#so i was walking up the steps to our apt. and saying 'man i wish i knew where my package was' and my partner was like 'you mean that one?'

[literupture]

he arrived safely from Japan!!

yes he was an impulse buy. no i don't have a problem

[casspurrjoybell-19]

CLAIMED - Chapter 37

*Warning: Adult Content*     

‘Tap, tap, tap, tap. Each drop of my fingertips onto the countertop marked another second away from him.’

The Crescent Falls, Head Warrior, Corey Cahill’s biceps flexed, back tensed and eye twitched as they remained laser-focused on the LED light blinking atop the electric kettle.

Any second now it would beep, turn bright green and I could finally return to the only place that he belonged, in bed, with his Mate Pack Beta Jaxson Ortiz tucked in his embrace while he attentively awaited the next wave of his heat to call him into action.

‘Any second now.’

"Oh, how's everything going, dude?"

Corey’s head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing to interrogative slits at the intruder. 

That is, until he recognized the shaggy, strewn undercut, black earrings and tired eyes.

The Head Warrior’s, Pack Alpha, Oasis Amador.

"Jax's throat hurts, so I am making him tea. And his weight seems to have lessened by approximately a pound over the past three days, so I have gathered items to feed him between the waves," Corey says, gaze momentarily flitted to the teetering pile of various snacks on the counter beside him before settling back on the kettle light.

‘I should probably have gotten more of the cheese crackers he likes. Twenty packs were far from enough.’

"No shit his throat hurts, half the damn Pack House could hear him screaming right through the soundproofing in those damn walls," the slightly shorter Alpha responded as he yanked open the pantry door before stepping inside of the walk-in-sized space. "You're going to spoil my Beta rotten, you know."

Neck twisting this way and that to rid of a few kinks that lingered there, the tip of Corey’s nose twitched with annoyance.

‘Spoiling?’ 

There was simply no such thing. 

If only Corey could condense the entire universe into the palm of his hand and deliver it at his Mate’s feet, it still wouldn't be enough.’

No, Jaxson deserved it all, the very fabric of life, the way the world undulated around them in waves of invisible ripples of energy and every single molecule to ever cycle through the constant whirl of existence.

Balancing a hearty stack of cans of infant formula under one arm as he emerged from the pantry, Alpha Oasis had the audacity to chuckle.

"First heat, huh?"

‘Tap, tap, tap, tap.’

Lips pulled into a tight line, Corey remains hunched over like a watchdog over the kettle, gathering the strength before he finally managed a stiff nod.

“Yes.”

Oasis stepped closer then and Corey spied the Alpha’s knowing expression in the periphery of his fixated vision. 

When a hand, heavy but gentle, landed on Corey’s bare shoulder, he couldn't help but flinch when his skin itched, not liking that the touch belonged to anyone other than Jaxson.

‘My Mate Jax.’

"I wish I could say it gets better, man. Our Omegas... they just do something to us Alphas during heat. They're all we can hear, all we can see, all that we live for," Oasis explained, as if Corey didn't already know. "But he should only have a day or two left before things start to get better. His weight will even out afterward as well but if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

"I can provide for my Mate just fine on my own." 

The words came out before Corey could even form the entire thought and mull it over and his Wolf, Dashiell purred contentedly at our outward display of aptness. 

This Alpha was bold to question their ability to nurture their Mate's every want and desire.

Oasis just nodded, hand slipping from Corey’s shoulder when the Warrior’s muscles sharpened underneath the Alpha’s palm. 

"I know you can. Just know you always have backup if need be."

Corey was glad that Oasis decided to back up then, walking away with his giant tubs of infant formula before Dashiell decided that they would be of better use as a weapon.

‘Ding.’

Any and all traces of frustration melted away once the kettle finally announced it had reached a boil and every single one of Corey’s thoughts settled back onto the only person that truly mattered.

His movements were a blur as he filled the cup with scalding water, likely burning himself in the process since a small part of his hand turned bright red but his mind was much too preoccupied to feel it. 

Topping it with a soothing teabag and a generous scoop of honey for his sweet-toothed love, he then shoved the pockets of his joggers full of his snack hoard, carrying the rest in his free hand.

He may or may not have topped it all off with a few more packets of cheese crackers from the pantry, just to be safe, before bypassing the elevator and barrelling straight for the swirling stairwell.

His mind hummed as his body carried him closer to his Mate, like an invisible string connecting their very souls. 

And then, as if he had teleported there, somehow the door opened and closed behind him and Corey was standing on Jaxson’s side of the bed, every millimeter of the Warrior’s skin vibrating as he stared, taking in his lover’s current state with fierce eyes.

‘The view was impeccable. Stunning. Irresistible. Mesmerizing.’

Although their room was shrouded in darkness amid the night's shadowy figure, Corey’s trained eyes could easily make out the image of Jaxson lay sprawled out face-down on the bed, his hair an absolutely gorgeous mess, like a halo framing a face sculpted by the Goddess' hands themselves. 

His chest rose and fell in a patterned oscillation as he breathed in the air, laden thick with their combined scents from the past three days of his heat. 

And then, there was his nest.

After Jaxson's first wave in the forest, Corey had somehow managed to wrangle up enough self-control to pack him up and get them both back to the Pack House safely, albeit while likely stockpiling a hearty collection of speeding tickets on the way. 

Once they arrived, the Head Warrior briefly barked out an acknowledgement of their situation through the Pack Mind Link before booking it to their room with a barely-conscious Jaxson tucked securely in his arms, thoroughly convinced that he was sensing yet another wave on the rise.

That one hit hard and fast and Corey barely had time to brace his Mate’s body up against the door and slide his arms underneath his still-sticky thighs before he was inside of him again, fucking into his warm, pliant body with a ferociousness that left the slab of wood trembling on it’s reinforced hinges.

Jaxson’s rest period had been shorter that time, what with him sitting straight up after only fifteen minutes and making a beeline for their closet. 

Corey had almost fallen off of their bed in his haste to get his lover back into his arms but once the Warrior realized the place from which the Omega’s sense of urgency spurred, it all made sense.

His heart thundered, lighting striking his core as he watched Jaxson carry armloads of materials to build his perfect little nest on their bed. 

And then, Corey realized that most of the items were none other than his own articles of clothing, now being chosen for acceptance into such a sacred place of trust and safety and eyes filled with unshed moisture, the result of adoration, awe and marvel.

The Head Warrior wasn't the least bit offended once the Pack Beta/Omega shooed him off of the bed, pushing on his side with a little grunt that meant 'get lost.' 

It only made it all the better once Jaxson finally completed the wide circle, rolled around in it to ensure its perfect size, shape and scent profile, before finally settling his gaze back on Corey and reaching out, a desperate gleam in his eye.

"Share my nest, Alpha?"

The sheer privilege of such a summons sucked Corey’s brain into a state of pure insanity and just like that, he was lost in his Mate and he in him.

Corey didn't, couldn't, stop loving Jaxson, filling him, fucking him, for hours, days on end. 

And right when the Alpha thought it might be enough, the need only grew stronger, pulling reality back down into an immutable place where nothing else mattered but the sensation of them.

Over the course of the past three long, wonderous days, they both flickered in and out of control at varying times. 

Sometimes Corey’s Wolf, Dashiell pushed forward, making love to Jaxson in Corey’s stead. 

And sometimes, the Alpha was granted the privilege of hearing Jaxson’s Wolf Luka's mewls as he panted beneath Corey, begging for his Knot. 

Luka and Dash had their moment too, their lovemaking so ferocious that it was almost violent, causing Corey’s poor Mate to sleep for hours on end in search of much-needed recovery.

The memory of his inner Alpha's beastly sex drive brought him back to the present and he emptied his pockets, depositing his loot onto the bedside table. 

Then, he leaned over and spread open his Mate’s perfectly round, freckled cheeks.

Jaxson’s ring was puffy and bright pink, no doubt irritated beyond belief after three days of nonstop use. 

Corey couldn't help but brace a knee on the mattress and lower his head, pressing the wide pad of his tongue over the abused flesh in hopes that the Alpha enzymes might speed his Mate’s healing. 

After all, although they were over the peak of the Omega’s Heat Symptoms now, there were still approximately two days until Jaxson would be able to formulate many other thoughts beyond being bred day in and day out.

Jaxson began to squirm underneath Corey’s ministrations and the Warrior’s hands tightened on his Mate’s ass, pressing his hips into the bed while he concluded his improvised first-aid.

Corey’s Mate tasted like a mixture new and old slick and as the Warrior pressed further, slithering the tip of his tongue into his lover’s stretched entrance, he could taste himself too, leftovers from the bucket-fulls of essence he'd greedily pumped deep inside of the smaller man over the past few days. 

All of it was a treat as it coated his covetous tongue.

"Agh..." a moan shuddered from Jaxson’s spent throat,and once his pretty hole shined with Corey’s saliva like the brightest star, the Warrior finally withdrew his tongue. 

He pressed a chaste kiss to his Mate’s pulsating rim before sliding up and fully entering his nest, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake, careful not to skip over the heart-shaped freckle that lived just above the crest of his pelvic bone.

Jaxson protested at his Mate’s retreat, squirming sleepily while Corey sidled his lover up into his arms so that he could rest his cheek onto the Warrior’s bare pec, using the hard muscle as a pillow.

"Your Alpha is here. I am here," Corey reassured, running the thumb on the hand that wasn't wrapped around Jaxson’s back across his soft cheekbones. 

The Alpha’s other hand slithered down the length of the Beta/Omega’s spine until two fingers reached his entrance. 

Corey circled the swollen, moist area before pressing inside, tips searching for Jaxson’s most sensitive gland deep within.

That would buy them enough time to get him hydrated and fed.

"No, no. Not yet, my Omega," Corey gently scolded and Jaxson cried out, warm breath fanning the Warrior’s skin as the Beta/Omega’s immediately attempted to fuck himself back on the intrusion of his Mate’s fingers. 

Corey stilled his lover’s movements with a simple flex of his arm.

Jaxson’s voice was so raw, like pieces of torn silk, due to, as Alpha Oasis had correctly guessed, all of the screaming he'd engaged in over the past few days and Corey was determined to get something soothing down his throat before his next wave crested.

Reaching over Jaxson to grab the mug Corey previously set on the bedside table, the Head Warrior sat his Omega lover’s slim body up in his arms a bit, bracing his own back against their wooden headboard so that he wouldn't choke. 

Then, Corey pressed the rim of the mug to Jaxson’s lips.

The Beta/Omega’s face screwed up instantly, turning away from the Alpha like a stubborn toddler.

"Don't want," he croaked in a sleepy whisper. 

Luckily, over the course of the past three days, Corey had gotten much more than adept at navigating his lover’s nonsensical protests.

"This tea is good for your throat, baby. Remember you said it hurts? Just try one sip and Alpha will be even more proud of you than I already am," Corey said, shifting Jaxson in his arms so that he could see his face again before nudging the rim right back against his bottom lip. "Baby, please. You need to be hydrated."

Jaxson still struggled, resisting Corey’s ministrations as he tilted the cup up but once the liquid finally settled in his throat and honey coated the roughened surface, he settled down a little. 

The Alpha’s heart sang with success.

"See? Good job, my love. You can trust me. I will always take care of you. My perfect, pretty Omega," Corey murmured as Jaxson drank, making sure to increase the praise when he few more tiny sips without him having to prompt him.

After The Head Warrior confirmed his Mate’s completion of the tea, he had to use a few more borderline coercive measures to get a few cheese crackers down his lover’s throat but eventually Corey was humming with satisfaction when Jaxson managed to finish an entire package.

Right as he swallowed the last one, it was like a switch flipped.

Jaxson succumbed to the height of his heat wave and Corey fell into his body

It started off slow, fingering him until he sobbed and squirmed and begged just like he liked. 

Then, Corey spooned his love in a firm grip of his arms, pressing slow, languid kisses along Jaxson’s heated neck as he quickly threw off his sweats and eased his shaft past hi lover’s rim.

Pressing forward, Corey sank deeper and deeper until Jaxson’s eyes rolled back and he bucked against his hold. 

Their breaths mingled, moans harmonized and bodies melded and Corey lifted Jaxson’s leg for better access as he pumped his hips, sliding his length in and out of that tight, scalding channel while the world around them flickered out of view.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of making slow, careful love to Jaxson’s hole and leaking like a madman inside of him, he began begging for Corey’s knot, crying for him to bruise his insides, to annihilate his body, to use him.

Wholly unable to deny his request, Corey shifted their positions at once, tossing his lover’s shaky shins over his shoulders and folding his flexible body in half. 

Jaxson protested to the momentary departure of Corey’s member but the Head Warrior swallowed his whine as he leaned over him, sucking his tongue into his mouth as Corey instantly sank back in.

"Shh, precious. I will give you my knot. Fill up your womb," Corey promised, husking out a whisper against Jaxson’s lips as his hips pummeled, slamming against his Mate’s ass with a strength that shook the entire room.

‘I wanted to wreck him, wanted to break his hips, to mold his creamy skin with the never ending force of my desire.’

Jaxson sobbed out a reply, eyelids flickering with each thrust as if he were teetering on the edge of life itself. 

"I want it. Need all your load. Inside me, Alpha, please."

"Yeah?" Corey said, gripping Jaxson’s curls in a tight fist as a snarl ripped through him, shoving his shaft so deep inside of his lover that he could have sworn that he choked on it. "You like it when your Alpha fucks your pretty hole so hard it hurts? You want to feel it like it's still inside of you even hours later?"

Jaxson’s head thrashed this way and that, tears drifting down the sides of his face and wetting his temples. 

"Yes. Ah, Goddess, yes, wreak me Alpha. Wreak me like you hate me."

"Shit..." Corey moaned, something like a feral growl mixed with an adoring purr. 

The Alpha’s hips sped to a terrifying pace then, his Wolf, Dashiell lending Corey, his inhuman speed, as they worked together to sate their beloved.

Realistically, there wasn't a single molecule of his being that could ever, would ever, come anywhere close to harboring even an inkling of hatred for for Jaxson but what he was asking for was something completely different.

‘My sweet Omega needed to break apart and I would gladly be his hammer.’

Corey could hear his lover’s pulse in his ears, their heartbeats synchronizing, amplifying the sound until the Head Warrior couldn't tell where his Mate’s began and his ended.

"Goddess, Jax... I want to destroy you. Gonna pound my rod so deep inside your tight ass until I stamp the shape of myself inside of you for all eternity," Corey emphasized his last words with a swirl of his hips. 

And just like that, Jaxson screamed.

He convulsed as if struck by lightning, back arching, limbs trembling and eyes rolling back. 

His hole clenched uncontrollably around Corey’s length, milking his own release from him as his essence splattered his stomach, coating his skin in yet another layer of the sticky, delicious substance.

‘It was so tight, so moist, sucking me deeper like a fucking vortex...’

Corey’s release caught him like a fish in a net, drawing his balls up as his Knot grew inside of his Mate. 

Preparing for the Alpha’s seed to splatter the entrance of Jaxson's womb.

Corey roared through his orgasm as Jaxson fucked himself through his. 

Breathing eluded the Warrior, lungs punching out air in little, shaky spurts instead as he buried his face into his lover’s neck, mouthing at the recently re-established Bond Mark that decorated the Beta/Omega’s pretty neck. 

Corey’s muscles caved and shook around Jaxson and the Alpha released his Mate’s legs so that he could properly hold him through such an intense wave of euphoria.

Hips squirming, Jaxson clung to Corey, digging his fingernails into his Mate’s back to pull him even closer.

 "Ngh... so warm... you make me so full... release..." Jaxson babbled, some words too garbled to make out clearly. 

It was obvious that the Beta/Omega was completely out of it, so the Head Pack Warrior slipped his hand slipped beneath his Mate’s head to tuck his face into his own shoulder, letting him occupy his mouth there instead.

"Shh. There is no need to speak, sweetheart. Just feel," Corey murmured, biting the tip of Jaxson’s earlobe as he pumped his hips a bit, a shock of electricity almost knocking both of them clean out when the Alpha’s Knot tugged at the Beta/Omega’s messy rim.

Corey’s body swayed a little as he tried to support his weight after such a transformative orgasm, so he carefully flipped them both over so that Jaxson would be able to lay across his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and biting back a moan when his Knot shifted inside of his Mate’s ass.

Then, the purring started.

It was something that Corey always looked forward to after a fresh wave of Jaxson's heat, how their chests would both rumble, the Alpha Warrior’s a significantly deeper timbre than that of his beloved Mate's. 

It was as if the sound reset their souls, expressing their connection, their trust, their love for one another without a single word needing to be exchanged.

Corey’s inner Alpha fluffed up with pride, every synapse alight at the knowledge that they'd successfully led their Mate through yet another wave of his heat. 

He wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist like a trained boa constrictor, securing his treasure against his larger body in the wake of potential danger.

Eventually Jaxson’s purrs quietened into little snores, cheek squished right back up against Corey’s pec like it had never left. 

The Alpha’s neck strained down to press a kiss into his Mate’s frizzy curls, heart pounding with adoration for the privilege of being able to call such a Priceless Gift, his.

Later, Corey would lick Jaxson clean before running a warm washcloth over his body, washing away as much of their combined fluids as he could before he would notice and whine, pushing him away and scolding him for rubbing their scent off of him.

"Corey..."

A ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of the Alpha’s lips at the sound of his Mate’s voice. 

Jaxson talked in his sleep sometimes, breathy and quiet as he spoke of whatever land to which his dreams must be carrying him. 

Corey savored every moment of his lover’s nonsensical meanderings, trying to piece together the nuances of what his brain must be projecting onto his mind's eye.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Corey humored him, whispering back.

"Alpha... love..."

Corey Cahill buried his face back into Jaxson Ortiz’s curls, fingertips digging into his lover’s sides. 

"I love you more, sweetheart. And I will continue to love you beyond whatever forever means for us."

Shifting a little on his chest, Jaxson yawned, a freckled hand snaking up to rest against the side of Corey’s neck near his Mate’s pulse. 

When Jaxson finally found his destination, he settled back down again, as if soothed by the fact that Corey was really there.

The last words the Beta/Omega dreamily spoke were barely audible but the Head Warrior would have caught them out of thin air even in the loudest of storms.

"Love... Corey... Husband..."

[freefromfearforever]

Breath of Life...

As tenuous as Spring can be, we hope for...pray for...wish for...an end to winter. An end to the bleak, to the cold, to the barren world...for a breath of life to breathe through the trees, across the bleak landscape and into our souls; stirring new life, new hopes, new adventures...stirring hope in starved souls standing in observation as each day clicks by on the wheel of perpetual motion. Father Time waits for no man...

Each season comes in its appointed time...the fowls of the air know it, the beasts of the forest know it, feel it, embrace it. Some of the human variety take joy in the snow, in the cold and grasp every moment of joy they can wring from Demetria, the Greek Goddess of Winter. This year, it seems that she got into the spirit of things and provided us with more time than most are willing to seize...carpe diem. We too, as an emotional species, experience seasons...seasons of joy, seasons of sorrow, seasons of a dry and desolate wasteland with no end in sight...however, we know that each season has an end, that from one step to the next we can enter into peace, leaving behind our dry, dusty winding path.

God is good, amen. A friend used to say this during a particularly tough time in her life and we'd get a chuckle, and yet...No matter the battle, no matter the circumstances, peace can be found...attained and lived. I have seen it in speaking to the operator coming from a similar situation and unloading her story...the irritable woman down the street unleashing her story over a simple 'hello,' the goodness from the stranger at the Independent....in so many ways I have been blessed with meeting others who have walked the same path, and live abundant lives. Blessed with family who love me just as I am...blessed with the 'grama' I hear from the lips of my grandbabies...blessed with the consistent daily love of my Aunt & Uncle....blessed with the encouraging words and love of a long time friend...here where I am...here on this rocky ground, just beginning to show a promise of spring and a promise of a new life full of joy and laughter and peace unceasing. I would encourage you to set aside your worries, your sorrows and view the little things that bring you joy and promote your growth...to step back and view what is good in your life. Some days the struggle to find those hidden gems is very real....but they're there, I promise you. Life affirming moments....the love of a child...the soft spring air upon your skin...the touch of a loved one....complete strangers complimenting you on...well, on anything really. Soak it up...let it breathe through you driving away the painful memories, the sorrows that litter your soul, that inhabit the dark places....

A good friend told me a very simple yet complex idiom....'Let go and Let God....' My first thought was 'ooooh ooook.' Heavy on the cynicism and knee jerk reaction...and yet...those words rose to mind with each foray into anxiety, into fulminating fears, into the difficulties I face. With each time I repeated those words in a mangled mantra, the fear became less...the peace more pronounced ..... in essence dear friends, when we focus on those words and repeat them in a prayer-like way, we acknowledge what we cannot control and release it. To God...to a higher power...in whomever, however and whatever you place your belief...release it and see the good coming in...see peace replacing fear...see a quiet fortitude pushing aside anxieties, pushing aside the need to shape the future. I continue to step into being present in each moment...drinking it in....we miss so much overthinking the future, overthinking the words/actions of others, overthinking our place on this earth. In order to move forward the mindset must alter...must allow for peace amongst the chaos. Let it reign, let it run its cycle while you stand in the eye of the storm...and smile. The Serenity prayer is never more apt than in our situation dear lovely hearts.... “God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.” Reinhold Neibuhr (1971)

If it cannot be changed....move forward one step at a time until it can. Courage to change what we can... stand tall and walk proud as the capable women (and men) you are. I am SO proud of you, you have come so far...don't give up now, hurting and healing women and men...you have slowly found your feet, began to step, shuffle, and sometimes even dance in the right direction, on the right path...your path, your truth... your journey is wide open and full of possibilities, hopes and dreams for a life of peace and unbounded love.

[insfiringyou]

BTS - Somebody Else (V x Da-eun) & (Max x Cassandra)

Contains: Fluff, parenting, slight angst, smut, first date

Set a month after the fic ‘A Chance Meeting’ where V asks for Da-eun’s phone number. He agrees on a date with the stylist and Cassandra and Max spend some alone time together. 

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE 

Taehyung smiled, opening his mouth in a playful gesture as the baby dropped the wrapper on the floor; the infant licked the dark substance from his tiny, sticky fingers with a grin. The man opposite reached for the pack of wet wipes on the table in front of him, slipping a few from the hole in the top and stretching to hand them to Taehyung who took them with a quiet thanks.

“No problem.” Max sat back down and leaned back in the chair, watching as Taehyung wiped the chocolate from the baby’s lips, trailing it across his cheeks and forehead, where a strand had managed to become lodged in the boy’s dark hair. “He loves that stuff but he gets it everywhere.” 

Taehyung looked up briefly at the sound of the man’s voice, dismissing it with a lazy gesture. “Babies are supposed to be messy.”

“He’ll never sleep now…” Cassandra rolled her eyes with a sigh, shifting against the cushions of the small, two-person couch she shared with her boyfriend. She had spent all afternoon trying to get Gabriel prepared for his evening walk with Taehyung; making sure he was changed and fed, but the child had been restless, throwing his dinner on the floor in a tantrum before attempting to climb the stairs; pulling the safety gate from the wall in the process. Her limbs ached from chasing him, but his demeanor changed when his father showed up at the door. He climbed in the stroller without kicking up a fuss and, according to Taehyung, hadn’t made a sound on the mile-long trip to the park. It was times like this she jokingly wondered if Gabriel had been the right name to call him. Lucifer might be more apt. 

Max had shown up shortly after the troublesome pair had left, and the cup of warm tea he made was most welcome. He helped her tidy the living room in anticipation of them coming back, and insisted she sit back and relax as he did the washing up. Her feet were sore and he kneaded them gently, resting them one by one in his lap until the sound of the door opening made her pull away. The thought of Taehyung seeing them made her uncomfortable, and her soles were feeling much better anyway. 

“It’ll be fine.” Max murmured cheerfully, pulling her away from her thoughts. “I can go and sit with him if he wakes up.” Cassandra frowned at his casual taking of Taehyung’s side and he touched her thigh, giving it a little pat. “It’ll give you a chance to sleep.”

“I could stay if you need me to.” Taehyung offered, his gaze suddenly fixed on the couple. 

She shook her head, frown fixed. “I thought you had a date?”

He opened his mouth to speak but Max cut in, interest peaked. “I didn’t know you were dating.”

Taehyung was silent for a moment before offering a small shrug. “We’ve only been texting.”

“How long?” The other man asked. 

“A month or so.”

Cassandra turned to her boyfriend, sensing the other man’s discomfort at being questioned, she took over, elaborating for him. “She’s a stylist.” 

Max grinned teasingly. “Your stylist?”

Taehyung shook his head. “No, a friend’s. We haven’t met yet.”

“Where are you taking her?” The older man asked.

There was a long pause and Cassandra suspected he wasn’t going to reply, realising that Max, who was an open book when it came to conversation, hadn’t yet sensed the other man’s uneasiness. Taehyung lowered Gabriel gently to the floor. The infant had started to wriggle in his grasp, as though sensing the change in atmosphere. 

“Le Rouge, in Gangnam.” He murmured. 

“Oh, it’s nice!” Max turned to his girlfriend with a warm smile. “We’ve been.”

“Make sure you try the Coq au vin.” She chipped in. 

The younger man shrugged once more. “I’m not that hungry…I was thinking of just going for drinks.”

She looked at him, eyebrow cocked. “Have you told her that?”

“What do you mean?” He replied, voice slow. 

She tried not to roll her eyes. “She might not have eaten.” 

He sighed quietly, wanting to change the topic. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Cassandra fell quiet, eyes falling to her son who had started to whine under his breath, babbling incessantly as he clung to the dark fabric of the sofa, attempting to climb back onto his father’s lap. He was growing fussy and she checked her watch. 

Max watched her do this and got slowly to his feet. “We should put him to bed now.”

“I’ll do it.” Taehyung interrupted. 

Cassandra joined her boyfriend, shaking her head lightly as she stood, gently reminding the man opposite. “You’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Are you driving?” Max asked, stepping aside to allow Cassandra to edge past him. 

The younger man shifted in his seat but accepted Cassandra’s offer. “Taking a cab.” His eyes followed as she bent down beside him, scooping the child in her arms easily as she had done thousands of times before. Their eyes met and she gave a soft smile, nodding towards his printed shirt. The colours were jeweled in tone; feathers decorating the crisp, white fabric. It was a wonder he had managed to stay clean with the baby around.  

“You look nice.” She complimented. 

“Thank you.” He murmured quietly. 

She nodded, straightening her legs. “I hope it goes well.” Gabriel had finally grown quiet, his eyes closing sleepily and she lowered him towards his father who kissed his cheek softly, smoothing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. 

“Goodnight angel…” 

He watched her walk towards the hallway and felt his chest swim simultaneously with warmth and sadness at the sight of them leaving. Max followed his gaze, sea-blue eyes observing, but not quite understanding what he was seeing. He sat back in his chair, sensing the tension the other man was feeling and wanting to alleviate it somehow. 

“Do you want something to drink since you’re not driving?” He offered politely. “Something to settle your nerves?”

The younger man’s attention was drawn for a few more moments by Cassandra climbing the stairs to the second floor with Gabriel walking in front of her; his arms held up to stop him from falling, before turning back. “If you want.” 

Max stood up, heading towards the kitchen. “Do you like craft ale? We got a batch from a local brewery.”

“Anything’s fine.” Taehyung murmured without interest, watching as the older man unclasped the safety gate which shielded the kitchen from young, adventurous hands. He heard the fridge door open and the gentle hiss of cap tops being popped, before the other man returned, clutching two bottles. He handed one across the table before settling back down in his previous position on the opposite sofa. 

“Has it been a while?”

Taehyung frowned. “Since what?”

Max shrugged easily. “You dated.”

The younger man looked away, thinking. “I’ve been focused on other things lately.”

Max nodded with a smile, remembering tidbits of information from Cassandra. “I heard about your house renovation. Is it going well?”

“Almost finished. I just have the nursery to decorate.”

He gave a murmur of approval in reply, before falling silent, unsure what else to say. Max had met Taehyung on a handful of occasions, though their conversations were usually brief; it wasn’t him he was coming around to see after all. He hadn’t yet grasped a good sense of his personality, though he seemed to be shy, reserved even. Max wasn’t used to making small talk, but wanted to be friendly; the other man was Gabriel’s father after all, and it would help Cassandra if they got along. “It’s good that you’ve made it work.” He eventually said, approvingly. Taehyung looked at him with a blank expression and he quickly clarified. “You and Cassandra...most people can’t.”

“Me and Cass aren’t like ‘most people’.” He replied, making Max laugh. He held up his bottle in cheers.  

“I’ll drink to that!” He grinned, pressing the bottle to his lips. Taehyung followed, mirroring his motion and taking a few small sips. Max put his bottle on the table, watching the other man drink quietly, musing over whether he should say what he had planned. The young man opposite seemed more relaxed, having grown used to his company, so he pressed ahead, a little cautiously, seeking approval. 

“We were thinking of taking a little vacation this summer…”

“Where to?” Taehyung asked.

His voice seemed casual, uninterested, so Max continued. “Sweden.” He cleared his throat a little. “Lund, my home town.”

Brown eyes met blue across the space. “Will Gabriel be going with you?”

Max hesitated, brushing his fair hair from his eyes and touching the back of his neck. “Would you be okay with that?”

Taehyung was quiet for a second, before replying. “If Cassandra’s comfortable with it.” He looked towards the doorway automatically, towards the staircase. He could hear Gabriel whaling loudly upstairs, Cassandra’s frantic hushes just audible as she tried to get him to settle in his cot. Max followed his gaze, reading his thoughts, and shook his head knowingly. 

“She might take a while.” He confirmed. “You don’t want to be late.”

Taehyung fell silent, as though wishing to protest, but finally stood up, collecting his phone from the coffee table and sliding it into his shoulder bag. He hadn’t quite finished the drink, but a quick glance at his watch told him he wouldn’t have time. He wasn’t that thirsty anyway. 

Max trailed behind as they walked into the hallway, the older man sipping his beer along the way. “I hope you’ll come again soon.” He smiled. Taehyung paused by the stairs, considering whether he should go up and say goodnight. 

“I’ll let her know you had to go.” Max said gently, and Taehyung looked back, nodding in acceptance. 

“Thanks.” He murmured, reaching for the door handle. 

PART TWO 

She felt hot under her thick, woolen coat and hoped her foundation was staying put. The evening was unexpectedly warm, a contrast to the past few nights when she had taken the bus back from her company’s headquarters downtown, and she was beginning to regret her attire. There was no one behind the reception desk and she looked around the dim room frantically, checking the small face of her watch and hoping he hadn’t left already; that was if he had shown up at all. There were a few couples seated around the circular tables, along with a family on the long, bench-like table near the window, clearly celebrating a birthday. Golden balloons were strung along the backs of chairs, and the conversation among them was heated and familiar. She couldn’t see him there and reached into her handbag for her phone, wondering if she would be brave enough to text. 

Her gaze was averted when an older man came out of a back room, closing the door quietly behind him and glancing across the desk. She hoped he couldn’t sense her embarrassment and wondered whether she should just leave, before he beckoned gently to her. She took a step closer to the desk and he leaned across to whisper.

“Could I take your name?” 

She pulled away and looked at him. His expression was hard to read and she felt her cheeks turn red. 

“Kang Da-eun.” She replied, wondering a second too late whether it had been a good idea to tell a stranger. 

He nodded. “This way please…”

She looked around the room, noting the busy atmosphere, before following cautiously towards a beaded curtain at the end of the corridor. 

“Can I take your coat?” The man asked, pulling the strings aside as she ducked beneath. It made a soft, musical sound as the beads shimmied back together and she looked around the small room, spotting the lone figure immediately. The walls were a deep, fleshy kind of burgundy and the soft, warm lighting only made the room seem smaller, more intimate. Her heart seemed to stop as the man seated at the far end looked up above the menu, straight at her. His hair was a medium brown, tousled a little above his dark, dark eyes and the expression he gave seemed intense, though she couldn’t quite read it. She still couldn’t believe she was meeting him in the flesh; though she recognised him immediately. She had been too preoccupied over the prospect of him not being there that she hadn’t quite worked out what she would do if he was. Da-eun became aware that the server was waiting patiently at her side, and she belatedly turned to him with a blush, smoothing her dark hair away from her perspiring forehead. 

“Oh, thank you…” She slipped off the tweed coat, fumbling a little with the oversized buttons, before handing it to him. He hung it on the stand in the corner, before promptly disappearing back through the curtains. When she turned back her date was standing, pulling the wooden chair from the other side of the little table for her to sit down. She walked over shakily, hoping her feet wouldn’t give out from under her as she joined him. The chair squeaked as she sat on it and she felt herself cringe even further.  

“I’m sorry to be late. The bus was delayed.” She blurted, eyes following as he sat back down and met her gaze. 

“Which number did you get?” He asked, voice low and surprisingly soft. She felt the pulse in her hands and knitted them together in front of her on the table. 

“The one from Hannam-dong.”

He nodded, though she wasn’t sure he really understood. She wondered how long it had been since he had taken public transport. She looked around nervously, observing the framed photographs which hung, clustered on the walls. They were placed a little chaotically in the small space, but she thought that might be the point. She recognised a few of the places shown, though she had never been there herself; the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. “It’s really nice here.” She smiled, tugging a little at the hem of her dress; wishing it wasn’t so warm or that she had chosen something less modest. “I feel under-dressed.”

His eyes flickered to the garment, lingering on the decorative pattern which adorned the thick, woolen dress. “Don’t worry.” He murmured. 

“Have you been here before?” She asked with interest. 

“No.” He said, making her fall silent. She touched her cheeks with the back of her hand, realising, as expected, they were warm to the touch. He noticed and leaned forward. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water.” She nodded and he pressed the call button at the side of the table. 

“Still or sparkling?”

She blinked. “Still.”

The waiter was prompt, walking through the curtain a few moments later and Taehyung requested water for them both. She took advantage of the moment to fix her fringe again, which had started to cling unattractively to her forehead. She feathered the dark locks with her fingertips, making sure the older gentleman had once more retreated behind the doorway before she spoke again. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” She whispered honestly, a little ashamed of herself. 

Taehyung looked at her. “Why?”

“I thought…” She shook her head to herself, a little smile playing on her lips. “It might be a prank.”

“I wouldn’t prank you.” He said smoothly. 

“I know…It’s just…” She started, already feeling flustered. “I see people on T.V all the time, where people pretend to be someone they’re not.” She paused. “It’s usually for their credit card.”

The other man was quiet and she worried she might have offended him. She opened her mouth to clarify, but he changed the topic. “Did you like the flowers I sent?”

Sitting back in her chair, she nodded with a smile at the memory. The pale, delicate Baby’s Breath had arrived at her workplace the previous week, wrapped carefully in brown paper. It reminded her of something a child might pick in the spring and she had later wondered if he had done just that. “They were lovely. I didn’t think they were for me at first.”

“I wrote a card.” He affirmed. 

She quickly nodded. “I know. I just didn’t see it until Ara pointed it out.”

“Do you like working with Ara?” He questioned. 

“She’s really nice.” Da-eun confirmed. “She told me how you met.”

Taehyung sat back, threading his fingers together. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I heard.” She thought for a second, curious about something she had heard rumours of in the news. “Are you working on a comeback?”

“Not really.” He murmured dismissively, looking over her shoulder when the waiter returned with a jug and two glasses. “Thank you, you can set it there.” He gestured, pouring the drinks for them both without fuss. He continued speaking as he placed her glass carefully in front of her. “How did you become a stylist?”

She took a few mouthfuls, soothing her dry throat. “Well…” She gulped, setting it back down. “It’s a funny story.”

“I’m listening.” He said.

She looked up, observing that he was indeed watching her closely, before she continued the story. “I had a friend from school who worked with Mamamoo, and she had to pull out of a photoshoot because she broke her arm.”

“How did she break it?” He asked.

“What?” She looked up, eyes wide.

“Her arm. How did she break it?” He asked patiently. 

“Oh…” She looked down, remembering. “She fell down the stairs before a business meeting. Her heel just snapped.”

“Sounds painful.” He commented nonchalantly. 

“It was.” She confirmed, feeling more confident now she was making conversation and that he appeared to be interested in what she had to say. “Anyway, she couldn’t mix the colours with only one arm. So she asked if I could step in.”

“Did you go to beauty school?”

She nodded with a smile. “I’d just graduated. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“That’s very fortuitous...” He wandered off, taking a few sips of water as he thought to himself. She watched his eyes grow dark. “I would have liked to have spent more time at school.” He eventually said. 

“You still can.” She replied softly. “What would you study?”

He was quiet for a second. “Art maybe…or Photography.”

Her smile widened. “I’ve seen your pictures online…they’re really good.”

“I’d like to be better.” He murmured. 

She nodded sympathetically. “It must be hard to balance your time.” 

He met her gaze, caught off guard. “Why?”

Da-eun frowned. “You have a son, don’t you?”

She saw his expression shift and immediately realised her mistake. “I’m sorry…” She backtracked, turning red with embarrassment and looking down at the table. “I saw it online.”

“So did most of Korea.” He said dryly. 

She sensed a note of sadness in his voice she couldn’t quite place; regret perhaps? She knew why. She didn’t need Ara to tell her what the backlash had been like. Her own reaction as someone who had known his name for years was one of shock and slight disbelief. She knew for those who followed him more closely; the fans who attended his shows and bought his records, the news would have seemed like a bombshell. It had never occurred to her before how this must have affected him. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

He shifted slightly in his wooden chair, his demeanor relaxing. “Maybe another time.” He confirmed, surprising her. Da-eun watched as he reached slowly across the table, fingertips skimming the back of her hand briefly before pulling away. She felt her skin prickle at the touch. “I want to know you better first.” Taehyung whispered. 

She moved her gaze from her hand, where his own had been only seconds before, to his face which seemed soft in the dim glow of the lamp. “I think I’ve told you it all…” She admitted, only just realising how open she had been with him during their messages. 

“You still live with your parents and sister?” He asked, already knowing the answer but seeking confirmation.

She nodded. “When I’m home.”

His mouth twisted a little and she wondered if he was teasing her. “Do they know you’re on a date?”

She nodded again, trying this time to hide her blush by talking clearly, with an air of confidence. “I said I’d be back by ten…”

“I’ll make sure you’re home in time.” He said softly, sitting back in his chair. 

“Thanks.” She mumbled, sensing a shift between them. Looking across at him, he suddenly seemed less defensive, as though he was finally starting to relax. She nodded towards the single menu that rested between them, noting the neat, spindly calligraphy on the front page. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

She felt her stomach grumble in reply and picked it up sheepishly. “Did you want to share something? I hear the chicken is good.”

“I heard the same.” He replied coolly, gesturing towards the laminated sheet. “We should get two. I don’t want you to go hungry.”

She glanced at him with a smile, belatedly feeling just how hungry she was. Her stomach had been uncomfortable all afternoon, churning with nerves, and she hadn’t been able to manage more than a few bites at lunch. She knew how much Idols had to watch their figure; having seen for herself what Ara and the girls were subjected to while preparing for their comebacks, but the fact he didn’t seem to mind her having an appetite came as a relief. 

“Shall we get a starter too?” She asked hopefully. 

He nodded easily. “You should order as much as you want.”

“Maybe some onion soup?”

He smiled. “Sounds good. Do you drink?”

She blinked. “Alcohol?” 

He nodded. 

“A little bit.” She replied, though immediately realised that was an exaggeration. The last time she had alcohol had been two Christmases ago, and even then it had only been a taste.

“Do you want some wine?” He asked. 

She hesitated. “I don’t know much about what’s good.” Da-eun answered honestly. 

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll order. Is a Cabernet okay?”

She looked at him blankly, but agreed. “Okay.”

***

She had managed to finish her small glass of wine, but only just. It’s bitter taste had taken her by surprise and if she had felt the room warm before, it was now like an oven. Taehyung had taken her lead and made sure his own glass was small, though he had drunk two. He gestured towards the bottle, still more than half full. 

“Do you want any more?” He offered, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

She shook her head with a smile. The room seemed to be lit with a soft, fuzzy glow; the man opposite cast in a halo of light. She had never been drunk before, though she had heard it was fun. She wasn’t sure tonight was the best night to find out. “I’d better not. I have to get the bus home.”

He looked at her, expression straight. “Are you driving it?”

Da-eun laughed loudly in response, his reply unexpected and funny. It was the first time he had attempted humour all evening, and it was welcome. “No…” She shook her head, eyes streaming a little as she calmed down. 

He settled back in his chair comfortably and she suspected he might be feeling proud of himself for getting a response from her. She wondered how long it had been since he had made another woman laugh.

“It’s pretty strong.” He confirmed, noting her roughed cheeks and giddy demeanor. “You could take it home with you. For your parents.”

She looked at the drink, frowning. “I’m not sure they’ll let me on the bus with a bottle.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.” He offered. “I said I’d have you home by ten.”

His words were reassuring and she felt her heart skip in her chest. She hadn’t been sure earlier in the evening if meeting him had been such a good idea. While their messages had been friendly enough, she wasn’t certain he really liked her that much. But his offer to get her home safely was sweet and much appreciated; the prospect of riding the bus so late at night had been making her a little anxious as the evening drew to a close. Perhaps he was just as nervous about the date as she had been.

“I’ll get my coat.” She smiled, getting to her feet.

***

The cool air sobered her up and she tucked her coat tightly around her midriff. “It’s getting cold.” She commented, though felt it was welcome. 

“Yes.” He murmured, walking side by side with her along the pavement until they reached the point where the curb dipped into the road. “The taxis stop here.”

She turned to him, only just noticing the clear height difference between them. It was strangely comforting. “Thank you for buying me dinner.” She smiled. 

“Did you like it?” He asked. 

“Yes.” She confirmed, quickly adding. “Thank you.”

Taehyung pointed to a black cab which indicated right at the end of the road in the distance before pulling into the side street. “This will be for you.” He confirmed. “I texted ahead.”

Da-eun looked up with a polite nod. “Thank you.” She wondered what came next; whether she should bring up the topic of a second date. The dinner had been nice, and she had warmed to him considerably during the course of the meal, but she couldn’t be sure whether he felt the same. Taehyung gave a little wave to the car which pulled into the taxi bay beside them. 

“It was nice to meet you.” He said, watching her tuck the handbag beneath her arm a little more securely. She waited to see if he would say any more and when he didn’t, took a tentative step towards the cab, feeling awkward. He moved away and, noticing from the corner of her eye, she took it as a sign the date was over. Da-eun gently loosened her grasp against her purse and pulled open the zipper, knowing that while she hadn’t opened it during the date, she was strangely prone to losing things. Noting that her bank card and phone were accounted for, she allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Taehyung walking away, back in the direction of the restaurant. He looked a little cold in his thin shirt and black trousers, and she wondered if he had left the rest of his belongings inside. Disappointed, but unsure what else she had expected, she turned back to the car and gave a small wave to the driver who gave one back in reply. She considered whether she should get in the front seat, though knew she would be useless at making conversation during the trip. Instead, she reached for the handle to the back.

“Do you have everything?” The voice behind her took her by surprise and she jumped a little, almost dropping her purse in the process. She turned towards Taehyung, failing to hide her shock, but managed a nod. 

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good…” He murmured, breath turning to mist in the cold air. He fell silent before stepping forward. “Can I kiss you?”

Her mouth opened uselessly, though she knew she must have managed a nod because a moment later his lips were pressing against her cheek, his touch soft as he pecked her gently, the sound filling her ear. He was surprisingly warm despite the cold night, and she felt a tingle after he had pulled away; her nostrils briefly filled with his dark, woody scent. The fragrance was unfamiliar, though she hadn’t much experience with colognes, and it filled her stomach with butterflies. 

“Goodnight…” He whispered, straightening up. 

She blinked stupidly in reply. “Yes.”

“Text me when you get home.” He requested, reaching out to tuck untuck the collar of her thick coat, as though protecting her from the cold, before he turned to leave. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

She nodded, though her voice was suddenly quiet; she felt like a mouse. “I will.”

The driver seemed to be growing inpatient behind the wheel and she gave a final wave as Taehyung set off once more in the direction of the restaurant, briefly turning back to watch her get inside before the car pulled away from the edge of the curb. 

PART THREE

Earlier that evening…

“That sounded difficult.” Max smiled, automatically switching to English now they were alone and the apartment was finally silent. The cries from upstairs had only begun to taper off during the past five minutes, and the relief was apparent on Cassandra’s face as she gave a knowing smirk in reply and sat on the sofa, leaning into his touch as he wrapped one arm casually around her shoulder, bundling her against him. “It was the bastard sugar.” She replied in the same language, making him chuckle. 

“One won’t hurt him.” He protested lightly. She rolled her eyes dramatically, realising he was taking Taehyung’s side in this. 

“As long as you’re the one to stay up with him when he inevitably wakes up at 3am bouncing off the walls…”

He looked at her, holding his palms out with an easy smile. “I offered, didn't I?”

Cassandra looked around the small room, only just noticing. “Is he gone?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I gave him a beer.”

“How chivalrous of you.” She quipped dryly, tucking herself closer, body heavy with exhaustion. 

“He seemed stressed.” Max shrugged, mispronouncing the final syllable, drawing it out.  

“Yeah…” She murmured, growing silent in thought. “For a second I didn’t think he’d go.” She admitted. 

“First dates are scary.” He agreed. 

Cassandra pulled back to look up at him, her cheek pressing against his lower chest as she grinned mischievously. “Was it scary dating me?”

He shrugged against her, matching her smile. “You are easy to talk to.” He thought for a moment. “And my Korean is not that good yet.” He added.

“Me neither…”

He grinned, whispering. “You lie.” She laughed softly in reply as he looked at her, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear and smoothing her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m very lucky.” He said soberly. 

Her mouth twisted in a playful leer. “Oui.” 

His smile remained. “Do you feel the same?” He asked. 

“Oui.”

He sighed dramatically. “You know my French is no good.”

“Non?” She teased, voice heavily accented. 

“Non…” He agreed, bending down to meet her lips in a gentle kiss. He cupped her jaw, opening his mouth against hers and meeting her tongue as it brushed his softly, before pulling away and welcoming the feel of her weight against her body.  

“He seems like a good guy.” Max admitted and she shifted against him, eyebrow raised. 

“Taehyung?”

He nodded. “He’s good with the baby.” He said, falling silent when she didn’t reply. A thought had been playing on his mind, though he had never asked. Now, the timing seemed right. “Were you ever worried how he would react?”

“To having a baby?” She questioned. 

Max gave a sound in confirmation. “He’s young.” He explained.

“Honestly…” She said, shrugging. “Yes.”

“I mentioned us going to see my family in the summer.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. 

She looked up at him, voice turning stern in disbelief. “You didn’t…”

He moved his shoulders; his shrug shaking her against him. “He was okay with it.”

Cassandra frowned, a little shocked. “Really?”

“He said it was up to you.”

Another eye roll. “How kind of him…”

Max looked at her, observing her expression. “Did you think he’d stop you?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

She grew quiet, before answering carefully. “I don’t see how he could.” She gave a small sigh. “We’re not together anymore.”

He couldn’t help but grin, gently touching her nose with his index finger. “Fortunate for me…” He smoothed it along her bridge lovingly before moving to her forehead, trailing it across her skin. “Shall we book the plane?”

She didn’t answer at first, and Max wondered if he should repeat the question, before she chimed in, a little tentatively. “I’m not sure Gabriel could handle the long flight.”

“I flew to Australia when I was his age.” He explained. 

She shook her head against him. “I don’t want to put him through it yet.” Her hand reached for his and she held it lightly, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. “Maybe this time you could visit them yourself…until he’s older.”

“We can talk about it later.” He agreed, wrapping his fingers around hers and giving her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. The sweater she was wearing had ridden down her chest a little, and he eyed her cleavage for a moment, before dipping his spare hand lower to cup a breast. She had closed her eyes, but gave a murmur of approval as he closed his fingers around her flesh, massaging her a couple of times before slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater to brush the cup of her bra. 

“Are you sure he’s asleep?” He whispered. 

She nodded against him, grumbling sleepily. “For now.”

He dipped lower, sliding beneath the thick fabric to tease a nipple and welcoming her sigh as he brushed the sensitive bud. “Do you want to?” He asked, watching her eyes open.

“Can we do it here?” She asked, pulling away from his body to change position. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“Okay.” He agreed, taking her cue as she laid along the length of the sofa, facing away from him. He tucked himself behind her, already feeling himself stiffen beneath his trousers as she nestled her backside against the forming bulge. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable and he groaned in response, unfastening the button on his jeans and letting out an inpatient gasp as she reached behind with one hand to feel him through the fabric. She offered a long, slow squeeze which made him buckle into her grasp, untucking the edge of his boxer shorts as he pulled them down a little to free himself. Reaching around her body, he moved under her sweater, stroking her stomach gently before palming her breast once more through the fabric as she sought out his cock, wrapping her digits around his thickness and jerking him roughly against her covered backside.

“Is this good?” She whispered, keeping her voice low. 

“Amazing…” He spluttered. “I’m not hurting you am I?”

“No…” She sighed, tightening her grasp. 

“Your nipple is so hard.” He remarked, tweaking it a little through the padding as she unfastened her jeans with one hand, tugging the fabric along with her underwear down just enough to expose herself to him. 

“Touch me…” She gasped, moving her hand to his and placing it between her thighs where he smoothed his fingers along the curved outline of her pubis, running through the dark mat of curled hair before dipping between her folds. 

“I love your hair.” He whispered against her ear, panting at the sensation as she squeezed along with length.

“My cunt?” She moaned, moving her lower body against his fingers, encouraging him to explore further. 

“Yes…” His breath was warm against her face and neck as he kissed the skin there sensually, tongue flicking against her.

“Say it.” She begged. 

“I love your cunt.” He repeated back to her, moving his hips in time with her motions, pushing into her palm as the tip slipped across her fleshy backside, humping her. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Cassandra asked, breath catching in her throat.

“Yes…” He pleaded. 

“Put your cock in me?” 

He groaned loudly in reply and she held him tighter. 

“Fill me with your cum?”

His voice hitched as he tried to speak. “Fill you…” He wandered off, giving a final grunt as he spilled himself into her hand, trying to catch his breath as he stilled against her. She realised, too late, what had happened and slowed her motions, uncurling her digits from around him and pulling away. 

“God…” Max cried, bending over to kiss her cheek. “You’re so hot.” His voice came in jagged as he murmured against her cheek. “I couldn’t help it.” His eyes moved to her hand and he shifted against her, sitting up on the sofa as she moved around to rest her feet on the floor. “Let me get that…” He quickly offered, reaching for the wet wipes on the coffee table and wiping her digits before she could protest. He bundled the tissue and dropped it absently in the garbage can beside the sofa, pressing his lips back to her face. “You look so sexy.” He mumbled against her cheek, hands moving to squeeze her bare arse cheeks. 

Cassandra pulled away, a little sleepily. “So do you.” She reached for her jeans, meaning to pull them back up but he beat her to it, pushing her hand away gently. 

“Let me do something for you…”

She watched silently as he knelt on the floor, fitting himself between the sofa and table and looking up at her with wide, blue eyes. His intent was obvious, and Cassandra passively sat back in the chair as he stroked along her thigh, fingering the edge of her clothes and sliding them down her legs. He discarded them on the floor and she placed both feet on the sofa, spreading herself wide for him and watching as he leaned forward. His lips were gentle as they kissed along her labia, holding her open with two fingers and licking her folds with the tip of his tongue. She closed her eyes, blindly reaching for him as he tucked himself closer and stroking the strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moaned in reply to her touch as she held him against her, letting out an approving groan as he kissed her clitoris lightly, peppering it with soft, sucky kisses before focusing on her inner thigh which he showered with equal affection. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and forced them open, wanting to watch and appreciate him as he moved back to her clitoris which he sucked between his lips.

“That’s nice…” She whispered, encouraging him nearer. He wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs, opening his mouth against her. The moans she gave in response were genuine, though she feared she lacked the energy to reach her peak. Giving a last attempt, she splayed her fingers across the back of his head, holding him to her as he licked across her clitoris in small, circular motions. He groaned once more against her body, clearly enjoying the act, and she hadn’t the heart to ask him to stop. Shifting on the sofa slightly, she let go of his head and ran her fingers lightly through the pale, blonde strands, increasing the sounds of her breathing steadily until she forced a series of raspy, throaty gasps and stilled against him. He pressed a lingering kiss against her inner labia, just above her cunt, and she eased him away gently. He looked up at her with a soft smile and she met it affectionately. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, kissing him softly when he moved up her body and opened his lips against hers. “Is it too early for bed?” She asked when he pulled away, stroking his stubbled cheek with her index finger.

He shook his head. “No. Do you want a nightcap?”

She thought for a moment before getting to her feet, bending down for her discarded underwear. “I want to keep a clear head in case Gabriel wakes up.”

He reached for her spare hand and she took it as he pulled her into a loose embrace. “Okay.”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

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[silvertonedwords]

#40 kisses prompt if you haven't had that asked yet please and thank you.

A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

I felt like expanding this.

“And, why are people staring at us?”

Tina clears her throat as they walk past gaggles of well-dressed employees at the Ministry entrance, then waves her wand at a stand of this morning’s papers so that one flies into her hand and falls open to the second page. “The usual.” She passes the page over to Newt, her beaded charcoal gown rustling between them.

Many of the guests pay them no mind, but Newt is right to notice the odd person pointing or whispering with badly concealed glances in their direction. 

“ ‘Scamander and Auror Wife to Split’ details on page 10′” he reads. “Merlin’s beard, not again.” He skims the article briefly before sending the paper back to the stand with a flick of his wand and a frustrated sigh. Frequent absences for work. Sources close to the couple. Chilly atmosphere on a walk last week after Mr. Scamander returned from his research trip.

“Mm-hm.” Tina rolls her eyes, fighting hard to brush it off entirely, although she knows these articles bother Newt. Not all of them—not the ones speculating about the color of ink he uses at book signings or the financial arrangement he has with his publisher for a second edition. He finds those easy enough to ignore. And the articles that anger him the most are those with misinformation about his creatures. But she has noticed that it bothers him when the papers speculate about the state of their relationship. Is it so impossible for people to see how we feel about each other? he’d asked the night after the second article had run, his face cast in shadows on the pillow beside her and his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along her ribs. 

She can understand the frustration. As secure as they are in each other, it stings that the rest of society seems to have decided that their feelings deserve suspicion and ridicule. A single article would be one thing, but to have the baseless stories repeated over, and over... (Who’s gonna marry him? she remembers asking Newt on the day they met, in reference to Jacob of course, but it feels apt now—the question everyone else seems to be asking of them.) Tina is a generally private person, and she knows it wouldn’t help, but sometimes she wishes she could make these foolish people listen to her as she describes her husband—his kindness, and wit, and energy. How unusual and wonderful he is, and how lucky they both feel every day, even when one of them is in a terrible mood, or they’re about to be separated for work, to have stumbled into each other on a New York street. 

The specifics of the articles change each time, but the implications remain more or less the same. Some speculate that she is always at work, too busy to support his success, and too disinterested a wife to care. Others suggest that he is too strange, too cold—that he couldn’t possibly care for her. And always, the articles seem to say, it was destined to be a disaster, and if ever there was any passionate feeling between them, there certainly isn’t now. She’ll take the criticism of her feelings and know it’s absurd, but the self-satisfied hints about Newt are enraging. 

They make their way to the east wing of the lobby and up a set of stairs, where floating chandeliers and draping gold and navy fabric adorn the usually bare hall. Newt must have picked up on her scowl, because he slides his hand into hers and squeezes tightly. She squeezes back, trying to shake off her frustration as she waves at a couple of auror colleagues. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you hate these things.”

“You hate them too,” he protests.

“Yes, but I’m the one who’s required to go.”

His thumb sweeps across the back of her hand, his fingers threading through hers. “I’d do far more, you know.”

She does not try to hide her soft smile, lovestruck though it must be. “I know.”

They reach the top of the stairs and turn left, making their way past tables of bubbling drinks and towards the ballroom’s heavy wooden doors. Newt drops her hand to avoid a floating platter of chocolates, stepping to the side to rejoin her a few feet later. A camera flash goes off in front of them. Wonderful, Tina thinks. More fuel for speculation.

-&-

The first part of the evening goes as well as can be expected. Tina has few enough people that she’s interested in talking to; the only reason the Auror Department is required to attend these soirees is ‘to demonstrate to everyone that England is doing just fine in our efforts to stop Grindelwald’. 

At least Perkins had pulled Newt deep into conversation about the creatures he’d come across on assignment in Brazil. They’d wandered off fifteen minutes earlier, leaving Tina to sip her drink and watch the rest of the senior aurors and department heads mingle. Occasionally, she has a brief conversation with a colleague, but they, like her, keep moving around the room, taking stock. Even if she were the kind of person who enjoyed parties, she supposes, her job would probably ruin them. There are too many people to keep an eye on--too many people that she’s learned by reputation or experience not to trust.

Since Newt left for a smaller anteroom, she has also found to her great annoyance that the gossiping has become somewhat bolder. There are a few whispers around her--a couple of women from the press office pointing at her with sympathetic sighs; a man turning to his wife and saying I didn’t think it would last, you know. He’s so odd.

She has just turned back for another drink when Mrs. Selwyn spots her. “Ah, Tina darling, how are you?”

Tina moves her glass to her left hand, reaching with her right to shake the woman’s hand. The Selwyns have purchased hippogriffs from the Scamanders and have known both boys since they were little, although they are not, Tina has gathered, a particular favorite of either. “Fine, Mrs. Selwyn,” Tina replies smoothly, keeping an eye on new arrivals passing through the ballroom door.

“You know, dear, if you ever needed--well, if you needed someone to talk to...”

Tina swallows a cough at the presumption. “What about?” she asks cheerfully.

“Oh, well. I’m sure I don’t know. Married life. That sort of thing.”

Tina does cough at that, covering it with a sip of her drink. Any anger on her part, she knows, will only be taken as confirmation of the story. The nerve of these people though, and the nerve of those so-called journalists with their smug implications, that no one could really fall in love with Newt; that a woman and an auror could not possibly have a happy marriage; that because Newt doesn’t follow her around like a crup at every event saying ‘yes dear’ and ‘of course dear’, he couldn’t possibly be in love with her. Never mind the way he looked at her from across the room a few minutes ago, when he caught her gaze mid-sentence. Never mind that her heart still takes off like a niffler in a jewelry store whenever he fixes her hair or kisses the back of her hand.

“Tina!” she hears, grateful that for once, her brother-in-law has good timing. “Could I borrow her for a moment, Mrs. Selwyn? Auror business.”

Mrs. Selwyn looks between them, raising an eyebrow as though deciding whether to be offended, and then nods and turns away.

“Thank you,” Tina murmurs under her breath as they walk towards the opposite wall.

“I’m quite put out, you know,” Theseus replies good-naturedly. “My brother and sister-in-law are splitting up for the fifth time this year, and they didn’t even bother to tell me.”

“Don’t you start,” she warns.

Theseus glances at her, then nods towards Mrs. Selwyn’s retreating form. “Is that what that was about?”

She hums in acknowledgement. “Offering ‘marital advice’.” 

“Ridiculous, if you ask me. ‘There was a chilly atmosphere on their walk’,” he quotes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Mm, particularly given the fact that we’d spent the majority of that day in bed.”

Theseus chokes on a sip of firewhisky. “Tina, he’s my little brother, would you please not—“ She grins, and he scowls back half-heartedly. “You say things like that just to make me squirm.”

“It’s good for you.” Her grin melts into a softer smile as she catches sight of Newt, who is still engrossed in his conversation with Perkins half a room away, his hands flying through the air with his enthusiasm.

Theseus’s voice has gentled beside her. “I don’t know how anyone could pay attention to the two of you for five minutes and believe anything those articles say.”

Well, Tina thinks with a rush of impatient energy, perhaps that’s what everyone needs to put an end to this stupid speculation. “Back in a minute,” she tells Theseus, downing the last of her drink and setting the glass on a nearby table. 

She strides across the room to where Newt and Perkins are still talking. “Could I borrow Newt?” she asks, one hand grazing Newt’s elbow once he’s seen that it’s her.

“Hello,” Newt offers once they are facing each other. He swallows hard, she presumes at what must be a rather fierce expression on her face.

“Hi,” she returns, touching the edge of his fringe. 

He catches her hand in his own, turning to press a kiss to her palm, the touch comfortable and breathtaking in equal measure. “Is something the matter?”

She shakes her head, falling into the tender amusement of his searching gaze. The auror in her had crossed the room with a plan, but as she slides a hand along his jaw and brings his lips to hers, she does not think about who might be watching them, or who would care. She does it because she wants to, and because she loves him, and because they can. Because she’s caught glimpses of him looking at her all evening, and knows that she’s been doing the same. 

Newt is as wrapped up in them as she was in an instant. He tilts his head further and cups her jaw to keep their mouths joined, his other hand settling on her waist to steady them. The kiss is intense but not frenzied, the press of lips and tongues a familiar give and take, their soft gasps muffled into the space between them.

Tina slides her hand around his neck, slipping her fingers up into his messy hair and smiling against his lips when he arches into the touch, and Newt coaxes her closer with his hand spread across her back. A shiver works its way through her as his calloused hand settles against her bare skin where the cut of her dress has left it exposed.

They part slowly, first to their foreheads pressed together, and then enough that Tina glimpses the dazed expression that matches her own. 

He watches his fingers curl into her mussed hair and tuck it back behind her ear, and Tina melts into the tenderness in his touch and his eyes. “That was…” he manages, his voice rough.

Her teeth dig into her lip, her eyes dancing to find the beginnings of a smile on Newt’s lips. “Unexpected?” She fixes the ends of his collar, although they hardly need adjusting. “I thought maybe we could put a stop to the rumors. They were starting to bother me.” She fingers his bowtie. “I think they have been. A little. Not because—but the things that everyone assumes about you are...“

“I know.” His brow furrows, his fingers curling around hers. “I think the same about you.”

A camera flashes beside them.

Tina sighs as, reluctantly, they pull apart. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t appear in the papers. But if they’re going to, at least it can be a little more accurate, and less likely to send nosy women and thoughtless Ministry officials their way with cruel assumptions about Newt’s heart. 

The story runs the following day as a caption to a photograph from the evening, an ever-repeating moment of their hands tangled and eyes fixed together as they separate from their kiss.

Newt Scamander & Auror Goldstein Like Newlyweds at Last Night’s Soiree, the headline reads. 

Theseus drops a copy on Tina’s desk the next morning with a shake of his head and a begrudging grin.

“So, did that go how you’d planned?” Newt asks that night as they’re getting ready for bed. 

Tina grins as he settles under the blankets beside her. “I saw you tear out a copy of that photograph and put it in your case.” 

He settles a hand on her hip, and she grasps it to tug him closer, until he’s pressed up against her back, his voice behind her warm and sleepy. “Your eyes in that photo, Tina.” 

She cranes her neck to glimpse his face, reaching an arm behind her to tuck his face into her neck. “I may have left a copy in my desk. I prefer yours.”

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

Weight of the World (1 & 2)

Patches interacts with the NPCs of Firelink Shrine, while an abusive Ashen One is away.

Every now and again the familiar sound of armour clunking up the worn stone stairs of the shrine would stir Patches from thought. They would approach him with a silent glare and voicelessly inquire about his inventory and would either purchase something, much to Patches’ delight, or would abruptly walk away, followed by his belittling words.

There was a period of time the Ashen One didn’t return for an unusually long time, and in that time Patches watched the drifters from his perch, high above in the shrine. It was amusing to watch the blind bird with snowy white hair and long ash-stained robes stumble around the shrine and stub her toes on the steps and walls. She would let out a breathy squeak each time she gently collided with something, feel around with her arms and finally take her place somewhere. No one spoke with her directly, all except the Ashen One, but there was one time Patches did descend from his perch to interact with her.

The Fire Keeper sat along the steps of the inner circular shrine, fiddling with a loose strand of thread from her robes and quietly hummed to herself. Upon hearing the shuffling of greaves, she lifted her head and called out, “Welcome home, Ashen One.”

But her small smile faltered. “Ah, thine footfalls art lighter than mine Ashen One.”

Her observation took Patches by surprise, considering he was taller and no doubt heavier than the Ashen One. He looked down at his outfit and realized it was the iron greaves and boots he wore that gave him that clunky armour sound, but the fabric shirt he wore on his torso and nothing else helped his footsteps sound lighter.

Patches let out a chuckle. “Huh. Not very blind for a blind girl, are we?”

The Fire Keeper visibly recoiled. “Thoust a wicked one; begone.”

“Aw, now, now,” he crouched low before her, levelling his eyes to where hers used to be. “what has that horrid Ashen Tart been telling you?”

“They told’th me of thy trickster ways, and how thee would betray thy own compatriots.”

“Trickster?” Patches couldn’t help the manic grin growing on his face. “Oh, absolutely. Spot on, in fact. Now, what’s all this about betraying my friends?” He mimicked a hurt tone. “I would never do such a thing, bird.”

“I don’t believe thee. I am told’th thee did cast mine Ashen One’s true friend down a well, and that yond thee donn’d his armour and pretended to be him.”

Patches playfully shrugged, not that the Fire Keeper could see it. “Alright, I admit, I did that. And how remarkably easy it was to get him to strip that laughable armour off - but I digress. Old boy and I made up. We’re all friends now!”

She didn’t fully believe that he made amends with the poor, jolly knight, but his truthful admittance is what caused the Fire Keeper to ease her suspicions of him… for now.

She craned her head to look up at him. Patches whistled and gave a little wave, and her head followed the sound to look straight ahead. She jumped slightly in surprise.

“Thou art a solitary being. What mad’eth thee come down hither?”

“Oh,” Patches rubbed the back of his bald head. “I had enough of being a fly on the wall to the goings on here. Thought I’d come down,” the Fire Keeper could hear the grin on the face in his tone. “stir up some trouble.”

The Fire Keeper’s lips contorted to a grimace of disgust. “Is’t within thy nature to disturb the delicate balance of those who seek’th solace hither?”

“Hear me now, bird,” he said. “I ain’t the one to meddle where his nose don’t belong. You’re better off giving that question to your beloved Ashen Tart.”

“Just as thee has’t nay business stripping yond po’r knight of his armour, and disturbing our contenders.”

The toothy, almost malicious, grin fell from Patches’ face for a moment, before awkwardly chuckling, “Not one to pick up on sarcasm, are you? I didn’t actually mean I’d cause trouble-“

From her seat on the semi-eroded stone steps, the Fire Keeper stood to her full height. Not as tall as Patches, her figure and aura possessed a cursed air around her, and managed to send a fright through the tall pale man. “Thou shan’t spread any mischief whilst thou take’th shelter in the shrine, lest thou wishes to face wrath.”

Patches held up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright! I read you - loud and clear!”

Satisfied with his answer, the Fire Keeper took her seat once more on the eroded steps. “Then thou art most welcomed.”

But Patches remained to stare down at the Fire Keeper. After several, silent moments passed, the Fire Keeper’s idle humming halted. “Oh, does’t the vagrant have more to say?”

“Yeah.” His light and spirited tone evaporated to a dour mood. “I see a lot that goes on here.”

“Oh?” The Fire Keeper entertained him.

“And I see how that Tart treats you.” He said with a vindictive tone. “The way they slap you around with every new shiny toy they find. You don’t have to take that.”

At his confrontational language, the Fire Keeper recoiled slightly. “I am surprised thee care enow to approach’th me, but it doest not matter, for I cannot die so easily.”

Patches huffed at her complacent attitude of remaining nothing more but a servant to the next Lord, and a training dummy. “Death doesn’t matter much, but you’ve still got feelings. How’d that last beheading feel? Not great, eh?”

The Fire Keeper pursed her lips, and remained silent for a moment, before speaking in a quieter voice, “I… Mine own feelings matter not. I understand’th mine place in the ordinary; what mine fate hast becometh.”

Patches went to speak, but the soft, shaky voice of the Fire Keeper kept his words at bay. She clutched at the worn fabric of her ash-stained sleeves. “Wicked One,” she sounded pained. “prithee, grant me solitude.”

He hesitated, staring as she drew herself inward, but he knew when it was time to leave well enough alone. Wordlessly he stepped away, interested in the dark figure in armour that resembled a gargoyle peeking from the archway to spy down below, further into the shrine.

But the Fire Keeper called quietly after Patches. “Thy concern is appreciated, O Wicked One.”

-

Eygon of Carim - a knight dressed in armour that resembled some sort of horrific creature - watched a pale maiden, wrapped up in creams and whites, from above. Irina, the one Eygon was so devoted to, sat upon what seemed to be the only dry patch of stone in the moist darkness of the shrine’s lowest floor.

Patches had seen him before. He entered the shrine to visit her from afar a few times, merely to silently observe and see if she was alright in the care of the Ashen One. Once satisfied, he would sulk around the outside of the shrine before taking off somewhere else.

This visit didn’t seem to be like his others, Patches noticed from where he spoke with the Fire Keeper. Eygon moved slow and carefully, as not to disturb the joints in his armour too much. He didn’t call out to her, didn’t engage or make himself known. He stood in the shadows, spying on the poor blonde girl. Patches had no issue playing along with Eygon’s silent act.

It was after a few more moments of peering down at the nun, who slowly swayed her head and hummed, that Eygon stepped away from the arch and crossed his arms.

“What business have you to bother me?” His deep, rumbling voice flowed from the open mouth of the gargoyle helmet he wore. “Go kiss someone else’s ass. I’m not in the mood for your foolery.”

Patches tilted his head and smirked at the Carim knight. He knew exactly what that tone meant; he was defensive. Like he was caught in the act of doing something he’s ashamed of. “Know of me,” Patches kept his voice quiet, much like the knight’s own voice. “wittol?”

A low growl resounded from within Eygon. “You’ve made a number of enemies. Seems like you’re in the market for another one.” Eygon reached behind him, never moving his head from gazing at Patches, for his atrociously large hammer that leaned into the corner he stood in.

But there was something about Carim knights that Patches was intimately familiar with. Rude, crass and as prickly as they were, not often did they enact wrath upon others who caused petty offense.

Patches crossed his arms and shrugged. “All you knights with your maidens you’re all so devoted to - how’s a bloke not to think you don’t slave over her feet? But not you, eh?”

Patches stepped quietly, closer to the archway to gaze down at the nun, Irina. He pulled himself back to face Eygon. “Not with an evil creature like that.”

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Eygon whispered. “A pitiful failure. Nothing but an attraction to perverse darkness, but even a woman cursed as her deserves her dignity. Begone.”

Unbothered, Patches complied. “Alright, then. No sense in talking to you. Your lady down there,” Patches had begun to make his way towards the stairs that descended lower into the shrine. “seems more apt for conversation. Maybe I’ll-“

Eygon slammed his impossibly large hammer down dangerously close to Patches, kicking up clouds of ash and debris. His hammer shook the ground, and sent an ear-shattering bang echoing throughout the shrine.

“You won’t touch her.” Eygon seethed, lifting his head to stare directly into Patches’ eyes. “Not without a fight.”

“Ashen One?”

A soft voice called out, just loud enough for both men to hear. “Ashen One,” she called again. “is that you?”

Eygon hoisted the hammer back up the rest against his shoulder. “No, my lady. It’s only me.” He spoke louder towards the archway.

“Oh, Eygon,” her voice lifted in tone and sounded much happier than the dreary inquiry she had before. “it’s been so long since you came to visit me. Won’t you come here, please?”

Patches noticed the subtle way Eygon’s form turned frigid. A grin formed across his face, turning upwards in a most evil way. “What’s wrong? Don’t all you Carim knights dream of ravishing your lady? Or, is it that you’re right scared of her?” Patches purposefully forced out a laugh that dripped with venom. “Oh mate, you should’ve stopped being scared of the dark when you were a kid.”

“Say what you wish,” Eygon threatened in a low tone. “but I will kill you. Not now, but upon our next meeting I’ll separate the flesh from your oversized head. You’ll have wished you’d eaten your words.”

Eygon pushed past Patches, making sure to collide his armoured shoulder with his, and descended the stairs to where Irina spent her days.

Patches watched, silently above, in the shadow of the stone archway. The dark knight firmly planted the top of his hammer onto the ground, before kneeling before the pale nun. “What is it you needed, Irina?”

“Touch me, please.” Irina held up her hand in the blank space in front of her. “I- I have tremendous news.”

Eygon stared at the warm, soft palm Irina offered to him. She appeared simply angelic; the lit candles beside her created a heavenly glow around her in the dark, but all Eygon saw was the amplified darkness that plagued her eternally. He didn’t move, and was silent for too long.

Patches noticed his hesitation had turned into an uncertain withdrawal. It was clear to Patches now: this knight wasn’t just scared, he was terrified of her.

“Eygon? Where have you gone?” Irina’s outstretched arm faltered, but at his name, Eygon answered.

“I am here.” He pressed the palm of his gauntlet against her’s, and Irina’s fingers closed around his hand, feeling the intricacies of the design.

“It is you.” Irina whispered. “I am… I am glad it’s you. This Ashen One, he gave me a tome that felt most terrible against my fingers.”

Eygon stiffened. “Tell me you did not read it.”

Irina shook her head, and gave her knight a demure smile. “I did not. A woman - a witch - stopped me before I could. She guided my hand to a tome that tickled me with its radiance.” She gave a quiet, gleeful chuckle. “It’s bountiful light seems to have staved off the darkness that nibbles upon me. Perhaps my path towards becoming a Fire Keeper is not lost.”

A Fire Keeper. This information surprised Patches. He had assumed she was nothing more but a broken nun - a dirty cleric, but she was nothing of the sort.

“Eygon,” she started. “I know my curse wards you away from me, but the darkness is not in my presence. May I touch your skin?”

“...Are you so certain you feel the absence of the dark? Remember my oath to you.”

“I remember clearly. No, it seems gone. I feel positively elated.”

It was true that her smile turned up more than usual, and a healthy flush was present in her cheeks. Eygon pulled his hand away from hers to unclip the clasps of his gauntlet, and pulled it off to reveal his bare flesh. Experimentally, he placed only the pads of his fingertips against hers, then slowly enveloped her hand in his.

Irina let out a breathy gasp. “Oh, oh Eygon, you are so warm. I never could have imagined you felt this way. I can only wonder what you may look like.”

Patches grimaced at the sickly sweet scene unfold before him, and stepped away before he became a witness to the lovelorn fools’ potential union. Lovers were items that already made his stomach twist in knots, but secret lovers? He nearly vomited at the thought. There was one thing that stuck with him through all of that snooping; the corruption the new Fire Keeper nearly fell to by way of the Ashen One.

Perhaps the world could have done well with the loss of one more holy person, but the loss of a fire attendee? No, Patches knew where his hatred began and ended, and this betrayal was another strike against the Ashen One for him.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 31

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,450ish (one of the longer ones...)

Summary: Y/N speaks to Coulson. Tony sits in front of the Senate Armed Forces Committee.

Instead of going with Tony and Pepper to appear before the committee, Y/N went to the Triskelion. SHIELD’s Headquarters. She promised Pepper that she would be there before the meeting ended, but needed to make a stop. As she walked into the lobby, she spotted Phil.

“Agent Coulson,” she called, jogging up to him. 

“Agent Rogers,” he greeted, with a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I called Fury a few weeks ago about an issue with Stark, and still haven’t heard anything. So I came to see why.”

“Oh, Fury did inform me about that.”

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. “So he has time to inform you and not get back to me?” 

“He has his reasons. The Director always does.” Coulson glanced down at his wrist watch. “I have to get going, or I’ll be late.” He started walking away.

“Where are you going?” Y/N inquired, following him.

“Where you should be. Watching Mr. Stark in front of the Senate committee.”

“Great! You can take me with you then. Plus, I know you know more then what you’re letting on, so I’ll use the car ride there to get it out of you. Are we taking Lola?”

“No, we are not taking Lola. Last time I let you near her, she got scratched up.”

“It was an accident! And it was also, literally, one scratch.”

“Still a scratch,” Coulson said as he held the door open for Y/N.

“All you men are cry babies when it comes to things like that. Tony got on me the other day for breathing near one of the suits. I’m so over it.”

  “I thought you two were getting along?”

“We were, until I started questioning him about what was wrong.” Phil stopped at a black SUV, getting into the driver seat while Y/N got into the passenger. “Tony knows I know that there’s something wrong, he just doesn’t want to admit it. So he’s pushing me away,” Y/N sighed, putting her seat belt on.

Coulson began driving off, silently. Y/n could tell though, by the way he was holding onto the steering wheel, that something was bothering him. Or at least on his mind.

“Just say it,” Y/N demanded. “You have something on your mind. So just let it out.”

“You have feelings for him,” Phil immediately said.

Y/N’s head snapped to fully look at Phil, who wouldn’t look away from the road. “What?”

“You have feelings for Tony Stark. I knew it the moment I saw you hovering over him after the incident at Stark Industries.”

“I don’t have feel—“

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You know you’ve never been able to.”

“Phil, I—“

“When Fury told me about you requesting to stay with Stark, it was just a confirmation of what I knew. What I had seen. I told Fury that you should be pulled and to put in someone else, but he said that it would be good for you. I…” Coulson sighed, shaking his head. “I think you need to quit this, Y/N.”

“Are you serious? What have I done to prove that anything, let alone emotions, have interfered with my job?! Gosh! I… I can’t even believe you.”

“You haven’t done anything yet. But there might come a time when you have to choose between him and the mission. Or, what happens when you need to be honest with him? You’re a Rogers, Y/N, not a Barnes. You were born in 1918. You fell from a plane trying to save the world and woke up in a new age. Stark’s going to need to know all of this, or he’ll find out. One way or another.”

“He knows bits and pieces,” Y/N whispered after a few seconds of silence. “Tony knows I have a twin. That him and his best friend died. He knows that I was in love with my brother’s best friend. And he knows that I burned my hand on a power source and fell from a plane…. I’ve kept all the details from him hidden though…”

“Do you know if he even feels the same? Do you?” It was silent for what felt like eternity until Coulson spoke up again. “Admit it, Y/N/N. At least to yourself if not to me.” Coulson parked the car, having arrived that the location of the meeting. “I know you probably don’t want to admit it. But do you have feelings for him because of who the man actually is? Or just he remind you of someone else you used to love?” Coulson stepped out of the car. “He’s not Bucky, Y/N. In more ways than one.” Then he shut the car door and walked off.

Y/N sat there frozen in the passenger seat. Was it really that obvious that she had feelings for Tony? And, is Tony really that much like Bucky? Yes, they both know—knew how to charm the ladies. But other than that… She shook her head and jumped out of the car. She couldn’t let this stop her from doing her mission. Y/N paused right in front of the building. What was her mission anymore? Just making sure that Tony Stark didn’t try to ruin the world with his Iron Man suits? Had she really become just a babysitter?

Inside the building, the meeting had started, though it hadn’t gotten very far. Tony kept looking back to see if Y/N had gotten there yet. He felt bad driving off, leaving her on the curb. But she had been asking too many questions, she was going to find out what he was hiding. Tony Stark was dying. The core in his arc reactor, that was keeping him alive, was also killing him. So not only did he believe that he had to push her away so that she wouldn’t find out, he believed that it would be easier on him. Tony would never be able to admit it aloud, but he had developed feelings for her. And he couldn’t stand the thought of giving her hope and then dying on her. (Though unbeknownst to him, JARVIS already spilled the beans.)

Looking back once again, he couldn’t see any sign of her. Tony looked disappointed as Pepper, from a few rows back, tried to get him to turn back around.

“Mr. Stark,” Senator Stern called. He was over the committee that wanted the Iron Man suit in the governments hands. “Could we pick up now where we left off?” 

Tony ignored him. Y/N quickly entered the room and found a seat next to Pepper. He tried to give her a small smile, but she refused to look at him. 

“Mr. Stark, please,” the Senator requested, again.

“Yes, dear?” Tony said, turning to face the committee.

“Can I have your attention?” The Senator asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Do you or do you not possess a specialized weapon?”

“I do not.”

“You do not?”

“I do not. Well, it depends on how you define the word weapon.”

“The Iron Man weapon.”

“My device does not fit that description.”

“Well… how would you describe it?”

“I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator.”

“As?”

“It’s a high-tech prosthesis. That is… that is… That’s actually the most apt description I can make of it.”

“It’s a weapon. It’s a weapon, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, if your priority was actually the well-being of the American citizen—“

“My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America.”

“Remind me again why we could ask the lawyers to do this?” Y/N leaned over and whispered to Pepper.

“He said he could handle himself,” Pepper sighed. She looked around the room. “I see Agent Coulson. You remember, from SHIELD?”

“Yes,” Y/N nodded.

“I’m going to see if he has any ideas about how to handle this.” She picked up her bag and headed to the back of the room, where Coulson was standing and watching. Y/N kept her focus on the proceedings.

“—depending on what state you’re in. You can’t have it,” Tony stated.

“Look, I’m no expert—“

“In prostitution? Of course not. You’re a Senator, come on.” Tony turned around as the crowd laughed. He met Y/N’s unapproving  stare. “No?” He mouthed. She just shook her head.

“I’m no expert in weapons,” Stern continued, causing Tony to turn back around. “We have somebody here who is an expert on weapons. I’d now like to call Justin Hammer, our current primary weapons contractor.”

Every turned to see Justin Hammer come in from the side and take a seat at the tables in front.

“Let the record reflect that I observed Mr. Hammer entering the chamber,” Tony began, “and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance.” 

“Absolutely. I’m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony,” Justin started. “You’re the wonder boy. Senator, if I may.” Justin stood up and moved infant of the tables. “I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad.”

“Howard Stark. Really a father to us all, and to the military-industrial age. Let’s just be clear, he was no flower child. He was a lion. We all know why we’re here. In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it’s a shield. He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I’d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain’t Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr Stark will not always be able to foresee. Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America.”

“That was well said Mr. Hammer,” Stern complimented. “The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber.”

“Rhodey? What?” Tony questioned, looking around. “Did you know?” He mouthed to Y/N, who nodded her head in response. Tony stood up and met Rhodey half way down the aisle. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Look, it’s me, I’m here,” Rhodey responded as the made their way to the front. “Deal with it. Let’s move on.”

“I just—“

“Drop it.”

“All right, I’ll drop it.” The two sat down.

“I have before me a complete report on the Iron Man weapon,” Stern began, “complied by Colonel Rhodes. And, Colonel, for the record, can you please read page 57, paragraph four?”

“You’re requesting that I read specific sections from my report, Senator?” Rhodey questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

“It was my understanding that I was going to be testifying in a much more comprehensive and detailed manner.”

“I understand. A lot of things have changed today. So if you could just read—“

“You do understand that reading a single paragraph out of context does not reflect the summary of my final—“

“Just read it, Colonel. I do. Thank you.”

“Very well. ‘As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.’ I did however, go on to summarize that the benefits of Iron Man far outweigh three liabilities and that it would be in our interest—“

“That’s enough Colonel.”

“—to fold Mr. Stark—“

“That’s enough.”

“—into the existing chain of command, Senator.”

“I’m not a joiner, but I’ll consider Secretary of Defense,” Tony added, “if you ask nice.” Various crowd members laughed as Y/N rolled her eyes. “We can amend the hours a little bit.”

“I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report,” Stern requested.

“I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time,” Rhodey stated.

“With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And If you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful. Let’s have the images.” A man moved near the tv, pulling up images of groups of people trying to recreate the Iron Man suit. 

“Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr. Stark’s suit,” Rhodey narrated. “This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground, indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational.”

“Hold on a second, buddy,” Tony called, doing something with his Stark device. Suddenly the screens changed, being controlled by Tony. “Boy, I’m good. I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency.”

“What is he doing?” Senator Stern questioned.

“If you will direct you attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea.”

“Can you turn that off? Take it off.”

“Iran.”

“No grave threat here. Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game? Justin, you’re on TV. Focus up.”

“Okay, give me a left twist,” Justin’s voice came through the speakers. “Left’s good. Turn to the right. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” Justin, in the video, lost control. But before anything else could be shown, Justin found the TV plug and unplugged it.

“Wow. yeah, I’d say most countries, five, ten years away,” Tony stated. “Hammer Industries, twenty.”

“I’d like to point out that that test pilot survived,” Justin interrupted, trying to save himself.

“I think we’re done, is the point that he’s making,” Stern said. “I don’t think there’s any reason—“

“The point is, you’re welcome, I guess,” Tony said.

“For what?”

“Because I’m your nuclear deterrent. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure.” Tony slipped on his sunglasses. “You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor.” He stood up and turned to face the crowd. “I’ve successfully privatized world peace.” He held his arms out, making peace signs with both of his hands. 

The crowd all stood up, talking at once. Y/N followed, not surprised that Tony made this all about himself. He began making his way down the aisle, shaking hands as he went. “What more do you want? For now! I tried to play ball with these ass-clowns.”

Rhodey looked back at Y/N. The both of them shared a look that they were done with Tony not taking things seriously.

next chapter >

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[minijenn]

KH Writing Comm #2

Hey hey my first writing comm of the bunch! This one is for @whump-bunny, who wanted a short "what if" schenario for what would have happened in Keys if Marluxia had successfully managed to take Sora back to Xehanort after capturing him in the Tangled chapters. Gotta say this was fun to work on, though I do kinda feel a little bit bad for Marlulu here... oh, and also Sora I guess, but he doesn't suffer nearly as much here as you might expect lol. Anyway, here it is!

***

There are no words to describe the sheer terror Sora feels when Marluxia drags him away. He only barely hears Donald and Goofy’s horrified cries as he’s pulled into the darkness, his arms still bound by unbreakable chains, his own screams muffled by the gag still covering his mouth. He tries pulling back against Marluxia’s firm hold, but his resistance falls to pieces when the corrupting shadows of the dark corridor start lancing through his body, pouring pain straight into it. But that pain is immediately laced with even more fear when he’s suddenly shoved onto solid ground, the shaded tower they’d just been in seconds before now replaced with a pristine white room.

And, standing on the far side of that room is none other than Master Xehanort himself.

Sora freezes up the moment he sees him, his next scream caught in his throat as Marluxia takes a small step past him, the other end of his chains still clenched tightly in his grip. Xehanort’s back is turned to them, and at first it seems as though he hasn’t noticed their arrival. At least until Marluxia speaks up to announce it.

“Master,” he inclines his head in respect. He pauses briefly, his broad grin widening as he spares a small glance over at his frightened captive. “I have returned, with both a Key… as well as a special ‘gift’ that I’m sure you’ll appreciate. I have brought your precious thirteenth vessel home early.”

Xehanort finally glances over his shoulder, his expression initially bored, until his golden gaze falls upon Sora. The master strangely seems caught off guard, as if he truly is surprised by Marluxia’s “gift”. His expression darkens when he turns around fully, his dark Keyblade flashing into his hand as he walks toward the pair. Each slow step he takes fills Sora with a new wave of dread, his heart pounding and his entire body trembling as he realizes there is no escaping this. No escaping from the awful man who’s already well on his way to destroying him completely.

Xehanort finally stops a few feet away, pulling his deadly Keyblade back for a heavy strike. Sora closes his eyes, already anticipating the untold pain that’s about to come his way. And yet, surprisingly, it doesn’t come, at least not to him. Instead, Xehanort’s Keyblade soundly strikes Marluxia instead.

His startled cry echoes through the room as he’s thrown across it. His back hits the far wall, and within seconds, Xehanort bridges the gap between them, leaving Sora exactly where he is to watch this bewildering twist unfold.

“You traitorous fool!” Xehanort snaps, infuriated. He keeps Marluxia pinned in place by positioning the edge of his dark weapon dangerously close to his neck, and Sora is shocked to see just how shaken he is by his master’s ire. A rare look on someone who, mere seconds ago, had been so calm and collected in light of his supposed triumph. “Have you learned nothing from your past failures? Are you really so impetuous and incompetent that you would bring him here now, far before he’s ready to join our ranks?”

“I-I simply assumed that you-” Marluxia is swiftly cut off as Xehanort presses his Keyblade even closer to him, to the point that its edge is all but skimming the skin of his throat.

“Never take it upon yourself to assume what my intentions are, Number Seven,” the master warns him, his voice quiet yet incredibly threatening. “The task I gave you was a fundamentally simple one: to go into the worlds and retrieve a Key for our cause. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more. And yet you couldn’t even do that much right. Perhaps you thought that you were going a step beyond the station of your duty with this ‘ingenious’ plan of yours, but instead, all you have accomplished is the exact opposite. You have disgraced me, my seventh; you have disgraced me, you have disgraced your Organization, and most of all, you have disgraced yourself.”

Marluxia pales at this, his jaw dropped as he tries to futilely fish for words he can’t seem to find. When he does speak, his voice is small, subdued, something that barely sounds like it could come out of any Organization member at all as far as Sora is concerned. “M-my… apologies, master,” he starts, clearly treading as carefully as he can now. “But… if the boy is here now, then you could finish carrying out your plans for him far sooner. He could be of use to us now instead of-”

He’s cut off as a sharp, agonized cry escapes him, echoing through the white room. Xehanort’s hand is held up, darkness enshrouding it as he forces that silencing pain onto his seventh vessel’s heart. “You understand nothing of my plans,” he sneers coldly. “I am the one who is meant to guide our thirteenth to his proper place among us, not you. Your role is to do as you’re told, and if memory serves correctly, I never told you to bring Sora to me prematurely, did I, my seventh?”

“N-no, master,” Marluxia barely manages to say above the pain relentlessly clinging onto his heart. “You did not…”

“I don’t believe you realize just how grave of a mistake you’ve made here,” Xehanort finally backs away, his Keyblade disappearing. “Perhaps this will prove enough to remind you to never act against my wishes again.” At this, Xehanort clenches his darkness-shrouded hand into a tight fists, pressing his devastating power upon Marluxia even further. He collapses to his knees, another anguished scream tearing out of his throat as he helplessly writhes at his master’s feet.

The most Sora can do is watch this entire horrific display from afar, his eyes wide with apt fear. He can’t deny he’d feel sorry for Marluxia… if Marluxia hadn’t been the one to chain him up, steal him from his friends, and drag him straight into the lion’s den. Right into Xehanort’s cruel, cunning hands to no doubt face the very same kind of horrific torment as soon as he’s done with the current target of his hatred.

This bout of twisted torture goes on for what seems like ages. It finally ends when Marluxia finally fully falls to the ground, barely conscious, a small bit of blood trickling out of his mouth to stain the otherwise flawless floor. Xehanort stands over him, absolutely sympathetic as he offers his seventh vessel one final warning. “If you ever dare to disobey me again, I can promise you that your next punishment will be far worse than you can imagine,” he says simply before turning away, allowing Marluxia to finally slip into the void completely.

When Xehanort looks back at him, the most Sora can manage to get out underneath his gag is a small, anxious whine. He pulls back away as much as he’s able as the master approaches him, his expression an icy mask of stern authority. “Let this… display be a lesson to you as well, my thirteenth,” he says calmly, as if he hadn’t just put someone through such immense suffering. “It is the same law each of your fellow members are made to follow: if you ever decide to rebel against the role I have planned for you, then you must be prepared to face the consequences of your own insolent actions. And all of the pain that futile insubordination is bound to bring to you.”

Sora’s barely listening by this point, as overwhelmed by terror as he is. His Keyblade won’t come to him, won’t appear to free him from the chains around his wrists, from this awful situation as a whole. And yet, much to his surprise, he soon finds that he doesn’t need it to at all.

“Even so, I feel inclined to apologize for my seventh’s ignorant haste,” Xehanort finally smiles, slipping a finger under Sora’s chin to guide his haunting gaze. “As I said, you aren’t meant to be here, not yet. There’s still so much more you need to do, so many more Keys yet for you to claim. Far be it from me to detract you from such an essential mission. With that mission in mind, you may return to the light that you’re so accustomed to… for the time being.”

With a wave of the master’s hand, a dark corridor forms directly underneath Sora, its shadows already starting to swallow him, his chains and gags suddenly disappearing as they do. Sora gasps, immediately trying to escape the dangerous darkness devouring him, only to be overwhelmed by it almost immediately. The last thing he hears before it carries him somewhere far away is his master’s voice, echoing one last sinister promise through the empty void. “But don’t forget, my thirteenth, that no matter where you go from here, no matter what path you take, each and every one will ultimately lead you back here in the end. Back to the darkness, to your Organization, to your master… to where you truly belong…”

Commissions are still open! PM me if interested!

[agwitow]

Dead Impressions Ch. 4

This is the first chapter where I’ve really started to deviate from the original, thoughts and comments much appreciated!

Read Chapter 1 Here | Read Previous Chapter Here

****

Once Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him. “He is just what a young man ought to be—sensible, good-humoured, lively—and I never saw such happy manners!”

“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth. “Which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can.”

“I did not expect him to ask me to dance more than once.”

“No? I did. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that.”

Jane laughed and threw a pillow at her. Lizzy caught it with a grin and threw it back, saying:

“Well, he is certainly very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”

“Lizzy!”

“You are a great deal too apt to like people in general, you know. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes.”

“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone.”

“And it makes you all the more lovely.”

They fell into bed, still chatting and laughing together as they recounted their various experiences of the evening. Their chatter had just begun to soften when Mrs. Bennet knocked on their door before stepping inside. One look at her face had both girls up and out of bed as quick as could be.

“Mama,” Jane cried. “Whatever is the matter?”

Mrs. Bennet tried to speak, but no sound came out. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then tried again. “Your Father. I—” She paused and took another deep breath. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

Mrs. Bennet shook her head and gestured for them to follow her. They went down to Mr. Bennet’s office where a small lantern cast quivering shadows over the room. A bitter, sickly sweet scent hung heavy in the air and the only sounds were the gentle settling of the house and the soft hush of their breaths. Mr. Bennet’s head lolled to the side, as it often did when he dozed off while trying to read, and his skin looked washed out, with a tinge of grey. A single sob escaped from Jane, breaking the deathly stillness that had fallen over them.

“What do we do now?” she asked, her voice small and afraid.

“Help me carry him out to the old stillroom. We… we will need to keep him in there until he is settled,” Mrs. Bennet said, her voice trembling only a little.

They wrapped him in his blanket before blowing out the lantern, then struggled to carry him out. It was not that Mr. Bennet had been a very large man, or that the three ladies were particularly frail, but supporting someone who could move at least a little under their own power made such a task significantly easier. And with each of them acutely aware of every noise they made, lest they wake someone, it was a slow process to move him out to the ramshackle little building that had been a stillroom until Mr. Bennet had had one built onto the kitchen shortly after he and Mrs. Bennet married.

Though the outside of the building was overgrown with ivy and in dire need of repair, the interior was surprisingly tidy. An old board-and-trestle table took up much of the space and looked to have been freshly waxed. The shelves along the walls were slightly crooked, but straight enough to keep the things carefully placed on them from sliding to the floor.

“What is all of this?” Elizabeth asked.

“Hopefully everything we will need,” Mrs. Bennet replied.

Once they had Mr. Bennet’s body settled on the table, she sighed. “What we have to do next is not going to be pleasant.”

“What do you mean?” Jane asked.

Mrs. Bennet rolled her sleeves up and took down a jar, some rags, and an old knife from the shelves. “We must prepare his body now—it will not be possible to do after he rises.”

“So he does have the virus,” Lizzy said.

“Of course. I would be very surprised if any of our generation did not.”

Jane frowned. “How can that be?”

“The walking virus is not just passed from being attacked by a ghoul. If it was, there would not be any risk of an outbreak starting from an improperly interred body. No. There is some other way the virus is transferred.”

“But is there not the possibility Father does not have it?” Jane persisted.

Mrs. Bennet shook her head and pulled open his shirt to reveal a faint, puckered scar on his shoulder. “He survived one of those outbreaks as a child. The parsonage in Meryton has kept a list of everyone in Heartforshire who has been directly exposed for many years now, in the hopes of preventing such incidents. And yet, here we are.”

“When…when will he rise?” Jane whispered.

“No sooner than three days. Five, if we are in luck.”

Elizabeth eyed the various things Mrs. Bennet had squirreled away in preparation for this very day. “What do we need to do?”

Mrs. Bennet drew in a deep breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment as she steeled herself. “His body must be washed, fluids drained, organs replaced with straw and sawdust and herbs, cuts sewn shut, and a special balm worked into his skin.”

“Oh, is that all?” Lizzy asked.

Mrs. Bennet glowered. “It is the minimum we must do. If there is time, it would be best if we could soak his body in a ghastly mix of spirits and oils after he is… is drained. And then a different mix before the balm is applied.”

Jane paled and sagged against the wall. “Oh, my.”

Lizzy shot her a worried frown. “What else needs to be done, beside tending to the body?”

“If we do not get the body treated, then he will begin to rot and this will all be for naught!”

“I know, Mama,” she said, pulling upon all of her patience. “But if people realize Father is… missing… then it will also be for naught. There are three of us. We do not all need to tend to his… to him.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Ah. Yes. Oh, how are we to keep everyone from suspecting? A fortnight is a long time for no one to see him! Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet, why must you have died now? You should still be here to vex me for many years more!”

Jane and Elizabeth wrapped her in a hug as tears spilled down her cheeks. Their own were hardly dry as they shared the grief of having lost someone so very dear to them. When they were able to compose themselves, they drew apart and each took several deep breaths to further calm themselves.

“Father regularly spent most of the day secluded in his office. That will help hide his absence,” Elizabeth said. “Mary might wonder, but Kitty and Lydia can easily enough be distracted by trips to Meryton, or attending teas with various acquaintances.”

“I can let a few know we wish for them to expand their circle of acquaintances,” Jane offered. “It will only take a few days for such news to spread and, I daresay, they will receive more invites than they will know what to do with. And I am sure we can prevail on Mary to accompany them.”

Mrs. Bennet nodded. “And I will pass on a similar desire to Mrs. Phillips. She is a devoted aunt and will surely enjoy introducing the girls to all who have not yet had the pleasure.”

“That is one part dealt with. What of Mr. Bingley? You invited him to dinner and even if he can be distracted by pleasant conversation, there are others of his party who will not.”

“Oh! What horrid timing! At least with so many at Netherfield with him, he is likely to forget that promise for a time, and we must not remind him,” she said. “Dearest Jane, if he favours you as I suspect he must—and it is not just from motherly affection—then you will surely be invited to Netherfield often. Pray, do your best to keep such invitations coming from their house with no expectation from ours.”

“Mama, it would be rude to not return an invitation of our own!” Jane protested.

“Oh, very well. Then invite them for a walk, or a picnic. Something they would not expect to see your Father at.”

“And the Lucases? The maids and cook?” Elizabeth prompted.

Mrs. Bennet frowned, wringing her hands. “I do not know. Oh, I do not know! What can we do? The charade will be over before it has even begun!”

“Calm, Mama,” Jane soothed. “We will think of something. Do not fret so.”

She nodded and gave her daughters a tremulous smile. “Thank you, my dears. You should get your rest—I will see to this first part myself.”

“You do not need to do this alone,” Jane said, though there was a decided sickly tinge to her complexion.

“Thank you, but it will give me a chance to say goodbye. I… it would be best you did not see.”

Lizzy nodded. Mrs. Bennet had a hollow in her heart that needed to be filled several times over with tears—a similar one nestled within Lizzy herself—and it was a pain that was hard to face with others nearby. She gave her Mother another hug before pulling Jane away to seek their beds. There would be more than enough to keep them busy in the following days. They could give Mrs. Bennet the space she needed this night.

#

Their sleep was fitful and oft interrupted by quiet bouts of crying. Elizabeth gave up any pretense of sleeping shortly before dawn and left Jane to gain whatever more rest she might. The house was mostly quiet, with the cook only have begun the day’s work. She slipped down to her parents’ room and knocked softly. No response greeted her so she eased the door open.

Mrs. Bennet lay curled atop the coverlet, her cheeks red and blotchy from her tears and her breath coming in little pants as if even in her sleep she were fighting back tears. Elizabeth fetched an extra blanket and tucked it around her mother, pausing to smooth some hair away from her face.

She gazed around the room, keenly feeling her father’s absence, even though she rarely intruded upon them there. An old jacket hung from a hook, ready for the next time Mr. Bennet had felt up to taking a walk. A walk that wouldn’t happen now. She bit her lip to keep her tears in check as she pulled the coat down and cradled it against her chest. The delicate scent of old books, candles, and a hint of the sweetmeats he’d liked best clung to the fabric. She swung the jacket around her shoulders and imagined she were sitting in his office with him.

“Mr. Bennet?” Lizzy turned to see her mother peering at her with red eyes. Upon realizing it wasn’t him, Mrs. Bennet slumped back against the pillows. “I thought for a moment he wasn’t gone.”

She moved to her Mother’s side and gave her a hug. “I am sorry for waking you, Mama.”

“Why are you wearing your Father’s jacket, Lizzy?”

“It reminded me of him,” she admitted.

Mrs. Bennet nodded. “It reminded me of him too.”

An idea lit inside Elizabeth and she stared down at the jacket covering her. It was a bit out of fashion, and certainly too long for her, dropping all the way to her ankles, but bulky enough to hide any shape beneath it. “Mama… if I hid my hair beneath a hat, would I look very much like Father?”

She frowned and pushed herself up until she were leaning against the headboard. “What nonsense are you talking about now, Lizzy?”

Giving the jacket a little shake, she turned her back to her Mother and asked, “Could I be mistaken for Father?”

A moment of silence followed the question as Mrs. Bennet realized what her second eldest was suggesting. “You are much shorter than your Father, but if we gave you a cane, perhaps others might simply think he is stooped.”

Lizzy nodded and fetched up a short hat with a brim that sagged ever-so-slightly. She twisted her hair atop her head and pulled the hat over, wriggling it until it was settled firmly.

“Turn up the jacket collar too, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet instructed as she searched the wardrobe for a cane that might be used. Once the cane was found, the two women studied the effect in the mirror. “It will not fool anyone who sees you up close, but I daresay it would be enough at a distance.”

“Gloves, Mama,” she suggested, wiggling her fingers. “I have no ink stains. It might not be noticed, but better to hide my hands regardless.”

Mrs. Bennet patted her cheek. “You are very clever, Lizzy dear.”

Finally dressed to meet both of their approvals, they left the bedroom together. Mrs. Bennet popped into the kitchen to fetch one of the previous day’s biscuits and give the cook a falsely cheerful declaration that Mr. Bennet was feeling up for a walk. With the biscuit in one hand and the cane in the other, Lizzy set off to wander down the least travelled roads of the neighbourhood, pausing to give an occasional wave to some person or other, before heading home again.

(Read Chapter 5)

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[lifeofroos]

Part 60. I hate Minos, me my homies all HATE Minos.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, he has decided he wants to talk to King Minos. Dionysus quietly agrees, but only so long as someone comes along. The story is also on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, percy jackson fanfic etc.  This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 60: Pomegranate Iced tea 

‘Did you bless the Jacksons’ house when I was there last time?’

Dionysus looked up. ‘I did. Sally Jackson runs a sanctuary. We can’t have monsters coming in.’

‘Very good.’

‘Now tell me the real reason why you came here. You can’t be here just to ask something you already knew.’

‘I mean, no.’

‘Spill.’

‘Don’t you trust...’

‘Nico!’

‘I want to go talk to king Minos. I want to know why he chose me.’

Dionysus took a moment to think about that. ‘Isn’t it clear why Minos chose you?’

I shrugged. ‘It might be. Because, you know, I was going around raising the dead and opposing Percy, which was very convenient for him. Still, I…’ I shrugged. ‘I want to talk to him. I want to know how he thinks.’ 

Dionysus thought for a second. ‘Minos is dangerous.’

‘So I can’t go?’

He thought for a second. ‘I can’t control you. You’ll go anyway, no matter what I say. Yet, I have a requirement.’

‘Being?’

‘Someone must be there with you. I am not letting you talk to a psychopath like Minos on your own.’

I sighed. ‘Who must it be?’ 

‘I’ll ask Persephone and Hades first. You’ll hear the answer tomorrow.’

‘Alright.’

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

The next morning, early as all hell, I heard a knock on my door. ‘Nico. Come.’ 

I scrambeld out of bed. ‘Eh, I will.’ Whoever you are. ‘Can I put on some actual clothes instead of my pajamas first?’

‘Five minutes.’

‘Okay, okay!’

Within five minutes, I was done and I stepped out of my cabin. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ariadne?’

‘The very one. Persephone will come too. She’s waiting for us near Elysium.’

‘I mean... cool.’ I tried to shrug, but half-way through we were already teleporting into the underworld. My shoulders hurt when I got there. 

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

I disliked standing in front of the gates of Elysium again. It was soul-crushing to see all of the spirits, some of them hopeful, some of them sure they wouldn’t get in. 

I noticed Persephone standing near the judges. She was looking up at them, with her hands on her hips. She looked around when Ariadne called her name. ‘Still okay?’ She asked to the other goddess. 

‘As okay as it can get.’

‘Good.’ Persephone straightened her back. ‘We’ll let him do the talking.’ She pointed at me. 

‘And we’ll keep an eye on everything.’ Ariadne confirmed. 

Persephone nodded. ‘Come,’ she told (mostly) me. I nodded. We walked past the lines, to the three judges. The spirits didn’t seem to mind. 

Ariadne held up her hand. ‘Minos.’ All three of kings turned around. Minos mouth fell open. ‘Go on,’ Persephone commanded the judges. ‘Except for Minos. He comes with us.’

Minos got up, with a suspicious look in his eyes. 

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

‘What is it, my queen?’ he asked Persephone as soon as we were away from the line. His eyes ran past Ariadne without adressing her. His eyebrows raised when he saw me. ‘You brought me your own stepson? Unbelievable! Now why would that be?’

‘He has questions for you. We would like to see you answer them.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all.’ She gently laid her hand on my shoulder for a second.

‘Terrible to see you again,’ I began. 

‘You are the one bothering me.’

‘Still.’ I tilted my head. ‘I have my suspicions, but I wanted to know why you chose me. Why you had to haunt me instead of somebody else.’

‘You’re the son of Hades.’

‘I am.’

‘Doesn’t that seem like reason enough?’

‘Maybe. Yet, it would have been way easier for you to get a random scared kid to raise the dead for you. All the things you taught me are things you could have taught most other people. Raising the dead with Happy meals? You don’t need me for that. Don’t get at me with wanting to help Luke. You are way too selfish for that.’

Persephone and Ariadne gave each other a look when they heard me mention raising the dead with happy meals. Minos went on: ‘My goal might not have been to aid him, but perhaps what he had in mind spoke to me.’ Persephone crossed her arms. Minos smiled sinisterly. ‘My queen, don’t act like you didn’t know, even if I would never confess it.’

I pointed at him. ‘Didn’t you just…’

‘Let it go, Nico.’ I looked up at Ariadne, who nodded towards Minos. He still had not aknowledged she was there.  

‘I was easy to manipulate, but still on no-one’s side,’ I continued. ‘Any other demigod might have gotten dependent on you. They would have been your string puppet.’

‘But they would have had less power. Why have a string puppet when they aren’t useful for all sorts of things? Also, di Angelo, you can’t act like you weren’t dependent on me. You were so wrapped up in your silly hate and grief you didn’t see what was going on.’

‘Perhaps.’ Ariadne and Persephone tensed up. Maybe I had been more of a string puppet to Minos than I liked to think I was. Still… ‘Still, I did manage to break out. I listened to Percy after he showed me the truth. An agent of Luke wouldn’t have done that. They would have turned a blind eye and kept following you.’

‘The Jackson kid cared for you.’

‘He would have cared for any other demigod as well. You could have told them to play apologetic and then you would’ve had a spy. It would have been easier, it would have lead you to bigger things...’

‘What is it that you want? I picked you because you were powerful. That’s it. Every strategy has holes in it. It was a gamble to pick you over some nobody and…’ Minos bit his lip and did not say more.

‘And you gambled wrong,’ Persephone finished the sentence. 

Minos shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some, my queen.’ 

Ariadne gave him a disgusted look. ‘Perhaps.’

‘You were a powermaniac,’ I concluded. ‘It would have been safer, be it a little harder, to use a minion from Luke’s army. Yet, I had power, and you fell for it.’

Minos shot me a disintegrating look. ‘Watch your words, demonspawn.’

‘Sounds like a weakness to me.’

‘Nico.’ Persephone slowly shook her head. 

‘I think I have what I wanted,’ I told Minos. 

‘Leave, then. I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Playing judge, jury and executioner even in death,’ Ariadne stated.

‘It comes naturally.’ It was the first time he acknowledged her existence. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. Some of us might be power hungry, but we aren’t reckless traitors. Each their own.’ He grinned, before looking at Persephone. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back now, my queen.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ 

He curtsied, before turning around and walking away. I had to bite my tongue to not yell after him that he was a terrible person, a terrible king, a terrible father, a terrible husband and a terrible judge.

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

‘He is terrible.’

‘He is manipulative,’ Ariadne stated. ‘The gamble analogy is apt. He gambled he could take control of the kingdom by banning his brothers. He gambled that he could contain the Minotaur and make Athens pay for it, and he won that bet twice, until…’ she sighed, ‘Until someone messed with his stack of cards. Every gambler misses now and then, and so did he. Terribly, a few times…’ 

Persephone clenched her fists. ‘And then he still didn’t, because my father had to give him the power he desired in death as well.’

I slowly nodded. Persephone sighed and pushed something into my hand. It was a can of Pomegranate sweet tea. I left it in the underworld a little while ago. 

‘Did you learn anything?’ Ariadne asked. It sounded as if she was somewhere else with her thoughts.  

‘What I thought about king Minos was proven. And I once again realised that maybe I should not always go through with my strange ideas.’

‘At least someone was here this time. I can’t tell what that man would have done we hadn’t been there,’ Persephone mused. A little smile appeared on her face. ‘I wanted to come too. Honestly, I wanted to see if it would be better to kick him out. And well, that is more than proven. As soon as I can get rid of him, I will.’

Ariadne looked just as surprised as I felt. ‘They needed to be sons of Zeus, right? The judges?’ I asked. 

‘Yes. But that friend of yours is here now, too.’

‘Jason.’

‘The very one. I think we might have a job for him.’

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

‘Coming with you was my own idea,’ Ariadne told me when we were back in Camp half-blood. 

‘Ah,’ I said, while I nodded. 

‘I mean Dio didn’t ask me to come. I wanted it. I wanted to see how Minos would react to you, to see if he was really still like that.’

I nodded. ‘Well, so did I. Thanks for coming anyway.’

She nodded, although she didn’t smile. ‘I think it will be lunch soon.’

‘Eh... yeah. I think Dionysus is in the big house.’

‘Then I’ll go there.’

It was clear we were both too busy with our own thoughts. I said goodbye and went to the dining pavilion. Will would want to hear my story. I assumed Dionysus would already have heard it next time I saw him, which was, if I can be honest, a relief. 

A/N: I was originally going to do this with just one of the ladies but then I thought of this and it was good. 

Finals are over today which is good now on to results haha help

[mememanufactorum]

Halo: Reach quote starters

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

-Noble Actual-

“You read his file?”

“Anyone claim responsibility?”

“Consider it done.”

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re stepping into some shoes the rest of the squad would rather leave unfilled.”

“I’m glad to have your skill set, but we’re a team. That lone wolf stuff stays behind.”

-Winter Contingency-

“Just get me under the hood.”

“You get a chance, maybe you can ask them.”

“I’m lonely already.”

“Shoot down attempts are likely, so keep your distance.”

“Let’s stay focused. Watch your sectors.”

“Let’s check it out.”

“I want your eyes in the sky.”

“Why are we not seeing explosives residue?”

“There’s a lot of blood on the ground.”

“Looks like there’s nothing here. Let’s move on.”

“You have permission to engage, but be selective. We don’t need to telegraph our presence.”

“Go in quiet. I’m right behind.”

“On your knees, now!”

“They’re not rebels, they’re farmers. Look at them.”

“What the hell was that?”

“Cheer up, big man. This whole valley just turned into a free fire zone.”

“No disrespect, but don’t we have better things to do than round up strays?”

“We don’t leave people behind.”

“I’ve cut about halfway through the door.”

“Where’s the rest of your unit?”

“Found something.”

“I’ll take that. Not your domain.”

“It’s all right. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Keep still, and I’ll release you.”

“Flush ‘em out. I’ve got you covered.”

“You’re in my light.”

“What’s your name? Do you live around here?”

“Your accent sounds familiar.”

“Big man forgets what he is sometimes.”

“Best not touch anything. You wouldn’t want to ground this place.”

“May God help us all.”

-ONI Sword Base-

“Regrettably, my efforts to obtain relevant data on enemy forces has been unsuccessful.”

“Let’s knock some heads!”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Can’t do this on my own!”

“Are you havin’ fun yet?”

“Beautiful, ain’t it. Someone should take a picture.”

“Nice work, by the way.”

“I aim to please.”

“Been all hers half my life.”

“I requested your assistance and do not need reports on events that occur on my own doorstep.”

“It’s been too long.”

“What have you done with my armor?”

“Just some… Additions I’ve made.”

“Perhaps you could shed some light on his death.”

“We had other, more urgent matters to attend to.”

“Before you ask, I was alerted the moment you tried to access its contents. As I am with any unauthorized tap.”

“I could send you to the brig for interfering with my work.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Just making a reading suggestion.”

-Nightfall-

“It’s starting to get crowded up here.”

“Direct action is always necessary.”

“Here. You may need these.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Looks like we’ve really pissed them off.”

“Give us a hand! Bastards just keep coming!”

“Little more action than we’re used to.”

“What are you doing here? Whole area’s supposed to be evacuated.”

“Didn’t like leaving it to someone else to protect our home, so we came back.”

“You know this stuff is stolen.”

“What? You gonna arrest me?”

“Gonna steal it back.”

“That’s no strike force, it’s an invading army.”

“If we’re gonna smother this thing, we need to go in hard and fast.”

“Sun will be up in a few hours… And it’s gonna be a very busy day.”

-Tip of the Spear-

“Might want to hold on to something!”

“We shouldn’t stay here.”

“I’ll hold these bastards off.”

“Have a nice day.”

“One way to get their attention! Hang on to your teeth!”

“No, no! Somebody tell me this ain’t happening!”

“We need to get out of here now!”

-Long Night of Solace-

“Forty-eight hours? That’s imminent?”

“Uh-oh. Who’s your money on this time?”

“You always pick her.”

“She’s always had him dialed in.”

“That thing’s crushing us and we’re waiting for backup? They’ll be backing up a graveyard.”

“You’re preaching to the converted.”

“I know that look.”

“You can say no.”

“You don’t even want to hear it?”

“...Fine. I’ll hear it.”

“And this is relevant… How?”

“Not the word I would use.”

“Don’t cut yourself.”

“This sanctioned?”

“What do you think?”

“Thank you for sharing.”

“As a soldier in the field, I couldn’t possibly have access to those kinds of resources.”

“You’re scary, you know that?”

“Good luck with that.”

“You’re the one who’s asking him.”

“Oh, there’s no way in hell he’s gonna go for this.”

“Some plans are too good to say no to.”

“Show them what you can do!”

“This breaks my heart…”

“Discourage the curious.”

“Hear that? I’ll be all by my lonesome back here. Make it quick, would ya?”

“Nothing we can do.”

“At your earliest convenience.”

“Damn it… So it’s gonna be like that.”

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“And the good news?”

“That was the good news.”

“That’s a one way trip.”

“We all make it sooner or later.”

“Time has come to return the favor. Don’t deny me this.”

“Tell ‘em to make it count.”

-Exodus-

“You got to be kidding me.”

“Damn, how do you stop that thing?!”

“Help! Somebody help us!”

“They’re coming! They’re after us!”

“Come on! Let’s go!”

“What are those things?!”

“Somebody shut that damn thing off!”

“What the hell is taking this thing so long?”

“Glad you’re on our side.”

“City’s been under siege for the last five days.”

“Guess some of us don’t like leaving a job half-finished.”

“Son of a bitch! I can’t watch this…”

“How’s the day so far?”

“Just keeps getting worse, huh?”

“You saved a lot of lives today.”

“He didn’t make it.”

-New Alexandria-

“Sorry I came alone.”

“Make him proud.”

“I said back off, you nasty son of a bitch!”

“Damn! Look how they move!”

“Look at this place. Used to be the crown jewel… Not anymore.”

“Hey, you made it!”

“It’s a regular family reunion.”

“Keep ‘em. He gave ‘em to you.”

“I’ll honor him my own way.”

“The big man was sentimental…”

“He gave his life thinking he just saved the planet. We should all be so lucky.”

“I hear what I hear.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You want to know if we’re losing?”

“I know we’re losing! I just want to know if we’ve lost.”

“Keep it brief.”

-The Package-

“We’re gonna have to thin ‘em out, or we’ll be way too popular.”

“We’ve got a job to do, so let’s stay focused and get it done.”

“Looks like they got themselves cornered.”

“They were committed to the position.”

“I’m going with cornered. There’s nothing here.”

“If we’re supposed to blow this place, this ain’t the spot to do it from.”

“I didn’t bring my shovel.”

“Alright, we came this far.”

“Apologies for the unusual security measures, but the stakes demand it.”

“Yes, well, as they say, news of my death has been greatly exaggerated.”

“Not sure I understand.”

“Whatever we’re doing down here, we better do it quick.”

“I don’t think you understand. We’re out of time.”

“Bury any of it, and you bury mankind’s best chance for survival!”

“Please. Buy me all the time you can.”

“What is this stuff?”

“Her measure of you carries as much weight as my own… Perhaps more.”

“Mankind is outmatched.”

“An apt question if there were somewhere else to place our hope. There is not.”

“Do you have it?”

“Say the words, please.”

“I have it.”

“I require no escort.”

“Make sure nothing falls into enemy hands.”

“I’ll do what’s necessary.”

-The Pillar of Autumn-

“You are alarming me.”

“Not sure how long she’s gonna stay together.”

“Don’t wanna hear it.”

“Go with him. It’s a ground game now.”

“It’s been an honor.”

“I’ll do what I can to draw their fire.”

“She made the right choice.”

“Stay low, let me draw the heat.”

“You think we got time to walk over there?”

“You don’t have the firepower!”

“I’ve got the mass.”

“Hit ‘em hard, boss.”

“You’re on your own.”

“They’ll be remembered.”

“Who’s next?!”

“I’m ready! How ‘bout you?!”

“We gotta get the hell out of here!”

“I have the gun.”

“Good luck to you.”

“Good guns.”

-Lone Wolf-

“Our enemy was ruthless. Efficient. But they weren’t nearly fast enough.”

“Our victory – your victory – was so close… I wish you could’ve lived to see it.”

“Your body, your armor – all burned and turned to glass. Everything, except your courage. That, you gave to us, and with it, we can rebuild.”

[whitherliliesbloom]

a setting star, a rising sun

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ my writings ] [ prompt #14 - part ]

[ ardbert & wol ] ★ [ 1,411 words ] ★ [ 5.3 spoilers ]

azem centric. ardbert and illya centric. mentions hythlodaeus and emet-selch. 

‘an amount or section which, when combined with others, makes up the whole of something.’

the color of your souls tells the tale

Of what hue does your soul shine?

The voice echoes like ripples on still water within this chamber, whose only audience was the emptiness around it. And yet it reached out into the dark desperately, and grabbed hold of the sole source of light that it could find and clutched it tightly onto its chest. 

A broken soul wished with all its might, onto the memories of its fallen brethren and let out a cry of defiance in the dark. And it swore, even until the end and even beyond, that its soul will keep fighting. That it swears - not even death will it allow their will and determination die out.

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

The peculiarity of Illya’s dreams have grown increasingly more vivid and strange lately. No longer did she find herself jolting up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, but she wouldn’t exactly describe those dreams to be pleasant either.

Thought provoking would be an apt way of describing them - dreams that would leave the young woman sitting up on the bed, eyes dazed as they stared up onto the ceiling in solemn contemplation. Accompanied by a tinge of regret at her prematurely waking up before she could fully comprehend the meaning behind her dreams, there would be confusion, awe.. and a strange melancholy that hasn’t washed away since Emet-Selch’s passing.

Or perhaps that melancholy has always been present within her. She just hadn’t realized it until recently.

As she sat up on her bed and pushed the bangs of her hair away from her eyes, she’d glanced out the window upon the still dark morning sky, though obscured naught by a single black cloud. And in the horizon, she sees the light in the dark - the crystal tower. A living beacon that served as proof of all that she’s been through - all that they’ve been through.

Her dream had been of Ardbert, this time.. of the familiarity that was his company, and the warmth his soul brought to her as they reunited as one.

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

“I’ve always wondered, Illya..” 

“Wondered...? About what?” 

The starry night sky that hung above Lakeland wasn’t quite enough comfort for Ardbert to be able to allow himself to rest for the night - not that he would truly be able to. He’d all but forgotten the concept of being hungry and tired since he’d become a wandering spirit. But the point still stood that something bothered him enough to feel the need to speak and keep his only companion from getting the rest she well deserved.

He’d gazed out the window, before turning back to walk to her bedside, and Illya props herself up onto her elbows as courtesy when he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Why is it that you feel so familiar to me?”

Illya’s eyes widen at the suddenness of his question, and though Ardbert was quick to chuckle and attempt to shake his thoughts off, she let out a hum in response.

“It may seem strange.. but I’ve always felt the same way too.”

The man glances back, and even in the absence of a lamplight, she could see his lips pulled agape in surprise. 

“Really? You do?”

“Well.. not exactly in the same way you would think of an old friend.” The twelve knows that they most definitely hadn’t met on good terms, even if it had been a matter of circumstances and misunderstandings. “But it’s more like.. I don’t feel uneasy around you.”

“Well, I would hope you didn’t! You’re the only person I have to talk to, you know.” Ardbert jests with a playful smile, and Illya’s brows furrow with a puff of her cheeks.

“T-that’s not what I meant.” 

Illya didn’t exactly enjoy being teased, not by Ardbert and his boisterous laughter, no less.. But it was a welcome respite from the perils of the life she’s committed herself to, life as the Warrior of Darkness. 

“Nah, I get you.” She hears him huff. Raising a hand up, Ardbert let his palm rest against the top of head, or at least where he believed his hand would be had he a corporeal form. There’s a tinge of regret and sadness when she fails to feel the weight of his hand upon her head, but she manages to smile nonetheless at the comfort his words brought. “It’s the familiarity of something beyond what we understand.. beyond what we can explain. Just as I wonder if there is yet a place for me in this world, perhaps there is a reason behind our meeting.”

Had that not been the very same words he’d said to her before? That fate must have surely pulled them together and entwined their stories, when they of two separate worlds were never meant to meet in the first place. That if there is a reason why he’d endured for as long as he has, it must be a reason that was worth fighting for too. 

But he utters those words to her now not with contempt or doubt, but with a sincerity that she believes in and returns in a hundred folds. 

“It’s weird how well we understand each other.” Illya murmurs, and she can still remember the chuckle Ardbert had let out.

“Really? It feels right to me.”

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

She couldn’t quite understand Hythlodaeus’ words when she’d heard them, when Ardbert had been present beside her to hear of the ancient being’s speak of their souls.

“In our time, the two of you were one.”

And if she had to be honest, she still cannot claim to fully understand what it was that man.. that being who had called her a friend had wanted her to realize. Hythlodaeus felt familiar - just as Ardbert had.. just as the city of Amaurot had.. and it brought her no small amount of trepidation and fear right until her confrontation with Emet-Selch. 

Hades.. even as he stood opposed to her, felt familiar. The darkness and cries of his people felt so familiar that it shook her to her core. And it’d frightened her, almost to the point of inaction.

“Take it. We fight as one.” 

Ardbert knew. She’d realized that the moment he took the axe upon his back and held it out to her. His words were almost a mirror of Hythlodaeus, and in his final moments he’d looked at her with a familiarity that spoke of an unending love and hope.. one that resided within the core of who she was. Within his eyes, she saw the world he did.. and when his soul had merged with hers, it felt as if every emotion, every little joy, sadness and pain Ardbert had endured on his journey had become a part of her.

His strength was her own to wield, and it was he who gave her the courage to confront that familiarity headlong. 

She never did get to ask him after what it was that he meant, was robbed of the chance to even say goodbye as his consciousness faded and bled into her soul. 

But she didn’t have to. 

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

Azem’s crystal sat on her bedside table, still emitting its faint orange hue and warmth that Illya could only describe as being nostalgic and melancholic. She takes her time to rise from the bed and get herself dressed, ridding the tangles in her hair with deliberately slow strokes with a brush. 

Illya looks upon her reflection in the mirror, of the woman she can scarce recognize, and yet a visage that feels familiar and right all the same. And within her own eyes, she finds the courage to finally reach out and grab Azem’s crystal... her crystal, and tucks it safely away into her breast pocket, where it would sit closest to her heart. 

Dawn arrives and bathes Eorzea in a warm orange glow. The day is greeted by the rising of the sun above the horizon, its rays of light peeking up as if to tease her, to urge her to action. And soon, the stars will fade, as will the life and memories she’d left behind.

Were Ardbert here, would he have chosen the same?

Illya berates herself for the foolish question, daring herself to step outside with a confident smile upon her face. She already knows his answer, because it has and always will be the same as hers.

I won’t bid you farewell. Your story.. our story hasn’t ended yet. 

[96harmony96]

Chapter 4 part 1

It took an endless moment to realize jauregui and I were still alone in the room, that the voice I’d heard had come through a speaker. Jauregui stood at the far end of the sofa, flushed and scowling, her chest heaving. Her tie was loosened and the fly of her slacks strained against a very impressive erection.

I had a nightmare vision in my head of what I must look like. And I was late getting back to work.

“Christ.” she shoved both hands through her hair. “It’s the middle of the fucking day. In my goddamn fucking office!”

I got to my feet and tried to straighten my appearance.

“Here.” she came to me, yanking my skirt up again.Mortified by the sudden intrusion into our privacy, I scrambled up and back into the armrest, yanking down my skirt.

“…two o’clock appointment is here.”

Furious at what I’d almost let happen when I should be at work, I smacked at her hands. “Stop it. Leave me alone.”

“Shut up, Camila,” she said grimly, catching the hem of my black silk blouse and tugging it into place, adjusting it so that the buttons once again formed a straight row between my breasts. Then she pulled down my skirt, smoothing it with calm, expert hands. “Fix your ponytail.”

Jauregui retrieved her coat, shrugging into it before adjusting her tie. We reached the door at the same time and when I crouched to fetch my purse, she lowered with me.

she caught my chin, forcing me to look at her. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”

My throat burned. I was aroused and mad and thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never in my life lost my mind like that. And I hated that I’d done so with her, a woman whose approach to sexual intimacy was so clinical it depressed me just thinking about it.

I jerked my chin away. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful and fuckable. I want you so badly it hurts. I’m dangerously close to taking you back to the couch and making you come ’til you beg me to stop.”

“Can’t accuse you of being silver-tongued,” I muttered, aware that I wasn’t offended. In fact, the rawness of her hunger for me was a serious aphrodisiac. Clutching the strap of my purse, I stood on shaky legs. I needed to get away from her. And, when my workday was done, I needed to be alone with a big glass of wine.

Jauregui stood with me. “I’ll be done by five. I’ll come get you then.”

“No, you won’t. This doesn’t change anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Jauregui. I lost my head for a second, but I still don’t want what you want.”

Her fingers curled around the door handle. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want it the way I want to give it to you. So, we’ll revisit and revise.”

More business. Cut-and-dried. My spine stiffened.

I set my hand over her and yanked on the handle, ducking under her arm to squeeze out the door. Her secretary shoved quickly to his feet, gaping, as did the woman and two men who were waiting for Jauregui. I heard her speak behind me.

“Scott will show you into my office. I’ll be just a moment.”

she caught me by reception, her arm crossing my lower back to grip my hip. Not wanting to make a scene, I waited until we were by the elevators to pull away.

she stood calmly and hit the call button. “Five o’clock, Camila.”

I stared at the lighted button. “I’m busy.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“I’m busy all weekend.”

Stepping in front of me, she asked tightly, “With whom?”

“That’s none of your—”

Her hand covered my mouth. “Don’t. Tell me when, then. And before you say never, take a good look at me and tell me if you see a woman who’s easily deterred.”

Her face was hard, her gaze narrowed and determined. I shivered. I wasn’t sure I’d win a battle of wills withLauren jauregui.

Swallowing, I waited until she lowered her hand and said, “I think we both need to cool off. Take a couple days to think.”

she persisted. “Monday after work.”

The elevator arrived and I stepped into it. Facing her, I countered, “Monday lunch.”

We’d have only an hour, a guaranteed escape.

Just before the doors closed, shesaid, “We’re going to happen, Camila.”

It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.

___

“Don’t sweat it, Camila,” Mark said, when I arrived at my desk nearly a quarter after two. “You didn’t miss anything. I had a late lunch with Mr. Leaman. I just barely got back myself.”

“Thank you.” No matter what he said, I still felt terrible. My kick-ass Friday morning seemed to have happened days ago.

We worked steadily until five, discussing a fast-food client and contemplating some possible tweaks to ad copy for a chain of organic grocery stores.

“Talk about strange bedfellows,” Mark had teased, not knowing how apt that was in regard to my personal life.

I’d just shut down my computer and was pulling my purse out of the drawer when my phone rang. I glanced at the clock, saw it was exactly five, and considered ignoring the call because I was technically done for the day.

But since I was still feeling shitty about my overly-long lunch, I considered it penance and answered. “Mark Garrity’s—”

“Camila honey. Richard says you forgot your cell phone at his office.”

I exhaled in a rush and sagged back into my chair. I could picture the handkerchief wringing that usually accompanied that particular anxious tone of my mother’s. It drove me nuts and it also broke my heart. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m lovely. Thank you.” My mom had a voice that was both girlish and breathy, like Marilyn Monroe crossed with Scarlett Johansson. “Clancy dropped your phone off with the concierge at your place. You really shouldn’t go anywhere without it. You never know when you might need to call for someone—”

I’d been debating the logistics of just keeping the phone and forwarding calls to a new number I didn’t share with my mom, but that wasn’t my biggest concern. “What does Dr. Petersen say about you tracing my phone?”

The silence on the other end of the line was telling. “Dr. Petersen knows I worry about you.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “I think it’s time for us to have another joint appointment, Mom.”

“Oh…of course. He did mention that he’d like to see you again.”

Probably because he suspects you’re not being forthcoming. I changed the subject. “I really like my new job.”

“That’s wonderful, Camila! Is your boss treating you well?”

“Yes, he’s great. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“Is he handsome?”

I smiled. “Yes, very. And he’s taken.”

“Damn it. The good ones always are.” she laughed and my smile widened.

I loved it when she was happy. I wished she were happy more often. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow at the advocacy dinner.”

Sinuhe Cabello Barker Mitchell Stanton was in her element at society functions, a gilded shining beauty who’d never lacked male attention in her life.

“Let’s make a day of it,” my mom said breathlessly. “You, me, and Cary. We’ll go to the spa, get pretty and polished. I’m sure you could use a massage after working so hard.”

“I won’t turn one down, that’s for sure. And I know Cary will love it.”

“Oh, I’m excited! I’ll send a car by your place around eleven?”

“We’ll be ready.”

After I hung up, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, needing a hot bath and an orgasm. If Lauren Jauregui somehow found out I masturbated while thinking about her, I didn’t care. Being sexually frustrated was weakening my position, a weakness I knew she wouldn't be sharing. No doubt she’d have a preapproved orifice lined up before day’s end.

As I swapped out my heels for my walking shoes, my phone rang again. My mother was rarely distracted for long. The five minutes since we’d ended our call was just about the right length of time for her to realize the cell phone issue hadn’t been resolved. Once again, I debated ignoring the phone, but I didn’t want to take any of the day’s crap home with me.

I answered with my usual greeting, but it lacked its usual punch.

“I’m still thinking about you.”

The velvet rasp of jauregui's voice flooded me with such relief I realized I’d been hoping to hear it again. Today.

God. The craving was so acute I knew she’d become a drug to my body, the prime source of some very intense highs.

“I can still feel you, camila. Still taste you. I’ve been hard since you left, through two meetings and one teleconference. You’ve got the advantage, state your demands.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “Lemme think.”

I let her wait, smiling as I remembered Cary’s comment about blue balls. “Hmm…Nothing is coming to mind. But I do have some friendly advice. Go spend time with a woman who salivates at your feet and makes you feel like a god. Fuck her until neither of you can walk. When you see me on Monday you’ll be totally over it and your life will return to its usual obsessive-compulsive order.”

The creak of leather sounded over the phone and I imagined her leaning back in her desk chair. “That was your one free pass, Camila. The next time you insult my intelligence, I’ll take you over my knee.”

“I don’t like that sort of thing.” And yet the warning, given in that voice, aroused me. Dark and Dangerous for sure.

“We’ll discuss. In the interim, tell me what you do like.”

I stood. “You definitely have the voice for phone sex, but I’ve got to go. I have a date with my vibrator.”

I should’ve hung up then, to gain the full effect of the brush-off, but I couldn’t resist learning if he’d gloat like I had imagined she would. Plus, I was having fun with her.

“Oh, Camila.” Jauregui spoke my name in a decadent purr. “You’re determined to drive me to my knees, aren’t you? What will it take to talk you into a threesome with B.O.B.?”

I ignored both questions as I slung my bag and purse over my shoulder, grateful she couldn't see how my hand shook. I was not discussing Battery Operated Boyfriends withLauren Jauregui. I’d never discussed masturbation openly with a woman or man, let alone a woman who was for all intents and purposes a stranger to me. “B.O.B. and I have a longtime understanding—when we’re done with each other, we know exactly which one of us has been used, and it isn’t me. Good night, Lauren.”

I was so grateful to be home after the day I’d had that I practically danced through my apartment’s front door. My heartfelt “God, it’s good to be home!” and accompanying spin was vehement enough to startle the couple on the couch.

“Oh,” I said, wincing at my own silliness. Cary wasn’t in a compromising position with his guest when I barged in, but they’d been sitting close enough to suggest intimacy.

Grudgingly, I thought of Lauren Jauregui, who preferred to strip all intimacy out of the most intimate act I could imagine. I’d had one-night stands and friends with benefits, and no one knew better than I that sex and making love were two very different things, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to view sex like a handshake. I thought it was sad that Jauregui did, even though she wasn't a person who inspired pity or sympathy.

“Hey, baby girl,” Cary called out, pushing to his feet. “I was hoping you’d make it back before Trey had to leave.”

“I have class in an hour,” Trey explained, rounding the coffee table as I dropped my bag on the floor and put my purse on a barstool at the breakfast bar. “But I’m glad I got to meet you before I left.”

“Me, too.” I shook the hand he extended to me, taking him in with a quick glance. He was about my age, I guessed. Average height and nicely muscular. He had unruly blond hair, soft hazel eyes, and a nose that had clearly been broken at some point.

“Mind if I grab a glass of wine?” I asked. “It’s been a long day.”

“Go for it,” Trey replied.

“I’ll take one, too.” Cary joined us by the breakfast bar. He was wearing loose-fitting black jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweater. The look was casual and elegant, and did a phenomenal job of offsetting his dark brown hair and emerald eyes.

I went to the wine fridge and pulled out a random bottle.

Trey shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, talking quietly with Cary as I uncorked and poured.

The phone rang and I grabbed the handset off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, Camila? It’s Parker Smith.”

“Parker, hi.” I leaned my hip into the counter. “How are you?”

“I hope you don’t mind my calling. Your stepdad gave me your number.”

Gah. I’d had enough of Stanton for one day. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Honestly? Everything’s looking up right now. Your stepdad is like my fairy godfather. He’s funding a few safety improvements to the studio and some much-needed upgrades. That’s why I’m calling. The studio’s going to be out of commission for the rest of the week. Classes will resume next Monday.”

I closed my eyes, struggling to tamp down a flare of exasperation. It wasn’t Parker’s fault that Stanton and my mom were overprotective control freaks. Clearly they didn’t see the irony of defending me while I was surrounded by people trained to do that very thing. “Sounds good. I can’t wait. I’m really excited to be training with you.”

“I’m excited, too. I’m going to work you hard, Camila. Your parents are going to get their money’s worth.”

I set a filled glass in front of Cary and took a big gulp out of my own. It never ceased to amaze me how much cooperation money could buy. But again, that wasn’t Parker’s fault. “No complaints here.”

“We’ll get started first thing next week. Your driver has the schedule.”

“Great. See you then.” I hung up and caught the glance Trey shot Cary when he thought neither of us was looking. It was soft and filled with a sweet yearning, and it reminded me that my problems could wait. “I’m sorry I caught you on the way out, Trey. Do you have time for pizza Wednesday night? I’d love to do more than say hi and bye.”

“I have class.” He gave me a regretful smile and shot another side-glance at Cary. “But I could come by on Tuesday.”

“That’d be great.” I smiled. “We could order in and have a movie night.”

“I’d like that.”

I was rewarded with the kiss Cary blew me as he headed to the door to show Trey out. When he returned to the kitchen he grabbed his wine and said, “All right. Spill it, Camila. You looked stressed.”

“I am,” I agreed, grabbing the bottle and moving into the living room.

“It’sLauren Jauregui, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t want to talk about her.” Although Lauren’s pursuit was exhilarating, hier goal sucked. “Let’s talk about you and Trey instead. How did you two meet?”

“I ran across him on a job. He’s working part time as a photographer’s assistant. Sexy, isn’t he?” His eyes were bright and happy. “And a real gentleman. In an old-school way.”

“Who knew there were any of those left?” I muttered before polishing off my first glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Cary. He seemed great, and he obviously digs you. Is he studying photography?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wow. That’s awesome.”

“I think so, too. But forget about Trey for a minute. Talk about what’s bugging you. Get it out.”

I sighed. “My mom. she found out about my interest in Parker’s studio and now she’s freaking out.”

“What? How’d she find out? I swear I haven’t told anyone.”

“I know you didn’t. Never even crossed my mind.” Grabbing the bottle off the table, I refilled my glass. “Get this. She’s been tracking my cell phone.”

Cary’s brows rose. “Seriously? That’s…creepy.”

“I know, right? That’s what I told Stanton, but he doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Well, hell.” He ran a hand through his long bangs. “So what do you do?”

“Get a new phone. And meet with Dr. Petersen to see if he can’t talk some sense into her.”

“Good move. Turn it over to her shrink. So…is everything okay with your job? Do you still love it?”

“Totally.” My head fell back into the sofa cushions and my eyes closed. “My work and you are my lifesavers right now.”

What about the young hottie bazillionaire who wants to nail you? Come on, Camila. You know I’m dying here. What happened?”

I told him, of course. I wanted his take on it all. But when I finished, he was quiet. I lifted my head to look at him, and found him bright-eyed and biting his lip.

“Cary? What are you thinking?”

“I’m feeling kind of hot from that story.” He laughed and the warm, richly masculine sound swept a lot of my irritation away. “sHe’s got to be so confused right now. I would’ve paid money to see her face when you hit her with that bit she wanted to spank you over.”

“I can’t believe she said that.” Just remembering Jauregui’s voice when she made that threat had my palms damp enough to leave steam on my glass. “What the hell is she into?”

“Spanking’s not deviant. Besides, she was going for missionary on the couch, so she’s not averse to the basics.” He fell into the couch, a brilliant smile lighting up his handsome face. “You’re a huge challenge to a girl who obviously thrives on them. And she’s willing to make concessions to have you, which I’d bet she’s not used to. Just tell her what you want.”

I split the last of the wine between us, feeling marginally better with a bit of alcohol in my veins. What did I want? Aside from the obvious? “We’re totally incompatible.”

“Is that what you call what happened on her couch?”

“Cary, come on. Boil it down. shepicked me up off the lobby floor, and then asked me to fuck. That’s really it. Even a guy I take home from a bar has more going for him than that. Hey, what’s your name? Come here often? Who’s your friend? What are you drinking? Like to dance? Do you work around here?”

“All right, all right. I get it.” He set his glass down on the table. “Let’s go out. Hit a bar. Dance ’til we drop. Maybe meet some guys who’ll talk you up some.”

“Or at least buy me a drink.”

“Hey, Lauregui offered you one of those in her office.”

I shook my head and stood. “Whatever. Let me take a shower and we’ll go.”

[luv4fandoms]

Earth Angel (GabrielXOFC) Part 2.1

Part 2 is finally here!! I had to split it into 2 parts because of Tumblr's limit but the link to the 2nd part can be found below.

I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this story! I loved all of the comments and asks I got on the last chapter ❤. Sorry this one took so long to get out, my mom and I are trying to kinda start a small business so that has been my focus lol. But as I say in all the chapters...

This doesn't fully follow the Supernatural timeline, somethings have been changed (like Gabriel's death in the au world cause it was stupid and I refuse to accept it lol) so just a heads up. This is also inspired by @askpsychocas 's Angel Courting Ritual post (which I use in my story. Askpsychocas if you want me to take those parts out let me know and I will). This story also has a Scott Pilgram vibe lol.

If you would like to be added to the story taglist let me know

Part 1...Part 2.2...Masterlist

Pairings: Gabriel x Original Female Character, (hint at Destiel)

Warnings: Killing, Adultery, Gabe being a charming/fluffy lil sh*t

Word count: (total) 8,724 (this part) 4,199

https://ko-fi.com/luv4fandoms

(From @askpsychocas 's Angel Courting Ritual)

Step Two: Make your intention known.

Sometimes your intended will not recognize your intent straight off. There are a number of ways angels would seek to subtly inform their intended.

Making eye contact is essential.

Make sure your intended recognizes your impressive plumage and strength.

Personal space must be intruded on as often as possible.

If all else fails an angel might simply tell their intended.

Traditional courting outlines this, and if the intention is accepted you may proceed to the next step. An angel may also receive a courting trinket as a sign of intent and goodwill if they accept the courting. Angels can only court one other at a time. Neither the wooer or the wooed are allowed to accept advances, or give advances to another.

Modern courting is more direct, in which an angel would simply ask to go out on a date, perhaps with a smile. Smiling and good humor are not necessary for any courting, but most are apt to use it when trying to woo a human, as they get confused without such things. Exclusivity is not necessary.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore

Love you forever, and ever more.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

I hadn't planned on living with the boys, stay a few days sure, then back on the road...But here I am, a week in, still at the bunker and helping them look for a new case. It was actually really easy living with them, growing up with older brothers probably helped, that and the fact Sam and Dean were just easy to get along with. I had met their friend, and Gabriel's brother,Castiel a few days into my stay, a very quiet guy who would randomly appear out of nowhere, which I noticed Gabriel did often as well. The thing was-Castiel didn't have wings,or at least if he did, he didn't show them off like Gabriel. I also noticed that most of the time when Cas would show up, Gabriel would be gone, and if he did show up Cas would excuse himself quickly. Speaking of Gabriel, he had been acting...odd? Or maybe it was normal for him? I noticed that Cas often stood extremely close to Dean a lot, so maybe invasion of personal space was just a family thing? Either way I noticed Gabriel seemed to always find a way to be very close. Reading some lure in the library? Gabriel plops himself in the seat next to me. Looking up some cases on my laptop while on the couch? Gabriel appears out of nowhere right next to me, causing me to almost throw my computer.

One time I was even baking a pie as sort of a thank you to the boys and when I turned around Gabriel was right there, causing me to jump and almost fall backwards, and of course him making a joke about me "falling for him" when he caught me. Another thing was the fact that Gabriel was always the first one to help if I needed to get something out of storage for the boys that I didn't realize would be as heavy as it was, or anything needing a lot of strength really. I would have joked about not being a damsel in distress, but it seemed he already knew that as he would only help when he knew I would really need it. He also seemed to be almost flaunting his wings more, or at least happily stretching them often, I had noticed that they seemed much fuller than they did back on the hunt, they were still the same beautiful golden color, but they seemed...Healthier? They were impressive really, but I tried not to get caught looking at them, I still didn't know what the custom was since no one talked about them. Another thing Gabe did was a lot was eye contact, which for someone like me who usually never held  eye contact for long, it was different-or maybe it was cause Gabriel had such pretty eyes that one just had to look away from them or you would be lost forever. Either way when I spoke I always seemed to have his full attention,which, after growing up around guys that would just brush you off cause you were both a girl and the youngest, was nice. It took a couple more days before we got a new case, a bunch of women being killed by their boyfriends, fiance, husbands, all of who claimed they didn't remember doing the killings. The case came in from the boy's friend Jody in Sioux Falls,so right away we were loading up our cars and heading out. Jody had emailed the police reports to Sam who in turn emailed them to me, which Gabriel read while I followed the boys. 

"So, first up we have the lovely Mr and Mrs Tucker. Married for thirty years, two kids, and a dog...Is that just the thing to do? Kids leave the nest, the house is empty,it's finally you and your wife again after eighteen plus years and you think, what do we do now? I know! Let's get a dog!" Gabriel laughed.

"One, dogs are awesome" I started with a smile

"Oh don't get me wrong, I love them, used to have a little Jack Russel myself, but it just seems to be what people do" Gabe added

"That is true...I wonder why that is...Dangit Gabe now you have me wondering why old people insist on pushing their love onto animals instead of focusing on this case" I laughed, which caused him to chuckle as well before he turned back to the computer.

"Always ready to be a distraction sugarplum"

"So what did the lovely Mr Tucker have to say for why he slaughtered his wife?" I asked.

"Well, it says here that he said, and I quote, I don't know what came over me, I loved my wife, she was my everything, sure we had our problems but doesn't every couple?" 

"Not problems that are bad enough to kill over"

"Says he doesn't remember the act, just before and after the deed" 

"And all of the men say this?" Gabriel quickly scanned the files before replying

"Yup, everyone is a blank" 

"So we have how many couples?"

"Six, three happily married, one engaged, and two dating" I thought about it for a moment, couples that seemingly had no problems but the woman always ended up dead, at the males hand.

"I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours" Gabriel spoke, breaking the silence of the car.

"Come on" he added, closing the laptop and giving me his full attention. I looked over for a moment and almost wished I hadn't, there he went with the eye contact again-had they always had an almost gold color to them? Like they could match his wings? As if sensing my fascination a grin spread on his face before he spoke again.

"Like a buddy cop movie, you can be the serious one who's all about the job"

"And which one are you?" I asked with a smile, finally able to break my gaze away.

"The loveable comic relief of course!" He smiled.

"Now come on Sugar, you're already thinking something"

"Well for one, these couples weren't as happy as they said they were"

"Duh"

"And it's the men who kill the women"

"Correct"

"As subconsciously I bet, a brutal way to get out of said problemed relationship.

"Ok, I think I am picking up what you're putting down"

"What is probably the number one thing that can put the final nail in the coffin on a man  ending a relationship?" 

"A beautiful woman"

"Exactly my lovely partner, throw in a little supernatural flair to that and we may have men forgetting just what they were doing"

"Don't let anybody ever tell you that you're just a pretty face" he smiled.

"Oh Sweetheart I am so much more than just a pretty face" I replied with a wink, watching as his wings ruffle a bit at the action.

"I also have enough issues to fill Texas" I laughed, watching as he laughed as well, one which I hadn't seen before, this one looked far more..Relaxed.

"Don't we all Sugar, don't we all"

A couple of gas stops later and we were parking outside of the Sioux Falls police station. I had changed into more of a "detective" style outfit consisting of a white button up top, black blazer, black pencil skirt and black heels at the last gas stop. Though keeping my focus on the road after that was hard since Gabriel had also changed, and boy did he pull off a suit. The black button down tucked into black slacks and partially hidden under a black blazer and tie, ZZTop's words never rang so true until that moment, every girl really was crazy about a sharp dressed man. I tried to keep my eyes on the road as much as possible, especially after getting caught twice by those golden honey eyes, but if the extra confidence in his walk on our way into the station said anything it was that he had noticed every glance. 

"There you two a--" a woman's voice spoke behind us but stopped suddenly, I turned towards the sound, noticing a woman who appeared in her late thirties, or maybe early forties.

"Jody, this is Liz and Gabriel" Sam told her while making his way over to her, followed by Dean.

"Oh right, yeah sorry you mentioned them on the phone, it's been a crazy week" she sighed.

"You ok?" Dean asked, his hand resting on her shoulder, she smiled at him and patted his hand.

"Yeah, just...I knew these people, they were all happy...Normal" 

"Nothing out of the ordinary?" Sam asked

"Unless you count Jamie not going to the bakery the night before she...she was forever bugging Cathy about how her wedding cake was coming along" 

"That's why I called you guys, it doesn't look like it's up your alley, but something's not right here" 

"And Claire?" Dean asked sternly

"I told her to stay out of this one but you know how she is" 

"Alright well we're gonna need to talk to the husbands" Sam told her.

"Well we have three of them here, the other two were cases Donna sent over"

"So this thing started someplace else?" I asked, seemingly making the trio remember Gabe and I were still here.

"Over in Hibbing Minnesota" Jody replied before smiling.

"Sorry, I'm Sheriff Mills, Sam and Dean told me about you two" She added, shaking both of our hands.

"Pleasure to meet you Sheriff" Gabriel smiled, and I couldn't stop myself from looking over at him. He really could go from playful to professional if the situation called for it couldn't he? 

"Right well, come on there are already two of the men in the interrogation rooms" she told us before leading the way. Dean and Sam took Martin Cowell, boyfriend to Stacy Young. While Gabriel and I took Jason Smith, fiance to Jamie Wilde. The man seemed regretful enough upon first glance, around mid thirties, black hair partially hiding brown eyes that were red from crying. 

"Hello Mr.Smith I'm Agent Rose and this is my partner--" shit, I realized quickly, Gabriel and I hadn't talked about his fake FBI name.

"Agent Speight" he added, seeming realizing just as soon as I had. 

"I think you may already know why we're here" I stated as we both sat on the other side of the table.

"Because of what I did to--I didn't mean to,"Jason stated, soon falling into tears.

"We just want to understand, we need you to tell us what happened," Gabriel explained,easily falling into his role. After a moment Jason started talking.

"We were out with our wedding planner, she was showing us a venue, this really fancy mansion, hell, it almost could have been a castle" he stopped to collect himself before continuing. 

"Jamie always wanted to be a princess, so this place was perfect, even if it was expensive. We booked it and made our way home--We ate, went to bed...Jamie was still talking about the place" he laughed, seeming to remember how excited she had been.

"The next thing I know, I'm standing over her body..I don't…I don't know what happened" he trailed off into a whisper.

"Did you ever become irritated by Jamie wanting expensive things?" Gabriel asked calmly.

"I mean, she could get crazy but...I guess I kinda knew what I was getting into, Jamie came from a well off family...They always said she was too good for me...Guess they were right"

"Did you ever think about leaving Jamie?" I asked 

"No never I-I mean…"

"Never looked at another woman? Never thought maybe life would be easier with someone else,maybe someone with a cheaper taste?"

The room went quiet for a moment before he sighed.

"There was once, Jamie had been getting crazy with all this wedding stuff..I just...I needed a break. So I said I was going to have a guy's night, and I went out of town, alone. I went to a bar, and met a girl there and...I'm not proud of what I did ok, but I would never have killed Jamie, if I didn't want to be with her I would have just left."

Before I could say anything a knock sounded at the door, Dean peeked his head in and motioned for us to come out.

"So do you think I'm guilty?" Jason asked when we stood up.

"Of killing your fiance, I can't share that. Of being stupidly unfaithful simply because times got hard, yeah, you're guilty of that" I stated before walking out, Gabriel following. 

"You ok?" He asked as we made our way to Dean and Sam.

"Yeah just-long story" I sighed.

"So what were you able to find out?" Sam asked.

"Well he doesn't remember doing the deed as far as killing Jamie" Gabriel told him

"What do you mean as far as?"

"Well he did confess to getting it on with a random girl at the bar one night" Gabe added

"Really?" Jody asked, shocked. 

"They seemed so happy"

"Martin confessed to cheating on Stacy as well" Dean added 

"So we have two unfaithful men" Gabe stated

"I wonder if the others were able to keep it in their pants?" I wondered out loud.

"Right, why don't Dean and I go talk to Larry Tucker, Jody, if you could call Donna and ask them if there is any way to find out if their two cases were ever unfaithful or if anything odd happened before the killings?" Sam asked.

"Yeah I'll get right on it" Jody nodded before heading to her office to make the call.

"Jason had mentioned checking out a venue the day he killed Jamie, maybe we could check that out?" Gabriel asked with a shug.

"That's actually a good idea, maybe someone there saw something or someone suspicious" I nodded, before looking back at the boys who nodded as well. I stopped one of the officers who was walking past to get directions to a mansion in town that could pass as a castle like, lucky for us there was only one. Willington Manor, a spacious 20 bedroom 10 bath home that had a pool,hot tub, tennis court, large outdoor garden, and an extra 20 acres of green grass.

"Ever feel like you're in the wrong line of work?" I asked as we parked in front.

"If only you could have it all right?" Gabe asked as we stepped out.

"If only" 

"Would you really want something like this?" He asked while we walked up the stairs.

"Eh, maybe not this, too many rooms to clean. But this much land would be nice,"

"You seem like a farm girl" he smiled before knocking on the door. 

"Grew up with chickens and stuff but sadly never on an actual farm" I laughed before we heard the door opening, an elderly woman standing there.

"Hello, how can I help you?" She asked

"Hello ma'am, I'm Agent Rose, this is Agent Speight, FBI, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about a couple that came here a few days ago, they were looking at your home for a wedding venue"

"Oh yes I remember them, such a lovely couple, terrible thing that happened, they seemed so happy" she told us as she stepped aside for us to enter.

"Yes is it, so nothing seemed...Off about Jason while he was here? Nothing that would have raised any flags?" Gabriel asked while glancing around before his attention rested back on the woman, who seemed to blush under his gaze.

'Welcome to the crowd' I thought.

"No he seemed perfectly lovely, seemed very compliant with everything his soon-to-be wife wanted, and between you and me, boy did she want a lot" she told us. 

"Do you employ anyone ma'am?" I asked.

"Oh yes, I have a chief,a butler,  two maids, and two grounds keepers," she replied, her eyes never leaving Gabriel, even as he looked over at me.

"And who all was here when Jason and Jamie was?" Gabriel asked her.

"Everyone was" she told him.

"Is everyone here now?" I asked

"Yes of cour-actually no, one of the maids that worked then I had to let go" 

"Let go? How come?" Gabriel asked.

"Well I caught the little hussie trying to steal some of my jewelry, they were my great grandmother's, priceless heirlooms" she explained.

"You wouldn't happen to have employment papers would you? Or a name and description?" I asked

"I don't have papers, but I can tell you her name was Delilah"

'Probably a fake name' I thought

"and she was about five foot seven, long red hair that she kept up in a bun, pale skin. She was quiet,kept to herself but I noticed her often trying to make advances towards both of the grounds keepers...didn't work for her of course" 

"How come?" Gabriel asked

"Their both gay" she chuckled.

"That will do it" I smiled

"Well thank you for your time ma'am" Gabriel smiled.

"If you think of anything else please contact the sheriff, she knows how to reach us" he added, charmingly, making the old woman grin like a teen.

"Most certainly Agent" she replied watching as he headed towards the door. She stopped me when I went to move.

"Are you two...You know?" She asked, stunning me for a moment.

"Ah, no we are strictly-"

"Well then, don't be afraid to send him my way dear" she replied with a wink, I let out an awkward laugh and nodded before heading over to the door. Once outside I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head while we headed to the car. 

"Care to share with the class sweetheart?" Gabe asked once we got in.

"You are never to be left alone around old ladies" I chuckled.

"Oh? Did I not play the part well?" 

"She asked me if we were together, and when I said no she told me not to be afraid to send you her way" 

"Sharing is caring" he laughed

"No thank you" I replied with a small laugh.

"No threesomes?" He chuckled.

"Na I'm good, I don't like other people touching what's mine" I replied, glancing at him when I heard him inhale sharply. His wings seemingly wanted to stretch out but he held them down. 

"Never pegged you as the possessive type" even his laugh sounded forced right now.

"Not possessive, like I wouldn't tell a guy what he could or couldn't do, I just draw the line at sharing him with someone else" I explained as we pulled up at the motel Dean had texted that he got two rooms at. 

"Can you honestly say you would be completely fine with sharing a girl with another guy?" I asked as I shut the car off.

"Well I mean-" he started, wiggling his eyebrows, which only caused me to roll my eyes.

"If you really loved her, like head over heels"

"If she wanted to-"

"Never mind what she wanted, would you be comfortable watching another man put his hands on the woman you love?"

"No" he answered quickly, the gold color coming back to his eyes for a moment, before it was gone.

"See, we all have that in us, that feeling of wanting someone that is yours, just yours-"

"A mate" he answered quietly, almost as if he didn't mean to say it

"Yeah, a mate...I bet all these women thought they had found theirs...They never would have thought they would get cheated on and later killed by the ones who supposedly loved them so much" 

"If they loved them so much, would they have fully given in to whatever influenced them?" 

"No, I guess they wouldn't have" I sighed.

"This is why it's always us women who end up with a broken heart" I added while getting out of the car, missing the odd look Gabriel gave me. I knocked on the boy's room door, announcing myself, and waited only a few seconds before Sam opened the door.

"So what were you two able to figure o-" I stopped when I noticed a young blonde girl sitting on the bed looking beyond done with the boys.

"Ah Liz, Gabriel, this is Claire" Sam explained.

"Ooooh this is Claire" Gabriel nodded, leaving me completely clueless aside from remembering that the boys mentioned her while talking to Jody.

"Claire was working the case even though Jody told her not to" Dean replied while giving Claire a stern look.

"Ok and what have you all figured out?" She asked, but all of us stayed quiet, unsure if we should share information with the young huntress.

"How about this, tell us what you know and we'll tell you what we know" I stated.

"Liz" Dean started.

"She's a rebellious teen who is gonna work this case whether anyone likes it or not, at least this way she won't be running in blind" I explained, Sam and Dean shared a look, both not wanting to get Claire involved but knew I was right.

"Well it seemed Larry wasn't too faithful either, said he needed something exciting in his life since his marriage had gotten stale" Sam started. 

"Did you talk to Peter Jones? He was Becky Davis's boyfriend, dude was a total creep" Claire added.

"He didn't try to-"Dean started but Claire just rolled her eyes.

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle, trust me"

"Ok so all of the men were unfaithful, that plays into my theory" I sighed, sitting next to Claire.

"Theory?"Sam asked.

"Sweetcheeks here pretty much hit the nail on the head before we even got to the police station. Theorizes these men weren't happy, subconsciously wanted a way out, and something influenced them to find a way out" Gabriel explained, biting into a chocolate bar he made appear, I had noticed he did that a lot. He handed both Claire and I one, at first she seemed hesitant but then took it with a nod. 

"So you think some supernatural babe is convincing these guys to kill the women they're with?" Dean asked.

"Does it seem that far fetched?" I asked 

"Not compared to some other things we've faced. 

"And I think we may know what she looks like, if she's not some sort of shifter anyways." I stated before eating some of the chocolate.

"The Madame of the mansion our lovely engaged couple were looking into, had recently fired a maid that had been working the day Jason was visiting. Said she was about five foot seven, red hair, and pale-Oh and kept flirting with the male employees" Gabriel told them.

"Wait that sounds like the woman people said they saw Peter flirting with the night he killed Becky" Claire stated

"Yeah it matches with what Jody just sent me too" Sam added while looking at his laptop.

"The two from Donna, both had been unfaithful in the past, and both had witness accounts of them talking to an unknown red haired female the day and night before each of them murdered their wives." 

"So a chick who can influence guys, siren?" Claire asked.

"That would fit," I nodded.

"Not with what Jody just sent, this was found in Larry's house, I bet there is one in each of the houses" Sam stated spinning his laptop around to show us all.

"Is that?" Claire stated.

"A hex bag" Gabriel finished.

"Man I hate witches" Dean sighed.

"Should we call Rowena? Ask her if it's someone she knows?" Sam asked but Dean just shook his head.

"At this point after what she's cause, I don't care if Rowena does know her, she has to be dealt with"

"So how do we lure her out?" I asked

"Well she goes after couples right? Where is there a lot of couples right now?"Dean asked

"The fair is in town right now"Claire started

"But more people show up at night"

"Looks like we're going to the fair"Dean nodded, looking over at Sam who looked terrified.

"Don't worry Sammy, I'm sure it's clown free" he chuckled, earning a bitch face from his brother. We each went our ways after that to prepare. Jody picked up Claire, stating she would meet us at the fair later. I went to the room the boys got me to take a quick shower and the boys seemed to have the same idea.

Once night fully fell we headed out to the fairgrounds, hoping we could find this witch fast and end the case before someone else got hurt. But once we got there Gabriel turned to me, a smirk on his lips before he proposed his question.

"Why don't we up the ante? Try to lure her out ourselves while we're here?" 

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Let's make this a date"

I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! It only gets better from here. And as I said before you can find the link to the 2nd part of this chapter

Here

Also some little facts, I gave Liz the agent name "Rose" because if I would have been born a boy my mom wanted to name me Axl Rose because she was a GNR superfan lol.

Also here is Gabriel in his suit for your viewing pleasure ~_^

Taglist

@sydknee624 @studentdoctorstark @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman @ambivertedcroissant @sunny-shine44

[the-roanoke-society]

i was working in the lab late one night...

when my eyes beheld an eerie sight...

welcome to the final post of horror aus for halloween 2020! i hope you all enjoyed the ride. i apologize for not having everything ready on halloween like i originally planned. remember that the inbox and dms are always open for questions, comments and concerns. if you missed them, here are parts one, two and three. all warnings still apply, so be forewarned.

i know things are scary right now. but to quote the infamous n. gaiman: fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

take it from me when i say that we outnumber the monsters of this world--and more importantly, take heart.

click below the cut if you, too, like doing the monster mash (no offense but it is kind of a graveyard smash...)

there’s bloodstains beneath the carpet - a ∆ au inspired by the super, co-starring technical officer drake and @agents-of-virtue​'s agent annabelle

it was a new start. for both drew and matthew. a new city, shining with opportunities and adventure. they had no shortage of hope--but maybe did have a little shortage of cash.

all the same, the knox-edwards boarding house wasn’t that bad. grimy and with a level of grunge akin to a garage band circa 1995, sure, but nothing unbearable.

but as drew was stuck in the hallway holding up their couch, matthew trying to figure out who needed to pivot and in what direction in order to not have furniture stuck in the doorway, he overheard it:

“what? another one? are you serious?”

two people were walking down the hallway, and they didn’t look to be much older than himself, or matthew. a man and woman, close together, as if they were conspiring.

“wait, drew, i think i got it, turn left a little bit--”

“as a heart attack. that makes it four people in three months. i’m telling you bekah, something fuckin’ weird in goin’ on here. people don’t just up and vanish from their own homes, and--oh!”

“drew! are you listening to me? turn it left!”

oh shit. oh shit. don’t act like you were obviously eavesdropping, maybe they didn’t notice...

“drew!”

“hi!”

welp. all right. be cool.

“uh--hello!” but he yelped when matthew unexpectedly let go of the couch, and it landed on the ground with a hard thud.

but drew was still processing what he heard. four people in three months? what did that mean?

mini soundtrack sampler includes: rockwell, ‘somebody’s watching me’ + absofacto, ‘dissolve’ + barns courtney, ‘99′

won’t you cut me down? - a second chances au inspired by seven in heaven

joan, normally, wasn’t so forward. at least, not a society-thrown event where multiple agencies were represented, and especially not when he knew lilith was around and not above reprimanding an agent in front of god and everyone else in the room.

but he’d had quite a bit to drink.

the evening was winding down.

and josie... josie was breathtaking.

he couldn’t help it.

“joan--joan!” she laughed as he turned her, taking her elbow and leading her down a hallway close to one of the larger coat closets. “what are you d--”

her voice cut off abruptly to the tune of joan’s mouth on hers, and the closing of a closet door.

joan didn’t stop to think about how this particular door wasn’t room he distinctly remembered. he was tipsy and enamored and his wife consumed his senses. he didn’t care.

but he did care a while later, after they’d made themselves presentable again and opened the door to a manor that was much, much quieter than he was expecting.

and josie felt it too.

it was an odd sensation, to feel that he’d stepped out of one place and into another entirely.

josie asked quietly, “where... where did everyone go?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: jack white, ‘i’m shakin’‘ + konrad old money & sleep steady, ‘rage’ + k. flay, ‘blood in the cut’

my hands are growing colder - an inverse functions au inspired by eli

ginny knew erik wasn’t broken. she would rather have faced down a demon or some unholy thing sprung out of the gate than ever describe him like that.

but he was--unique.

beyond the understanding of most medical doctors, at least. even aly and caroline were struggling to treat his symptoms. it was like he’d become allergic to everything around him over the course of just a few days. his symptoms were sudden, severe, and left her nervous.

it wasn’t just allergies. she knew that. and if she had to seek help outside of the society, then so be it. all that mattered to her was seeing him brought back to health.

and late one night, during a despair-fueled search through some files in the archives that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years, she found a name: dr. isabella horn.

the fact that lacey, who’d been overseeing the roanoe medical wards for ages, hadn’t heard of her, should have been a warning.

but desperate times call for desperate measures.

the next day, they were on their way to a facility in the middle of the midwest--though ‘facility’ wasn’t quite the right word. it looked more like a mansion, with nothing but wheat fields all around as far as they eye could see. the horizon was only broken by the occasional oil derrick.

and they were surprised when they had to be buzzed through pressurized, completely sterile chambers to even get inside.

but there, right at the front of the welcoming committee, was a woman with dark eyes, and an easy smile.

“good afternoon! you must be ginny and erik, welcome. i’m dr. horn.”

but ginny didn’t trust her grin.

and that should have been the second warning.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: stevie wonder, ‘superstitious’ + the killers, ‘when you were young’ + the revivalists, ‘wish i knew you’

i saw your bones on the road - a pastel goth au inspired by the silence

meli would look back on it and realize with no small sense of irony how loud it was when it began.

the screaming, the terror. how she blasted her spotify on her furious drive to guiliana’s house in the blessedly quiet suburbs, eyes constantly searching the sky. she knew that the responsible thing to do would be to listen to the coverage on the radio, but honestly? she’d heard enough. she had more than half a brain, and she knew exactly what to do.

get her girlfriend and head--okay, maybe she didn’t know exactly what to do.

but giuliana was smart. they’d figure it out together.

the government didn’t know what they were, exactly. nobody did. meli only knew that they were calling them vesps.

it was a word that she mulled over frantically. linguistics was always a welcome distraction. she thought she’d heard it before, but all she could think of was the latin vespere. it roughly translated to ‘from the evening,’ or ‘from the night.’

from the dark.

perhaps that was an apt name.

the sunset had painted the sky in shades that were obnoxiously beautiful given the circumstances, and her jeep lurched in protest as she abruptly slammed the gear shift into park in the glow of guiliana’s porch lights.

in the distance, she could hear shrieking--but not that of human beings.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: mourning ritual, ‘bad moon rising’ + twenty one pilots, ‘ride’ + royal blood, ‘trouble’s coming’

waiting for the vultures - a time traveler’s husband au inspired by the houses october built

it had been dara’s idea.

“oh it’ll be fun! think about it, italy and the states celebrate halloween with way, way different aesthetics. think of this as getting a sampler of how america does it,” she said, sitting in silvano’s lap, charm volume as far up as it would go.

and he agreed. “all right--okay. a grand adventure across the country hitting as many haunted houses as we can.”

“geez, try not to sound too excited.”

he murmured into her shoulder, “i’m mostly excited to spend time with you. but if a road trip through october is what you want, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

he was rewarded with kisses peppered all over his face and a very excited dara dragging him excitedly to best buy to pick up a camcorder. “what? of course we need a camera! if we record everything then it’s like--i don’t know. like it’s ours. we can go back to it whenever want, and we can show all our friends the cool places we saw when we get home!”

dara hadn’t known then.

she didn’t know it would start with one lone figure in a clown costume standing in front of the rv like he was going to charge at it. she didn’t know that they would end up surrounded, followed. abducted.

it had been dara’s idea.

and she would never forgive herself.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: van halen, ‘runnin’ with the devil’ + the 1975, ‘if you’re too shy (let me know)’ + afi, ‘miss murder’

[sabraeal]

All That Remains, Chapter 5: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Written for @claudeng80‘s birthday, and only....a few weeks late! Had this thing not become a BEAST it would have arrived on time but...who doesn’t want a 9K birthday gift?

Perhaps it is lies that make men human.

Ah, you shake your head-- surely not, for man is more than vice, more than our venal sins--

But it is stories that bind us, is it not? Tales that start as words between friends, that then are pulled as taffy in the teeth of those that tell them, that become exaggerated, distended in their telling.

If at the kernel of every story is a truth, then it is one that is surrounded by lies.

Or perhaps that is only what liars tell themselves when they must live with what they’ve done.

Why would you leave Wistal for Lilias?

It was the first question any of them asked-- unless her reputation had preceded her, and then the conversation would shift sharply to Garack and her apprenticeship, to whether all the rumors they had heard about Wistal’s Head Pharmacist were true.

(They had only been disappointed when she didn’t know; she’d hardly been there a year, and though she’d studied closely under her, Garack hadn’t seen fit set aside a lesson to rifle through the rumor mill’s latest)

It’s cold here, Suzu had reminded her that first trip, as if she could forget with how both her heaviest cloak and double stockings that still could not keep out the chill. At least then she’d had a mission she could speak of, an excuse she could throw up a shield against more unwanted questions. After all, all of them abhorred missing data.

It had been harder the second time, when the whole of this golden opportunity had seemed stained with Izana’s touch, had seemed tainted by his test. She’d been lucky those first few days; they’d been less interested in her answer, and more interested in issuing their dire warnings. It gets colder than this, Kazaha had told her, puffed up with his own importance, colder than you’ve ever known.

Then Obi had arrived, coming in with the snow, as he’d told everyone that would listen, and well-- as interesting as Garack Gazalt’s red head assistant was, her mysterious attendant was even more so. At least, for a while, and then they were just another part of Lilias, another pair of heads over a sea of furs.

Still, you must miss it, Yuzuri would say, wistful, it’s so warm there.

I miss the mornings, she had said once, tucked between her and Ryuu at the commissary. Birds would sing me awake.

Too early, Obi had scoffed, wrinkling his nose. They see the sun and go crazy.

Just early enough. The corner of her mouth curved as she met his grin. You just get to bed too late.

Talk to my mistress about that. It’s too much to look at him sometimes when he teases like that, when he pretends it isn’t her that he’s talking about. She’s the one who likes to burn candles at both ends.

Stories are apt to praise the little girls who walk them as kind, as obedient, perhaps even clever should they outwit a sufficiently evil witch or an especially corrupt king. But this little girl-- kind as she was, clever as she was-- was dogged, was stubborn.

Ah, how rare such a thing is, at least in stories. It is a detail to be left out in the telling, to be lost to the years, to be replaced with a kindly figure that gives her wisdom, but now--

Now the tale is fresh, heavy with the truth, and you may know: even with assurances from the adults around her, the little girl did not take the boy’s disappearance lying down, oh no.

She would not suffer losing her home.

Even though it is the birds that wake her, it does nothing for the bleak knot in her belly, only grown tighter as she’s slept. Or rather, as she didn’t; her mattress may be feathers and her sheets may be silk, but neither were any help as she lay there, finding faces in her canopy.

Still, the morning will not wait, not even for a princess. Her hours are full, from sunrise to moonrise, and on most nights, beyond. If she means to keep pace with her promises, she has to start early.

A woman of proper standing would have a maid to dress her-- no, a woman meant to be Zen’s wife would have a team of them to do her entire toilette, but Shirayuki has only herself. A pharmacist’s purse was nothing to sneeze at, but it didn’t pay the way an estate would, and even if she could afford the expense--

Well, Kiki dressed herself. There was no reason she couldn’t either, not when she was already in the practice of it.

“I’m not wearing court dress,” Kiki reminds her, mouth canted kindly, when she sees the state of her morning gown, hook and eyes flapping open like a wound down her back. “They aren’t meant to be put on alone.”

“That’s what Haruka said, too,” Shirayuki murmurs, hands braced on her vanity.

In the mirror, Kiki’s brows raise. “You had Marquis Haruka talk to you about your toilette?”

“Against his will,” she assures her, breathless, before she realizes what that sounds like. “I mean, not that I-- he was berating me--”

Kiki holds up a hand, lips quivering. “I can picture the scene.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks heat, glowing pink in the glass. “Of course.”

“I’m nearly done.” Her fingers are nearly as deft as Obi’s, making quick work of the horde of hooks. “Since I’m back here, is there something I could put in your hair?”

“Oh! If you don’t mind.” Shirayuki reaches out to where she keeps her clips, flipping open the chest, and--

And they lay next to each other, stark against the pale velvet: her hairpins. The ones Obi had given her. Her hand shakes as she brushes against the carved flowers of one, against the smooth tassel of the other. She has a box of combs as well, bought on her travels under Obi’s urging, and--

“Is there any news?” She wishes she could sound brighter, less worried, but--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

--but despite all Zen’s assurances, this knot in her gut only sinks further, heavier with each passing hour.

Kiki hisses, fingers slipping on a clasp. “No,” she says finally, hooking it with a violent jerk. “Not yet.”

Her heart clenches, ribs squeezing as tight as any corset. “Ah.”

Kiki lifts her gaze, meeting hers in the mirror. “Don’t worry, it’s only been a night.”

“Oh, right.” Still, the tightness in her chest doesn’t ease, doesn’t let her breathe easier. “They probably need-- time. To search.”

“Yes.” Kiki’s gaze drops, fixing to the last clasp. “Exactly. Did you find what you wanted?”

Shirayuki stares at the hairpins, the best she has--

Shouldn’t Master be helping you with this, Miss?

And closes the box.

She turns to Kiki, smile bright, tight. “Why don’t you just pick out one of my combs? Any will do, I think.”

It is not that the girl was not trusting-- for all girls in these stories must be trusting to a fault, must first fall for the lies meant to keep them safe-- but it was only that unlike other before her, she trusted herself as well.

The boy was her home, a part of her. Just as she might step through the door and know that there was still an ember smoldering in the hearth, she knew that something was wrong with the waiting, with the way those around her would say, he will come back on his own, he only needs time.

One does not need to see smoke to know a fire burns. And the girl did not need to prod wounds to know her boy was hurting.

Kiki cannot come to her every morning, she knows-- if Shirayuki were a princess in more than aspiration, she might be able to merit a countess as a guard, but as little more than a pharmacist living off the goodwill of the crown, she knows the assignment has caused tongues to wag, and not just below stairs.

Good, Obi would say, about time all those fancy nobles started guessing what you’re worth, Miss.

That would bring a smile, usually; as uncomfortable as this sort of attention was, Obi always made it sound exciting, as if each drawn eye was an accomplishment. As if every turned head was a coup.

But he’s not here now. And who lays beyond her door--

“Mitsuhide!” she gasps, glad she chose a gown she could close herself. “Are you with me today?”

“For a while, at least.” He smiles, stepping closer to loom pleasantly over her. “You’re looking well today.”

--Often sees only what he wants to see. Or, maybe, speaks only what she wants to hear.

“Do you think so?” she ventures, searching his face. Sleep has not come easy these past few nights, and though she knows she must, at some point, lose consciousness in order to wake, she remembers none of it. No moment where she dozes off, no burst of restfulness when she opens her eyes, no dreams.

Though perhaps that last is a mercy.

“Of course!” His smile is earnest, crinkling the corner of his eyes. “You’re practically glowing.”

Her smile is tremulous, but she manages to hold it, even if just for a moment. It’s enough to please Mitsuhide, which is what matters. “Thank you.”

He turns, offering his arm, and she nearly takes it, hand hovering over the dark cloth--

Dark cloth that isn’t wool, oh no, but lighter stuff. Cotton, perhaps, or a stiff linen. Summer fabrics. Obi had been wearing them weeks ago, and Haruka chided him for being too early, that the palace guard wouldn’t change over until the equinox--

“Is there any word?” The words stumble off her tongue on wobbling legs.

Mitsuhide blinks, eyes wide and brown and guileless. “Come again?”

“About Obi,” she presses. “Have they found anything yet?”

“They?” he murmurs, brow furrowing, but a moment later-- “Ah, you mean-- ah--?”

“The men Zen sent out to look for him.” She lays her hand on his arm, fingers clenching in the cloth-- cotton, she was right. “They must have news.”

“Oh, ah...” He clears his throat. “No. I haven’t heard anything.”

His hand engulfs hers, and oh, she hadn’t realized she had been gripping him so hard. Her fingers ease, smoothing the wrinkles they left.

“Shirayuki,” he rumbles, “I know you’re worried.”

Her throat is too tight to manage anything more than a squeak.

“Zen will take care of it,” he tells her, no doubt dogging his voice. “And I’m sure that-- that--” his gaze slips off her, fixing across the hall-- “I’m sure Obi will be back any day now.”

Ribs squeeze tight, her breath trapped in her lungs, and oh, how she wishes she could believe that, how she wishes he would just drop down onto her balcony like he never left, but--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss. 

She can’t.

“After all, it’s hardly been a week,” he continues, confidence limping.

A week. Shirayuki’s mind whirls, starts counting the days, but she stops herself. She knows well enough how long it’s been; there’s no need to do the unkindest arithmetic and find the difference between that and when they’d told her.

“Right,” she says instead, plastering on a smile she does not feel. “Any day now.”

The girl is dogged, is determined, but in the end-- she is just a little girl.

Have you seen him, she would ask, did you see him when he left?

The townsfolk would only look at her with pitying eyes, would only shake their heads. He is gone, girl.

Then I will find him, she would say, and the townsfolk would sigh, would grimace, would tell her, it is time to accept it.

It is not any man that she knows the next morning.

He’s young, dark haired with an oval face, the same as so many guards at Wistal. She knew nearly every man on Lilias’s walls from walk alone, from veteran Jirou-- always a sergeant and never a commander, just the way he likes it-- to fresh-faced Hiro, only recently given his pike and hat. But here-- well, Obi had not been so involved with the guard in Wistal, save to avoid them.

No name comes to her. With the spray of freckles over his nose and the roundness still in his cheeks, he could not have been more than a recruit when she headed north, probably assigned to one of the lesser-used gates or sent to guard doors.

“My lady!” he gasps, bowing his head. “I’m to be your escort.”

Her smile stiffens, pulling tight like pressed paper. Perhaps she had been too generous with his age-- he was more likely one of the lanky boys hanging off the gate, rather than one of the young men guarding it.

“Oh,” she manages, poorly burying her disappointment. “T-thank you.”

Who does he work for? Her hand tightens on the door, the faint lilt of of Obi’s voice drawing her short. He had always been so much better at this game that her, plucking out which overtures were insult or ingratiation. Without him in her ear, she’s playing this game half-blind, never calculating the angles soon enough for safety.

Still, he is a young guard, surely too new to be in anyone’s pocket, and Izana was always so careful with the men that surrounded the royal family--

“Just for the morning!” he assures her. “As a favor to Lady Kiki. She’s busy this morning, my lady.”

That answers that question handily. “Oh. Well. I suppose...that’s fine.” She pulls the door closed behind her. “Do you know Kiki personally?”

“Hardly,” he tells her with a humble flush, falling into step just behind her. “My father is a tenant of Seiran. I didn’t even know she knew my name.”

Shirayuki’s smile settles easier on her face. “But you knew hers.”

“Everyone knows Lady Kiki,” he says, hushed and reverent, and oh, does Shirayuki recognize that breathlessness, that wonder. Even now it would catch in her chest when the light captured Kiki in just the right moment, like one of those paintings where ancient goddesses emerged from the sea or decapitated faithless kings. “She’s magnificent.”

She hums, smothering a smile. “Have you been in Wistal long?”

“The last three seasons,” he says, as if Wistal has anything other than this eternal summer and a slightly more mild winter. “They say I’m almost ready for the Poet’s Gate, if I want a little more bustle in my day.”

The Poet’s Gate. There’s a pleasant ache as she remembers those early days, as she remembers the two guards who would open it for her if she only asked-- Kai and Shiira, a bare recruit and a man hardly a handful of years his senior, both always greeting her with a smile. She hadn’t seen them since she’d returned; Obi had laughed when she’d mentioned it, worried, that first week.

They’re both veterans now, he’d told her, smile fondly curving a corner of his mouth. They won’t waste them on gate duty. Probably have plum assignments in the court, by now.

She means to ask about them, about whether he has heard where life and duty have taken the men who were kind to her before she earned her place, but instead--

“Have you heard anything about Obi?”

Heat floods her cheeks, but that is a familiar betrayal. That her mouth and mind no longer obey her, that she’s so liable to spit out her first thought with no warning--

That is new. That is worse.

Still, the boy only blinks. “Obi, my lady?”

“Sir Obi.” The title is odd on her tongue, like a shoe slipped on the wrong foot. “Zen-- His Highness sent men out to look for him a few days ago. I thought you might have heard something, seeing as how you live in the barracks.”

And guards are more loose with gossip than fishwives, Obi would say with a wink.

His brows draw down, mouth bowed in confusion. “Is Sir Obi some kind of nobleman? An exile, or something?” His eyes light as he adds, “An outlaw?”

Shirayuki can only stare, a terrible foreboding crawling in her gut. “N-no! Sir Obi is a guardsman-- or at least, he was, before. Now he’s a knight of the Royal Circle.”

The boy’s interest wanes. “Oh, no, haven’t heard anything about that. Not too strange though-- the knight’s circle tends to take care of their own.” His mouth rumples thoughtfully. “Though I haven’t heard of any of them missing, of late. Or anyone being sent out after them.”

“But the search,” she presses, the foreboding’s claws sinking deep into her belly, “you’ve heard of that, haven’t you? At least from the men who have gone out?”

Still he looks at her, uncomprehending. “My lady, I don’t know any that have.”

The girl has known kindness before.

Kindness was a hand in the market, leading her home when she was separated from her grandparents. It was the basket of food on her doorstep when they died, still warm from the oven. It was a dexterous hand deep in a rose bush, untangling branches so they might grow straight, might bloom in their season.

It had never before been the man who said, He will not come back, for it was the the river that took him, and he has drowned.

But honesty is its own kindness, in its way. Even when its message is cruel.

“You are distracted.”

Shirayuki blinks, and it’s only then that she feels the liquid at her wrist, thickly winding down her palm. Her toast sits outstretched in her fingers, forgotten, egg yolk dripping on her hands, her cuffs, the table--

“Oh!” She drops it, alarmed, onto her plate. “I’m-- I’m sorry, I just--”

“You weren’t paying attention,” Haruka admonishes gruffly, handing her a serviette. It’s a lost cause; the yolk may come off but it leaves a runny yellow blotch on the cotton. Unsalvageable, according to the court; ripe for the garbage.

She frowns. Maybe she can convince them to just replace the cuff; she’d heard just the other day that lace was soon to be out of fashion anyway.

The marquis grips her elbow, guiding it away from her tea. “You’re still not paying attention.”

She blinks. “Did you just reach across the table?”

He settles back into his seat, dabbing absently at his mouth. “Only to save the wash-maids their scrubbing. They’ll have a hard enough time with what you’ve already spilled, let alone adding to it.”

Her cheeks flare with heat, but she keeps her hands in her lap, worrying at the cloth there.

The marquis grunts, setting down his fork. “I see you have no intention of putting your concerns aside and dedicating your attention to the lesson.”

“No! I mean, yes! No, wait, I mean--” she shakes her head-- “I’m trying.”

With a sigh, he places his napkin on the table, shifting his plate away so that he may fold his hands above it. “What could weigh so heavily upon you that you cannot make it through a single egg?”

“Nothing,” she promises. “It’s just...”

Haruka raises his brows, as encouraging a gesture as she’s ever seen from him, but--

But to say she’s worried about Obi, that he’s run away and he won’t come back, that perhaps she’s chased him away--

Well, to a man like Haruka, she might as well be complaining about the dishwasher in the kitchens, or a hound in the kennels. A bodyguard should be beneath a princess’s notice.

Her mouth thins. Besides, that’s only half of the concerns she’s been wrangling with these last few hours.

“Zen told me that he would-- he would handle something.” Every word wobbles under its own weigh as it stumbles from between her teeth. “But it seems that he might not have...that he didn’t...”

The marquis clears his throat with a sharp nod, approving. “It is the prerogative of princes to keep their promises. Or not.” He fixes her with a stern look. “He must do what’s best for the kingdom.”

What’s best for the kingdom. The words rankle, rattling her right down to her bones. Obi was his aide, his staunchest ally, his friend--

“It is what’s best.” Shirayuki can do no arithmetic where Obi does not benefit Clarines, and that Zen might-- that Zen could-- “He knows that.”

Haruka lifts a shoulder, a careless shrug so like the Izana’s she nearly shivers from the chill. “Then perhaps he has been kept from keeping it. He is, after all, not the highest power in the kingdom.”

It’s tempting to believe; Izana often relished his role as a caltrop to their happiness, adding bizarre twists to his expectations that left Zen scrambling to meet them. But still, still--

“No.” If there is anyone that can do the complex calculations of loyalty and risk, it’s Izana. “I don’t think he would have stopped him. Not for this.”

“Then perhaps it is a lack of time,” Haruka offers, begrudgingly helpful, “or the resources. Or perhaps--” he hesitates, sending her a long look-- “the will.”

Her breath gasps from her, a palpable hit, and she doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to think Zen wouldn’t believe finding Obi is as much of a priority as her, but--

There’s no reason to get so upset. It’s not odd for Obi to disappear with no explanation.

“Then why would he tell me he would?” She wishes she could keep the raw edge from her words, the accusation. “He must have done something. Kiki and Mitsuhide both said that he...”

Her words dry up at the pitying look on the marquis’ face, gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual stony expression.

“Not that I care to insert myself into your petty concerns,” he says, his tone thick with disinterest, “but it would behoove you, as a princess, to have a keen eye for who is most loyal to you, and who is most loyal to your husband.“

She blinks. “But--”

“It would be a mistake of the highest order to believe they are the same thing.” He gives her a long, meaningful look. “Kingdoms have fallen from such folly.”

Trust is a strange thing, is it not? It is a badge of honor, freely given. It is a privilege, hard to earn.

Doubt is easier; it lives with us, a tenant that never leaves, feeding our darkest thoughts and deepest fears. It is so easy to glut oneself on uncertainty, on indecision, and yet--

And yet we will fight hardest when trust is on the line. Even with the bleakest evidence, we will beg for one slight more, for another single shred of proof until it buries us. Anything to keep from believing it has been broken.

For once trust is lost, it can never be regained.

Her stomach still churns when the marquis releases her from her lesson, his words sitting as poorly as her egg and toast.

He must do what’s best for the kingdom. The words ring loud in her ears, inescapable. Perhaps it is a lack of time-- or of will.

It is only the tweak in her jaw that warns her how tight she is clenching it. This is-- she can’t-- she shouldn’t--

Her hand drops from the door, and she takes a deep, collecting breath, drawn right up from her toes. No matter how much Haruka may pretend he knows about Zen, about his motives, he’s still not him. A man like the marquis may make false promises, but Zen--

She squares her shoulders, glaring down the door. Zen has never not kept his word, not to her. He doesn’t deserve this doubt.

The knot in her stomach squirms. If only her surety could kill it.

It’s Kiki who waits for her in the hall; her lean is casual, one boot placed on the wall behind her as if this were some simple tavern and not the royal palace. For a moment, Shirayuki nearly laughs; few dare to treat the heart of Clarines with such irreverence-- Obi, for one, though she suspects he constitutionally incapable of awe; Izana, for another, though she supposes he has the most right out of anyone to treat the palace like any other home; and--

Zen.

It would behoove you to have a keen eye for who is most loyal to you, and who is most loyal to your husband.

The world tilts, and suddenly the casual lean seems studied, affected. Every line of Kiki’s body is tense, coiled for confrontation, her head hanging heavy and shoulders bowed, as if the weight of her thoughts were a burden. It’s only when she turns to her, smile tilting her lips, that it eases, but--

But even that is a conscious effort, an act that she is performing for Shirayuki’s benefit. Something is wrong, and Kiki doesn’t want her to know.

“Shirayuki.” Kiki peels off the wall, faint, friendly smile in place. “Did you enjoy--?”

“Have you heard anything?” Shirayuki nearly winces at the edge in her voice, at how terse she sounds. “Anything at all?”

There’s a moment, so quick it would be missed were she not waiting for it, where Kiki’s face quivers, where her carefully constructed smile pulls tight like tanning hides. It’s gone the next, replaced by a concern so genuine Shirayuki aches to believe it. “No, not yet. I’m sure that--”

“It’s been nearly a week,” she pushes, “and no one’s heard anything.”

Kiki shrugs a shoulder, too casual. “It’s Obi. He goes off all the time.”

“Not for this long.” She shakes her head. “Not without telling me. What if something’s happened, and he--?”

“You don’t need to worry, Shirayuki.” Kiki lays a hand on her arm, giving her a comforting squeeze. “Obi can take care of himself. If he talks himself into trouble, he’s fully capable of talking himself right back out.”

Her nails bite painfully into the flesh of her palms. “But he shouldn’t have to,” she says, so softly, meeting Kiki’s hard gaze. “We’re his friends.”

Kiki’s grip tightens, but her only answer is a harsh breath, echoing in the hall.

“He was already by himself for so long,” Shirayuki pushes, “we shouldn’t let him be alone again. Not like this.”

“Shirayuki--”

“Did Zen send anyone out to look for him?” she asks so baldly, Kiki rocks back on her heels. “Or was that...”

She can’t bring herself to finish the thought. Not without knowing for certain.

“Zen,” Kiki grits out between her teeth, “is doing what he think is best.”

It’s not the answer Shirayuki is hoping far, and it’s far and away from the one she wants.

“I think,” she says, drawing herself up to her full height, “that I need to see Zen. Now.”

It is said that the depth of a wound has little to do with how it heals, but rather depends on the way that it is left, on the shape of the weapon that made it. Trauma, they say, is the difference between a clean cut and a poor death.

There is no way to prepare for betrayal. Perhaps that is what makes it so hard to swallow, so hard to forgive. It is a ragged knife, pressed to the most sensitive parts.

And no matter how shallow the wound, the rent it leaves is ragged, slow to heal, if it ever does. Traumatic, to be left with a gash that will not close, that can open and bleed again, if it chooses to.

A killer, some might say. Just another type of poison.

In her first days at Wistal, she had heard the complaints: Prince Zen is never in his office. The second prince keeps lords waiting in his antechamber for hours. The prince has no respect for the time of the members of the small council.

It had made her laugh then, small giggles smothered by the collar of her lab coat while Ryuu watched her with wary eyes. Even before the kiss in the tower, before she’d known about his feelings for her-- and discovered her feelings for him-- she’d felt a thrill knowing that she was often the reason he crept off his balcony after tea, or slipped out a window after brunch. He kept important men waiting, but her-- never.

Or at least, not until now.

Shirayuki’s hands are rarely idle.

At Lilias, she had rarely been without a book to hand or notes to make; all too often Lata had remarked on the stack of tomes that seemed to follow her wherever she went, or Shidan complained about the number of notes he found littered outside his office door.

What is it they say, Miss? Obi would tease, his mouth rucked in one corner, brow cocked. Idle hands are wickedness’s tools?

She’d given up on smothering her smiles by then; he’d always known anyway. Then I guess that makes me all goodness.

Ah, he’d sigh, looking over the yard, breath misting on the air. I suppose it does.

Even as a child, she’d been under the bar, playing shell games with the glasses, or in the kitchen, learning how not to cook away from her grandmother’s watchful eye. A busy thing, the townsfolk would laugh.

But a princess is not busy. Or rather-- she only plans to be busy. She doesn’t carry a stack of books under an arm, or have ink spilled on the web between her thumb and forefinger, nor does she feel the need to fidget when she’s left to wait on what amounts to little more than a cushioned stool.

Ten minutes after she sits, she tears the lace on her sleeve. Another five, and she’s lost a button, hidden somewhere underneath her voluminous skirts. Not three minutes later, one of the guards takes pity on her and gives her his handkerchief.

“Hard to ruin a simple thing like this, my lady,” he says with a wan smile, casting a nervous look toward the door.

Shirayuki takes one look at the lovingly embroidered initials in the corner and swallows down, I wouldn’t be so sure.

All told, she waits an hour, the sun sinking under the horizon before Zen leaves his office, half-dressed for dinner.

“Shirayuki!” His eyes pulse wide as he sees her, swinging towards Mitsuhide in question. “I didn’t know that we-- did we have plans tonight...?”

“No.” It’s an effort to keep her voice even, calm. “I needed to see you.”

His mouth flares wide, the weariness gone from his face, as if it had never been. “Oh?”

She takes a breath, bracing herself for the conversation to come, but she chokes on it as he takes her hands so softly between his own.

“I don’t have time tonight,” he says, gentle and pleased, “but tomorrow-- dinner, just the two of us. I promise.”

“That isn’t--”

He squeezes her hands before he leaves, smile wry and tired, and she--

She stands alone, hands still warm from where he held them, the unsaid words caught in her teeth.

Have you seen him? the little girl asks, day in and day out. Have you seen my boy?

He is gone, the townsfolk tell her, as they always do. If it were another girl, this tale might end here; determined and dogged she might be, but everyone has a breaking point. It would be too easy to accept it, to forget, to let her boy become a faded memory from childhood.

But this little girl-- she learns.

Where did he go, then? she asks instead, and the townspeople shrug their shoulders. The city, some guess, or the wood. Perhaps he followed a traveling band, or a woman.

What does it matter? one finally says, cross. What would a little girl like you even do?

Ah, for that is the trouble with stories; they make us think of virtuous, obedient girls, girls who remember to offer old grandmothers lunch from their basket, and remember all the words to the magic rhyme. We forget the most important thing:

Little girls can do anything, so long as they haven’t learned they can’t.

She nearly loses herself in the city.

The streets of Lilias had been as familiar to her as the lines on her palm, their winding paths worn into the very fabric of her heart so that even on the darkest nights, she could make her way back to her chambers with little more than her legs alone. She’d thought she’d known Wistal the same way; she’d lived for months in that little apartment outside the palace, the one with the pot-bellied stove, and even when she’d moved into the dormitories, she’d spent hours perusing the markets for pharmacy stock. But now that she’s here, standing in its night-darkened roads--

Ah, she feels every day of those years away.

Still, she remembers when Obi would stumble onto her balcony, pockets a fair bit heavier than when he’d left her, crowing about the pub just outside the gates where the guard would go to drink away their days. And gamble away their paychecks, it seemed, if Obi’s suddenly flushed fortunes were any indication.

He’d never told her its precise location-- she’d gone to drink with the guard in Lilias, more times than she could count, but in Wistal she’d been reserved, wary about mixing company outside of Zen’s influence, and either Obi had sense her hesitation, or--

Well, or he’d just not wanted to go out drinking with the bookworm who kept him cooped up in the library all day. Still, she knew it wasn’t far from the Poet’s Gate, and not far from the market district, somewhere close to the river that ran through the city, and from there--

From there, she just followed the guards.

The water hungers.

You laugh; how can waters hunger when they have no mouths to eat, no bellies to sate. But that is the thing of it-- waters run deep, and they long to be filled. That is why we talk of pond reflections that reach up to pull children in, or monstrous horses that lure men deeper, or great, terrible beasts that live at the bottom.

The girl knows it, as all clever children do. But she knows just as well-- a beast that hungers can be bargained with, as long as you pay the price.

Hood drawn low, Shirayuki slips in to the steady stream of patrons that saunter into the bar.

The pub is dim, much more than she expects. Wistal has ever been the bright spot in her memory, the city of eternal summer; that it has places where the lamps burn low too gives her pause.

Not for long; she’s the daughter of a bar-- or at least a granddaughter-- and she’s used to these dark places. As a child, she’d sit under the tables, listening to the custom talk, hearing about plans she only half understood and people she would never known. She’d learned words to never say, too, or at least that was what her grandmother had told her, sending her to bed without dessert.

She knows what to look for-- a shadowed table, not too far from where the guards are losing their coin, just close enough to eavesdrop without--

“Ah, sorry,” a man says, shouldering her hard enough to make her gasp. “I wasn’t looking...ma’am?”

He wraps the last word in a question, and with a cursory glance around the room, Shirayuki realizes her mistake. She’s the only one in the room wearing skirts that isn’t also serving drink.

Of course, of course. Her grandparents might have seen both husband and wife for their evening drink, but a place like this, meant for guards who were done with the day but yet didn’t want to face their duties at home--

“Ma’am?” Another man, dressed in the uniform and nearly as young as Ryuu steps up to her. “I think you might be turned around.”

“N-no.” She digs her heels into the floorboards, and the soldier trying to steer her stumbles, jostling her. “I’m right where I--”

“Lady Shirayuki?” The other man stares at her owlishly, and it takes her a full minute to realize that if she made the cheeks rounder, the skin more freckled--

“Kai?” She grips his wrists, relief nearly choking. “Kai. I’m so glad to see you.”

He blinks, staring down at where she grasps him. “Ah, of course, my lady. I’m glad to see you too. Been a long time.”

“I hope you’ve been well,” she says, breathless, “but also, I need your help.”

There are rules this sort of bargaining, to gaining favors from the wild.

They are not like any you know. We live in a world of reason, where one can exchange paper and the promise of precious metals and receive goods in return. But to do so with a wild thing, with a tree or a deer or a mountain or even a river--

Impossible. Their price is fixed, a single thing.

And oh, it is high.

Every little girl has her precious treasure, an item of unfathomable worth. They are secret things, sometimes kept hidden under floorboard or pressed between pages of a beloved book, and sometimes kept in plain sight, for clever girls know that no one will look for what they can already see. And secret these things much remain, for once someone knows of it--

Well, there is a kind of power in knowing what someone loves most, is there not?

This one keeps hers under the bed, peeking out just under the skirt. It is special thing for special occasions, hardly worn save to impress. The red shines when she puts them on, the patent leather hugging to the small curves of her feet, and although some others may have better, may have silk slippers or heeled boots soft as a glove--

Here, her boy had said, hands scarred from thorns, blood smearing into the leather. I found them.

--hers are far more precious all the same.

The table is well lit, and Kai sees to it that the barmaids keep it laden with food and drink aplenty, but--

“This is kind of you,” Shirayuki says, hesitant, “but I need your help.”

“Anything,” he promises, and the men pressed in beside her nod, eyes wide and innocent.

She stifles a sigh. A part of her-- a non-small part of her-- wishes it had been Shiira instead. “It’s Obi. He’s missing.”

Kai goes pale beneath the lights. “Missing?”

She nods, hands gripping the edge of her cloak. “I need to know if you know-- know anything. If anyone has seen anything.”

The men exchange concerned glances, the kind adults do over the heads of little children. Her nails bite hard into her palms. This is what all her years of learning, all her hard work has come to: for everyone to treat her as if she is as unable to hear simple truths as a child.

“Please.” She hates how her voice cracks under the weight of her worry, of her anger. “If anyone knows anything-- anything, I don’t have much, but...”

She places a long, wooden box on the table, and with a practiced motion, pulls the lid open.

“What I do have,” she says, watching the glass bead wink in the light, its orange gloss as alive as fire, “is yours.”

The river is a force of nature, relentless, ruthless, and uncaring, but--

So are little girls, when they have been crossed.

Is it true you took my boy from me? the little girl asks the river, her words lost in its rapids. I don’t have much, but what I have is yours.

It does not answer; water may be ever-changing, ever-flowing, but it waits on tradition.

If I give you my shoes, she asks, brushing their shiny leather for the last time, will you give him back to me?

The men are silent, eyes fixed to the hairpin glistening on the tabletop. Lady Mihoko may say it is the least among her ornaments, lacking the precious stones and fine filigree that most nobles favor, but-- it has worth. The bead may be glass, but the pin is gold, and what it lacks in precious jewels it makes up for in rarity; in all her travels across Clarines and Tanbarun, Shirayuki has never seen another like it.

It only strikes her now that maybe, just maybe, it was too fine a prize for a bare-knuckled fight under a bridge. That maybe--

Maybe it might be more precious than she could have ever known.

Her chest tightens as one of the men reaches out. Here she is, with Obi’s greatest treasure, and she is giving it away.

Maybe it’s no wonder why he left.

The little girl watches as her red shoes float back to shore, watches as they are left so delicately on the bank, and forgets how to breathe.

Did I not throw them far enough? she asks, using all her strength to hurl then into its current. Give me back my boy!

Still they drift back to her, cutting through the river’s relentless flow, now even a drop of water left on them.

Where is he? she asks the river. If he is not with you, then where has he gone?

But that is not the bargain, now is it?

He slides the lid shut. “We couldn’t possibly take this, my lady.”

Another of the guard nods, eager. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Not when you’re looking for Sir Obi,” Kai tells her. “I didn’t see anything, but one of the recruits mentioned something the other night.”

Her heart flutters painfully in her chest. “What did he say?”

“I don’t...” Kai’s cheeks flush, and his eyes won’t meet hers. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes!” She’s breathless, so close to her answers.

“The recruit doesn’t know Sir Obi, not by anything but reputation, so we can’t be sure--”

Her hands dart out, grabbing the close weave of his sleeve. “Kai, please, anything.”

He glances up at the other guards, uncertain, and says, “He saw a man leaping over the walls the night Sir Obi went missing. He thought it was odd at the time, but since they were leaving from inside and going outside--”

“They?”

Kai grimaces. “Yes, they.”

She stares, uncomprehending. “He wasn’t alone?”

“No.” Kai hesitates, looking sick, before he adds, “He was seen leaving with a woman, my lady.”

It is funny how we want answers, how we need them, how we are desperate for them-- but only when they are the one we are looking for.

A woman. The air in this pub is too thin, she can hardly breathe. “I need to stand,” she says, hardly thinking, “please.”

The guards all scramble to move, offering hands to help her forward, but--

He wasn’t alone. He had left with a woman. He had planned to leave--

“I think,” says an all-too-familiar voice, “that this is quite enough.”

Shirayuki raises her gaze, fixing on the cloaked figure before her, on the pale of her hair in the gaslight, on the nigh-black indigo her eyes have become in the shadow, on the pale outstretched hand that hovers, expectant before her.

“Come on,” Kiki says, gentle yet firm. “It’s time to go back.”

It is magnificent, is it not, how we survive?

It is said it is our strongest instinct, the call we cannot refuse. When there is nothing else left to us, when not even thought can be counted upon, it is still in us to live.

A body may have a thousand cuts, a back may be pricked with a dozen arrows, but oh, how we will still stand, how we still take the next step, and then another. How we will walk a mile as we still bleed, if only to to take another breath.

And yet still, it is possible to die of a broken heart. And old man may lose his lover, and when he lays down that night, he never wakes.

A poison, a blade, our longing: it is up to the heart to decide what we can take.

Isn’t it magnificent how it is impossible to know which will be the killing blow?

It is lucky that her arm is tucked so nearly into Kiki’s side as they walk back; Shirayuki’s mind cannot hold a thought for more than a moment, let alone try to trace her steps back through the market.

“He wasn’t alone,” she manages. “Someone left with him.”

Kiki hums.

“A woman.” Her brow furrows. “She must have gone over the gate with him. Do you think that it could be Torou?”

“I couldn’t say,” Kiki replies, tight.

“Do you think that he...” She cannot seem to make the words settle on her tongue. “Do you think that he planned...?”

She cannot make herself say, do you think he meant to leave without saying goodbye?

Kiki is silent, the sort of silent that isn’t empty but heavy instead.

Shirayuki stops, and Kiki pauses beside her. “Did you know he didn’t leave alone?”

Kiki’s mouth pulls thin, and she looks away. “It’s late. We should get inside.”

Shirayuki lets out a long breath, finally glancing at the door before them, and--

“This isn’t my room.” She blinks. “This isn’t even my wing.”

“No,” Kiki says with a long sigh. “It isn’t.”

Not every lie is meant to wound. Oh no, some are meant to be shields, a cushion between our softer parts and the sharp edges of reality.

After all, not all of us are ready for the harsh light of truth. Some of us would prefer to remain blinded all our lives, if only we could keep from hurting.

“I must admit,” the consort says, as elegant on her ottoman as if she were keeping court. “I did think you would last longer than this.”

Shirayuki drops into a genuflect so low her head nearly brushes the carpet. She has dined with princes and traded quips with kings, but there is something about the consort of Clarines that intimidates her as not even Izana does. “Your Majesty.”

“Please, let us not stand on ceremony.” She gestures for her to sit, though there’s no chairs to take, only the floor before her. “Especially since we are so soon to call each other sisters, are we not? Unless--” she darted a pointed glance at Kiki-- “I am to take from this ill-conceived jaunt that you have changed your mind.”

“N-no!” she yelps, taking a step forward, only halted by the mild-mannered brow the consort lifts. She haltingly drops to her knees, tucking her ankles beneath her on the carpet. “I mean, yes. I mean-- I still want to marry Zen. I just...I can’t let my friend--”

“Shush.” She holds up a hand, mouth bent in a kindly curve. “I understand your worry. But I have always been told you are a clever girl, and you are going to have to be much cleverer than this if you wish to marry my brother.”

Shirayuki frowns, annoyance building. “I just went into the market--”

“And into a tavern frequented by commoners,” the consort interjects, cross. “I know that you have, to this point, been far more free to roam as you see fit, but my husband place this restriction upon you for a reason. Surely you must know that a woman of your standing must be entirely above reproach if she wishes to...elevate her station to the degree you do.”

“I’m not trying to--”

“You are,” she is informed. “Perhaps you do not want the title, but Clarines cannot be cloven from a Wisteria, no matter how much you wish it. It is best that you resign yourself to that reality now, if no one else has seen fit to impress it upon you.”

Shirayuki squirms, the carpet rubbing at her knees. “Haruka did tell me something like that.”

“I would expect so. He’s a realist, unlike some.” Haki shifts on her stool, leaning close. “If you are to maintain the reputation needed to make this scheme work, you cannot go haring off to find your friend. Not when Zen has everything well in hand.”

She sits back, gracing Shirayuki with a significant look. “Especially after another man.”

Heat creeps up her cheeks, and oh, that implication knots her dread tighter in her gut, makes it sit as heavy as lead. “It’s not like that. I just can’t sit by if something’s happened--”

“It’s not easy,” the consort allows, with all the weight of someone who knows from experience. “But a princess is not a hound. It is not our place to search.”

Her hands clench tight in her lap. “I can’t do nothing.”

“Nor did I say you should.” The consort’s lips tilt, sly. “When one cannot act themselves, they rely on their people to act for them.”

Frustration wells up in her. “I don’t have people. I only have myself.”

“Come now, you cannot believe that.” She tilts her head, laying a thoughtful finger to her chin. “You have Zen, who in turn has people. People who he is using to find your Obi as we speak.”

Shirayuki darts a glance at Kiki, but she’s inscrutable, as always. “Is he?”

The consort raises her brows. “You doubt him?”

“I...” She doesn’t want to. “The guard--”

“As if my brother would send our guards to find a man of his aide’s caliber.” The consort laughs, so easy. “Did he not promise you he would find him? Give you his word?”

“Y-yes.” She can still feel his hands around hers, the warm way he had looked at her. “He did.”

“Then how can you worry?” The consort smiles brightly. “My brother’s word is his bond.”

“I...” Something twists with her, dark, but she swallows it down. “Right. Of course. Zen is-- handling it.”

The consort nods, business concluded. “Good. Now come, I’ve been told you are struggling with your lessons.”

Oh. She hadn’t been aware that was...common knowledge. “I...”

“It’s only to be expected,” the consort concludes, “most ladies are trained their entire life for this, and you have only just started. But worry not,” she smiles, so warm, “I will help you.”

Shirayuki’s eyes pulse wide. “M-me? That’s...very generous of you.”

Haki’s mouth curls in amusement. “I won’t pretend my motives are not personal. I’ve seen the list of candidates for if this experiment fails, and you are fully the most interesting person out of all of them.” Teeth flash from behind her lips, gone in a moment. “I refuse to have to plan every gala with someone whose most nuanced opinion has been formed over the difference between carmine and crimson.”

Shirayuki frowns. “Aren’t they both red?”

“See, already you are more tolerable than half of them.” She sighs, waving a weary hand. “What you don’t know about this life can be learned. And unlike some, I believe in setting up people to succeed. It must be my soft northern heart.”

Now that her heart is calm, she remembers the enormity of what she’s done. “So you won’t-- I mean, Izana--?”

“Ah, your little jaunt. No, this will be our little secret.” Shirayuki isn’t sure who that shark’s smile is for, but she’s glad it’s not her. “Women must have some, after all.”

But that is the thing, is it not? That which is hidden never stays buried. Reality never halts its siege.

In the end, all we have done is allowed the truth to hone its blade. In the end, it is a betrayal we never meant to make.

It’s funny how we may hurt the ones we love so easily, without ever even trying.