#still a shawl is doing the job for the upper half

[the-brown-man]

15°C in Punjab hits differently lmao

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Four)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part one, part two, and part three here (masterlist forthcoming)

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3446

Series Warnings: cursing, angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen woke to his cell buzzing on his nightstand, reaching blindly to silence the pestering noise. Lying on his back, he quickly peered through one half opened eye to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing it was Stacy, he hit the side button to reject her call, vowing he’d return it after ten more minutes of sleep. As he rested his head back on the pillow, you stretched slightly and rolled to face him as you slept, reminding him of how he’d carried you to his bed last night. You reached for him and pulled yourself under his arm to cuddle against him, throwing a leg over his as he laid on his back. He loved waking up next to you, no matter where it was. You’d shared a bed multiple times in your long friendship and he’d never felt as rested as when you were next to him, even if the vacancy was filled by someone else.

Jensen let his mind wander to what it would be like to wake up to you every morning, to take your friendship and turn it into something more. He would be lying if he said Y/n hadn’t been the first person that came to his mind when Stacy mentioned him settling down, and almost choked on his coffee when she agreed to be his pretend girlfriend. When he was young, he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but when he left for L.A. after his eighteenth birthday, the absence made him realize how much he’d loved you for so many years. It was a fondness that grew out of the shared intimacy and a longing bloomed within him, and it was no secret to him why it hadn’t worked out with anyone else. They weren’t you – they didn’t laugh like you. They didn’t touch him like you. They didn’t care for him in the way you did.

Since you’d moved to Vancouver, each time he’d get the nerve to bring his feelings up to you, you’d either be seeing someone or mention once again how much you valued his friendship. There were moments when he thought you may feel something for him to, between the lingering touches and occasional yearning gaze. When the time came, though, he’d always let his fears of losing you get in the way.

As you moved against him, trying to get closer to him in your dreaming slumber, his grip tightened around you to bring you to the spot no one else could seem to fill. You threw an arm around his waist and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your warmth seeping through him as your breath fanned across the tender skin. Jensen buried his face in your hair, inhaling a mixture of you and the floral scent of your shampoo, content to savor the moment where he could pretend that it was real, that maybe you wouldn’t scurry away when you woke to find yourself there.

You began to stir, breathing deeply and opening your eyes. You pushed against him slightly, just enough to peer up at him through your lashes.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Jensen whispered, searching your eyes for a long moment. He could have sworn he saw it, that fleeting passion that he could have sworn was intended for him. His eyes flitted to your lips, plush and full and slightly agape. It would be a dream to mold his mouth to yours and feel you let go. Your skin would feel like silk beneath his fingertips and he would savor every touch.

You seemed to study him, almost searching your brain for some sort of recognition.

You were in a blissful fantasy before you woke, wrapped in Jensen’s arms as he pinned you beneath him, nipping and licking at the exposed skin of your neck. In your hazed mind, you could still feel his delicious weight on top of you as he ground against you, and the burn of his scruff still tingled across your chest as he kissed down your body. His touch still ghosted across your skin but left no trace as your eyes opened slowly to be met with his emerald ones. It took your foggy, drowsy mind a moment to realize that you were no longer dreaming, but the fire in your core was still lit ablaze.

His eyes were filled with fondness as he looked down at you. Finding yourself in his arms as you woke still felt like a dream as your heartbeat rapidly sounded in your chest, until he began drawing patterns on your upper arm with his thumb. Your head rested against the swell of his shoulder and you could feel his stomach rising and falling with breath beneath your arm. He shifted a bit and you realized that your leg was tangled with his as your hips and body angled towards him.

“Y/n? You okay?” Jensen breathed, flitting his eyes between your eyes and lips as you stared at him, still playing catchup in your brain. He sucked in a breath when you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, still silently searching his features. He could do it – he could kiss you. He could feel every curve in his hands and feel every breath if he took the chance, and the way you were looking at him, eyes darkened with want, he began to lean forward, slowly and tentatively.

Jensen’s tongue ran across his plump lips and continued to trace small circles on your exposed skin before moving his hand to your hair. This wasn’t for show, and the weight of the intimacy bared down on you as he moved towards you, aiming for your lips.

As soon as your eyes fluttered closed, Jensen’s phone began to ring. His eyes snapped open with annoyance as he stared into yours. He didn’t want to pick up – whoever it was could go to hell right now, but when you smiled and told him to, he sighed heavily and grabbed his cell, seeing that it was Stacy once again.

She could usually take a hint, so this must’ve been important. Jensen gave you a sympathetic smile and pressed the button to answer.

“Hello?”

“Jensen? Good morning, it’s Stacy.”

“Yeah, how are you?”

“I’m great. Have you gotten the chance to check social media this morning? There’s some great stuff floating around about you and Y/n already. Apparently some paps got some photos of you two in town yesterday so gossip is buzzing.”

“Oh, that’s… good?”

“It sure is!” Stacy exclaimed, which you could hear from your spot, still tucked beneath Jensen’s shoulder as his grip on you never loosened. “Great job, you two. This is going well already. Keep up the social media stuff, but I wanted to warn you before you guys headed to the airport that there would probably some cameras around.”

Jensen’s eyes went wide, “The airport… right.”

“Yeah, I wanted to catch you before you got in. Are you about to leave? Your flight is in 3 hours.”

He snapped his head to face you as you realized what that meant, looking at him with a panicked expression. You needed to get your ass up and go.

“We’re about to leave soon. Cliff should be here in, uh,” Fuck, it’s 9:00. “20 minutes to get us.” He said, more to you than Stacy as he grabbed his watch from his nightstand when you rolled off of him.

“Alright, well you guys have a safe trip. I’ll be in touch soon!” her chipper voice echoed through his receiver before it clicked and ended the call. You were dashing around the room, gathering your sweater, shoes, keys, and phone before you had to run to your apartment to change and grab your packed suitcase, allowing Jensen to do the same. As you made your way to the door, Jensen called to you, still in his pajama pants and tight v-neck with his hair was gloriously tousled.

“We’ll continue this later?” He proposed, his voice deep and smooth.

You paused in the doorframe to respond, arms laden with your belongings. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and grinned, “I’d like that.”

He sighed a breath of relief through his smile before rushing to the adjacent bathroom to take a quick shower.

It was December 22nd, and the airport was going to be insanely packed, but between Jensen’s security needs and first-class tickets for the two of you to Austin, you were able to get priority registration and pre-checks.

You hurried quickly to your apartment, pausing momentarily when you shut your door to run your fingertips through your hair and calm your swirling thoughts. There was no question that he was going to kiss you, at least from your perspective. Could this really be happening? With a smile and a pounding heart, you ran to your bathroom to brush your teeth, freshen up, and change, opting for black leggings and a thick shawl. You threw some last-minute items in your makeup bag and slung it over your waiting suitcase, grabbing your scarf, sunglasses, and purse and you were ready to meet Jensen outside.

Cliff and Jensen met you at the waiting SUV and loaded your luggage into the trunk, Jensen sliding in beside you in the back seat. It was a short ride to the airport and was mostly spent with Cliff briefing Jensen of the security protocols he would be taking once you arrived. He was already prepared for the possibility of paparazzi being present and would be sure you had a clear path to the entrance.

With about five minutes until you arrived, Jensen leaned in to whisper, “Would you be alright with holding my hand? You know, when we go in? F-for the cameras?” he asked, his eyes hopeful and nervous.

Your smile faltered as he said the last bit, worried that maybe the arrangement was still at the forefront of his mind. Until he added, “Or, if you just wanted to.”

His features softened as the smile returned to your face and you agreed. “I mean, ya know… I’d be alright with it.” He said in a teasing fashion, puffing his chest as you giggled. Sliding his hand across the leather seat, he brushed his fingers across yours before entwining a few. Your cheeks began to tingle and your heart swelled within your chest, a feeling present that you’d never experienced before.

Jensen couldn’t get the image of you from this morning out of his head. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw you beneath him, biting your lower lip. It was driving him mad and he was more than sure you were going to kiss him back. Now, though, he was kicking himself for answering that phone call. He was kicking himself for not pulling you into his arms as soon as he hung up.

A short moment later and you were pulling up at the entrance, not entirely surprised to see a few people lingering around the pillars with cameras in their hands. It was a popular spot for folks in their profession, hoping to snap a few shots of celebrities boarding their flights and since the movie and television studios had just recently shut down production for the holidays, their odds increased of getting a good photo to sell.

“You ready?” Jensen asked, squeezing your hand as you stared out towards the building.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” he urged, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, alright? Cliff and I will be right here.”

You gave him a small smile, but deep down it wasn’t only safety you were concerned about. You knew that once photos surfaced of you and Jensen, the rumors would spread fast. Now, though, there would be some truth to them, or so it seemed.

Cliff exited the car and grabbed both yours and Jensen’s suitcase from the trunk before opening the passenger’s side rear door, allowing Jensen to step out. As soon as he did, loud clicks and a whirl of footsteps could be heard, with people surrounding the vehicle quickly. Cliff stood like an intimidating brick wall and bellowed at them, which made a few of them move back a few steps.

When Jensen turned and offered his hand, you put your sunglasses on and grabbed your bag, hearing the furry of camera shutters increase rapidly. Clearly, they were very interested in who Jensen was bringing with him.

You slid across the seat and took his extended hand in yours. When he helped you shuffle out of the vehicle, he laced a few of his fingers loosely with yours once again and made his way through the crowd of shouts and flashing lights, each of you pulling your suitcases as Cliff led the way. One reporter asked Jensen who his guest was, which made you laugh a bit. Another asked where you were headed, but those were the only few that you could make out in the chorus of questions. He waved graciously as he pushed passed them, continuously checking beside him to make sure you were alright. Jensen’s hand tightened around yours and he looked at you through his darkened glasses, giving you a grin. When you returned his smile, you realized that it may be for show, but he never dropped your hand even after the cameras were behind you.

Cliff said his goodbyes when he ensured that you made it safely to the TSA pre-check. He would be heading home soon also, but his flight was a red eye that night so he would have time to pack himself. He gave you a fleeting, knowing look as his eyes casted down to yours and Jensen’s entwined hands, the tiniest smile adorning his lips.

After going through the security check, you and Jensen explored the shops at the airport and grabbed a coffee before taking a seat at your gate with fifteen minutes to spare before they began boarding. A few fans approached him and asked for an autograph or photo and he was polite and chatted with each of them as you smiled from the sidelines. He was always so gracious with the people he met, and it made you a bit proud. It was just another way that he’d proven to stay true to who he was even now that he was recognized almost everywhere he went. It had taken a bit of getting used to when it began and now his fans were calling you by name. When he and Jared were together, there was no stopping the barrage of passersby.

The few people gave you a wave as you sat next to him and you offered to take their photo for them before they ran to their own flights that were departing soon.

Jensen beamed as he waved them goodbye before turning to you, “You know, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that.”

Laughing, you commented, “Well, I can’t blame them. They get excited seeing you in the ‘wild’.” You joked.

He sat back and stifled a yawn before taking a sip of his coffee, “You okay? Are you tired?” you questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I’m good. I’ll be fine once we get on the plane.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ll be asleep before we reach the end of the tarmac.”

You were jealous of his ability to sleep on planes, but since he began traveling so much he learned to get some shut eye where he could and now the whirl of the jet engines was a lullaby to him, almost putting him to sleep instantly.

“Well, if you snuggle with me, I’ll be a goner, for sure.”

He gave you a suggestive look and wiggled his eyebrows. Before you could respond, the attendant began to call rows for boarding, meaning you and Jensen were some of the first needed to get in line.

He stowed both of your bags in the compartments when you found your seats, opting to give you the window and asking for an extra pillow or two from the attendant. When you sat, Jensen leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Two o’clock.”

You turned to view what he was talking about, knowing that he was signaling you to look in a specific direction. Sure enough, in the row directly behind you to the left, there was someone with a phone pointed in your direction, seemingly hoping to get a photo of Jensen. This meant the two of you couldn’t necessarily talk freely during the flight, especially about what happened that morning, as many people were in earshot.

Giving you a small smile, he reached for your hand after he’d buckled in, clasping it in his as the plane roared down the freeway and took off towards Austin.

Sure enough, Jensen fell asleep against your shoulder about a half an hour into the flight, so you quietly ordered a drink and a snack and caught up on some Netflix on your phone, gently plugging your headphones in your ears so that you wouldn’t wake him.

You were lucky to have a direct flight into Austin, and Jensen woke up about an hour before you landed. You laughed and chatted about random things, just passing the time until the wheels touched down. He held your hand once again as you exited the airport, his fingers searching out yours expectantly and gripping them tight. He began to scan the crowd for Jared, who smiled widely and waved frantically when he caught sight of you as he towered above everyone else in his surroundings.

As he drove you through the streets of Austin to his home, he caught you up on the details of the party tonight, “Gen decided she wanted to do an ugly Christmas sweater themed party, so she grabbed you both one to wear. Don’t blame me, she and the boys picked them out.”

“Oh goodness…” you commented. “I hope Gen looked out for me a little.”

Jared threw his head back in laughter as Jensen looked at you from the passenger’s seat, turning his head to shoot you a look of yeah right as you sat in the back.

You were met with hugs from the Gen and the littlest Padaleckis as soon as the car pulled in the driveway and Tom whisked you away to show you the drawings he’d made for you and Uncle Jensen.

“Hi to you too!” Jensen shouted as they ran inside, pulling you by your hands to follow as you turned to stick your tongue out at him. They loved him, truly, but he was all but forgotten when you were there with him. He waved you off and rounded the car to grab your bags, Jared popping the trunk and helping.

Jared clicked his tongue and pressed, “So… Things are… different?”

“What do you mean, man?” Jensen retorted, feigning innocence.

“You and Y/n. There’s something there that wasn’t there before.”

Jensen sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that bloomed against his cheeks as he ran his hand along the scruff of his jaw.

“Or,” Jared interjected. “Or maybe it’s something that’s always been there?”

Jensen looked at his best friend with a bit of worry in his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been caught. Jared had always known how much you cared about each other and had his suspicions that you each had more feelings than you were letting on, but Jensen had never confessed it to him in all the years he’d known him. It was the one thing they didn’t share, partially because Jensen knew he’d never hear the end of it and Jared would try some sort of scheme to get them together. If it happened, he wanted it to happen organically, not because of the meddling of his 6’4 goofy-puppy co-star. The truth was, though, Jensen was still afraid of ruining your friendship. He never wanted to lose you, ever.

Jared noticed the energy his friend was giving off and tried to offer him a bit of solace, “Hey, man. Not to worry. You two have always been together, just not together. This may have started as an arrangement, but maybe it’s just the open door you both need to explore your feelings? Maybe this is the way you two stop dancing around each other. Maybe this is the push you needed.” He clasped his hand on Jensen’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, his lips curling on one side before he shut the door to the garage.

Jensen thought about his friend’s words, a new sense of courage blossoming within him and making his heart stammer and swell.

“Yeah, maybe.”

To be continued...

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Tags below (if your tag is strikethrough, it wouldn’t let me use it):

It was you

@440mxs-wife​​ @cookiechipdough​​ @greenarrowhead​ @peaches007​ @transparentparadiseglitterzombie​ @thevelvetseries​​  @urmbecky​​

Forevers:

@acortez82​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​ @akshi8278​ @atc74​  @berrygutz @blackcherrywhiskey​​ @busybee612​ @caitsymichelle13​ @daydreamingintheimpalareturns @deansbabymomma​​ @deansenwackles​​ @deanssweetheart23​​ @deanwinchesterswitch​​ @empyreanwritings​​ @geeksareunique​​ @gh0stgurl​​ @heyitscam99​​ @hhiggs​​ @huntersbunker @jackburtonsays​​ @janicho88​​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @jfrank1048​​ @jotink78​ @maddiepants​​ @mogaruke​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @nerdstackular​​ @nerdysandwichqueen​​  @okay-okay18​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​​ @prompt-and-circumstances​​  @samsgirl93​ @sandlee44​​ @sister-winchesters99​​ @snffbeebee​​ @spnbaby-67​ @supernatural3002​ @titty-teetee​​ @topthis808​ @tardis-is-mine​​ @torn-and-frayed​  @tranquility-or-chaos​ @weepingwillowphoenix​​ @winchester-writes​​  @wwaywardwinchester​​ @xtina2191​

Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​​

[monsoonblooms12]

Christmas with the Waverleys ❄️: Part II

Summary: How do things turn out when Alex and Pooja are teleported to the 19th century for a Victorian Christmas🎄?

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing💫💛? Firstly, wishing a very happy Christmas Eve to everyone🎄! TBH I still cannot believe this year is about to end. Anywho, I wish everyone’s life is filled with joy, wonder and happiness and the new year brings you loads of new possibilities and new memories. Love you all!💛

If you enjoyed the story, please like, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going 💕

Thank you so very much @caseyvalentineramsey for prereading and @jamespotterthefirst for prereading and helping me up with the editing. You guys are life-savers and I love you💛💛

Characters: For this part, the characters are my OH f!MC(Dr. Pooja Sharma) and OH F!OC (Dr. Alexandra Walton), Eleanor Waverley, Thomas Waverley, Clarissa Waverley, Simon Waverley, Rose Waverley and William Waverley

Word Count: around 3.2K

Rating: General

Prompts :-

CFWC(@choicesficwriterscreations ) Winter Season Prompt #6: Character A doesn’t like the holidays. B loves it. Will B try to find out why or convince A to celebrate it?

@choicesmonthlychallenge ​~Sibling Appreciation: The Waverley Siblings

@choicesdecemberchallenge ​ Day 24: Eve

December 24th (contd.)

Suddenly it felt as if the world was spinning very, very rapidly around them. They felt dizzy, nauseous. Just when bearing everything was becoming too much, a chilly air went past them.

They slowly opened their eyes. And the sight in front of them had them holding their breath without their knowledge.

A huge medieval mansion, covered in snow, appeared before them. It was majestic, beautiful and warm.

They looked around. As far as the eye could see, No other house was visible.

Is this the place they were supposed to reach? Or did something go wrong?

Pooja and Alex looked around in utter awe. Both due to the mansion and the wonder if they had been teleported to 19th century London.

"There you are!" A deep, humble, feminine voice called out.

Turning around they saw a young girl either approaching 20 or in her very early 20s coming out from the mansion towards them. She wore a medieval red gown, the upper half of which was covered by a shawl, and only the lower half with minute patterns of red silk was visible.

Not knowing what else to do, Pooja and Alex, too started walking through the snow towards her.

After a few minutes, they stood face to face. The girl had a small, faint smile, but her eyes expressed the happiness she felt on meeting her visitors.

She bowed slightly.

"I am Eleanor Waverley."

"You both must be Pooja and Alexandra!"

Confused, both of them bowed similarly as Eleanor had. Confirming her words, Pooja spoke, "Yes! I am Pooja, and she" She pointed towards Alex, " is Alexandra."

"Great! Oh! I haven't even invited you in. Please follow me."

"This is our house, The Braidwood Manor." 

Eleanor added as she opened the brown panelled glass door and led them in.

The interiors of the Manor gave a majestic vibe. A huge golden chandelier with 7 ornate lamps hung down from the high ceiling. The floor had decorated tiles of various shades of orange and brown. 

On entering, Pooja and Alex were mesmerized with the beautiful inside. It also provided them with the warmth which they were craving since the time they teleported to the Victorian Era of Britain.

When the two were taking in all the details, Eleanor's voice jolted them out of their thoughts.

"From the time Mrs Ainsworth informed us that some guests were going to join us for Christmas, we were excited. Especially my sister and my little brother." A smile lightened up her face as Eleanor gazed gratefully at her guests.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for joining us this year. I promise you will not regret anything about all this. We rarely have visitors on Christmas. Your presence is like a light in our dark, solitary winter nights. Thank you, thank you very much!"

 A little tear slipped down her eye as the smile remained still on her face, signifying her happiness.

Pooja stepped forward. 

"Eleanor, It is not you but us who should be thankful. Thank you for letting us celebrate this Christmas with you. Maybe, finally, my best friend—" She pointed towards Alex "—will warm up to the idea of holidays. We are very excited for the celebrations" 

She finished with a smile as Alex joined her. Alex's face, too, bore a smile, but it didn't quite crinkle the corners of her eye. It was a pleasantry.

"We are excited too! Let me introduce you to my famil- Oh!" Eleanor abruptly stopped. "I nearly forgot! Let me first show you your rooms. And-" 

She seemed awkward, as if searching for words. She looked down at their dresses.

And Alex, understanding what she was trying to signify, relieved her from her awkwardness.

"Eleanor, I guess it has something to do with our dresses, right?"

Not knowing what to say, She nodded her head slightly.

Pooja said, "Ohh Yes! Eleanor, please help us with them?"

Eleanor was relieved for not having to say it herself. She was pleased with their intuition and understanding nature.

"Please follow me. I will provide you with everything."

She led the two of them up the Grand stairs to their rooms. As the two slowly took in their surroundings, Eleanor came and provided them both with a beautiful Victorian gown. Pooja's was teal and white, while Alex's was hunter green and Congo red.

Once ready and all decked up, Eleanor took them for introductions.

The three of them entered the dining area of the Manor, and slowly the big family of three young children and their parents came into view, seated on the dining table, behind which, the wall bore an intricately decorated mural and a magnificent fireplace along with some painting of the family.

The sound of the footsteps caused five heads to turn their way, each accompanied by a gentle smile and warmth in their eyes. Each, except one. The boy's face did turn towards them, but it remained hostile and indifferent.

"Seems like he doesn't prefer our company"

"Mmm-hmm. It's okay, We are just here for a day"

Pooja and Alex went up to the friendly members who had now got up from their chairs and stood to welcome them. 

Eleanor, went to the elder lady, and spoke to her, "Mum, they are our guests for Christmas." She went up to Pooja. "This is Pooja" and then to Alex "and this is Alexandra"

Her mother stepped forward and the two girls bowed like they had seen Eleanor do when she met them. She was pleased and warmly welcomed them.

"Ahh! So happy to have two golden girls joining us. I am Rose Waverley." She kindly gestured them to get seated at the table along with everyone else.

Once everyone settled down, Eleanor finished up the rest of the introductions. Her father William Waverley, her sister Clarissa Waverley and her two brothers, Thomas and Simon.

After chatting a bit more, they finally delved into the Celebration plans.

"My dears, we haven't started putting the decorations yet, because I very strongly believe that decorations are a very essential part of igniting the holiday spirit." Mrs. Waverley informed.

Alex nearly scoffed at the 'Holiday Spirit' but realizing the circumstances they were in, she stopped herself.

Holiday spirit, ugh! Why Poo Why?

But Pooja was genuinely excited. She always wanted to visit a Victorian house and celebrate Holidays the Victorian way.

And all this? It felt like a dream come true.

She excitedly said, "Very True, Mrs. Waverley! And please don't worry! We will help in every way we can."

"Great then! We can start working then. Ellie, and our guests can put up the decorations, while Clarissa helps me in the kitchen. Thomas can put up everyone's stockings, and two more for our guests, at the fireplace, while Simon and Dad finish the book they were reading."

Everyone happily nodded and went on to carry out their assigned jobs.

Pooja, Alex and Eleanor, headed towards the Parlour. It was grand. 

Two huge bay windows brought in the faint light of the exteriors. By one of the window, an elegant piano sat peacefully and on the other side was a large, comfortable couch, perfect for family seating.

And just beside the couch, was a beautiful, delicately manicured, fir tree stood as the symbolism of the Festivals.

Pooja and Alex were so immersed in viewing everything that they didn't notice that Eleanor was not there with them. They realized the same when she came with a huge box in her hand.

"Here are the decorations that are to be placed" 

She set down the box that she was carrying. It was filled to the rim with glass ornaments, crackers, lights, red paper strips and various other decors of tin and leather.

"But I am really confused about which pieces to put up and which to skip out?" 

Eleanor sighed, staring at the plethora of ornaments. 

Pooja nudged Alex, "Don't worry! When Alexandra Walton is here, nothing can go wrong!"

What in the world? Poo has lost her mind. Oh, No!! Now what?

"Uh... Huh. Ya, I mean, sure. I will help."

"Help, Lex? Nah. You will lead, we will follow."

Eleanor let out a gentle chortle as Pooja continued to tease Alex. She was in awe of both of their friendships.

Suddenly she remembered that soon, very soon, they will take their leave.

She sighed as she thought. Even though they had come in her life for an hour or so at most, it felt like they knew each other since forever.

"Eleanor?" She was brought back to the Braidwood Manor by the sublimely worried voice of Pooja. She looked at them to see both the girls looking at her with a concerned look.

"Eleanor? Is everything alright? If there is any trouble troubling you, you can share it. We will help any way we can!" Pooja and Alex assured.

"No! No worries, as such. Just..." A pause. "I have never had anyone like both of you in my life. Although my family is loving, and I will forever be grateful for them, but... I have, never had friends like you both are."

"Oh, Ellie!" Pooja calling her by her nickname caught her off guard for a moment, but she soon got her grip and smiled at her. "You are our friend. Good friend," 

"Great friend" Alex inserted.

"No matter, we are here tomorrow or not, you will always be our friend,"

"Always?" Eleanor sought for a confirmation.

"Always." The two assured while placing a hand on Ellie's shoulder. Their hearts were full of the feelings of a freshly sprouted planting of friendship.

"Oh-kay! So let's start creating a masterpiece out of this tree, shall we?" Pooja shot an excited look towards her friends.

"Yaa, Happy Holidays." Alex groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Alexandra, you won't regret it! Let's get going!"

"If you say so." Alex gave her a tiny smile. She was not the one to turn down a good friend.

"And, it's Alex" she added as the three went up to look through the ornament.

Time passed, like a gushing stream flowing down a rocky hill, as the three meticulously put each glass ornament, each cracker and the fairy lights, one by one, with extreme care and perfection. 

Pooja was hyped, Eleanor excited, and Alex, very strangely, was Happy. 

Was it because of the company, or had she finally begun to enjoy holidays? That will forever remain a mystery. 

But will it be so bad to see Alexandra Walton opening up to the idea of festivals? Not a mince!

An unknown number of hours later, they were finally done. They stepped back to admire their handiwork.

And didn't it reflect their hard work! 

Each delicately placed ornament, each strand of fairy light, each funfilled cracker made the tree look heavenly. 

Their placements complemented each other and their collaboration was splendid. 

If they weren't friends made for each other, who were?

As Pooja, Alex and Ellie stood admiring the bejewelled fir, a soft aroma filled the room. It was then they realized, how hungry they had been! As soon as the thoughts crossed their mind, Clarissa came into the parlour. The power of telepathy!

"The food had been served! Mom invited you all to the dining room." She almost left when her eyes fell on the tree.

"Woooow! This is so pretty! Mom and Dad will be so happy."

She went to where Pooja and Alex stood.

"Thank you soo much for this. I have never seen our tree looking soo beautiful! You two are angels."

The little girl's happiness reflected in her eyes.

Alex lightly placed her hand on her shoulder. "We enjoyed decorating it too! But you should thank your sister first. Without her, this wouldn't have been able to do it so perfectly."

Clarissa went to her sister and gave her a big hug. "You know you're the best Eleanor. You're the best big sister." 

Eleanor shed a tear as she hugged her little sister back. "You are precious too, Clarissa! You, Thomas, Simon, you all are!"

After staying in the hug for a bit longer, Clarissa escorted them to the dining room. As soon as they entered, the delicious aroma of several lavish and extravagant delicacies overpowered their senses. Their mouths watered. 

At the table, they say a perfectly roasted stuffed turkey sat at the centre. Mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables were placed in sparkly silver. There was cranberry sauce. Oysters, Yorkshire Pudding and tender Chicken looked delightful.

"Please take a seat my dears" Mrs Waverley urged as she placed two decorative plates in front of them along with all the additional pieces of cutlery.

"This is a traditional English Christmas Feast. Enjoy yourselves!" She said as she whole-heartedly served her guests.

After they finished the huge servings of the main course, dessert was served. A beautifully made Christmas pudding and a piece of fruitcake.

If not before, Alex had definitely melted by now. As she finished the last crumb of the delicacies served, she thought to herself, "Maybe Holidays aren't so bad. Food, Friends, Happiness. I don't think I could ask for more." 

What a growth!

After the dinner, as Pooja went to see the Christmas tree one last time, she heard a soft melody touching her ears, which came from the Parlour. As Pooja went in, she saw the silhouette of a boy playing the Grand Piano. As she went in, she realized that it was Thomas.

Without disturbing him, she stood a little closer. Thomas must have realized that someone was there. He abruptly turned back.

"What are you doing here?"

"I remembered a tune that I learnt some while ago. Is it okay if I play?" Pooja enquired.

"Fine. Go On." 

Thomas remained Stoic, but he was definitely intrigued.

Pooja slowly took a seat at the piano. She played the gentle notes of a Parlour music tune she had picked up from Alekhya. Thomas closed his head as he lightly swayed his head with the soft tune.

Once finished, He looked up to Pooja at awe.

"Where did he you learn that from? That was melodious!"

Not answering his question, Pooja offered, "Do want to learn it?"

Thomas let out an excited Yes. And the duo spent the rest of the evening teaching each other tunes and talking a bit here & there.

All this while Alex went to Simon. The little boy was so excited to see her. Mr Waverley left him with her as he went to have a stroll.

Simon sat on her lap and Alex, told him colourful stories, of fairies, of dragons and even of the future. Her storytelling won his heart and his demands for One More! never diminished.

 At last, as he fell in a sweet slumber, the long evening of stories ended.

A little while later, Pooja came searching her. She told her about her evening with Thomas and Alex softly told about how she spent her evening with Little Simon.

As they chatted, they did not take notice of Mr Waverley coming back in the room. When he slowly called for Simon, that's when they got aware of his presence.

As Alex handed Simon back to him and the two took their leave, Mr Waverley stopped them. They turned to see the man having a smile of gratitude on his lightly wrinkled face.

"I can not thank the both of you enough for coming here today. Our Christmas, Holidays have always been just the family. My kids always wanted to have someone over for the occasion, but living in a solitary area like this didn't make it easy for people to come over. Having you here, I can undoubtedly say that this was the Best Christmas Eve we have ever had!"

At his words, both Pooja and Alex had tiny droplets at the corner of their eyes. They thanked him and chatted with him for a little while before finally retiring for the night.

December 25th

The Christmas morning began when Eleanor came waking the two sleepyheads and asking them to come and see the gifts they had received.

They got dressed and as they entered the Parlour, were greeted with excited squeals and heartfelt laughter, that rubbed away any reminiscences of sleep that remained.

They saw the family opening their gifts and the floor all covered with handkerchiefs, pieces of jewellery, board games books, mufflers, embroidered suspenders and even larger articles like a theatrophone and a dishwasher.

Pooja and Alex too got sweets, nuts, little handmade trinkets, jewellery, reading books, watch case and scarves. 

The unique article that Pooja got was a vintage board game while for Alex it was an Indian work humidor. 

Both of them also received a box of home-made cookies each. Everything was too precious for them, the bonding that they had formed with this happy family was all they needed for a great time.

A lot of talks, food and smiles later, all of them dressed up for the Church.

However, Pooja and Alex realized they didn't have much time left. They asked Eleanor about the time.

It was still early. Perhaps they would be able to listen to the carols before they had to take their leave.

"Ellie, I don't think we will be able to stay for longer. We will get to hear the carols but, we don't much time left."

"Can't you stay here with us?" Eleanor said as sadness spread over her features.

"We are sorry Eleanor, but there are some circumstances not in our hand. When time comes, one has to bid Adieu! But the feeling is definitely mutual." Alex softly replied.

Their heart broke at the thought that they would never be able to see each other again. But what is the use of denying the inevitable.

Eleanor was one determined girl. She wouldn't let them miss the carols!

"You came this time, you will come again. You know the right person who can bring you back. Promise me, Promise me you will come back!" Eleanor requested.

Then it dawned upon them. If the lady brought them here once, she could bring them back again!

Happily, they promised, "Promise."

And with that, the three hurried down to join the family on their way to the Church.

Carol singers and musicians played and sang the five melodious and popular carols of the era. Beginning their performance with O Come all ye Faithful, and the symphony continued with Once in Royal David’s City, moving on to See Amid the Winters Snow, O Little Town of Bethlehem.

At last came the majestic music of Away in a Manger.

Each of the performance was a musical gem, and if they could, they would have recorded each of the pieces and take them with them.

But just as the ending notes of the Carol began playing, Pooja and Alex, started feeling slightly light-headed.

Their time, here, was coming to an end.

Quietly whispering their hurried goodbyes, they picked the bag of their gifts.

As they went last notes of the Carols faded, they faded from the 19th century with the pieces of love they had garnered from the Era of Victoria.

Only one thought crossed their mind as their senses finally gave out.

This was a Christmas well spent.

PS: Lots of hearty thank yous to you for reading💖! I hope you have a great day ahead💖, and wishing you a Very Merry Christmas is Advance🎄!

Fic Tags (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!) : @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey  @hopelessromanticmonie @trrfanaddict @nervoussaladsludgeopera @imonlybibecauseofethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @arcticriver @aylaramseycarrera  @drariellevalentine @mvalentine ​ @aestheticartsx ​@angela8754 ​ @schnitzelbutterfingers ​ @ao719 ​ @choicesstan1 @nikki-2406 ​ @neotericthemis ​ @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @zoehanji

[zwiezraczek]

The Perks of being Roger's Girl... [Chapter 2]

SUMMARY:  Anna is Brian’s friend, his childhood best friend. They were separated for a long time, but when Smile performs at the Royal Albert Hall, Anna is here, invited by Brian. There, she meets Roger, the dentist drummer, a loverboy.

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2: Recording - CHAPTER 3

Queen is rising, tension is in the air. Everything is eased with some music.

WORDS: 6.2k

Brian promised Anna that he would bring her to Fred and Roger's store in the Kensington Market. She wanted to see with her own eyes what the two shenanigans did in that place, how they managed to make it real and, the most important, how they managed to not kill one another. So many mysteries and only one place to find the answers. Brian took Anna to a nice pub near the place, they had lunch and a beer, almost like when they were kids and their mothers allowed them to go and have a piece of cake in a bakery together, sitting on the sidewalk, almost because back then they only drank apple juice. Brian tied up his hair into a fluffy bun and Anna had two buns on each side of her head, both of them laughed when they saw each other with their hair styled like this. “Matching” both exclaimed when the saw each other.

They were walking through a large alley in the market, looking at the stands, looking for original clothes but mostly for velvet flare pants – their all time favorites. Finally, they stumbled upon a small place, a door so to speak, without any neon or sign but just fancy curtains framing the door from this outside. The place looked pretty much like Ali Baba's den, full of treasures. Brian headed in first, quickly followed by Anna who was looking all around her. And when she entered, her eyes glistened. The candid orange lighting was giving to this place a very cozy atmosphere that resembled Freddie so much. The scent of the cheap incense was intoxicated with smoke of cigarettes, everything was reminding her of their rehearsing room.

They heard Freddie's voice greeting them into the “best shop in the whole market, darlings” before he could even recognize them, but their hairstyles were a huge clue. Freddie clapped his hands as he saw them entering, absolutely thrilled by they new looks, complimenting this boldness and this amazing amount of style as Roger just sat on the counter, legs dangling above the floor.

“Welcome to Roger and Freddie's marvelous shop,” he said as Anna was hugging Freddie who immediately pulled of when he heard Roger's words to face him.

“Freddie and Roger's, darling”, he corrected. “Alphabetically speaking it's more accurate.”

“Alphabetically speaking,” the blond man repeated mockingly.

“I'm on Freddie's side,” Anna said.

“I'm on Anna's,” Brian added as Roger just looked at them with disgust, crossing his arms.

“Traitors.”

“So,” Brian finally dared to ask, “where do you get these clothes from?” Anna was looking through the many fancy fabrics laying piled up one on another, the various collars, earrings and other pieces of jewelry; all these reflecting the orange light and seeming so pretty. She had to touch some of these, making them roll between her fingers for a longer moment.

“A nice guy drops these here from time to time,” Freddie admitted with a smile as he saw Anna's interest for the jewels. “And sometimes I sell Roger's clothes.”

“You bastard, don't remind me that you sold my hat this morning,” Roger barked getting down from the counter and going to grab a cigarette.

“For the greater good, darling! It looked awful on you! You should thank me!”

He wasn't about to thank him, but more about to punch him in the face, without any regret. Anna chuckled while seeing the pout Roger had on his face while seeking for his lighter and cigarettes, her attention fully on the two men now. She gave Brian a look, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Besides, you sold my own coat three times in a row and I had to run after the guys to get it back and give them back their money!”

“I'll never find my hat again Fred!” he dramatically answered, ignoring the other's complaint. He finally found his cigarettes and put one of them between his lips while searching for the lighter he had in his pocket. The smoke filled half the room, Anna felt suddenly happy that the only thing framing the door was a curtain and not a door, otherwise they would suffocate in here. She watched the tension grow, as Brian did too. She decided to put an end to this.

“I'm sure you can find another one in the market,” she said as Roger looked curiously at her. “I'm even pretty sure about it!”

“Bonus, it's not as if it was very far from here,” Brian added nodding.

“Screw this,” was Roger's only answer after a long moment of reflection, the edge of his cigarette almost falling on the floor just before he taped on it into the ashtray near him. “I'm going now because this absolute moron sold my hat!”

“You won't dare leaving me all alone, Rog,” Freddie commented with arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“Brian can replace me for a moment,” Roger decided as Brian rose his eyebrows, “see? He's totally fine with it!” he added as the guitarist's face was full of confusion.

“I think I'm not very –,” Brian tried to say before being interrupted by Freddie.

“So you leave me here with Anna and Brian? That's your plan?”

“Never said that! Leaving you with Brian only,” Roger corrected. “Anna was the one telling me that I can find another hat here, her responsibility to find it for me.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said Anna,” he answered while putting his coat on and his cigarette out. Then, he jumped over the counter, casually. “So now, Mrs. Anna will help Mr. Taylor.”

“Mr. May isn't thrilled at all while hearing about this,” Brian commented while looking at Roger, not so pleased.

“Mrs. Anna can look after herself I promise Mr. May,” she joked, “besides I saw a beautiful shawl when we came up here and if I'm lucky enough it will be still waiting for me.”

“It's not even about you going with him, fine,” Brian said quickly, “being a shop assistant isn't my thing at all Rog.”

“You'll learn with Freddie, good master, good master,” he repeated with a hand gesture towards Freddie before grabbing Anna's hand and dragging her towards the exit.

Brian never learned.

Once the sunlight hit their eyes, Roger looked happily at her, still holding her hand. During a second, he became self-conscious, he understood what he was doing and let her hand go while quickly putting his own into his pockets, faking looking for another cigarette. He broke the silence by asking her where they were going to go, while lighting his cigarette held between his lips. But honestly, Anna had no clue. She told what she told about the hat just to avoid another argument, the tension in the highly scented air, just to ease things. But now, she got what she deserved for being such a kind soul; yet she was grateful that she hadn't to stay with Freddie in the shop. After a few seconds, during which she thought about the different shops she saw while coming up here, she decided to go down the road, hoping that maybe they would find a hat – or her shawl.

Roger complained loudly about Freddie eating strange things while in the shop, which smelled weird with all these odors or whatever, as he called these. A lady with a perm turned around quickly to look at this young man yelling in the street about some spicy food that was too much, you understand, too much to handle for him even if he wasn't difficult while speaking of food. And as the shock faded on the lady's face and she continued up the road, Anna burst into laughter under Roger's surprised gaze. He had his lips delicately parted, showing his upper teeth as he squinted trying to understand what was so hilarious in this situation. Anna's laugh made some heads turn, as her two buns were going back and forth along with her head. She tried to explain, but her cheeks were hurting her from laughing more and more as she tried to clarify the whole situation. So Roger gave up, just until she could catch her breath again and explain the look on the lady's face, a look that she rarely saw on someone's face. Roger joked about being special for making people look that way, as wind pushed his hair against his forehead.

While looking at the shop stalls as they went down the street, Roger rambled about some music he was writing, something Anna loved to hear about. Since their session of writing, she remarked that Roger came to see her more often with some texts, just to ask her if these were good enough to show to the band. Once, this was Brian's job, Brian thanked her for doing it because usually this kind of session with Roger ended by the blond one throwing things into Brian's hair while he was sitting in front of his drums and Brian adjusting his guitar. This time he spoke about just an idea, nothing pretty serious, as he commented. Something about a mother letting her son go, a mother suffering from this departure; he saw it clearly, he wanted to portray some kind of pain in his lyrics but he couldn't grasp the essence of all of this right now, he still had to think about it. Before he could finish anything, Anna pointed at a stall in front of a shop displaying a large amount of hats, resembling the ones that Roger used to wear. His eyes shone with amazement as he looked at the hats, hats seemed to be one of his favorite accessories, along with a pair of Converses. He found what he needed, he was absolutely thrilled about the amount of hats he could find there and promised himself – and to Anna – that he would come back here to enlarge his own personal collection of hats.

But Anna wanted to find her shawl, this was her only purpose now. And she knew that Roger wasn't complaining about it: the more they were out the less he had to spent time in their small little shop. Always something. As if Anna heard his thoughts, she began to talk about their business: how they found out about the place, how they found out about the guy who was supplying them, who was the big brain of the operation – Roger said it was him, but she had only his version of the story, and she was sure that Freddie would have said that he, Freddie Mercury, was the brain of the operation.

“So basically you don't know where your clothes come from and you don't care,” Anna summed up as he couldn't really answer more of her questions.

“Exactly, but as much as it pays my cigarettes I'm totally fine with it.”

“The ones you went out to buy without your hat this morning?” she teased as he looked at her annoyed, before tightening his lips.

“Don't your remind me about that hat,” he finally said after breathing out loudly, “besides, now I have a cooler hat and cigs.”

“Quitting smoking would have avoided some problems,” she remarked.

“Yeah, but sometimes its quite useful, you know,” he said with a knowing look and a little smile on his face.

“Useful to die, yeah.”

“You sound like Brian right now, quite scary if you want to know.”

“I'm his sister after all,” she answered fluttering her eyelashes. “Seriously, people during gigs come to see me and to ask me if I can introduce them to my brother and Mary is always all merry about this.”

“You should fake being his sister, should be fun.”

“Yeah should be f,” she began to say before she saw the shawl, the one she wanted, the perfect shawl she saw earlier. “Roger, look! This is the shawl!”

Her excitement was to be found in her sparkling eyes as she laid them on the piece of shiny fabric. The golden yarns were standing out in the burgundy fabric with oriental motives, flickering before her eyes. The fabric was soft, and Anna tried the shawl on under Roger's attentive gaze. She snuggled her face into the fabric as the lady who was selling them looked strangely at her, before looking at Roger who only smiled. He looked back at Anna and with a gesture asked her to turn around, to show this magnificent shawl as she said floating in the air. Anna absolutely loved the idea, turned around twice under the amused gaze of the lady looking at both of them as if they were a cute couple.

“So?” Anna finally asked after striking a pose in front of him.

“You want compliments or real judgment?”

“Don't you dare,” she warned him, “I'm not craving for attention!”

“You look nice,” he answered with a candid smile as he looked at her, his voice sounding so soft and he could feel the fondness on his face. He found her adorable like this, this tall girl being happy just because of a shawl. “It brings your eyes out,” he added as the lady nodded while Anna looked at her.

“Thank you, smooth Mr. Taylor,” she replied with a little smirk and rising his shoulders. “M'am, I'll take this shawl then.”

“Your friend is right, it brings out your eyes, young lady,” she commented as Anna searched for some money in her pockets.

When they came back with their beautiful items in the shop, they found a half-deceased Brian in front of a girl asking him for some advice with the coat she was trying on, and a laughing Freddie behind the two of them. As Brian turned his head towards the exit and saw Anna and Roger, he excused himself and went to see the new coming “customers”. Anna could read relief on his face as he trotted to them with a hopeless enthusiasm, before putting his hand on Anna's shoulder.

“Anna, please, don't you ever leave me here again, in this shop, as a shop assistant, that's awful,” he dramatically complained, in a lower tone so the girl couldn't hear them. But little he knew that Freddie was already talking with her about the said coat. Anna chuckled a bit. Brian looked around her neck, recognizing a new item. “Nice shawl by the way, brings out your eyes. But never leave me here again, please.”

“Don't be so dramatic Brian,” she commented while also putting a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure you did a great job.”

“But at what cost... I'm sure I've lost a part of my soul.”

“Found a better hat Fred!” Roger interrupted the moment between the two friends and Freddie and his customer as he dramatically spread his arms walking towards Freddie. “You're one lucky bastard, Anna helped me and now I'm even more handsome than before!”

“See darling? I did the best job ever,” he complimented himself before looking at the customer. “I sold his awful hat this morning so he had to buy another one. He is very grateful as you can see.”

“Don't you try selling this one or,” he warned Freddie before going to sit on the counter to light a cigarette, “I'll throw my drum set at you.” Anna looked at Brian, confused, but Brian found this exchange pretty normal, violence was Roger's strength. Anna just never saw it fully displayed. Not yet. “Bri,” he called Brian out who immediately looked at Roger, alarmed, “ you should pretend to be Anna's brother from now, should be fun.”

“What?”

“Brian,” Anna said. “Just like the good old day. An and Bri, the siblings and mischief of the place. Pretty please?”

“Why does it sound fun when you say it and threatening when Roger does?” Brian said as Anna just smiled.

~~~~ 

As Anna was drinking some tea right after her cheap solo dinner, her phone rang. It was around 6.p.m. When she asked who it was, Brian's excited voice answered on the other side of the wires. His excitement was almost palpable through the phone, as a child during the Christmas Eve with eyes glowing as the lights from the Christmas tree reflected in them. They were recording their first album tonight, Queen, eponymous album and he wanted to have her around, with them. She was there from the very beginning of Queen and Brian wanted her to be here as they made their first steps into the new world, on the market maybe and perhaps even more. She was part of the Queen family now, and even the boys couldn't imagine recording without her, or Mary, being around with them. Anna's mouth was curved into a huge smile as she heard this, touched by these words, feeling appreciated by the boys. She knew they were her friends, but hearing this warmed her heart a lot. Brian mentioned an argument about money between Roger and Freddie – involving John's discreet intervention – but he brushed off the subject quickly before telling her that they would pick her up in thirty minutes, so she should be ready to go out in this short amount of time. Anna joked about her hair, saying she would never be ready in time as Brian just told her to put these in an ugly bun, as they used to do when they were writing a long time ago. She hung up soon after, looking for comfy honey velvet flare pants and a simple white t-shirt, over that she put her large black fluffy coat on and waited for the van to honk in front of her apartment.

When she finally put her foot outside her apartment she noticed that it wasn't the van that was standing here, in the middle of the road, but Brian's parents white car. Where did the van go? She trotted off the stairs and opened the back door of the small car, she found three people on the backseat, Mary sitting on Freddie's lap and Roger, sitting in the middle rolling his eyes in despair as Anna sat next to him.

“Thank God you're here,” he commented as she fastened her seat belt. “It became unbearable to sit around these two here, all eating each other's mouths. Gross.”

“And you're the one saying so,” Anna answered as Brian looked at her through the small mirror with smiling eyes as Roger just gasped. But before he could say something, Anna continued. “Where's the van?”

“Sweet mother of God,” John whispered, sitting next to Brian as he closed his eyes and put his head against the seat.

“Ask Freddie Mercury,” Roger barked while smiling at Freddie. “Oh, and ask him where is my wage from selling his crappy clothes in the market and also, from the gigs we did in the past few months. Ask Freddie Mercury, he should know.”

“Don't be so bitchy, Roger darling. You know it's for the greater good!”

“For the greater my ass! I hope we'll have something out of this Fred or I'll kill you with my bare hands,” he threatened him as Anna tried to catch Mary's gaze, absolutely disoriented. Mary gave her a reassuring smile, mouthing that everything should be alright once they arrive at the studio. She hoped so.

Quickly, the atmosphere went merrier than it was when Anna entered the car. Freddie's excitement about all of this was contagious, and even John was smiling while they were discussing about the songs they had chosen to record on the album tonight. They had the whole night, so around ten hours or so, to record their debut album. But they knew exactly what they wanted, how they wanted it and knew – more or less – how to achieve it. Roger's song, Modern Times Rock'n Roll was featured on the album, making Anna proud as she heard the title being listed, even on the B side: it was somehow her nephew, Roger's kid becoming her kid too, by alliance, by an “f” alliteration. Roger elbowed her during the whole ride, asking her how was her whole literature thing going, being extremely curious about it, listening about what she was studying at the moment in poetry or in modern literature. She spoke with a sparkle in her eyes, with a great passion and Roger listened, mesmerized by her eyes, by her lips, by her love for literature.

The darkness reigned in the studio, and only a man was standing in front of it, waiting for them. He was the sound engineer who stayed late just so they could record their album during the night; his eyelids seemed already heavy as he smoked outside the building. Their excitement didn't move him, he wanted to end the whole thing as soon as possible but this was without knowing Queen, without knowing Freddie. Brian took his Red Special from the trunk, he was the only one to carry his instrument here since they sold the van, thanks to Freddie as Roger liked to remind them. This wasn't the first time for them into a studio, maybe not for all of them such as John who played with them only for fun, but he wanted to do the things in the right way. Roger reminded that he knows a lot about the studios, and how, younger, he recorded some things himself, trying to impress God knows who: Brian had to remind him that it was in a choir, that he was wearing a white robe and had a bowl cut. Nothing to be proud of, to what Roger replied with a slender middle finger towards Brian who laughed the whole thing off.

At the beginning of the whole session, everything was noisy and messy. They began with the single, Keep Yourself Alive. The boys were enjoying themselves, while recording their parts behind the window glass as Mary and Anna listened to them from the booth, along with the sound engineer. Freddie often complained about sounding like shit, wanting to record his vocals again and again, as Brian sat next to Anna after another vocal backup record, hoping that the night won't be as long as it seemed to be. Slowly but surely, they began to record faster, better, with stranger techniques, with strange eye-looks from the guy recording them who was often muttering – as they were behind the glass – “what the hell are these kids doing...?” as Roger was banging on a drum on which the boys poured some coins, the moment after they hung a recording machine to make variation in sounds and the man almost lost his mind; Mary and Anna remained silent during these moments our just tried to reassure the guy saying him that they knew what they were doing, which was an absolute lie.

When Roger's turn to sing came, he was more thrilled than ever. It was already late, and Anna and Mary were asleep on the couch, Mary resting on Anna's hair. They stopped following religiously the recording as soon as the clock struck one in the morning, so both of them were asleep for a long time now. But Anna specified that she wanted to hear Roger sing, at one moment during the night recording, when she was half-asleep when Roger sat on the chair next to the couch the girls were lying on. Her sleepy eyes looked at him, as she smiled and told him “Roger, wake me up when your song will be recorded, I want to hear that.”. He promised he would, and she just nodded before looking at him for a long moment, dizzy. Before he could say anything, her eyes were closed, and Mary was sleeping too. He grabbed a blanket from the other chair and put it over the girls, fondly looking at them – her – sleep. When the blanked touched her skin, Anna rose her head a bit, looking at who was taking care of her and expecting Brian's face. But Roger's soft face appeared in front of her eyes, just like a ghost, he whispered her to sleep and to not worry about the song, he would wake her up as he promised. Her sheepish smile made him chuckle as he returned to see the rest of the band to hear the record of Liar again.

And now, Roger had not the heart to wake her up, Brian was absolutely against waking one of the girls up as they were having their hours of sleep, hours that were needed. But he promised. He couldn't break that promise; but she was sleeping, she looked so peaceful and delicate in her sleep. And against the other band mates protests, Roger went to squeeze her shoulder in order to wake her up, it took a little while, some quiet whispers, until she opened her eyes, disoriented.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty, our song's coming,” he said to her when she looked a little more conscious.

“Already,” her mouth was a bit dry as she spoke. The words were hesitant, and her voice weak.

“Yes, already. I'm going to record the lyrics, you skipped the boring part of me drumming, no big deal.”

“You promised to wake me up,” she mumbled slowly getting up without waking Mary.

“And I did, be grateful because Brian, John and Freddie told me to fuck off when I said that I had to wake you up.”

“I hope you slept well, darling,” Freddie said with a big smile, a cigarette in one hand, while sitting on the chair next to Mary as she nodded with a shy smile.

Brian looked at her, he put his hair into a ponytail, a lazy up-do for him showing how much they were working, how hard it was. They still had three songs to record if she remembered well, if her sleepy head was functioning correctly, and they had around three hours to do so, maybe more, maybe less. She sat next to the engineer, on Brian's lap, still a bit sleepy but curious to hear the song completely, and Roger's vocals. The music started. Roger head was banging just before he had to sing, and when his time came, his lips pressed against the mic, the words came out in a tired yet powerful voice. His rounded lips were always parted as he sang, eyes half shut, biting his lower lip when he had the time to do so. Anna watched him, as mesmerized as he was when he listened to her earlier, talking about literature. She could notice how his foot was drumming on the floor, as he sang for a solid one minute and forty seconds. A short but intense track.

“Magnificent,” she whispered against Brian's shoulder, a bit off.

“Don't tell him or his head will grow twice as big as it already is,” Brian advised her with some humor.

When Roger came back in, shaking his hands absolutely proud of what he did, he immediately looked at Anna, to see her reaction again, after the whispers he couldn't hear when he was recording, but the whispers he saw and the smile she had when Brian said something to her. He waited for something, for sure, but John just patted him on the shoulder with a reassuring smile as Freddie clapped his hands in order to begin the next song. His excitement quickly faded as Anna stood up to let Brian go into the recording studio for his guitar track, as he touched Roger's shoulder while passing by and whispered that it was actually a good song, but that he was a little too tired to jump about it. Anna, on her side, curled up in the chair Brian left her in; Roger went near her, and crouched down to be at her height.

“So?”

“I said to Brian that it was magnificent but he told me to shut up about it because you'll be too proud, all puffy as a mating pigeon,” she mumbled, not really knowing what she was saying to him. “Maybe minus the shut up and mating pigeon part,” she finally added.

“Happy to hear that you enjoyed how I played our song,” he softly whispered to let her fall asleep again.

“Your song,” she corrected.

“Our song Anna, you wrote it too.”

With a smile on her face, she fell asleep as Roger looked fondly at her.

~~~~ 

It was already dark outside when Anna stepped out from her apartment, going to the group's practice hall. The place became her safe space for work, to concentrate, for anything, lately. Everybody needed a place to ease the tensions in the air, the group sent their debut album, their demo to various labels about a month ago and still nothing. They were all desperate, Roger raging over Freddie telling him that all that money they spent on this album could have been used in another way, a wiser way and Brian had to part them often while John sat, pinching the strings of his bass as he looked at Anna and Mary, on the edge of everything. He seemed to seek for peace lately, he needed the band to calm down but until the moment somebody calls them – even if it was for a negative answer – John's wish couldn't be fulfilled. And they had gigs to perform, but Freddie wanted to see the bigger picture as his band mates were trying to tone him down, to not let him fall out of disappointment.

So the practice hall became a space where they had their rehearsals, yes, but some game afternoons, playing Scrabble all together, with or without the girls and Chrisssy – Brian's new girlfriend – , having little parties all together, having fun just to ease all these tensions between them. And mostly, it worked. Mostly.

And Anna found her sanctuary in there, being able to work with music, laughter, friends. It felt a lot better than being at the library or in her apartment, all by herself. So, tonight, around midnight, she decided that the practice hall would be the perfect place to work a bit; she had the keys, Brian gave her the keys. She walked under the moonlight, three books held against her side, her footsteps resonating on the empty roads. It was cold outside, but not enough to prevent her from going there. As she approached the place, she could hear noise. That was pretty surprising. She pressed her ear against the door, once she was inside the building, going into the hall: she heard drums. Violent drums, a hoarse and sleepy voice as the cacophony pulsed in the building. Roger. Of course it was Roger. She delicately opened the door, for him to not notice her, and she saw him. Shirtless and sweaty, hair strands against his forehead and some others flying around as he hit the drums, harder and harder at every movement. Concentrated, focused, he didn't even hear her opening the door and beginning to step in. She looked at him from afar, admiring the energy he radiated with wile playing alone, singing, all by himself. She felt like an intruder, violating his safe space, his little moment of anger, of rage. She could see the shift of emotion in his gestures, this was the pissed Roger, the one wanting to release his frustrations in music, on the drums, singing. “You won't need nobody else, but me.” He abruptly stopped to reach for a cigarette and a lighter. This is when he saw Anna.

First, she could see panic in his eyes. For a second, he didn't know what was happening here, who was she, his expression shifted from fear into incomprehension, then to confusion.

“No burglar Roger, just me, Anna,” she reassured him. “Nice lyrics.”

“Damn, Anna, what are you doing here alone at night? Are you insane?” he asked while putting the cigarettes back on the floor and reaching for his shirt.

“So we both are,” she commented while stepping more into the room.

“It's dangerous around here, at night,” he said to her, concerned as he got up to meet her, “you should be more careful when you go out during night.”

“Because I could meet a Roger Taylor? I don't think it would be a big issue,” Anna seemed fearless, she was more reckless than fearless when she wanted something. Usually, she thought about her deeds, but tonight, when she couldn't find another solution to continue her essay she decided that would be the solution.

“Don't joke around about it like that, we never know what could happen to you,” he replied, alarmed. He seemed to care a lot, as if he could lose her during that night for any reason. “Nobody would like to find you raped and dead, I can assure you.”

“It would be a great song title,” she remarked as she sat where she used to and Roger joined her on the other side of the couch, “all dead, all dead.” She took her coat off and put her next to her, before meeting Roger's not so amused gaze. He looked like an over-protective Brian. “Jesus, I'm doing alright, okay? I'm not dead, not all dead, yet, so no worries Roger.”

“Yeah... I'll have to walk you home then, or Brian will kill me.”

“You're more afraid for yourself than for me, great to know what pissed you so much,” she replied before opening her books on the table. She had to write that essay, or at least begin to draft something about it.

“Another problematic essay?”

“More than that, it's practically hell. Another stressful sleepless night?” her voice sounded concerned. And she was about everything that was happening to Queen. Roger was mostly trying to brush everything off, he didn't want to talk about how frustrated he was about it, he wouldn't open up, just bark at Freddie for the goddamn van and their money. Never speaking about what he felt about this, drowning everything in sass, girls, drums. Mostly girls after gigs.

“Kind of,” he quietly replied as he was playing with his fingers. Anna could feel his tension just in this small gesture, she knew Roger for a few months, she definitely could see whether he was at ease or not. “Do you mind if I continue playing and rambling my stuff?”

“I'm the intruder here, do as you please Mr. Taylor,” she said attempting to make him smile a bit. A successful attempt. “I really enjoyed your rambling earlier, could become something good actually. Very romantic stuff.”

He bowed in front of her, regaining some spirits as he walked towards his drum set. When he sat and began to play, to “ramble” as he said, she began to write, more an more, her head slightly moving in harmony with the beat and his voice. Exactly what she needed, percussion and lyrics. None of them spoke to each other during this moment of communion, Roger into music and Anna into literature.

Until three in the morning, both of them did what they had to. And eventually, Roger progressively stopped playing. Anna rose hear head to see what he was doing now, he light up a cigarette before heading toward her, to sit on the couch next to her. He sat, eyes half closed now, observing her with her halo made of light above her head. He needed some sleep, absolutely now. And they couldn't stay there for the night, both of them had to go back home. She closed her books, and told him that he was about to go home since she did most of the things she wanted to.

Happily, he got up, yawning. He looked for his jacket for a moment, eyes fluttering with tiredness as Anna put her coat on. He closed the door behind her as they left. It was cold outside, the air was fresh, day wasn't still there. First, they walked quietly, slowly but then Anna had to break the ice. She told him about Cambridge and her last year's experience as they walked towards her home, and Roger listened to her, still a bit off, hands in his pockets. He enjoyed the moments he could have with her because it was all about something else, no compliments, he couldn't see the groupie look in her eyes, the look he saw every night, and every night as a moth he was drawn to it. Against his will or not, he couldn't define it yet. But Anna was another kind of light, a giving light, not a taking one. She gave him time, she tried to understand him and the other members of the band without never being all sweet and kind just to please them: she was honest, just as Mary. If not even more.

He didn't know when they arrived in front of her apartment, when she smiled and told him goodnight before hugging him and whispering him to take care of himself, to sleep and to not worry too much, “it should be doing alright, doing alright” she sang, all amused before going up the stairs.

[leobelgrave]

LEONIDAS BELGRAVE [CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONNAIRE]

BASICS - 1. Height?

Leo is 6′0.

2. Eye color?

Blue/Gray.

3. Do they need glasses?

No.

4. Scars and birthmark?

They have a star-shaped scar on the back of their neck, due to them being incidentally stabbed with a screwdriver by their older brother. They also have a small, round birthmark on the right side of their rib cage, which they affectionately refer to as Pascal, the third nipple.

5. Tattoos and piercings?

They have a poke tattoo of the Aries constellation on their left shoulder blade, which they have no memory of getting.

6. Right or left handed?

Left!

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD)

8. Do they have any allergies?

Not that they’re aware of.

9. Favorite color?

Doesn’t have one. Prefers warmer colors, though.

10. Typical outfits?

As eccentric as possible. Sometimes, when they feel more modest they’ll opt for baja hoodies, shawls, mismatched socks. But they also aren’t too shy to wear something more revealing. Sometimes skirts, sometimes slacks, one time literally nothing at all. The colors are always vibrant and eye catching regardless of what they are wearing though.

11. Do they wear any makeup?

Sometimes, though usually only when going out. They like to keep it simple, with a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and gloss. Their nails are always painted, though.

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

They always carry a mace around in their bag, but never once have they used it. Why a mace, you may be wondering? Because it is just as chaotic as they are.

PERSONALITY - 13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

Optimistic.

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted. It’s nearly impossible for them to meet a stranger.

15. What are their pet peeves?

Boring conversation, people who act indifferent about everything, people who get offended easily, using eating utensils when you could use your hands, slow walkers, people who don’t wipe their mouths when they’re eating.

16. What bad habits do they have?

Oh boy. They chew on their cheek, they pull on loose threads, they fidget, they’d bite their nails if polish wasn’t so damn expensive. They are willing to take anything for a temporary escape: usually alcohol and halfling weed but... they are open to other options. They also tend to switch topics quickly and usually focus on having their own reply ready instead of focusing on what the other person is saying.

17. Do they have any phobias?

Getting old. Not physically, but spiritually. In a sense, they’re afraid there’ll be a day where they wake up and realize everything they thought they’d achieve is behind them and they no longer have anything to look forward to or be excited about. Also, sailing. They get seasick easily and there’s too much about the ocean that remains unknown. No thanks.

18. How do they display affection?

They’re super physical. They hold hands a lot, and poke people, and kiss their cheeks, and lay in their laps, and would probably permanently attach themselves to someone if they could swing it. They’re all about affection. It’s intimacy, true, genuine vulnerability, that they can’t really get comfortable with. All the physical attention usually does a good job as a deterrent, though.

19. How competitive are they?

They are ridiculously competitive, even when they don’t mean to be. If they see someone else walking toward the exit at the same time as them, they consciously walk faster and when they beat the other person, who is likely completely unaware there was a race, Leo thinks to themselves, ha, I won!

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

Bigger butt. Next question.

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

They are really good at knitting and crocheting. A good percentage of their wardrobe is home crafted. They also collect rocks and crystals so that they can make jewelry out of them. They always considered themselves artistic, but their drawing and painting abilities were abhorrent, and their singing voice was... well, not great either. So they found their expression through clothing, which is why they make such weird and bold fashion choices.

BACKSTORY - 22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

His parents, Percival and Herron, are each 59. His brother Tiberius is 34, his sister Elexus is 31, and his brother Maximus is 23.

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

Yes, and no. To Leo’s knowledge, they have not spoken in about seven years. They have no memory of this, but they only left home about 11 months ago.

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

They were born in Crowmire, Hegaehend. They grew up there, but ultimately moved to Khaggon in their early twenties.

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

Leo has never had many close friends, as they tend to hold others at a distance for fear of rejection and of any other sort of downfall that would dampen their spirits. They’re open to the idea, but also no one has bothered to try and break down the walls thus far so in a way, they feel they’ve been right to build them up in the first place.

26. Have they had any pets?

They would love one, but they’re way too irresponsible. There is a stray cat that often hangs out on their windowsill. Leo calls it Blue because it is actually red, and sometimes they feed it scraps.

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

They grew up pretty comfortable. Their father owned several profitable businesses in Crowmire, so they were lucky to afford a house big enough to fit four children comfortably, and Leo never had to worry about going to bed hungry. All the siblings were meant to stick around and take over the businesses as their own. To Leo’s knowledge, they are the only one who left.

28. What is their educational background?

They went to school full-term, but genuinely did not apply themselves. For instance, when their mother demanded Leo take language courses, they took Draconic and Sylvan. Once they felt they’d learned everything they needed to learn, they sort of tuned it out and waited for it to be over. As a result, Leo isn’t very smart in terms of academic knowledge, but they feel they more than make up for it with street smarts and life experience. (However, they do not in fact make up for it.)

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

A performer of some sort. They used to put on dramatic performances with their family where they’d write scripts and force each of them to play characters. Leo, of course, was always the lead. And yes, it was silly, but they actually weren’t a half bad actor. Oh well.

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

They’d say, “If Mom ever tells you she is good at cutting hair, disagree and politely decline. And the way you’re feeling right now: overlooked, misunderstood, confused- that um... that gets better. You end up liking yourself, so, uh, you know. Might as well start right away. Oh, and when you’re at that one bar with the dog that pees on that dwarf lady, don’t smoke what she sells you. Seriously. Still don’t know where my pants went that night and those were some expensive pants.”

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

When they were younger, back before they really discovered themselves, they were bullied quite a bit. But as they grew to enjoy themselves and realized how cool they were for someone so young, they started to genuinely not care, and also they developed really good debate skills so when someone tried to belittle them, Leo usually ended up coming out with the upper hand.

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

There really isn’t anyone they’d consider a role model. They are not at all like the people who raised them and there weren’t many outside influences who ever bothered to try. That might be a large reason Leo is so aimless most of the time: they don’t know which direction they want to go in yet.

PRESENT - 33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

They have an efficiency apartment that they pretty much just use to shower and, sometimes, to sleep.

34. What is their most treasured possession?

Their Reliquary! They keep it in their closet under their sewing supplies but anytime they’re going on a long trip they bring it with them.

35. What is their drink of choice?

Alcoholic. They don’t care if it is the cheapest ale or the most expensive spirit one can find. If it gets them drunk, it’s good.

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

If they had to choose one, probably Kaylynn just because she’s the only one who isn’t currently dealing with a war. They actually don’t mind the idea of moving to Anari some day, and would seriously consider it if it didn’t mean such a long sea voyage.

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

They aren’t sure, but they hope not.

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

They promised their landlord that they would have the rent, and they did! Two days late, but, still. 

LOVE - 39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

They were thirteen and had to kiss a boy named Oliver at a slumber party. As far as they recall, it was not terrible. It must not have been too bad, because they kissed again several times after.

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

No. Single and terrified of intimacy, unfortunately.

41. Have they ever been in love?

They don’t think of love as some sacred thing that is rare to find; Leo has loved lots of people and lots of things and experiences and memories. Have they ever been in love? No. But if you asked them, they’d lie and say it was all the same.

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

Absolutely. One of the reasons Leo is so guarded from everyone is because they care so easily. And they trust unwavering. And they’re devastated when things don’t pan out the way they expected them to.

SPIRITUALITY - 43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

Yes: Tymora. There was a while where Beshaba was actively trying to get them to start following her instead, but Leo doesn’t remember this. Not that it matters, they ultimately stuck with Tymora anyway.

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

They don’t know. They keep their options open, but if gods exist and magic exists then it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that there is something waiting when the journey is done.

45. What is their spirit animal?

Fox. Chaotic and sly and pretty and full of mischief.

[lochdandloaded]

Moments On The Lake (Oneshot)

Rating: M Pairing(s): McHanzo (Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada) Warnings/Triggers: Mentions of blood, mild swearing, description of corpses Notes: Mermaid AU, Human!Hanzo,  Summary: Moments of a relationship seen through the most loyal eyes, or how Iwanko learnt to love the merman bomb.

Once again, a fic for @kannibal‘s MerCree AU over on Twitter (go check it out for more info and art!!). A doggo POV oneshot this time, exploring Hanzo and McCree’s relationship through their eyes.

AO3 || Twitter || Ko-Fi || Storenvy

Read below the cut

Translations: Chichi - Dad Youfusama - Father Shinnyuu - New guy Chiisha - Dad's guy Gup - Short for guppy, aka the mermaid equivalent of babe/baby

It was a day like any other, out on the ice caps with Youfusama holding the treats while showing what the buttons on his strange flat pad did. Distant eeping signaled the trackers in the area yet to be cataloged, and it was now Iwanko and Sister’s job to find them for their final training session Youfusama made it clear that this was their most important task to date - everything rested on them passing this test!

So of course, Iwanko wasn’t happy when the Sea Monster came and ruined it all.

He’d been at the edge of the caps, steering clear of the water whilst following the walrus the last tracker was attached to. It was staying underwater, which meant he couldn’t get close, which meant he would fail and Iwanko couldn't let that happen—

A large splash knocked Iwanko back and soaked him, covering him in The Bad Place smell and scarning off his target. He shook himself dry and growled as a large shadow fell over him.

“Hey there, lil’ fella. You lookin’ for somethin’?”

Narrowed red eyes. Claws longer than his head. Large fangs twice as sharp as his own, and rippling muscles in a twisted body of man and sea dog: Sea Monster. The Bad Place was coming for him, for Sister, and Youfu—

Iwanko surged forward, teeth bared, and snapped down on the closest limb. The monster flailed and yelled, but Iwanko held on tight. The skin was rough against his tongue and his teeth ached as he put all of his strength into the bite. The limb lifted up, nearly taking Iwanko off his feet. He dug his claws into the ice and flattened his ears, snarling loudly as the monster struggled in vain.

“Iwanko!”

Youfusama?

Sister barreled into him, knocking Iwanko off his feet and forcing him off the Sea Monster. She curled up into his space, nuzzling his fur and nibbling his muzzle. He barked and shoved her off, nipping back at Siser. She wagged her tail and climbed all over, pinning him in place.

Youfusama came into view as he jogged over, breathing hard and gaze darting around the scene. Iwanko sat up against Sister, waiting for Youfusama’s assessment on his defense.

Sea Monster clambered up fully onto the ice towards Youfusama, revealing the full extent of its half-human, half… seal body. It cradled its left fin in its claw, flexing muscles and speaking in a low tone. Youfusama went over to it (WHAT) and fussed over the fin, replying in kind- the same way he did over Iwanko’s scarred paw or Sister’s tangled up harness.

What was he doing! Couldn’t he see the danger the Sea Monster brought?! They had to run, get far away before it dragged them all under the water!

Youfusama stood straight and adjusted his furs, still speaking. Sea Monster spoke back and nudged close enough to bump hips. Iwanko growled but Sister held him down on the ice could jump in to defeat the creature. The Sea Monster towered over Youfusama, a glint in his winking eye that wasn’t t be trusted.

Youfusama rolled his eyes and grumbled, but his face brightened in a similar way to how it did in front of a fire It wasn’t warm now, so why was he red? Sea Monster saw it and chuckled as Youfusama turned and walked over.

“Iwanko, Hachiko—” They scrambled to sit up properly, tails wagging and backs ramrod straight. “ — this is Jesse. He’s not human like me or the other agents, but he IS a friend. I trust you both to behave around him.”

The Sea Monster, a friend ?! Had Youfusama lost his mind?!

“I mean it, Iwanko.” He switched to the Old Language, a stern look in his eye. Iwanko lowered his growl to a whimper and glared at Sea Monster.

It bared its teeth at them and waved its claws around. Sister barked happily and bounced on her paws in her strange, little dance. Youfusama smiled and ruffled her fur, letting her run off to the Sea Monster. He grabbed Iwanko’s harness before he could intervene, and watched as she jumped onto the monster, licking its face and begging for attention like the traitor she was.

Youfusama scratched behind his ears and Iwanko leant into the touch, whining quietly.

“Try your best, Iwacchi.” Youfusama muttered, still watching Sister and the Sea Monster play around on the ice. Iwanko pouted at the sight, how captivated Youfusama seemed by the Sea Monster’s antics

How easily he smiled at it and laughed, and softened — all things meant for him and Sister alone.

Iwanko kept his eye on the playfulness, an edge set to his fangs. If Sea Monster was supposed to be a friend, then that meant it would be around more often; taking Youfusama’s attention, covering them with its salty musk before pulling them under the waves for good. Youfusama was being tricked!

But not Iwanko. No, he wouldn’t be tricked.

No matter what, he wouldn’t let the Sea Monster get the upper hand over him and his pack.

0XX0

Ever since Shinnyuu had visited and gifted Chichi the soft feather shawl, Brother had been annoyed by the gift’s existence and growled whenever he smelt it nearby. Chichi ignored him and wore it everyday over his furs, indoors and out. He even took it with his luggage when they went to other bases! He smiled more freely, lost himself in thought, perked up whenever Shinnyuu was brought up.

So when Chichi began to spend his free time hunched over his office desk with yards of cord, rope, strong and seashells all over the place, Hachiko knew everything was going to change for the better.

(Brother didn’t agree, but what did he know of a seal man so clearly enamoured by their wonderful Chichi?

One way or another, hachiko would find a way to help Shinnyuu mate with Chichi. No matter what Brother thought!)

Hachiko sat by Chichi’s desk as he wove his materials in a pattern she didn’t understand, watching with a keen eye and perked up ears. He scratched her ears but didn’t pause in his crafting, though his gaze drifted to a distance only he could see. Hachiko licked his fingers and yipped at him.

“He���s a strange one, he is.” Shinnyuu? Hachiko tilted her head as Chichi sighed, fiddling with the red cord. “Of course he is, he’s a merman for God’s sake!”

She rested her head on his arm and waited as he wrestled with his words. Eventually, Chichi groaned and put down his work to pull her up into his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her. Hachiko curled up against his chest and nuzzled him, tail wagging slowly. She couldn’t fit as well as she used to when they first met, but Chichi was strong enough to hold her up for hours.

“I don’t know, Hachi. He’s a friend, a real one.” He kissed the top of her head, stroking down her neck. “I feel like I can truly be myself around him; he doesn’t have any expectations of me or the Shimada name. It’s… refreshing.”

He stalled in his strokes. Hachiko whined and licked his jaw, then nipped his fingers when he pushed her down.

“I like him. I really like him, Hachi. Obviously someone as forked up as me would fall for a merman of all things.”

Hachiko growled at his hollow laugh and bit his chin, squirming in his hold until he pinned her down with a glare. Chichi couldn’t talk about himself or Shinnyuu that way!

“I could do worse. At least Jesse is a kind man; he’ll turn me down gently.”

Hachiko pouted and whined louder. Didn’t Chichi know Shinnyuu wanted him? Couldn’t he smell how his musk shifted whenever Chichi came close to him, or see how Shinnyuu presented himself when Chichi gazed too long? Shinnyuu was practically begging to be mounted! Everything he did was an obvious sign that he wanted to be mates and have their own pack!

Hachiko sat up, panting. Starting their own pack would mean puppies! More Brothers and Sisters for her to play with and look after! A real pack for her and Brother to be a part of!

Oh, this was fantastic!! Hachiko had to make Chichi see how much Shinnyuu wanted this too. And she would .

(No no, he wasn’t Shinnyuu, not really. He was Chiisha!)

With one last nip, Hachiko jumped off Chichi’s lap and trotted out of his office to go find Brother. Even if he didn’t like Chiisha, he would love to have puppies around! They both missed having a larger pack to play and hunt with - this would be the best news Brother ever heard!

0XX0

It was not the best news Brother had ever heard.

The very thought of Chichi and Chiisha mating was the most offensive idea Brother had heard, and he refused to accept how smitten their Chichi was by his seal man.

This went so far as to squeeze between them during their courting exchanges - as Chiisha called them - and interrupting their moments of rare quiet. He even stopped Chichi from initiating mating with Chiisha! Hachiko bit his scarred paw for that, and they both ended up locked in the kennels for the night over it.

Chichi didn’t tolerate Brother’s plotting for long, and it worked out for him when, one evening, he and Chiisha came back from swimming in such high spirits, Hachiko couldn’t help but be curious about what happened while they were out on their own.

(Brother was less than enthusiastic.)

Chiisha was tailing behind Chichi, a wide grin on his flushed face as he wildly gestured. Chichi was smirking, also brightly flushed, loose limbed and seemingly uncaring as to who saw him. So unlike the Chichi she knew!

Hachiko stopped in her path to them when Chiisha took Chichi’s wrist, tugging him back into his space and leaning in close. Chichi froze in place, staring wide eyed up at Chiisha while his hands writhed at his sides, aching to mirror Chiisha’s claws ghosting over Chichi’s cheek. Hachiko quashed down her barks and sat down, barely containing her excitement in the hectic wag of her tail.

“Do it again, darlin’. Please .” Chiisha’s voice was so quiet, barely a whisper on the wind. Chichi shivered nonetheless, gaze flitting down Chiisha’s face.

“I’ve shown you enough times.” Chichi replied with a fake grumble, eyes now half-lidded and looking anywhere but in front of him. Chiisha laughed softly and tilted his chin up to meet him, resting their foreheads together.

“Just once more, it’ll stick this time.” Hachiko leaned in, ears perked up high to catch the quiet voices.

“Somehow I doubt that.” Chichi chuckled and he closed his eyes, finally moving his hands up Chiisha’s arms to hold him close. They moved in, lips brushing and hearts skipping, just like Old Master did with their mate—!

A Brother-shaped blur pounced on to Chiisha’s tail, barking madly. They sprang apart, static flying in the space left behind - a flash in Chichi’s eyes - and Hachiko rushed over to yap at her dumb brother for ruining such a perfect moment!

Said brother was clinging to Chiisha’s tail, claws caught on the fur, and lips curled up in a snarl directed as Chiisha. He and Chichi watched as Brother’s hackles raised, voicing every negative opinion he had towards their coupling. Hachiko kept barking at him, jumping up to try and dislodge him but he was firmly seated.

What was he doing?! Didn’t he want their Chichi to be happy?

Or for the pack to grow stronger?

Why was he letting his stupid ocean fear get in the way of their family?

Brother had no answer for her, as he kept growling at Chiisha. Chichi breathed, in through the nose and slowly out of his mouth whenever he was angry (at her?), and marched over. Hachiko sat down on the grass silently, ready to bare her belly. Brother didn’t budge.

Chichi snatched Brother from his perch by his scruff and it knocked him out of his angered trance. Immediately, he slackened and whined, even tried to lick Chichi’s face. He was planted on the ground next to Hachiko, and Chichi knelt in front of them, his expression something she had never seen directed at them before.

“That,” He said lowly in the Old Language, face darkening. “was incredibly inappropriate behaviour. Hachiko, go back to the hub; Iwanko, you will apologise to Jesse this instant .”

A duet of whines were cut short by another flash in his eyes and they stood, tails between their legs and heads low. Hachiko glanced to Brother, the regret and conflict running off him in waves. She cried and quickly nipped his muzzle, sending her well wishes through a brief shoulder bump before she trotted off to the hub. Chiisha’s voice made her look over her shoulder, finding him leaning against Chichi, arms wrapped around his waist and trilling to him. Brother stood by their feet, staring at the ground without a sound.

Chichi caught her watching and waved her off, taking Chiisha’s arms off him but sticking to his side, tilting his ear to the soft chirps and whistles of a mate. Hachiko brightened and wagged her tail; Chichi and Chiisha would be fine! More than fine, they’d build the strongest pack and Hachiko would have a place in it, just like before!

Even if Brother didn’t agree or kept trying to stop the progress, Hachiko knew nothing would stand in the way of their pack.

0XX0

The Sea Monster was back in the house for the fourth time in so many days and Iwanko was twitching to run him out into the snow. Its scent was everywhere, it was driving him crazy! Youfusama was tolerating it, giving it free reign of their home, and cuddling up to it in front of the fireplace - it was all leading to what Sister had predicted moons ago.

Iwanko still didn’t like it. The Sea Monster as Youfusama’s mate - a part of their pack - was still insulting to even think about, but Iwanko had made a promise moons ago to Youfusama to ‘act civil’ around the Sea Monster and he was really, really trying to be a good boy about it.

But it was so hard when the Sea Monster was taking over, stealing Youfusama’s attention, turning their home into its lair, and generally acting as if he were already part of their pack. Sister argued that it was, and he would know this too if he put in any effort to scent Youfusama, but Iwanko knew their Youfusama better than that. He wouldn’t carelessly mate with this creature as if it wasn’t a huge matter.

Youfusama was way smarter than that.

Even so, he was still capable of being tricked into rushing the Sea Monster in to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Iwanko sat in front of it now, growling low in his throat as he listened to the noises coming from inside. Mostly the Sea Monster whispering and chirping to Youfusama, saying things Iwanko couldn’t understand.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Spread out, just like that.”

“You prepped y’self so well; are y’ ready to take all of me?”

“You like that, don’tcha? Knuckle deep an’ you only want more of me.”

“I’m gonna fill you up an’ make you mine .”

None of it made any sense! Youfusama hadn’t said anything to the Sea Monster, and there were scents Iwanko didn’t recognise flowing out from under the door. Nothing to hint at Youfusama being in mortal danger, but there was nothing to comfort him either. The not-knowing was the worst part of being stuck on the other side of this stupid door, plus not being able to immediately get to Youfusama when the creature turned against him.

A husky groan came through the door and Iwanko sat up. That was Youfusama! He pressed an ear against the door, trying to pick up anything being said.

“Off, Jesse. Get off, get off.”

Was the Sea Monster holding Youfusama down? Keeping him against his will so he wouldn’t struggle while it ate him? Kidnapping him away to the ocean to drown?!

“Ah—!” A drawn-out sound came from Youfusama, followed by a hiss of pain. He was being hurt! More was being said, but Iwanko paid it no attention; he had to rescue Youfusama!

Iwanko stepped back from the door and glared at the round handle. The house wasn’t like the big base they sometimes visited; it was ‘old fashioned’, and so didn’t have buttoned pads that controlled the doors. Only those like Youfusama and the Sea Monster could open these kinds of doors with their fingers and thumbs.

Iwanko growled again and barked at the door, as if that would do anything. He got louder and louder, making sure it was enough for Youfusama to hear him and be assured Iwanko was on the way to save him. Sister poked out from the kitchen area, lolling her head to the side and whining at him.

He barked at her too and she came over to investigate. With the two of them together, they could figure out a way to get to Youfusama! Sister sniffed around the door, perking her ears up at the sounds inside the room.

She yipped and bounced on her paws, wagging her tail. Iwanko blinked at her, flattening his ears. She yipped again, jumping up at him and licking over his muzzle, excited for no reason he could determine. Their Youfusama was in danger and she wasn’t helping!

Sister trotted off, leaving Iwanko alone in the hallway once more, without helping him a single bit. Typical! She probably had puppies on the brain again, so it was up to him alone to carry out the rescue.

Assessing the situation calmly, Iwanko knew he’d have to open the door by himself without any hands to help. So, he balanced carefully on his hind legs and bit down on the door handle. It was a strange taste in his mouth, nothing like the tennis balls Youfusama threw for them. It was slippery as well, but Iwanko held on with all of his strength, tugging down.

With enough pulling and twisting, Iwanko finally got the door to click open. He let go, working his jaw for it to be comfortable again, then quickly dashed into the bedroom into the action.

The first thing he noticed was how they were positioned: the Sea Monster was lying on the bare bed against the headboard, throat and stomach bared with its arms tied loosely above its head. Youfusama was kneeling over it, straddled on its tail and hovering over something too-thick coming out of it. He was bare as well, his furs scattered across the floor along with the creature’s own so-called garments, which was enough to give Iwanko pause.

The scent of the room was thick and overwhelming, leaving no doubt of what they were doing. No wonder Sister was so happy, but no! Iwanko wouldn’t believe it; Youfusama wasn’t like this! He knew better than to trust the sea that had almost taken them as puppies, the sea that had ripped him from the arms of his Old Master and the life he’d known, the sea that had killed everyone. Iwanko had to remind him, save him from the trickster waiting to drag him down to the depths.

Snapping out of his stupor, Iwanko bristled and started barking again. Youfusama and the Sea Monster startled at the noise, and Youfusama’s grip on the creature slipped. He quickly fell down on the thickness from its tail and it froze, a strangled noise gasping out of its gaping maw.

“ F- fuck!” Youfusama choked out, doubling over himself rigid and tense all over. The Sea Monster stayed completely still, eyes darting over him. Iwanko stayed at the end of the bed, snarling at it as it freed its arms from the loose cord to ghost its hands over Youfusama.

“Hanzo, angelfish, talk t’ me.” It whispered, trying to look at his face and rubbing its hands up Youfusama’s arms. “Are you hurt? Say somethin’, please.”

Youfusama gripped the creature’s shoulders, nails digging in as he shook his head. Iwanko sniffed the air - no blood, but Youfusama was too quiet. He was breathing in short gasps, not saying a word. Something was wrong and the Sea Monster was responsible!

It trilled and purred, nuzzling into Youfusama’s hair. Its hands moved down to his hips and Iwanko growled again, hackles raised. The Sea Monster glanced at him, eyes narrowed as it held onto Youfusama. He tightened his grip on its shoulders and whimpered, curling over more to bury his face into its marked neck. He was breathing faster now, too fast.

Iwanko relaxed and inched closer as the Sea Monster kept chirping, whispering in the pauses. Youfusama stayed the same, white-knuckled and shuddering, and every moment that passed like that made Iwanko more anxious. What was wrong with Youfusama? Nothing was happening; something should be happening!

While the Sea Monster was distracted, Iwanko came up the bed and pressed his wet nose to Youfusama’s knee. There was a slight shiver, but no reprimand or a playful shove to his snout. Youfusama was really in trouble.

“You don’t gotta be here,” the Sea Monster grumbled, looking over Youfusama’s head to narrow its gaze at Iwanko. He huffed and glared back with a pout. “Once Hanzo’s adjusted, he’ll be fine. I’ll take care of ‘im.”

Iwanko barked and growled at it again. He couldn’t leave Youfusama with it! The Sea Monster was the reason he was hurt in the first place! Iwanko had to stay and protect Youfusama.

“Hey, if you hadn’t burst in ‘ere all a sudden, Hanzo wouldn’ be like this!” The Sea Monster growled back, wrapping an arm around Youfusama’s waist as his other hand petted his hair. Youfusama grunted and slumped slightly in its hold. It trilled and nuzzled his cheek, spreading its scent.

“He’s my mate an’ I’m gonna take care of him, no matter what you think.”

Iwanko snarled at that. It was his Youfusama! It was his job to protect him from all danger!

The creature ignored him to keep nuzzling Youfusama, moving down to his neck and brushing his loose hair aside. From his spot, Iwanko could see the long, faded teeth marks on Youfusama’s nape, surrounded by fresher marks all over his neck. A similar, if smaller, mark was near the creature’s collarbone, sparking dimly with flashes much like Youfusama’s arm did.

There was no mistaking it: they were mated. Iwanko couldn’t deny it.

And something in him broke.

Despite everything - all his efforts! - Youfusama and the creature were mates, growing their pack to include monsters of the ocean - everything Iwanko hated (and feared, he told no one).

Youfusama made his choice, nothing Iwanko barked or did would ever change that. The Sea Monster was here to stay, give Youfusama puppies like Sister wanted, and nothing was ever going to be the same (it already wasn’t).

Iwanko didn’t know what to do.

How could he protect his pack when the threat was the pack? Where was his place if not that? Did he have one anymore—

“Iwacchi.”

Iwanko snapped his head up, crying when he found Youfusama’s flashing eyes on him. They were tired and kind, just as they had been on the day they met on the cliffs. When he’d saved Iwanko from a watery grave and brought him into his pack, small and new but oh so precious.

Youfusama reached a hand out to him and Iwanko licked over his palm, whining as he nuzzled into the touch. He heard a pair of chuckles above him and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on Youfusama’s buried scent under all the salt.

“Silly boy, Iwacchi.” Youfusama muttered in the Old Language, his voice raspy and drained. “What did I tell you about Jesse?”

Iwanko whined again; what did that matter now? Youfusama tutted at him and patted his nose, cutting him off.

“None of that now; the damage is done. You know not to do this again, right?”

He barked. Of course! He didn’t want to hurt Youfusama again.

“Good. Go grab some towels from the bathroom and bring them here.”

Iwanko jumped back, tail wagging hurriedly. Towels, he knew where those were! Youfusama kept them on the floor after washing himself in the tall box. He didn’t see any in there last time he checked, but if Youfusama said they were in there, that’s where they were.

With one last bark, Iwanko rushed off to the adjoined bathroom. Youfusama and the creature shuffled around, grumbling between them before settling again.

“Y’ make a good Papi, y’know.”

Youfusama groaned and Iwanko heard a light slap of skin, followed by a deep laugh. “Not you too!”

0XX0

A day off was a luxury one like Hanzo was not often afforded. On top of (technically) being a fugitive in hiding, he was also one of the few agents at Ecopoint to have higher clearance and access to Underwatch’s brief of missions. It was all fine and well for his personal goals, but it left him with very little time for himself. His free time between work was spent with Jesse when he was onland, and when he wasn’t, Hanzo spent the hours asleep.

Today, however, was his to spend with Agent Zhou, Hachiko and Iwanko on the main base. Mei had made upgrades to her Omnic assistant and wanted the dogs to test Snowball’s capabilities. That was code for ‘let me fuss over your puppies please!’ which Hanzo was fine with; Iwanko and Hachiko needed time out of their harnesses as well. It gave them a chance to play and burn excess energy; give him some time to himself.

Hanzo hauled his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his communicator just as a loud knock pounded on the front door. Hachiko ran to it, barking and yapping as she bounced. What was Jesse doing here at this hour?

He opened the door, holding Hachiko back from pouncing on the poor mer. Jesse stood there, decked out in his casual gear (but still finding room for all of the ‘courting gifts’ Hanzo’d given him) and splitting his face with the biggest grin he’d ever seen on him.

“I thought you had a mission today.” Hanzo started, eyebrow raised and frown on edge. If his schedule had changed, he’d have to be the bearer of unfortunate news and a pouting mer.

“That’s t’night, angelfish.” Jesse kept smiling, radiating pure sunshine as if he hadn’t caught Hanzo on his way out of the door. Hanzo blinked and scrunched his face; it must have shown his scrambled thoughts. “I’m ‘ere to take you an’ the pups out.”

“Sorry, Jesse; we’re on the way to Ecopoint now to meet with someone,” Hanzo explained, shaking his head and letting Hachiko go. She jumped up at Jesse, licking and nipping his beard. “You’ll have to take us out another time.”

“It’s on the way, darlin’.” Jesse pushed Hachiko down and scratched behind her ears, laughing when she flopped against him. “It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.”

Hanzo crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. Not that he didn’t trust his mate (and wasn’t that a weird concept to get used to; it made the red mark on his neck itch) but the lack of details showed that Jesse intended to keep the surprise intact. And his surprises hadn’t always ended up well for him or the dogs.

(Despite the weeks that had passed since, Hanzo could still feel the embers of burning pain between his thighs and the leftover chagrin of calling Doctor Ziegler in the middle of the night. All because of a surprise.

Needless to say, he wasn’t letting the mer top again any time soon.)

“I know whatcha thinkin’,” Jesse rubbed Hachiko’s bared belly, a sharp eye on Hanzo. “But it ain’t for you, gup. It’s for the pups.”

That raised his brow again. “You know Iwanko won’t accept a gift from you, Jesse.”

“Ain’t that kinda surprise.” Jesse winked and turned around, leading Hachiko away from the cabin. “I know yer curious!”

Damn him, he was right. Hanzo was being transparent again; he had to put a lid on that slippage soon.

A cold nudge to his fingers got Hanzo to look down at Iwanko, leash in jaw, and far too nervous to be his brave lead tracker. Iwanko had avoided Jesse since that incident, which was better than the outright hostility, but it unnerved Hanzo like nothing else. Outspoken, blunt Iwanko turned diminutive and subdued - a father’s worst nightmare.

Maybe this ‘surprise’ would help his pups. If Iwanko could be in the same general area as Jesse for five minutes or more without incident, that would be a huge accomplishment. Hachiko, as always, could help him as a middleman to keep everything afloat. It couldn’t be the worst thing he’s trusted Jesse to do.

!We can’t be long, we’re expected at the base soon.” Mei was a patient woman; she wouldn’t mind if they were slightly late.

“Ten minutes top, darlin’! Get movin’, they won’t be there forever.”

Well, curiosity always won him over in the end.

(Some certain people would say curiosity killed the cat, but Hanzo argued it got him to the most interesting places.

Just look where it’d gotten him so far.)

Jesse led them along the coastline towards the rocky cliffs not too far from the cabin. Iwanko stayed glued to Hanzo’s side, no doubt remembering his first fateful visit to a similar cliffside. He stroked his head and held on tight to his leash, a tiny reassurance that went a very long way.

It didn’t take long for them to reach a cove Hanzo was sure hadn’t been here during his last area patrol. A pebbled beach covered in bits of seaweed and stray blocks of ice that hadn’t yet melted under the spring sun, with a few seagulls here and there poking at the gaps in the pale sand. Jesse was further ahead, splayed out next to a large rock formation that Hanzo recognised from where waves crashed into it when the tide was high.

So this is what low tide looked like here.

Hachiko yapped and Iwanko snapped to attention, perking his ears up at his sister. She kept barking, and Hanzo released his leash, encouraging him. Iwanko glanced up at him, but he only smiled. His pup shook himself and slowly trotted over, skipping away from the reaching waves when they dared to approach him.

Hanzo followed at his own pace, crossing his arms and watching as Hachiko led her brother to the rock formation, pawing at the ground. Jesse stayed with them and talked, but his eyes were on Hanzo even as his feet stuttered at the sight captivating his pups: a deep, glistening tide pool, teeming with wriggling sea life that paid no heed to the giants overlooking them.

Hanzo came to stand beside his mate, raptured by the minute details of the underwater world at their feet. Jesse’s arm snaked around his waist and he nuzzled from his shoulder to his cheek, gently nipping at the skin he could reach. Soft chirps rumbled through his chest and Hanzo could feel them in his own, calming any worry. Hanzo kissed Jesse’s temple under his hat and got a pleased trill for it, which made him smirk. Jesse hid nothing of his true nature from Hanzo, and it sent a thrilling shiver up his spine to think of how it was his to witness.

Others had their chance, tossed it aside for convention and things Hanzo used to value.

Used to.

(What fools they were.)

They stayed like that for who knows how long, content to watch Iwanko and Hachiko nose around the pool, poking their noses at creatures that wandered near the surface. Hachiko pointed her brother to a resting crab poking from a rock and he tilted his head in wonder.

Hanzo’s chuckle caught their attention, two pairs of shining browns bearing into him innocently. “It’s not so bad when it’s this small, is it?”

Iwanko glanced back down to the pool and whined, shuffling on his paws. Caught out on his awe for the thing he feared most, knowing he couldn’t deny the plainly seen fact. Hachiko bumped him with her nose and he barked at her, scattering the fish closest to them. Iwanko cried and sniffed around, trying to find them again.

Jesse’s fin nudged Hanzo’s leg and the mer curled his tail around him, trailing his other hand up his coat. His gaze sparked something wild and Hanzo felt the dragons stir under his skin. “You still wanna go?”

Iwanko and Hachiko stuck to the tide pool, distracted by the shimmer of the clear water. Hanzo rolled his eyes, smirk turning sharp as he took Jesse’s chin, leaning in close enough to brush but not to satisfy the mer’s craving for his taste.

“Maybe a few more minutes.”

[whimstories]

Balcony AU

Part 1

Next // A03

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I made my contract and here is the first day! I would not be posting this if I didn’t say I would. There’s something about this pacing I don’t like but, I can’t figure it out. I guess we’ll learn along the way. 

Comments and critiques welcome! Thanks!

When she takes me in her arms

And speaks softly to me,

I see life in rosy hues.

Marinette hums with the fathomless voice bleeding over the Paris apartments, her head swaying to the tunes. The male singing is accompanied, as usual, with a short plucking of chords that reverb like chimes in an yawning chamber.

The sounds wash over her body like floating on a steady sea, the fresh spray of salt water and rhythmic motion of the waves lulling her to comfort. Its a different experience than any time she’s listened to music. Even the experience of Jagged Stone’s concert when she was a teen couldn’t compare. Though his slows ballads are likened compared to waterboarding through a turbulent wave.

Marinette holds her warm cup of cocoa to her lips and blows a small wisp of steam into the winter weather.

“‘Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast…’”

When he begins singing the English rendition, her slightly warm hand presses to her mouth to prevent the torrential flutter in her stomach manifesting into a giggle.

He sounds playful and confident today. She can easily imagine his mouth smiling around his words with each lilt and vibrato. He is so clear to her when he sings, his days laid out in song in ways a conversation would take hours to convey.

She’s mouthing the lyrics before her mind catches up with her, then singing along before her nerves can stop her . She switches up the pronouns so she sings of a male and he sings of a female, but their vocals blend like silken threads to a tapestry. Its one thing to keep her distance from knowing his face, but touching his voice with her own creates a sensation of fuzzy euphoria from head to toe.

The final notes stretch across the streets once more and Marinette can hear the sprinkled clapping from fellow neighbors and strangers down below. She nestles deeper into her chair and hugs the soft shawl to her face, though still feeling warm from the music.

The voice above says a few flourished ‘thanks you’s to the unconventional audience and Marinette takes it as her cue to rise from her seat.

“Are you going to speak to me this time?” A distinctly pointed shout comes from above.

She clamps her lips to a tiny pucker, the hard thump in her chest halting her movement. Its hard, honestly, not to shout back. It’s harder every time, but its the rush of blood to her heart and the light headed fluttering in her head that makes her realize her fears again.

She touches the handle of her glass door.

“I will hop down there, if you don’t respond.” The voice teases.

She almost swings around to make sure he does not. The difference between balconies in the complex isn’t impossible to scale, and she has considered it before, but one wrong move would cause considerable injury.

Though she can’t help imagining him easily landing before her on the balcony, confident and easy as his singing, with probably dark hair and gleaming grey eyes shining at her. She has no idea what he looks like, of course, but a young Darcy-like character is never a bad base model for dreamy mystery men.

She has to grip the door handle tighter to shake the fantasy. What is she kidding, even if he was as amazing as she dreams him to be, she would ruin it somehow. It’s just her track record.

She closes the door.

When she wakes up a bit groggy the next morning, Alya, her best friend, calls her for a morning drink before heading to work.

Alya is the ultimate foodie. She finds new restaurants and cafes daily and drags Marinette along for the experience. Though that experience is summed up to ruining the perception of home cooked meals and draining most of her account on local chefs. Which as an artist herself, doesn’t feel too bad, but is bad on her lifestyle.

They’re sitting at a worn wood table, which is surprisingly sturdy when Marinette leans her elbows on the surface, in a nicely sized cafe.

“How was your business trip?” Alya asks over her Caramel Dolce Cappuccino. It had a beautiful foam flower on top until it was smeared to Alya’s upper lip.

“Relaxing,” Marinette sighs. She takes a sip of her mocha and hums before Alya is gesturing to have a taste. “Who knew going overseas to look at fabric would be so invigorating?”

“You’re probably just sick of us and finally realizing it, admit it.” She smiles, before grimacing at the mocha and back at Marinette. She shrugs innocently, as if she couldn’t forsee Alya hating her extra sweet drink.

“Maybe the first two days,” Marinette jokes. “But a week is a long time. It was so easy just talking to people and pointing at things, I barely knew how to get out of bed this morning.”

Marinette instantly regrets mentioning a bed when Alya’s eyebrows raise behind her drink. The cogs are turning and there’s no going back. “And how is your bed? Will you be upgrading to a king anytime soon?”

“No, Alya.” Marinette groans. She hunches in her chair and busies her mouth to finishing her wonderfully sweet mocha.

She raises her shoulders and smirks, “I’m just saying, the last time we talked you kept singing the same three love ballads before bursting into tears over a plate of croissants because— what, you smelled fresh pastries on the streets when he sang?”

Marinette doesn’t respond, the smooth white mug a sturdy anchor in her palms. She focuses on the hot liquid passing her lips and running a stream down her tongue. Its still cold outside and the walk to her job is a good twenty five minutes so it doesn’t hurt to bask in the warmth while it lasts.

“Marinette,” Alya laughs and touches her hand, “You’re head over heels for this guy. Why are you hesitating?”

Alya was there for her last three relationships, but Marinette could never really explain why they ended so quickly. So when she fell for a new guy in a way that was unconventional, it was obvious why the others failed and she wanted to cling to this emotion while she can.

“It’s been over a month and a half and I don’t even know his name. I have this perfect vision in my head and if I meet him, I’m sure my heart would be broken in an instant.”

Alya places her cup on the table and stares with pitying eyes, which she is doing more to mock her than actual sincerity. Its the new gleam in her eye and the casual lean in her seat that actual puts Marinette on edge, “What do you call him, though?”

“What do you mean?” Marinette replies.

“Even though you don’t know his ‘name’, our male siren must have a moniker? How else do you scream for him at ni—“

“Alya!” Marinette almost screeches as she reaches across the table and squishes her face to stop talking. Its when she looks around that the action of touching Alya’s face is more attention getting than their conversation. She thumps back into her chair with a warm face and a disbelieving jaw.

“We’re grown women and, as your best friend, beyond any form of crudeness.”

Marinette wisely stays silent and pretends to savor the last sips of her drink before mumbling, “Chat Noir.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Chat. Noir,” She enunciates. “I didn’t come up with it. He did.”

“You’re serious? He told you to call him that?”

“He came out of his apartment and announced himself, like a mini concert hall. ‘Welcome to the stage, Chat Noir!’,” She smiles. “I’m not sure he knows I heard him. It was a while ago.” Marinette shrugs.

The worst of it is what she didn’t say. That she had an actual moniker for the original moniker. She recalls last night falling asleep to a seeping wet warmth on her fingers and gasping pants of ‘kitty’. She practically crushes the straw between her fingers as she moves the last drops of whipping cream in circles.

Luckily, Alya decides to relent after the admission. Though since she is a journalist, Marinette should have been suspicious of her silence. A name is a powerful one, even if it is fake. She could track down a man after finding pocket lint on the ground.

They forsake talking about love before its time to go to work and by then Marinette is itching to cut up some muslin.

[silverfootstepswrites]

title Fracture summary The jagged edges we leave behind pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx (here) | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

Sakura unblocked his number and called him. Legs crossed. Nails clicking against the armrest.

He picked up after two rings.

“I must be dreaming for Haruno Sakura to be calling me,” he drawled.

“You said you would come find me. I don’t like to be kept waiting,” Sakura simply said before she hung up.

She tapped her cigarette over the ashtray.

“You think that was a mistake?” she asked. Tenten didn’t turn away from the window. The glaring neon lights filtering in colored her face in alien ways. The shadows under her eyes deepening, somehow. The hard line of her jaw responded before her voice did.

“You should have let me slit his throat all those years ago,” growled Tenten.

Sighing, Sakura raised her cigarette to her lips. Drew in a long breath. Exhaled. Smoke spilling in every direction. Sakura closed her eyes.

“Maybe you’re right,” she replied. She got to her feet. Heels tapping on the floor.  Sai slipped her clutch into her waiting hand. He adjusted his tie and then checked the cuffs of his shirt.

Sakura paused by the mirror to check her hair. Wiped the corner of her mouth where a bit of her lipstick had smeared. And then she pulled the neckline of her dress down a bit. Her gold body chain did a good job of drawing attention there anyway. The tiny charms tinkled against each other when she moved.

“So, are you going to sit here brooding or are you coming with us?” Sakura then asked. Sai opened the door. The sounds of laughter and chatter spilled up from the bottom floor. Sakura stubbed her cigarette out in the crystal ashtray. And when she looked up, Tenten was on her feet, ripping off her bowtie and black vest. She reached behind her to pull out her revolver to count how many bullets were in the chamber.

“Brooding is more your thing, isn’t it, Aunt Cheng?” Tenten replied, smirking. Sakura smiled in return.

Zabuza was back in Hong Kong, keeping an eye on things. Plus, Sakura suspected that he had found himself a woman. It would be nice for him to spend some time with her. Although, this, Sakura would never admit out loud.

So Chouji drove them to Shibuya instead. The streetlights and buildings throwing bright lights into the car at random intervals. And Sakura closed her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. Her head buzzing inside with a million thoughts.

When the car stopped, there was no one outside the club to greet them. Tenten clicked her tongue as she got out to open the door. Sai’s upper lip curled, too. But Sakura only took a breath of the cooler air. Summer’s oppressive heat had finally left the city over the weekend. And what was left was a faint freshness. Like autumn was hinting at its arrival.

Sakura adjusted her shawl over her shoulders. She leaned in through the passenger side window. Chouji offered her a box of cigarettes, hands trembling faintly. Sakura plucked one out, held it between her back teeth as she looked him over.

“You know what to do, right?” she asked.

He nodded.

Sakura patted the top of the car. Raising the window, Chouji drove off.

When Sakura turned around, Sai held out his lighter. He cupped his hands around it as she leaned in to light her cigarette. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, eyes roaming around the relatively empty street.

“I have a bad feeling, Boss,” muttered Sai in Cantonese.

“If anything happens to me, bury a bullet between Inuzuka’s eyes,” she whispered back. Tenten and Sai both nodded as they headed into the narrow alley. They took concrete stairs down. Twisting and turning. Old graffiti and flyers clung to the dirty walls. Discarded beer bottles and food wrappers sprinkled the sides of the walkway. The occasional condom wrapper graced the pavement.

They came to a steel door. Tenten banged on it three times. Music pulsed faintly from behind it. The bass thumping like an angry heartbeat under their feet.

After a moment, the tiny rectangle slid open. Red-rimmed eyes glared down at them. They roved over the three of them before the slot snapped shut.  

The door banged open. And the full force of the music thundered out. Sai stuck one finger in his ear as he headed inside. Tenten made a face as she followed after Sakura.

A bubbly waitress with hair up in pigtails greeted them. Sakura couldn’t hear her voice clearly over the music. But she followed after her, wary eyes darting over the shadows of people writhing on the dance floor.

The waitress let them down a set of stairs, into a closed-off VIP area. When the double doors slid shut after them, the music muffled to a bearable level. Sakura touched two fingers to her temple.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” she muttered to Tenten, who snorted.

“Ah, Haruno-san,” Kiba greeted her. Sharpened canines showing as he grinned. On each arm rested a woman in a tight, glittering dress. They nuzzled Inuzuka’s neck, giggling. But his dark eyes remained focused on her.

“Inuzuka,” she replied. Curt. His eyebrows rose.

“You don’t sound happy to see me,” he noted.

Her eyes narrowed. Laughing, he raised his hand to gesture for the waitress.

“A drink for the lady. Anything she wants,” he said.  The girl took a step toward Sakura, her pen resting on her little notepad as she waited.

“Moët & Chandon Bicentenary Cuvée Dry Imperial 1943,” Sakura said. The girl stared at her. And when she didn’t write, Sakura turned her head to look at her. The girl colored.

“Um... I’m not sure we carry that,” she stammered out.

Sakura sighed.

“Your most expensive champagne, then. And bring out three glasses,” Sakura then said. The girl nodded, hurrying off.

Sakura turned her stare back to Kiba. When he gestured to the empty seats across from him, she took a seat. Right leg crossing over her left. Arms crossed over her chest. Tenten sat next to her, removing her leather gloves and tucking them into the inside of her jacket. Sai remained standing. Forearm resting on the back of Sakura’s seat. His black eyes never leaving Inuzuka.

“You seem busy lately. Why did you ask to meet?” Kiba asked.

Sakura didn’t respond. Stared at him, eyes half-lidded. Holding her cigarette between two fingers, she puckered her mouth and blew out a thin stream of smoke.

When Kiba opened his mouth to speak again, Sakura held up one finger. He closed his mouth again.

They stewed in that uncomfortable silence until the waitress returned carrying a tray. She set down the clean glasses in front of Sakura. She used a small towel to pop the cork and catch the champagne that fizzed out. But when she handed the first glass to Sakura, she instead passed it to Tenten. And the second one to Sai. The third one, Sakura accepted.

Sakura held up three bundles of cash tied with rubber bands. She handed one to the waitress and then jerked her chin at the girls sitting across from her. The girls hesitated. Looking up at Kiba. He nodded. They lunged to grab the money before they hurried out of the room together.

Only when the doors shut again did Sakura speak. She held the bubbling champagne up to the light, inspecting the glass from the bottom.

“How long have you known that Uchiha Madara was still alive?” she queried. And then, she took a sip.

Kiba didn’t respond.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Seriously?” Sakura then laughed, leaning forward a little. She set the champagne down on the table.

“How much did he pay you to shoot up my club?”

His face went oddly blank.

Sakura reached into her clutch to pull out a cartridge. She set it down on the table next to the champagne.

“Russian-made. Probably for... what do you say, Tenten? AK-what?” Sakura asked, turning to the other woman.

“A Kalashnikov. Most likely an AK-12,” Tenten replied.

Sakura feigned surprise. One hand over her mouth as she turned back to Kiba.

“Russian guns in Tokyo! And since you’re really the only one who has ties to the Russians in this area...” Sakura trailed off, smiling.

She got out of her seat. Skirting around the table, she perched on Kiba’s right knee. She blew smoke into his face as she put her left arm around his shoulder. The neckline of her dress dropped down low. The gold glint of her gun peeking through.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m not going to kill you,” Sakura sighed.

“Why?” he demanded. Defiance gleaming in his eyes. She grinned, baring her teeth.

“With you gone, there will be a fight over who will take your place. In your own gang about who will be your successor. But also among the other yakuza who’ll try to take your territory. And I don’t want that. I want it to stay nice and quiet in Tokyo for now,” she murmured. Lowering her face until their foreheads were almost touching.

“Instead, I’m going to have you send a message to Uchiha Madara. And to all the other fuckers trying to start shit with me,” Sakura explained, slowly pulling out her gun. Sweat beaded at Kiba’s temples. His breath quickened, eyes darting around.

But Sakura had known him for long enough. He was too cocky to have guards with him. They were probably all just outside the door. Deafened by the music pounding out from the speakers on the dance floor.

Kiba’s eyes fell back on her. Pupils dilated. She smiled. Touched his cheek with the back of her hand.

“Don’t worry. I won’t ruin this face, leng zai,” she purred. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his. Staining his mouth red.

She used two bullets. One in each of his hands. A scream gurgled out of his mouth. Blood bubbling up from the twin wounds.

Sai was already on the phone as they left the VIP room. And the thundering music outside had masked the gunshot because none of the guards stirred. Sakura wiped her mouth across her hand and ruffled her hair.

“Give your boss a minute,” she purred. And they eyed her smeared lipstick, messy hair, chortling as they nodded.

They walked up the stairs, back toward the main dance floor. Sakura shot the bouncers in the back of the head. They dropped while the oblivious dancers continued writhing in time to the beat. She crossed the glowing floor tiles to yank the door open. Men in black suits waited, their dark sunglasses reflecting back the purple and green lights pulsing with each bass note.

“It’s a party, boys. Only the Kumicho is off limits. Have fun,” Sakura declared. And she stepped aside so that they could pour into the club. Their gunfire lighting up the club. The bullets shattered the lights and exploded the speakers. Screams erupted from the dancers, who began running in every direction.  The liquor bottles at the bar shattered as bullets peppered the glass shelves. The room began to fill with smoke.

Sakura barely flinched. Sai and Tenten were watching her back. She could hear them firing and grappling with the people who got too close to her. She searched the floor until she found a phone that someone had dropped. The screen had shattered, but still usable. Wrapping the edge of her shawl around her hand, she picked it up to dial 119. Sai pushed her toward the door as she waited, his hand gripping her shoulder.

The operator responded.

“Hello? I’m at the X2 dance club in Shibuya. There are men with guns everywhere! People are getting shot! Please help!” Sakura shrieked. Before the operator could ask more questions, Sakura dropped the phone on the floor and kicked it. It slid under one of the smoldering speakers, out of sight. Tenten kicked the corpses of the bouncers aside before she slammed the door open. They scanned the area before she pulled Sakura out into the alley.

They hurried up the narrow path. Kicking up dead leaves and garbage in their wake. Huffing and looking over their shoulders.

They saw civilians begin to escape from the open door. Shrieking, some with blood on their clothing. But Sakura didn’t feel too bad. Her boys knew not to be too cruel to them. She would be surprised if any of them died that night. The Inuzuka family, on the other hand...

Chouji was waiting for them at the end of the alley. The engine already running.

As soon as they were in the car, he sped off. Tires squealing. Sai slammed the door shut, but it caught on the edge of his jacket. The dome light stayed on. Cursing, he pulled his jacket free and shut it properly. And the rest of the car went dark.

It wasn’t until they were on the highway that they heard sirens wailing in the distance. The cop cars sped off in the opposite direction on the other side of the highway. Not long after, an ambulance hurried past, too. Sakura felt her breath finally slow. Tenten sagged in the passenger seat, putting her feet up on the dashboard.

“You alright, Sai lo?” Sakura asked, looking over at him. He raised his hand.

“I got punched a few times, but I’m fine, Boss,” he replied. Wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“It’s because your face is so punchable,” Tenten snorted from the front. Sai kicked the back of her seat.

“Pok gaai,” he snapped.

“Boss, are you alright?” asked Chouji, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

Sakura ran her hand through her hair.

“I’m fine. Although I kind of want to brush my teeth,” she remarked, grimacing.

“Why, Boss? It wasn’t hot kissing Inuzuka?” snickered Tenten.

“He has horrible whiskey breath,” she remarked. Checking her reflection in the window, she rubbed the lipstick off her teeth.

Sakura didn’t bother returning to the hostess club. Chouji dropped them all off at her apartment in Minato. She washed up first, rubbing the grime and foreign blood off her hands and arms. Dressed in her robe, hair wrapped up in a towel, she walked into the living room to turn on the news.

Tenten went to shower as Sai lay on the leather sofa, bag of frozen gyoza resting on his face.

Sakura sat on the back of the sofa. Half-listening to the TV as she scrolled through her phone.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out. Tenten walked out in black joggers and a chambray shirt.

“Borrowed your clothes, Boss,” Tenten announced.

“Ah,” replied Sakura, not looking up. She continued to scroll through her texts, letting out a yawn. A couple minutes later, Tenten walked past. She kicked the side of the sofa, jostling Sai.

“Bathroom’s free,” she told him.

Sai grunted in return. Tenten kicked a few more times until, spitting swears, Sai rolled off the sofa. He knocked his shoulder into hers on his way to the bathroom.

“You’re always such an ass to him,” Sakura noted. Tenten plopped down on the newly-freed sofa.

“Yup,” she replied. Wholly unapologetic.

The report about the prime minister’s family vacation cut short.

“Breaking news. Gunfire at a nightclub in Shibuya. Reports of several injured, and at least 3 dead,” the anchorwoman stated as her face flashed up on the screen.

Sakura tilted her head to one side as she listened.

“Reasons for the conflict remain a mystery... suspected yakuza activity.” They even mentioned Inuzuka Kiba. (“Injured but in stable condition.”)

Sai walked out of the bathroom. Towel around his waist.

“They have any idea it was us yet, Boss?” asked Sai, pausing to stare at the TV. He wasn’t as good at reading the text yet, but he could understand what they were saying without a problem.

“No. But I don’t really care what the news is saying. That’s not why I did it,” Sakura answered. Finally looking up, she tossed her phone onto the sofa. Twisting around, Tenten glanced her way.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Tenten asked.

“Not long. He knows that I’m not very patient.”

Sakura met with Madara the next morning. More precisely, he came to meet her.

Twilight Dreams was empty. Just the faint lemon scent of cleaning products filling the place. Sakura flicked on the light switches, strolling through the first floor. She ran her fingertip along surfaces here and there, checking for dust. Hummed her approval when she found the place spotless. She unlocked the back door and then slipped behind the bar to find a good bottle of wine.

It wasn’t long before she heard the back door rattling. The sound paused. The door opened. Footsteps tapped along the floor.

Madara stopped in front of the bar. One eyebrow cocked. She eyed him over the rim of her glass.

“You know, you really take the fun out of everything, Jing-Mei,” he accused her, holding up his unused lockpick.

“I don’t know what you mean, Madara-san,” she replied. Baring her teeth in a smile as she set her wine down.

Madara took a seat at the bar, shedding his coat.

“Do you know how to mix a drink?” he asked her.

“I can do wine or vodka. I’ve been told that mixing cocktails isn’t a strength of mine,” she replied. He huffed and it almost sounded like a chuckle.

“Vodka, then,” Madara answered. He leaned on the bar, studying her as she poured the drink for him. She pushed the glass toward him. Hoisted herself onto the bar to sit on the counter. When she leaned forward, his eyes drifted to her cleavage. He drained the glass, letting out a deep breath as he set it back down on the bar.

Uchiha Madara was hardly in his forties. He had been born when his father, in his later years, had accidentally gotten his mistress pregnant. Sakura didn’t know much more about it all. Nobody really did.

“Is this a happy meeting or an angry meeting?” he queried. Sakura shrugged one shoulder.

“That all depends on whether you’ve been good or bad, Madara-san,” she answered.

Her tone drew his gaze. His eyes focused in on her. Sharpening.

“I’ve been good... good for me, anyway,” he assured her.

She appraised his expression. Lips pressed together. She swung her legs over the bar so that they dangled in front of him.

His eyes raked over the thigh-high stockings she wore under her skirt. Just a hint of the lacy tops showing when she moved. His gloved hands smoothed up her calves, all the way up to her knees. Beaming, he pressed his cheek against her thigh.

“Oh, I’ve missed these legs,” he whispered. He kissed her knee. Rubbed his face against the dark nylon.

Sakura rolled her eyes. Putting her chin in her hand, she stared down at his blissful expression.

“Your fetish is seriously disgusting. You know that, right?”

He turned his face to the side to stare up at her.

“You like that about me. You like feeling better than me, remember?” Madara declared, flashing a smile at her.

Sakura sighed.

“Is that why you stabbed me all those years ago?” she questioned.

Madara paused. His hands stilling. He kissed the inside of her thigh before he rested his chin in her lap. Staring up at her.

“Didn’t I apologize for that already?” he asked in return.

“You didn’t,” replied Sakura, looking away. His hands caressed the outsides of her legs.

“I am sorry for that, Jing-Mei. You know that I wasn’t trying to stab you,” Madara murmured. He kissed her other thigh.

“No. You were just trying to stab my boss,” she retorted.

“But Orochimaru is dead now. How much longer are you going to hold that against me?” he answered.

“Just until one of us is dead,” she sniffed.

He rubbed his face along her legs for a few more minutes before he sat up straight.

“Alright. I feel recharged,” he declared, very nearly beaming. “What can I do for you?”

“First. Get me more wine. And then, I’ll decide whether or not to kill you,” Sakura said.

“Sounds good,” Madara replied, getting to his feet.

A couple hours later, Itachi’s tea was interrupted by Kisame bursting into his private study. Itachi took his time setting his drink down. He pinned Kisame with a pointed look. But Kisame looked somewhat frazzled. He was even a little out of breath, leaning against the doorframe for a second.

“Uh, so, Sakura-san is here,” Kisame finally managed to wheeze, pointing with his thumb. Itachi got to his feet, eyes lighting up.

“Really? You showed her in, right?” Itachi asked.

“Yeah, of course, Kumicho. But the thing is that Deidara brought her in and-” Kisame said, following him into the hallway. But Kisame never got to finish his explanation. Because Itachi opened the sliding door to find Sakura curled up on her side in the entryway. Her head resting in Tommy’s lap.

Her breath came in shallow pants. Sweat beaded on her face despite the cool weather outside. One hand was pressed to her eyes.

“Do you feel nauseous, Mama? Maybe I should bring you to the doc, yeah,” fretted Tommy. She didn’t respond. So he fanned her with his hand, looking around until his frantic gaze fell on Itachi.

“She called me out of the blue. Said to pick her up from the club and bring her here,” he blurted out.

Itachi shoved past his men crowding around her. He could vaguely hear Kisame shooing them away. But he paid them no attention as he knelt. He put his hands on her face. She was so cold, despite the sweat pouring down her face and the back of her neck. Gritting her teeth, she shivered.

“Sakura,” he called her. And to his relief, she stirred a little. He took her hand to feel her pulse. But he glimpsed something. Turning his hand over, he saw blood under her nails. Her hand wasn’t cut in any way. And then, he pulled her sleeve back to find bruises darkening on her forearms. His eyes narrowed.

“Sakura, who did this?” he demanded. He took her face into his hands again. Patted her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before she finally opened her eyes.

“Your fuckin uncle,” she slurred, face pinching up. She closed her eyes again, like the light hurt her.

“Toilet,” she then insisted. Her arm rose, limp. Dropped uselessly to the floor.

“Toilet,” Sakura said again.

Itachi glanced around. His eyes fell on Tommy. “Keep this one here. I want to talk to him,” he told Kisame.

“Yeah, Boss,” Kisame replied.

Itachi scooped Sakura up into his arms. Gathering her cold body against his chest. He hurried back into the house, careful not to bump her against the doorframe or walls. When they reached the toilet, he laid a towel on the floor first before he set her down. Her arms were like overcooked noodles as he draped her over the toilet seat. It took a moment, but then Sakura stirred again.

She felt with her hand, and seemed to recognize the cold porcelain. She opened her mouth, body straining. Nothing came out. Her right hand flopped in the direction of her shoulder.

“Pat my back,” she mumbled. She repeated the action again. Itachi knelt beside her.

“Pat your back?” he repeated.

“I have to throw up,” Sakura groaned, patting her shoulder again.

So Itachi did what she asked. Thumping on her back until he saw her shoulders rise. Tensing. And then, when she did vomit, her tiny body clenched. Everything spilling from her mouth, dark purple and vile. She continued to heave until nothing came out anymore.

She raised her hand toward the lever but her arm didn’t quite make it. Itachi reached over her to flush the toilet for her. And she rested her cheek against the seat as the water gurgled down.

“You’re not just drunk. What’s going on?” Itachi asked. Still stroking his hand up and down her back. Sakura groaned, head dipping back toward the toilet bowl.

“Something in m’drink. No roofie... Maybe cherry meth,” Sakura whispered before she vomited again. Itachi reached out to hold her hair out of her face. He could hear her tears plinking into the toilet as they rolled down her cheeks.

“Roofie? He drugged you?” Itachi exclaimed. This time, when Sakura reached up, she just managed to pull the lever to flush properly.

“Sakura, we have to get you to the hospital, then. Or at least that doctor friend of yours,” Itachi said, standing up. Sakura’s hand clenched at the bottom of his kimono. Her grip was so weak. He could have easily pulled free.

“He can’t get m’here. No hospul... S’not safe,” she slurred. And then her arm relaxed.

“I threw up. Now sleep. I’ll be better... sleep,” she told him. Eyes drifting shut.

Itachi clenched his fists. On one hand, the hospital seemed to be the best choice. But on the other hand, it seemed that Sakura was worried about Madara finding her. The blood under her nails made it look like she had fought him, or someone else, off. And although he hated involving his mother in these sorts of matters, he couldn’t find an answer, so he found her in the kitchen instead.

Mikoto’s eyes widened. She pushed past him, running to the bathroom. She threw herself onto the tile floor beside Sakura, fingers checking for a pulse. Mikoto’s eyes darted around as she counted the beats. She touched her palm to Sakura’s forehead.

“And you said she vomited?” Mikoto questioned, turning to look at Itachi standing in the doorway. Itachi nodded, arms crossed across his chest. Fists clenched. Mikoto touched Sakura’s forehead again.

“Ojou-san, the hospital might-” Mikoto began in a quiet voice.

Sakura shook her head.

“M’aright... I’m used t’it...” Sakura mumbled.

Itachi’s eyes widened. The panic expanding inside his chest was made worse by those words. A knife between the ribs. All the implications that spilled out with that declaration.

Mikoto’s shoulders sagged.

“Well... the young lady knows what she wants. I suppose she’ll have to rest here,” Mikoto declared. And then she looked over her shoulder at her son again.

“I’ll get her cleaned up and then she can sleep in my room,” she said, getting to her feet. She opened up a cabinet to pull out a clean face towel.

“No. My room,” Itachi insisted. Mikoto’s eyes sharpened at that, but she didn’t protest.

“You should go,” Mikoto added.

“But-”

“Itachi, no woman wants to be seen like this. Let’s preserve the young lady’s dignity, hm?” Mikoto then suggested. With a smile that was most certainly not a smile.

Itachi had but little choice to leave the toilet. It was only when he found Kisame standing in the hallway that Itachi remembered their other guest. He stormed back to the entryway. Found the blond standing there with his hands in his jacket pockets. Itachi advanced on him, grabbing him by the collar. Slamming his back into the door.

“Talk!” Itachi barked.

“Like I said! She called me to come pick her up, yeah. The back door was unlocked. And when I got there, she was like this at the bar by herself!” Tommy sputtered.

“There was no one else around? Did you check?” Kisame interrogated too.

“Yeah! I mean... kind of. Mama was obviously top priority! I just kind of grabbed her and left,” he responded.

Itachi glowered at him. Eyes sizzling into his face.

“It looked like there was a fight there, though. Like shit was knocked over and some glasses were broken when I got there,” Tommy then added.

Growling, Itachi released him. He whirled around. Hands clenching and unclenching. Just as he thought to turn again, his phone rang.

“Hel-”

“Is she with you and is she safe?” Tenten demanded, cutting his greeting short. A car’s engine revved in the background. Itachi blinked.

“Yes and yes,” he answered.

“Good. We checked security footage at the club. It was Madara. Can I trust you to look out for the boss while we pursue him?” Tenten then queried.

“Yes,” Itachi said again.

“I’m leaving Tommy there to watch her. If anything happens to her, I’m going to personally put a bullet in you, Kumicho.”

The call ended.

Itachi looked over. Found Tommy leaning in to eavesdrop on the call. Their eyes met. Tommy jerked back, feigning innocence.

“She sure takes after the boss, huh?” Tommy offered with a nervous laugh.

“She does,” replied Itachi, turning away from him. He turned his glare instead to Kisame, who nearly flinched.

“Double the guard outside. No one gets in here without my say,” he ordered. Kisame nodded, reaching for his phone. But paused, staring at the young Kumicho’s back. At the silent stormed that seemed to brew around him as he slipped back into the house.

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx (here) | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

[onyxmelody25]

Legend of Angern - Original Work

Howdy folks. I decided to go ahead and post the prologue, see if it gets any bites and interest. Keep in mind, this is a rough draft, final edits haven’t been done so I know it’s not perfect! Hope you enjoy!

Written by: Brooke Singler

DISCLAIMER: Some content that may not be suitable for young children such as blood and violence.

Prologue:

The silent streets welcomed the assassin. Hood pulled low, the figure blew on his fingers to warm them against the biting cold and watching stooped shapes shuffle across the mostly deserted streets of Dalavich. It took a brave soul, or a desperate one, to leave their home during the Veiled Night. A thick gloom crept across cobbled paths, turning the broken and bent figures of Dalavich’s poor into ghastly specters.

The assassin smiled to himself and pushed his hood back and settled the mask over his face. He secured the leather straps behind his head and adjusted until the mask rested comfortably, hiding everything but his eyes. He studied his reflection in the warped glass of a broken window-pane. Muted fire-light flickered through the fog from a hanging lantern several paces away. He looked…he looked intimidating he thought. The leather material had been painted and shaped into the likeness of some angry creature. Like a bear or a wolf. There was no fancy decoration to the guise; just large white fangs with furred lips peeled back in a menacing snarl. It took a moment for him to adjust himself to the strangeness of the thing upon his face. It pinched against his nose and his breath misted hotly against his cheeks. It was stifling and uncomfortable. But the job required it.

The fog drifted around him and he flipped his hood up. Shadow enveloped his face and his eyes widened, if only slightly. An unholy creature stared back him. He could see the attraction behind using such a façade during the time of the Veiled Night. With no moon in the sky and with the Veil thin, none would take him for a man. He smiled. It wasn’t his style but he thought he could get used to the anonymity the mask provided. He could only imagine the fear he might provoke.

           He wasn’t in the habit of questioning the desires of his employers. As long as they paid the coin, he’d do what was asked no matter how strange it might seem. Still, this was perhaps one of the more…unusual…jobs he’d accepted.

           He prowled through the too-quiet night occasionally jumping out and snarling at an unsuspecting person unlucky enough to be out. He kept walking, laughing softly to himself, as the terrified cries echoed off walls of the city slums. He looked up as oppressive clouds crept across the sky, drawing an already dark world into an even deeper blackness. The assassin moved at a steady lope through the winding streets working his way toward the looming silhouette in the not-so-far distance.

           On a normal night the palace of the High King would be the dominating structure obscuring the star-lit sky. Tonight, however, with no moon and no stars, the only building truly visible was the Spire of Illyia. It rose up, a milky-white needle, toward the heavens acting as a gentle beacon. He assumed a goddess-fearing man might take comfort in the sight. The only comfort the assassin found was that he was drawing nearer to his intended target. He quickened his pace and became just another spectral shadow weaving amongst shadows.

 ***

Patron Mother Bronagh pulled the heavy shawl tightly over her shoulder and tucked her feet up beneath her. She nestled into the confines of her favorite chair and watched the fire crackle and sputter in the hearth. It was too early to be awake but her sleep had been fitful and so she thought perhaps the heat and the comfort of a book might distract her. With enough luck, she’d be asleep again before she turned the second page. She was already beginning to feel drowsy as she traced her fingers across the thick leather bindings.

           Something about the Veiled Night always left her restless. Every month as the cycle of the moon began anew the veil between worlds thinned. In all her fifty years she had not once seen a Shade lurking in the long night, nor any other uncanny spirit for that matter. But there was a change, one that left the air thick and palpable with possibility. The Mother goddess watched over her children always, even on the Veiled Night when it was claimed her power waned. Bronagh knew that to be false. The goddess was all-powerful; there was never a time when Illyia’s grace and love didn’t touch all. Still, she had never quite been able to shake the unease she felt on the first eve’ of every month. She reminded herself it was a night like any other and smiled fondly at her book. The Canticle of Grace was her favorite and she knew she could take comfort in Illyia’s teachings. Goddess-willing she would get a little more rest before she was required to go about her daily duties.

She was growing old, she thought, if she preferred the quiet solitude of a warm fire and book to the life of a priestess of Illyia. She found herself smiling and her eyes began to drift closed. She was looking forward to meeting the lass who would become Ouala. Bronagh had served the Faith well, but she was naught more than a temporary head for the Church. If her pupil’s letters were any indication, than the Church would soon have their hands full with a young woman who would turn the Faith on its head. Bronagh chuckled to herself, unaware that she was fast falling asleep. It would be an exciting time for the Faith, and Bronagh was grateful she’d have the opportunity to witness it.

 ***

The sound of breaking glass yanked Bronagh from her sleep. She jerked awake and looked around, startled. The fire in the hearth still burned, but the flames had dwindled to a steady smolder. She rubbed her eyes and shucked off her blanket and shivered against the sudden cold that struck her bare skin. Dressed in only her night-shift she wasn’t prepared for the blast of icy air whistling in through the broken window.

           The chambers of the Patron Mother resided in one of the upper-level floors of the Spire of Illyia. The height had been uncomfortable at first, especially sitting out on the terrace, but after a time she began to take solace in the height. She felt closer to the goddess so high up. Bronagh stepped forward and stifled a small cry as she stepped on broken glass. Looking down she noticed the twisted figure of a bird. Its neck was broken and its wings stuck out at odd angles.

           What on earth? A bird, so late in the evening? She stepped back wincing at the pain and left a bloodied footprint on the floor. She maneuvered around the glass and moved toward the window. The silky-white curtains fluttered about in the wind. Bronagh was looking for the hole the bird had crashed through but it was obscenely dark, even with the dwindling fire behind her. She stumbled to her night-stand and fished about for a candle. She waved her fingers over the wick and a strange symbol, made of glowing orange light, appeared and then the candle flickered to life. Bronagh turned around and then nearly screamed, dropping the candle. It snuffed out in a puff of smoke.

           A man stood in front of her. A black cloak fluttered about his shoulders and legs, hood pulled low over his face. His eyes glittered in the dark. But he was no man. He couldn’t be. Half his face was that of a vicious animal. A shade? Bronagh had never heard of any spirits actually harming innocent folk!

           “Quite the brave one you are.” He crooned. “Are you not afraid?”

           Bronagh stumbled backward. “Blessed Mother protect me!”

           The hellish creature chuckled and stepped forward. “No goddess to hear you tonight. Now, if you’ll be so kind. I need you to scream.”

           The creature lunged forward. There was a flash of steel in the dark. And Bronagh screamed.

 ***

The assassin stood over the old woman’s corpse and cleaned off his blade upon the torn fabric of her night gown. Blood spread around her in a dark, glistening, pool. Sheathing his dagger he reached down and dragged the body across the room, letting her legs smear through the blood. He rested her in her chair, facing the fireplace and rested her hands, palm up, upon her thighs. Her head sagged forward, blood still dripping down her chin to puddle amongst the folds of her white shift.

           Beyond the doors of her bedchamber he could hear the beginnings of priests and priestesses charging down the circular halls. He saw the first flicker of torchlight through the cracks of the door frame. Maintaining his sedate pace he pushed the woman’s head back so she looked as if she were quietly sitting in her chair. On her upturned palms he rested both her eyes which he had carefully carved from her skull. Then, using her blood, he painted a dot upon her forehead and trailed a spiral extending outward from the dot. Lastly, a delicate necklace was wrapped around her throat. Hanging from the thin, silver, chain was a red-stone set into a simple iron-wrought facing.

           The assassin studied the gruesome sight and then casually moved back to the balcony where the doors remained open. The icy wind blew inside stirring about the white curtains which were covered in red splatter. He crouched upon the ledge of the ornate, marble, railing and waited. He watched the bedchamber doors as the shouting increased. First, there was a tentative knock outside as someone called the woman’s name. The assassin tugged his hood lower, and maintained a hunched posture. The cries increased and then the doors crashed open as two middle-aged priests stumbled inside. A few young women poured in after the priests, torches held high and stopped short as they took in the carnage. One screamed and promptly fainted while the first woman, a stunning alfaen with silvery-blonde hair, looked up and saw him crouched on the balcony. She yelled and ran forward.

The assassin rose and stepped backward, allowing the wind to whip his cloak up around him. He really wasn’t one for such dramatics, but again, the job required it. Then he dropped and disappeared into the mists.

 ***

“You work faster than I expected.” The cloaked figure said.

           The assassin stripped off the mask, grateful to be able to finally breathe fresh air and wiped some sweat from his brow. The climb up the tower and back down had been more of a physical feat than he expected. And his mark had put up a fight. A pathetic one, but a fight none-the-less. He tossed the mask toward the cloaked figure. A hand shot out and caught the mask with ease. At the same moment a dark pouch flew through the air and landed at the assassin’s feet. He knelt down and picked up the coin-pouch and counted a few of the marks.

           “I’m not usually approached the same night for a job, but this one was simple enough. Not every day you’re asked to kill a Priestess, so there wasn’t much planning needed. Everyone knows the Spire is mostly unguarded. They’ve never had cause to fear assassination. Suppose you changed that for them, eh?” His eyes lit up as he determined the agreed amount was present. It was a massive sum. “I could get used to work like this. Need anyone else taken care of?”

           The assassin studied the alley where the figure hid, enveloped in shadow. “Not personally…however,” The figure flicked a coin toward the assassin. He snatched it from the air. He turned it over in his palm and examined the outward spiral that matched the one he’d painted on the priestesses head. “Head to the south and seek out the Fox. Hear he’s recruiting. You’ll get sums such as that every month.”  

           The assassin smudged his thumb across the silver coin and glanced up. The figure was gone. Pocketing his earnings he tucked the coin into the folds of his cloak. He preferred to work alone but if the Fox was seeking men…. Well, the assassin couldn’t pass up such an elicit opportunity. Not only that but he found his curiosity piqued at exactly what type of job could be worth such a small fortune.