#so he’d indeed be a wise person to ask for advice

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 25

*Warning: Adult Content*   

"I don't deserve you," Martin Hunter groans as Skylar West positions himself in front of him.

"You'll have to earn me, then. Open your mouth."

Martin shuts his eyes and obeys.

Carefully, Skylar feeds him a bite of homemade chili, which he'd cooked in a Dutch oven over hot coals. 

An involuntary sound escapes Martin as flavors and textures burst across his tongue, spicy, salty, savory and succulent and he’s glad the kids are still entertaining themselves in the nearby dunes, too far off to hear their father make embarrassing noises or to hear Skylar teasing him for making them.

"If I have to cook to hear you moan like that, I'll gladly cater to your appetites," Skylar says.

Martin grimaces and wipes his lips. 

"Do you have to make it sound so dirty?"

Skylar just winks. 

"You made the dirty sounds, my dear," he says and apparently pleased with himself, saunters back to the fire and his large black pot.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Martin asks, following him.

"Cook chili or cook in general?" Skylar asks, lifting the lid with a leather glove and a special hook and stirring the contents within.

"Both, I suppose."

Skylar wears his hair in a braid to keep it out of the food and the fire but even bound it shimmers like golden silk. 

The closer they had gotten to the coast, the more his Mer-person features stood out.

He looks up at Martin, green eyes glittering like sea glass and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. 

"As I told you, I hated human food, at first. But my mother taught me not to hate. 'Hate is thoughtless, Scyllian,' she'd say. 'If your first instinct is to hate something, then the first thing you ought to do is to learn something about it. More often than not, the root of your dislike goes no deeper than the fact you find it strange and unfamiliar, and unfamiliar things make us uncomfortable. Some things may, indeed, deserve your hate, but they are few and far between."

"Sounds like a wise lady," Martin says, smiling. "Reminds me of my mom."

Skylar nods. 

"I took her advice, fortunately and decided to make a study of human foods and to keep trying new things. My dislike of heat and cooked textures was, indeed, a product of inexperience. Flavor became a path I followed around the globe. As for chili, I learned this recipe and this method of cookery on a ranch in Texas. I still prefer seafood, of course, and at first the idea of spice was anathema to me. I couldn't understand why anyone would want their food to hurt them but eventually I came to understand in the right measure, a little pain enhances pleasure."

Deliberately, Skylar licks some sauce from the spoon and winks at Martin who blushing furiously,  pretending not to see and turns away, busying himself with setting the table.

They are parked in a camping spot close to a beach and the booming sound of the waves is as constant as the cool, sea-misted breeze.

 A dense cluster of wind-blown trees provides some shelter and the sandy dunes lie just beyond this barrier.

Martin’s children had never seen a stretch of seashore like this before and their excitement is infectious. 

Martin can hardly believe they're here himself, a fact he largely owes to Skylar.

After several rounds of 'hold, please,' Martin had finally booked a last-minute Friday afternoon appointment with Dr. Howard's office. 

Today is Thursday and after packing and planning and excusing the children from school, they had piled into Skylar's van and embarked on a five-hour journey to the coast.

Arriving in the late afternoon, Skylar had somehow secured a camping spot for them...Martin suspected he may have used his Voice, given the 'campground full' sign and the grumpy-looking host... and introduced the kids to all the wonders of 'van life.'

Nico and Rio were thrilled by the prospect of sleeping in a tent, while Flora expressed dismay at the lack of shower facilities. 

Meanwhile, Miguel clutched his sketchbook and picked out places to draw before they had even parked.

As soon as they'd set up camp, the children dashed off to explore while Martin called after them to stay within sight and shouting distance. 

Then Skylar had set to work on supper. 

Martin tried to help but mostly got in the way.

"Nearly done, now," Skylar says. "Just have to let the corn muffins cook, then I'll whip up some honey-butter and we'll be all set. Shall we call in the troops?"

Martin laughs and his lips stretch in an easy grin, an expression his facial muscles find strangely foreign, being so seldom thus employed.

"What's funny?" Skylar smiles back at him, bemused.

"Nothing. It's just... I never imagined I'd do something like this."

"Go camping?"

"Go camping in a van with a man who..." Martin trails off and shakes his head at Skylar as his fleeting amusement swiftly fades. 

Suddenly a little shy, he swallows and forces himself to continue. 

"With a man who's too good for me. I didn't lie, Sky. I don't deserve you. But I want to."

Setting his cooking utensils aside, Skylar approaches and slips his arms around Martin’s waist, smiling down at him with his head tilted a little to the side. 

Up close, Martin sees the golden stubble dusting his face, the dimple in his chin, the individual hairs of his arched brows and the flecks of gold in his sea-green eyes.

"What if I'm the one who doesn't deserve you?" Skylar asks and Martin scoffs. 

"You're a prince. Of course you don't deserve 'used goods.' Especially if the goods come with truckloads of baggage."

"You still look at yourself through her eyes," Skylar says. "Stop. Look at yourself through mine. I see a treasure. And a treasure that comes with four smaller treasures isn't a burden, it's a bargain," he adds, winking and grinning lopsidedly as he kisses Martin who gives in and allows himself to relax in Skylar’s arms and laughs.

But Martin still shakes his head. 

"A werewolf and a merman... sounds like the start of a joke."

Skylar lifts a brow at him. 

"Are there sea-men in the joke, do you imagine?"

"Lots, undoubtedly."

"Sounds like my kind of joke, then. You can tell it to me later."

"Baggage, remember?"

"Once the little 'treasures' are asleep," Skylar says. "The sound of the sea conceals many things. Besides, I've something to show you, don't forget. You can see well by moonlight, can't you?"

"Well enough," Martin says.

Skylar nods. 

"A werewolf and a merman go swimming on a full moon. I hope our joke involves some howling, too. I'd love to see your fur all wet with salty spray."

The idea excites Martin, not the sexual escapade he's teasing at but the idea of revealing our inner selves to one another and his Wolf stirs restlessly. 

At long last, it's ready to come out and run.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Martin whispers against Skylar’s lips.

His hands slide down to the small of Martin’s back as he pulls the older man against him. 

Martin flushes with inner heat as he feels Skylar’s arousal through their clothes and realizes he might not have been joking at all.

Grinning, Skylar releases him as the children, summoned by hunger, return from their wanderings.

"But I'm a gentleman, as well as a prince," he says. "Dinner first."

[whyamistillwatchingtheseshows]

i've been reading all of your writings and i am crying cause i need them in my life, especially the tharntype fics! :'> if you're open to taking a request, could you do a tharntype where tharn becomes jealous baby of ae because type becomes his mentor in soccer, so they're always spending time practicing and type grows very fond of ae. i love imagining tharntype being that senior couple that their freshmen kids look up to from love by chance :'(

Don’t be like that. He’s just mentoring him. They’re practicing soccer. Why do they sit so close on the bench? Who you fucking kidding the team is practically in each other’s laps so this doesn’t mean anything. He seems really close to that freshman, though, so what’s going on? No, no. We’ve learned this. Eat it. Swallow the jealousy. They’re merely teammates on a soccer team.

Type waved to Tharn. He waved back and smiled. Still didn’t help because Type’s attention was then again diverted by the freshman for another close huddle, just the two of them. Tharn had to admit the kid was pretty good at the game. It’s probably why Type wants him on the team. The kid had skills. The kid also has a name but Tharn never used it. In fact, he’d grown so accustomed to saying “the kid” the passed few months and funny enough it gets a response from several freshman around campus, not just this guy. Seriously, no need to put your arm around him. Why huddle like that just the two of you? It’s not a team huddle. Come on, you’re right next to each other you can hear everything. Just a smidge a part that’s all I ask. Tharn eyed them and gestured a sweeping a part motion. He sighed. Nope. Apparently all soccer players like to sit that closely on the bench. Type sent the kid back the field. Okay, fine you’re really good kid. That doesn’t mean you go crushing on your senior now. Please, don’t. —-

After the practice, they stood in the stairwell below the bleachers. Type hooks a hand into Tharn’s and kisses his cheek. Tharn was about to go further, when down the steps came the kid.

“Hey, Ae. Did you need something?” Type asked him. “You were great on the field today.”

“Thank you, but I wanted to talk to you about something. That’s if you’re not too busy.” Ae looked at Tharn. He tried to feign a smile as if to say no we’re not busy. It faltered and he just let Type answer. The frustration working into Tharn’s jaw did not go unnoticed by his boyfriend.

“Tharn, I’ll be a minute. Wait, in the car?” Type squeezes his hand. It does nothing to quell that little green monster. Don’t you dare. You trust him entirely so following him is out of the question. Tharn moped all the way to the car. Ae and Type still remained in the stairwell.

—

“Your questioning reminds me of my own. I’ve learned over three years that happiness is what matters. Is this Pete someone who makes you happy? Even so, I think you can only answer that, Ae.”

“How do you know, though? So yeah...” Ae sheepishly looks to the ground, “ I may have recently had a moment where I was suddenly turned on by him but how do you really know?”

“You just do, Ae. At least it was that way for me. Sort of.”

“P’Type, I’ve heard lots of rumors about you.”

“They won’t go away. Some of them are true. Others are not. Only thing that matters is, does being with Pete make you happy? Even as a friend or more than a friend?” Ae would have to think on that. They chatted a few more minutes about the practice. Out of the corner of his eye, as he leaned against the car, Tharn saw Type walking Ae towards the bicycles. A soft hand rested on the kid’s back as he mounted. Tharn took in a deep breath. Stop it. It’s just a friendly touch. Nothing else. Sure as hell better not be anything else.

Ae was off, thinking about how he only wanted to spend all of his time with Pete. Tharn stares after him. Type snapped fingers in his face. “So he’s cute, but not cute enough to ogle at like that.” Type said to him. Oh, okay. I see how it is. Okay, mister let me huddle close. Mister touch his back. Mister ditch my boyfriend because the kid desperately wanted to talk about something. Tharn didn’t say any of that out loud of course. He ignored Type as they climbed into the car.

—-

Type let it go for several hours after they got home. He didn’t mention anything until they sat to eat dinner.

“So Ae. What do you think of him? You watched the practice. He’s a good player?”

Tharn licks his lips and grits his teeth. Type was getting the silent treatment. He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll answer myself. He’s a good player. He’ll probably even make captain by the time he’s a senior.” Tharn didn’t look at him. “Also, I mean, he also looks pretty good shirtless...maybe next practice I’ll do a game with skins and shirts.” Tharn dropped his fork and eyed Type. Anger permeated his clenched jaw. “Do whatever you want,” he snapped.

Type scoffed. “Come on, babe! I sniffed your jealousy from a mile away. I’m going to tease the shit out of you. How many years has it been?”

“So, I still don’t have to like it.” Tharn huffed.

“The kid is more innocent than I was and that’s saying something, Tharn.” He was given a glare. “Tharn!” No response. Type tried a different tactic.

“Do you want to know what he talked about?” Tharn slightly nodded. Type smiles. “Well, then come closer.” Tharn had a flashback to the club when he said exactly that to Type and then soon after he kissed him as more than a friend. He leaned in closer.

“Firstly, I feel good about the fact that Ae trusts me enough to come to me for advice. Secondly, Ae is grappling with feelings for someone. The same kind of feelings I had for you. Well, maybe not the same,” Type bit his lip. “I mean I’m not sure how Ae feels but I know how I feel when I look at you. You make me smile, Tharn. Over three years now you’ve held me while I’ve cried. You’re always by my side. You’re everything to me. You are it for me. So a cute freshman has latched himself to me, that doesn’t mean I’d let him make moves on me or make moves on him. We’ve talked about this before, it’s only you and me forever.” Type sealed this part of the speech with a kiss. They pulled a part. “You know early on I wanted to always punch you when you got jealous but now all I want to do is show you that it’s everyone else who should be jealous.”

Tharn chuckled. He fought back the urge to knock everything off this dining table and pin his boyfriend to it, but he really didn’t want to clean up the food mess later. Type had a different idea as he rounded the table, pushed Tharn back into his chair and then sank into his lap. Tharn let out a sigh. “All right,” he started. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re my idiot. My jealous guy, but just remember I’m always thinking about you. It’s awfully distracting actually.” Type jokes. Tharn kisses his neck. Type bites his lips, eyes glowing with excitement as he tangled fingers into hair. Tharn nipped at an ear, Type let out a hiss. Noises. Tharn felt certainly glad that for three years they’ve had their own place, because this pent up jealousy inside was going to make Type scream, whine, moan and whimper all night long.

[cafeinthemoon]

Ruins - Chapter III

Chapter 3

Wordcount 2,2k

Title Part III

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Pairing Hades X reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warning (s): none

Tagging @darling-imobsessed (if you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just send an ask or a message 😉)

N. A.: So... Hades POV and Hermes being shocked for countless minutes straight lol

– I understand you have all the reasons to be surprised – Hades’ voice echoed inside the room despite his quiet tone – But don’t I have the right to come too?  

The ruler of the Underworld has taken the same spot as you on the chambers’ visiting room, his crossed legs almost passing over the small table where the teapot and the cups were still waiting to be taken away, his hands over his lap in an unfazed posture. Now, he had an eyepatch covering his eye, but just the sight of his left one fixed on Hermes was enough to make this latter choose his words carefully.  

Zeus’ spokesman, standing on the opposite side of the room, at the other chair’s right, seemed to have a hard time believing his uncle in fact arrived at Valhalla when you inadvertently revealed it to him, and even tried to convince you that you saw an impostor, but now that he had the original Hades in front of him, he understood how ridiculous was this theory.  

He tried to make up for it offering new tea when the other god entered the room, but Hades refused, focusing on his nephew’s shock instead. Whatever the place he went to, whatever the occasion he would attend, there would always be someone with that attitude. There was a time when this would irritate him, but today he’d rather laugh at it. Isn’t it funny not being expected in any place?  

– No one would question your right to come, Hades-sama – Hermes was saying – It’s just that...  

But the sentence was never finished.  

As recommended by prudence, Hermes decided to stay in silence and wait for the elder god to lead the conversation, which he soon started to do. A growing smile was noticed on his lips...  

And this was the first thing he said:  

– She’s adorable, isn’t she?  

Hermes didn’t hide the fact that this was the last thing he was expecting. Hades came to his chambers to compliment a woman? Well, it wasn’t just any woman. It was you . The very person he just told to go to her room and to be careful. Hades knew that his nephew had many opportunities to lay his eyes on you since the girls’ arrival, so that he could only agree.  

And that was what he did.  

– Y/n s/n? Yes, like all the other girls we brought this year, she’s very pretty, I must recognize. A bit anxious sometimes, but still a refreshing company.  

– Indeed, she’s a sight for sore eyes. But I’m not referring to her looks – Hades uncrossed his legs – I’m talking about her soul. That's what I came here to discuss with you, by the way.  

What a curious choice of words, even for Hades-sama. The younger god could only wonder what made him opt for it.  

But he would wait too long to have an answer.  

– We had an interesting conversation at the library today, about which she came to talk to you – Hades explained – It was wise of her, I must admit. Hermes, you know this better than me: most of the girls in her place would try to unravel the question by themselves or to keep our brief encounter a secret, perhaps moved by fear, but the first thing she did was to seek for advice with the Olympus’ messenger, who is supposed to know many things about many gods – with his fingers under his chin, the Governor of Hellheim smiled at the idea – Going to the right source to gather the necessary information. Tell me if this isn’t laudable?  

Hermes kept the modesty in his tone and words.  

– I wouldn’t disagree. She has academic inclinations and an organized line of thinking. Combined with this, she’s an excellent communicator. The men from the … region sent formidable girls this year, but she stands out.  

– I had chances to observe the girls and agree with you. Now – Hades’ gaze turned to him suddenly – I suppose she asked you about my name. Did you reveal it to her?  

– No, my Lord – was the immediate reply – When she described the events at the library, I had my suspicions and asked her about your appearance. Through her depiction, I had no doubts about your identity, but I only told her that, though I met a god with that description, he never comes to lecture any human. By the end of the conversation, she insisted in knowing your name, but I explained that you might have had your reasons to act this way and that I couldn’t interfere by giving her an information you chose not to share. I don’t know what y/n did after that, but she seemed to accept this.  

– Good – Hades approved – There are some things I need to confirm before I let her know who I am. I plan to reveal myself soon in the future, but I can’t discard the possibility of her discovering my identity by herself – and smiling, – Honestly, I’d like it more if things came out this way.  

A moment of silence followed this, when there was only one question in Hermes’ mind, one that he wouldn’t dare make, for he knew that his uncle would bring it to the conversation when he found it appropriate.  

And so he did.  

– I suppose you’re waiting for me to explain my interest in this girl.  

– I must admit I’m curious.  

Hades sighed, his hands still on his lap, and prepared himself to tell the story.  

– Well… I’ve been dreaming about a certain place in Hellheim that I haven’t visited in ages. A place left in ruins since the war against the Titans. In this dream, I find myself wandering, seeking for something, but I don’t know what it is. The only thing I know is that, once I find it, I will understand everything. And this happens when I pass under the ruins of a dome and see a person in the middle of circle of stones. A young woman with her back turned on me, apparently doing the same as myself: trying to find out what she’s doing there and what she’s supposed to find. She turns around, but doesn’t seem to notice my presence. The girl has a beauty such as we rarely see even among the goddesses. I keep looking at her face until the dream disappears and I’m dragged back to reality.  

“I’ve been dreaming of this for months, and this only stopped the night before I came to Valhalla. I’ve been visiting the library on a daily basis, reading every book with images of goddesses from all the known pantheons, looking for that woman, but I couldn’t find her. Not even the slightest resemblance – he chuckled – I hope you forgive me here, but I didn’t announce my coming in order to not be interrupted during my researching. I arrived a few days before the human girls, and I was aware that they could find me in case they went to the library, but I wasn’t worried. To my surprise, none of them noticed me, though I could see each of them from my usual spot. And that’s how I found y/n.  

“I had to stare at her for the entire time she stood on her table to convince myself I wasn’t seeing things. That was the reason why my researches weren’t being productive. The woman I’ve been looking for wasn’t among the gods… she was a human being. I’ve spent the entire night of that day debating the meaning of this. Why a human would be so important to me to the point of living in my dreams for months when I didn’t even know her? What is this that I’ve been failing to see?  

“I came back to the library the next day, hoping to see the girl one more time. Fortunately, she had her own researches to do, so she came back by the same hour and stood on her table for the same period of the previous day. And then she kept coming back on the third day, and the fourth and so on. I didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but I could tell she was interested in the oneiric field, and in this sense, she seemed as frustrated as myself with the books, yet she didn’t give up. I admired her persistence.  

“By the end of one month, I finally decided to talk to her. It was when she told me about her own dreams. I asked her to describe the place she used to saw in them, and when she did, I finally understood everything. From the smallest stone to the aspect of the skies, she depicted the landscape so precisely that one would think she has been there for a long time. However, she couldn’t sense me there. I understood this as a sign to not reveal myself immediately, and that’s why I left her with this little mystery regarding my name. But once it’s solved... the picture will be complete, and we will have everything settled.”  

By the end of the narrative, Hades sighed and smiled with himself, satisfied with the effect that his last sentence provoked in his nephew. Hermes, on the other hand, listened to the entire story in silent expectation, no more doubting that the masters of the oneiric world, though not being physically present, were working hard in the case of the god and the girl. But some things remained unclear even to him.  

And he said this to Hades.  

– The connection the Dream Lords created for you is impressive and a bit sudden, I have to admit – he started – But what’s the real meaning of this, Hades-sama? Why they would show a part of Hellheim to a living human?  

Hades' smile widened at this.  

– Well, the right question is: why would they show that specific part of Hellheim to a living human?  

With his hand leaning under his chin, Hermes started to think, but wasn’t able to find a reasonable conclusion. Showing a place in ruins in the Underworld to someone who was still alive... It didn’t make any sense.  

– Let me answer it for you – Hades calmly interrupted his deliberations – This place wasn’t left untouched for no reason. I had my own plans for it, but I’ve been busy for ages after the War and until this day I haven’t had an opportunity to fulfill them. However, our dreams showed me that the time to turn my attention to these plans has come.  

Plans? Busy? The time has come? Hermes was afraid that he was starting to understand. A second look at the other’s face and it clicked inside his head.  

– My Lord, could it be...  

– Yes – the other replied, unfazed – I reserved that space to build a property for my family... in case I got one. There is something I haven’t told you yet: I’ve been analyzing the situation in my domains and the way I’ve been leading its matters after this dream started, and understood that Hellheim is currently in need of a female presence, which means it’s time for me to take a woman as my wife. And, according to the dreams, this woman is y/n.  

Hermes understood it was useless to keep his composure, so he gave up on doing it.  

– Hades-sama...! A human...as your wife?!  

The younger god’s commotion meant anything to Hades, who replied with the same naturality one would use to talk about the weather.  

– What’s the matter? Could it be that all of this is just a coincidence and I’m just being a fool?  

– Absolutely not, my Lord, but...  

– I’m aware of the struggles that are born from the difference between our nature and theirs, more than I can tell you – Hades interrupted him – But this is not an unsolvable problem.  

Hermes didn’t need to think twice to know what the Lord of the Underworld had in mind. But it was hard to believe he was willing to go so far for this.  

– Are you considering...  

– Yes. Psyche’s ritual might have remained obscure since the original case in order to avoid conflict between the gods, but it was never formally forbidden. I plan to propose it to y/n in the near future, when she will come to know everything about our dreams. If she will accept it or not, only time will tell, though it would be fun to watch her defy the strings of destiny – he chuckled – Speaking of destiny, I will remain in silence for now, but I hope I won’t have to face any problems among my pairs regarding this subject once I make an official announce – and giving Hermes a gaze as cold as he hasn’t seen since the War’s era – I also hope I can count on your discretion, dear nephew.  

The said nephew had his eyes widened, more because of the King's determination than because of the ritual itself, but like it would happen to any other god if they were in his place, the idea of creating obstacles for him wouldn’t cross his mind.  

Finally, he gave his uncle a compliant smile, followed by a calm response.  

– I certainly do, my Lord. After all, each god knows what’s best for their own domain.

Part IV

[thestarrynightslover]

She’s So Pretty

Pairing: Hailey Upton x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,640

Warnings: Slight mentions of alcohol.

Summary: You and Hailey meet at a karaoke bar one night when you don't even try to hide your interest in her.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: So… I guess I wrote a Hailey fic? It’s obviously my first but I just couldn’t shake off the idea and had to go on with it. I wanted to see her interactions with the unit and wingman!Jay on this one so, beware! Also, after the finales, I felt like we all could use some fluff (especially Hailey!). Anyways, I hope it doesn’t suck, lemme know what you think!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

You and your co-workers had decided on a karaoke bar for that Friday night after shift, which was great because you absolutely loved karaokes! With that in mind, you didn't have any other plans besides hanging out with your friends, getting a little tipsy, and singing until someone decided it was time to kick you out. But all of that changed the second your eyes fell on a cute blonde that had really beautiful ocean blue eyes.

That woman could easily change your plans on any given day. And, convinced that she should know about it, you started to plot flirting moves in your head. First, as usual, you started to give her the sexy stares — not that girls would usually get very impressed by that but you wanted to catch her eye, show her your interest —, which quickly got your friends to get their gossiping started.

"Wait. A. Second. " You heard one of your colleagues say. "Are you really switching teams tonight, (y/n)?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I mean… You usually prefer girls…" She offered but, seeing your confused expression, she added: "because we can tell you're, you know, on the flirty mode."

"That obvious, huh?" Good. Your plan was working. "But I still don't know what you guys are so surprised about. Who do you think I'm going for?"

"Isn't it that hottie, broad-shouldered, blond guy? The one on that table with three other people?" The other one asked, pointing with her head in the exact direction you had been looking at.

"What? No, no! I mean, I am, indeed, looking at that table but that guy's not the one catching my attention! The blue-eyed hottie beside him is!" Hearing that, they all looked at the girl who was now smiling brightly at something one of the men she was with had just said. Jesus, that smile.

"Okay. She is pretty. Like, really pretty." The only male friend in your group stated while you just threw him an I-know-that look. "You know, you saw her first but, in case she's not your type o' player, gimme a heads up, please!" He asked poutingly while you just rolled your eyes.

"Just because you've already hooked me up before."

"And that is why our partnership works!" He told you with a wink while you just laughed, going back to your job and sort of disconnecting from your co-workers' conversations for the rest of the night.

"Wow, Jay, that shirt must be doing you a lot of service, huh?" Hailey teased her partner in a hushed whispered tone.

"What?" Was all Jay said while trying to conceal his confusion when he saw the smirk on her lips.

"That girl over there! She hasn't gotten her eyes off you the whole night!" Hailey said, as if he was the dumbest person alive. So he followed her gaze to discreetly meet the eyes of a very beautiful woman he'd already noticed before. Except that, unlike Hailey, Jay actually knew who, on their table, she was looking at.

"What? You think she's looking at me?" With that playful look never leaving her face, his partner just said:

"Of course, she's looking at you! Who else?" He couldn't believe it. The all-mighty, badass-detective, Hailey Upton was missing that one? No way.

"Really, Hailey?" He asked, still thinking she was just trying to prank him.

"Uh… I mean…" She stuttered, not really being able to come up with a proper response.

"Oh my God!" Jay squealed out, as he couldn't stop chuckling.

"What?" She asked, starting to fear she was embarrassing herself somehow, "what?" He just kept laughing, it wasn't every day he got to mock Hailey without the certainty that she already had something worse for him in the works.

“She is very obviously looking at you!” He told her with a huge suggestive smile on his face while trying to hold back his laughter.

“What?” She asked him, still mesmerized by that possibility. “C’mon! You’re joking, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Hails. Of course, she’s looking at you! Look again and you’ll see it.” Jay assured her one more time, which got her curiosity in the play, so she looked. And, instantly, you winked at her. Hailey didn’t know what to do with that. How to react. Confusion was all over her face, so you smiled and got out of your seat.

“Oh my God, Jay. Oh my God. I looked and now I think she’s coming here! What do I do?” She nervously hissed at her partner. “What do I do??

“What do you mean what do you do? You talk to her. Smile. Don’t act grumpy. That is, if you’re interested…” Seeing her panicked look, he turned to her to ask: “God, Hailey, what’s the matter with you tonight?”

“I- I, uh, I don’t know… I’m just…” She started rambling once again while tucking a string of hair behind her ear.

“Okay, breathe. Now, tell me, what’s going on? Is she not your type? Or are not interested in meeting anyone? Because, if it’s any of those things, just tell her so. We both know that girls don’t usually have a problem being told no.”

“Right. I know that. And it’s not really because of any of the things you said… I just- I just haven’t been with anyone in a long time. And with the way our jobs are… I’m not sure if it’d be nice to get someone wrapped up with me right now.” She confessed to her best friend.

“Oh, Hails…” He started while offering soft eyes and a kind smile, “I’m not sure if I’m the best person to give you advice on that front-” Hearing that, she had to interrupt Jay to say, in between dry chuckles:

“That you really aren’t! But I’d like your input anyways. I mean, i’s not like I have a clue of what to do, so…” Hailey told him with a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

“Ha ha ha. Well, I just think that you shouldn’t hold yourself back this much. The seule fact that you haven’t been with anyone in a while should settle it!” He exclaimed, raising his hands, as if it was the simplest, most obvious thing ever. Ignoring Adam and Kevin’s curious looks, Jay went on: “I just think that you should try and live your life! You know, what you said about our jobs… Only makes the whole fun-time thing more necessary, if you ask me. Besides, you don’t need to overthink this! We’re in a freaking club, Hailey! You think the girl’s gonna come here and propose?”

“First of all, I don’t see you doing much of that fun-time thing yourself!” She pointed out, to which Jay just responded by taking a sip of his drink. “And, second, look! I don’t think she’s even coming here at all.” So he looked towards the direction his partner was indicating to see you getting on the small karaoke stage the club had. Hailey looked triumphant for not having to decide on whether to live her life or not. And Jay just shook his head in disapproval, which quickly became mock towards his partner when they noticed the song you were singing.

“They’re so pretty it hurts

I’m not talking ‘bout boys, I’m talking ‘bout girls

They’re so pretty with their button-up shirts”

As you sang, you made sure to let the blonde girl know that it was meant for her. And, God, did she know.

Hailey was pretty sure she’d never, once in her entire life! Ever blushed that hard. By then, your flirting had become so obvious that even Adam and Kevin noticed and started to itch with curiosity.

“Say, Hailey, you hiding a big game from us, huh?” Ruzek half-barked while drinking from his beer bottle. She just blushed harder while trying to cover her face with her hands.

“Damn, Miss Upton! Talk about a big game! That girl is fine!” Kevin chipped in and Jay thought it was his moment to go back to wingmanning his partner.

“I told her that! See?” With that, Hailey took a peek from her hands and she couldn’t believe Jay was doing that! Or she could, she just didn’t anticipate it because your voice was distracting from everything else. To her, you were singing beautifully, even though there was already a hint of drunkenness in your voice. And no one had ever done something like that just to get her attention. For her. “Hailey, I’m serious now: give the girl a chance. Give yourself a chance, woman!” Jay spoke again, pulling her out of her thoughts to notice that Kevin was nodding vigorously to it and Adam asking:

“Wow! When did Jay get this wise?” After that, she let out a laugh and prepared herself to go talk to you 𑁋 because, no matter how upfront you could be, Hailey Upton wasn’t about to let you make all the moves 𑁋, like she was getting ready for battle. With more cheers from her fan club, she made her way to the stage, where you were just getting down from.

The minute you saw her there, though, you literally lost your balance 𑁋 being that close to her seemed somewhat more intoxicating than the alcohol you’d drunk. But, just like in the movies, she held your arms before you could go any further. Her soft touch seemed like a dream to you.

“H- hi.” You said nervously, after steading yourself, while biting your bottom lip. Why were you getting that nervous? You didn’t even know the girl yet! But there was just something about her…

“Hi. I’m Hailey,” she said, holding out her hand for you to shake.

“I’m (y/n).” You responded by taking her hand in yours. Yeah. There was definitely something about her. That was why.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

February 24th, 2001

Remy slipped into the night relatively seamlessly, even though he shivered in the cold rain that was starting to settle in. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked all the way to the college campus area. Even Emile drove there every day, and it took him fifteen to twenty minutes to get there on a good day. It would take over an hour to walk back home.

Oh, well, live and learn. Theo’s words were bouncing around in his skull, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to them. It was certainly sound advice, but how did he apply it?

More importantly, how did he know if he was ready with one person but not with another? How did he know that one specific person was the one he wanted? How did he differentiate between the need for a distraction and the need for love?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to find out.

  March 31st, 2001

“Are you sure about this?” Emile asked, breathless in between their kissing. “Like, really sure?”

Remy lightly nipped Emile’s neck, causing him to shudder, and Remy smiled. “Emile, there’s nothing I’ve been more sure about in my entire life.”

“Okay...okay. I just know you got nervous before, and I didn’t want to pressure you into anything...”

“Good thing I’m asking then, isn’t it?” Remy teased.

“Remy...Remy. Hang on,” Emile said, as Remy dragged Emile to their bedroom. Remy turned around, and he could see the clear worry in Emile’s eyes. “You’re not scared? You’re not pushing yourself into this?”

Remy softened and pulled Emile in for a tender but desperate kiss. “I’m sure, Emile. I want this. I want you.”

“Okay, then,” Emile said, and together they fell onto Remy’s bed, already laughing.

Remy bolted upright in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to check the time. Seven AM. Dammit, he thought. Not again.

He’d been getting dreams about Emile and him being together with increasing frequency for the past couple weeks now, and it was waking him up at all hours of the night. To make matters worse, once he woke up past six, he was up for the day. He was almost always awoken by a “fade to black,” but the most annoying times where when he wasn’t, and he woke up in the middle, realizing it was a dream and feeling miserable.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up with a stretch. No use in trying to fall back asleep when he couldn’t, right?

When he walked out, he found Emile stumbling around the kitchen, slightly coherent but not nearly as much as he usually was when Remy first woke up. “Oh, so you do have days where you’re not a morning person,” Remy laughed. “I was wondering.”

“Mm. Didn’t sleep well,” Emile muttered. “Whatever you’ve been dealing with that’s keeping you up must be rubbing off on me.”

Remy felt an icy tendril of terror down his spine. I certainly hope not. “Bad dreams?”

“I can never remember,” Emile said with a shrug. “You?”

“I remember pieces,” Remy lied. He remembered every graphic detail of every last dream. This was driving him nuts. Emile wasn’t even interested in him, he had said so himself. “Nothing important.”

Emile just nodded as Remy held his breath. “Yeah. Hey, random question for you, because I haven’t been able to get this out of my mind.”

“Yeah, shoot,” Remy said, heading to the coffee pot.

“Let’s say if you were serious with someone. Like, you wanted to date them and they wanted to date you, right?”

Remy didn’t like the direction this was taking, but he said, “Yeah?” anyway.

“What would your ideal date be? Maybe not like, a first date, but just a date in general?” Emile asked.

Remy felt his stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. “I don’t know, I guess something dorky and basic, you know? Like dinner and a movie. Why do you ask?”

Emile looked a little pink around the ears as he said, “I was just wondering one day, and it refused to leave my mind, so I decided to put it to rest.”

“Oh,” Remy said. Inwardly, he sighed in relief. Even if he had new fodder for his imagination, with Emile trying to take him on the perfect date, Emile was just curious. That was normal. Emile got curious all the time. It was par for the course. Of course, the fact that he had to ask about Remy’s romantic life did hurt a bit. Just because he still did love Emile, and he knew that Emile couldn’t feel the same. “Any reason that popped into your head?”

“I mean...” Emile shrugged. “Maybe I have a little bit of interest in this one guy...”

“Shut. Up,” Remy said, his brain making a record scratch noise. “You like someone?! Who is it?!”

Emile squirmed. “It’s a little embarrassing, not because of who he is but because of where we are relationship-wise...and I want to see if it lasts beyond a fleeting crush...” he said.

Remy felt his heart be torn into shreds as his brain simultaneously tried to put the pieces together. “Come on, you can tell me, can’t you? This isn’t some revenge on me for not telling you that I was trying to get busy the weekend you were out of town?”

“No, it’s not revenge for that,” Emile was quick to assure. “I just really don’t feel ready.”

“Can you give me hints?” Remy pleaded.

Emile laughed a little, clearly nervous. “Well, he loves coffee. Sometimes it feels like all he does is sleep and drink the stuff. And he’s...he’s trying super hard to be kind to everyone he meets. Like, he always did have it in him to be kind, but he didn’t always use it. Now he is, and I’m...super proud of him for that.”

Remy could feel his heart skipping beats. Emile sounded like he was describing Remy. But, that definitely couldn’t be. That couldn’t be the case, because Emile said he wasn’t interested.

Yeah, a month and a half ago, his brain helpfully pointed out. And a lot can change in a month.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were describing me,” Remy teased.

Emile blushed a dark red, and Remy knew this was going one of two ways: he had either hit the nail on the head, or he was close enough to another one of Emile’s friends that Remy wasn’t sure he knew about. And...no matter what he wanted to hope, he was pretty sure Emile wasn’t describing him. “Is this one of your high school buddies? You know, someone you might see over spring break?”

“What?” Emile asked dumbly, before he stammered out, “Uh, y-yeah. Kinda. I’m definitely gonna try and see him over spring break. Even if I’m too chicken to confess to anything, I like getting to spend time with him.”

“You should tell him you like him,” Remy said.

“You...you think so?” Emile asked.

Remy nodded. “Look. You might not love me, and I’m coming to terms with that. Slowly, but surely. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you, necessarily, but if you’re happier with someone who’s... not me, well, then, I want you to be happy.”

Emile smiled weakly. “Don’t get over me too quickly. If you’re lucky, I might catch feelings back.”

“If only,” Remy sighed. “Look, Emile, I’m not offended that you don’t like me. Did it hurt? Yeah, but lots of love hurts. It’s not that big of a deal. Is this your way of saying you have feelings for me?”

“Well, no, but...”

“No but’s,” Remy said. “I can’t make you love me. And it’s fine that you don’t. Just...if you’re happy with this guy, then be with him. Have fun, go on a date or two. You have my blessing. Not that you need it, but if it’ll make you feel better about this, you have it.”

“I...okay,” Emile said, and his voice was small. He took a deep breath, and said, “What are you planning on doing while I’m on spring break? Like, where I go depends on the hours I get, but do you have any plans?”

“I’d love to go to the beach someday, but probably not during spring break. All the college kids are gonna be swarming the place. I guess...I don’t really have any plans,” Remy said with a shrug.

“Then if I have bad hours, why don’t we go out to dinner some night? It’s been a while since we’ve done that,” Emile said, voice growing a bit more confident.

Remy was quiet as he took a long sip of coffee. Then, to be funny, he smirked. “Only if the guy you’re interested in wouldn’t mind,” Remy said with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your future boyfriend.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind,” Emile said with a laugh. “So dinner. Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“Doesn’t have to be anywhere big,” Remy said. “We could share pizza at any of the joints around here and I’d enjoy it.”

“Cool,” Emile said with a smile. “It’s a date, then!”

“Careful, Emile. Like I said, if you keep saying that, people will think we’re dating.”

Emile laughed, a genuine sound that made Remy grin in response. Things seemed to be returning to normal for them, which Remy was super happy about. Yeah, they might not be dating, but he and Emile were proving inseparable, and that...comforted Remy in a way he couldn’t describe. Like, the world could be ending but at the end of the day he would still have Emile, and that was all that mattered.

“I have class,” Emile said, grabbing the last of his breakfast and heading to his room. “I’ll see you after work?”

“Same bat time, same bat channel,” Remy teased.

Emile stared at him a moment, before squealing and crushing Remy in a hug. As soon as he had done that, though, he had moved to his room, yelling, “I don’t have time to appreciate that properly right now but know that I appreciate it!”

Remy laughed and waved to Emile on his way out of the house. He sighed when Emile was gone, and poured himself a second mug of coffee. He had to get going to work soon, too, so he decided to stick to coffee and toast for today. Remy laughed to himself. Emile had two people in his life who only sustained themselves on coffee and spite? It must have been a very small world indeed.

Remy’s heart wasn’t even hurting anymore, he was so happy that things were going back to normal, and he was excited that Emile was excited for spring break. Plus, they’d get to go out to dinner together, which they hadn’t done in ages. Remy wondered why that had stopped, especially when he said that he didn’t mind it after he confessed his feelings. He felt like it was around the time after he had talked with Theo. He had never known a person to be nice to him just because. Toby was his brother and was obligated to do that to a degree. Emile was nice to him out of spite at first, and then out of attachment later. But Theo was kind to him without even knowing him well, and it opened Remy’s eyes.

You could be kind to someone without them being kind to you first. You weren’t obligated to be nice, but if you were nice, people would appreciate your presence more. And on top of that, being nice just...felt good, sometimes. And sure, sometimes being sickeningly sweet and nice to people in retail was done out of spite, but the shy ones or the people who were very clearly having a hard time? If you smiled at them, or wrote them a nice note on their coffee, it made a world of difference. And he found that he liked doing it more.

Sure, it took more effort. Sure, it didn’t come naturally to him. But all things considered, he didn’t mind making the effort to be a little nicer. If he could be a tenth as nice as Emile was, he was sure he could make friends with little to no issues, just by being kind and striking up a conversation. That was new, but it was something he wanted, and something he was willing to work for.

He was going to do this. He was going to tackle the day with a smile on his face, because the world was finally making sense again, and he could handle anything that came his way. Spring break also danced at the corners of his mind, making him smile as he pulled on the lighter of his leather jackets. Dinner with Emile. Even if that wasn’t as a date, if he really wanted to, he could pretend it was. Not that he would really need to, though. He and Emile were best friends, and he was more than happy with that.

Yeah. The world was finally making sense again.

[aristocraticvision]

Chapter 47: Revelations

“How the hell did all of this get out, Asheford?” Stephen said, anger apparent in his voice as he studied the newspapers in front of him. “Dear god, look at these headlines: Prince Stephen sells off art collection, puchases $10 million in jewelry for new fiancé; Sovereign sacrifices Westonian heritage for personal gain; National Assembly should investigate misuse of crown assets!”

“I am so sorry, your royal highness,” Asheford replied, his face pale. “I do not know how this could have happened. I had assurances from everyone involved in the auctions that the transactions would remain confidential. And I have no idea how anyone could have learned about your jewelry purchase. Are you sure you didn’t mention it to anyone?”

“Positive,” Stephen said. “I told no one, and I can guarantee you that Van Doorne would never breathe a word to anyone!”

“Are you certain of that, sir?” Asheford said.

“Positive,” Stephen replied. “He gave me a significant discount on the items, which, I assume, is not something he would like to share. And besides, he’s been waiting years to be awarded a royal warrant as jeweler to the crown – and part of that agreement is that all purchases are confidential. I simply don’t believe he’d take the risk of losing that status – not when he’s just finally achieved it!”

The door opened and the dowager princess stormed in.

“Have you seen the papers?” Marie asked angrily.

“Yes,” Stephen said. “That’s what we’ve been talking about.”

“I can’t believe you sold off part of the collection, Stephen!” Marie said. “That collection is the result of generations of careful stewardship, and to sell off ….”

“It was only a dozen items, mother,” Stephen said. “And it was necessary to compensate for the money I committed to the Grenville Bay project. What I can’t figure out is how they found out about the jewelry. I didn’t tell anyone about that – not even you!”

The color drained from Marie’s face.

“It couldn’t be,” she said, mostly to herself.

“What?” Stephen asked. “Mother? What did you do?”

“I mentioned the jewelry to Lady Cora Wellesley,” Marie said, and then shook her head. “No! Cora has been a dear friend for many years, Stephen. I’m sure she wouldn’t have divulged the price to anyone!”

“How did you even know the price?” Stephen asked, puzzled.

“I was here when they delivered both sets and signed off on the delivery,” she replied. “The price was on the paperwork.”

“And you’re certain that Lady Cora was the only one you told?” Stephen asked.

“Yes,” Marie replied, sitting down. “I’m positive. But Cora has always been extremely trustworthy. She would never share such a confidence with the press. Perhaps with her husband, but never with the press!”

Stephen looked to Asheford and both nodded.

“I had heard Lord Wellesley was displeased with your actions on the Grenville Bay project,” Asheford said. “But I’d never have guessed he would make such an overt attempt to discredit you.”

“Lord Wellesley?” Marie asked, incredulous. “But he has always been such a loyal friend to our family!”

“I’m afraid times have changed, mother,” Stephen said.

“But why would he do such a thing?” Marie asked.

“Because he is afraid, ma’am,” Asheford answered. “Your son has done well since taking the throne. In fact, in Wellesely’s opinion, too well. Your husband – God rest his soul – was satisfied to remain a figurehead, despite the considerable power the crown holds. But Stephen has chosen to wield that power. At the moment, he has greater public support than any monarch in recent memory. To Wellesley, that poses a threat – not only to the assembly’s power and prestige, but to his own, as the assembly’s senior statesman.”

“But he must know that I would never threaten the stability of Weston by pushing the National Assembly aside,” Stephen said. “Does he honestly think I’m trying to return us to an autocratic form of government?”

“I doubt even Wellesley thinks that,” Asheford said. “But you must remember that any power concentrated in royal hands diminishes the power of the assembly – and, in turn – his own.”

“Then we shall have to figure out a way to discredit the charges without doing further damage to the National Assembly itself,” Stephen said.

“I believe I have an idea that might work,” Marie said, standing. “But first, I must apologize, Stephen.”

“Apologize?” Stephen asked.

“From the moment you succeeded your father, I thought you would require my help and advice to help you rule wisely,” she said. “But you have needed nothing. In just a few months, you have done more for Weston than I could have possibly imagined, and amassed extraordinary power and influence for the throne. You are, indeed, a formidable ruler. Your father would be so proud of you.”

Stephen was speechless. “Why … thank you, mother. All I’ve ever wanted is to make you and father proud.”

“Oh, Stephen,” Marie replied with a smile. “You’ve done that and more.”

“Your idea, ma’am?” Asheford prompted.

“Oh, yes,” Marie said. “It’s simple, actually. In fact, it plays on Stephen’s greatest strength.”

BEGINNING | PREV | NEXT

Continent of Oceana | History of Weston

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {18}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 17. Never Again  A/N:

Sorry readers for another month long hiatus. I was busy with Helsa Week and then got a little lazy to edit and now I’ve got so many more chapters to edit. Oof. I hope to get some more chapters edited and post them before I get swept away by Helsa Week 2.0.

18. ‘Bullshit’

It was evening by the time, the Captain finally got the chance to go check in with Hans. He wanted to discuss how the first meeting with the guard had gone in private. As well as making sure he hadn't hurt himself too much during their impudent demonstration. He knocked on the door like he usually did, before entering the room. "How ya faring Westergaard?" He questioned. "Hopefully the doc wasn't too angry."

Hans seemed deep in thought, but jarred by the Captain's intrusion, and curious. 

 "Hm? Oh no. I didn't mention it to him, the pain went away, and this time there were no stitches to rip open, so I suppose as long as I don't collapse in a heap somewhere in the next day or so, I'll be fine." Hans suggested lightly. "Still, not a wise thing I did, but I purport to be many things, wise isn't among them. What brings you here, Captain? I didn't expect to see you again today."

 Still, he was using titles. He didn't dress like a prince now any more than he had when he arrived by boat, all cotton shirts and sailor's trousers, looking more like a young pirate than an ex-admiral, let alone a prince. Still, there were untold years of experience in his eyes. Experience with sadness, with death, with anger and fury and complex sinister tidings, but he seemed so baffled by the concept of being liked. The cheers of the men still bothered him, somehow. They were good and positive and gave him positive feelings, yes, he was still a human; but he also felt saddened, because he didn't feel he deserved them-- or ever could. Those thoughts, he wouldn't burden the Captain with. Not for the moment, that hadn't been what he asked. He didn't want to make the Captain worry, any more than he wanted Elsa to worry for him. But he also didn't feel the need to disguise his thoughtfulness as playful banter or 'just thinking' or put on a happy face, as he might with Elsa. The Captain was a man, and a workhorse at that. He would surely know these same depths of thought?

The Captain slightly tilted his head and cocked his brow, at the distraught glazing over Hans, the Prince's eyes clearly reflecting his self-doubt.

  "Thought it went rather well today, but it looks like you use a drink, a heavy one at that," suggested the Captain. "It was your own advice to the men, was it not? And you know what? You should take your own advice too. If you're well enough to fight, I think, you're well enough to drink. Come on Westergaard, I'll treat you to that drink," he urged. " I wish to chat with you as men, it's kinda hard to do that in this stuffy room." The Captain wasn't going to senselessly allow Hans seep into those dark thoughts alone, if he could help it.

Hans hummed a bit, tone still light but face unmatching, until he heaved himself up to his feet, as one might on a ship; a lazy but graceful movement, like a cat's casual saunter or a bird of prey's lazy low swoop.

 "I'll warn you, Captain. I'm either very grim or very childish, and little in-between. And, I'm not above a challenge." He joked wryly, settling a bit. He took off his sword and set it on the bureau again. "In the Isles there are shelves in the taverns for weapons, but we're a little old-fashioned. I imagine it's not the custom here." He would adapt; weapons while drinking was an awful idea.

The Captain smiled a bit, that Hans had accepted his invitation without too much coaxing. 

 "Hope, I won't regret the invite later," he chuckled.

  He nodded. "Not in Arendelle." 

 The Captain escorted Hans over to the town tavern, it was a leisurely walk away. 

 "So take your pick Westergaard?" The Captain stated, as they arrived taking a seat. "Curious to know what kind of drink you'll choose."

"I'm a man of the sea, what do you think I'd pick?" Hans pointed out wryly. "Rum, of course. The stronger the better. Ale for when you're thirsty, rum for when you have a thirst, ey?" Drinks, not women. That had a different prescription. 

 "You know, I think you're the only person I know who calls me by my last name alone, not some title. I think I could get used to it." He mused idly, leaning somewhat on his arm in the booth. He still looked terribly casual, it was easy to forget that he was a prince, and indeed easy to forget any rank he'd had. It almost looked more like the Captain was grabbing up a wayward young man from the street to teach him a few life lessons. 

 "You remind me a little of Captain Janssen. Only a little, of course. He's old enough that he seemed just as old when he was snatching me up out of the water by the back of my shirts grumbling about 'neglecting princely duties' I didn't have." He seemed amused by the old memories, but there was still that look of bitter-sweetness about it. "But, I suppose it's just the familiarity. You're not afraid to tell me when I'm being a shit, sometimes we all need someone like that."

"Of course, I should have figured," chuckled the Captain. "Is that so? Well, someone's gotta keep you grounded."

  "You're first and foremost a man it's easy to forget that if you don't have something keeping you in check," he stated, and paused before transitioning. "And on that note, I think you did rather well in keeping the men in line today. It didn't go without a hitch that's for sure, but I think you really got through to them. You got them in a fighting spirit, you sure got a way with people, boy, --and I say that in the best way possible-- that it makes me almost envious. When you speak to them you get really down-to-earth, you weren't on some sort of high horse, you really show them that you're one of them, which is true because you're not just a soldier but a fellow man sworn to protect Arendelle just like them, and that in itself is rather respectable." The Captain was trying his best to get through to Hans, ease those doubts he may have, if he planned on being a good teacher to the guard he had to believe in himself first.

"Aye, there's the rub," Hans pointed out, ordering a drink as easily as a native to the country, "I'm not 'sworn' to a damn thing. I protect Arendelle because I have sins to pay for, and I like your country. Were I truly a bastard, I'd use this opportunity. I am, against what your men might think, the same man who raised a sword to kill the Queen. I'd be more comforted if your men were still suspicious. This tells me there's much to teach them. I may be truthful this time, yes, but how otherwise is this different from last?" Hans couldn't help but be disquieted at the notion. 

 "I've got an idea for training tomorrow. Another kind of test. Nothing physical, I'll sit and clean swords while the men do physical training, and talk. I'd like to test them. And you." He leaned back a bit as his drink was brought, looking bothered still. "It's not that I'm upset to be liked, per se. I'm vexed that it was so easy to get in again, like before. As easy as the first time, like nothing has been learnt." He leaned back, waiting for the Captain to get his drink. 

 "Even on a ship, I worked to be an admiral. My name could have gotten me a strong position, but I started scrubbing decks and moved up from there, and hit every position on the way. I may have hit admiral young, but damned if I didn't at least land on every job on the way." He was determined to do that, at least. "Damned if I'll be a useless shit, demanding ranks I never deserved." He scoffed at the thought.

The Captain ordered his drink, and it arrived shortly after. "You may not be sworn to Arendelle in the same sense as the rest of us, that's true, but that blade of yours says otherwise," he pointed out, grabbing hold of his drink. 

 "I see where you're coming from, the men were very spirited today, that's for certain, but I'm sure there's still lingering doubt among them. Just because the group as a whole looked determined it don't mean all the individuals are fully convinced. Some men aren't as open to expressing their concerns in public. Don't think just because they're willing to give you a chance that it won't be a challenge. They seemed to warm up to you, but trust doesn't come that easily, not when everyone is well aware of what you've done. They haven't forgotten, what you did is sorta hard to neglect. But then again, you did call for a clean slate and that also includes yours as well," he mentioned with a nod.

 "What's the difference this time you ask? There's many differences for sure, but the main one is 'never again'." The Captain was using Hans' own words against him.

 "If you are any kind of bastard now, it's definitely a stubborn one. I don't know if it's an Isles thing or if it's just you but, you're something else, you know that Westergaard? I don't know of many men, if any, that would be willing to accept more punishment after receiving a flogging like yours. Most men would have been content to surviving or just embrace death, rather than be bold enough to return to attempt to atone, especially when it seemed nothing more than a foolish gamble or a death wish. Taking that extra step to try to make amends really says a lot about a man and his conscience," he assured with a nod. 

 The Captain remembered something he forgot to say earlier. "It's not like the men are just blindly trusting you, a lot of those men have seen you in action, fighting alongside them. You know, you could have very well sat on your ass during the raid, no one expected anything from you, and yet you charged in to aid and got the scars to prove it, that's gotta count for something," noted the Captain. 

 "You've already exceeded expectations, with your actions." Thinking he'd talked too much the Captain shifted a bit in his seat. "All this rambling to say, you already try you're damnedest and yet you still don't think that's enough. You're too hard on yourself, and no I haven't forgotten the bad things you've done, but you dwell too much on them, you think they overshadow the good you've done or are going to do. You don't have to constantly try so hard to prove yourself."

 Hans listened, and even after the first part about the sword, smiled a little to himself and looked away, as if he was flattered. 

 "Never again, is right." He agreed with a nod. 

 "I need someone like you around, too. I suppose I assumed they didn't notice me. I tend to, I'm not usually noticeable, apart from the hair. The Royal Shade." He laughed dryly. "We started calling the cat on my ship 'Your Highness', so I wouldn't have to answer it. Someone would ask for 'the prince' and we'd all point to the cat. He had the same fur color as my hair, we joked." He laughed a little at the memory.

 "'Hard on myself', one could say that. Others might say 'not hard enough'. Murder is an exceptional crime, even attempted. Technically speaking I should've been hanged in the Isles, but my eldest brother didn't want to see that scene play out, when my dress rehearsal went so poorly before." He made a lot of theatrical references. From 'aye there's the rub' to speaking of 'dress rehearsals' and 'performances'. The oddity of that almost disguised the subtle suggestion laced there in his last sentence. He had another thought about the captain, but decided it was better left unsaid, at least for this drink. 

 "Perhaps they don't need to worry about lies yet, then. I'll worry about that some other time, and worry about reviewing those tests. I mean it, when I say we should add women and the Deaf to our roster. People who get overlooked, usually, can be the most determined. I've never seen fighters more determined than female pirates, for a certainty. Even cornered they'd sooner hack a chunk out of you than give up easily, perhaps because they know what can happen when they do, if the men they surrender to are anything less than honorable." He didn't like the idea, but he knew it was likely true. He was back to business, perhaps in hopes that the Captain forgot about his implications.

The Captain laughed a little at Hans' reminiscence of the red furred feline. 

 "That's true, a coup isn't something easy to overlook, nor should it be, but since you've been given the opportunity to redeem yourself, you need to find a balance between being too hard and too soft when it comes to disciplining yourself . I'll do my best to keep you in check, and if I think your slacking, I'm not afraid to reprimand you, if need be," he chuckled, but he was serious. The Captain had taken note of his mention of a 'dress rehearsal' and though he was curious of the reasoning behind it, he didn't bring it up (he was trying to brighten the boy's spirits after all), but kept in mind. 

 "I'll see what I can do about broadening up the recruitment, if you think we can find promising potential soldiers among people we failed to take into account, I'll welcome them with pleasure. We really can't afford to undermine anyone willing to protect Arendelle, especially when we need everyone we can get," concurred the Captain with a nod, getting back to talking business like Hans wanted.

"Agreed, the defenses seem so small for a castle so sprawling." Hans seemed genuinely put off by that. "At least in the Southern Isles, the castle has a boatload of well-trained princes with swords, and maids who know poisons, and the castle is built like a castle. It's ancient, it's meant to be sieged and survive. Arendelle is too new for ancient sieges and building clockwise spiral stairs for defense. It's a little unnerving. Are you kingdom guards or castle guards? It seems the team is too small to protect a whole kingdom, too large for a castle-- but the castle is such a unique shape for a kingdom. As if someone began by building a house, and forgot to stop." He was amused by the concept, certainly. 

 "Part of it might be that I'm fluent in sign language, at least for my brother. We could spread that sign language in Arendelle, if there is no current sign language here. A standardization would help to bind Arendelle and the Southern Isles, if only very slightly. Not that I'm after that for any personal reason, but my brother Bernhard is Deaf, and he never leaves the castle if he can help it. No-one takes the time or energy to learn, but his brothers. It would be nice to expand his horizons, if he could be convinced to venture outside." It wasn't for selfish reasons, but for a brother that he took an interest.

 "Ah well, you didn't want to talk about this, I'm sure. So, what do men of good standing talk about here? I'm sure you don't talk about women in quite the same way we do on boats, but I'm not sure what else you'd prefer. I don't watch sports, but I do know a thing or two about pirates and good adventure stories and the like." He didn't say he didn't talk about women, only that he suspected the Captain wouldn't appreciate him talking about them-- which suggested, at least, that he was still a warm-blooded male who did take an interest in the opposite sex.

"Arendelle's defenses became inadequate due to the luxury of living peacefully for so long. Like I've said before and it's quite obvious to see, even though we're a fairly newer kingdom, we haven't really adapted with the rest of the world. It truly is a miracle that we lived so prosperously until recently, it's a good thing our kingdom was often overlooked," he admitted a bit ashamed. "The castle guard, though I don't think it makes much difference either way, most of the military resides here in the capitol and the rest of the armed forces for the rest of the kingdom's provinces are heavily reliant on the militia. The entirety of Arendelle's defenses require an overhaul," the Captain let out a disgruntled sigh. "And yes, the castle wasn't built as much of a stronghold, since it they were confident on it's optimal location near the fjord would be enough to keep out intruders. In days of olde it might have sufficed, being able to see incoming attackers and being protected by the fjord, but it doesn't really work when the enemy knows your defenseless and manages to evade the natural deterrent undetected," he explained, which is what happened during the raid. 

 "I'm not aware of an official sign language in Arendelle, but it could be quite useful in more ways than just strengthening our alliance," agreed the Captain. He thought it was admirable that he thought of his brother and wanted to find a way to broaden his horizons. “Definitely something you should bring up to the Queen." 

 "And you are correct in assuming I would not partake in discourse about women, for I am a married man. Though I probably wouldn't engage, nor would want to either, out of respect, even if that wasn't the case. Stories are good, yes, but men don't have to be constantly yammering in order to be entertained Westergaard," chuckled the Captain. Hans did like to blabber like a parrot given the chance, not the Captain minded, he was an entertaining lad, but all this talk could be rather exhausting.

 "Drinks and cards could be adequate entertainment." The Captain took out a pack of cards and placed them on the table.

Hans held up his hands in defeat. "No talk of women, fair enough. I only do because the men often do and otherwise it makes them difficult to converse with." He assured sweetly. 

 "Congratulations on the marriage, and on being so faithful. I've known some right bastard men who aren't." He shrugged. He seemed a bit off-put, though. "I don't get to talk much at home, so I speak too much everywhere else. What shall we play?" He could shut up as easily as he spoke, though now he had more to turn over in his mind. "You've kids?" He proposed, short and purely curious. The Captain seemed like he would have kids.

 "Thank you," he grinned, appreciating the compliment, he truly loved his wife. "You don't have to hold your tongue, just saying that you don't have to yatter," the Captain assured him, he didn't wish to discourage him. "There aren't many card games for two, we could play piquet perhaps," he suggested, with a shrug. "Unless you have something else in mind." 

 "Kids? Just one so far," he answered. " A little girl."

 "Ah, that explains some things about you." Hans joked playfully, at the idea of a little girl in the Captain's family. "Let's see, you can't be that much older than me, perhaps... ten at the oldest, the way you speak of her?" He proposed, purely guessing as a way to keep the conversation alive. 

 He imagined the Captain to be ten years older than him, or a few years younger than that; and he himself was twenty-four, plenty old enough to have a kid himself, though he had no interest in it at the moment. Most seemed to have children young, so he guessed based on that. 

 "I've heard of Piquet, but never played. It's usually poker on a ship, or spades. If we had more people, I could show you how to play Cheat, or as most people call it, 'Bullshit'. Or Spoons, if we feel like a bunch of children, I quite like that one." He had no fond memories of gaming with his brothers, they weren't the gaming sorts, or those that were ones he wouldn't want to game with. 

 "Maybe we should drag someone else into our games. There's Speed, I suppose." "Is that so?" he gave a hearty laugh. "Though I'm well aware I am an old man at heart, I truly might not be much more than a decade your senior. You'd suppose, by the way I am, that I'd marry much sooner, but I didn't get wed until I was a tad bit older than you are now, the ripe old age of 27. How old are you now Westergaard? 24-25?" he questioned. 

 "We had our little girl soon after, she's almost six years old, and if you do the math you can figure out how old I am."

"Piquet is a bit complicated to explain. So if you can manage to get some others to join us, which I'm sure wouldn't be hard for you, then we can play one of your suggestions either Cheat or even Spoons if you really like," chuckled the Captain. "Might be one of the last times to be childish before the rigorous training begins."

"Twenty four." Hans agreed, amused. "I tend to assume most people have children by twenty, but I often forget the age discrepancy between men and women, too. Women tend to be married younger, men older, that was my assumption wrong. I was close to right about your age, at least." He laughed a little at the thought. 

 "Oh nonsense, there's always time around the edges to be childish." He assured, with a casual wave. "As I said on the boat: Shiny brass buttons are all well and good, but if making your men shine buttons all day makes the men hate you, then damn the buttons." He waved casually, and took another sip of his drink. 

 "Who fancies beating the Captain of the Guard and the worst criminal in Arendelle at a friendly game of lying at cards? I'll teach, if anyone wants to join us." He knew they were both recognizable faces in Arendelle, and he used that to his advantage in the tavern, picking up the cards to shuffle them loudly, a call to most men in the kingdom. "No wagers, I imagine it would upset the Captain, but we can always make the losers buy drinks." He suggested playfully, grinning over at the Captain, as if to say 'You have not yet seen the beginning of my charisma' 

 "Would you believe, my brother Eduard is the charismatic one?" He teased. "We're all actors, the lot of us. Some better than others. I learned to be whatever I need to be. Eduard learned how to be himself so well that everyone liked him for it. A mirror and a portrait, in a sense. Some may not like him, but he and I were always quite close." He continued shuffling the cards, hoping to be joined. 

 "I'm in, it's a slow day." A barmaid suggested, pulling over a chair and straddling it like a man. 

 "Oh, I like you already, you'll be good at this." Hans assured, waving her into the game. "One more?" He proposed, looking around.

 "I guess you're right about all work and no play," he nodded remembering the proverb. The Captain was well aware of Hans charisma, that's why he asked him to be the one to recruit players. The captain shot him back a look as if saying 'Don't test my patience, boy.' 

 With the Barmaid joining in, a young man at one of the nearby tables finally stepped up, to fill the opening. 

 "If Ida's playing, I want to join too," he said determined, calling the barmaid by her name meaning he was a tavern regular or knew her personally. "See if I can finally get a free drink from her," he laughed, flashing her a smile.

Hans grinned at the Captain, a little more childish, a little more playful at the look. 

 "Now, here's how we play." Hans shuffled one last time, and began to deal all the cards. "No cards withheld, we deal all fifty-two. Whomever has the ace of spades starts. You play as many Aces as you have in the center of the table. Then, play to the left. The next person plays as many twos, and the next as many threes, and so on. If you don't have any, lie. If you suspect someone of lying, say 'Bullshit' or whatever variant you prefer. If you're caught lying, you pick up all the cards. If you try to catch someone else lying but they told the truth, you pick up all the cards. We play until either someone is out, or we can continue playing until only two are left." As he finished, they each had their pile of cards. 

 "So, who has the ace of spades?" He asked sweetly. He picked up his cards to spread them. 

 "Two aces." Ida played first, boldly. She seemed passing familiar with this one, at least. "Good luck on that drink, Derrick, you'll be waiting on it a long time." She assured. Playful banter, without anger, and it was Derrick's turn.

"Waiting until the end of this game is a pretty long time indeed," Derrick bantered back. He stared Ida down for a moment. "I think you're bluffing," he asserted. 

 "You sure about that?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 "Of course! Bullshit!" he exclaimed over confidently. 

"If you say so." Ida shrugged nonchalantly and flipped her cards to reveal an ace of spades and an ace of clubs, before a large grin crossed her lips. 

 "Dammit!" Derrick groaned in disappointment. Picking up the cards to add to his hand. 

 "Still think you'll be getting that drink?" Ida boasted, roaring with laughter. The Captain laughed earnestly as well, the game had just begun and it was already off to a great start. Hans' turn followed.

Hans laughed. "Who would bluff at the start of the game, when the ace of spades must start? You had me going, unless the Captain's deck has two aces of spades? Cheating at poker lately, old man?" Hans teased, calling the Captain 'old man' in the same way the Captain called him 'boy'.

Just playful banter so far as Hans was concerned. 

 "No no, don't pass it to me, you still must play, Derrick, twos to the table." Hans insisted. 

 Derrick grumbled and played two twos, and Hans suspected at least one was a lie, but decided not to call him out. 

 "One three." Hans laid down his own. 

 "So, what makes you the worst criminal in Arendelle?" Ida asked, confident enough in herself that she wasn't the least afraid to ask. 

 "My reputation, of course, it is all a man has. Tried to kill the Queen, if you believe the stories. Now I'm teaching the Watch how not to let it happen again, and somehow nobody's had me killed yet." Hans didn't seem the least bit concerned about the number of patriots to the crown in the bar-- which was all of them. He took a drink of his rum. 

 "Bold move, admitting that here." Derrick pointed out, with a bit of a scowl. 

 "Aye and it's bold to call Bullshit on a first turn, we're all full of surprises. I tried to kill the queen, then I saved her during the Weselton raid. One good turn deserves another, and one good captain deserves another turn." Hans gestured to the Captain for his turn, as he reorganized his cards without fear.

The Captain nodded and made his move. 

 "Four Fours," he declared, placing four cards atop the pile. Everyone looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was being either really bold or really dumb. 

 "Now that definitely has to be Bullshit!" Ida insisted, knowing the odds of that were highly unlikely, she might have been more prone to believe three, but all four seemed impossible. The Captain turned his cards and revealed that he in fact had not been bluffing. Ida's mouth was agape incredulous. 

 "No way," she uttered. 

 "Sometimes life is rather unexpected, wouldn't you say? One shouldn't easily dismiss seemingly impossible odds," commented the Captain, giving Hans a knowing look. "You never know, taking that risk might end up being one of the best decisions you've made."

  Ida was a bit vexed collecting all the cards and adding them to her hand. 

 "Two fives," she said as she started the new discard pile. "And actually think it through before you call bullshit this time, will ya, Derrick." There was a slight grumble in her tone.

Hans chuckled. "Tell that to my scars, Captain. I believe you but my back doesn't." He joked. 

 Derrick was smart enough not to call it this time. 

 "One six." 

 "Bullshit, at least lie bravely." Hans turned the card over, himself, and shoved the cards back at him. 

 "Two sevens. The trick to playing Bullshit, is being reasonably good at math, and watching everybody else. If everybody is equally surprised that four fours are being played, and nobody has immediately jumped down their throat, he must have all four." He shrugged. "It was the best decision to return, the worst to make it necessary, I'd say. The whole coronation affair was indeed my biggest regret in life, but at least it got me here, so it's not the worst of possibilities." He considered it a bit before nodding, as if he'd had to gauge some other possible 'biggest regret'.

 "One eight. Making the best possibilities out of the worst situations seems to be one of life's favorite things to do," suggested the Captain. "Odds are rarely in your favor the way you want them, so you gotta make due with what you got." 

 "Two Nines." 

 "Bullshit!" 

 "Well, look at that you actually got it right this time," Ida taunted. 

 "Of course I did!" Derrick gloated, with a large smile. "Two Tens."

"I wouldn't say 'favorite', but I would say 'required'. I am the thirteenth, I was never destined for good things. If I get anything, good or ill, it's to be fought for. Three jacks." He set his cards down and shrugged. "And what of you two? A barmaid willing to play cards with a Captain of the Guard and a criminal, you don't seem scared of much. The Castle Guards are hiring, and we're certainly accepting female applicants." Hans proposed, diverting the conversation.

"Oh! Is that so? I might consider joining the guard then," she laughed. "It does get rather drab at the tavern. I'm not afraid of brawling with the boys, ain't that right, Derrick?" Ida nudged him with her elbow. 

 "Bullshit!" Ida turned to glare at Derrick, ready to hit him upside the head, until realizing he wasn't the one that'd spoken though, it was the Captain. She looked at him in confusion for a moment then remembered the game they were playing. He wasn’t doubting her capabilities, but Hans' cards. The Captain was a bit flustered at the momentary misunderstanding. Clearing his throat a bit in awkwardness. 

 "I don't believe it," he stated, once more this time with a much softer tone and use of words, the last time he'd spoken. The harshness of the way he'd said it last time, seemed uncharacteristic of him, hence the slight confusion. His articulation seemed to suggest that he wasn't strictly referring to the cards, but voicing his opinion of what Hans had previously said. He looked for the cards directly to Hans as he waited for the reveal.

Hans seemed curious a moment, then smiled. 

 "You've caught me again, Captain." He revealed his cards-- two Jacks, and a queen. "Now which part of what I said were you also calling bullshit on? 'Never destined for good things', I wager? Well, take it as you like it, but I've never believed in destiny, only power of will and determination. Just because I wasn't 'destined' for good things doesn't mean I can't force them, so I went and became an admiral." He shrugged, and picked up the few remaining cards. "If one must lie, lie boldly." He reminded the others with a sly smile. "And so the game begins in earnest." 

 "At any rate -that puts queens on your shoulders, Captain.- I look forward to seeing a woman in the Guardstaff. I've never known a woman with a weapon who wasn't twice as terrifying as a man with the same. I faced a female pirate once; her crew was taken quickly and she was by no means its leader, but she was the last we could restrain, and she nearly took a chunk out of one of my men in the process. I admired her boldness. She was more memorable than even her captain. It's just a shame that in most places the punishment for piracy is death. Who knows, maybe she got out of it, Anne Bonny did." Hans knew a fair bit about pirates, even the long-dead historical ones.

The Captain smiled, a bit relieved, he was perfectly fine with Hans being a self-made man, he had just been disturbed thinking that he thought he was a good for nothing, luckily that wasn't the case. 

 "One Queen." 

 "I'm really tempted to join myself," Ida affirmed. "I can help spread the word. Aside from myself, I also know a few other women that might be a perfect fit, as well, not your typical ‘angels of the house’ gals. That'd be ready to throw down a challenge in a heartbeat. Besides y'all might need a woman's perspective, especially if the guard's consist of a bunch of dullards like Derrick." 

 "Hey, I take offense to that!" exclaimed Derrick. 

 "Of course you do. It was an insult afterall, dear Derrick." She razzed. "Two Kings." 

 "I'm no dolt! I like to see myself as a risk-taker that didn't get it right," he confidently corrected with a smirk. "Four aces." He really did have two additional aces, that's why he'd jumped the gun last time, but Hans didn't know that. "Oh I definitely want to see you and your friends on the guard. We'll have to get some feminine-cut uniforms. And no I don't mean 'skirts'. Can't have you going about in ill-fitting wool coats on the Queen's watch." Hans observed.

 "Always one queen, I'm surprised nobody called you on that, Captain." Hans wouldn't say he knew better, he could only confirm the existence of one queen, but he suspected someone else had the other queens. "If you manage to get through this night without getting caught at least once, I swear..." He took a drink of his own rum. "Oh right, my turn. Two twos." Derrick, however, had played two twos before. Hans had suspected at least one was a lie, but was it?

The Captain chuckled at Hans' allegation about the Queen card. Sipping his drink as well. 

 "Good, cause if you made us wear skirts. I'd expect the men to wear them as well," Ida said in a dead serious tone.

  "Ida, why did you put that image in my head?" Derrick started laughing hysterically at the thought of the entirety of Arendelle guard wearing skirts.

Hans laughed too, both at the Captain, and at Ida's joke. 

 "Ah, you see, us Queen's men know the truth-- there is always only one Queen." He joked, with a mock-posh tone, like the royal everyone tended to forget he actually was. "Thank god it's this one, the one in the Isles is--" He elected to drink instead of finish that sentence, looking off as if to say 'well, you know.' 

 "Yes, the gents in skirts and the ladies in armor, I'd pay to see that. New rule, anyone makes fun of the female guards, they get a guard skirt." Hans proposed, with a wry grin. "We can tell foreign countries it's a Scottish Kilt, they'll probably be fine with it. Until the Scots visit."

 Laughter boomed, and far beyond just the party of four playing at the table, they were joined by some of the surrounding tables as well. Of course people have been eavesdropping. How could they not? Who could easily ignore the Captain of the Guard sharing a drink with the most infamous and worst criminal Arendelle had to offer. Everyone was curious, because outside the castle walls there was only gossip of Hans.

Hans grinned to himself, and cast a somewhat playful look to the Captain. 

 "Oh I have an audience now, do I?" He hummed. "Our next round may require a bigger table, then. Come on, if you're going to laugh, join the conversation, god knows I like to talk, and I like to annoy the Captain, who gets annoyed at my talking. It's a perfect setup." He joked, letting his charismatic attitude come out again. 

 He was quite the chameleon. Morose alone, but the more people he could get to laugh with him, the more he laughed as well. He could tell stories or get serious, he could be a fury in battle, but still could not bring himself to anger when righteously struck by Anna. He seemed very unique in his manner, ever shifting. The more people there were to attend to, the broader his personality had to be, the more in-tuned with the other personalities he needed to become. He could be funny, but never silly. He could be chaotic, but never wild. Playful and childish, but never so un-serious that he couldn't come right back to a stern look when he needed to. In spite of his drinking, he still had an undercurrent of control. He knew exactly what mannerisms he was putting on.

The Captain lifted an eyebrow and gave him a slight irked glance in return. An 'Oh, brother' could almost be read from his expression. He let out a bit of exasperated grumble. 

 "If it keeps you from talking my ears off, everybody is more than welcome to join," he quipped, taking another swig of his drink. The Captain made his next move in the game. "Also if you want me to get called out for any 'bullshit', I suggest you do it yourself boy," he challenged with a slight simper. He could tell Hans was trying to play it safe.

"Ah, the conflicting nature of my character. Do I do for myself, because I am a hard worker, or let others take the risk for me, because I'm not a fool? A fine question, we'll figure it out when others don't pounce on their turns too quickly to call it." He laughed a little. "Are you calling me 'boy' because you feel old even though you're younger than my eldest brother? Or because you're irked about me putting you on the ground in the sword demonstration earlier?" Now he was just being a shit. In truth he thought it was endearing, mostly, but he was beginning to wonder about the nature of it.

"Not a fool, ey? You say that, but I've heard otherwise. If I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure 'Fool' is one of your official titles, granted by the Queen even, what an honor," chuckled the Captain. If Hans was being a jackass, he wasn't going to hold back either. "I call 'em like I see 'em," he shrugged a little before adding. "Boy."

Hans laughed, caught by surprise. 

 "The Captain has bested me in my own game." He raised a glass in salute. "But for the record, I gave my own dumb ass that title, thank you very much. It was easier than explaining to the snow-child why an attempted murderer is telling jokes to the Queen." He shrugged. "For my next act, I shall balance on a chair. Doubly fun if my next glass is a double." He finished his drink and set it down, just being playful. He was sarcastic, of course-- unless someone challenged him.

The Captain finished his drink and ordered another round, who would pay for it would be determined later. The game continued, and Hans and Captain were the ones with the least amount of cards. Ida and Derrick were the ones calling 'Bullshit' mostly against each other and Hans, the Captain did seem to be getting away with his plays. 

 "You know what I just realized, Westergaard? Unless I'm mistaken, if you lose I'll have to pay for it too, cause I doubt you’re given pension." he brought up. "But knowing you don't accept aid and value hard work, I'm sure you'll find another way to compensate." Hans laughed. "Always, Captain. Hard work like training Her Royal Majesty and your recruits for you? I forget, am I a prisoner or a swordmaster? Nobody seems entirely clear on what my role here is-- least of all, me." He leaned back and shrugged a little. He didn't drink yet, wanting to be clear on the monetary situation. He did feel he held the right cards. "Or did you intend for me to start a brothel? I grant you I'm handsome enough Captain, but that really sounds more like my brother Eduard's thing." That was definitely delivered like a joke, but he grinned wryly at Ida, hoping she would jump in on that setup.

Of course, Ida jumped in without hesitation, she wouldn't miss out on the chance of flustering the Captain of the Guard, how often would an opportunity like that present itself? Ida played along and began to look Hans up and down. 

 "Oh, yes. Easy money for sure. A man with all your qualities, are very hard to come by," she observed, with a glint of the eye. "You could easily undertake an entire brothel all by your lonesome," she was slightly poking fun at Hans for the 'start a brothel' comment, since brothels required more than one. 

 The Captain had gotten flustered from the beginning, since he was indeed reliant on Hans, and that in itself was embarrassing enough. But, when Hans brought up the alternative and even if it was just a joke, had made his eyes widen and his facial features shifted to utter horror. It was rather easy to ruffle his feathers, with that subject. 

 "Oh dear God, no!" the Captain shuddered, covering his face with one hand for a moment, before making his fingers rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Anything, but that." Hans had really tested the Captain's patience.

Hans snickered a little. "Sorry Captain, twelve brothers have rather made me good at teasing. God knows we're no good for anything else until we can swing swords about. Anyway, whatever your last play was, bullshit." Hans had been watching the game in between witticisms, and noted that he and the Captain both were perilously low on cards. He wasn't stupid, the game only got good when the pile was thick-- though someone picking the pile up late, as often happened, made for an intrigue as well, for then no-one truly knew the fate of the cards. And if he had to pick some up, well, Hans was one of the few who had strategies for Cheat beyond 'the last card in anyone's hand is almost always bullshit'.

 "Finally calling me out on my bullshit. Congratulations it paid off," concluded the Captain, picking up the pile after revealing his cards. The pile wasn't too big, but thick enough to significantly push Hans in the lead with the least amount of cards.

 "Don't be too proud, captain, I was aware of your bullshit a while back, but what are friends for, if not supporting one-another's nonsense?" He joked dryly. "Or perhaps, is it rude to call you a friend of a treasoner? I would hate to insult you." That was much less of a joke, as he continued to watch his cards. "Is this a bad time to admit that this game can easily go for an hour?" He smiled a little to himself and drank his rum, but there was a bit of insincerity to it. Any time he got to thinking about himself, it seemed he got a little less genuine, a little less jovial.

 "I'd be more offended if you didn't think there was some sort of camaraderie between us," answered the Captain. "Considering we're gonna be spending a lot of time working together. If you thought I was good for nothing other than jokes and buying drinks, I'd be insulted for sure." He chuckled. 

 "You know not that long ago, if someone'd told me I'd someday be sharing a drink with Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, I'da laughed in their face and thought they were crazy." He laughed a little to himself. "Look at me now, I'm playing cards even." 

 "Now don't go blabbing that the Captain of the Guard takes criminals out for drinks, if the guys in the dungeon catch wind of it they'll have themselves a field day," joked the Captain. He chuckled a bit then got a bit more serious. "You really think I'd ask anyone to share a drink with me? And much less a common criminal? If so, you're sorely mistaken, I only reserve that privilege for people I respect." The Captain raised his glass and drank from it.

Hans seemed a little wry, and gestured around him. 

 "I imagine anyone here would have thought it equally hilarious so much as a month ago. I bring out interesting qualities in people, and they do the same to me." He admitted. "Forgive me for not thinking much of myself. I've earned an admiralty and that much I consider admirable. An Admirable Admiral. Hah. But the rest I could take or leave. Maybe the swordplay." He gave an offhand shrug. "Princes are a dime a dozen in the Isles, and you get the thirteenth free." Still, that was a joke, but he seemed somewhat lightened. His tone fluctuated seemingly with the tides, for how fluid he could be, jokes and jibes turning into self-deprecation and mild loathing for himself alone, yet he maintained a tone of friends at a bar, no matter how many were listening.

-- The night at the tavern continued with a few more rounds of cards, after the first game concluded, to Derrick's dismay he lost the first game and had to buy the table drinks. After testing the waters with the first round, a lot of the bystanders decided to join in the fun, for themselves. Which meant more drinks, quips and laughter. After a few rounds and tired of being awarded something simple like alcohol, they'd decided to up the ante for the final round and raise the stakes to something that was worth a bit more, (not monetary, but something that'd put their dignities on the line) they agreed to bet that everyone other than the winner had to sing a song. The Captain was greatly relieved to have won that round. Soon after disbanding what seemed to be an endless concert of drunken singing, that dragged on a tad bit too long thanks to Hans actually enjoying the punishment and crowd continuously asking for an encore, the Captain finally called it a night. He decided it'd be best if escorted Hans back to the castle before he became too inebriated.

[ajokeformur-ray]

🌹Hey! I don’t know if your Joker requests are open for this but could you please ship me with Arthur and Joker? So I’m a girl and I like men. I’m in my mid 20s but yesterday was asked to show my ID and prove that I’m over 16 (when trying to watch Joker for the second time). But I’m not very proud with my looks so I’ll skip talking about them. I’d like to think I’m intelligent, I just love learning new things and often imagine myself as a university lecturer. I’m trying hard to overcome my

🌹 natural shyness and social awkwardness and am getting better and better at talking in front of an audience. I’m a very practical and caring girl, I’m always there for my friends but I hate asking for help, I’m a really independent person. I also don’t like sharing negativity so I always appear positive in front of people. Loyal, kind, nerd. Love to analyse every little detail which often leads me to overthinking. Can get sarcastic but only when I’m comfortable with you. Very organised and

🌹Network went down and deleted my last part :( Anyway, I’m a great cynic when it comes to true love as I don’t believe much in it. I hate to be told what to do (unless it’s a work related advice) and like to keep my private life private. Books are my greatest love. I’m a bit claustrophobic and don’t like reptiles. I’d like to think of myself as the villain but my friends say I’m one of the kindest people and need to learn to say no. Thank you! 

Arthur // wc: 955.

There’s an age gap of ten (ish) years between yourself and Arthur, so he’d be quite hesitant to even talk to you let alone initiate anything else; eventually, though, with your innate curiosity and your intelligence, he’s just so drawn to you that he can’t deny it. He would be very supportive of your dreams and he would nothing but the very best for you. Arthur would definitely worry that he’s holding you back, holding you down somehow, but that’s just because he’s so, so proud of you even if all you get done in a given day is simply wake up, and he would worry, but he wouldn’t dare question what the two of you have together. He would probably tease you by calling you “my lecturer” or “so how’s my lecturer doing today?”, just because he’s practically bursting with love and pride for you. Arthur would do anything for you - anything. He cares so little for himself but for you, why, he’d give the world and then some. 

You’re both socially awkward and shy, though Arthur does have a bit more confidence when you’re out together in public. He can’t and won’t speak up for himself, but if you need something or you’re too shy to go and ask for something, then he’s up and out of his seat and back to your side quicker than you can say ‘no’. He’s kind of like the mum friend in your relationship where your own anxiety is concerned, even if he’s choking on a laughing it you can bet that he’ll do anything for you! You’re practical and caring, and Arthur is just so drawn to you for that, initially, but then when you start caring about him? Oh, honey, he’s gone. Both of you are there for everyone else but neither of you will do anything for yourselves; so you look after each other so that your own selves are taken care of. It’s quite a healthy dynamic, though the first time you did something unprompted for Arthur, he was beside himself and questioned his own reality at that moment. Unlike all the times before, though, he had you to reassure him. Arthur would know when you’re appearing rather than actually feeling positive; so well does he know you and so emotionally intelligent is he. When he sees you doing it when it’s just the two of you, he takes your hand in his and tells you “You don’t have to hide when you’re with me” and whenever he asks you if you’re okay, his green oceans linger on your face as he assesses your body language for himself; he’ll either nod in satisfaction, pleased that you gave him a genuine answer, or his lips will quirk downwards and his brows will knit together in concern. He doesn’t push unless it’s an emergency, though; he figures you’ll tell him when you’re ready to and not before, even if his heart is breaking on the inside for you. He hates seeing anything less than a smile on your face.  

Your kindness and your loyalty are truly invaluable to Arthur and indeed, it seems as though the two of you are a ride or die couple, for he is also doubtlessly loyal to those who are nice to him; it’s so rare for him to find a good soul in Gotham, so when he found you, he was ready to cling there and then. Arthur finds your sarcasm to be a strange kind of compliment, for it means that you are comfortable around him. He was startled at first but when you explained what it means to him, his face melted into the brightest, most genuine smile and he felt no qualms in being sarcastic back to you. You’re super organised and so is Arthur so even if the two of you are bone-tired at the end of a long day, there’s never any rush to get things ready for the next day. And if there is? You might find that Arthur was up all night sorting yours and his things out. You scold him because you care, and well if you’re a little more affectionate with him that day? He’s not complaining. He’s just so in love with you that he can’t even physically contain it within his fragile human vessel most days. He hopes that he’s your exception to your cynicism towards true love; though he’d never ask. He’s wise enough to know that he shouldn’t ask questions he isn’t ready to hear the answers for; and besides, he doesn’t need to ask. He knows.

You’re a bibliophile and Arthur would visit the library in the very early days of knowing you so that he can take out your most favourite books; even if he can’t understand the ink stains contained within the worn pages which hundreds of people have touched before, it makes him feel just a little bit closer to you. He might bring it up while he’s on a date with you because he wants to see the way your eyes light up in passion when you’re talking about the things you love. Arthur would hate for you to be taken advantage of because of your kindness and if he ever caught wind or sight of it then he’d werewolf and go wild on the people who dared to hurt his Y/N. Sometimes he’d wonder if he’s one of those people, but he knows it’s just his own anxieties and isn’t a reflection of you. He just loves you so much and he only wants the very, very best of states of happiness and peace for you. He’d be your biggest supporter and he’d always, always be in your corner.

Joker // wc: 840.

Whereas he used to be reserved about dating you because of the age difference, now he doesn’t care all that much - you’re both over the age of consent and you’re both fully-fledged adults so for Joker, there’s no issue at all. Your curiosity is such that Joker would likely go out of his way to find new things to bring home to you - films, books, pebbles that he found on the pavement which made him think of you… Anything and everything which would spark that look in your eyes that after years of being together, Joker knows to mean that you’re curious and want to learn something new. If you ever put serious thought into being a university lecturer, then Joker would be reminded of all the times he asked how his lecturer was doing and he would start grinning smugly - look at you go!!! He’d be so, so proud of you no matter what you do with your life and he would always be your biggest, most genuine supporter. That’s one thing that didn’t change with his mental break; his love, admiration and respect for you.

Joker finds your natural shyness adorable and I hope you’re prepared to be teased lightly for it - “awwh, that’s an interesting shade of red on you. Where have I seen it before? *tugs on his blazer pointedly*”. When you’re out in public together, he’s definitely keeping the closest eye on you. If you’re uncomfortable, his hand already clasping yours tightens and he murmurs a quick question to check in on you - if you want to go, just say the word and he’s got it covered. You’re super independent and that gives Joker one less thing to worry about, though he still keeps attention paid on you so when you have things that still need to be done, you’ll wake up to find that it’s already been done for you. Joker would want for you to be your most authentic self, just as he is with you, but he would understand if it’s somewhat filtered because you don’t like to share negativity - he gets it. He, too, spent years putting on a happy face.

You’re loyal and you’re kind and Joker doesn’t know if you’re still with him because of that or because you really, genuinely love him, even still, but he won’t question it. He can’t. I have a feeling he would propose to you if you loved him still, with who he is. Sure, marriage is a lot of money and a piece of paper, but there would be heaps of unspoken insecurities lacing his question. He knows you’re a cynic, he does, he gets it because, for years, decades, he didn’t believe in love, either, not even the most basic of loves, but he would hope. He would hope and those glistening tears in his green eyes only belie his casual tone. He’s gonna choke on laughter, but still, he would ask. He would. Joker would love your sarcasm and he would always send a quip back your way, tossing his head back in laughter, but he observes fine lines and boundaries with you only. His comedy is based on the darkest and blackest of humour, but he’s careful with you. When you get to overthinking, Joker listens carefully to everything you say, everything which comes pouring out of you, and he’ll “mm-hm” and nod with his hands on his pockets. When you get to the nitty-gritty bits though, like worrying you won’t be able to do this thing even though logically there’s no way you won’t, Joker starts grinning, he won’t even hide his amusement. There’s a genuine need to help you, though, and with careful questions, deliberate smiles and gentle hands, that’s exactly what he does. Anything for you. Anything. 

You like to keep your private life private, and that’s super important when it comes to dating Joker. The police are always on his tail and they would spot Joker instantly in his eccentric three-piece suit and brightly painted visage. But plain ol’ Arthur Fleck goes unseen, and this is where your need and respect for privacy hugely come in handy. You can expect him to frequently come home with a new book or three for you stashed away in his suit somewhere. Don’t ask too many questions, just take it and enjoy it and show Joker that you love him the way you both want to. He wouldn’t want for you to be taken advantage of because of your kindness, and if he even heard of it, then the people who did that to you or even tried to would find themselves face to face with a pissed off Joker and that is a truly fatal thing to encounter - unless it’s you in which case *shrugs* he can calm down super quickly, though he’d make it known to you. He’s your biggest and loudest supporter, he always has been and he always will be. He just loves you so, so much.

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Back Home

Summary:  After having been gone for a few days Castiel receives some slightly worrying text messages from both Dean and Sam.

Word Count: 2,185

When will you be back home, man?

Dean’s text reaches Castiel shortly after 6 PM, just when he stopped his car at a red light and took the chance to glance at the vibrating phone in his coat pocket.

Soon , he writes back immediately, hoping that answer is sufficient enough. Even though it’s been years since he found himself sans wings and constricted to automobiles instead he still has a hard times more often than not to estimate distances and how long it actually takes to get from point A to B.

It could be minutes, hours, even days - everything might be possible.

How long is soon???

The excessive use of question marks makes Castiel instantly wheel his car onto an open parking space right next to him and ask the internet for advice.

According to google five hours and fourteen minutes.

Good.

And that’s it.

No new messages, no inquiries, not even a flirty little pun Dean usually loves to send him on a regular basis.

Castiel blinks at the device in his hands and waits for a while, wondering whether a further response just might take a moment. But after ten minutes of silence the angel decides to start the car again and carry on with his journey, so he would actually meet google’s prediction.

About half an hour later, as he looks at his phone once more while he has to wait for a man to maneuver his car around some poorly parked motorbikes, Castiel discovers that yet another text message arrived somewhere along the way.

This one is from Sam, though.

Dean said you’re back soon? Hope that’s true, buddy. We REALLY need you here.

Castiel frowns at that. This sounds rather urgent.

What is it? he writes back right away. Is it a case?

Sam doesn’t wait around to answer, No, we just REALLY need you here.  

Castiel feels a huge wave of worry wash over him all of a sudden. Are you hurt? Did something happen??

Ah fuck, no. Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out like that. No one is hurt or dying or whatever … yet, at least.

Castiel grinds his teeth. This is not reassuring, Sam!

Please don’t worry, there is nothing supernatural going on. Just brothers being VERY annoying. Dean is driving me NUTS.

Castiel slowly releases the breath he’s been holding in. This sounds harmless enough, at least. He left the bunker about five days ago to wrap up some angel business one state over and the brothers had been in Lebanon ever since. No case in sight and cooped up underground more or less the whole time because of severe rainstorms all over Kansas. It appears it finally caught up on Dean and Sam.

Just … come back home, Sam writes back. Dean’s getting insufferable without you around.

Castiel can’t help a small smile at that before putting the phone aside again and continuing his journey.

In the end he beats google’s forecast by twenty-seven minutes and feels fairly pleased with himself, even if he’s not really sure whether this is a cause for celebration or not.

Sam is to first to greet him as soon as he leaves the garage and steps into the living area.

“Damn, Cas!” he exclaims as he wraps his long arms around the angel’s torso and squeezes him so tightly Castiel sure as hell would’ve choked if he actually would’ve been dependant on oxygen for survival. “It’s so good to see you!”

Castiel pats Sam’s back awkwardly and patiently waits for the hunter to let him go eventually.

It happens just a few seconds later, fairly abruptly actually, when Sam loosens his grip and shoots the angel a bright smile before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him deeper into the bunker.

“I can finally have some peace now!” Sam says happily.

Castiel creases his forehead as he lets himself manhandled through the bunker’s hallway. “I don’t understand,” he states, confused. “What is going on?”

Sam groans. “Call it pining or moping or Dean just being an ass …” He shuts his eyes for a second. “I’m just glad you’re back, man. Dean is so fucking sleep-deprived I’ve considered knocking him out with my fist constantly for the last couple of days!”

Castiel arches his brow, not sure what to even think about that, but before he has a chance to ask for some enlightenment they’re suddenly standing in front of the door leading into Dean’s room.

And Sam instantly kicks it in without any preamble whatsoever.

The hinges protest vocally against this sort of violent treatment and Dean inside the room, who has been sitting on his bed and reading a book, certainly seems to agree as his death glare focuses on his brother.

“Sammy, what the fuck ?” he growls, seemingly ready for murder. “What are you even -?”

He comes to a screeching halt, however, as soon as he spots Castiel.

His whole demeanor changes instantly. His face lights up, his snarl turns into a smile and his features soften so visibly for a moment it seems like he’s transforming into an entirely new person right here in front of them.

It’s truly a remarkable transition.

“Look at that, I found your angel!” Sam announces, meanwhile, before shoving Castiel kind of roughly into the room. “Now do me a favor and don’t leave these four fucking walls for the next twenty-four hours !”

Castiel looks back and forth between the brothers, unsure whether it’d be wise to say something or whether he should stay silent in order to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Sammy …” Dean says in the meantime.

“Don’t Sammy me!” Sam cuts in harshly. “Just. Go. The. Fuck. To. Sleep.”

With these words he slams the door closed again and storms off to where he came from, muttering underneath his breath something about “dumbass brothers” and “kindergarten” the whole way.

“What was that about?” Castiel wonders.

Instead of an answer, however, Castiel finds himself with an armful of Dean all of a sudden. The hunter’s arms cling to him so strongly, like he’s afraid the angel might escape any second now, as he aligns their bodies until there’s not an inch of air left between them.

“Cas,” he whispers, his voice laced with so much relief. “You’re back early.”

Despite his continued confusion Castiel can’t help reciprocating the embrace wholeheartedly. “Well, I beat the internet.”

Dean chuckles softly. “You sure did.”

And then he dives in for a kiss. It’s gentle, almost chaste, but there’s also some kind of urgency behind it that makes Castiel a little worried instantly.

He draws back somewhat and studies Dean’s features intently. His eyes, usually so lively and now a bit dull, the heavy bags underneath them, his skin slightly ashen …

“Dean,” he breathes as he cards his fingers through the other man’s hair. “What is going on? You look terrible.”

Dean scoffs before burying his face in Castiel’s neck, as though he’s trying to hide from the angel’s view. “Thanks for that, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean …” Castiel sighs. “Are you unwell? Sick?”

He’s already prepared to use his heavenly powers and cure Dean from any kind of disease that had the audacity to even look in his direction.

Dean, though, shakes his head. “I’m just … it’s stupid …”

Castiel frowns. “What is?”

“I missed you …”

Castiel still doesn’t grasp the problem at hand. “There is nothing stupid about missing me. I did so too. Miss you , I mean.”

Dean starts to squirm in Castiel’s arm, obviously uncomfortable by the whole thing. “I just … it seems I’ve got …”

He trails off, apparently not sure how to explain himself.

Castiel, meanwhile, keeps running his fingers through Dean’s hair, hoping the gesture might be soothing. And indeed Dean’s tense muscles begin to relax after a minute and he all but melts against the angel.

“I just missed you,” he whispers, his face still hidden against Castiel’s skin. “Especially … well, at night. In my bed.”

Castiel glances at the now so familiar memory foam. “You missed sex?”

“No!” is Dean quick to protest. He pulls back a little to look right into Castiel’s face, his cheeks beautifully flushed. “I mean, of course, you and me … it’s always … well, really awesome …” He blushes even more and Castiel can’t help enjoying the sight of Dean Winchester himself getting flustered about sex. “But I was rather talking about … well, you in my bed. With me. The whole night.”

Castiel tilts his head as he slowly starts to catch up. “Are you referring to sleep ?”

Since they “got their head out of their asses” a few months ago, as Sam had put it so romantically, Castiel started to share Dean’s bed with him. He doesn’t really require any kind of sleep, but since his time as a human he found a taste for letting go for a little while and simply succumbing to some blissful peace for a few hours. It turned out to be especially wonderful with Dean lying in his arms.

Just the two of them, underneath the covers, while time itself seemed to have frozen around them.

Castiel began to cherish these beautiful moments more than anything.

“It’s so stupid,” Dean repeats once again, pressing his face against Castiel’s temple. “I slept most of my life alone and I was totally fine. And now you’re coming along and I can’t even manage a few simple days. How pathetic is that?”

Castiel creases his forehead as realization hits him. “Are you implying you haven’t slept the last five days since I’ve been gone?”

Dean is silent for a moment, like he’d rather do anything else than answer, but eventually he admits, sheepishly, “Yeah, I guess.”

Castiel leans back enough to meet Dean’s gaze again. “Not at all?”

Dean grimaces. “Well, a little,” he tries to defend himself. “A quick nap or two.”

“But that’s it?”

Dean ducks his head. “Yeah, I know - pathetic ,” he says, snorting. “I got quite cranky after a while and Sam … well, you’ve seen him. I’m actually surprised I’m still alive. I really thought he would kill me at some point and dump my body somewhere deep in the woods.”

Castiel raises a brow. “Cranky?”

Dean fidgets awkwardly. “Yeah, I mean … lots of yelling and stuff. At one point I think I threw a book at him.”

“A book?”

Dean winces. “Or maybe it was a mug?” He shakes his head. “God, I’m such an ass when I’m sleep-deprived. It’s actually a wonder Sam didn’t commit fratricide.”

Well, Sam surely seemed highly agitated by his brother’s behavior. And if Dean indeed barely slept since Castiel left and eventually lashed out, that’s not very astonishing. There’s a fairly good reason why humans need their daily dose of sleep, otherwise mankind would’ve murdered each other a long time ago.

“Dean …” Castiel whispers, cupping Dean’s cheek tenderly.

“It’s just so stupid, right?” The hunter shakes his head as he averts the angel’s intense gaze. “I shouldn’t be so used to it by now. It’s not like we’re doing this thing that long anyway -”

He doesn’t really know what to think anymore, so Castiel simply presses his lips against Dean’s, as softly as possible. The hunter relaxes once more right away and deepens the kiss after a short while.

“It’s not stupid,” Castiel whispers against his skin, “every single night since I’ve been gone, I missed you so much . I looked up into the dark sky and longed to be with you.”

Dean’s entire demeanor gentles at Castiel’s words.

“And I didn’t catch any sleep either,” Castiel adds. “I didn’t even try, I just knew it would be a futile endeavor.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need any sleep,” Dean points out.

“But I missed you so much I annoyed the other angels severely with my ‘crankiness’ either way,” Castiel tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “At the end they looked at me with the same murderous eyes Sam shot at you.”

Dean laughs softly at that. “We’re two seriously pathetic dumbasses, huh?”

“If that means I can be with you, I’m fine with that.”

Soon enough they find themselves shedding their clothes and stealing gentle kisses, unable to stop touching for very long, but also eager to get into bed and catch up on what they’ve missed.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as they finally hit the mattress and spread the covers above them, a sensation of warmth and home filling him up. A feeling that only gets exceptionally stronger when Dean pulls him into his arms, as close as possible.

“Love you,” Dean mumbles into his skin, seemingly already on the verge of sleep.

Castiel’s heart squeezes automatically. It’s not the first time he’s heard those words from Dean, not by a longshot, but everytime it feels absolutely exhilarating.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, his fingers brushing over Dean’s back. “So much.”

And so they sleep.

-----

Meanwhile, Sam throws himself a big party in his room and swears to every deity that might listen that he will never leave the angel out of his sight ever again.

[aurora-nova-fic]

Scenes from an abandoned sequel

At one time, I’d considered writing a sequel to Four Truths (aka the one where Julian joins the crew of the Rotarran) but the idea fell apart. If I was going to keep writing in that ‘verse, it would have to turn into a long saga spanning the entire war. Eh. I didn’t have inspiration or desire to do that at the time, and I still don’t.

On the other hand, I do like a few scenes I wrote, so I’m posting them here and linking on AO3.

The Rotarran’s crew was wary of Garak. Bashir they dismissed entirely.

Garak entered the mess hall at midday and promptly reconsidered his desire to eat when he smelled the slop being served. Only the fact that he did require sustenance compelled him to at least examine the options, which were few in number but strong in odor. He feared the entrée was rotting.

There was a soup which was blessedly free of anything still wriggling, so he settled on a bowl of that. The warriors aboard gave him wide berth, which was fine, because it meant they weren’t inclined to interfere with his lunch. He doubted they’d be very stimulating conversationalists.

Halfway through the bowl of soup he had yet to find anything which might have been a plant. Garak knew Klingons required less vegetables than most species, but this was absurd.

In the middle of this uninspired meal, the mess hall doors opened to admit Bashir, who was promptly met by an aggressive young officer. (Was there any other kind of young officer on a Klingon ship?) Garak tensed, ready to intervene if required, but Bashir looked his way and shook his head slightly. It was for the best, really. He had to prove himself, not place himself so obviously under Garak’s protection.

That didn’t mean Garak liked it.

“So you are the first step in the Federation’s plans to tame the Empire.”

“I’m actually here to keep you from dying of something inglorious like an infection,” replied Bashir.

“You want to make us weak.”

“If you consider getting back to fighting shape faster a weakness, I have to disagree.”

Two of the Klingon’s friends stood behind him. Predictably, the trio glowered.

“Is there a point to this conversation, or can I get my lunch?” asked Bashir.

If he’d wanted to annoy his antagonist further, he succeeded admirably. Being a Klingon, the man immediately escalated to physical violence, making to shove the doctor. Instead, Bashir grabbed the warrior’s wrist, to the simpleton’s obvious surprise.

“Stronger than I look, aren’t I?” asked the doctor conversationally. He twisted the wrist in his grip slightly. “Maybe not stronger than you are, but not the weakling you expected. And you know what else I am?”

Quick as a desert snake, Bashir drew the d’k tahg Dax had given him, while dropping the Klingon’s wrist and grabbing a lock of hair. He sliced off several centimeters before the warrior jumped back.

“Fast,” he said. “Enjoy your lunch.” Then he sheathed his d’k tahg, tossed the hair to the floor, and walked to the serving counter.

Everyone else in the mess hall laughed. Bashir got his food and joined Garak, who was the only person aware just how nervous the doctor had been.

“I’ve got to thank Jadzia for her advice,” said Bashir when he sat down. “She told me I needed to prove myself as early as possible. Cutting hair was one of her suggestions. It’s humiliating to lop off a lot of a warrior’s hair, but I only took a small piece to make a point that I’m not an easy target.”

“I hope you didn’t just make an enemy.”

“So do I,” said Bashir, “but she said this was important, and I trust her.” After a spoonful of soup, he mused, “It still feels strange to carry a knife.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Garak. He never went anywhere without at least two, though unlike Klingons, he preferred to conceal his. He now added a slender Cardassian shenta blade at his right hip. Any Klingon looking to cause trouble would focus on that and not see the other knives coming, which was always ideal. Surprise was often the most powerful weapon in one’s arsenal. “Did Dax tell you the d’k tahg was vital, as well?”

“She and Martok both. Martok had one for me, but Jadzia’s is better.”

“A higher quality blade?” asked Garak.

“A more storied weapon. It was Koloth’s.”

This caused a passing warrior to stop in his tracks. “Did you say you wield Koloth’s d’k tahg?”

“Yes,” said Bashir. “I said so, and I do.”

“How did a human doctor come to possess the weapon of such a noble Klingon?”

“It was a gift. Koloth swore a blood oath against the Albino with Kor, Kang, and Curzon Dax.”

“Everyone knows that,” said the warrior.

“Curzon Dax, you may have heard, was a joined Trill. He died before the blood oath could be fulfilled, but the next Dax, Jadzia, joined the three warriors on their quest.”

The Klingon nodded. “Koloth and Kang died honorably defeating the Albino. This does not explain how you got the d’k tahg.”

“I was getting to that. Jadzia Dax is my friend. You may remember her from her recent time aboard the Rotarran. She gave me Koloth’s d’k tahg, which Kor insisted she take after their revenge against the Albino was complete, as a gift. Might I know to whom I’ve told this story?”

“I am Hawp, son of Loras.”

“Julian Bashir. Pleased to meet you.”

Garak understood what Dax had done, and was as impressed with her plan as the assembled Klingons were with the provenance of Bashir’s knife. A dozen of them came up to introduce themselves and admire the weapon, even the one who’d received an unplanned haircut. Dax had not only given Bashir information to establish himself in the social order of the Rotarran, she’d provided him with a way to make himself worthy of notice.

The real test, of course, came after their first battle. Casualties were relatively light with the notable exception of a junior engineer. Bashir spent eight hours in surgery saving the man’s foot with underwhelming medical equipment, and since the rest of the (very sparse) engineering crew expected amputation, the doctor’s reputation benefitted greatly from his success.

The engineer in question, given the continued use of his left foot, would leave no bad word against Bashir unchallenged.

In the aftermath of that battle, Garak found a way to make himself useful. He doubted very much Martok invited him aboard solely to keep the doctor company, and an intercepted message proved an ideal manner of demonstrating his value. He decoded it with minor difficulty, as it was only moderately protected. Then he made his way to the bridge.

“General.”

“What?”

“I have something which may interest you. The Cardassian ships received instructions to concentrate their attacks on B’Toru-class birds of prey when possible.”

Martok was indeed interested. “How do you know this?”

“I took the liberty of scanning on Cardassian frequencies during our recent engagement. As most of the vessels were Jem’Hadar, my efforts yielded only modest results, but I have translated the message.”

“Yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You know Klingon?”

“My reading comprehension is better than my pronunciation. I thought it wise to accept the translator you offered.” He had one of his own, but the general didn’t need to know that. It was better to appear grateful for generosity offered.

Martok read the message. “This is useful information. Let us discuss how our fleets can intercept more.”

It was probably not what Tain had in mind when he asked Garak to avenge his death, but it was the only option available, and Garak was pleased to contribute to the war in any fashion. He would not stop until Cardassia stood free of Dominion rule or he was dead. The latter option seemed increasingly likely, but until such time as it came to pass, he would devote himself to defeating the Dominion.

In the meantime, at least Klingons kept their lighting lower than the Federation did.

[alsolfu]

Pink Skies (Part Three)

(Part One & Two) (AO3)

After enduring the entirety of a war, Lorenz was hard pressed to be intimidated. He knew his worth after painstakingly long years of learning that confidence didn’t entirely make up for a lack of competence. There had been so much trial and error, leagues of missteps that he’d gotten through to be where he was now.

So it was with a peculiar edge of wariness that he accepted the cup of tea from Rhea. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by a woman still recovering from imprisonment. He respected her greatly, but to feel intimidation right now would be preposterous.

Still, he found it difficult to keep her gaze.

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. You’ve stuck by Byleth’s side throughout everything, and you’ve sought a wife long before needing one. What exactly is your objection to this proposal?”

He lifted the teacup from its saucer delicately and blew on the surface of the tea. An urge for pleasantries and small talk came to him as he took a sip. He fought it down, an easy task to accomplish with Rhea’s intense gaze locked onto him.

“I’ve learned well that it’s bad practice to coerce someone into marriage.” Despite the situation, the intimidation, and the too hot tea, he felt in his element. “Spending your life with someone isn’t a decision to be made impetuously.”

Rhea tilted her head in a long stare at him, saying nothing for a stretch. Like intimidation, Lorenz never felt unnerved. He didn’t! And he certainly didn’t feel it now. When Rhea smiled, it did nothing to settle him; he took a large drink of tea in an attempt to remedy that but ended up with a burning throat and chest. He swallowed hard and returned the smile.

“Tell me how you met Byleth. Was it during her first lesson, or perhaps she introduced herself before then?”

Lorenz relaxed at this hint of small talk, lowering his hands and the teacup in them to the table between them. “She wasn’t one for introductions. I heard tell of the mercenary who’d saved Claude and saw her around the monastery with him when she first arrived. I thought she would be another student and made it a point to make myself known.”

A slow nod from Rhea relaxed him further. She seemed to be understanding; maybe all she required was a sensible explanation to let go of the potential fiasco that this arranged marriage was sure to be.

“Any point of contention?” Rhea finally picked up her own teacup, one of her eyebrows arching carefully. “I recall her addressing complaints about you. Are there possible lingering resentments over this?”

The teacup in Lorenz’s hand clattered against its saucer when he placed it down. “Resent― Of course not.”

He’d been a different person then. He’d thought her shutting down his romantic pursuits to be a misguided attempt to keep him tamed. The ladies were honored to have his attention, he’d thought. He looked down into his teacup, now nearly empty. Right. What a person he’d been. It was no wonder Byleth was so adamant against marrying him.

A frown pulled at his mouth, and he brushed his hair over a shoulder in one quick flip. “It’s not as if she was so perfect. For someone who rarely spoke outside of lessons, she was loud, dirty, and―” He cut himself off, his eyes widening in realization at what he was saying about his professor. His friend.

Rhea’s smile broadened, and she nodded in invitation for him to continue.

Lorenz sipped the last of his tea and placed the cup and saucer back onto the table. He didn’t especially want to divulge his old perceptions of Byleth, but it could be just the thing to end this.

“Common. She was proudly common.”

⁂

He missed the school of sorcery in Fhirdiad. The studies had been far more focused. The new professor wanted him to give the lance a try. He couldn’t sense any progress being made, but if he had to give Byleth credit for anything, it would be her consistency. She had a feeling about him, she’d said. Sure. Regardless of her feeling, Lorenz excelled in everything he saw worth pursuing. This would be no different… once he grasped the concept.

Fingers and hands sore from the new training, he held his teacup gingerly. Across the table from him sat Ferdinand, who spoke at length about a particularly heart-racing experience he’d had before coming to the monastery. Lorenz would normally cut in with his own thoughts, but the ache in his hands distracted. The professor had actually brought this bit of culture in the form of Ferdinand into his circle, giving him a reprieve from the constant buffoonery Claude loved to indulge in. So that was two things he had to credit her: consistency and understanding his need for decent conversation.

“Professor!”

Lorenz nearly dropped his teacup at Ferdinand’s sudden call. He followed the other man’s line of sight to find his professor standing on the edge of the courtyard. The day was sunny, lighting up her face and brightening the shades of green in her hair. She approached their gazebo with a curious look, glancing between Ferdinand and Lorenz as if she wasn’t sure which one had called her over. She never smiled, and it was frankly off-putting.

The closer she became, the more Lorenz wished she wouldn’t. In one hand, she held a fishing rod. That had been clear from a distance. Now, though, he couldn’t keep from curling his lip at the squirming mass of… He put his teacup down and quickly tugged a handkerchief from a pocket to cover his mouth.

“Indulging in an outdoor activity on such a nice day?” Ferdinand asked with a small nod toward her fishing pole. “That’s a brilliant idea, professor.”

Lorenz fought an eye roll. Minding manners was an utmost importance, but was Ferdinand always so overly polite to people who weren’t… noble? There was a time and place for niceties, and this wasn’t it. Just let her continue on her way. She had pockets spilling over with live insect larva. Lorenz felt his stomach clench when a few of the tiny, squirming things fell to the ground as she shifted the pole from one arm to the other, propping it on her shoulder.

“I’m relieved to see you enjoying each other’s company,” she said, still looking between them. She must’ve been out in the sun for a while; it showed on her skin, twinged pink along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. “I had a feeling you’d be fast friends.”

“Professor,” Lorenz spoke up, lowering the handkerchief. “Try not to overuse that turn of phrase.”

Byleth cocked her head and stared at him. More larva tumbled out of her overly stuffed pockets. “Hm?”

Lorenz returned the handkerchief to his mouth and closed his eyes. For a person who didn’t give much in terms of facial or bodily expression, Byleth seemed to always have a feeling about things, about Ferdinand’s friendship, about Lorenz himself.

Well, Lorenz had a feeling about her in return, and it wasn’t one that should be mentioned in polite company.

⁂

Lorenz had been proven wrong. He was remiss to assume Byleth incapable of genuine feeling. She was the one in the wrong regarding his expression of romantic interest in the young women he deemed suitable, but he trusted that she’d recognize that someday. In the meantime, he decided to listen to her advice. It wouldn’t hurt to hone his skill in wooing before exercising it on the right person.

To be so incorrect himself, though, was a new concept. Byleth could indeed smile; more than, where he was concerned. As if by an accidental miracle, he’d made her laugh. Part of him was curious enough to want to do it again. He just… wasn’t certain as to how.

Opportunity struck when she caught him outside the gardens, her hands covered in dirt from Sothis knew what she’d been up to in the greenhouse. She invited him to share a meal with her. He considered her approach with caution. She must’ve been entertaining someone important, a nobleman in all likelihood, and needed him as a buffer. It was a wise choice, and he wouldn’t turn down someone so clearly in need of his aid.

He realized his mistake when sitting across from her at one of the tables in the galley. In the seat next to him sat Ignatz, smiling and blinking at him from behind his round spectacles. Rather than showing the uncertainty he felt, he lifted his chin and greeted them both. The plate waiting for him on the table was― oh.

He allowed an easy smile to cross his face, aimed at Byleth. “I did not expect such a delicacy to come from the dining hall.”

Ignatz echoed a similar praise before they tucked in. It was a shock to Lorenz that they could share a favorite food. Of course not all commoners were the same; Lorenz knew that. But it was a surprise all the same.

Byleth held her fork like a knife, the same way Felix Fraldarious did the one time Lorenz was so unfortunate to eat near him. She stabbed a bite of the fish on her plate and held the fork up as she said, “I caught a ton of fish this week.” She punctuated the statement by eating the entire bite in one go.

Lorenz endured the meal, deeply conflicted. It had to have been pure chance that she’d invite him to share in one of his favorite meals―two-fish saute was a rare thing in Garreg Mach―and he was thoroughly enjoying every single bite. But he couldn’t say, despite his budding curiosity, that he enjoyed her ghastly presence.

Rather than himself taking the role, Lorenz was grateful for Ignatz being present as a buffer of sorts between himself and the professor. Her table etiquette was horrendous, her words often vulgar, and she couldn’t seem to refrain from holding eye contact with him for far too long. It was impolite, to say the least.

Good thing she hadn’t been meeting with anyone important. Lorenz wasn’t sure keeping her from looking foolish was within even his realm of great capability. A shame, though, that he didn’t get the chance to make her laugh again.

⁂

“Again!”

Lorenz grit his teeth, wishing wholly that looks could kill. The professor hit the floor of the training grounds with her sword, urging him to repeat his recent manoeuvre. The tempo of it irritated him. Thwap, thwap, between her yelling, it was a countdown to his next move. He didn’t want to do it again and glared across the room at her. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck uncomfortably. This must’ve been the definition of misery, surely.

“Let’s go, string bean!”

He went into action at her insistence on using that awful nickname. She’d said during their first training session that he was too thin. Waifish. A freakishly tall skeleton with pale skin stretched over it. His appearance, like everything, mattered greatly, and he genuinely hoped she only meant to tease. Regardless, it worked to anger him, which drove their sessions for longer.

She was either terribly rude or an evil genius. He strongly believed it to be the former.

His grip on the lance tightened. Don’t just jab with it, she’d said. Worry about finesse later. Strike to kill every time. He moved through the motions with a mind aflame, rushing toward her through the ringing in his ears. She always went easy on him. He could tell, and he hated it. The thought pushed him forward harder.

Handling a lance required such a different way of thinking; not less thought than magic, just a complete wipe of what he knew about approaching an opponent. This, beyond the wildly different physical focus, should’ve been easier than his magic studies, in which he excelled. Yet he struggled. She was going to point out his shortcomings with the lance during their next lesson, just like she had the last time. And the time before that.

She swore loudly, the hard F―“Fuck!”―startling him out of his thoughts. He blinked, looking down at where she lay below him. With a foot planted on each side of her waist, he stood above, the tip of his lance piercing the floor next to her left arm. A long line in her skin, cut cleanly over her arm, began to drip blood.

His irritation subsided, and he met her wide eyes with concern. When had he overpowered her? He was larger, sure, but she’d always proven to be faster.

“Great job!” She was close enough that yelling was unnecessary, but it seemed to be more of a cheer this time. He withdrew the lance and stepped away from her to offer a hand. She took it with one of her rare smiles. On her feet, she let go of his hand to touch the cut. “I should go see Manuela. Excellent work, Lorenz.”

“It was only a trifle.” He watched her leave before putting away the lance and making his own exit. He supposed the lance training was actually working. His frustration faded into a soft pride.

Excellent work, Lorenz.

He smiled to himself on the way to the sauna, envisioning himself riding gallantly on a steed into battle. Perhaps her feeling about him had been right all along.

⁂

Silence followed the end of his explanation. It rested between him and Rhea, filling up the advisory room until Lorenz thought he could suffocate. Then, finally, Rhea frowned, her fingertips tracing the rim of her teacup delicately.

“I had no idea you disliked her so thoroughly.” Her fingers stopped, lingering above the cup. “If the hatred is this deep―”

“Archbishop, you misunderstand.” Lorenz touched the rose at his lapel and looked up to meet her eyes for the first time since beginning his story. “I could never hate her. She was our professor, and she led us to victory. We all care for her a great deal.”

Rhea lowered her hands, laying them one atop the other behind her teacup. “We are not asking Ignatz to marry her. Nor Ferdinand or Felix.” She paused, as if to think. “Do you think they are better candidates?”

If Lorenz were the type to snort, he’d be doing it now. Fodlan was beginning to rebuild itself, most of the others were off tending to their responsibilities, assuring their people and stamping down on all remaining enemies. Claude had left Fodlan entirely. The rest, between their duties and amidst the cleanup, were pairing off with those they’d grown closest to throughout the conflict.

It would take weeks to send for any one person who’d once stayed in Garreg Mach and weeks more to receive the refusal because I’m proposing to someone special when things settle more or I haven’t gotten over the person I lost in the war. I’m sorry, Archbishop. Sure, these could be gross assumptions, but Lorenz knew the others almost as well as he knew himself.

The crux of it lay in the fact that Byleth didn’t seem to want to get married, whatever her reasons may’ve been, and what they’d all learned, in spite of everything, was to trust the judgement of their professor.

[tiaragqueen]

In His Sights

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Jung Hoseok x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,8k

✂ Trigger Warning: Violence, obsessive tendencies, possessive behaviors, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“And I like the way you hurt inside; always waiting for the worst to get me by. And I like the way you hurt. After all you’ve done, look what I’ve become.” - Hurt [Get Scared]

           Jung Hoseok was a cheerful man.

          There wasn’t any day passed when he wasn’t smiling, or screaming in pure excitement. Sure, there were moments where he acted all mischievous and the like, but most of the time he was joyful.

          Almost as if he had no worries.

          This trait was what attracted you to him in the first place. Not only that, but he was also optimistic. He lent you a shoulder to cry on, giving you a piece of wise advice and listened to your problems without any judgments. At the end of your ranting and cries, he always cracked a joke or pull some harmless pranks on to your other friends. Anything to make sure you didn't go to sleep sad.

           He was so caring. The perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.

           Of course, that doesn’t mean he never experienced anger. He had, though, just like any other humans in this world. But it was rare, and the probability was small either. His friends could count on with one hand the times where he was truly mad, or at least, the small signs. Because despite his expressive nature, he possessed enormous self-control. The reason had to be very painful; severe enough to actually ignite his ire.

          And an angry Hoseok was an intimidating Hoseok.

         You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to erase the gory image from your brain. But it was a pointless attempt because how could you forget something that happened right in front of your eyes? And the fact that the culprit was none other than your lover himself, Jung Hoseok, made it all the more indelible.

          You had never expected your sweet, ‘sunshine’ of a man to be capable of such violent act. The man that claimed to be hope; your hope.

          Little did he know that your hope had long gone down the drain the moment he took a whip from the closet.

          Then again, love blinds people from any logic. Even the most affectionate ones.

          You had been bounded in this chair for God knows how long. Your muscles were stiff, and the rope chafed your sensitive skin. It might be bleeding, who knows. But you knew that it was nothing compared to what your brother suffered right now.

          Hoseok cracked his whip against your brother’s raw back. Another scream followed shortly; a heartrending wail that pierced through the night sky. You winced, a waterfall of tears streamed down your flushing cheeks. No matter how many times you’d heard it, you could never get used to that grievous sound. Nor could you bring yourself to stop crying when your brother was laying on his stomach – chained in the bed you shared with Hoseok – bare-chested and full of injuries.

          It all happened too fast; one minute you were heading to the kitchen to prepare some food for him, and the next you woke up in your dark room with a terrible headache.

          Hoseok put down the whip at last – you'd lost count on how many times he used that on to your dear sibling – and slowly turned to face you. You squirmed in your seat, trying to free yourself but to no avail. Hoseok was advancing towards you, and you had never begged him to leave you alone so loud in your life. His stride was slow and deliberate; meant to intimidate you and consume your entire being with an unadulterated fear.

          And he succeeded. Of course, he did. You had never seen this side before, and now you wished you could rewind the time.

          The tremor in your body was palpable, bringing forth cold sweats that poured from the pores. They trickled down to his palm that settled itself under your chin, dragging your face close to his. His minty breath – something that you used to love – felt like a freezing wind during winter. It brushed against your wet cheeks as if wanting to freeze the tears midway.

          He was close. Too close. You felt almost claustrophobic with the proximity. It was like being stuck in an elevator - with your enemy - for hours. Except you didn't know how long you'd been staying here. All you knew was that it was night, and Hoseok still wearing his work clothes. A red checkered shirt with its buttons opened, revealing his dark tank top underneath, black pants, and white snickers. It was an outfit that you had chosen yourself because he could be clingy and wanted to know your preferences in male clothing.

          Even though he already knew it, unbeknownst to you.

          “Who do you love the most?”

          Ah, there it was. The dreaded question. The first yet portentous inquiry he’d spoken after hours of intense torture and unremitting pain.

          It was unfair how he could easily ask that without thinking about the dilemma that weighted your mind. You loved Hoseok – you truly did – but he had become such an overwhelming figure in your life. Always hovering over you whilst shooting a cautious look to your friends as if they would steal you away from him. You had reassured him countless times before, that you were loyal to him and would never leave him for anyone. But Hoseok still retained his wary and overprotective traits because deep inside, he feared that you would change your mind and choose somebody else instead.

          Women are fickle creatures, after all. And it’s only natural for a man to protect his mate.

          “I...”

          What would you say? It’s not like you could choose who to love between a sibling or a lover. Both of them were kind to you, instilling warmth and love into your otherwise dull life. There was no bad blood; no family feud like those in dramas. They were supportive of your relationship with Hoseok, naively believing the mask of a doting and devoted boyfriend. And you, too, had fallen victim to it.

          The cliché quote said ‘nobody’s perfect’. And yet, you were still beguiled by that so-called perfection.

          But why? Why did he do this to him, to you? What could he possibly gain from this? Some kind of sick amusement? Satisfaction? Validation?

          “Why...? Why are you doing this?” you sobbed, peering up through your wet lashes to look at his unusually hollow eyes. It scared you because they used to glitter with mirth. And now, it almost seemed as if you were looking to a doll. “Answer me, goddammit-!”

          A hand clasped your mouth, preventing you from fully expressing your desperation and curses. You wanted to bite his palm for rudely cutting you off, but the fear of punishment forced you to stay put. Hoseok leaned forward, almost closing the suffocating space between the two of you. It could’ve been romantic had he didn’t look so cold yet empty.

          “You want to know why?”

          His voice was eerily calm despite the mocking tone. It terrified you; to see him act so cool because you couldn’t predict when and how he would lose his temper. You used to have this naïve thought that he might be one of those ‘violent and rampaging’ type, and while the former could be proved as accurate, the latter was clearly debatable.

          With his hand still attached to your mouth, you merely nodded in response.

          “It’s because you want to leave me.”

          Your eyes widened, both from shock and rage. How dare he accused you of something you hadn’t done. Hoseok might not be what you had thought about, but you never planned on leaving him. Unless-

          “You think I’m accusing you.” It was scary how he knew you so well until he could correctly predict what you were thinking about. You supposed that you should be flattered with the fact that he had taken the time to understand you – your flaws and all – but this just proved to you of how deep his love was.

          How long he had been watching you without your knowledge.

          “I’m right, aren’t I?” He narrowed his eyes, and you suddenly felt very small. Like a frightened deer in front of a fierce yet calculating cheetah because he could – and would – chase you to the end of the earth if necessary. “You have been meeting with your brother under the excuse of meeting your old friend. Oh, what was their name again? Seojoon?”

          You gulped silently.

          “There has never been a friend named Seojoon in your life, but I applaud you for your intricate lie in coming up with their background. Very believable, indeed. I almost fell for it.” He huffed out a derisive chuckle. “But you see, you can only keep up a lie for so long until it comes back to bite at you. And you have been found guilty.”

          He continued, “I’m not stupid enough to let you go outside without my supervision, [Name]. Especially when you met the one person that should be the most supportive of us.”

          Of course. Of course. How could you think that for one fucking second, you were free? That you could finally do anything and meet anyone you want? No, because the moment you accepted his confession, was when you gave him the reign to own you. To possess you as if you were some kind of a doll. A puppet to be controlled.

          How fucking stupid could you be, [Name]?!

          “But, no. Instead, he backstabbed me – us – by spouting out nonsense about how I’m not good enough for you and that I’m too possessive. Bullshit!” You flinched when he suddenly slammed his other hand against the table. “Your brother’s a fucking hypocrite, [Name]! How can you be so blind?! He’s trying to ruin our relationship!”

          Hoseok finally released his palm before he could risk suffocating you any further and paced around the room in frustration. “And I can’t let that happen. No, no, no. I won’t.” He dashed towards you with surprising speed and grabbed your face. “You belong to me, remember? Forever and ever. We’re gonna marry someday and then we move out to another country or something. Far away from here, because this place’s not safe anymore.”

          A manic smile slowly contorted his face when he noticed your trembling body. “Aw, why are you shaking? Are you scared?” he cooed, and you didn’t know whether he was taunting you or not. All you cared about was how you could burn this memory forever. “Don't worry, I’ll never hurt my darling. These are just the proofs of my love. ‘Cause we can’t have anyone to destroy something that we’ve built for so long, can we?”

          Another tear slipped from your eyelids at the implication. Hoseok wiped them away with a stroke and smiled softly. You sobbed harder, chest constricted at the bitter nostalgia. The sight in front of you reminded you so much of his usual behavior.

          The times where you were blissfully oblivious to his violent side. The times where he took you out on a spontaneous date and whisper some cheesy things reserved for your ears only. The times where he wasn't so crazy with you. Maybe he had, though. You just didn't know it. Yet. But you did now.

          Where did all those beautiful memories go?

          “I love you, [Name].”

[paullicino]

Hindsight is 2020

Just one of many posts taken from and funded by my Patreon.

This is a piece of writing about some things that I do know and some things that I do not know. It also is a piece of writing about another piece of writing which no longer exists, a sort of obituary for a document. It is also a confession.

I wonder where it is that good drafts go to die. Those half-finished pieces of work that are simultaneously salvageable and yet also surplus. There are times when words come easy and, if a writer isn’t careful, those words grow like a jungle, sprouting energetically in every direction until they destroy the view, ruin the perspective and reduce those caught amongst them to a sweaty, flustered mess.

I don’t want you to wade into my work to find yourself a sweaty, flustered mess. Otherwise, I’d be in the sauna business.

I throw things out. That’s good. Not everything we make or do will be up to our standards and it’s a wise idea to aggressively cull that which doesn’t work. It’s brutal, sure, but the fact is every writer you know is regularly hurling paragraphs down a secret trapdoor in their home, which they occasionally flip open empty their machine gun into. You have to kill your darlings.

And it's a luxury to be able to murder your mistakes.

But sometimes there’s one that you rescue. There’s one that comes back. There’s one that is pulled from the brink, thrown on the gurney and shocked back into being. "It’s alive," the writer screams, as it twitches once again. Watch it stagger out into the world, walking as if for the first time. Look at its cute little hyphens.

This piece of writing is one of those. It began, more than a month ago, as an attempt to reflect on December. It started like this:

“It’s difficult for me to write about December without also writing some kind of a retrospective for an entire decade. This month has been a hugely reflective one for me and it’s been impossible not to get swept up in the general trend of looking back and taking stock, something that I initially resisted but which has become a positive, enriching exercise. The past has been on my mind in part because it’s infinitely more concrete than the present or the future. It’s so much easier to hold on to. Hopefully it will also be something solid to leap forward from.”

I hope that you feel this way. That your past is something to leap forward from.

I wonder, too, where it is that good drafts are born. I’m not quite sure exactly how much control I have over what I write and I don’t know where the words come from. I know that I don’t wait for inspiration. I chase it. I chase it and I’m armed. It’s not a pretty sight and I’m neither glamorous nor gainly in my pursuit. Sometimes I catch it in lofty places, at the shining peak of a million-year-old mountain. Other times I pull it from a dumpster at three in the morning, scraping off the gunk. But I never understand quite how this catching happens and what the process is that follows. I seem to mostly just stumble into accidents. Just after writing that paragraph that I showed you above, everything went kind of off the rails. It all veered sideways. I wrote this:

“The 2010s were a period of almost constant change and now I’m looking at the possibility of a far more settled future. That feels very unusual indeed. I can’t get my head around it. Even before I gained residency here, my life in Canada offered me so much more stability than anything in a long time and I’m not sure quite what to do with that. While there might be some things I have to worry about going into 2020, there are so many others that have melted away into the past.”

And as I tried to find a way to document and describe some of the transience of that last decade, I began pouring over maps. I'm a very visual thinker and I find that sights and spaces spark my imagination, but the task got away from me very quickly, transforming from something that I was doing to something that was happening. I tried to find something in north London and, by chance, Google Maps dropped me right by a bus stop I could easily have been waiting at ten years ago today, way up Holloway Road and close to an ex-partner’s place.

I don’t know what the logic or whimsy is behind this behaviour, but sometimes Google Maps shows you a place as it looks in summer or in winter, right now or three years past. There’s usually a slider you can drag which pulls you through time and, as I wasn't looking at the Holloway Road of today, I went to try to pull myself back into the present. But it was then that I found I could also jump back almost exactly a decade and see how things looked on any of so many winter mornings or afternoons, as I stood waiting to travel home or to work. With one click, I could hurl myself back almost exactly a decade.

I can’t tell you how powerful that single click was. It demolished a nearby building, it switched out all the road signs, it reopened the old café. It summoned a bold, red 43 bus which loomed nearby and who’s driver would have no patience if I wasn’t about to climb on. I hated that damn bus. The 271, too. They lurched and retched their way north and south, never on a reliable schedule. There was no way of knowing when the next one would come. I’d better get on board.

But I didn’t. I turned on my heel and retraced my steps, winding and squirming my way down routes that weren't just streets I hadn't seen for a decade or more, but often streets that no longer looked this way. Estates have been built, businesses have moved, and while one thing in London can look the same after a hundred and fifty years, whatever sits next to it might change three times in a decade.

I wonder what Google will do when routes themselves change. When they have not only old images, but old layouts that no longer correspond to streets and paths and places that exist. I wonder if we'll still be able to walk through them. I wonder where they’ll go.

It wasn’t difficult to retrace my steps all around each of my old London neighbourhoods, recreating journeys I'd taken countless times. I walked streets just as they looked at the time, took the same shortcuts, remarked at the same details I would've noticed at the time. There was one neighbour's stroller outside their house. There was the same front door, faded before they repainted it. I roamed and I roamed until I found myself looking straight at the face of a building I might easily have been inside at the very same moment that imagery was taken. Like any other, its windows were black holes, its walls were blank, its doorway was featureless. Yet some past version of me could be just beyond. Right then. Right now.

What am I doing in there, I asked myself, and what am I doing in any of these other places I now revisit? The people there aren’t ghosts or memories, they’re living their lives at this moment while this phantom from the future glides back toward them, unable to reach out or to communicate or to leave even the tiniest trace. I could circle these places and their people infinitely. It had never before occurred to me to try to visit the past in this way.

And then I wondered this: If I could step inside, if I could pass through those black windows and blank walls to meet the me of a decade ago, and if I could speak to him, what would I say?

I know the answer.

“Stop being so stupid,” probably.

And also “Keep going and get ready to do an awful lot of things.”

It occurs to me now, as I write this, that the me of a decade ago had a lot going on. He had a lot to juggle. He was sometimes having a much tougher time than the lazy literary bum who types out these words with one foot on the floor and one foot hanging on the sofa. I don't know if he'd appreciate the perspective of someone like me. "Stop being so stupid," he might say. And also: "I hope you've kept going and that you're still trying to do an awful lot of things." The younger me never wanted to waste opportunity.

Other things I wrote in my abandoned draft included this paragraph:

“I’m really bad at relaxing. Really bad. There is always something to be done or something that *can* be done. Most of the last decade I’ve lived paycheck to paycheck, earning enough to get by but rarely to save. I think this has created a constant sense of urgency and an ever-present feeling that I should be doing something. I also think I wasted too much of my teenage years or early twenties and should’ve achieved much more, much sooner. I should be making up for lost time.”

I think now that the me of 2010 would agree we have to find some way to go back further, to the me of 2000, and kick this person into shape. I think we would say "Stop being so stupid," and, particularly "Oh my GOD be more grateful toward your friends, your family and the people you date," which would help us pretend that we don't still need to listen to that advice ourselves. But we do. I know this.

Through most of my life I've watched a British science fiction show called Doctor Who, which tells the story of an eccentric alien who travels through time, going on adventures and solving mysteries. In the course of those travels, the Doctor sometimes meets a past version of themselves and inevitably clashes with them, ending up somewhere between baffled and irritated. But that bit sure doesn't sound like science fiction to me.

I first watched Doctor Who when I was very, very young, at just about the same time when several British organisations worked together on a famous educational undertaking called the Domesday Project, a digital documentation of Britain that existed on collections of enormous laserdiscs, fed into the school computers of the time. They showed you pictures and videos of places all over the nation, letting you take virtual tours around cities or wander in the countryside. My strongest memory of it was of a friend and I getting lost in a field after walking through the most painfully generic and nondescript landscape. We couldn't get out because everything looked the same. To the adult me writing this now, that feels like an apt metaphor for how I felt about much of England, a country I found stagnant and sterile.

The technology used to create the Domesday Project was soon out of date. The media it was stored on was soon out of date. Its images of a country that clearly wasn't always stagnant and sterile were soon out of date. Where is it all now? I don't know. I do know that this makes it very obvious Britain did change, even if to me it didn't, and I can't deny that.

Now come all the coincidences. They start with one more paragraph that I wrote, but then discarded. It is the hardest one to share. It is the confession.

"I will be forty years old soon and I am embarrassed by my age. I know people older who feel so much fresher and people younger who are more capable and more mature. My life is not the way I imagined it would be at forty and I cannot reconcile the reality of who I am with the half-formed expectations that I had. There were things that I wanted to do and things that I meant to do and then an awful lot of other stuff happened along the way. I handled some of that with varying degrees of readiness, resilience and regret, while failing the rest."

I left this paragraph to gain dust and now, by coincidence, I am forty years old at this very moment. Who let this happen? This is unacceptable. Who's fault is this and who can I blame?

And in another act of ridiculous randomness, on the same day I began redrafting all this, a note almost exactly one year old and that I thought I had lost fell out of my notebook. The note pulled me back into the past with all the power of a black hole. HERE YOU ARE AGAIN, said the note, with words that deafened my ears, blinded my eyes and plugged my nose. IT IS 2019 ONCE MORE. I couldn't see or hear or smell anything except for the past, but this time I was armed with all the tools of perspective and perspicacity. I was better equipped to understand everything while also able to change nothing.

I flailed at the past with all the effectiveness of the phantom I had become.

In the third moment of curious concordance, just a few days ago I found myself walking past the first place I lived in Vancouver. It was late. It was cold. I could've decided to head straight home. The night bus was about to come. I’d better get on board.

But I didn’t. I turned on my heel and retraced my steps, winding and squirming my way down routes that weren't just streets I hadn't walked in years, but also streets that no longer looked quite the same. New houses had been built, businesses had moved. This wasn't unusual. While one or two things in Vancouver still look the same after a hundred and fifty years, it's a shockingly young city to a person like me and it regularly rebuilds so much.

It wasn’t difficult to retrace my steps all around my old neighbourhood, recreating journeys I'd taken countless times. I walked streets just as they looked at the time, took the same shortcuts, remarked at the same details I would've noticed at the time. There was one neighbour's bike left on their balcony. There was the same front door, furnished with a new intercom. I roamed and I roamed until I found myself looking straight at the same first apartment I'd rented. Like any other, its windows were black holes, its walls were blank, its doorway was featureless. Someone else lived there now, but someone else had also lived there in the past.

Everything that night was both so familiar and yet also so forgotten. So much had fallen out of my memory so soon and I rushed to gather it all once more. It was then that I realised what true nostalgia really is: It isn't just revisiting the past, it's rediscovering it. It's finding the things that surprise us again even after they've already happened. I know this now.

It brings a very particular kind of feeling. A kind of joy. A kind of reminder. A kind of reinforcement. And I think that's important.

I think it's important to be that phantom from the future, gliding occasionally through the past, because we can forever rediscover and reevaluate that which has already happened. I'm not sure there are many pasts more important than our own and it serves us well to reappraise them sometimes. History is an open book, not a closed one, one which academics continue to re-write, and our lives are the same.

The eternal lesson has always been not to dwell on the past, not to fixate on what has already happened and not to be dominated by what cannot be undone. I don't disagree and I think it's essential that I tell the present version of myself things like “Stop being so stupid,” and also “Keep going and get ready to do an awful lot of things,” and also "Keep chasing inspiration and make sure that you're armed" and a lot more personal, private and emphatic maxims. But it's vital to me to look back from the fresh perspectives I constantly give myself. Our past does not disappear; it is not a draft that we can throw away. It instead forms the ever-growing foundations of what we are and, whether those bricks are made from hope or anger or pride or guilt, we must at times acknowledge them all.

I know this: As we inspect it, we see where it is solid, where it best serves us. That is how it becomes the foundation that we leap forward from.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 75:  The Curse of Love

The medallion was lighter than he thought it would be. Whenever he'd seen it in pictures, thick gold attached to a simple chain, he'd always assumed it would be heavy. Considering what it did, what it summoned, it should have been heavy. The fact that it was so light in his hand seemed too ironic to fathom.

The only alternative he could come up with was that it was a fake, but he could feel that it wasn't. The symbol on the front of it, the very one that could all too easily be burned into its victim's flesh, was identical to the one he'd read about in books. Besides, the magic he felt rolling off of it couldn't lie. This was exactly what he'd been looking for. It was quite possibly the most dangerous thing in his workshop at the moment…besides himself, of course.

As he set it in the box that he had for it he cast his gaze quickly up to Jefferson on the other side of the table.

"You didn't touch it," he presumed.

"Never with my bare skin," he answered as he watched him put it away. "I've been working with you long enough that when you say not to do something, I trust it."

"Excellent. And it was right where you thought it would be?"

"Not exactly," he sighed, taking a seat on one of his stools and removing his hat. "It had been moved. It was still in London just…"

"Just?" he pressed as Jefferson raised his hand to rub the back of his neck as if he was tired. His associate was aging it seemed, growing tired, settling down. He'd married a few years ago and though he still thought it an awful binding kind of deal, he could see in some ways how she'd helped him to find some stability. No longer was he the boy with a smart mouth that once flit about from place to place. He was so stable now sometimes it hurt to watch him.

"It wasn't in the museum, it was in a mansion, guarded by a woman…who could control her guard dogs with her breath."

The ability to control animals by breathing on them…in a realm that wasn't supposed to know about magic.

"That's interesting," he muttered, turning away to safely secure the box.

"Yeah, that realm has magic, I mean…obviously it has magic! I can get there! But I've never met someone before who was aware of it and could use it. Not that it caused a problem, I've dealt with worse than guard dogs and halitosis before, it just caught me unaware. Suppose I should have figured. The woman calls herself Cruella DeVil."

"Interesting choice of names," he nodded as he pulled out a satchel already filled with gold coins and magically added seven more to it before offering it to Jefferson.

"For your troubles…"

"Thanks," he muttered, taking it and storing it in his pocket. He was halfway back to his spinning wheel when he realized that though he was paid, he wasn't moving. Five years ago, that wouldn't have been an odd thing for Jefferson to stay around and bother him, these days, however, he never seemed to be able to get out and back to his wife fast enough. The days of Jefferson making himself comfortable in his castle were finally over. The castle was quiet these days. Sometimes too quiet. But he'd never admit that out loud.

"Shouldn't you be heading home to your wife?" he questioned as he took his seat at the wheel.

"Yeah, I want to talk to you first."

"Well, I hope it's to ask for more work because if you're searching for marital advice, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong Dark One."

"No, I wouldn't bother with that," he chuckled. "And actually it's sort of the opposite. I've…we-Pricilla and I-we've decided to retire."

The room was so quiet for a heartbeat it felt as though the air had been suddenly sucked out of the windows. He felt numb and unsure about the words he'd just heard. He didn't believe it. Certainly he'd heard wrong…

He turned back to Jefferson. "Retire?"

"Oh! It's what this other realm I've been to calls it when you stop doing the work you've been doing."

So, he had heard correctly. He just still couldn't believe it. The very idea went against everything he'd ever believed Jefferson to be! But Jefferson and Pricilla together…they'd made this decision? To put so much magical talent aside?! And for what? A job at a tannery? Wood carving? Hat making?

"Yes, it's what we call it when we decide to close our eyes each night and surrender logical thought and reason to illogical and emotional dreams!"

Jefferson shrugged. "That too."

This was…an odd reaction he was having. He didn't care about Jefferson. Not at all, they were business partners, they had been since he'd met him and employed him! The boy had been nothing but a bother all this time, constantly running his mouth, disappearing and reappearing at will, making himself at home when he wasn't welcome! He shouldn't care about news like this. And he couldn't figure out why he felt like his heart was in a vise at the news.

"So, you're 'retiring'," he muttered, turning his back on him and beginning to turn the wheel. His fingers felt cold. He didn't like it.

"To be with Priscilla, yes," he confirmed. To be with Priscilla…he'd had concerns when he had first met the girl and began to see her regularly. He'd tried to warn him when they started sleeping together and again when he announced they were going to marry about the dangers of women and what they could do to men. He'd pictured a lot of outcomes for Jefferson when that girl came into the picture. This was never one of them.

"Why so shocked, old friend?!" Jefferson asked. "I figured you of all people would have seen this coming."

And yet he hadn't.

"We're not friends," he responded quietly.

"What do you call what we've been doing all these years?"

"It's a business arrangement," he insisted. "Nothing more."

"You seem awfully depressed for a simple business arrangement."

"Well, it's been a very profitable arrangement," he shot back quickly. That must have been it. That was why he was feeling what he was feeling. When he looked back on all the things Jefferson had done for him, all the things that he'd retrieved over the years, the way he'd reached into places that were unreachable to get valuable items and information…losing that was going to be a significant loss. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to be sure the old boy owed him favors. Yes, that was right. Jefferson owed him! They had more than one outstanding deal for a favor. Perhaps this wasn't the last he'd see of him! Suddenly he was feeling better already.

"I didn't expect this reaction from you," Jefferson muttered across the room. "I thought you'd be happy for me?"

He snorted as he rose from his wheel to make himself busy with the vials of potion lying around. "Happy? Happy you are throwing your life away? For a girl? Well, now you don't know me at all!"

"Not just any girl, for her!" he insisted, rising to his feet and standing on the other side of the table. "We're in love, try to understand that."

"Love," he growled. "You lack the decades, the centuries of 'love' I've seen. Love is a plague, a curse."

"A curse?" Jefferson chuckled. "You really believe that?"

"And more. Love is a powerful curse, indeed. I've seen love turn the smart into stupid. It's turned the noblest of men into cowards, the richest into paupers, the strongest into weaklings, the adventurous into the ordinary, and now I've seen it turn the wise into a fool."

"I didn't know you considered me wise," he answered in his joking tone. He only looked up at him from under his eyelashes, unsmiling. There was nothing funny about this situation.

"Well, haven't you been listening…not anymore! Not so long as you pursue this girl."

"My wife?"

"Whatever," he shrugged, turning back to fiddle with the vials of liquid before him, even if there was no point to it. Funny how any other time he could think of half a million things he had to do and yet in this moment he couldn't come up with a single thing.

"It's not only that," Jefferson added with a sudden tone to his voice he'd never heard him use before. Nervousness. He was nervous! Jefferson hadn't even been nervous the first time they'd met, and everyone was nervous when they first met him. What was going on? He hated being the last to know. "We got married, and now it's more than just her and even us! Pricilla she's…we're…"

His stomach flipped over as he looked back up and recognized the look in his eyes and combined with his stuttering and nerves, the gaze cast to the ground and hands shoved into pockets…

"Pregnant," he finished for him.

Jefferson sighed, picked his head up, and nodded as a twinge of a smile flicked over his face. "I'm going to be a father." Suddenly he was distant, farther away than perhaps he'd ever been while standing in the same room, nervous and hopeful, and terribly scared. Yes, parenthood could do that to a person. Not that Jefferson was aware he knew that. Not that he needed to know now…

"Congratulations," he muttered before picking up a few of his vials and moving to return them to the cabinet just because he could.

"Well, that was believable…" Jefferson added. "Look, this isn't something I planned on. Priscilla is like me. I never expected to find anyone like me let alone someone like her. I'm not thrilled to be hanging up the hat, but she's right. We need to be careful and be here, not just for each other, but for our son now as well."

"They say a fool is made every day…"

"What?!"

He bit his tongue.

He didn't care. Jefferson's decision didn't bother him one bit. Their association over the years had been profitable, that was all. If he wanted to trade in such a great gift as magic for his family instead of risking all as he had years ago, that was his choice, and it didn't bother him one bit.

The only bit that did bother him, or rather the Seer, was an incorrect assumption he'd made.

"Daughter," he stated, turning back to him. "It'll be a girl, not a boy…congratulations."

He said the words, even managed to put a bit of feeling into them when he saw Jefferson's face light up, there might have even been a tear in his eye. But he didn't stop to watch his expression, just went back to his wheel, his ever faithful, always present companion, and began to spin again. Jefferson could show himself out.

"Listen…I'm gonna go, but…I cleaned my grandfather's cabin out, finally! There were a few of his knick knacks for getting place to place that he left behind. Pricilla doesn't want them in the house with a baby, so…for you! You can owe me a favor for them. I put instructions and notes on each one telling you where it takes you and how to work it, so you can look over them later."

And he would look at them…later. Though his fingers itched to get up and see what wonderful delights had just come into his possession, he wouldn't, not while Jefferson was still here.

"I'll send you word when the baby is born. If you need me, you'll know where to find me…"

His words were pushy and expectant. He was waiting for him to respond to say good-bye, anything! But he couldn't bring himself to. He just pushed on the wheel and twirled his wrist changing ordinary wool into ordinary thread. He let his mind calm and go blank, he let his emotions slip away and pictured Bae in his mind once more until Jefferson gave up, and finally left.

Love. It was hard for him to believe that two people could ever want to be truly together for an eternity. He'd seen couples out and about, watched the women hang on the men and the men dote upon the women with sloppy seasick smiles. He'd been one of those stupid wretches once. From where he stood now, there was nothing less appealing than love. And the rich who spent after day in bed engaging in dalliances as their servants did their work for them as if there was nothing better to do than raise the heart rate and exchange bodily fluids…it was ridiculous. A dreadful waste of time that he'd never expected Jefferson, in all his youthful energy, to fall prey to. Perhaps that was the reason he almost enjoyed helping Regina so much, always pushing her toward her goal. She didn't seem to understand love either. It wasn't a surprise, not since it was denied to her for so long by the woman who had denied him the same joy Jefferson now knew.

[phylumhearts]

unfinished draft (shortcake)

ienzo/riku, 1650 words

Ienzo appreciates Riku's visits to Radiant Garden. He drops in frequently, to consult with Master Ansem, escort friends for a checkup with Even, or lend a hand to the Restoration Committee. He seems so busy, yet he always has a minute to sit in Ienzo's lab with a cup of tea and hear about his current projects. It surprises him how easy it is to leave their unfortunate first meeting in the past. Of course, the Riku he knows now looks, acts, and even smells quite different to the boy he'd fought in Castle Oblivion. The keyblade master is reserved, polite, and attentive. He knows little of scientific and technological matters, but is sharp enough to keep up with Ienzo's explanations. He watches steadily, nodding when appropriate. Ienzo finds that meeting this gaze gives him a strange dropping sensation in his stomach. It’s a little unpleasant, but somehow doesn’t deter him from looking back again. When Riku makes his excuses to leave - ever so politely of course - Ienzo's chest tightens in an unfamiliar way. He hopes he returns soon.

It is the end of one of these visits. They say their farewells and Ienzo watches Riku leave - his hair is getting a little long in the back, but it suits him - until he disappears around the corner. Ienzo exhales and turns back to his work, but he can feel another pair of eyes on him. He glances over at their owner.

"Is something the matter, Aeleus?" he asks lightly. Aeleus doesn't respond verbally, but shifts his stance in a way only Dilan could read. His ever-present frown is a little deeper than usual. Ienzo frowns back. "What is it?"

Aeleus takes a long moment before replying. "When you see Riku... how do you feel?"

"Whatever do you mean? I'm pleased to see him, I rather enjoy his company. He's a good listener." Ienzo tilts his head. "Are you dwelling on the past again? I'm sure he bears you no ill will."

Aeleus shakes his head. "Is there a new feeling in your heart? A tightness in your chest, or a sinking stomach. Something uncomfortable, but not unpleasant."

Ienzo masks his surprise. "Now you mention it... I suppose so, yes." He quirks his eyebrow. "How did you know?"

Aeleus' hands curl and twist in the way they always do when he is uncomfortable. "It seems you may have... a crush." Ienzo narrows his eyes - is his stoic companion blushing?

"A crush," he echoes. Aeleus nods. It was a ridiculous notion - if he did have such a feeling, surely he would be more aware of it... except, he realises, he wouldn't. He may be a young adult now, but his teenage years involved no awkward hand-holding or clumsy confessions - indeed, he'd had no feelings at all. How should he be able to identify emotions he'd never had a chance to learn? He casts an analytical eye over his memories of Riku's past few visits. He always offered tea, partly as a courtesy but partly, he realises, because of a sudden dry mouth. He vividly remembers managing to make Riku laugh at one point, which... "Ah," he says aloud. He looks back to Aeleus, who nods again, looking as bashful as his stony features will allow. "And what do I do about that?"

"I'm afraid I'm not the person to ask."

Ienzo laughs, a short, sharp bark with a manic edge. "Then who is? Am I to bother Lord Ansem with such a petty matter? I'm sure Dilan would have some strong opinions to share, but I doubt I want to hear them. And Even..." he shoots Aeleus a pleading look, "...you understand that my options are limited, yes?" Aeleus hums and looks away, his hands twisting again.

"You may be surprised by the others," he says at last. "All I can say is listen to your heart. It will be your truest guide." He closes the distance between them, placing a comforting hand on Ienzo's shoulder. Ienzo pats it awkwardly. How, he wonders, can he listen to a part of him whose language he never learned to speak?

"I'm going to go for a walk," he says at last. He turns to leave, but Aeleus tightens his grip on his shoulder.

"About Riku," he rumbles, brows furrowed. "I cannot forgive myself for my past violence against him. But if he hurts you..." Aeleus' eyes bore into Ienzo's, earnest and grim, "...I will not be defeated a second time."

Ienzo huffs and brushes away Aeleus' hand. "That won't be necessary." Aeleus nods, with some reluctance, and lets him go.

Perhaps, Ienzo muses, he isn't alone in having things left to learn about healthy emotional expression.

---

It doesn't take long for Ienzo to try the library. He finds countless books on the nature of the heart, but none from the perspective he is looking for. With a sigh he makes to add another dry treatise on morality to his reject pile, but almost drops it when he's startled by a sudden voice.

"Studying the heart again, Ienzo? I thought we'd all laid that topic to rest." Ienzo whips his head around and freezes, something strange wrenching at his gut. Even looks more curious than angry or disappointed, but he can't help feeling caught in the act somehow.

"Even! I... I had a new line of inquiry. Nothing dark, I assure you. A personal interest."

"...yes?" Even's curiosity gleams behind his eyes. The writhing in Ienzo’s stomach rises as he realises how little chance he has of dropping the subject. He takes a breath, willing his body to relax, and resigns himself to his fate. All he has to lose is his dignity, and he suspects it wouldn’t have lasted long under these conditions anyway.

“I’m looking to better understand my own heart. As you know, I’ve spent precious little time with it, and I’m finding myself with new feelings to grapple with.” Even adopts his habitual thinking pose and raises a brow. Ienzo bites the bullet. “As Aeleus called it, a crush.”

Even’s astoundingly elastic eyebrows spring upwards. Ienzo begins to prepare pithy remarks for the imminent condescending ramble. To his surprise, it doesn’t come - instead Even runs a hand through his long hair and lets out a small chuckle before slumping into a nearby chair. When he speaks, it’s quiet.

“I thought I’d atoned for my mistakes already. Yet here you are, trying to find ten years of lessons of the heart in…” he picks up the closest book from Ienzo’s piles, “...Bright Networks: Light, Friendship and Emotion in the Hearts of Youth.” He rolls his eyes at the thin volume and tosses it back on the table. “It’s too easy to forget how young you were, how much of your life has been stolen. I’m… sorry.” Ienzo blinks at him, unsure how to respond. Even looks so old, weary in a way that goes deeper than poor sleep habits. He shakes his head and his animated manner returns. “In any case,” he springs to his feet, starting to pace, “you won’t find your answers here. Not because these matters are impossible to write about, mind.” He waves a hand to sweep away the theoretical accusation. “But the best titles for your purpose would be in a self-help section, or possibly parenting, and there’s none of that in our research library. The public library in town would be superior in this respect.”

Despite his reservations, Ienzo finds himself asking, “Do you not have any advice? Of a more personal nature, I mean.”

Even preens a little. “Although it’s generally wise to seek my counsel… truly, this is not my area of expertise. A superior intellect does not necessarily come packaged with superior social understanding, nor even superior understanding of oneself.” He places a hand on his chest, still pacing. “I suppose the classic advice, though, is to listen to your heart.”

Ienzo groans. “That’s what Aeleus said too. I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m listening for, or how to understand what it means if I do hear it.”

“Did he? Of course.” Even chuckles to himself, then whips around to face Ienzo. “But really, Ienzo, have I taught you nothing? Scientific principles can be applied wherever there is knowledge to be gained. Hypothesise! Test your theories and improve them. Discomfort, embarrassment, awkwardness, joy - all valuable data! The twinges and pulses of your heart need not be a mystery more so than any other field of inquiry.” His intense expression softens. "Every person must learn the language of their heart for themselves. You may have missed some opportunities to do so, but I see no reason why you cannot catch up with some dedication and rigor."

"Yes, I - I suppose so." Ienzo swallows back a lump in his throat. 

[conclude convo lmao. Need to decide if even asks who ienzo is crushing on or if he starts to but stops himself...]

Ienzo checks out as many books as the public library allows. Some have glossy covers with photographs of smiling teens and are written with a kind, reassuring tone entirely unlike the academic language he is used to, and he reads them cover to cover. He finds assurance that his feelings are normal and natural as well as descriptions of hormonal swings and physical changes that almost make him glad for the sterility of his teenage years. Other books have snappy titles and guarantees to teach men all the secrets of romance. These he dismisses when they talk exclusively - and disrespectfully - of women. [third kind of book? idk what lmao] Across the board, he finds little information that feels directly relevant to his situation. If this is the best material available, he muses, it's little wonder Aeleus and Even struggled to advise him. Then again, his situation may be unique.

Listen to your heart. He closes his eyes then, self-conscious, opens them again. 

[I kind of don’t remember where I was going with this one lmao...]

[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 6~

Hey! I have a sarahah! Feel free to check it out here and leave a comment! For readers that may be a little shy, it’s anonymous!!

"So, let me see..." the man examining Virgil's forms said. He had called shortly after Virgil was chosen, and came in the next morning. The black-haired boy would have today to fill out some forms, go over rules, and say goodbyes. Then, tomorrow, he'd be whisked off to the palace rather he liked it or not. "You appear to be getting a fair amount of nutrients...you could use certain vitamins we'd provide at the castle. And you said here that you have some trouble getting to sleep?" He looked up at Virgil, and the boy nodded timidly. "Would you like some sleeping tablets?" 

"O-oh, no, that's—" 

Virgil's mom stepped on his foot under the table. "Anything they offer. Take it." She reminded him in a murmur. 

Sure, I'd love some crack cocaine, Virgil thought sarcastically. The kinds of advice Virgil's mother gave him were equal amounts odd and dangerous, and eventually, they'd get him killed if he wasn't careful. He almost felt dead already, what with the shock of being chosen and the lingering feelings for Dan. He felt like his heart was being sucked out by a vacuum cleaner. 

"I'll take some." Virgil smiled tensely. 

"Great," the man, Jared, as his name tag read, said. "And this next part is a bit of my paperwork... and, I'm sorry, sweetie," he turned to Valerie, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave." 

She looked hurt for a second, as a moment before she had a million questions to ask, but she didn't want to cause a scene. 

"Why does she have to leave?" Virgil asked, his tone fierce and dark. He had worried before that she would embarrass him, but after seeing how heartbroken she was, he felt like she should be allowed to stay. 

"The topic is a little... inappropriate for someone so young." Jared looked uncomfortable. Valerie nodded and got up, pushing in her chair politely before going into her bedroom to listen against the door. "

Right," the man continued, his red hair seeming to stick up more the more his face grew red. "It wasn't clarified here on these papers, but I need to ask you in person if you are, indeed, a virgin." 

Virgil's heart stopped while he heard his mother take in an audible breath. "Of course I am," he tried not to make his voice shake with the weight of these words, "I'm not an idiot. I know the law." In Ailean law, it was illegal to have sex before marriage. If there was a teen pregnancy, the woman and the male were arrested. It was easier for same-sex couples to keep it a secret if they chose to do so, but most didn't want to risk it. In all honesty, Virgil and Dan had some pretty close calls, but they couldn't have added to the weight that was their heavy relationship. 

"Okay," Jared clicked his tongue as if it could take the tension from the room. He looked at Virgil, seriousness in his tone. "You should know that as of today you are property of Ailea and Prince Roman. It would not be wise to say no to him. Dates, kisses, more than kisses...it would not be wise to reject any of those." 

Virgil nearly screamed. His eyes widened, heart quickening. He couldn't believe his ears. "Are you telling me," he muttered dangerously, "that I am being sent to the palace to be...to be Roman's toy? To be his property?" 

The worker looked immediately uncomfortable once again. "I should not have worded it that way, it was just the advice from the papers. I'm sure the prince is even better than your impression of him." He smiled politely. Virgil returned the gesture, but he felt uneasy in his stomach. 

Jared packed his papers into a neat little binder that was held like a briefcase. "The guards will be here to take you to the airport around nine AM, and you'll hopefully be at the palace by late afternoon." 

"Great," Virgil replied, though he felt anything but. 

"And, one more thing." Jared added, "It would be really hard going through the Selection and coming back as a Five, what with all the paparazzi. You will now be a Three." 

Virgil gasped, "A Three?" Of all the things that ran his life, castes were most important. He wasn't a caste climber in the slightest, as he had prepared himself for the past two years for life as a Six. Even still, a Three was a major upgrade. Maybe after he got kicked out of the Selection for eating too much, Virgil could find a way to buy Valerie out of being a Five and they could leave their mother in the dust. "Thank you, sir." 

"You're welcome, Sir Virgil." He bowed a little, showing his palace training, and made his way out of the tiny Singer house. 

"Wow," Virgil's mom said simply, "so...you think it was such a bad idea now?" 

"Yes," Virgil replied, "this all seems shady, didn't you hear? Roman could just...use me, then toss me out." 

"Yeah," Virgil's mother replied, stumbling into the kitchen to fix up a sandwich for lunch. It painfully reminded her son of how he had made sandwiches for Dan, and he looked away. "Men are like that sometimes. But at least you're getting paid. And hey," she looked up at him seriously, "if he ever tries to get uncomfortably touchy with you, remember what I told you." 

"Kick him in...you know?" Virgil mumbled, more uncomfortable with having this conversation than the idea of the Prince doing something like that. 

"That's right," his mom said, "you should stay in as long as possible, but try not to get yourself screwed over while you're there." 

Virgil nodded numbly. He wasn't even sure how to feel at the moment. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Virgil rolled his eyes, expecting another castle worker or local who wanted a picture. However, when he went over and hesitantly opened the door, Dan was standing there helplessly. 

"Dan," Virgil choked out, the word just flowing out of him as he was all he was thinking about since Monday night. 

"Mom said I have to help you pack," Dan looked up at him, and as if he'd trained his face, his eyes looked cold. "Because that's what Sixes do. She says congrats." 

"Th....thanks...." Virgil said weakly, inviting him in. They went to Virgil's room and shut the door. "I'm not packing much," he added, quite as a mouse. "They said everything I needed would be at the palace, so I really don't need help." 

"Okay," Dan said carefully, going over to the mirror where a few pictures were taped. "You'll want to take some pictures of your family, I'm sure, so you don't forget what they look like." He said it with just a hint of bitterness, and his nimble fingers traced down to a small ripped corner of a paper. "I'll always love you, Ve. Now and forever." It read. Dan ripped it off, leaving a scrap of tape. "That was a real risk, leaving my note up there." He added, his voice as quiet as it was venomous. He wasn't himself, and he still wasn't looking at Virgil. 

"It was all I had left of you." Virgil's voice was heavy, "Please, let me keep it." 

Dan paused, the hard look in his eyes fading. "I don't want you hanging on to me, Virgil. There are so many better opportunities." 

"I'm sick of hearing about opportunities!" Virgil cried, taking all his strength to keep quiet when he felt like screaming. "I'm not looking to caste climb, I want you, Dan!" 

Dan still was barely looking Virgil in the eye, which killed the black-haired boy, though he supposed it'd be worse if he did. "I need to go. I hope you win the prince's heart." 

"Wait," Virgil choked out, "I forgot to pay you." As Dan was a helping Six, the polite thing to do was give him a tip. Virgil took his jar full of pennies—each penny given by Dan when he sang him a song—and poured them all out into Dan's unsuspecting hands. "Keep them, all of them. You know you need every last penny you can get." 

Dan glanced up at Virgil quickly, his hurt and lost look one Virgil could never forget. He clutched the pennies like a lifeline, and then he left. 

Virgil finally let it out, still as quiet as could be. It was a sigh, a scream, a sob. He was having a panic attack of some kind, but he would have to go through it alone. 

One single penny was found inside Virgil's pitiful little jar, and it made a tiny jingling noise as he packed it into his bag. 

"Me too," he whispered to that solemn penny, then he chided himself for talking to a penny. He found the note crumpled up on his dusty wooden floor, and he put that in the jar as well. 

It was all he had left of Dan. 

All he had left of the past two years in the treehouse, trying to reject but secretly enjoying Dan's payment. 

Virgil shook his head and wiped his eyes before anyone could see, and he continued packing. 

He really needed to get it together by the flight tomorrow.

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