that as a win.

As for Ana Flores, Buck is not sure about his feeling towards the teacher. It’s not mere resentment, not bitter, not anger but more like insecurity and apprehension. Ana is everything that Buck isn’t. Specifically, Ana has something Buck will never have. A womb. The ability to carry a child. Eddie has created wonderful Christopher with Shannon before. What does Buck have to offer?

And now Buck is sweating buckets under his Henley. Even though Eddie had kept his promise and sexed him up good first thing this morning, they did nothing to calm his nerves when he starts up his jeep.

Buck knows he had come out strong to Eddie, saying he would be fine. But the truth is, he is a nervous wreck. Now Buck is starting to regret denying Eddie’s offer to come along, quoting that the team is already one man down and he did not want to impose Abuela or Carla any more than needed.

Chris is excited, ecstatic to sell the sweet goodness they have baked, and Buck doesn’t want to crash his enthusiasm by being a coward.

So here is Buck standing his ground and staking his claim, fully armored with all the sugary sweetness and one marvelous son (and a slight aching bum).

Arriving at the school, a volunteer leads them towards the registration counter where a teacher is attending eager students and equally eager parents as to their respective booth.

What is the chance that the teacher happens to be none other than Ms. Ana Flores? Well, the chance apparently is 100% for Buck because sitting at the counter, is the Ana Flores, wearing a daffodil hued blouse and sky-blue skirts. There is no denying it, she does look pretty, hair all swaying in the breeze.

Before Buck can collect his nerve, Chris has trudges forward like a man with mission. Well, they do have a mission if 300 brownies and Krispy Treats is anything to go by.

“He - Hello, Ms. Flores.” Chris strides his way towards the teacher, who later smiles brightly upon seeing the little man.

“Hello, Christopher. Are you ready to sell?” Ana greets back, now shifting her whole attention to Chris after another teacher took her place to assist other participants.

“Yeah. We baked – lots – and lots and we gonna sell lots – and lots.” Chris cheers enthusiastically. Watching Chris interacting with his (former?) teacher, Buck has since regains his confidence. You got this, Buck!

Ana looks up and saw Buck, and Buck smiles his thousand-megawatt smile, one that he used to throw around at the crowd of young spectators during their rescue. One that had made Eddie extremely jealous when a young man slipped his phone number into Buck’s pocket after saving his roommate. Here goes nothing.

Buck can’t help to notice Ana’s smile falters a bit after seeing him. Does she had hope Eddie will be the one coming? Alright, time to mark your territory, Buck. Buck braves forward, approaching the two.

“Hi, I’m Buck. I think we have met before.” Buck offers a handshake, still wearing the crowd-pleaser smile of his.

Ana seems to be pulled out from her stupor. “Yeah. Yes. I’m Ana. Umm, yes, we have met before, but we didn’t really introduce ourselves. I’m sorry, I was actually expecting Mr. Diaz. Christopher said his dad will be coming for this Bake Sale.” She replied cautiously while shaking Buck’s hand.

Buck raises his eyebrows. Huh. Cutting straight to the chase, won’t we?

But before Buck is able to open his mouth to cut Ana down a size, Chris chimes in, “Buck – Buck is my other – father, Ms. Flores. He is – my Pops.”

If anything, Buck leers wider. Take that Miss. Oh, Chris is up for a good treat this weekend. “Yeah, the name is Evan Buckley-Diaz, but people usually call me Buck. Eddie is my husband. Technically, I am the other Mr. Diaz. Is there a problem, Ms. Flores?” Buck asks while batting his eyelashes, eyes never leaving Ana’s, feigning innocence rivaling Chris’.

The moment Buck introduced himself, Ana suddenly freezes, breaking the eye contact first. Buck too, freezes because Ana froze, does that make sense? Buck can feel the electrifying tension in the air during the beat of silence between them.

What Buck does not expect is for Ana to blush. “I... well...I am,” Ana is gaping like a fish, trying to collect herself. While Chris giggles as if Ana has grown another set of head, now Buck genuinely pities her. Did he come in too strong? The momentary triumph he felt few minutes ago slowly ebbed out of him. Shaming Ana in public has never been in his plan, because Buck still remember being publicly humiliated after that poor man stole his identity to catfish unsuspecting women.

“Well, Mr Buckley...Diaz...,” Ana stammers.

“Just Buck, please.” Buck offers sympathetically.

“Well, Buck...” Now she is stumbling with the checklist, flipping through the names and stops at ‘E.B.Diaz’ written beside ‘Christopher D. B. Diaz’, oh, ooh, oooh, “your booth’s number is 29. You can unload your goods at the main entryway. Another volunteer will guide you to your booth and help you with the loads.” Ana finally gets her act together, switching into more professional demeanor, albeit a bit tensed.

“Thank you, Ms. Flores.” Buck simply said.

“Sure.” She nods ardently.

“Let’s – g – go Pops. The brow – brownies will get hot in – in the car.” Chris is already tugging Buck to move, blissfully unaware of the tension rising between the two adults.

///

When Ana sets her eyes onto one Edmundo Diaz for the first time, she knew she likes him. After knowing that Eddie's wife is out of picture long time ago, she knew she got a chance. Gathering information from Christopher’s stories, Ana collected that Eddie never tried to date again. The only constant is this guy named Buck whom according to Chris is his and his father's best friend. Chris incorporates Buck into every family-related project or homework.

She saw Buck a few times, picking up Chris from school, and even attended the school play and science fair. Tall, buff, and handsome, but she already got her eyes fixed on Mr. Diaz.

Now that Christopher is not in her class anymore, she finally made her move to convey her feeling to Mr. Diaz. She thought she would be more articulate, but she ended up jump straight to kissing Mr. Diaz after the parent-teacher conference. Which she admits, not her finesse moment, but before she can deepen the kiss, Mr. Diaz pulled back before cursing in long succession of Spanish and English. The man literally dashed across the hallway faster than the school’s track and field’s athlete. Did she feel humiliated? Yes. Will she give up? Absolutely not.

So, Ana waited for her chance to talk to Mr. Diaz privately.

But her chance never came afterwards. Later, she learnt that Buck was in hospital, which might explain the reason Christopher has been skipping schools for few days here and there.

But now, with the Bake Sale is coming, Ana sure her chance is finally here. Chris had confirmed that his father will be joining the Bake Sale and Ana can't wait. She wore her best outfit, dressed to the nine and even had her hair and nails done.

Then Ana met Buck instead of Mr. Diaz, who appears to be the one accompanying Christopher for the Bake Sale. He’s thinner than the last time Ana saw him, but otherwise looked healthy. Oh wait, scratch that. Evan Buckley-Diaz. E.B. Diaz. The E.B. Diaz. And Ana never had wished so hard upon a star for a hole to suddenly swallow her into the deepest pit, never to come up back again. Let her be buried in shame and disgrace.

///

After a very successful sale at the Bake Sale this morning, Buck and Chris return to their home with heads held high, clearly pleased with the outcome. Buck just earns himself the right to gloat to Eddie for the rest of his life. Despite he can see that Ana was actively avoiding their way, Buck didn’t allow it to bother him. What’s important is that Chris is happy, and he had stood his ground, introducing himself as Chris’ other official parent.

What he doesn’t expect is for Ana Flores to stand before their front door that late afternoon.

“I kissed Eddie.” She promptly blurts out.

Now Buck senses like he is experiencing some kind of deja vu.

///

Ana Flores might be a determined woman, but a home wrecker she is not. If confessing her sin is what needed so she can sleep at night, so be it.

And that's how she finds herself standing in front of the Diaz, no, Buckley-Diaz residence, late in the afternoon after the Bake Sale. Mrs. Dolores had given her some serious side eyes when she skipped the cleaning duty, citing family emergency. Well, technically this is an emergency. A family might be torn apart because she did something stupid.

She has drafted a perfect apology speech during her drive to the couple’s residence, but every word flew away the moment Buck opened the front door. “I kissed Eddie.” She blurts out, as finesse as the first time she kissed Mr. Diaz.

She nervously waits for the impending yells, or even slaps, but they never come. Instead she finds Buck doubling over, laughing his heart out. Now she is even more confused than the first time she discovered Mr. Diaz has remarried. Has another of his aneurysm popped?

“Mr. Buckley-Diaz…?” She inquiries, genuinely concern as to Buck’s health.

“I’m sorry. One moment. Oh, and just Buck, please.” Buck gathers his breath, some small chuckles escaping him.

“Mr. Buckley, please… I am so sorry.” Ana pleads, guilty etched on her sullen face.

“It’s okay. I gather that you didn’t know?” Buck asks back. From her demeanor after Chris dropped the bomb, she looked completely blindsided. Buck couldn’t possibly hold that against her.

Ana nodded furiously. “If I had known, I would never… I swear.”

“I believe you.”

///

The smell of rich chocolate still wafts sweetly through the front door when Eddie returns home that evening. He immediately feels at ease the moment he steps into their little house.

“I’m home.” He calls out to his family whose laughter could be heard emanating from the kitchen. To be honest, Eddie has been slightly on edge about the day, and Buck doesn’t really give him much update except from “it’s great” and “see you at home later”.

“Welcome home!” He hears Buck replies (yells) back to him.

Eddie quickly makes his way towards the kitchen. The dinner table is full of the duo’s bounties today. Chris must have convinced Buck to try everything out and Buck must have been indulging their son endlessly.

“How does it go?” Eddie questions tentatively, rounding his way to hug Buck who is sitting beside Chris.

Buck cheekily shows him the stacks of empty trays sitting by sink, waiting to be cleaned by none other than Eddie himself. Eddie can see how Chris’ and Buck’s eyes glimmers and wide grins spread across their faces, both vibrating in eagerness.

Something crossed on to his mind. “Did you guys sell everything?” Eddie exaggerates his surprise, pleased to see how both are smiling even brighter.

“Y – yes – Daddy.” Chris nods keenly, Eddie worries his neck might hurt.

“Good job big man!” Eddie throws a high five.

From the side of his eyes, he can see Buck pouting. “How about me?”

“Well, you did a good job baking, but I am sure Chris here is the selling point.” Eddie smirks teasingly.

Buck huffs. “Well, then please do a good job cleaning up those trays. Abuela wants them to be shiny when we return them later.” Buck quips before walking away with Chris in tow, ready to turn for the night.

///

Buck returns to the kitchen after finishing tucking Chris in.

“He’s asleep?” Eddie asks from the sink, still trying to scrape away the residues that somehow leaked from the baking paper.

“Not even reaching another page of the book.” Now they are on the first one of the Diary of the Wimpy Kid series. Buck then leans against the counter beside Eddie who is still struggling with the mess.

Eddie hums, still focusing hard to scrape the gooey madness that somehow refuse to go away.

“You only answered part of my question just now. How does it go?” Eddie turns towards his husband, already given up on the trays.

Oh.

“Peculiar yet funny things happened, you won’t even believe me.” Buck provides while hands pulling Eddie closer to him.

Eddie’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “Dare to enlighten me?” His hands in turn snakes around Buck’s waist.

“Ana doesn’t know that we are married. Never know that you remarried. Thought E.B. Diaz is Edmundo B. Diaz, Not Evan Buckley-Diaz. Plus, Chris had graduated from her class when we got married, so she doesn’t really get the notice.” Buck explains, patiently waiting for Eddie to wrap his head on the story.

At that very moment, Eddie’s worldview just cleared up even more. Huh.

“Evan, I…” Eddie suddenly sounded a little bit on edge. If Ana didn’t know, then the burden of the guilt shifted onto him totally. Eddie only have himself to blame.

Sensing the tensing in Eddie’s voice and the way he is trying to free himself from their intertwined limbs, Buck just embraced him tighter and start swaying their bodies to the invisible rhythm.

“We’re past all that, Eddie. You didn’t know that she didn’t know. Plus, from what I gather, she’s the one who kissed you first, and you didn’t act upon it. This was all a huge misunderstanding. I love you, Eddie. I love our family. Nothing can take that from me, from you, from us, aneurysm or not. You need to forgive yourself, Eddie.” Buck says intently, sincerity and adoration clear in his bright eyes.

Eddie never thought he can fall deeper in love with Buck, but he does. He whole being just fall in love even more with the man standing in his embrace. Buck is everything good that Eddie never thought he would find again after his first marriage crumbled. Buck just has that kind of power over Eddie, but Buck seems to be oblivious of it. Eddie has never been good with his words, so instead, he pulls Buck closer and press into his husband red lips in a filthy bruising kiss.

“You are my home.” Eddie whispers against Buck’s swollen lips, pressing their bodies even closer with no space left in between them.

“And you are mine.”

#Cirrius-Akiyo's bunkdump #911 fics #911 fanfic #911 fic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic #buddie #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #read on ao3 #Rambler not Writer

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marinaaniseed · 5 years ago

Text

Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt: 10

Summary: Asgardian v. Pizza buffet A.K.A. The Stuffing Chapter.

There’s a teeny, tiny bit of important plot before we get to that point. I’ve tried to very clearly flag the point of no return, so nobody get their undies in a twist if you continue and don’t like what you read.

Length: 6.7k-ish. Much like our hero, I may have overdone it this chapter...

Notes: The slices of pizza are of a size that works for you. If you’ve seen Bad Times at the El Royale, one of the scenes may seem somewhat familiar to you. My unending thanks go to @nobzob for encouraging me and for beta-reading this. Also, I made a deal with @thors-soft-cheeks that I would write this chapter, so hopefully it meets your expectations :)

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, brief mention of periods and babies, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics.

That summer was scorching.

“It’s as hot as hell out there,” you proclaimed one afternoon, collapsing onto the settee, sweat running down your face.

“But Hel isn’t hot,” Thor observed, his head tilted to the side in confusion like an overgrown Labrador puppy. Geri and Freki mirrored his pose from where they lay on the floor.

“What do you mean it’s not hot? Isn’t it supposed to be full of fire? To burn the sinners? That’s what they taught us at school.”

“Ah, is this from one of your Midgard stories?”

“No,” you said indignantly, before softening. “Well, I suppose so. But a lot of people take them very seriously.”

“Hel is on Niflheim. It is full of cold, mist, and ice. It is where my father imprisoned my sister. You mean it’s as hot as Muspelheim outside, yes?”

“Which one is Muspelheim again?” You’d tried to follow Thor’s explanations of the universe, had even tried to learn the Asgardian language with him. You weren’t stupid, but you were no Jane Foster, either. It was hard to unlearn many of the things that you thought were facts.

“The one where I was captured by Surtur,” Thor explained, wincing a little at the memory of how Asgard had been destroyed.

“The fire demon guy?”

“That’s the one,” Thor said, wandering off to the kitchen to grab you a drink of water. Handing you the glass, he sat down next to you, removing some of the strands of hair that had stuck to your face with sweat.

“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” you asked, once you’d finished gulping down the water, giving yourself brainfreeze in the process.

“Quite nervous,” he admitted. “And you?”

“Nervous for you, I suppose.”

Tomorrow was the anniversary of New Asgard’s founding, and a day of celebrations were planned. Traditional tournaments and games, feasting, drinking, dancing. But it was also to be the day when the results of the vote would be announced.

After the census, there had been a consultation. Every adult Asgardian had been asked their thoughts on how they wished to be governed. These answers were collated, and a vote held. Every option was there and the Asgardians had to rank them in preference. If none of the options received over 50% of the vote, then the least popular one would be eliminated, and those who had voted for that option would have their second preference counted. On it would continue until an option received the requisite amount of interest. It wasn’t a perfect system, but you all hoped it would lead to an outcome that most people were vaguely in favour of.

Thor and Brunnhilde had agreed, both publically, and privately to honour the result, whatever it was. You worried for them both. There were plenty of outcomes that neither of them particularly desired. Some of Thor’s friends, visiting New Asgard for the celebrations, had kindly agreed to count the votes, as neutral outsider.

Thor was doing a lot better, although he still had days where he wobbled. Taking responsibility for some of the smaller things, especially the animals, had given him more purpose. You didn’t want it all to be undone by the result.

“Perhaps we should go out for dinner tonight,” you mused after a while, your hand resting on Thor’s. “We could walk into Tønsberg, get away from everything.”

“Yes, that could be good.”

STOP HERE IF YOU ONLY WANTED THE PLOT NECESSARY BITS. IF YOU CONTINUE AND THEN BITCH ABOUT THE KINKY SHIT, THAT’S ON YOU. I WARNED YOU.

Thor had been working on his anxiety, venturing a little further each day with the dogs, or riding on one of the horses. He regularly made it into Tønsberg now. There was one restaurant in particular that had caught his eye. A place where you can eat as much pizza, sour cream and salad as you want. He wondered just much pizza he could eat.

That was the thing that he’d noticed, now that food was becoming a pleasure again, not a means to distract from his feelings. He enjoyed eating. Not just in the way that most people enjoyed tasting something delicious. There was something erotic about it, the cocktail of pleasure and pain as he pushed his stomach to its limits. Yes, he definitely wanted to find out how much pizza he could eat. He’d even heard they did dessert pizzas now, although he wasn’t sure if the restaurant did those, or even if he’d like them.

It’d probably be like how you’d described deep-fried Mars bar and ice cream to him: They took a bunch of things I love and turned it into something I hate.

Thor wondered if you enjoyed watching him eat, helping him to eat. He hoped you did, suspected you did. You always made a little too much, brought back an extra little treat, ordered too much then shared, or more accurately, gave it to him. He’d seen the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes he’d push out his stomach a little more or pretend to scratch an itch, moving the hem of his top up to rub the flesh he knew you wanted to touch. It was worth it for your reaction, every time. Widening eyes, rosier cheeks, a smile that told him how much you loved him. Then, of course, there had been the feast. You kneading and feeding him at the table.

Yes, you definitely enjoyed it.

For a long time, he’d felt like his fat gut was something to be ashamed of, that made him unworthy of the affections of another. And maybe you were the only one, maybe you were a cosmic anomaly. That didn’t seem right, but even if you were, of all the trillions that existed, now, in the past, or in the future, you were here in the right place, at the right time, to love him.

That felt good. It felt different. And he realised that what he had known in the past was lust, awe, fear. It was far better to be loved than to be feared, though anyone sensible would still exercise caution.

It hadn’t been easy, to accept this version of himself - when you spend over a millenia with roughly the same body, it takes a while to adjust. It’d be a fine day indeed when a person was judged on what they did, not what they looked like. But for now he would settle for having someone not be repulsed by his body, but actually attracted to it.

Your insistence on touching him was uncomfortable at first. It chafed at the edges of his esteem and confidence. But now it was familiar, something he welcomed, something he sought. His hand would move yours to his stomach when you were sat together, holding it there. He always asked if you wanted to join him in the bathroom, to lather him up, and gently apply lotions. The majority of the time, he fell asleep as the little spoon, you holding onto him as though he was the most precious thing in your life. Even though they woke him up, he found your sleep twitches endearing, the way your fingers tried to press and grab his hairy tummy as it rounded out in front of him.

In fact, the only time he really got to be the big spoon was during your period. He had, in his defence, offered to use his powers to rid you of the inconvenience, but you liked the reassurance of knowing that you weren’t pregnant. You had, however, allowed him to ease some of the side-effects. During that time, you practically begged him to hold you, to be the big spoon. I like it when you press your stomach into the small of my back, you told him, it’s like a warm, squishy cushion to ease my pain. He didn’t like that you were in pain but was glad to be of help. He hoped his fingers resting on your abdomen soothed the cramps he knew you felt, but kept to yourself. Perhaps one day his fingers would rest there and bring comfort to his unborn child?

***

You’d taught him how to use Google, and he’d looked up when the restaurant was least likely to be busy. Being in crowded places was getting easier, but Thor still preferred to avoid them. Most Norwegians tended to eat earlier, so the restaurant was fairly quiet when you arrived just after 9pm.

Sliding across the dark brown leather seating of the booth, you began looking at the drinks menu.

“Why does friend Hulk get his own drink and I do not?” Thor queried, pointing at a brandy cocktail. Looking at the little picture printed in the menu, you can see why they’d named the green drink after Banner’s alter ego.

“Well, it’s not named after you but I think this is pretty close,” you countered, indicating the Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I am not dark.”

“No, no you are not. But you do like your storms,” you said, with a smile. “Or there’s this one,” you added, showing him the Angel Face.

“You flatter me far too much, my love,” Thor said, taking your hand in his. “This one is you,” he decided, pointing at the Flirtini.

“Very good,” you laughed. “Any other cocktail matches you can see?”

“This one, the Red Russian. That is Agent Romanoff. The Brooklyn, that is Captain Rogers. Long Island Iced Tea is Stark.”

“I understand the first one, but not the other two?”

“Those are the names of the places where they are from.”

“Ah, I see. I thought this was more appropriate for Steve Rogers,” you said, showing him the Old Fashioned. Thor laughed, long and hard at that one. It startled the few other people in the restaurant with you, but you didn’t mind. Thor had been so stressed lately, you’re just pleased to hear him laugh again, to see him relax a little. You decided to up the ante a little bit and earn your match with the Flirtini.

“So, bear,” you said softly, so he had to cock his head towards you to hear you. “I was thinking after the dinner, we could try these three,” you smirked, spreading the fingers of your free hand to point at the Sex on the Beach, Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, and the Screaming Orgasm.

“Only three?” he grinned. “I think this one is relevant to your interests,” he said, moving the hand he held underneath his shirt while gesturing to the Hairy Navel. That earned a laugh from you, not as loud as Thor’s but just as mirthful.

A quiet, but pointed cough from the end of the table drew your attention to your server. His name badge said ‘Tor’ and you wondered if he realised who your dinner companion was.

“Can I get you any drinks?” he asked.

“A Flirtini for me, please,” you answered.

“And a Dark ‘n’ Stormy for me,” Thor added. “Tell me, how does this pizza buffet work?”

“Well, there is a pizza bar over there, behind me,” Tor said, gesturing. “You just take a plate and serve yourself, you can have as much pizza, salad and sour cream as you like for 134 kroner. It’s only our most popular pizzas but there’s something for everyone.”

“And there is no limit to the amount you can have?” Thor clarified, and that was when you realised why you were here.

“No, we just ask that people don’t take more than they can eat. Oh, and the kitchen closes at 10:30 so that we can close at 11. So yeah, go right ahead and I’ll bring your drinks over to you in a few minutes.”

With that, Tor turned on his heel and went to the bar.

“I see why we’re here,” you smirked at your lover as you made your way over to the pizza. “You’ve got your work cut out though,” you added, showing him your watch.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thor said, beginning to think this was a bad idea.

“You want to see how much pizza you can eat. A lot more than I can, that’s for sure.”

You moved along the pizza bar, assessing your options, looking at the little signs in front of each of the cheesy wheels. Cheese and tomato, ham and pepperoni, ham and mushroom, spicy chicken, Thai chicken, beef and béarnaise, meat feast, chorizo and Ventricina, cauli truffle, vegetarian, beef and onion, BBQ chicken, Parma and truffle. If this was just the most popular ones, you were intrigued to see just how extensive the full menu was. You shoveled a couple of the more interesting slices onto your plate, added some sour cream to dip the crusts in, and grabbed a token amount of salad.

Both you and the drinks were at the table long before Thor. He had a plate in each hand, with a mountain of pizza on each. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost any slices.

“I wanted to try them all, so I got two slices of each,” he said, by way of explanation, your shocked expression not as subtle as you’d hoped.

“Did you get any sour cream?”

“Oh yes. I put some on every slice before I stacked them up.”

You wondered how he was going to taste the different flavours if they were all slathered in sour cream. It didn’t matter, as long as Thor was happy, that was the important thing. Your plate was empty but you were content to drink and watch the man next to you munching away on his stack of slices. You’d seen competitive eaters, inhaling their food, they could barely be tasting it. Thor wasn’t slow but you could tell he was savouring each slice. A purr when his tongue met a salty slice of pepperoni, a moan as hot mozzarella melted in his mouth, a satisfied smile as he bit into a portion heavy with sour cream. The textures, aromas, the heat of the jalapeños combined with the cooling richness of the dairy. He was focused on what he was eating, enjoying it as more than just sustenance. He was making love to his senses.

Your cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t just a flush from the alcohol. No, you were enjoying watching Thor enjoying his meal. It felt wrong, it felt dirty, voyeuristic, even, to feel aroused by this. You had to wonder, did pizza really taste that good to him, or was it something more?

Chancing a glance at Thor’s lap, you could see his erection pushing up against his underbelly, and being pushed away by the soft swell of his belly. Thor was so engrossed in his food that he didn’t notice your wandering hand until your fingers danced over the prominent bulge.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, an eyebrow arched teasingly.

“Ye-yeah,” he responded, stopping with a slice partway to his mouth. You took his other hand and moved it to your mouth, sucking his index finger while maintaining eye contact.

“What about now?” you asked once you’d released him.

“You’re making this a lot harder.”

“What, this?” you replied, applying more pressure to his crotch.

“Yes, no.” It was fun to watch Thor when he got flustered like this, torn between his desire to maintain decorum and his more carnal desires. “You’re making it a lot harder to focus on enjoying my pizza,” he finally managed.

“Ah, I see. Well, it must be quite cold now,” you said, eyeing the last few slices. “I’ll get us some more.”

Thor was glad for the respite. Between you and the food, he was extremely turned on. If it weren’t so public, he’d ask you to do something about the erection he was sporting. For now, though, he settled for undoing his trousers, giving both his tummy and his cock a bit more room.

“They just brought out a new, cheese and tomato, I thought you’d like to enjoy it while it’s hot,” you said, sliding a plate with five slices in front of him, the cheese bubbling slightly.

“That’s half the pizza,” Thor noted with a frown.

“You snooze, you lose. I wanted the best for my big man. I think you’ll enjoy it a lot more when it’s fresh and hot,” you said, touching his tummy under his shirt. “You wanted to see how much pizza you can eat, and I want to help. I’ll get you a few slices at a time so that it doesn’t go cold. You can tell me when to stop. Oh, I brought you some sour cream to dip the crusts in and I ordered some more drinks. It must be thirsty work eating all that pizza.”

The feel of your fingers pressing into his still pliable flesh, as you ate your slices, spurred him on even more.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to explain…” he started.

“Shh. You eat your pizza. I think I know what it is.” Thor looked at you confused but shoveled another slice into his mouth. “You’re enjoying your food, I know you are. It’s just like at the feast. It’s arousing you, I like it.”

“You do? Even though it’s weird, even if I get fatter?”

“Shh, shh. Let me bring you another plate, do you have a preference? I’ll tell you exactly what I think when I get back.”

“Um, may I have some more of the Thai Chicken please?”

“Certainly.”

Thor fiddled with the hem of his top and gulped hard on his drink, terrified about what you might say. It was one thing you enjoying his larger body, but you might have a very different opinion about him enjoying eating and actually enjoying his size. He enjoyed the size difference between you, he felt powerful, owning his space, and if he was honest, he was beginning to really enjoy his softness, how sensitive he now was in places.

One of his original two plates was slid back in front of him, with two slices of Thai chicken and three of ham and mushroom on it.

“There were only two slices left, so I thought I’d bring you something else as well,” you said by way of explanation. Tucking his hair behind his ear, you brought your lips close and began to tell him your answer.

“What you do is up to you, it’s your body. I’m just happy to see you happy, to see you enjoying yourself. However, if you’re happy like this, if you enjoy your food and maybe get a bit bigger, I’m certainly not going to complain. Not just because that would be rude, but because I’d enjoy it. I mean, you know how much I enjoy this tummy of yours.” Your hand returned to its previous position, to emphasise your point. “I definitely wouldn’t be upset if there was more of it for me to admire and play with.”

You moved back a smidge, to see how Thor was taking it. He was trying to remain calm, to eat his pizza, but his heated cheeks and heavier breathing let you know he was enjoying your words.

“Well, you know how much I enjoy it when you press your weight down on me, I think that’d be more fun with a bit more weight behind it. Or how about when you take me from behind, think about all that extra power to pound into me with. Think about how small I’ll look in the mirror when I take you into my mouth. I like the thought of your bigger belly bouncing on top of me, jiggling beneath me, or just being extra cushioning for me to cuddle into. My big, strong, soft, sex god.”

Thor trembled next to you, trying to resist the urge to throw you on the table and fuck you right there. He was on his penultimate slice, so you took one of the empty plates back to the pizza station. You could sense the stares from the people who’d noticed your frequent trips but, fuck ‘em. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and that’s exactly what you, or more accurately, Thor, were doing.

“Beef and béarnaise, for my beefy bear,” you said, sliding the plate in front of the blushing god. Nobody had touched that pizza since you’d got him the cheese and tomato, so didn’t feel bad bringing him the remaining eight slices. You left him in comparative peace for this plate, gently rubbing his belly and checking out the restaurant’s menu on your phone.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked as he neared the end of this particular round.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, it’s a bit of a struggle, but it feels so good. How much longer do we have?”

“35 minutes. You’re doing really well,” you encouraged. He was starting to feel full, less doughy under your fingertips. The buttons on his shirt were certainly running into difficulties and you feared their relationship with the soft, denim garment would be short-lived. You were curious as to why Thor had chosen a slim fit shirt in the first place but chose not to comment. It was a pleasure to see all of his soft curves on display outside of the bedroom.

“I think I can manage some more. What were you looking at on your phone?”

“Oh,” it was your turn to blush. “The restaurant has its nutritional info online, I was seeing which pizzas were the most calorific, just in case you wanted a little push.”

In truth, Thor didn’t know exactly what calorific meant, but he could tell this was something that interested you. You’d eagerly accepted his little (ok, big) kink, he could indulge yours.

“Well, why don’t you bring me some. I always like to push myself,” he said, adjusting his position so that his stomach no longer pressed into the edge of the table but rested upon it instead, a generous slither of flesh revealed where his shirt failed to cover him. “Maybe another of those stormy drinks as well, please.”

You almost tripped over yourself in your hurry to bring more food and drink to your full-bodied lover, rich and satisfying, to be enjoyed slowly like a fine Shiraz. Thor laughed a little at your eagerness, it was endearing how you wanted to please him, to take care of him. He hoped you took care of yourself with the same enthusiasm.

Three slices of ham and pepperoni, and five slices of Parma and truffle made their way back with you. Shortly thereafter, Tor dropped off another Flirtini for you and a pitcher of Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I wanted to make sure you were well hydrated,” was your answer to Thor’s look of surprise. Admittedly, the cocktail probably wasn’t that hydrating, but Thor had asked for it, so you just made sure that he had enough. You sipped on your drink, watching him battle on, determined to beat the pizza. It was a very different opponent to one he’d find on the battlefield, but Thor had set himself this challenge and he wasn’t going to back down. The staff were watching you nervously, concerned you’d make them wait all night, but you would be gone at eleven, no problem. As Thor began to slow down, you noticed him glancing between your phone and the remainder of the pizza.

“What is it? Are you ok? You can stop if you want, it’s ok,” you worried at him.

“No, no. I can do this. Can you get me what is left? You might need to help me eat them, but I can do it,” he insisted, chest heaving as he panted through the last slice.

Dutifully, you went to gather up what was left, balancing them carefully on two plates. You weren’t entirely sure how you would help him eat them, but he was single-minded in his task, and there was nothing you’d be able to do to stop him. Once Thor had set his mind to something, he was hard to reason with. You either had to get out of the way or hold on tight until he was done.

The pitcher was balanced on top of his taut tummy, shirt stretched dangerously tight around it, as Thor sipped his cocktail through a straw.

“Is that all that is left?”

“Is that all?” you asked incredulously. “I’ve got you three each of the chorizo, BBQ chicken, and cauliflower, two slices of vegetarian and meat feast, and four of the beef onion. That’d be more than enough for most people, are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely. I’m not most people. Asgardians are known for their feasting.” The pitcher was set back down with a thud.

You couldn’t really argue with that.

The first few slices went down well, but then he really began to struggle, gulping down his drink to try to rid his mouth of the cloying cheesiness. Your fingers traced over the swell of his tummy, trying to soothe him.

“That’s good, that helps. Feed me?” he pleaded.

“Ok, you make yourself comfortable and I’ll help.”

You stacked up two slices of the same flavour, bringing them his mouth, and chewed through them, less thoughtfully than before, as he massaged his aching tummy. He was a sweaty, gassy mess, with cheese and sauce stuck in his beard, but he was very pleased with himself when he finally finished the last slice.

“Are you impressed?”

“Very. You managed 69 slices,” you giggled.

“What is funny about that?”

You leaned in and whispered it into his ear. That wasn’t something you’d tried yet, and tonight certainly wasn’t the night for it, but it was definitely something to try another time.

“Finish your drink, I’ll go pay,” you told the full and flustered thunder god.

He was more than happy to finish the pitcher, he needed something to help him cool down. He hadn’t known there was a name for what you’d described, but he definitely liked the sound of it.

***

In the end, it wasn’t the buttons, but the fabric itself that capitulated. After you’d settled up, you’d found Thor sitting awkwardly with this arms across his waist, cheeks flushed fuchsia.

“Are you alright?” you asked, concerned that the pizza had, in fact, beaten Thor.

“My shirt…” he mumbled, moving a hand to show the gaping hole to the side of the placket, allowing a sizable chunk of flesh to be on show.

“Ah...hug me from behind as we leave, I can cover you,” you suggested. It was a slightly awkward exit, Thor pressing into your back. You thanked the staff and eventually made it into the street. “Perhaps we should take a taxi, get you back home quicker?”

Thor mumbled his agreement. It was a fairly quiet evening, so ordering one was pretty straight forward. Ever the gentleman, Thor went to open the door for you.

“Oh, love, could you hold my bag for me, please?” you said with a pointed look at his torso.

Never had he been gladder to hold something in his life. A shield would’ve been preferable, would’ve covered more, but he had to work with what he had.

***

Safely home, Thor was glad to unbutton his shirt, breathing a sigh of relief. He was lucky his jeans were almost painted on otherwise, he might’ve lost them on the journey, stomach spilling out of them.

“Hey, Y/N. Do we have anything sweet?” he called from the kitchen, where he was feeding and fussing the dogs. It was pretty tricky to bend down to their bowls, but he just about managed it.

“Erm yeah. I baked a couple of cakes for tomorrow, why?”

When you got no response, you decided to put some music on, content to let Thor do his own thing. Some Deep Purple while you slumped on the settee, letting Loki slither over you.

It was the second song, Hush, when Thor reappeared, dancing into view with a plate in hand, generous slice of cake on top, and a fork in the other, swaying along to the music. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The dogs were dancing around his feet, trying to join in, and even the snake seemed to be eyeing him up as he moved remarkably gracefully towards you, swinging his wide hips in time to the music, stomach bouncing along in front of your face. Your mouth didn’t know whether to go dry or to salivate everywhere at the sight before you.

He eased himself down next to you, abused cushion sinking beneath his weight.

“I fancied something sweet after all that pizza,” he said. “This is an excellent cake, my love, you’re very talented.”

“It wasn’t exactly meant for you, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you answered, a little sad that the honey cake you’d worked so hard on was now missing a decent wedge.

“There’s still another cake, it’s fine,” he replied with a smile. “Asgard will still get to sample your handiwork.”

“Can I get you anything to drink with that?”

“Maybe some milk?”

Milk? What about a milkshake, you wondered to yourself. Thor clearly was intent on pushing himself to his absolute limit, so why not help him further?

He gave you a slightly reproachful look when you approached with the biggest glass you could find, filled with your concoction. Thor had wondered why you hadn’t taken so long, having finished his cake, and what you were using the blender for. Now he knew.

You’d blended together whole milk, peanut butter cup ice cream, a generous dash of bourbon, chocolate chips, and chocolate syrup. It was topped with whipped cream peak coated in chocolate sprinkles. A metal straw poked out the top.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the monstrosity. You hadn’t made him a full-on freakshake, but there was certainly a lot to take in. Thor sipped it cautiously, he didn’t want to get brainfreeze, balancing the glass on top of his over-full belly. You curled up next to him, careful not to jostle or apply too much pressure, kissing the flesh that jutted past the open fabric of his shirt, rubbing gentle circles into his swollen gut.

“You did this on purpose,” he observed around the half-way mark.

“You wanted milk, you wanted something sweet, you wanted to push yourself. I’m just helping you get what you want,” you replied with a grin. “You don’t have to finish it, but it’d be a shame to waste it.”

That was what spurred him on to finish, even though his body was pleading for him to stop. He really enjoyed how full he felt but this was definitely the last thing he was going to have.

“I love how big and round you are,” you commented, fingers delicately tracing over the mound of his stomach. “I can’t wait to get you to bed.”

Thor’s cock, which had never become less than half-hard, immediately sprang back to life. He gulped down the remains of the shake, a horny, panting mess.

“I absolutely cannot eat another thing,” he gasped.

“Oh, very good. I am impressed. Rest here a moment.” You took the glass, the cake plate, and fork to the kitchen, before grabbing a flannel from the bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mucky pup,” you said, tenderly wiping away the worst of what was caked around Thor’s mouth and in his facial hair. “How’re you doing?” you asked, cupping a soft cheek in your hand.

“I think I would like to lie down for a bit, I’m quite tired,” he admitted. You couldn’t blame him, just watching was tiring enough. You stood up and offered him a hand. Thor didn’t really need you to pull him up, he was more than strong enough to do it himself, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Go get comfy, I’ll do the washing up, let the dogs out, and join you in a bit,” you told him, groping his bum as he shuffled past. “Hey Thor,” you added.

“Yes, my love?”

“If Captain America has America’s ass, do you have Asgard’s ass?”

“I think we could find a smaller one to represent us as a people,” he noted, blushing a little.

“Aww, but I like this one. It’s so shapely and round.”

Thor rolled his eyes with a grin and lumbered off to the bedroom, keen to free himself from his clothes.

***

When you eventually joined Thor in the bedroom, you were surprised to find him still awake, albeit barely. His clothes were in a messy pile to one side, but that barely registered, because sprawled on top of the duvet was a very aroused, naked thunder god. He’d unbraided his hair so that it fanned out behind him on the pillow like a halo. One arm was behind his head, the other rested on his rounded tummy.

“I thought you were tired?” you queried, looking down at the dozy Asgardian. “I was expecting you to be asleep, not putting on a show.”

“Well, I was hoping you would take care of me, give my belly a little rub,” he replied with a grin.

“Only your belly needs taking care of?”

“Ok, maybe some other bits of me might like some attention.”

You rummaged around in the bedside table until you found your dry oil spray. Pumping it liberally, you made sure Thor’s belly was well coated before you settled down with your head on his chest, kissing and licking a nipple, while your hand smoothed over his stomach. Gently rubbing and kneading, you took your time, worshipping your way down to the soft underbelly where he was most sensitive. You avoided touching his cock for as long as possible, but it was hard to ignore, the head nodding against the underside of his rounded abdomen.

“Ah,” he hissed as you brushed against his erection. “I would much prefer it if you used your mouth for this part.”

Giving his tummy one last circular rub, you rolled away from Thor and moved to the very end of the bed, positioning yourself by his feet. You took one foot into your hand and began to knead it, pleased to see that the pumice was working. Thor writhed in your grasp, desperate for you to give his cock attention, but you wanted to string things out. You kissed your way from his ankle to his thigh, ignoring his erection, before massaging his other foot and repeating your journey up that sizable leg.

“My love, please,” he begged.

“Please, what?” you asked, knowing he couldn’t see you smirking.

“Please give me some release.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please...pleasure me, with your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” It was mean to torment Thor, yes, but also worth it to hear the increasing desperation in his voice.

“Please, I’m begging you, please. Please could you just suck my cock,” he whined.

“Oh! You mean like this?”

There was a strangled cry, then, oh fuck, yes, repeated above you as you took him into your mouth. You started slowly, licking and flicking your tongue around his head before gradually moving further down. Propped up on your elbows, you massaged the tops and sides of his packed gut, head gently butting into his underbelly, nose nudging into his soft hair as you moved up and down his length. You knew he wouldn’t last long, had seen how excited he already was, but it was still a surprise how quickly you felt his thighs trembling beneath you. His cum was thick, almost as thick as the milkshake you’d made him, and you swallowed it down. Making sure to clean him with your tongue, Thor gave an involuntary shudder, his cock now far too sensitive.

You pulled away, content to fall asleep next to the exhausted Asgardian, chest panting and stomach heaving from the exertion.

“My love?” Thor managed to huff out.

“Mmm?”

“I have one more request.”

“And want is that?”

“I want to taste you.”

You shuffled up the bed to kiss him, pressing into his sticky, soft, pink, marshmallow lips. His facial hair tickled as you deepened the kiss, but you didn’t mind. Drawing back, you took the time to admire Thor’s face. He looked happy, content. His smile was warm, his eyes sparkled, his brow was less creased, more carefree.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he admitted, hurrying to add, “not that it was bad! It’s just I wanted to, uh, eat you. Eat you out.”

“I thought you couldn’t eat another thing?” you teased.

“For you, I will always make an exception. None of the wonderous tastes to cross my lips this night shall compare to yours.”

You suspected that might not strictly be true, but you didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that.

“I fear I may not be able to move from this position. You shall have to sit on me,” Thor sighed with mock melodrama.

“I think I can agree to that,” you grinned. After all, it wasn’t every day a god invited you to sit on their face. You straddled Thor and held onto the headboard, lowering yourself slowly, making sure to support the majority of your weight with your knees. Thor began to lick you, slow and languid strokes of his tongue like you were the sweetest dessert, made only for him. You slowly began grinding your hips back and forth, trying to get him where you wanted him. After the way you’d teased him, it was only payback that he make you wait, but you were eager for more.

Now that he’d had his release, Thor was far more interested in taking his time. A powerful hand moved up to grab your left hip, keeping you in place, while the other hand reached up to massage your breast, pinching your hardened nipple. Thor could feel himself getting hard again. How could he not, when everything was you? All he could taste, all he could smell, the feel of your thighs against his soft cheeks. The overwhelmed, urgent little noises you made, and when he looked up, your breasts bouncing above him, that blissed-out, happy look on your face. All of it was for him, only for him. He was the only one who got to see you like this, to make you feel like this.

And he fucking loved it.

When you came it was hard, insistent and drenching. It was like turning his face to the heavens during a thunderstorm of his own creation. Thor definitely preferred this position. His height, in fact, his size in general, meant lying down between your thighs wasn’t the easiest position. But this. This was good. His lips on yours, lovingly kissing. And if he was honest, he liked how it made you the one in charge. Every roll and slide of your hips let him know how much you enjoyed what he was doing, there was no second-guessing here. He was your plaything, your means to carnal bliss, and he couldn’t give you enough.

You’d tried to be restrained during your first orgasm, biting into your arm, but the second one had you positively screaming. The dogs were alarmed, barking and scratching at the bedroom door, but it didn’t matter. Thor released his hold on you and you slid off to the side, face-planting into the pillow.

“I did a good job, yes?” he inquired.

“Mmm, yes. Thank you. Sleep now,” you said, as much to him as the pillow.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he said heaving himself up. “I must reassure the dogs...and perhaps wash my face.”

***

Geri and Freki soon calmed once they realised all was well. Thor washed his face thoroughly and returned to the bedroom, setting a pitcher of water and glass on the bedside table. He’d opened all the windows, yet it was still absurdly hot. Not that you seemed to notice. You’d rolled and wrapped the duvet around you like a burrito, one leg hanging out. Thor climbed in beside you, careful not to disturb you. No need to spoon you, you’d find your way to him soon enough. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such a thoroughly satisfying night. Not that he’d be able to enjoy nights like this too often, he didn’t want them to lose their wonder, but it seemed a fitting way to spend it, to indulge himself, on what might be his last night of reprieve before the burdens of a king were his to bear once more.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

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beameized · 6 years ago

Text

To the Filipinos who see this

Please vote tomorrow. Vote sensibly. Vote for the Filipino people. Every vote counts.

#Philippines #filipino #may 2019 elections #ph #sige na po pls #we can't have the executive monopolizing the governemnt #if we let people who are pro-admin win in the senate #there won't be any check and balance between senate and executive #kawawa naman judiciary????

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dr-gloom · 6 years ago

Note

idk(how :)) if you're still taking the heart-breaking prompts list thing, but if you still are, maybe 23 and logicality?

23. “I was doing fine. Really, and then you waltz back in like you didn’t break my heart.”

woot okay

should I start naming these?

Death of a Bachelor

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Logicality

Warnings/Tags: lots of angst, past relationship, TV shows, it’s a little ridiculous, happy ending, some swearing

Logan had just come here for a nice cup of coffee, a peaceful atmosphere, and free WiFi. He hadn’t expected to see anyone he knew.

Especially not him.

Logan had just sat down when the bell above the door chimed. He wasn’t really curious, but it seemed almost like human reflex to look over when a door opens. And that’s when he saw him.

His smile was just as bright as the day they’d met, and just as carefree. Logan hated how that smile made him feel. He hated that lighter-than-air feeling in his chest, and how his heart beat just a little faster. He hated that he still felt like this, after all this time.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched Patton practically skip up to the counter and tell the barista a joke as he orders his drink. Logan quickly turns back to his laptop, ducking his head. He prays Patton doesn’t notice him, or if he does he doesn’t approach.

“Logan!”

Shit.

Patton is suddenly at Logan’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. Logan wished he’d forgotten that the other did that. “Hi, Patton.”

“It’s been so long! Oh my gosh! How are you doing?”

Logan sighs. “I’ve been fine, Patton.”

“Can I sit with you? It seems like there aren’t any free tables!”

Logan looks around. Sure enough, every table is taken. Logan restrains another sigh. “Of course, Patton.”

Patton smiles and sits across from Logan, almost instantly beginning a conversation. Logan doesn’t really pay attention to what he’s saying, trying his best to tune the other out and get some work done. Occasionally he can’t help but tune in to a sentence or two, though it doesn’t seem like Patton is really saying anything of substance. He always was one for idle chatter.

“And I told her that I was really sorry, but….”

“So I had to leave! I don’t think they were very happy with me…”

“Anyways, that’s what happened, and I’ve just been waiting for…”

“But I guess people get busy! It’s okay.”

Logan sighs and sets his coffee aside. “Patton, would you care to join me somewhere more…private?”

Patton’s face brightened, though there was an undercurrent of nervousness that Logan couldn’t make sense of. He stood and packed his laptop into his satchel, then led Patton out of the coffee shop. For once, Patton didn’t try to make small talk while they walked, and Logan was left to his thoughts.

He’d met Patton nearly a year ago. His friend Roman had convinced him to try out for The Bachelorette (despite being gay; Roman thought it’d be funny to see his gay friend on TV trying to woo a woman), and he’d actually made it onto the show. Patton had also made it onto the show, and when they weren’t with the woman (Logan’s forgotten her name) they were with each other.

Logan hadn’t liked him at first. In fact, he didn’t like anyone on the show, but Patton had refused to leave him alone. He’d somehow wormed his way into conversation, and Logan had found that his initial opinion of Patton had been wrong. He was intelligent, kind, and completely capable of making sensible jokes.

Before he knew it, he was spending almost every free moment with Patton, even if they were on camera. He began to notice that the two of them were being recorded more often, though he attributed it to the fact that the other bachelors were dwindling. Logan had been watching Patton joke with one of the few remaining bachelors when he realized he was feeling strange. His heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest, and he got a light feeling in his lungs and stomach.

It took him a couple weeks to realize what that feeling was, and when he did he was - dare he say it - scared.

Little did he know Patton was going through a similar crisis in the middle of his date with the bachelorette. He was the guy everyone was betting on since he seemed to click with her so well, and he did like her, but he was just realizing that he liked Logan more. And well, Patton being Patton, that didn’t stay secret for very long.

It had been one of the rare instances where the camera had left them alone, and the two were taking full advantage of the situation to talk about deeper things. They’d been talking on the couch with a movie on in the background, not paying attention to it. Logan can’t remember what they’d been talking about, but he remembers the way his brain had record-scratched when Patton blurted, “I really really like you and I don’t really know what to do about it but I don’t wanna win the show anymore because I like you more than Samantha!”

Ah, so that was her name.

Patton’s rushed confession had led to a long discussion and Logan’s own admittance of feelings. They agreed to play their parts on camera, but every private moment was for the two of them. And it worked too, until there were only three men left.

Logan didn’t get the rose.

He’d hoped that wouldn’t be the end, that Patton would throw in the towel and quit the show with him, but Patton just gave him a sad smile and waved goodbye. Logan went home, broken-hearted. He’d convinced himself that Patton had lied about his feelings and had gotten together with Samantha. He had no definitive proof of that, however; he refused to watch the show.

He didn’t want to see the man he loved get together with someone else.

Logan was brought back to the present when the two men finally reached the park. He guided Patton to a bench far from the park’s paths to give them a little privacy, ignoring the slight feelings of nostalgia. Patton sits beside him, kicking his legs and smiling. “Soooooo, how’ve ya been, Lo?”

“It’s Logan.”

Patton’s smile fades. “Oh. Right, sorry.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “And I’ve been perfectly fine, thank you for asking.”

Patton glances at Logan. “So, uhm… I guess you wanna talk about us?”

Logan takes a deep breath. If Patton needs it outlined for him in bold then so be it. “There is no us, Patton. You’ve made that quite clear.”

Patton blinks, confused and hurt. “I- what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Hart. You know, if you truly didn’t hold feelings for me, there was no reason you needed to string me along. I would have understood; we were, after all, on a television show where we were attempting to woo a woman.” His tone comes off a little more scathing than he really meant, but a hurt little part of him convinced him he deserved to finally let it all out, to let Patton know how he hurt him.

“Wh- but I do-”

“Don’t. We agreed that if one of us got voted off, the other would leave as well. After all it would be incredibly distasteful to pretend to date someone else while the other was watching from home, wouldn’t you say?”

Patton winces. “I-I’m sorry, Lo, I was trying to-”

“It’s Logan. My name is Logan. Only my friends get to call me Lo, or L, or any other asinine nickname they please, and you are no friend of mine. I was doing fine, really, and then you waltz back into my life without regard like you didn’t break my heart. I want you to leave. Leave me alone, and leave my life, like you intended to a year ago. Go back to Susan.”

“…Samantha.”

“Whatever.”

Patton sniffles and wipes his eyes, nodding and standing up. “Okay, Lo… I’m sorry.” He walks away, leaving Logan alone on the bench.

Over the next few days, something about the encounter keeps scratching at Logan’s brain. For reasons he can’t fathom he finds himself searching for their season and bringing up the last couple of episodes. He watched the episode where Samantha chose Patton and the other male, and Logan was left rose-less. He watched as Patton gave a pained smile and waved goodbye, as the emotions he’d thought he’d hidden well were written across his face, and then that was it.

He watched the next episode, watched as Patton explained that he’d met someone on the show that he liked, but it wasn’t Samantha. He watched Patton talk about this amazing guy who was funny and smart and kind in his own special way, how he made Patton feel like he was floating on air. He watched as he told the audience that he’d planned to leave the show with this guy but the night before he got kicked off he got the news that his grandma was in the hospital. He explained that he needed the money from being on the show to help pay the bill, and that if this guy still wanted to be with him, to please call him tomorrow night. The producer even let the TV guys put Patton’s number on the screen. And then….

“I love you so much, Lo. Please call me. I’m sorry.”

Shit.

“Hello?”

Logan’s heart squeezed at the utterly dejected tone on the other end of the line. “Ah, Patton, I-”

“Wait, Logan? How’d you get my number?”

“I…. Finally watched the last episode. It was on the screen.”

“Oh…”

“Yes. I… I need to apologize. I was being incredibly selfish when I said all those things at the park, and I hadn’t given you a chance to explain your end. I was hurt, but that is no excuse for my behavior. I had no idea about any of that, and if I had, I would not have kept you waiting for a year. I am terribly sorry.”

There’s a brief pause where Logan can hear the faint static over the line and his heart lodges itself into his throat. A brief moment where his brain seems to work at maximum speed to make him paranoid and anxious.

And then Patton laughs.

It’s the same, full, joyful sound Logan remembers, and his anxious and fearful mood is fighting with the utterly in love one blooming in his chest at the sound. They then lose out to his confusion and he gathers the courage to speak up. “…Patton? Is everything alright?”

He giggles. “I just- you- I tried to- when we were having coffee-” More giggling. “I guess you still kinda zone out when I talk too long, huh?”

Logan’s face flushed as he recalled what he could remember of the conversation and connected the dots. “Wh- I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, Lo.” Logan can hear the smile in his voice, “You can make it up to me. Let’s say… 6:30, that little diner on Watt?”

Logan smiles, sitting in his armchair. “That sounds lovely.”

“Great, I’ll see you then!”

Patton hung up, and Logan spent the rest of the afternoon fretting over what to wear and what to say.

He even showed up half an hour early, but Patton showed how well he knew Logan because he was there waiting.

And this time, Logan got the rose.

A/N: oh my god I’m so sorry this turned out waaaaayyyyy longer than i intended. disclaimer; ive never seen the bachelor or the bachelorette, so im basing this off of like, the few gifs/clips ive seen through tumblr and shit. hope you like!

uhhhhhhhh i guess i should start tagging these???

@hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2

#sanders sides #sanders sides drabble #patton sanders #logan sanders #logicality

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silverliningslurk · 6 years ago

Text

Looking Up

A pinch hit I wrote for @harutobirbi for the HQSSII! I really hope you like it, and I’m very sorry it’s late. It ended up longer and more troublesome than expected.

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kageyama Tobio Word count: 6k Rating: Teen for swearing Potential Trigger Warnings: None. Summary: There’s a mistake with the futons during a camp, and via a ridiculous series of stupid events, Kei is left sharing with Kageyama. This can only go badly. Right?

You can read it on AO3 here! There’s an extra tidbit I wrote that didn’t quite fit on AO3 too, tumblr formatting doesn’t really work for that...

Kei feels a sense of impending doom as soon as they are led into a room full of futons, and one of the faculty gives them an apologetic look as she turns to face them. He feels it, completely, in every one of his bones, when she opens her mouth. He doesn't know why. Maybe it's just having seen those looks before, usually off his mother when she announces they're spending New Year at his aunt's place. Never fun.

"So, I do apologise, but, you see, we made a slight miscalculation on the number of futons we would need, another member of staff saw the name 'Miya' twice and assumed it was a typographical error, and so, you see..." She mumbles, fumbling around with her hands like there is an easy solution to be found there, her red face indicating that perhaps she was indeed that staff member. Kei raises an eyebrow, as do most of the room. They're all tired, and they just want to go to sleep. "Is there a possibility, at all, that perhaps, two of you could maybe share? Only for one night, and we shall do our very best to rectify this situation tomorrow, I understand this is difficult, but I don't believe there are any extras within reasonable distance, you see..."

They all stare at her, puzzled. It's not exactly the first thing they expected her to say; the sense of imminent disaster builds, although Kei will be the very last person to volunteer to share.

Getting even more flustered, she flaps her hands in embarrassment, her face a stunningly bright shade of red. "I'll confer with the rest of the staff and see if there's any other options! Please decide amongst yourselves in case there aren't, though." She nigh on runs out the room, pausing barely long enough to bow deeply, and Kei is certain she started running before she'd fully finished. Not particularly interested in mentally debating whether it counts as a respectful bow if you start running in the middle, he just glances around at the others.

"Before any o'y'all say 'nythin', I ain't sharing wi' 'Tsumu." Miya Osamu drawls, shoving his hands in his pockets. Atsumu sneers at him.

"I ain't sharin' with 'im either! He farts!"

Osamu makes an impressive kind of 'psssssh' sound. "Not as much as you." "How would’ya even know, asshole?! You're asleep!" "So are you!"

"All votes in favour of having them on opposite sides of the room?" Kei suggests, crossing his arms. Most of the others raise their arms, which – thankfully – ends the argument between the twins. Mostly. They keep grousing at each other quietly, while Kei glances around the room again.

Sakusa looks visibly ill at the very notion of sharing with anyone. Kei is with him on that one, certainly. Hoshiumi looks like an ice demon who would warm his feet on your legs, and also seems like the kind of person to jump out of bed at 5am just to announce they were awake. Chigaya looks as though he’s trying to meld into the corner of the room, playing on his phone to avoid the whole situation. Kei guesses if he had to choose someone to share with, it’d probably be him, mostly for the reason that he looks like he’d sleep right on the edge just so he wasn’t touching anyone.

Motoya looks mostly disgruntled by it, like he doesn’t really care either way and just wants it sorted. Again, Kei can relate to that. He kind of wants to pick a futon, but then again, that might volunteer him for it.

He glances at Kageyama, frowning deeply at the Miya twins. Kei genuinely can’t tell if he even understands what’s been asked of him – knowing Kageyama, he’s been in a volleyball world ever since arriving and hasn’t left yet, certainly not to contemplate sleeping arrangements. He probably just assumes someone else will do it, unable to think of group dynamics off a line-marked court. Good for him, Kei thinks a little bitterly. He should probably be one of them having to share, because it seems like it would be funny to see how Kageyama, single child of the century, would react to that. He smirks to himself as he imagines the kind of outrage that would happen, but then gets to thinking who would make the funniest reaction.

Sakusa, certainly, but Kei doesn’t think he could be paid any amount of money to get in the same bed as someone else. He seems like the kind of guy who brought his own sheets because of his distaste of sleeping on someone else’s. Kei is quietly surprised, now he thinks about it, that he didn’t bring his own futon.

The rest of them he doesn’t think would have any particularly interesting reactions. Maybe Hoshiumi, but then those two are so obsessed and single-minded, they’d probably end up not sleeping and practicing instead. That would result in an incredibly ratty Kageyama, and a sleep-deprived Kageyama means everyone gets yelled at way more. Maybe less so here, but it will happen, and if it does, Tsukishima will get most of it, since he’s the one Kageyama is most comfortable with.

He uses the word ‘comfortable’ incredibly loosely indeed.

Although, having him share with either of the Miya twins could be interesting. As soon as he thinks about it, though, it makes him frown for no reason he can really put his finger on. It’s like… Kageyama almost gets on with them, but equally, there’s a feeling Kei gets about Atsumu, and to a lesser extent Osamu, that he can’t really trust them. Atsumu’s interactions with Kageyama set him on edge, just a bit, and he generally chooses to ignore it, and certainly hasn’t examined it closely. It’s probably just a sense that they’re taking advantage of Kageyama, but why would Kei even care about that? He doesn’t care about Kageyama. He’ll admit his talent, and the fact that he’s better than he was, but even so.

He doesn’t care about Kageyama, and that’s final. He’s not even thinking about that simmering weirdness right now, or the fact that Kageyama’s been acting kinda weird for a few weeks even before this camp.

It’s probably just been the thought of the camp itself, but it’s never happened before, Kei doesn’t think. It didn’t happen in first year, so unless he’s had a run in with someone here, but then, the one who seems to be getting the brunt of the weirdness is actually himself.

But that’s a puzzle he’s left in Miyagi, or tried to, at least. It’s Kageyama’s problem, and Kei doesn’t care enough to try to work it out.

He does not care about Kageyama. He’s good at avoiding things, and that’s a thing he’ll ignore wholeheartedly. Kageyama is probably just jealous Kei got invited. Hinata was too, but he’s got the flu. Kei thought there was some saying about idiots, but maybe that’s just colds, rather than the flu. Kei heard his mother had to practically lock him in the bedroom to stop him dragging himself over here.

He probably just imagined that, in actuality, but it's an amusing image. He smirks to himself, then sobers up and mentally thanks Hinata's mother for being sensible and not getting him to spread it. Hinata can keep his damn viruses to himself.

"Psssh!"

With that noise from Osamu, he becomes aware of a growing argument in the room, and realises the Miya twins never quite stopped grousing at each other.

“- you’d probably want to sleep with someone, manwhore.” “Wha’s wrong wi’ that? Too innocent for that kinda shit, ‘Samu?” “Not in a room full of other people, ‘Tsumu. That’s just gross.” “Well, nobody said I couldn’t!” Atsumu remarks brightly, and turns, surveying the crowd. His eyes almost immediately latch onto Kageyama, and gain a gleam Kei would say that he hated the look of. If he had cared enough about the whole thing. Atsumu makes a lewd expression and saunters forward towards Kageyama. "Say, me an’ Goody-Two-Shoes here could always makes ourselves comfy... together... couldn’t we?"

And Kei would normally just let it go. Would have let it go the year before. Should have let it go. But from something about Kageyama's face that says he doesn't get it at all, to not trusting Atsumu as far as he could throw him off the court, to a hot ball of unpleasantness squirming in his guts, instinct takes over the few brain cells that don't think before they act. The remaining brain cells look on tiredly and do not stop him.

Just because he thinks Atsumu is probably joking doesn’t mean he trusts him to not be serious. Everything about it rubs him up the wrong way, and he may not care about Kageyama, but.

So he strides to stand in front of Kageyama and puts an arm in front of him, like that would really stop Atsumu. But it halts him temporarily, puzzled. He feels the rest of them staring at him, and kind of wishes he hadn’t done anything at all.

Why does he care? It's only Kageyama, but then, it's Kageyama. Kageyama who wouldn't know flirting if it kissed him square on the lips, Kageyama who's probably never had a stray thought since he found volleyball, Kageyama who is probably just about dumb enough to go along with anything if he thought it would make him better. The thought of Atsumu too close, unsupervised, to the dense-enough-to-be-a-black-hole Kageyama, makes Kei feel intensely uncomfortable. Makes him kind of want to lock Kageyama in a different room altogether.

The door opens. "I'm terribly sorry, there really aren't any other futons..." She trails off, seeing Kei where he is, and maybe she's just grasping at straws, maybe she thinks it actually looks like they're agreeing on something or whatever, an incredibly stupid chain of thoughts happens in her head and her face lights up in relief. "So you two have decided to share for the night? Thanks for volunteering, we do have a slightly bigger futon over here you can use, you know where the bathrooms are, let us know if you need anything!" She says, and dashes away, as if sensing the disagreement.

Funnily enough, the rest of them snort, then scuttle off to occupy their own beds and mark their territories, leaving Kei and Kageyama in the middle of the room, dead still. Atsumu shrugs, and winks at Kei as if he knows something, and Kei swears murder will happen before these three days are up.

Kei is just trying to process. He was looking forward to a good night’s sleep, he’d brought ear plugs in case anyone snored so he wouldn’t be too tempted to strangle them, and he’d been going to pick the very corner futon to be furthest away from everyone.

Now he’s going to be the one sharing?

He doesn’t know how much worse it could get. Now though, most of them are settling onto futons and are not going to give them up easily.

Atsumu, still looking at the two of them, laughs raucously. "If you don't wanna sleep with him, I could always swap wi' ya?" He drawls, and it seems likely to be engineered exactly to piss Kei off. Osamu snorts. "Bet you ten ramen pots they don't make the night." He pitches in, and it swiftly descends, with the others making various bets as to the transient of this arrangement. Kei hates it, but he's nothing if not stubborn and refused to let people win. Furious, he leans over to Kageyama, still in his daze.

"You'd best not piss me off." He hisses, and storms off to attempt to get to sleep as early as possible. He wanted to read. He wanted to listen to music. "Who said I was gonna piss you off! Maybe you shouldn't piss me off!" Kageyama snaps, his first words in some time. Probably in volleyball dreamland like always, his freakishly sharp mind providing video replays of all the plays he made and how he could tweak them to improve. Instead of focusing on real life. Instead of seeing the things in front of him. So much of his brain is trapped on a volleyball court, Kei swears that’s the reason he’s so utterly stupid off it. Most people would be at the same level of stupidity if only 1% of their brain travelled around with them.

"Maybe if you weren't so stupid and kept responding, it wouldn't be a problem." Kei returns acidly, and grabs his headphones.

"So you want me to ignore you, then." Kageyama spits, and for a second, Kei thinks about it. His heart kind of... droops, when he does, like that would be a bad thing. The very idea that he might care about Kageyama and the fact that he does talk to him pisses him off. His grip on his headphones tightens. "Too bad. You're in the team, so I have to get on with you! Besides I-" Kageyama halts himself dead in his tracks; Kei notices several of the others furtively - or not so furtively - watching, and turns on his heel. He doesn't want to examine Kageyama's weirdness now. He'd not found any solution before the camp, and he especially doesn't want to find one now, whatever he might find, before he has to spend 8 hours sharing a futon with him.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with. I'm not interested in anyone making money on me." He says, casting acerbic stares at certain parties in the room. Much to his disgust, most of them don't react too much, and mostly with amusement and the occasional 'we'll see about that'. Kei decides to do what he does best and ignore it fully, lying down, tugging his headphones on and putting on his loudest music. Which isn't that loud, but it is at least continuous in its volume, leaving no chances for snippets of surrounding conversation. He hates having it too loud for fear of damaging his hearing – and knowledge of how irritating it is when everyone else can hear music from someone else's headphones – so he sets it at the exact volume required to cover up most things. If anyone shouts he'll hear it, but they don't.

It's only about half a song later when the futon shifts. Kei freezes on instinct, and glances across – it is indeed Kageyama, which just increases his discomfort. Their eyes meet, then skitter away, Kageyama gaining a constipated sort of look in the split second Kei keeps looking. He then resolutely closes his eyes, determined not to look, or make this weird, or think at all.

He has shared with his brother. It can't be any worse than that, surely. Kageyama isn’t as tall or gangly as his brother, and probably not as much into casual touches. Kei’s never seen Kageyama instigate any kind of friendly contact, at least, which is a godsend, but still. So he’s probably not going to find himself hugged to death, but equally, this whole thing is so awkward and irritating, he’s not convinced he won’t. But the thought of people handing over cash and ramen pots because he couldn’t keep his cool in such an annoying situation irritates him more. If he has to deal with their smug faces on top of a bad night’s sleep, he cannot be held responsible for whatever he does do.

It can’t be any worse than sharing with his brother.

But it is. His anxiety is such that every shift Kageyama makes is heightened, and Kei even feels his presence when he is still, an odd kind of emanating presence. The rest of them have started to settle down and someone's turned the lights off, so it just feels so close. He doesn’t want to sleep in his headphones, but the music is the only thing distracting him, so he clings to them for as long as possible.

But even in his edgy state, he’s still incredibly tired, so it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to start feel heavy, the ceiling only taking so much of him burning holes in it. Reluctantly, he pauses his music and delicately places his headphones on the rest of his stuff, then his glasses in their case, habitually softening the snap as it closes, and puts that too on top of his bag, nestled down a bit so neither of them roll off and get stepped on, hopefully. The world takes on an auditory clarity, and a visual blurriness, and Kei tries to relax.

There are blurry light patches where some of the guys are checking their phones, and some hissed whispers he doesn’t catch enough of to understand. There’s just enough light from the windows to make out some shapes. Simply the act of putting his headphones away – and having to look at his phone to pause it – has temporarily banished a modicum of his immediate sleepiness, and he once again becomes aware of his current predicament.

The futon, as the faculty member had stated, is a little bigger than the rest, but it is not big, by any means. Even as close as he can get to the edge without falling off it, their shoulders are touching. It’s a burning heat he can barely stand, mostly because it makes him think.

“Move over.” He grouches quietly, uncomfortably aware of his heartbeat. He’s not used to close proximity with people, least of all Kageyama. There’s a flick of movement, and a hmph sound.

“I’m not falling off for you.” Kageyama grouses back, and Kei recalls the bets, and bites back a returning taunt. Presumably Kageyama is as far away as he can get too, and there goes his thought that perhaps he might avoid that contact.

And he can’t help but think about it. Kageyama’s been acting weird for weeks now. Nobody else had really commented yet, but it was only a matter of time, and if Kei had noticed surely it was obvious enough. He doesn’t even watch Kageyama much, so surely someone like Hinata has picked up that Kageyama’s been acting weird.

Which is in itself weird. Kageyama is consistent to a degree that you could set your clocks to, Kei has always thought to himself. Emotionally, at least. He got the same level of irritated at the same things every time. He got the same type of ecstatic when they won, and the same type of begrudging defeat whenever they lost. He got the same type of glint in his eye when he respected a player, and the same type of anger when someone pissed him off or worse, didn’t try hard enough at volleyball.

Kageyama didn’t act different.

But now he was.

Kei hasn’t been able to put his finger on it. He just seemed quieter than usual, not really challenging Kei on the same things he always would, not rising up to the bait the same whenever Kei taunted him. There was a slight, but noticeable, lack of quality in the shots to Kei, in particular. Sometimes one of the others, but Kei hadn’t seen Kageyama fumble this much since difficult games in first year. Nowadays, settling into his skills and scouted for the National Team, he rarely fumbled like this, and his irritation with it seemed… wrong, somehow. It didn’t seem quite the same as it had – he didn’t promise to work harder, or blame some aspect of the spiker. No, he tended to glare at Kei as though his mere presence had the ability to mess things up, and turned away just as fast.

Kei’s been intrigued, to say the least.

It happened more in practice than in practice matches, although it did happen then too. Every time it happened in a match, the opposing team never really seemed to think much of it, but Kei couldn’t stop. His analytical mind had latched onto it like a difficult maths problem, and refused to let go, even as much as it irritated him. He had to work it out, partly because real matches were coming up soon and it better not affect this year’s chance at Nationals, but mostly because Kei just could not stop thinking about it, and Kageyama.

And the more he thought about Kageyama, and observed, and taunted and spoke to and worked with, the more he noticed. The way that Kageyama was actually always sending him glances. The way he was sitting closer than he ever had, but never really looking at Kei when he did so. The way that he’d shove his homework under Kei’s nose just as much as Yamaguchi’s, now. (Mostly because Yamaguchi was better at explaining maths to them, but Kei was better at English and Science. The rest, as far as Kei was concerned, wasn’t hard enough to help them with. Rote memory, Kageyama had already shown to be very proficient at, so Kei didn’t bother with those.)

So he’s found himself spending a bit more time before and after practices sitting with Kageyama going through homework concepts. Kageyama even seems to get some of them – for five minutes, anyway. Sometimes Hinata is there and other times he gets wrapped up texting Kenma and drifts off like he seems to more nowadays. It’s become a common enough occurrence, him and Kageyama in the library, watching Kageyama get more frustrated with something and him just smirking more and more because it’s funny and kind of- nice, in a weird way. The lights in the growing gloom set a halo in Kageyama’s hair, his brows furrowed and calloused hands twitching to spend fractions of a second sending a volleyball on abnormally accurate courses, rather than holding a pen.

Somehow, he never gets much work done at those sessions, even though he swears he’s working. He blames Kageyama entirely. Him and his unending stupidity.

Stupidity that’s led to this. If he’d responded normally to Miya’s taunts, Kei never would have had to step forward. If he’d even realised, none of this would have happened. Kei would be asleep in his own futon and never worrying about any of this.

“Just so you are crystal clear on this,” Kei murmurs as quietly as he can muster, turning his head to glare at Kageyama, “I’m blaming you for all this.”

He can’t really see properly, but Kageyama looks at him, and frowns. He does not, as Kei would have possibly expected, get angry. “Why.” Kageyama mutters. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you.” Kei returns, and Kageyama huffs. “Tell me.” “It was because you’re thick. You didn’t get it.” “Get what.”

Kei is kind of glad that it’s dark. He can’t believe he’s having to explain this to Kageyama. “What Miya was doing.” “Which one?” “Atsumu.” “What was he doing?”

“Flirting, you numbskull.” Kei only says it, and says it quietly, because he’s sure that the others are just far enough away to not overhear. A few of them have started snoring, anyway, and the phone lights have all gone off. “Oh.” Kageyama says, and pauses. “Oh…” He stops again. “Why is this my fault?” “Because you didn’t get it.” Kei reiterates, annoyed. “What, so you felt you had to protect me or something?”

Kei feels like his lungs stop working for a second. “No,” he wheezes, acutely aware of how unconvincing he sounds. “Of course not. Anyway, this is just ridiculous.” “Oh. Okay.” “I’m going to sleep.” Kei retorts, put off-centre. Protecting him? From what? He didn’t care if Atsumu had his wicked way with Kageyama – except he kind of did.

That is a whole ballgame he does avidly not want to think about right here, in this second, pressed up against Kageyama because there is nowhere else to go. Kageyama hums, and he sounds kind of pleased. Kei turns away, and thinks so hard about music and volleyball and dinosaurs and very literally anything other than Kageyama, it gives him a headache, then bores him to sleep eventually.

The faster he goes to sleep the faster this situation disappears.

Except of course, that it is a situation that reappears upon waking up. The first time he wakes up, it’s far too early, and he’s been awakened by motion. He barely remembers it until later, and then wishes he had properly woken up, because he could have saved himself a lot of problems. The next time he wakes up, it’s to a camera shutter sound, and he feels warm and snug. And safe.

And somewhat trapped.

Kei decides to evaluate his situation firstly, and open his eyes next.

He is laid on his back, nothing abnormal about that. His left side is warmer than it should be, and there is a pressure across his chest, and his legs, and his whole left side.

He can guess, he thinks, but he needs to know, needs to check visually.

So he opens his eyes, and looks across and finds exactly what he ought to have expected. Kageyama is, for lack of any better word, flopped on top of him, head nestled into Kei's shoulder. His face is- remarkably relaxed, for once, not grinding his teeth or scowling like normal, and Kei just.

He doesn't know what to think. He knows what he wants to do, which is to not rouse him, or pull him closer. He feels like smiling, like taking a picture, like staying there for a while, like he's maybe possibly a little bit fond.

Fondness equals alarm bells. His eyes dart upwards, and find several of the other guys looking down at him - them. A smudge that looks like it could be Motoya has got his phone out taking a photo, and Miya Atsumu is grinning like like Cheshire cat. Kei squashes his eyes shut again, to give himself space, to think about this.

There proceeds to be a suspiciously Miya Atsumu sounding murmur of 'hah, gaaaa-yyyyyy' shortly followed by a slapping sound. Kei decides Miya Osamu is probably alright, but still, he's not staying in this situation. He needs to extricate himself and get some quiet. There's a level of controlled panic in the way he shifts sideways, and hears Kageyama groan. Discontent? Kei doesn’t want to think about it. He has just enough forethought to grab his glasses in their case, and ignores some suggestive and smug sounding voices as he pushes through them, to hide out in the bathroom.

Once there, he sets the glasses case on the side, and splashes his face with cold water. It does nothing to soothe his racing heart; it does nothing at all except bring him further into wakefulness and the awful realisation he has arrived at.

He’s fond of Kageyama.

He thinks, for a moment, that his brain has just skipped the friends stage, but then, it hasn’t, really. What are study dates in the library if not between friends? What are the teasing conversations, no longer as barbed as they used to be? What is the glare he gets when he calls Kageyama king, half-hearted and softer than usual? What are the allowances he’s been giving Kageyama, the more time spent with him, the more time dedicated to matching up with him? They’ve been friends, but Kei never realised. Like he never realised how much he’s been watching Kageyama, been thinking about Kageyama, and indeed been avoiding thinking about why he’s been thinking so much about Kageyama.

Yet still, this fondness, a pooling dripping sentimentality he’s never quite fully erased from his heart. It’s similar to the way he can’t quite throw out his oldest childhood toy, a stegosaurus with some of it’s plates falling off and patched up a hundred times. He’s used to Kageyama now, and in some ways looks forward to seeing him, looks forward to his blunt stupidity, the banter they have between them. The way they’ve started syncing up on court, and working together.

Fuck, he thinks to himself, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, clear now he’s put his glasses back on. How could he have let this happen? He doesn’t know what to do with this, he’s never had this before. Maybe that’s why he never saw it coming, creeping up on his blindside and taking him unawares. How is he going to get out of this now?

The door swings open, and Kei prepares to defend himself – but it’s Kageyama, and now he doesn’t know how to react. Stunned by his newest revelation, he just kind of nods. Kageyama has gone red, and stops.

And there’s a thick silence. Kei doesn’t want to admit that he didn’t mind it, but doesn’t quite want to say that he hated it either. He needs time to work it through, get on top of his feelings.

Kei decides to leave. He grabs his glasses and makes for the door, even though Kageyama is between him and it. He expects Kageyama to move. He doesn’t.

“Are you disgusted?” Kageyama demands, looking anything but peaceful like he did in sleep.

Kei thinks about it. Yes, would be one answer. He’s disgusted with himself for not noticing, for letting it go on so long. But equally, feelings aren’t quite so easily hauled into line. He’s not disgusted with Kageyama, particularly. He doesn’t care if anyone is that way inclined, he just had never thought he was himself. With little to no precedent, how was he meant to know?

“No,” Kei murmurs, “Are you going to move?” “Are you running away from me?” Kageyama tries again, glaring defiantly up at Kei. Kei can’t quite meet his gaze. “No.” Kei says, more certain this time. He means yes, of course. He needs time to think on it, analyse the problem, and find a solution. Needs to weigh the evidence, pros and cons, and external opinions. If he can get them without alerting the parties to the fact that he’s collecting them. Can’t be seen to be too interested.

“You are.” Kageyama states, blunt as ever. Kei huffs an incredulous laugh, but Kageyama continues. “You’re not even looking at me.”

Characteristically blunt, as always. Kei glares at him. “Happy now?”

Kageyama looks surprised that he complied. Daunted, even. He swallows, a manoeuvre Kei cannot help but watch.

“Someone is going to come in, soon.” Kei mutters, eyes glued to Kageyama’s. Kageyama nods. “Are you going to move?”

Kageyama gets that face like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult problem.

Then he reaches around the back of Kei’s head and pulls.

Caught in a moment of surprise, Kei doesn’t fight it; consequently, he smacks into Kageyama’s face with some force. There is an instant of nothing, then a flash of pain. He coils away, holding his lips and nose, trying to ascertain whether there’s bleeding or breakages.

“Holy shit, Kageyama!?” he screeches. “What was that? You trying to kill me?!” Kageyama, in the midst of howling quietly, chokes, and ends up in a coughing fit. Kei brings his fingers away from his nose, and finding no blood – and no signature trickle at the back of his throat or down his nose – whips his head around. He’ll check his teeth in a minute. “What the hell was that.” He demands, and then- observes. Kageyama is red as anything, and although he does look like he’s choking, he’s not been doing that long enough to cause that reaction. He’s got one hand over his mouth and his eyes are flitting around frenetically. His brain starts clicking over, the previous conversation and everything prior, and fits it imperfectly together into- “Was that supposed to be a sorry attempt at a kiss?”

“No!” Kageyama shouts, too fast, too high pitched. Kei narrows his eyes. “So it really was? Because that is not the way to do it.” Regardless of whether Kei actually knows the proper way to do it, he can be fairly certain that any way that involves possible permanent damage to his nasal cartilage is not it. “Like you know better!” Kageyama spits, sounding faintly panicked. “Clearly better than you, if that’s what you think is a good idea!” “Why don’t you try then!” Kageyama dares him, and Kei swears that proto-kiss knocked a few brain cells loose, because he actually considers it.

“No.” Kei remarks, and stands up, intending to check his teeth for blood, and also to hide his face from Kageyama. “Because I’m not into messing with people like that.” It’s ridiculous to get his hopes up. Kageyama has the social skills of a slug, and the finesse to match. People cling to things in their sleep, it’s a natural habit left over from being an infant, and a human need to be close to things. It’s for warmth, more importantly, and therefore likely means nothing. Kageyama probably has some weird idea in mind that for some reason involves Kei.

There’s no blood in his teeth, and none apparently forthcoming. That’s good. He’ll go and get changed and start his day and analyse this all later, or better, after the camp. He’ll package away the hurt and the confusion, and dwell on it later. He’ll only get annoyed if he does that now.

But before he can turn and leave, there are footsteps across the floor, and a hand on his arm. He barely gets a chance to raise an eyebrow and take a breath to speak when Kageyama steals it from him.

It’s much softer, thankfully, although his bruised lips still complain. It’s clear still that Kageyama doesn’t really know what he’s doing, screwing his eyes shut, but he makes a good approximation; he weaves his hand into the fine hairs at the nape of Kei’s neck and makes him shiver. Kei’s wide eyes stray to the mirrors, reflecting this scene, black and blond, fuzzy out the side of his glasses.

They’re so different. So very different. How can they be here? How can they occupy the same space, and not explode like antimatter meeting matter? Maybe that’s why they’ve always fought before, but then why is this good, and not bad? Why does it feel like a summation of their parts, rather than a negative and positive clashing and negating the other’s effect?

He could push Kageyama away, right now. He could push him and all this away, and run. It occurs to him in the same breath that he gives in, closes his eyes and puts his hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, pushes back into the kiss, because now he thinks about it, the thought that Kageyama was organised enough to mess with him seems wrong. Unlikely, somehow. Kageyama is not known for his grand schemes off the volleyball court, nor his ability to manipulate people.

And Kei can make the most of the opportunity in front of him. If this is the only time he gets to do this, he’s not going to pass it up too easily.

By the time they separate, they’re both breathing harder than usual, and Kageyama frowns at him. “I don’t mess with people.” “I’m getting that vibe, yes.” Kei murmurs. “Someone’s going to come in here soon.”

Kageyama nods, and steps back. He keeps his eyes on Kei, expectant. “But I want to do that again.” Kageyama says. “Of course, but not now.” Kei returns, thinking it’s been a surprising amount of time without interruption. It’s only when he notices Kageyama’s eyes widen that he realises. “I mean…” Ah, what the hell. “I need to think about this. Later. We have camp to survive, first.”

“Later.” Kageyama repeats, sounding pleased with himself. “Alright. I can wait.”

Kei grimaces as he hears loud footsteps and voices storming up to the door. “You were always going to have to.” He remarks, but, quietly, to himself, he can reflect that he’s kind of looking forward to it.

But he can enjoy teasing Kageyama by making him wait.

Where’s the fun in making it easy? Plus, he has no interest in giving any of the others any smug pleasure. In addition, he’s going to be a rich man if they all cough up their debts to him. He might even see to sharing a few ramen pots with Kageyama.

If he’s lucky. If he hasn’t actually knocked any teeth loose.

Well, there’s room for improvement, and time for it, too. Things are looking up.

#hqssii #haikyuusecretsanta2018 #kagetsukki #tsukishima kei #kageyama tobio #hq #haikyuu #tsukishima kei does not care about kageyama #except he kinda does #i really hope you liked this #sorry it's so late #bweh #*slinks back into the void*#i would like to sincerely apologise to miya atsumu #i treated you wrong for plot devices #you became a miya ex machina #and i apologise

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purplechoices · 6 years ago

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eagbubori1983-blog · 6 years ago

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coinprojects · 3 years ago

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littleredroseonthevalley · 7 years ago

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Red Rose - Chapter 13

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 CH. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16

Summary: The second day of the Presentation comes, and the girls are submitted to a culinary test. Riley and Olivia find some common ground. Charlotte hides witnesses in Greece.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Hello, everyone! Missed me much last week? I noticed that I’m now past the hundred followers, and I didn’t mentioned it because I didn’t know how without having to come up with a giveaway. Since I’m poor and overworked, I won’t be able to host one, perhaps when I’m 200 in...

BUT, I’d like to personally thank my hundreth follower, @mythup, and all other 99+ who have graced my tally.

The submissions for the taglist are open! Just hit me up and I’ll add y’all to it!

Athens, Greece, Fall 2015

Charlotte locked the door behind her. She, the two girls, a maid and her driver gathered on the narrow entry hall of the old house.

“This is where you’ll be staying for a while.” The young noblewoman told the two girls in Russian. “While it isn’t safe for you in Cordonia, think of this house as a haven. No-one aside from Ms. Flowers, you and I know of it, much less that you’re here. I expect for you to follow Ms. Flowers instructions to the letter and to dedicate yourselves to your studies. A tutor will be provided for you in the morning.”

“Of course, Ms. Charlotte.” Katya bowed appropriately. “We’re very thankful for your help.”

They moved to the living room, and the girls sat on the couch, backs aching from too many hours hidden inside a car trunk.

“Can we leave the house?” Katya asked.

“No.” Charlotte was blatant. “Not only we do not know whether your former boss has connections in Greece, you were smuggled into European territory. If a police officer asks for your papers, you’ll be deported back to Belarus. Better safe than sorry.

She pointed to the maid and continued: “The cook will make sure you’re fed and clothed, while the tutor will keep you busy starting tomorrow. There’s a small yard in the back, where you can sunbathe if you ever feel the need.”

Zarina looked over the window, restlessly. “When will we be able to go back?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I don’t know for sure. Soon enough. We’ll send for you as soon as it happens.”

“Ms. Charlotte?” Katya calls upon her attention.

“Yes?” The oldest respond, facing her.

She handed her a manila file. “The last time I’ve been to the brothel I stole this from the safe. I thought I could use it as leverage to escape, but it’s in Greek, and I have no clue what’s on it. I think it must be important. All the others were stored somewhere else.”

“I don’t speak Greek either, but I’ll take it to Riley. She should know what to do with those.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Early in the morning, Riley sat on the dresser, finishing the last tints of her make-up for the day. It was exhausting to wake up early every day, just so Maxwell and Bertrand wouldn’t see her without it in the morning, but it was necessary.

Back in New York, she made sure to only have night employment, so her looks would be less recognizable, but Cordonia’s social season, contrary to expectations, played out mostly in the mornings.

She was reminded amusingly of Penelope’s complaints, “My advisors said I only needed to look pretty at the balls and flirt with the Prince, but it hasn’t been going that way at all”. It seemed them all were misled about the nature of the tests to become the next Queen of Cordonia.

While putting on the mascara, she received a message from Charlotte, saying Katya and Zarina were safe in Athens. Smiling, she deleted the message, as a security measure.

A knock followed it. “Rise and shine, little blossom!” It was Maxwell.

“Day two of the Feast.” Bertrand announced. “I hope you’re prepared to fight for your time with the Prince, Riley.”

“And all the apples! You’ve made an apple pie before, right? And you’re pretty good at planting apple trees?” Maxwell asked.

“I guess we’re all finding out today.” She opened the door for them to enter. “Good morning, Maxwell, Bertrand.”

“Good morning.” Bertrand said, gruffly. “We’re here to prepare you for today’s events.”

“Very well. What am I supposed to be doing?” She asked, sitting back at the dresser and crossing her legs. Before Bertrand could open his mouth, she interrupted. “No, wait, am I supposed to be dressed differently for some inane reason?”

He narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The best dressed lady will be crowned the Apple Queen.”

“Which means?” She raised one of her inquisitive eyebrows at him.

“It’s a fun tradition!” Maxwell said. “The people vote on who will run the Apple Court.”

“Yes, you’d get extra publicity, the favor of the actual Queen and the power to boss people around for an hour.” Bertrand amended.

“Interesting.” She said, with a contemplative smile. “What do you have in mind?”

He threw her a dress bag. “Change. There’s no time to lose. Through a series of promises and threats, I was able to procure a historically accurate rendition of a Cordonian peasant’s best gown from the realm’s most prestigious stage production company, available on consignment.”

She shook her head at him. “I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash only.” He smiled wolfishly.

Riley grumbled and took the dress to the bathroom and changed. “How’s this?”

“It’s perfect!” Maxwell whistled.

“You can thank me later.” Bertrand said, arrogantly.

She opened her jewel box, took a stack of hundred Euro notes and threw them at the Duke. “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor me so.” She said, sarcastically.

Vienna, Austria, Fall 2015

“You summoned me, Your Honor?” The slightly-chubby man said, fearfully.

“Good evening, mister Brandl.” Karen greeted with a smile. “Please, come in.”

She was sat on a divan on the sides of a rich and tastefully decorated living room. The windows, with frames typical for townhouses such as that one, opened to the Danube canal just on the other side of the street.

The house was deathly silent, to the point the clacking of porcelain of Karen’s cup and saucer was deafening.

“Sit down.” She motioned to the divan next to hers, in a polite, if commanding, tone.

Brandl obeyed wordlessly.

She put down her chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of her and picked up a paper portfolio laying on that same table.

“This, mister Brandl,” She showed him the portfolio. “Is an invoice from one of my accountants.”

He gulped. “I hope everything is going well with your investments, ma’am.”

“Oh, they are. Exceptionally well, in fact. For every breath I take, I grow wealthier.” She said, dismissively. “Nothing new, but there was a development that concerned, if not pleasantly surprised, my accountant.”

“What was it, ma’am?” He asked, tentatively.

She opened the file and placed on her lap. “Yesternight, an auction was held at the London branch of Christie’s. A painting by miss Valois reached a very high sum. You see, miss Valois always arose fair prices for her works, but never have a painting by her reached one hundred thousand pounds, and yet, this particular work was sold by two hundred fifty pounds.

“I am sure you know I and my children own collectively the most extensive collection of miss Valois works, and if each of them reaches a fraction of that price at any given auction, we would be over thirteen million Euros wealthier.”

“And all that without lifting a single finger. Some would call you very fortunate, ma’am.” Brandl amended.

“Indeed they would, but what concerns me is why that particular painting sold for so much.” Karen pondered.

“The pound is at a bad exchange rate these times, ma’am, and the economic uncertainties favor us at the art market.” Brandl offered.

She hummed. “Yes, yes, all good points, mister Brandl. Yet, I am unconvinced.”

“Why so?” He stuttered.

“Call it a hunch.” She dismissed with a hand movement. “It was enough, however, for me to issue an inquiry. Can you guess what I have found out?”

He turned blank. “No, ma’am.”

“I assure you it will be most entertaining, but I digress. The seller was kept secret by Christie’s, and you know how protective they are of such information. However, I knew that particular piece, and I knew it had been gifted to a very kind, if simple, lady.

“Regrettably, that woman passed away a few years past, God bless her soul. That painting, then, fell to the hands of her children, whom, without the artistic sensibility nor the emotional attachment to the piece, found it to be a hideous heirloom.

“Imagine their joy when someone offered to purchase that ridiculous painting for a sum of 2.500 Euros. They sold it right away, of course. That person, opportunistic, was purchasing miss Valois paintings scattered through galleries at artificially low prices. They were, after all, works by a moderately unknown artist.

“After he collected a sizeable amount of works, he accidently let out a certain princely family was looking for purchase of miss Valois works, which explained the mysterious surge of demand for her paintings. He, then, offered one of his collected paintings, exactly that one he purchased from those naïve heirs, for auction, believing that would be the one least likely to be traced back to him.”

At every word uttered at a sickly, scary calm by Karen, Brandl shrunk further into the divan.

“You will ruin your back if you keep contorting it like that, mister Brandl.” She pointed out, thin as a knife. “Anything comes to mind with that tale?”

“No, ma’am.” He manages to let out.

“You see, mister Brandl, people look at me and they see just some bored wife of some inbred, aristocratic family that should have gone extinct a long time ago. However, both you and I know that this could not be further from the truth. I am a cruel and ruthless woman. And as such, I don’t leave debts undisputed. You lied to me, mister Brandl, and I do not take lies kindly.” She snapped her fingers.

Her head bodyguard appeared at the door, looking as menacing as always.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” He stuttered, jumping to his feet.

“Restitution, mister Brandl, restitution. You caused me great disservice, running your mouth like that, aside from cheating a poor family out of an opportunity. I will have the money you earned from your pathetic maneuver to its rightful owners, I will have the paintings you bought at my disposition, and you’ll have only the debts you contracted for purchasing them.”

“You cannot do this!” He shouted.

“I can, I want, I did.” Karen was taxactive. Then, turning to her employee: “Now, if you may, escort mister Brandl out, he is becoming an inconvenience.”

The man was forcibly taken out of the living room, and the silence reigned once more.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

A short walk later, they arrive to the orchard, where the nobles were congregated for the festival.

“Now, Riley,” Maxwell said. “Are you ready to show off your baking skills?”

“No time like now.” She responded, determined.

Maxwell grinned. “Good, ‘cause you’re baking a pie for the Queen!”

“Today’s all about gaining the Queen’s favor. As we draw closer to the Theophany, she’ll be testing all the potential candidates.” Bertrand instructed. “Be careful what you say around her.”

“It’d also help if you won the pie-baking contest.” Maxwell said. “But you won’t be doing this alone! It’s a team event, so you can rely on the other ladies if you need to.”

Riley pursed her lips. “Now, that’s concerning. How can I trust some girl that never even came close to an oven in her life?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Some of them are absolutely amazing bakers!” Maxwell praised.

“I’ll pretend I don’t care how you know that and say it must be some other cutting-edge husband-catching technique.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of parents in desperation for noble in-laws, where’s Hana? She’d be a mighty asset for this, I’m sure she’d be able to do it blindfolded.”

“Dunno,” Maxwell shrugged. “But maybe you can get her on your team!”

“Okay, let’s do this!” Riley threw her nose to the air and joined the other girls.

“Make House Beaumont proud!” Bertrand commanded.

The two men walk off, leaving Riley with the other women. A minute later, Queen Regina join them.

“Greetings ladies.” She said. “I’m glad to see everyone here again. We will soon be dividing into two teams to partake in the apple pie baking contest. I’ve decided that Olivia will captain one team and Madeleine the other.” Of course she did. “Ladies, please select your teams.”

Again, with no surprise, Madeleine had the first pick. “I choose Lady Penelope.”

The black-haired woman walked cheerfully to Madeleine’s side. “We’ll bake poodle-shaped pie crumpets!”

“No.” Madeleine quickly shut Penelope down.

“Okay…” She retreated into submission.

“Lady Kiara.” Olivia selects, and the tanned-skin woman walks over to her side.

Also unsurprisingly, Hana and Riley were the last pick of the crop. The black-haired controlled an urge to roll her eyes, it was such a pathetic, puerile power play that even teenagers considered it childish.

“Look at the two strays!” Olivia laughed, wickedly. “Come on, Riley, I’ll adopt you. You’re not as mangy as Hana.”

“Oh, no, Olivia.” Riley linked her arms with Hana’s. “We’re a pair.”

“Two undesirables on one team? That’s just vile.” Olivia demeaned.

Riley shrugged. “I respectfully disagree.”

Madeleine resolved the dispute. “I don’t really care. You can have both of them.”

Hana and Riley smiled at each other and marched haughtily to Olivia’s side. As they walked towards the outdoor baking setup, the Queen approaches the black-haired.

“Lady Riley, I hope you’ll exceed expectations like last time.” She said, offhandedly.

“I wouldn’t worry, ma’am. Apple pie, after all, is America’s national dessert.” The younger woman smiled, with a side note of defiance.

Regina did not back down. “I imagine you’ve had some decent apple pies from your homeland. Though I expect that after today, you’ll be saying ‘as Cordonian as apple pie’.”

And with that, she left.

With the arrival of the girls, Olivia and Madeleine organize their teams.

“Riley, Hana, cut the apples.” The redhead commanded. “That should be a simple enough task that even you can handle.” And she walks away before either of them could utter a word.

Riley hugged Hana’s shoulders. “If mise-en-place is what we were given, it is on the mise-en-place we’re going to shine.”

With all the ladies positioned, Queen Regina addresses the crowd. “Let the bake-off begin!”

The ladies jump into a flurry of activity. Olivia slams a basket of apples in front of Riley and Hana.

“Get to work.” She ordered.

They quickly peel and slice the apples.

“Okay, done.” Riley dropped the knife. “The recipe says we should add two cups of sliced apples.”

“But we’re doubling the size of the pie, so we should add four cups.” Hana warned.

“Great, I’ll do the measuring.” She picked up the cup.

“I’ll start getting the spices together.” Hana said and left for the spice cupboard.

Riley takes the four cups of apples and set it aside for the cinnamon mix. “Hey, Olivia!” She called the redhead over.

With no response, she walked over where the Duchess was. When she came closer, the redhead hid two identical shakers behind her back.

“The apples are ready.” Riley informed.

“Uh… good.” Olivia dismissed.

The black-haired rolled her eyes. “Is this the best you can do, Olivia? Y’know, for all that I’ve heard from the Nevrakis, I expected a more seasoned conspirateuse.”

Olivia seems ready to bark, but then sights, checks around for eavesdroppers, and starts whispering: “I’m switching the salt and sugar labels for the other team. Now that you know, you can spare me your moralizing and leave. I don’t have much time.”

“I would, if I didn’t think Madeleine is probably thinking of ways to do the exact same thing.” Riley shrugged.

Olivia seemed shocked. “You want to help?”

“I want to slap that smug smile off Regina’s face.” Riley said.

“That I can agree to.” Olivia nodded. “How about you distract Penelope for me? She’s their guard dog.”

“On it.” Riley said and stealthily walked over to Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s the pie baking?”

The other woman sighed. “Madeleine doesn’t trust me, so I’m ‘standing around and looking pretty’. But, you know, at least that means she thinks I’m pretty.”

“But you’re a noblewoman!” Riley argued. “How many centuries you could trace your lineage back again? Four?”

“Six.” She blushed, self-conscious.

“Six hundred years of high-birth.” Riley emphasizes. “Certainly you can bake a measly pie.”

“If only.” She lamented. “I’ve never even boiled water! Right now I wish I could just snuggle up with my poodle.”

“That I can understand.” The American used a low, emphatic tone of voice.

“Do you have poodles?” Penelope asks, excitedly. “They’re my favorite breed of dog. Did I tell you about the golden poodle statues around my family’s estate? We have one in the atrium, the gardens, the bathhouse…”

Before she could continue, though, a hand patted Riley’s shoulder. “Penelope, darling, excuse me for butting in, but this little sheep has wandered from the herd. I’ll be taking her back now.” Olivia came for her rescue.

“Of course.” She responded, cheerily. “Goodbye!”

Olivia leads Riley back to their team’s kitchen. “Not bad for a beginner.” If only the redhead knew. “But now I need you over by the oven.”

Riley walks over by a wood-fired oven. Hana waves and comes over. “The pie is almost ready to be baked. Want to help me decorate it before it goes in the oven?”

“Only if I can steal some batter.” Riley said, smiling.

“There is leftover filling.” Hana offered.

“Good enough. Let’s go.” She took the Asian’s arm and went over to the table.

Hana presented the pie to be baked. “I want to add a little flair to the pie, so it’ll bake with a pretty design. Though I’m not sure what the design should be. What do you think the Queen would like?”

The first two images that came through Riley’s head was a penis and a red rose. A penis was self-explanatory, but the rose, well, it was a finer print of cruel. Today, however, wasn’t the day for pettiness. She had a contest to win.

“We should add a Cordonian Royal Seal.” She decided, to stroke Regina’s ego. “It’s a pie fit for a Queen after all.”

“The seal is a bit complicated, but I love a challenge!” Hana said, excitedly.

Riley supposed she should volunteer to help, but decided against. Observing the Asian, she felt she had to comment: “You’re really good at this.”

“You sound so surprised.” Hana laughed.

“As I said to Maxwell earlier, I’m surprised you were taught this. It seems so… middle class, I guess.”

The Asian shrugged. “I never had to cook, and if my parents have their way, I never will. But it’s artistic, refined work.”

Before Riley could answer, Kiara appears from behind them and complains: “Hey! You’re not supposed to…” She takes a look into the work and stops on her tracks. “Whoa… Very nice.”

“You think the Queen will like it?” Hana asks.

Kiara smirked. “She’d be a fool not to.” And then takes the freshly-decorated pie and puts it in the oven.

As they waited for the pie to cook, Riley and Hana take a break. Some ice-cold water was served by the maids of the manor, and the girls had the opportunity to enjoy the late-Fall sunlight filtered through the apple trees.

“So, Hana,” Riley said. “As we were saying, if I was to guess, I’d say baking is yet another thing you’ve learned and don’t really like.”

“It was alright. At least I got to taste test all of my creations, including sneaking in some uncooked batter every now and then.” She smiled.

The black-haired snickered. “What would be the point otherwise?”

The timer went off. Riley put it carefully out of the oven and handles it to Olivia. The redhead snickers, smoothly takes the pie and presents it to Queen Regina, almost simultaneously to Madeleine presenting hers.

“Thank you both.” Regina said, ceremonially. “We’ll begin the judging with Madeleine’s pie.”

The woman looks carefully at the dessert, evaluating its presentation.

“This is very well done. Good work, Madeleine.” Regina appraised.

Riley contained a smirk. “Wait until you taste it.” She thought, meanly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Madeleine bowed.

Regina then takes a knife, cuts out a piece and places it on a Portuguese ceramic dish. With silver cutlery, she carves the smallest of the pieces and puts into her mouth.

“Oh, my!” She quickly places her napkin to her mouth. “That’s a bit heavy on the salt.”

It was probably as salty as the Dead Sea, but Regina would eat the entire pie with a smile, just so she wouldn’t have to admit it.

“What?” Madeleine vociferate, surprised. And then her fists ever so clench, as she glowers at Penelope. Said young noblewoman shrunk, fearfully. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Knowing nothing she said could savage Madeleine, Regina began appraising Olivia, Riley, Kiara and Hana’s pie.

“The design is superb.” She commented. “Who did this?”

“I did, Your Majesty.” Hana said, overjoyed.

Her soft scowl dissipates, as it turned out it wasn’t the handiwork of Riley’s. “You’re exceptionally talented, Lady Hana.”

The young woman bowed her graces.

Regina followed the protocol for tasting once again the pie. She bites and tastes it at length. Finally, she declared: “The perfect amount of apples with exquisite flavoring.” The Queen dabs her moth with a napkin. “After weighting the strengths and weaknesses of each side, I declare Olivia’s team the winner.”

With a barely-noticeable smug smirk in her face, Riley celebrated the victory with her teammates. The girls from both sides of the competition applauded, signaling the end of the event.

“Ladies, if you’ll proceed across the ground for our next event.” Regina oriented, as the cleaning staff swarmed to unassemble the outdoor kitchen.

Riley was walking over the signaled area but felt a small nudge to her shoulder. She turned to see who was it, and it was the Queen. “Lady Riley,” She says. “May I have a word?”

“Of course, ma’am.” She assented, politely.

Regina leads her away from the ladies for a stroll through the apple orchard. When they were far enough for anyone to overhear them, Riley asked: “Pardon my rudeness, ma’am, but what is it that you wish to speak with me?”

“I wanted us to get to know one another better.” She said, with an inviting smile. Riley thought she’d feel more at ease with a sneer. “I’ve been impressed with how you’ve comported yourself so far. You’ve demonstrated grace and composure unlike most.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.” She thanked, gracefully, all in the while she braced herself for the slash.

“But a queen, no matter how graceful and composed, cannot be everywhere at once. You’ll need to appoint advisors and ambassadors to act in your stead.” She said, seriously. “Which is why I’d like to hear your opinion on some of those around you.”

Regina was baiting her, Riley was sure. She remembered Bertrand’s words about being diplomatic, and she was going to take them to heart. “Of course, ma’am. I’m happy to be of service.”

“Madeleine is one of your strongest competitors. What is your opinion of her?” Regina asked.

She forced a snicker away. Regina couldn’t help herself. “Madeleine’s an asset.” Riley answered. “She has the pedigree and the skills to thrive at court, and she uses it to her advantage. She has the potential to be a decisive ally. Or a difficult enemy.”

“Interesting assessment.” Regina considered her words. “Hana has been a competitor since the beginning, and you seem closer than the others. What do you see in her?”

Now that’s a low blow. She’s pulling her friends into her intrigue. “Hana is extraordinarily talented, ma’am. And very kind, as well, she’s helped me find my footing here when I didn’t know where to step.”

“She’s someone you’d like to keep in your inner circle, I assume.” She insinuated.

“Of course.” The black-haired smiled.

“I concur with your evaluation.” Regina said. “What you say about your friends can reveal more about you than about them. And Liam’s commoner friend, Drake?” Riley noticed she could barely dissimulate her contempt. “You’re by his side quite often despite him having very little to do with the competition.”

“Despite his sour disposition, ma’am, Drake’s very reliable. He’s exceedingly loyal, and I cannot help but understand why Prince Liam trusts him. So do I, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s good to surround yourself with people you can trust.” Regina said, somewhat demeaning. “A true queen must have a network of allies she can call upon. It’s clear you’ve been assessing how those around you may help you someday.”

“I try my best, ma’am.”

“You may return to the other suitors, Lady Riley. It’s time I announce the next event.” Regina dismissed.

“Of course, ma’am.” She said, with a smile. “And if I may say so, I quite enjoyed our conversation. If you ever wish to know about me, I’ll be happy to provide the information. You needn’t to corner my aunt for it.”

Regina blanched. “How do you know of it?”

“Aunt Isabel is hardly a simpleton, ma’am. She found most strange for a man with an accent to ask with such determination about her niece she hadn’t seen for so long.” Riley informed, smirking wickedly. “Excuse me.” She bowed and left a somewhat-gaping Regina behind.

At the edge of the orchard, the people of the village congregated once more.

Shortly after, Regina addressed all the girls, completely recomposed. “The festival we throw during the Presentation serves to remind us the growth vital to keeping our nation thriving. Now, as is tradition, we will honor one distinguished, best dressed lady as this year’s Apple Queen. This is a ceremonial position for the people to decide. Last year, it was our very own, Lady Madeleine.”

Riley’s eyes moved round ever so slightly, while Madeleine bowed. “I very much appreciated the honor.”

“As for this year, people of Applewood,” The Queen addressed. “Who do you wish to honor with this title?”

A strong, quasi-unanimous chant of Kókkini Prinkípissa took the crowd by strike. The French-bred ladies looked at one another, wondering about whom were the villagers referring to. Riley knew whom, and Regina’s face showed she did too.

Kókkini Prinkípissa. Red Princess.

“I think we have a clear winner.” Regina said, unable to keep her contempt away from her tone. “Lady Riley will be this year’s Apple Queen.”

“Woo!” Riley heard Maxwell celebrate on the distance. “Go, Riley! Party like it’s 1299! All hail the Apple Queen from the Big Apple!”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Lady Riley, please join me for your ‘Coronation’.”

Riley kneels in front of the actual Queen. She hands her an apple-shaped scepter. “I pronounce you Queen of the Apples. Long live the Apple Queen!”

“Thank you all for electing me to represent you as the Apple Queen.” Riley addressed the crowd in Greek, arousing cheers from the peasantry, usually kept at large from those events. “I’m happy to accept this esteemed position, and I will treat it with the utmost respect.”

“My Queen,” Regina said in a low baritone. “I will serve as your acting seneschal and guide you through the ceremony.”

Riley forced a smirk away. Regina must be loving this, she thought, meanly.

Regina continued: “Before we proceed, we must fill out the Apple Court. These are the courtiers who will parade behind you. Who will be your cup-bearer? This person should be a close confidant you would trust with your life.”

Her eyes fluttered through the crowd. To her right-hand side, in a discreet position behind Regina, stood Liam. It was aligned to the objectives of the afternoon, choosing him, but at the same time, such a choice would come across as aggressive, especially to Kiara and Penelope. Their new allegiance would suffer if she was too conspicuous.

Her eyes fluttered to the crowd. At the forefront, Hana smiled, supporting. Now there’s a trustworthy person, as much as she was valuable strategy-wise. Her counsel was to be taken into serious consideration, not to mention a position in that travesty of a Court would be exceedingly beneficial to her own interests, if nothing else to appease her overbearing parents. However, Hana was also the obvious choice, and that’s neither strategic nor interesting.

Her mind branched to the other girls, she could choose a random girl, but that would bode as mocking the ceremony, and as skeptical she was to the whole ordeal, there was something inherently wrong about picking Madeleine or Olivia. Riley wouldn’t put behind them craving a literal knife to her back halfway through the event.

A solution came from the far back, though. A wicked smile spread through Riley’s face.

“Drake. I pick Drake.” Riley announced.

He came, smiling, trying to fowl her plan to make him miserable. “You know the cup-bearer tastes drinks for poison, right?”

“Yet, this is an apple festival. We’ll be drinking nothing but apple martinis.” She smiled, sweetly.

He grumbled. “I am blessed to carry out your agenda, my queen.”

Drake takes his place at her right-hand side, between Riley and Regina, who was also so very glad to be behind the order of precedence of not one, but two commoners, as fanciful as it was.

The blonde woman takes out a goofy-looking fool’s cap. “My queen, if you’ll name your court jester.”

Madeleine or Olivia? Choices, choices, choices. Riley laughed at her own evil. The reality, however, was less amusing. If she chose either of the girls, it would be an act of open warfare, and she preferred to keep the façade of naïve outsider, if only to an untrained eye.

There was someone, however, who would appreciate the position. “I pick Maxwell.”

Said man pushed his way to the front. “Step aside, plebeians! Three-time jester MVP, coming through.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this.” Drake pointed out.

Maxwell, however, was undeterred. “I’m sensing jealousy.”

“Forget I said anything.” Drake aggravated.

The Beaumont spare plopped the jester cap on his head. The bells jingle as they fall down on his face.

“My queen,” Regina said to Riley. “With your court assembled, it is your right to issue an edict before your people.”

“My people,” Riley addressed the crowd, in Greek once more. “Love bind us together. Whether is love of country, love of citizen, love of self. These bonds hold us together. Our differences are insignificant compared to the power of love we share with one another.”

Regina cuts her speech short, summoning a horse and a carriage. “Magnanimous queen, show your generosity and share with us the products of your bountiful harvest!”

Riley got into the carriage and started handing delicately apples to every attendee with a blessing and a smile.

When the apples ran out, Regina led her to an area where Madeleine stood beside an apple seedling. “Your majesty, please honor your ancestor, the previous year’s Apple Queen, and plant a tree for the next generation.”

Madeleine curtsies. “My queen. Happy wishes for you.”

“Thank you, my ancestor.” Riley smiled, diplomatically.

“The labor of your forebears will help you build a better world.” She responded, in a tone of ceremonial neutrality. Lowering her voice, she whispers to Riley: “Not many get the pleasure of being addressed as ‘my queen’. Savor this moments. You may never hear the phrase again.”

“I thought we were beyond petty threats, Madeleine.” Riley smiled at her. “If you want to scare me so, you will have to do better.”

“As you wish, Lady Riley.” Madeleine responds, and step aside showing a hole in the ground for the sapling. “The ground is yours, my queen.”

Riley takes the seedling and place it into the hole and scoop the dirt in around it. She then turns to the crowd and addresses the masses: “The work we do today will benefit future generations. Our children deserve a better world then that we have it today.”

“Thank you, gracious Apple Queen.” Regina said. “As your final honor…” She motioned for Liam to approach.

He comes closer in a confident march, but averting, shyly, his eyes from her. “You are entitled to a kiss, my queen.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I humbly accept your offer.”

He beamed. “As my queen desires.”

Prince Liam rises. He tenderly leans in and kisses Riley on the cheek.

With that, the festival wraps up and the cheering crowd disperses. Before Riley could walk very far, however, Maxwell comes after her, breaking through the crowd and waving over.

“There’s our glorious Apple Queen!” Maxwell greeted.

“Hey, lord jester.” Riley smiled back. “Thanks for your vote, I heard you cheering out there.”

He turned bashful. “Well, somebody had to do it. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

“What do I owe the pleasure, then?” Riley asks.

“I might be able to get you some alone time today with Prince Liam!” He exclaimed, merrily. “I happen to know he’s in the manor’s conservatory right now waiting for some nobles. I could distract them long enough with offers to donate to their favorite causes.”

“Let’s do it, then!” Riley responded, excitedly.

“The conservatory’s on the other side of the estate grounds.” He pointed her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Maxwell. You’re the best.”

He smirked. “Someone needs to think I’m the best to make up for Bertrand thinking I’m the worst.”

Applewood Conservatory, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked into the Victorian-style conservatory, and as soon she stepped into it, she was hit with a distinctive citric smell. She couldn’t pass on the irony, apples and oranges.

Liam, expecting company, perked at the sound of the door, bracing himself to an unamusing exchange. The prospect only furthered his joy when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Lady Riley, what a surprise.” He beamed. “And wearing a costume?”

She smiled, self-conscious. “Bertrand says it’s historically accurate.”

“Well, you look fantastic.” He praised.

“You’re too kind.” She says, and on another note, she continued. “I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“I am supposed to meet some of my mother’s friends to discuss the flowers, but I’m very excited to see you instead.” He grinned.

His mother’s friends. Lady Carmela’s friends. The significance did not go unnoticed by Riley.

She knew; however, it wasn’t the time to discuss such matters. Instead, she smirked and said: “Yes, I might have asked Maxwell to entertain them for a while.”

“How courteous of him to have complied.” Liam concurred, with a smirk of his own.

“You’ve been busier than usual lately.” Riley commented.

He sighed. “Yes. Since my father has announced his abdication at the Regatta, I’ve been suddenly overrun by nobles wanting to…” He struggled with the concept he was trying to convey.

“Congratulate you in such fortuitous occasion, all in the while securing their position in the new regime?” Riley offered, in an ironic tone.

“Yes, that’s about right. My ascension seemed like a distant event, but now it’s actually happening. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be King of Cordonia.” He sighed again. “I thought I had more time.”

“Oh, Liam.” She came closer to him and placed her hands on each of his arms. “I trust you are more than ready to take upon this responsibility. Besides, if everything goes as smoothly as they’re going, you’ll have me by your side every step of the way.”

That statement has a dimension Liam had no clue of, but still rung true.

He smiled bashfully. “You make me believe you. We are a good team.”

“The greatest.” She laughed softly.

“It’s just so strange to think that so many people would be counting on me, depending on me.” He confessed.

“Well, even if you were a random man on the streets, people would still count on you. If you were a doctor, many patients’ lives would be at your hands. If you were a lawyer, your clients’ liberties would be on you.” She augmented. “Even if you were a househusband, your family’s life would be dependent on you. Responsibility is a side product of societal life, yours just happen to be… unusual.

“Besides, I know you. You’re kind, responsible, and noble, frightening so. And, perhaps most importantly, you’re always thinking of others. I am sure the realm will thrive under you. Or do you think I’m that off-mark?”

He smiled in modesty. “You say you see me so clearly, but how about yourself?”

“What about me?” She wondered.

He sighed. “I know there’s much undecided, but let’s say you were my selection. You’re such a free spirit, Riley, and I love that about you. But there are expectations that come with being queen. Royal events, palatial life, children. Can you really see yourself by my side as your place?”

“I left home very young, Liam.” She breathed. “I left for college at seventeen, and I never really looked back. There didn’t seem to be my place, it never seemed to be a place to go back to. Nowhere did, really. But now I’m going on thirty, and I’ve seen lots of great things and others not-so-good, and the truth is that I’m tired.

“I want to build something, I want to have something to look at fondly, I want to have a reason to stay. It all begins with finding someone I want to be with, and I want to be with you. So, it doesn’t matter if we’re going to live at the Brigades or at a shack in Montana, or if you’re the King, a high school teacher or a homeless guy, I’m sticking with you.”

He hugged her. “This means a lot to me, Riley.”

“Well, I mean it.” She said, earnestly.

“Meeting you in New York was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me.” He confessed. “You changed my life.”

She laughed. “I’m not even going to mention in how many ways my life changed because of you.”

“For better, I hope.”

“Certainly beats my old gig.” She laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Riley, whatever it happens, know that I am grateful for the time we spent together.” Liam said, feverishly. He pauses in front of a rose bush, picks one out and hands it to her. “I know you don’t like roses, but have you ever seen a Juliet?”

“Only at a public garden.” She said, while admiring the flower. “The five-million-dollar rose.”

He smirked. “It’s rumored that the man who created this breed spent five million dollars and fifteen years on it. It must have been a labor of love.”

“And yet, so less dramatic than a black tulip.” She smiled. “Thank you for giving it to me, my mother would love a picture of it.”

A rose. It seemed so ominous for Liam to seal his promise with a rose, just like hers to Charlotte is also sealed with a rose.

And, yet, it seemed so very appropriate. Sub rosa, she believed she had heard, no light shall ever shed over the secrets sworn by the rose.

Liam, sensing her discomfort, even if he was mistaken about its cause, decided to change subjects: “How did you find the Presentation?”

She smirked. “Lord, you people really love your apples! It was all fine and good, but I swear I could kill for a banana.”

“In the future, I’ll make sure you get a reprieve from all the apples.” He smiled back. His gaze lingered at the girl, and his smile fell only so slightly. “I don’t know how much longer Maxwell is going to be able to stall the nobles. He cannot entertain all of my appointments.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you even met Maxwell? He would at least try, if nothing else.”

Liam scoffed, good-naturedly, and wrapped the girl on his arms. She could smell his perfume, fougère, oakmoss and coumarin. His fingers delicately traced a line through her cheekbones, while the other hand, allotted on the back of her head, brought her face closer to his, finishing on a deep kiss.

As they break apart, Liam said, breathlessly: “We’d better stop, or I’ll never leave you.”

“I thought that was the point.” She raised a defiant eyebrow.

He captures her lips in another long, lingering kiss, then reluctantly pulls away, tucking a rebellious strand of black hair back into its rightful place behind her ear.

“Until next time.” He said goodbye.

She recomposes herself and leaves the conservatory in a haughty fashion. By the door of the manor, there waits Maxwell.

Before she could say anything, Maxwell jumped the mark. “I hope everything went well with Liam, but we’re switching gears for the next event.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bertrand.” She looked pointedly at him.

“Sorry…” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s just that we’re kind of late, and we’re clearing the ground for the ‘fox hunt’ tomorrow morning.” He made air quotes.

“We are hunting now?” She admonished.

“No, not really. It’s more like a race that takes place at the Royal hunting grounds. Which means horseback riding through the woods!”

“Lord help me.” She aggravated.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

The knock of the dress shoes to the polished wooden floor sounded like a thunderstorm over at the empty, silent hallway, for its feverish pace. From the windows, the light of the setting sun heats the late-autumnal waft running through the old building.

A knock to the grand, engraved door reflected the pace so-far, in a desperate plea for access. When the order was shouted, in mild irritancy, the man barreled into the bedroom.

“Your Majesties,” He bowed. “There is an emergency.”

“That much we’ve gathered, for how desperately you punched against that door.” Regina snapped.

“I am most sorry, ma’am.” He apologized and kept to himself by the entrance.

“Well, boy, now say what you have to say and don’t waste my time!” She berated.

“Regina, please.” The moaning voice of the King came from the bed. “Keep quiet. And you, secretary, come closer and tell me what brings you here.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve brought the newspapers that will be published in the morning, and that is what they’ll be headlining.” He handed the man an issue.

His eyes popped. “Is this real? Is this the truth?”

“The Security Department is looking into it, but they said that, preliminarily, the newspapers have a very strong case.” He answered, regretful.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked, grave.

“No, sir. It is too late.”

“There is nothing else but to brace ourselves, then.” The King said. “You are dismissed.”

He bowed and left.

“What is it, Constantine?” Regina asked.

The man said nothing but handed her the issue.

“What?!” She screamed. “That is outrageous!”

“It’s the truth, Regina, and you know it.” He bellowed. “Thank the Heavens they did not mention us.”

“Not they, her.” She snapped. “I told you that girl was problem. And yet, you did not listen to me.”

“I have it under control, woman.” He demeaned.

“You better have, you better have.” She said, and also left the room.

Red Rose - Masterlist

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Taglist: @boneandfur; @mfackenthal

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mahouproject-one · 6 years ago

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"Too weird to live, too rare to die." | Farah | Trial 4-2 | [RE: Results, Joon-Young]

All things taken into the potluck of consideration, they had to admit they sort of saw this coming out on the endless stretch of the horizon.

The vote for Mitsuo-- it was a vengeance vote really, wasn't it? A vote of pragmatism more than of any real authentic confidence or balls. The flaws were all in the fixings, looking back on those seconds before in 20/20-- why would Mitsuo Ueno cut throats for this motive? Surely the composer would be doing well to be forgotten and go incognito, if anything. This was rooted in rue, all this. Joon-Young Myung made sense. Joon-Young Myung was the answer. And now Joon-Young Myung would kill for the second time in short follow-through. (You just couldn't trust a nice boy these days, Aphrodite almighty. Them's the breaks, them's the breaks.)

Great googly moogly; once again, it had all gone to shit. Little surprises there, miniscule minutiae of 'em. But if there was one faint, rusted, buried-in-lint-and-aged-shimmer of a silver lining to any of this shitfest shebang, it was that Farah Fujibayashi-Beauregard had narrowly dodged the bloody bullet that would have been Catching One Whole Feeling. By gods above, it had been a close shave! But, thankfully, they believed they just might be able to damn well slip past it to freedom, far away from the ticking doom that was catching The Feelings. It was great! Everything Was Totally Fine! (It was not. Probably.)

Initially, they were inclined to hesitate before embarking back to where they had once been, but something-- perhaps just how irreparably, absurdly gonzo this whole thing really was, as it flung itself off the roadrails-- pushed them away from Joon-Young, the supermodel murderer, and back to the caustic cold comforts of their little black notebook. Oh, they could visibly react to this more, with a "fuck" or a "hm..." or a "goddamn it, what am I doing" or a simiple "crikes", but they needed some sense, some sensibility, some hushed observation-- and where, pray tell, could they contextualise things into such pristine shells and shapes the way they could with writing? That was their duty. They had little more left to spread; this was but another notch on their collective bedpost of surrealism and misery, surely. They were just here to record as they witnessed.

And, ah, wouldn't they have swayed down that merry way of the eagle eye, if only Joon-Young hadn't locked them in with that look and those words.

Dropping their journo's pen with a clack!, Farah immediately looks up to lock gaze with Joon-Young, and something flashes across their features-- quickly, swiftly, rapidly buried underneath that wry, witty, jovially doomsday manner of theirs, and yet...there's still a small, subtle sign of a knit to their eyebrows as they speak-- and their words cut in sharply, clean through the air. Has Joon-Young...perhaps touched a bit of a nerve? (Not that they'll let it show, of course-- they're not the angry type. Or the upset type. Or the rattled type. They are done with the feelings-catching for this particular day, thank you--)

"Ah, please don't let me be misunderstood, Myung-chi. You're off the markings on my musings entirely. Listen sharp, don't just lookit."

Their stare stayed steely, methodical yet merry, in a way that felt...off. Not in a drastic showing of such, just off. They just kept looking.

"Read my lips, Dash. I'll try an' be plain Jane about it. I cawed about death not matterin' much of a whit...here. The now-now, specifically. In this highly particular, reticular hellhole. The rhyme to my reasonings down this particular road? Hell, just look 'round the room, my friend-- at, say, Miyu Suzuki-chi, for an example! She killed, she suffered, she died. But...she hasn't left for any other plane but you and I's, has she? Sure, she's moved to a state of halfs-- semis-- almosts--" (Miyu has heard this before, and they wonder what it sounds to her ears in this modern context)-- "but she's still here, a voice among the haunted crowd, a vox most phantom! She's not alive-- but she is here. The state's the same with the girl you sent to th' spirit level. The sorry sucker you and our thorny Rose here are about to enable the unholy sacrifice of. Sure, you killed 'em. But you can apologise tomorrow, can'tcha? Now, if we talk in terms of what'll happen after the storm if we manage to break this establishment-- that's a tread into the murkier waters, I'll throw that to you. But 'tween all that jazz and a dash of the Labyrinths-- how y'can get eviscerated entirely and get away clean as they come!-- doesn't that render the mutual murderous aspect of Ouryuu and the sellout's game here...a mild range a'moot? In a world where you can greet your dearly departed 'fore their flesh and bones are even loosing their fresh, what are the consequences? It's death, but it's not Real Death, is it?"

It's 1:42 A.M. and Shiny regrets all of her life decisions, but unfortunately, Farah has opinions. They continue unflinchingly.

"Real Death, now-- that'd be something like my dear old gran! See, she's sailed down the river Styx-- been a good couple a'months since it being so, I'd say. But she doesn't get t'stick around. She didn't get the chance on her hands to come back, be here, stay. I'm never gonna get a note on the back of an embroidered napkin from some sleazy retro-riche old restaurant from her again. I'm never gonna watch her go on a passion-packed rant about a corp that's crooked down to its bones, or ride on the back of her motorcycle, or tell her about my history teach's hokey take on McCarthyism, or gag on a sip of that ghastly tonic she loved because it tasted like that on the tongue, or crawl int'her attic space t'look at all her old badges and posters, or-- or-- ooooor--" they were pausing, goddamnit, you're not talking about this, stop talking about it, they don't need to know, look sharp, Fan, for fuck's sake-- "...Y'get the snapshot, don'tcha? And I've known far younger cats-- younger than you an' I, even-- to croak the bucket, and they don't get those chances, either. That's Real Death, methinks. Maybe it's luckier t'be able to leave this level of existence! Or maybe it's as hot as hell wherever the rest of 'em are. But it's different. So are the cluster of consequences, too. That's what my mode is, Myung-chi. And, y'know..."

They didn't have to keep the chatter up, and they knew it. They could just stay vigilant. But there was something else, and they couldn't help but speak that truth loud, but God, couldn't they just...

"...If your personal path of ponderings ledja down the path that I think life's insignificant, I'll have t'throw in an objection on that measure, too. Life, insignificant? Not by any scale, my man! Life's a giantess, as gargantuan as the Reaper! Just 'cause my prerogatives don't add up to staying on this particular playing field for much time doesn't mean I don't place a price on it. It's a beautiful trauma! A euphoria apocalyptica! It's terrible, gorgeous, slimy, grimy, sleazy, seedy, twisted, absolutely fucked! And it's a riot! It's a privilege and pleasure t'be here, and t'have gotten the possibility to drift the continents and see all the wicked the rotten motherfuckers of this world have had t'offer up to me thus far! I wouldn't try spend it like I do if I didn't place as much fucking value on it as I do."

What were they doing? Why? Why couldn't they answer their own questions about it?

"Don'tcha think I have a life outside? Dreams? Plans? Don'tcha think I wanna write a few more pithy politicking exposés, have a few more rounds 'round the block, maybe wander a few more lands, maybe give my Julie the biggest hug I can and tell her I'd shoot a guy on-spot just t'see her crack a laugh, maybe find myself a beautiful wife with a mind like acid, maybe dismantle the capitalist machine, maybe throw a solid couple a'wrenches before letting the wax wings melt and going all Bolivian army and leaving the place a little more shook up when we plunge off Thelma & Louise style?" Their eyes got wider. "Don'tcha think I've seen the circus spectacle they saw and mused 'bout how to at least make it worth the gawk? Don'tcha wonder if I give it moxie just t'make sure it's seen? Don'tcha muse that I have that deep-down yearn to be as witnessed as much as I do my best to bear witness to this whole thing? Don'tcha think that motive might've got me by the balls just as much? Don'tcha think I would've cut throat for that motive they saddles us to if you hadn't gotten your lovely self to the game first? It's not that I 'spect you to-- I'm not looking for answers, I'm just trying t'give you this forsaken rat's idea on it. Think about it, brother. Just that alone."

And suddenly-- all the built up intensity that their face had gathered, their knitted eyebrows, their hunched shoulders, their blazing blue eyes gazing, gazing, gazing-- all dropped. And they were just...

"...Just a glimpse onto my side a'the shimmering pane, Joon-Young Myung. After that, it's yours t'make the deducions on. And frankly, comrade..."

They shrug-- and they return, to their inscrutable, intensive, ever-extending journals.

What else was there that was close to real?

#mahouichi #chrono #chapter four #trial #farah #submission

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ellwelune · 7 years ago

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A Meeting With The Overseer

(RP log: 01/14/18)

Elle, with obvious reluctance, removes the belt holding her pistols -which she has worn continuously since Recke and Eilithe's return- and hands it over to the guards on the stairs. She pauses in the doorway, lightly rapping her knuckles against the door jamb. "You wanted to see me?" She doesn't look worried, or apprehensive. She just looks tired.

Recke would be standing at the front of the desk and leaning against the ledge. A distant sight on the bay windows in the office with his arms crossed. An annoyed expression on his face before he heard the knocking and saw Elle. A gesture to enter more so into the office. "I don't hope to take too much of your time. Just some rather..unexpected things came up."

Elle steps inside, closing the door behind her. She lets her gaze drift out the window a moment before she turns her attention back to him. "There seems to be a lot of that going around." She stands in a fairly relaxed pose, hands clasped behind her. "What can I help you with?"

Recke let out a deep sigh as he brought his own gaze up to meet Elle's. "You can help me with technicalities that are a pain in the ass." He paused for a moment before clearing his throat. "I've been made aware that you've charged out local pirate for the fees due from the street performers. That is where these technicalities come into play. The council didn't technically vote on the matter of charging street performers. While it was discussed, it wasn't -technically- voted for." His hands falling to grip the edge of the desk he leaned against. "While I would not usually care for what ill fate befalls him. I do not want word passing through the streets that we go about charging others simply on a slip of words." He paused once more to make sure she was keeping up with him.

Elle nods to him as he speaks. "Yes, I did collect from his, whatever he is, Saeris." She cants her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let me guess; Kurel either whined at or bullied Eilithe about it and she, in turn, came to do the same to you, rather than anyone actually coming to talk to me." She shrugs, the complete lack of give-a-fuck on her face translated perfectly to her tone of voice. "The bank note still sits in my safe. I can have it to you in a matter of minutes."

Recke listened to Elle as she spoke before a simple shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose me talking to you now about it. I don't want it. Don't care for it. My opinions of the man still stand but as I said. I don't word catching around the harbor." He'd pull himself up to properly sit on the desk. "Just have a messenger send it back to him whenever you could. Please. And that'll be the end of that." Another shrug before he sighed quietly. His gaze still on her as he watched.

Elle shrugs her own shoulders. "I never cared for the money, either. The Harbor certainly doesn't need it." In truth, she only charged him so he'd be forced into admitting he can't afford the things he says he can. "I'll have someone send it back to Saeris."

Recke gave a slow blink as he nodded his head. Offering a smile towards Elle. "Thank you for understanding." He paused before frowning slightly and looked her over briefly. "You look tired. How have things been with you?"

"I'm doing it for you and the Harbor. Not for any other reason," she states, firmly. She'll be damned if she'll let either Eilithe or Kurel think she'd bend the knee for them. She blinks, then, raising a brow at him. "Things have been...busy. I am spread a bit thin, at the moment." Burying herself in work to avoid anything else, is more like.

Recke would nod once more. "I'd expect as much. I wouldn't ask you too for any other reason." His eyes would narrow at her as he pursed his lips. "Busy? Still back and forth from the estate?"

Elle nods again, relaxing her posture now that the topic has shifted. "The estate, Pennifer's farm, and the Harbor. There is still a lot to do to get that farm running again."

Recke hummed quietly in response as his gaze fell to the floor briefly. "I see. If you need any extra hands on her farm. I know of some good people still in Westfall. Work is always needed." His eyes flicked back up to her then. "How are things at home? Alright?"

Elle raises a brow at him. It honestly never occurred to her to ask for help of any kind. "Good people are proving difficult to come by. If you could put out the word to the ones you know and send them my way, I can give them work." Her gaze shifts away, locking on a point outside the window. "How are things here, or at the estate?"

Recke canted his head as she looked away. "I'll be sure to do that. You can expect them tomorrow or the next." His hands gripped a bit tighter on the desk as he leaned forward a tad. "Both." He stated finally.

Elle shifts her gaze back to Recke. "In a word? Tense. There is a lot of uncertainty here. And there..." She nods vaguely out the window. "...The extra work is welcome enough, keeping folks minds off whatever it is they can sense there that I can't." She shrugs, focusing back on him. "The new weapon and armor designs, unfortunately, didn't distract them from it for long."

Recke canted his head back as she moved to look at him. A look on his face as if he was trying to understand something. "Hmm. I see. There should be plenty of work now since Harbingers Gate. Though I was more so asking about -you- and not others. I understand the desire to not share. You should get some rest though."

Elle tilts her head slightly. "I have not been told anything regarding Harbingers Gate. That, and the lack of invitation to visit, or -any- contact with the Matrem at all, I was under the assumption it has nothing to do with me." She waves a hand, shaking her head. "The estate I'm talking about is mine, in Stranglethorn. No one there needs to find work. They have plenty, which you will see when the first ones are ready." She pauses, considering his words, and her answer, carefully. "I am...maintaining. A lot has happened recently that needs processed, not the least of which being the silence."

Recke his brows at her words. "When the first ones are ready? What exactly do you have going on at the estate?" He thought about her other words for a moment before speaking up. "So long as you're...maintaining. Just don't try to rush into anything."

"Weapon and armor designs. Ruckus and a couple of others are working on ways to transform them from theory into reality." She offers a quick nod of her head. "I am not rushing into anything. I do my job, one step at a time, one day at a time."

Recke pursed his lips for a moment as he looked down before nodding a few times. "I see. Sounds interesting. I look forward to whatever these designs are." Looking back up to catch her eyes before smiling. "I'm glad you're doing well."

Elle raises a brow at his expression. "I didn't intend to mention the weapons or the armor until I had something to present you with. I am not trying to do anything more devious than protect a patent. I hope you understand that." She completely evades his final words, as 'well' is a gross overstatement.

Recke shook his head quickly. "No. Of course not. I wasn't trying to pry into anything private. I was just curious to what you've been doing. Do you have a time frame on anything?"

Elle takes a moment to study his features before she finally nods. It's obvious to anyone observant that her understanding of her place and how much longer she can expect to enjoy things like freedom and breathing is shaky, at best. "Week's end, at the latest. He's just putting the finishing touches on some of the armor."

Recke nodded once more as he seemed to be more relaxed then when she first came in. Perhaps the topic of their discussing was a needed distraction. "Sounds good to me. Anything you need from me by the way?"

Elle starts to shake her head, then cants it. "Actually, I have a question about the Harbor's armory and barracks. Other than that, I only require your expertise with what I have the men working on."

Recke would reach behind him for a glass of water that was hidden there. Taking a drink before setting it beside him. "Ask away. I'm an open book." He piped up as his arms crossed over his chest.

Elle clears her throat, treading carefully so as not to step on anyone's toes. "The requisitioning of items for either of the buildings, is that under your command or Morddred's?"

Recke canted his head to the side. "Mine. Since it's technically in the harbor. I believe. Why?" He picked the glass up for another drink before idly spinning it in his hands. "For future reference. If it's something to do within the harbor. It's probably me. And if it's outside of the harbor. Most likely him."

Elle nods, making a note of this for future reference. "He has asked to speak with me concerning the buildings and ways to improve stock, efficiency, things of that nature. I didn't want to give him any yays or nays without knowing whose decision it is."

Recke pursed his lips for a moment as he thought on her words before nodding. "Should be fine enough. Whatever he requests. I should find most of what he says sensible. Except saronite. No saronite." He'd abruptly shake his head.

Elle blinks and shakes her head. "I would never approve saronite for the harbor. There are far too many innocent people here for that."

Recke nodded quickly. "Good. But yeah..unless it's something extreme that throws you off. His requests should be granted. That's fine."

Elle cants her head. "I don't think he intends any new construction, but if he should request it, I'll make sure to run it by you first."

Recke offered a smile across towards her. "Of course. Glad I could clear that up for you. Did you have another question or anything else?" A brow perked as he sipped his water.

Elle considers for a moment, her ears swiveling like radar dishes and her eyes shifting to the corners of the room and even out the window. Finally, she simply shakes her head. "No. I think that covers it." Other than the million and one unspoken questions. So many questions, so much she wants to say, weight she wants lifted off her chest. But, not here, even in this office. Their spies are everywhere, and she’ll not risk it. "Do you have any more for me?"

Recke simply shook his head. "That's it. Glad to speak with you." He'd finally stand from the desk as he walked over towards the door to open it up for her. "If you do have something that comes up.." He tapped the side of his head. "..you know how to get a hold of me."

Elle steps back, reflexively, when he approaches, but smiles at him when he opens the door. "I'll remember that. Thank you." She starts down the stairs, holding her hand out for her gun belt. "Same goes for you, Overseer. Any time."

Recke simply nodded once with a smile at her words. The guard stationed there would give the gun belt back quickly. The door closing only after she walks out of sight.

@recke-stoutmantle @crymsynlotus @eilitheduskbringer @kurel-andiel

#rp #logs #ic

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actual-lich-queen · 7 years ago

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Queen of Cups Chapter 1: We All Come from Somewhere

Exploring an alternate choice for the Inquisitor’s background for Dragon Age: Inquisition. Chapter One takes place before the events at the Temple for the Urn of Sacred Ashes and introduces our heroine, her family, and a lays out a few of the relevant details of the Origins timeline.

The evening sounds of the Denerim alienage accompanied Ayla Adalen on her walk home. Her mostly empty basket of lavender sachets swung beside her, occasionally bouncing off a knee. She had already begun fantasizing about what her mother had made for dinner. Probably soup. It was usually soup. But there wasn’t any other soup quite like it in Denerim, her mother had been raised dalish and had their sensibilities about spicing food. Meaning that unlike most Ferelden soups, it was actually good. Her stomach rumbled as she approached the Adalen family home, the smell of dinner wafting through the open window.

“Mamae! I’m home!” Ayla announced as she closed the door behind her and set her basket down.

“Aneth ara, lethallan” Rosha rose from the hearth, “How was it today?”

“Not bad, I’ll have to go out in the fields again tomorrow. Most of what is left has been crushed. It won’t sell.” Ayla untied her apron, hanging it on a peg by the door, “It smells good, what’s for dinner?”

Ayla crossed the small hovel and gave her mother kiss on the temple.

“Potato stew with mutton.” Rosha made a face, “Well...more like a dream of mutton. Any less meat and I might as well baa at the pot for all the good it does.”

“My favorite.” Ayla took two wooden bowls and spoons from off the mantle and set the table. She picked up the earthen water jug and gave it a shake, empty. “I’ll go get more water from the well while you finish up.”

“Aye.” Rosha acknowledged, returning to tending the stew, “Be quick, da’len, it’s almost ready.”

Ayla fetched the buckets and yoke and made her way to the alienage well. The evening crowd was already gathered and she joined them to wait her turn for water.

“Spoon!” A young elf approached her, waving and carrying his own bucket.

“Sammen!” Ayla replied, “How was work at the docks?”

“Not the worst day, no major injuries and I only got called knife-ear a couple dozen times.” Sammen replied, setting his bucket down next to her.

“Are they actually going to pay you this time?”

“After last time I got half up front, at least. So there’s that.” Sammen frowned, “But this foreman seems at least halfway honest. And he has family here. So he’s not going to disappear over the horizon without paying the dockhands.”

“So you can learn.” Ayla teased.

“Keep talking like that and Haren Shianni will never be able to make you a match.”

“What? I have a darling personality.” She took mock offence, “I thought it was because I look like a shem.”

“True. You’d almost be pretty if you hadn’t inherited your da’s ears.” Sammen slung his arm around Ayla’s neck and mussed her hair.

“Ah! No! Stop!” Ayla laughed as she wiggled out of Sammen’s hold, “And you’d almost be handsome if you could just do something about your face.”

“Shall I paint it like a dalish elf?” Sammen wriggled his fingers under his eyes, imitating Rosha’s vallaslin.

“What, Mythal’s like mamae’s?” Ayla shook her head while smiling, “Patron of motherhood and justice?”

“Eugh...maybe not that one. Not a justice kinda guy. Too much work.” Sammen stuck his tongue out, “What’s the one that had all the fun?”

“Fun?”

“You know. Ran around tricking everyone at parties, giving people what they asked for but not what they expected. The fun one. Thenril or something.”

“Fen’Harel? The Dread Wolf?”

“Yeah! That’s the one. I bet his face thingy looks awesome.”

“I don’t think he has a vallaslin. Not that mamae has told me. Besides, he hates elves.”

“Pfff. He’s clearly met them. No offence to your mum, she’s nice, but the dalish I ran into when I ran that message over to Lothering called me ‘flat ear’ and shot arrows at my feet. Said I was trespassing in their woods.”

“Sure. We’ll just discount how they helped fight off the darkspawn then.”

“Well, obviously I don’t mean them either.” Sammen crossed his arms, “Just the ones who shoot at poor innocent messengers like myself.”

“A fair point.” Ayla stepped forward towards the well to fill her buckets, “But you’ve met enough dalish to know they’re not all like that.”

“Yeah, yeah. First impressions die hard.” Sammen took Ayla’s buckets from her and filled them for her, “Particularly when they’re the murder-y sort of impressions.”

“Hey, thanks.” Ayla dipped lower so Sammen could hook the buckets onto her yoke, “See you later tonight, tell you da I said ‘hi’.”

“Yeah, same to your ma!” Sammen waved as Ayla walked away, “Come by and visit sometime. He says you make tea better than me anyways.”

“That’s because I don’t let it steep so long the spoon can stand up in it.” Alya laughed as she walked away.

“That’s how you know it’s done!” Sammen called back.

Ayla opened the front door with her foot to find that she and her mother apparently had company for dinner. Rosha’s face was buried in the shoulder of an elf woman she was hugging so tightly Ayla wondered how they were managing to breath. The stranger wore a the blue and purple robes of a mage. King Alistair had granted the Ferelden circle greater autonomy, but it was still strange seeing a mage outside the tower. There was friction between the royal decree and the official stance of the Chantry. Some felt King Alistair was in his rights as king to grant more freedom to the Ferelden mages, while others said that mages and the circles were part of the Chantry and he had no authority over them. It was a subject best avoided at dinner parties if one hoped to have a pleasant evening.

“I’ve got the water, who’s our guest?” Ayla asked, setting the buckets down and carefully filling the jug on the table from one.

“Ayla, don’t you recognize her?” Rosha looked up teary eyed, releasing her hugging victim. Ayla was able to get a good look, there was something familiar about the woman’s face… Suddenly it clicked and Ayla realized the last time she’d seen the woman was as a girl sixteen years ago.

“Myathilen! Sister!” She shouted as she launched herself at the woman, hugging her tight.

“I go by Mary now.” the mage laughed, hugging her sister back, “No one at the circle could pronounce Myathilen.”

“Mary then, if that’s what you prefer.” Ayla corrected herself.

“It is.” Mary affirmed with a smile.

“I don’t see what’s so hard about ‘Myathilen’.” Rosha pursed her lips, “But I’m glad to have you home, regardless.”

“But what are you doing here? Are there...you know…” Ayla’s eyes darted around the room nervously and her voice dropped to a low whisper, “...templars?”

“No.” Mary’s voice also fell to a whisper, “They said the circle of enchanters voted to disband after what happened in Val Royeaux, and the Ferelden circle rebelled. Most of the mages left for Andoral’s Reach after the battle with the templars, but I just wanted to come home. I don’t think news of the rebellion has reached Denerim yet.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it at the Gnawed Noble.” Ayla shrugged, “Nothing solid anyways. Of course there are rumors.”

“There are always rumors.” Rosha shook her head, “But come, eat. Mage politics will not rob me of having both my daughters home.”

“For another hour at least, I have to get changed and over to the Gnawed Noble.” Ayla said as she laid out another place setting and served the stew.

“Can’t you take tonight off? It’s not everyday your sister comes home.” Rosha sighed.

“Not if we want to keep calling this shack home I can’t.” Ayla was already shoveling stew in her mouth.

“Lethallan, please.” Rosha said in that voice all mothers have when their children forget their table manners.

Ayla finished chewing carefully and swallowed before speaking again, “Sorry, mamae.”

“It’s been sixteen years, but you haven’t changed a bit.” Mary laughed as she joined them at the table.

“I’m slightly taller.” Ayla defended.

“Slightly.” Mary emphasized, “It’s nice not being the shortest person in the room, for once.”

Ayla stuck her tongue out before cramming more stew in her mouth.

“Girls.” Rosha chided, but she was smiling. It was like she had never lost one of her daughters to the circle.

“What do you do at the Gnawed Noble?” Mary asked as she delicately ate her stew.

“I perform. Archery tricks mostly, but sometimes I juggle.” Ayla said between bites, “I’m better with the bow than the pins though.”

“I thought you sold flowers?” Mary’s brow knit as she searched her memory, “At least that was the impression I got from your letters.”

“I do that too, but after da…” Ayla choked on her words, letting the rest of the sentence hang, “Mamae and I needed money so one of da’s old contacts got me a job performing at The Pearl. Not like...you know. But stupid parlor tricks to keep the customers entertained while they waited for the whores.”

“Weren’t you twelve when Graham-” Mary was interrupted by a look Ayla shot her followed by Ayla’s eyes pointedly looking over at their mother. Rosha was visibly upset by the mention of her husband’s name.

“Yeah, that’s why it was shooting arrows and not...you know.” Ayla concluded, spooning the last of her dinner into her mouth and rising from the table, “You could come with me tonight, if you like.”

“That sounds fun, but maybe I should stay with mother?” Mary looked at their mother.

“You should go, I can finish the washing and get Arl Eamon’s table linens back to Nigella early.” Rosha answered as she began clearing away dinner.

“I have something you can wear.” Ayla’s voice was muffled by her dress, she was already stripping out of her day clothes, “Not as fancy as what you’ve got on, but at least it won’t scream ‘Hey, I’m a mage!’ at the top of it’s lungs.”

“Alright, I’m convinced.” Mary decided.

“Great! Here.” Ayla thrust the dress she had just been wearing into Mary’s hands.

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a blight.” Ayla opened a trunk and pulled out the chest-piece of Rosha’s old dalish armor and a pair of trousers, “I have one other dress, but it’s for helping mamae with on bleaching days and it’s mostly holes at this point.”

“Mother?” Mary turned to Rosha for help.

“My other dress has more holes than Ayla’s. Just wear your sister’s. We’ll see about finding you something of your own tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Mary sighed, pulling her robes over her head.

The top of the hour found the sisters inside the Gnawed Noble. It was a sizable crowd for a weeknight. Ayla scanned the room, reading the people. No one stood out as a danger, at least, not to them. There were the usual nobles and merchants sitting where they could see and be seen. Some of the less reputable patrons hovered in the darker corners.

The Gnawed Noble’s proprietor, Edwina, encouraged this. Said it gave the place ‘flavor.’ As long as they weren’t injured, some of the nobles seemed to actually enjoy being able to tell their friends about the time they got piss drunk and robbed. This only served to feed Ayla’s opinion that nobles were weird.

“Do you want anything? I have to check in with the bartender and then get set up.” Ayla asked Mary.

“Oh...um… an ale might be nice.” Mary was scanning the tavern herself, but clearly coming to a different conclusion.

“Don’t worry. The nobles want something exciting to write home about and the disreputable types stick to the purses that won’t miss it.” Ayla assured her, “It’s sort of the unspoken rule here. Break it and you’re not welcome anymore. Edwina makes sure of it. Fighting is okay, pick-pocketing is okay, but scaring off the customers or the entertainment who bring the customers in isn’t.”

“I see…” Mary did not look convinced.

“Relax, you keep looking that tense and someone’s going to think you’re a mark.” Ayla squeezed her sister’s shoulders and guided her to a booth, “Here. Wait here and I’ll get you that ale.”

She felt a little guilty about leaving Mary sitting alone. Her sister was clearly not used to the atmosphere and she sat stiffly in what she probably thought was a relaxed position. Ayla’s lip twitched. Her mother would kill her if she let anything happen to Mary on her first night back.

“Who’s the lady?” the bartender asked as Ayla approached.

“That’s my sister, and she’d like an ale.” Ayla leaned on the counter.

“Why’s she got knife-ears when yours are normal?”

“Mary’s got elf ears because we don’t have the same da.” Ayla gently corrected, “You getting that ale or not?”

“Sure, kid.” The bartender fished out a clean jack and filled it, “Edwina says you can set up in the usual spot by the fire. I’ll let ‘em know the twitchy one is kin. Sammen can be here anytime with his drum.”

“Thanks.” Ayla traded three coppers for the jack and returned to Mary, who was looking about as comfortable as a Chantry Mother in a brothel.

“Here, the ale’s actually pretty decent at the Noble.” Ayla pressed the jack into Mary’s hands, “As long as you stay on the bartender’s good side.”

“Thanks.” Mary nervously gulped down most of the drink, “Wait, aren’t you thirsty?”

“I’ll have some after, I have to be able to shoot straight enough not to perforate anyone.” Ayla smiled, “At least not anyone important.”

“Ah.” Mary picked at the stitching on the jack, “Um...about before. When I used your father’s name.”

“Mamae still doesn’t like talking about it.” Ayla pressed her lips together in a thin line, “I don’t much like discussing it either.”

“Oh, sorry.” Mary stared at the table.

“Don’t be. You couldn’t know. Not really.” Ayla laid her hand on her sister’s, “I know mamae didn’t write about it and I...I couldn’t fit it into words.”

“I had heard about the slavers in the alienage during the blight. Some of the older mages talked about it when they got back. But they said they only were taking elves and Graham was elf-blooded. He looked human enough.”

“Yeah, but da was pretty, is pretty.” Ayla corrected herself, “And experienced in the way that makes pretty slaves expensive. They ransacked the orphanage during the alienage purge to get rid of all the noble bastards like da. No one was going to be up in arms about one of them getting sold off to Tevinter.”

“I’m sorry.” Mary looked horrified, “I didn’t think about how things were back home. I mean, not how they really were. Just those happy golden childhood memories of what home was like…”

They sat for a moment. Ayla traced graffiti on the table with her finger. A clever but not at all reverent epithet about King Cailan was carved into the wood. Mary fiddled with the stitching on her jack some more.

“Do you think Graham is still alive?” Mary broke the awkward silence.

“We hope.” Ayla shrugged with a sad smile, “King Alistair and Queen Cousland have managed to secure the return of some of the elves that got sold off when Teyrn Loghain took power. Most of the alienage hopes that someday it’ll be someone they lost. Because between the purge, the plague, the slavers, and the battle of Denerim, there isn’t anyone who hasn’t lost someone.”

“I-I shouldn’t have brought it up. And right before you have to perform. Sorry.”

“No, it’s probably better that you asked here instead of where mamae might have heard. And you have a right to know.” Ayla paused to wave at Sammen who finally came bustling in, “I’ve got to start, here’s a few more coppers if you want another when you finish that one. We can talk more when I’m done.”

Ayla left the booth and met Sammen by the fire where they began setting up for their performance.

“Hey, who’s that with you?” Sammen asked, taking the felted cover off his drum and giving the skin a soft thump with his knuckle.

“Remember Myathilen? Except she goes by Mary now.”

“Your sister?” Sammen’s eyes went wide and snapped to where Mary was finishing her jack, “Isn’t she supposed to be in the tower?”

“Shhh!” Ayla looked around to see if anyone had heard him, “She said the circles dissolved. The news doesn’t seem to have come this far yet, but if Mary is here it can’t be far behind.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“For now? Get set up and hopefully make enough tonight to feed the extra mouth.”

“Practical.”

“Someone has to be. Join us for a drink after?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Sammen winked at Mary. She responded with a confused look. Ayla laughed.

“Go easy on her. She’s been in that tower for sixteen years.”

“So you’re saying I have a chance.” Sammen grinned.

“Ass.”

Ayla and Sammen set up a target by the fire, casually making conversation with the tavern patrons they were dislodging. With everything ready, Sammen began playing his drum.

The beat was slow and heavy at first, gathering the attention of the patrons, then moved into an occasional trill as Ayla began her routine. Her first shot was straight with the only mildly impressive thing being that the arrow thudded into the target in time with the beat. The next shot was standing on one leg, then spinning, then twisting, until Ayla was dancing and striking the bullseye still in time with the drum. Her body contorted into shapes that seemed impossible, flexibility hard earned from years of training, and still the arrows struck the target. Each shot more impossible than the last until they had the undivided attention of the Noble’s patrons. Sammen’s drumming ended when the quiver at Ayla’s side was empty. The tavern broke into applause as she began pulling her arrows from the target.

“Challenge the archer! A copper a shot.” Sammen announced, “If she can’t make it, we’ll pay you two!”

The patrons began calling out shots, waving coppers in the air. Sammen walked around collecting coins, announcing the challenge loud enough for the whole tavern to hear. Ayla shot through rings, around mugs, blindfolded, upside-down, using only one hand. At one point she shot the flame off a candle, to much cheering. Sammen didn’t once have to pay out on a challenge, even the ones that got rather sadistic.

“Thank you!” Sammen announced when the purse was fat with coin, “We have one last trick for you tonight, we’re going to need those of you standing from here to the bar to clear some space. Thank you for coming out, and thank you for your coin!”

The audience laughed and clapped as Sammen retrieved his drum. Ayla took her position in front of the target and waited for the path back to the bar to clear. The barkeep placed a jack of ale on the counter and gave her a nod. She nodded to him and then to Sammen. He began playing his drum. There was no easing into the beat this time, it began fast paced and moved into frantic. Ayla matched it with flips and leaps, punctuated with arrows slamming into the target. Sweat poured from her brow but she was grinning from ear to ear. It wasn’t until there was one arrow left that there was any relief from the driving beat of the drum. Sammen played a trill as Ayla found her position directly in front of the target again, and then he fell silent. It was Ayla’s turn to pick up the beat. There were three quick successive thuds from her footfalls as she took a running start and then a musical series of thumps created by a combination of backflips and cartwheels from target to the bar. The gymnastic rhythm had a brief rest as Ayla sprung somersaulting into the air and landed with a final bang on the counter, her last arrow thudding into the target at the same time. Alya took her bow to the sound of applause. She bent down to pick up the jack and continued to roll her body like a poem until her feet alighted once more on the floor, not a single drop spilled. This caused a second surge of applause and whistles from the crowd.

The performance over, a few of tavern patrons pushed forward to speak with Ayla and Sammen, buying them drinks or asking if they were available for hire. Ayla was all smiles as she chatted away, answering questions and deflecting come ons. Slowly the crowds returned to their drinks and she was able to order three more jacks of ale from the barkeep and made her way back to Mary. Sammen was already stowing their things at the table and asking those polite getting-reacquainted-with-you questions.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue, yours?” Mary seemed to have finally relaxed, although the empty jack in front of her probably had something to do with that.

“Same. Did they let you have pets?”

“No, did you have pets?”

“There was a rat I tried to tame once, but he bit my face.”

“I remember that!” Ayla slid in next to Mary, distributing their drinks, “Blood everywhere. And we thought it was going to get infected and we’d have to cut off your nose.”

“Didn’t you see a healer? Rat bites can be dangerous.” Mary asked.

“With what coin?” Sammen laughed, “Da told me to rub mud in it and it came out fine. Eventually.”

“Mud?!” Mary’s eyes were wide.

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Sammen was grinning, “Or do you not like my nose?”

“No...it’s a fine nose. I just-” Mary stammered.

“Oh! The lady thinks I have a fine nose!” Sammen crowed, “Did you hear, Spoon? A fine nose!”

“I heard, we should tell the chantry. It’s a miracle.” Ayla smirked into her cup as she drank.

“I didn’t mean - you do have a fine nose - but that’s not-” Mary’s face progressed from rosy pink to the darker shades of scarlet as she tried to undig her hole.

“Sammen’s just teasing.” Ayla snorted, throwing her arm around her sister’s shoulders.

“I was catching on to that.” Mary hid her face with her jack and sipped her ale.

“Not used to the attention?” Sammen waggled his eyebrows at Mary over the top of his drink.

“No, we had...fraternization at the tower.” Mary defended herself.

“Fancy word, that. Fraternization.” Sammen tried it on for size, “Frat-er-niz-ation.”

“I’d say not everyone is as bad as Sammen, but we don’t get new faces in the alienage very often. At least not without them already being promised to someone.” Ayla shook her head.

“Yes, the arranged marriages. I remember.” Mary sighed, “I wasn’t that young when the templars took me to the tower. Are you two promised to anyone?”

“Not yet. Don’t have the coin for it. Da hasn’t been able to work in years so it’s just been me keeping our heads above water.” Sammen shook his head.

“And the elf-blooded daughter of a dalish hunter and a whore is generally considered ‘scrapping the bottom of the barrel’ for most.” Ayla scrunched up her nose, “The archery doesn’t help. Things are better under King Alistair, but families still want to avoid ‘troublemakers’. Not every noble in Ferelden has gotten the message that elves are people yet.”

“Did you hear about Edgehall?” Sammen leaned across the table, “Arl Gell burned down their Vhenadahl.”

“I heard that he tried to stop the elves from planting a new one, they were going to revolt.” Ayla placed her elbows on the table and rested her weight on them.

“What happened?” Mary whispered, leaning in.

“King Alistair sent a knight to ease tensions and let Arl Gell know in no uncertain terms that the Vhenadahl were protected by the crown.” Ayla answered.

“He’s one of the good ones.” Sammen raised his jack.

“To the good ones.” Ayla raised hers in agreement.

“Aye.” Mary raised her jack and all three took a solemn pull of ale.

“I met him, and the queen. When they came to the tower.” Mary added.

“Really?” Ayla said a little louder than she had meant, “They came to the alienage too, and got rid of the Tevinter slavers, but mamae wouldn’t let me leave the house at that point.”

“Really. They worked with Wynne, one of the senior enchanters, to deal with the abominations that took over the tower after another senior enchanter, Uldred, tried start a rebellion.” Mary nodded, clearly feeling the full effects of the ale now, “They saved our lives. And a bunch of us were giggling over how handsome Alistair was for weeks. He came back a few times to speak with the first enchanter and we were always finding excuses to be in his way.”

Ayla laughed so hard she snorted ale out of her nose, which set Sammen off. Their laughter fed each other until the whole table was having a giggle fit.

“Well he wasn’t king then, was he?” Mary said still grinning, “Just a handsome grey warden in shining armor that sorted the tower out.”

“I saw him once in a parade. He’s not a bad looking fellow by any stretch of the imagination.” Sammen conceded with a smile, “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed in the morning.”

“And in what world are you having a one night with the king?” Ayla was still wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“The best one.” Sammen answered, chuckling.

“I like your optimism.” Mary fiddled with the hair on the back of her neck.

“If I’m going to rot away in the alienage, at the very least I can dream about the stars.” Sammen winked, finishing his drink, “How’s your ale, Ayla?”

“Empty, but I’ve got to make a run to the fields tomorrow before the market gets busy.” She stood, gathering her things.

“Are we leaving already?” Mary stirred, sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, already?” Sammen echoed.

“You don’t have to come with me.” Ayla said, “I’m sure Sammen will see you safely back to the alienage.”

“Sure, no problem.” Sammen smiled...but then added nervously, “I mean, if Mary wants to stay.”

“You don’t think mother will be upset?” Mary fretted, “Only it’s been so long since I’ve just been able to...relax.”

“I’ll tell her you’re with Sammen. It’ll be fine.” Ayla smiled at them gently, “Just make sure he doesn’t stay too late either, he has to be at the docks in the morning.”

Ayla dropped the empty jacks off at the counter and left the Gnawed Noble. The night streets of Denerim were quiet, and fairly peaceful if you knew how to mind your own business. Of course the bow slung over her shoulder didn’t hurt Ayla’s uneventful walk back to the alienage. Rosha had left a candle glowing in the window of their home. As quietly as she could, Ayla opened the door to the hovel.

“Aneth ara, lethallan” Rosha greeted, seated at the table working on the mending, “Where is Myathilen?”

“She stayed later with Sammen.” Ayla answered, “He promised to walk her home. Did you finish the table linens?”

“Aye. I’ve moved on to widow Baern’s mending. I stopped in to visit her today and she was up to her ear-points dealing with the twins so I just took it. Those poor boys have been running around in knee-less pants for too long.”

Ayla picked up a pair of the aforementioned pants and held them up to the candle light. They were filthy, but it seemed like the mud might have been all that was holding them together.

“Pass a needle?” Ayla asked as she sat down, gently brushing dirt away from the hole so she could add a patch. Rosha pushed the pincushion across the table to her.

“How was tonight?” Rosha asked.

“It went well, Sammen and I managed to pull a fat purse. Arl Bryland is apparently hosting a feast next month so their seneschal asked if we could perform.” Ayla took a measure of thread and licked the end, stringing a needle.

“That would be well. We’ll need the extra coin now that Myathilen is home. It might be awhile before she can find work.”

“If the circles are really disbanded then maybe she could earn with her magic?”

“There’s a difference between mages being free and mages being accepted.” Rosha frowned, “We know that better than anyone.”

“You’re right, mamae.” Ayla sighed, “It’s probably better Mary keeps her magic under wraps until we find out which way the wind is going to blow.”

“‘Mary’ banal las halamshir var vhen.” Rosha’s frown deepened.

“Mamae!” Ayla cried in surprise, “Don’t be rude. Next you’ll be calling her ‘flat ear’. It’s not her fault she was raised in the tower. Besides, she still thinks of this as home. She is still my sister and your daughter no matter what she’s called.”

“I’m glad she came home. I just not glad she changed her name. To a shem’lin name of all things.”

“At least she doesn’t look like a shem.” Ayla gave a small smile.

“Ir abalas.” Rosha put down her mending and looked across the table at her daughter, “That was thoughtless of me, lethallan. I love my daughters. For all I complain I love living in the alienage. If I hadn’t left my clan I would have never met Graham or had you, and I treasure the few extra years living here gave me with Myathilen. But it is bittersweet to have my daughter returned to me a stranger after all these years. ‘Myathilen’ was my mother’s name and I feel I have lost my clan all over again.”

“You should tell her that.” Ayla reached across the table to hold her mother’s hands.

“You are right, Ayla.” Rosha smiled and squeezed her hands before returning to the mending, “Did Mya-Mary have fun tonight?”

“I think so. She was nervous at first, her letters always made things sound very posh in the circle. But Sammen puts everyone at ease if they give him half a chance.” The corner of Ayla’s mouth twitched with a satisfied smile when she recalled the eyes her sister and best friend had been making at each other.

“He is a good boy.” Rosha nodded.

“Most of the time.” Ayla agreed.

They finished their sewing and went to bed. There was only one in the hovel and they curled against each other, mother and daughter, as they had for years. When Mary stumbled in sometime later, Ayla helped her to bed. Rosha and Mary tossed around for a few moments, trying to find how they fit together in the narrow cot before settling in to sleep. Ayla suspected that if their mother had been less tired and Mary less drunk, it would have taken longer for them to find comfortable sleeping positions. She yawned and lay out on the floor under a cloak-turned-makeshift-blanket.

Author Notes:

A few speculative liberties were taken, such as the tension between the Ferelden Crown and the Chantry as to who actually has control over the circles. Thinking about this also has me wondering exactly what the Chantry meant to do with all those mages? Because other than ‘studying magic until I die’ the only other option for a mage is ‘run away and become a grey warden and/or apostate’.

I also considered what actual reasoning would be for Arl Howe killing off an entire orphanage beyond needing the square in ‘bad guy cliche bingo’. I figured given that we know from the alienage warden origin, nobles used a somehow even grosser version of “Lord’s Right of the First Night” with elves. There would be a lot of unwanted bastards in the alienage who would have noble blood. Howe wouldn’t leave them running about all willy-nilly in case one of them got it in their heads to make a legitimate claim on his seat of power. Graham is also the product of such a union because it’s all well and good to have terrible ideas, but the actual repercussions of some of the plot points in Dragon Age would have greater world consequences than get explored in game. I wanted to explore those consequences a little.

I selected character names based on their personal stories:

Ayla - means oak, the codex mentions that most venadahl are oak trees. Ayla may look human, but her community and by extension - sense of self - comes from the alienage. Her name was a point of a lot of debate between Rosha and Graham. Rosha wanting to give her a more traditional dalish name and Graham being painfully aware that being the elf-blooded child of a dalish elf was going to make his daughter’s life hard enough. The name Ayla was their compromise, she is actually named after the Denerim venadahl.

Myathilen - from the Project Elvhen Book of Names means Many honored sacrifices. Rosha put Myathilen ahead of her clan, having been from one of the clans that kick mages out. I couldn’t see a caring mother leaving her six year old daughter to fend for herself. Rosha left the clan to be with Myathilen.

Mary - often cited as bitter, or sea of bitterness, but the true meaning has been lost to time. The ‘but’ part is the reason that I chose Mary. In many cases, dominate cultures force other cultures to assimilate by encouraging or enforcing a name change. Such as in Japan occupied Korea. I thought that Myathilen was much to ‘elfy’ a name (as Sera might put it) to survive in a Chantry controlled tower. Mary did chose the name herself because she wanted to fit in better, although it was probably gently encouraged by the Chantry mothers. By rights Mary should be some Keeper’s First, but instead circumstances made her a circle mage. A meaning lost to time.

Rosha - also from the Project Elvhen Book of Names means enduring happiness. Rosha could have become a very bitter woman, leaving her clan, living in the alienage, losing her daughter that she left her clan for, and then her husband. She is not, and her optimism has shaped Ayla.

Graham - means gravelly place. Graham is Ayla’s father and Rosha’s husband. An elf-blooded bastard born in the Denerim alienage - a pretty gravelly place. He was raised in the orphanage and I did a lot of research in to how orphans were named. I decided he would have a fairly common name and selected from a list of common Gaelic names since that seems to be where most Ferelden names come from.

Sammen - a riff off of Samwise, the character I named him after. Sammen enjoys being in the thick of it with friends and is defined by his loyalty.

Thank you for reading! There are a few ways that I chose to relate information that I am not certain are clear, so critiques and suggestions are welcome. Questions are also encouraged. A tutorial on how to write interesting summaries is greatly needed.

Next Chapters: 2, 3, 4, 5

#Dragon Age #fanfic #Queen of Cups #Everyone Comes From Somewhere #Chapter 1

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