#that being said i think i drew gray too much like a prep in a private academy in the updated drawing here

[b-bing]

Was going through some art from a couple years ago and tried to redraw one of them because it scared me how different it looked

[moral-turpitudes]

Just Business:

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Some Fluff, Slight smut?, Swearing, Drinking, Neglect, Fighting, Blood/Gore, etc.

Word Count: 3,195

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader 

Requested by: Anon

Request: “Could you make one with Tommy where he married the reader for business purposes and she wants to make things work but he’s cold towards her so she spends most of her time with Charlie, and when the whole family have to go back to Small Heath they become close but he gets jealous. Angst/Fluff and Smut if you think it fits.”

Summary: A marriage done for business seemed fitting at first, but as tensions rise among the family, Tommy eventually finds it in him to love again, but it falls on deaf ears as Y/N struggles to cope with his antics. 

The clock struck midnight as you lied awake, the door ajar where Tommy had left to go to his study. He’d often leave you in the middle of the night when his thoughts became too much and when his emotions would threaten to take over. He had only cried around you once before, and it was when his wife Grace, had passed. Other days his mood would swing like a fragile ball on a pendulum, and you being one of his assistants at the company, you got to see almost every face of Thomas Shelby first hand, except one of genuine love. His love seemed to only be reserved for ghosts.

The next morning you would awake and hear Charlie crying, and scuffling down the hall looking for his father. He was a toddler, hell-bent on trying to run through the house any chance he got, so mornings were often spent chasing him around the vast expanse of rooms. Unfortunately, Tommy was already gone for the day, leaving you and the nanny to care for him until it was time for you to come in during the afternoon.

At some points while at home, you swore you could feel the portrait above the stairwell giving you daggers as you carried Charlie up to his room, Grace’s glistening, painted eyes boring a hole into your soul. Tommy hadn’t been the only one affected by her sudden death though, as the whole family was facing his wrath lately.

Your marriage had been a quick business arrangement ordered by Polly. She grew tired of Tommy’s antics, thinking him finding someone else would help him move on despite Grace’s death being only 6 months prior. And so here you were: a diamond ring and signed paper here, a nice dress and a family portrait of fake smiles there, and nothing but tense conversations and awkward attempts at affection getting you by until now.

Tommy was never one for love, at least not with you. You knew that deep down the only time that he seemed to love you was when he fucked you on the nights that the business became too much for him. When he’d come home needing some sort of release that wasn’t opium or whiskey, something to keep the memories of Grace and the shovels at bay, if only for a little while.

As the clock down the hall drew nearer to noon, you finally got Charlie down for a nap and got ready for work, a tear threatening to flow down your cheek as you put on your makeup, thinking about how much you had loved him secretly, even before Grace died. You’d always steal glances at him and would stay after to help him with paperwork, and it didn’t take long for Polly to know. She hated Grace, seeing as she betrayed them years before, almost destroying the family. But she’d always see the way you interacted with him and the rest of the boys and Ada, and how you immediately helped with Charlie when things got too much for Tommy. She loved you and the rest of the family did too, seeing as you were one of his most loyal assistants, and so it only made sense at the time that maybe you would be the perfect fit for Tommy. You never wanted his wife dead, and you could’ve gone your whole life just admiring from afar like all the other women would do on the streets, but you didn’t think you’d end up how you were now. Taking the place of his dead wife, being a step-mom to Charlie, and trapped in a loveless marriage to the man you felt so strongly towards.

As you blotted your tears away, you quickly finished up your makeup. Attempting to look somewhat alive despite your loneliness inside. If it wasn’t for this union being for “the sake of the business” as Tommy harshly put it when you’d overheard him talking to Polly, you’d be out finding someone who actually loved you, but in your twisted turn of events this was what had to be done.

The nanny came by the room, giving you a sympathetic glance as you tightened the belt around your waist that was accentuating your dress, you mentally kicking yourself for wearing such a revealing dress without thinking about the cold weather outside.

“I’ll have Charlie for the rest of the day as usual Mrs. Shelby, and I’ll let the maid know to straighten up and the cooks to start prepping for dinner later.” She said softly.

“Alright, thank you...truly. I...I mean we don’t know what we’d do without you all. I know Tommy doesn’t say much...but thank you for all your work.” You say, giving her a small hug. She was your only friend in the house it seemed. She’d help you when you’d drink yourself into a crying fit when Tommy was off on business, and she’d listen to you when you needed reassurance on if it was the right choice by marrying him.

“If he didn’t love you, you’d be sleeping elsewhere my dear. He’ll wise up, just give him time.” She would say, helping you back to the bedroom on those cold, dreary nights.

As you left the insanely large house you drove out onto the gravel roads, nearing Small Heath gradually. Your heart raced as you parked the car along the black dirt roads, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as the sounds of pounded metal filled your ears from the warehouses in the distance.

Other women and children would move out of your way as you swiftly walked down the narrow sidewalks and through the doors of the shop. The sound of papers flipping and typewriters clicking as you made your way silently over to your desk that was next to Tommy’s office.

“Good afternoon Y/N how was the drive?” Polly asked sitting near you. You sighed and looked at the stack of papers on the desk as you answered.

“It was fine. Quiet as usual up until arriving here of course.” You said with a small smile. You hoped she wouldn’t see the silent pain behind your eyes but you knew she did because she lingered there for a bit longer.

“Trouble at home?” She asked, her eyes flicking to Thomas as he sat in his office smoking a cigarette and looking at his own stack of papers.

“Always.” You said shortly, getting out your own cigarette and lighting it.

“Am I doing something wrong Pol? I’ve tried my best to be there for him. To be there for Charlie. To try to love him even though he couldn’t give a damn about me...” You said looking out at the lobby of the shop, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“You’re doing the best you can my dear. I’ll have a talk with him.” She said, an annoyance in her voice as she said the last part.

“Thank you.” You said as she walked off, knocking hard on Tommy’s door. You could see in through one of the windows, but you willed yourself not to look at him as your anger bubbled up inside you.

The stack of papers in front of you seemed like a mountain at the time, business proposals, unsigned license agreements, betting numbers, bank statements, anything and everything under the sun needing to be signed by the end of the day, and so while you heard Tommy shouting at Polly, you poured yourself into your work.

After awhile you saw Polly leave in a hurry and so you got up, following her out the door with your coat draped over you.

“Where are you going Polly?” You asked, the chilled air almost taking your breath away.

“To the Garrison. I need a drink. Do you care to join?” She asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You said sighing in relief as you both hurried into the bar. The familiar scent of smoke and whiskey filling your nose as a few people sat inside drinking their woes away.

“What will it be?” The bartender said.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, what about you Y/N?” Polly said.

“Whiskey.” You said eyeing the bottle you’d grown to love only because of your bastard of a husband.

“He’s already rubbed off on you. Whiskey was never your drink till now.” Polly said sipping her gin.

“Well, now it is. Needed something strong enough to deal with his bullshit.” You said, knocking back a shot.

“What did he say when you talked to him?” You asked, bracing yourself for the worst.

“He told me that he’s wanting to move you and Charlie back here to Small Heath due to the recent gang problems.” She said.

“Is he mad? He can’t up and move right now! Why would he do that? He doesn’t care about us! I practically see his son more than he does.” You said, grabbing the bottle from behind the counter.

“Hey that’ll cost ya!” The bartender said. You and Polly shot him a look and he glanced at the huge rock on your finger.

“Oh...I apologize Mrs. Gray...and...Mrs. Shelby. It’s on the house.” He said before turning to serve the other patrons.

“Why would he fucking move us down here...if he doesn’t love me why would he want to protect me? I was just a fucking business deal after all...right?” You said, a tear slipping down your face as you knocked another shot back.

Polly glanced at her drink as she let you continue.

“He told me he wants to keep you safe because he loves you, I know my nephew well enough to see that he does love you, he’s just god-awful at showing it recently.” Polly said.

“Well when he wants to actually care about me more than his dead fucking wife then let me know.” You said before taking the shot glass and whiskey bottle and walking to one of the booths in the back of the bar.

Polly sighed and finished her drink, watching as a blonde haired man came over to your table and sat next to you, draping an arm around your shoulder.

The shots slowly made their way into your system as you poured yourself another one, barely acknowledging his presence at first.

“Why are you alone and wearing a dress like that with a ring around ya finger aye? Old husband getting ya down?” He asked, whiskey tainting his breath as he spoke in your ear.

“How about we go somewhere more quiet. I can love you like he couldn’t.” He said. You knocked back a couple more shots and smirked as you awkwardly ignored his advances and made flirty conversation to pass the time. Polly stiffly turned back to her drink, striking up a conversation with the bartender as you soon let your hand wander down the mans chest as he got closer.

You felt wrong for making moves on him as he wasn’t your husband, but at this point you had no love to really lose, or so you thought.

Just as you and the blonde haired man started making out, you heard the doors to the Garrison fly open, revealing your emotionless shell of a husband. His stoic face looking towards the bar to see Polly nursing another gin and tonic and chatting up the bartender.

“Thought you were working, Polly.” He said annoyed.

“I am. I’m trying to work on your love life because you won’t. I love you but you don’t know a good thing until it’s gone.” She said, her words stinging him a bit as he thought of Grace.

In the distance he heard a familiar giggle and his head shot up, his eyes glaring at the woman he desperately came to love, wearing a revealing evening dress, kissing and giggling with some blonde haired worker from god knows where.

“Is that what you call working on my love life Polly?” He said pointing to you in the distance, your face burning as the now half-drunk bottle of whiskey coursed through you, helping you not to have a care in the world as you giggled at the mans joke as he reached for your waist.

“If that’s what gets you to see reason, then yes.” Polly said sipping her drink as she watched you two making out.

“As much as I want to I can’t. I’m sorry...I’m married...” You said breathlessly, stopping his hands from traveling further.

“He doesn’t have to know.” He said.

You looked up through your slightly blurred vision to see the familiar peaked cap of your husband getting closer to your table.

“He already does.” You said, a nervous edge to your voice as you watched everything unfold before you.

Tommy yanked the man off you by the back of shirt and spun him around to where he was facing him.

“What are you doing here messing around with my fucking wife aye!?” He said pushing him roughly into the wall before landing a fist to his jaw.

The man smirked, spitting out blood right onto Tommy’s shirt before speaking.

“I was just about to do what you couldn’t.” He said.

You cringed and took another shot as you heard the sound of the mans jaw break as Tommy’s fist landed on his face once again, rendering him unconscious.

As you watched in silence, he grabbed his cap and cut a gash in his face that was deep enough to need stitches.

“Tommy stop!” You yelled, struggling to get up and stumbling towards him, nearly knocking him over. His breathing was ragged as you clutched onto him, his arms gripping your waist and steadying you.

“I-I can explain...” You said wiping a stray tear from your eye as you felt your mascara streaking down your face.

“Explain fucking what Y/N!? That you wanted to fuck him? Am I not enough for you? You had to go find some random man just because I’m busy?!” He said shouting loudly.

You shakily stepped forward looking him in his eyes which were burning like blue flames from jealousy.

“If I did why would you care? Just say it Thomas...you don’t fucking love me! You love Grace, and no woman will ever amount to her even though she’s six feet under. You’ve never loved me...and you just expect me to act like everything’s fucking fine, but it’s not!.....Hell! I even see your fucking son more than you do, now how is that love Thomas? If you don’t love me just say it. Because I’ve loved you as best I could...and I’ve loved you long before that. If you did love me, and I mean actually loved me...then this wouldn’t have been a “business deal” it would’ve been a proper fucking marriage!” You yelled, throwing your shot glass on the ground, watching as the glass shattered into a million sparkling pieces on the wooden floor.

He stood there silently as you stumbled off towards the restroom, shooing Polly away as you closed the door behind you and locked it. You practically collapsed on the floor sobbing as the cold tile soothed your burning skin, the room spinning the longer you laid there.

“What are you going to do Tommy?” Polly asked as she eyed him from her seat at the bar.

“I’m going to try to get my wife back. It’s not a fucking business deal anymore Pol. Never was. You think I didn’t notice the whispers from you and the lads when she’d leave the room? About how she liked me and how we’d be good together? You think I didn’t notice her eyes watching me as I worked despite being married to Grace? Of course I loved Grace but she’s not been the easiest fucking thing to get over. I know I’ve been a terrible husband, I can see it in Y/N’s eyes every day...I can see her withering away from me as well as Charlie and it kills me inside...I’m just not the best at loving people and you know that...ever since Grace died it’s like a part of me has too, but I’m going to get that back. I have to.” He said, his eyes glistening a bit as he headed for the restrooms.

He knocked lightly and waited before calling your name, panic coursing through him as you didn’t answer.

Without a second thought he shoved his shoulder into the door, busting the lock and stumbling in to find you on the floor barely conscious.

You mumbled something unintelligible as he crouched down and picked you up, bringing you out to his car as Polly followed quickly behind.

“My god where are you taking her?” She yelled over the start of the engine.

“Home. Tell the lads I’m taking the day off.” He said before speeding off towards the house.

Once there, he carried you to the lavish bathroom that connected to your all’s bedroom and sat you down in a chair. He quickly got a cold rag and wiped it on your forehead and around the rest of your face trying to keep you conscious. You perked up slightly at the cold sensation but were quickly overcome by the all too familiar feeling of nausea, your body cursing you as you stumbled towards the toilet almost blindly. Tommy held your hair back as best he could, waiting for what felt like ages for you to stop getting sick. With a weak hand you flushed and stumbled up, shakily brushing your teeth and staring at your tragic reflection in the mirror as Tommy kept an eye on you from the door frame. He held a pair of your sleepwear and one of his t-shirts in his beat up hands.

You looked at him as you grudgingly took the clothes from him, changing into them carefully as your balance was still shit.

After wrestling them on, you went straight for the bed, barely acknowledging Tommy’s presence as he watched you carefully.

“I’m going to bed Thomas. You can leave for all I care.” You said wrapping yourself in the plush covers and closing your eyes.

“I’m not leaving Y/N.” He said as you heard his footsteps softly move towards the bed. The mattress shifting a bit as he climbed in next to you, letting you snuggle up against him.

“You should be at work.” You mumbled.

He stroked your arm lightly as he laid there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not while my wife’s a mess.” He said.

“Why should you care?” You asked, sleep threatening to take over.

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’ve just been terrible at showing it. To both you and Charlie. I love you and I’m not going to lose you. I can’t lose you.” He said quickly, knowing you’d fall asleep at any moment.

“Tell me you love me when I wake up then, because I won’t remember this.” You said, listening to his heartbeat as you let the darkness overtake you.

“I will, I promise.” He said, gently kissing the top of your head as he laid there with you, hoping sleep would take him too.

Tag List:

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[vancampemily]

Emily VanCamp On Reprising Her Role As Sharon Carter And Those Power Broker Theories

Sharon Carter’s dark, bitter, and vengeful return in ‘The Falcon and the Winter Soldier’ could mean many things—or nothing at all.

You’re always one decision away from a totally different life, and that rule applies doubly in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. A simple choice in the heat of the moment can have grave consequences for our beloved heroes; Peter Quill punching Thanos just as Iron Man and Spider-Man almost pull the Infinity gauntlet off the villain’s hand is a hotly debated Twitter topic every other week. The current Marvel conflict on everyone’s tongue? Why on Earth is Sharon Carter (Emily VanCamp) an enemy of the state, when the Avenger who got her in this mess in the first place is roaming his past life worry-free?

Last we saw Sharon, she was the wide-eyed, determined Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a CIA operative whose loyalty to Steve Rogers/Captain America (Chris Evans) prompted her to defy the Sokovia Accords and steal Cap’s shield and Falcon’s wings from the government. Her allegiance to Steve landed her a kiss from the Avenger but not without controversy: Sharon is the grandniece of Peggy Carter, Steve’s true love and the woman he traveled back in time to be with at the end of Endgame. Sharon’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it romance with Steve was just as short-lived as her residence in the MCU timeline, but thanks to the newest Disney+ series, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sharon gets a second life—just not the one the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent envisioned.

When we meet Sharon in episode 3, titled “Power Broker,” the glow of the woman who longed to live up to her grand-aunt’s accomplishments is eclipsed by a dark cloud. She’s traded in her button-up shirts for hoodies and operates as an art thief out of a sprawling mansion in the eerie fictional town of Madripoor. She hasn’t spoken to her family members in months. When Sam reminds her he was also on the run, she reminds him, “Was. Is. Big difference.” She’s cynical, bitter, and vengeful, which apparently turned her into a stone-cold killer. She murders three bounty hunters with a steel bar and darts a knife into the shoulder of another. Sharon Carter is long gone, her one driving force the desire to be pardoned. Who is this new person? Well, Marvel devotees have their theories. Ahead, Emily VanCamp talks reprising her role as Sharon Carter, those Power Broker theories, and more.

Let’s go back to your Marvel introduction. What qualities initially drew you to the character of Sharon Carter?

I loved her dedication and devotion to Cap [and] to the cause. She was in this bloodline of agents, and this kick-ass woman who was a little bit more idealistic at the time. Now some of those qualities have been stripped away, unfortunately, based on her circumstances and the sacrifices she made. She’s wondering whether or not it was all worth it. She feels abandoned.

Knowing what she knows now, especially with Cap out of the MCU timeline, do you think Sharon would have made a different choice in Civil War?

I don’t think so. One of the things I love about her is her integrity. And to her, that’s what she believed in and that’s what she thought was the right thing to do. So I think it’s less about Steve and more about her devotion to the cause at that time. No, I don’t think she would go back and do anything differently. Do I think that the character would have liked a little bit of help, with all these other characters being pardoned, and she’s just sort of been left on the run as this fugitive? Yeah, I think her reaction to it would have changed. But I don't think she would have changed her choices.

At the end of Avengers: Endgame, Sam and Bucky were able to get closure from Captain America. Do you ever wonder what closure would look like for Sharon, had she had the opportunity?

I’m sure she would have wanted that, but I think that she's moved on from that. Now she just wants to be pardoned to get her life back. That ship has sailed in so many ways for Sharon, and we don't even really address [Steve and her] in the show. It’s so much more about where she is now and how to move forward and make that deal with Sam: Listen, I’ll help you out if you can get me out of here. [Sam and Bucky] are on this mission and she's reluctantly helping them, and that’s what the dynamic is now. Does she want to? Probably not. But is it her ticket out? Probably.

What did you have to understand about her mindset now in order to play her in this new phase?

I think it was just important for me, one, that we address all this time that’s passed and kind of discuss, “Where has she been? What has she been doing?” And we talk about it a little bit in episode 3, that she’s been hustling and dealing in stolen art and living in Madripoor. You get the sense that things have not been easy on Sharon. And she’s definitely made her way and she’s thrived in this environment, but it’s not an environment she would have chosen. She was sort of, in her mind, left behind, so there’s a chip on her shoulder that I think it would be really hard to get rid of at this point. And she even says at one point, “The superhero thing is a joke.” She’s definitely lost that kind of idealistic, young agent mind.

How did you prepare for that change in her?

I think it’s great to dig a little bit deeper into all these characters and their perspectives. And with Sharon, it’s so much about her resentment and her tenacity. She’s thrived in this new environment, even though it’s not ideal. So that’s something that’s carried through in her personality. She didn’t lose that. But I think just her goals, her thoughts have just changed.

What is a Marvel training session like? Sharon killed so many bounty hunters by herself.

It was months of prepping even for that sequence in episode 3. Sharon doesn’t have superpowers, so everything is just with her bare hands. We wanted it to look as gritty and raw and real as possible, so we trained a lot. Every day that I wasn’t shooting Falcon or The Resident, I was in that training center going over choreography, doing the footwork, doing boxing, doing jujitsu, all the things that I need to do to prep my body and mind for those sequences. You hope that when you get there to shoot it, that muscle memory and that adrenaline kicks in, and off you go. But Marvel is amazing at preparing you for those moments. I was welcomed to go and train every moment I could, and I did. But to have that available is just such a gift, especially when you've got a sequence like that, where you can't really hide from anything. It’s just you.

Sharon’s dark return reminded me of your Revenge character Emily Thorne. Do you prefer these darker roles over characters like Nicolette in the soapy drama The Resident?

They’re all so different. I think that’s part of what I like—just embodying totally different characters. Revisiting Sharon was very cool because we get to see her, as you said, in this totally different light. I don’t have any sort of preference. It was definitely difficult because last year I was doing Falcon and Winter Soldier and The Resident at the same time, so sometimes getting home at night I was a little bit screwy in my brain as to where I was headed the next day and what mind frame I should be in. But it’s not to say I enjoy playing one more than the other. It was fun to get back to Sharon, though, and see this new, kind of hardened version of her.

What was it like shooting both The Resident and Falcon in the middle of a pandemic?

Even before the pandemic, it was hard because it’s two different characters, one of them being very, very physical, so even that in itself was a challenge. Then the pandemic happened, and luckily I didn’t have to do both at the same time. We only had about a month left on Falcon and Winter Soldier, and I finished that up and then went straight into The Resident. It was nerve-racking going back to work after months of being isolated and at home, but also really nice to have a sense of normalcy. Even though it’s not normal at all on set anymore, it’s nice to be around my colleagues, to be at work. We’re kind of lucky to be able to do that and just to deliver new content. Everyone’s streaming everything Marvel. It's made our jobs a little bit more challenging, but also more rewarding in many ways because we’re able to deliver that joy.

When you pay close attention to Falcon’s episode titles, they’ve been very descriptive of each episode. So when the third episode was titled “Power Broker” and we see Sharon return, Marvel theorists ran with it.

We see Sharon return. We see Zemo return. It’s kind of like, yeah, episode 3 was always a big blast of so many things. There’s a ton of theories going around.

Have you ever envisioned Sharon going to the dark side, going against the heroes? What do you make of those theories?

Sharon’s always been this kind of idealistic personality, but I also think there are so many gray areas now between heroes and villains, and that’s something these Marvel shows are really exploring more in-depth. I think anyone at this point is capable of anything. There are so many characters that haven't even appeared yet. There's a lot going on in these six episodes. So for me, I don’t want to say too much because there’s just so much more to come.

source

[hunnybadgerv]

Falling for Farah's Framejob | The Wayhaven Chronicles | Det. Bishop Vasquez x Agent Mason

Summary: Farah develops a plan and runs with it of their own accord, inviting Detective Bishop Vasquez to the warehouse to help them cook up some fun and silliness for the rest of Unit Bravo.

a/n: Reminder, Bishop is genderfluid. So, a horrible thing was heard in my own kitchen during the making of dinner and I couldn��t resist using it. Though this thing ran off with my brain. Consider yourself warned there is a lot of domestic fluff, cooking, and general silliness with a splash of pining.

Read on AO3

Falling for Farah’s Framejob

-1-

BAM!

“What the …?” Farah chirruped, her head snapping toward the detective.

Bishop raised a brow at her. It took a second for their completely serious look to give way to a tiny smirk that twitched upward. The two stared at each other, then Bishop tipped the chef’s knife under their hand enough to show the vampire the massacred clove of garlic. Farah’s brow drew together.

“You want to try?” Bishop asked with wide grin.

Farah’s eyes widened.

“Don’t go all out,” the detective warned, setting a garlic clove on the cutting board between them and set the knife down. They could just imagine Farah hitting the knife so hard the blade shattered or the clove pulverized to nothing.

Bishop talked her through where to set the blade and then Farah dropped a heavy fist atop it, which dusted them both with a fine mist of garlic. Again they looked at one another, then fell into laughter in unison.

“Think that might have been a little much,” Bishop stated.

“Guess now we’re garlic buddies,” Farah howled, bumping the detective’s shoulder with their own.

Bish laughed wildly, trying to dust some of the juicier bits off their clothes. “Good thing all the vampire stories are wrong or you’d be fucked.”

Farah froze and blinked once, then struck her best Wicked Witch of the West pose. “I’m melting.”

The detective snickered and shook their head, handling the next two cloves on their own.

“Melting,” Farah insisted, bumping the detective again with their shoulder. “What a world,” she crooned, acting like she was indeed fading away behind the counter.

“I thought you were helping me,” Bish charged, glancing back over their shoulder.

“I got you.” Farah sprang up next to them with a little hop. “Whatcha need?”

Another head shake. “Stir the rice and see if the water’s boiling yet.”

“On it.”

Bishop finished up the chopping, keeping a bit of an eye on Farah. The detective still wasn’t quite sure why they were doing this. Nate had told them that most vampires didn’t really eat, in fact he insinuated that most of them actively avoided I, which made sense with hypersensitivity and all. So, when Farah suggested that Bishop come over to the warehouse and cook with her, it was kind of a surprise.

They’d met in town and figured out a menu on the fly in the grocery store. Farah wanted to go all out, at least in the detective’s opinion. Apparently, their Southern tutor had also introduced the vampire to their hometown favorites. Bishop, however, kept the vampires’ oversensitivity in mind and planned to make sure to keep the flavors as natural and controlled as they could manage. They kind of hoped that the chocolate pièce de résistance might be the savior of the evening if the Cajun Gumbo went awry for some members of Unit Bravo—one in particular sprang almost instantly to mind.

Even with Farah’s easily distracted nature, it didn’t take the two of them long to get everything together. The rice was warming toward perfect doneness. The sauces were chilling. The flourless chocolate cakes were resting in what Bishop was sure had to be the safest hiding place. And the French bread was sliced nice and thin waiting for some the homemade garlic butter and a quick toasting in the oven. The two of them even managed to get most of the pots and pans cleaned and put back away.

As Bishop wiped down the counter, Farah cackled. The detective really wasn’t sure what they were talking about anymore, but their abs were killing them from laughing so much.

Noticing the wispy tendrils of smoke rising from the pan, Bishop nodded in Farah’s direction. “Pour that flour in there and stir it up.”

The flash of movement might have stopped the story for a second, but it picked back up as the oil sizzled with its fluffy addition.

“What’s this supposed to look like?” Farah asked.

“Wet sand,” Bishop told them, looking up to notice the intense nose wrinkle on Farah’s face.

Amber eyes blinked at them as if she was waiting for them to deliver a punchline.

“Don’t leave me hanging. What’d he say?”

Farah flashed a toothy smile and chuckled. “It just gets more wet when you lick it.”

Eyes closed in regret, Bishop’s head fell back with a shake.

“Can’t believe I’m the one that has to break it to you, but that’s how it’s supposed to work,” a low voice offered from the doorway to the hall.

Bishop’s chin dropped slowly and they swallowed at the sudden lump in their throat. Mason smirked and the detective tried not to think about the fact that he probably heard the gesture. At least they knew he couldn’t possibly hear the tingles that the sound of his voice shot down their spine. The way his keen gray eyes studied them made Bishop wonder if maybe they were wrong.

The spell broke when Mason sneered. “What the hell is that smell?” he asked Farah.

She shrugged.

“Yeah, figured this was going to go south,” Mason declared

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Bishop taunted with a sharp glare in Mason’s direction. No one criticized their cookery skills without literally eating their words.

“Whatever that is, it’s unsalvageable.”

“Bet,” Bishop shot back before Mason even finished the last syllable.

That got his attention. Mason straightened. “You’re on. Don’t think your science’ll save you now.”

“Shows what you know. That’s exactly cooking is, Agent.” Bish laughed knowingly. “Just delicious chemistry.”

“Uh, Bish,” Farah called.

The distinctly raw flour smell was venturing past toasty. Sliding up to their cooking assistant, Bish grabbed up a wooden spoon from the rest next to the stove and turned their furrowed brow and full attention to the roux. They’d made it like they usually did, forgetting that Farah wouldn’t be familiar with proper speed roux procedure. Mason’s hearty chuckle resounded off the tile surfaces with a smugness that Bish would not allow. There was no damn way they were going to lose this bet, and certainly not in the first two minutes.

Not a half a minute later, the roux was saved and another set of scrutinizing eyes manifested in the doorway. Adam’s jade gaze darted around the room like a chaperone at a high school dance. Bishop wondered if it was Farah’s remark or Mason’s that caught the unit commander’s attention and drew him toward the action as well.

“Still smells like chalk,” Mason noted. The click of his lighter being snapped open and closed repeatedly now echoed around the kitchen.

Bishop rolled their eyes then raised their hand to mimic a quaking duck with their slender fingers. “Yeah, you just keep talking. You’ll choke on every word.”

Mason chuckled at them, snapping the lighter closed and leaning forward to rest their elbows on their knees. The detective couldn’t look away if they’d wanted to. The silver finish of the lighter glinted in the low light as it twirled between Mason’s deft fingers. Their tongue darted out over their bottom lip and pulled it between their teeth. His wolfish grin and the toasty scent in the air pulled Bishop out of their trance.

Specialist Agent my ass. Troublemaker Supreme is far more accurate, Bishop thought. The roux, thankfully, was only at the strong cafe au lait stage. This time, they kept their full attention on the pan despite the fact that they could feel Mason’s keen gray eyes on them. It made their skin prickle.

“What are you making?” Adam asked.

Before Bishop even thought about answering, Farah hopped onto the counter and started detailing the planned menu. “Gumbo,” she answered in a sing-song tone.

“Chicken and sausage,” Bishop added as they stretched to reach a bowl brimming with roughly chopped vegetables.

“That’s the trinity,” Farah announced like a play by play announcer. “Green pepper, onion, and celery,” they counted each ingredient on a separate finger, “then comes the pulverized garlic.”

Neither Bishop nor Farah could recall that incident without a chuckle.

“What?” Adam asked.

Bish shook their head. “Nothing,” Farah said with a chuckle.

The veggies sizzled brightly as the detective scooped them into the pan. The chalky raw flour smell had dissipated and gone nutty and toasty. With the addition of the veg, the kitchen erupted in a lovely scent that Bishop could only describe as … green and distinctly Southern. It was one of those lovely mouthwatering scents that always made their stomach growl even if they weren’t the least bit hungry.

They were instantly aware of three pairs of eyes on them, which sparked a serious blush.

“What’s that … ?” Nate asked from the hall, rounding the corner. “Oh, Bishop. Did Farah rope you into this?”

A tiny shrug. “Not really roped.”

“Just wait,” Mason mumbled, his voice low and tantilizing. The image that sprang into Bishop’s head at the suggestion, just darkened the heat in their cheeks.

Adam shot a warning glaze across the kitchen.

Bishop was unphased, well that’s what they tried to tell themself despite the fact that they could feel their pulse beating it’s way through their jugular. It was one of the strangest things about working with vampire’s; they were far too aware of all the little things no one else could hope to notice unless they were looking really hard. And for all Bishop tried to control those little things, the effort just seemed to multiply the reaction.

Oh, right, broth, they thought grabbing the container they’d prepped for just this moment.

“Let me,” Farah said with another quick hop off the counter.

“Drizzle it. Slow,” Bishop said in a low guiding voice. They stirred tender vegetables careful not to splash any of the oil mixture out of the pan. “Stop for a sec.” After whisking the mixture smooth again, they gave Farah a nod for more. Back in their element, the detective’s full focus returned to the meal in the making.

“Surprised to find you down here,” Nate said quietly as he slipped into a chair at the table near Mason.

Adam crossed the room and stood near the window watching the night march against the retreating light of day.

“Why’s that?” Mason replied quietly over his shoulder.

“Why, indeed?” Nate asked, rhetorically as Mason’s attention returned to the human cooking for them. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You get the sausage,” Bish told Farah with a pat on the shoulder as they shifted past the young vampire as if they were in the middle of some song and dance. Grabbing a nearby plate, large chunks of delicately browned meat got drowned in the dark stew. It was a hectic choreography they had worked out somehow over the last few hours. The detective pulled the spoon out of the way and leaned back when Farah dropped the chunks of meat into the boiling mixture, which splashed out violently.

Mason tensed, relaxing again as soon as Bishop giggled.

“Hold up. Don’t be scared.” The detective took Farah’s hand and turned palm down over the pot. “Just open, low over the surface and you won’t get the splatter.”

Following the suggestion, Farah grinned. “Nice. Good to know.”

“Not sure I buy that,” Bishop said with a laugh of their own.

“I don’t know. A few more lessons and I might be able to cook dinner for you.”

The entire room erupted in laughter, except for Bishop, who slid an arm over Farah’s shoulder and pulled them close. “Good, because I hate cooking alone.”

That seemed to calm some of the giggles in the room, and reinforced Farah’s grin.

“Time to cover it?” Farah asked.

“Yep,” Bishop said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. When Farah moved from their side, Bish saw it. “Oh damn.”

“What?” several voices asked at the exclamation, far too worried over such a tiny irritation.

Bish blinked over their shoulder at them all. “Forgot the wine. Should have added it after the broth.”

Farah looked almost heartbroken.

Wedging the bottle between their thighs, Bishop started the corkscrew then noticed the forlorn look. “It’ll be fine. Just might need a few extra minutes is all.”

Relief showed on Farah’s face. Bishop still wasn’t sure why this all seemed like such a big deal to their friend, but they hoped to discover an explanation at some point. The cork came free with a resounding pop, and the detective wandered toward the stove giving the cork a slow wiff. Smells perfect.

All eyes remained on them when they tipped the bottle and drew several circles around the pan. Pulling the steam toward their face and taking another long sniff, they dashed another splash of wine into the pot. Then gestured for Farah to put the lid on.

“Adam, do you only drink reds?” Bish asked.

“Depends.”

With a nod, they walked across the kitchen and stretched on their tip toes to grab a wine glass from the display that hung them upside down so that no dust gathered in the glass. Careful not to fully tip the bottle, Bishop filled the glass a little more than halfway and held it out to the eldest of them.

“It’s a dry white, not sure if that’s your style.”

Adam took the glass and swirled it softly before raising it to his nose. Then he took a tentative sip. He gave a silent shrug in what Bishop could only hope was at least a modicum of approval. Still it brought a smile to there lips when he crossed back to his spot near the window with the stem pinched between his fingers.

Looking around the kitchen, it was kind of strange. The five of them just gathered in the kitchen together while dinner simmered. Bishop couldn’t help but recall visits to their gran’s when they were little. It felt like this. Smiles and giggles and talking and cooking. Wonderful smells and conversation. Then there was Mason and the way his eye moved over them.

“Still smell like chalk?” they taunted, leaning on the counter and staring right back at Mason.

“There’s still a hint of it in the air,” he replied too quickly.

Bishop was almost certain he said it just to get under their skin, but this was one arena where the detective’s confidence shone. “Give it an hour, and see if you can still say that.”

“An hour?” Farah crowed. “A whole hour?”

Bishop chuckled. “Believe me, it’s not that bad. And good things come to those who wait,” they added, their gazing flicking toward Mason for a second before Farah’s forehead landed against their shoulder with dramatic flair. Bishop patted her back in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

-2-

“Aren’t you meant to be helping me with coffee and dessert?” Bishop asked.

Mason’s chuckle tickled against the shell of their ear. “Who says I’m not?”

He shifted subtly behind them. With his body pressed against their back, they’d already lost count of the number of scoops of coffee they’d put in the pot—thrice. The detective couldn’t resist the feel of him, however, and leaned back against the firm plane of Mason’s chest. The hand on their hip flexed as the tip of his nose traced the length of Bishop’s carotid. They could feel every calm breath teasing against their thin sensitive skin.

It was maddening.

Dropping their head to the side served as a silent request for more of his attention. They really wanted him to kiss them, at least, though given the fact that Mason had managed to keep some kind of physical contact with them all through dinner, a sharp bite might prove more satisfying.

Either way, Mason denied them and brought his lips back to their ear. “Just how strong are you planning on making that?” he asked with a gutteral chuckle that shook down Bishop’s spine.

Without a doubt, Mason had to be able to hear the way their heart pounded in their chest, but with him so damnably close, he’d feel the shiver his voice sparked through their body, too. Bishop sighed in exasperation, both at themselves and Mason, as they lifted the filter out of the coffee pot for the second time.

Leaning back, they tipped their face toward their distraction. “Could you please, I beg of you, grab me the small plates, so that I can get this pot of coffee started?”

Mason stared at them for a long moment, letting his knuckles trace the line of Bishop’s jaw. When his hand spread out over the side of their neck, he kissed them. Bishop’s pleased hum reverberated through them as Mason deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking into the detective’s mouth in a tease before delving farther. He broke it sooner than Bishop would have preferred, stepping to the side and opening one of the cabinets just as Nate rounded the corner.

The detective’s short hair would do nothing to discuss the flush burning up their neck. No, it’d be completely obvious how worked up Mason had them moments before. Bishop’s eyes flicked in Mason’s direction as he stretched his lean body toward the high shelf. Bastard, they thought with a sly smile. He seemed completely unphased, meanwhile Bish could still feel the heat blazing even hotter in their cheeks and at the tips of their ears.

“Hey, you two.”

Mason just nodded with a low grunt, while Bishop emptied the overfilled coffee filter and placed it back into the coffee maker for yet another try.

“What can I do to help?” Nate offered, earning a curious glance from Mason.

Bishop’s attention was wholly focused on the coffee, finally able to get the right number of scoops measured out. “Um,” they thought as they closed the lid of the pot and flicked the button on. “I need the sauces in the bottles on the top shelf of the ice box.”

“Gotcha. Oh, and Mason, Adam needs you upstairs.”

That got his attention. He set a few plates near Bishop and let his hand brush across their hip before striding across the kitchen. A little spark shot through them, then the detective grabbed a small saucepan out of a cabinet, and filled it with water.

“Anything to worry about?” Bishop asked, curious about what he’d said.

Nate gave them a tiny grin and shook his head. “Farah was getting impatient. I figured maybe you could use a more helpful set of hands.”

The heat rushed to Bishop’s cheeks again, as they set the pan on the stove. “Sorry,” they said in a sheepish quiet tone and bit their bottom lip.

“No need to be,” Nate said. He bumped the refrigerator door closed with his elbow.

As he approached them, Bish grabbed one of the bottles and set it in the pan of water. “Thanks. But we both know I could exercise a bit more willpower.”

He chuckled at them. “True, but at the start of something it can be intense, especially with someone that prides himself on that particular trait.”

“That’s the truth,” Bishop agreed. That was the perfect word to describe Mason, they thought. They pulled a tray out of lower oven and set it on the counter. With considered care, they tapped a few of the giggly little cakes out of the ramakans they’d been baked in. Holding them carefully, Bish peeled the parchment paper off them.

“Like opening a gift,” Nate observed.

“A luxurious chocolaty one.”

“Best kind, depending on who you ask.”

Bishop chuckled. “I think so. But I didn’t want to make too many,” they explained as they set the cakes on the rack once again.

“Probably a good call.”

“Yeah, I noticed I was the only one that finished dinner.”

Nate bumped their shoulder with his elbow. “I thought it was wonderful. And the fact that you got Adam to even try it should feel like a victory in itself.”

That puffed Bishop up a little and they nodded. “And I was shocked that Mason tried it.”

“To be honest, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him eat anything.”

Bishop didn’t say anything, couldn’t really. They weren’t sure what to make of that little revelation. Instead they grabbed the plates and set out seven of them. Popping back over to the stove, they lifted the bottle and swirled it around to distribute the heat more evenly and set it down once more.

“So, what are these?” Nate asked picking up the bottle with a reddish hue.

“Sauces,” they repeated, with a wide grin.

The vampire cast a look on them that read, smart ass.

“That’s a raspberry coulis. Just cooked them down with a bit of sugar and lemon zest and strained it to remove the seeds and fleshy bits.” Bishop winced at the turn of phrase; Nate didn’t seem distressed about it, so they let it go. “The tartness pairs beautifully with the chocolate. But it could be too intense.”

“Is that why you prepared three?”

Bish nodded, he’d figured out their plan. “A French pastry cream, very lightly sweetened. Just a nice creamy accompaniment.”

“And that?” Nate pointed at the pan in front of them.

They hissed in a breath through their teeth, still feeling a little guilty about this one. “This is a little self-indulgent favorite of mine. Bourbon caramel.”

“Oh?” Nate’s brows rose over his soft brown eyes.

Bishop smirked knowingly. “Want a taste?”

“Please.” The other bottle was set on the counter and Nate wandered over. When Bishop held their hand palm up with the index finger extended, Nate copied the action, and was rewarded with a warm strip of the sauce. He popped it into his mouth before it could ooze over the sides of his finger. The hum that rumbled in his chest drew a smile from the chef.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” they laughed, giving the bottle another swirl in the water.

Nate darted across the kitchen and back in the blink of an eye. He leaned one hand on the edge of the counter holding out a spoon, and Bishop couldn’t hold back their grin or their laughter. But they did lift the bottle once more and fill the tablespoon until the caramel started to dome.

“Vampire with a sweet tooth, huh?”

With the spoon already in his mouth, Nate could do little more than give them a crooked smile and a shrug.

Bishop snapped the dial on the stove to off and crossed back to the cakes and plates. On two, a little ocean of red filled the bottom of the plate before being topped with a perfect little chocolate confection. Two more cakes received healthy crowns of the cream. The last three plates each got a turn on the rack where Bishop drizzled them with lines of caramel, before setting the cake atop it. Then a few more thin lines fluttered over the delicate desserts.

“Maybe you should have made more,” Nate suggested, having watched the display intently.

“I did. But I figured that this might be best to start. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

Nate nodded, but gave the detective an incredulous look; they couldn’t help but wonder if they wouldn’t be taking any of the cakes back home with them. “I’ll get the coffee and the cups.”

“I’ll get these.” Bishop had waited tables in high school and college and was more than capable of lining the plates up perfectly, but before they got two situated, Nate set a lovely dark wood tray on the counter near them. “Much safer.”

“Especially in this house.”

The two of them chuckled quietly as they loaded their respective trays with goodies. Bishop doubted any of the cakes, except the one plate she made for herself would get more than two bites taken out of it, if that many. They weren’t offended. On the contrary, the fact that Unit Bravo, who had no need for typical human food any longer, had tried anything they cooked made them feel proud, and a little more welcome in a way.

“Do you know why Farah did this?” Bishop asked once they’d placed the spoons and napkins on the corner of the tray.

Nate stopped near them and gave a little shake of their head. “I really don’t. But for one, I’m really glad she did.”

“Me, too,” the detective agreed. They’d have to remember to let Farah know. Maybe they’d find a really fun way to thank her.

[scandeniall]

sucker, not a simp

pairing: osamu x reader 

request from anon:  Ohoho what about Sucker by the Jonas Brothers with the superior twin AKA Osamu?? 🥴 But really I’m really excited and intrigued to see how you portray him!!

summary/warnings: one time atsumu called him a simp, but suna said hes a sucker instead./alcohol/curisng/college au again

wc: 1.3K

“It's done,” you exclaimed excitedly, immediately shutting your laptop. Glancing around at your project partners around you, you all passed high fives around. When you got to the last male you gave him a half hearted high five, pulling away just as quickly as it happened. You began chatting with the rest of your team members as you all began packing up. You hadn’t even noticed the slight redness that crept up his face.

“You plan on sitting there all night Samu.” Other than Osamu you were the last person to leave the small study room. Your question came from the doorway, as he just shook his head. Glancing at the numbers displayed on your phone you continued. “Well it's already 2am. Come on, we’ve been at this all day, and we present the proposal in the morning remember?”

Before you could completely walk out the door, The call of your name stopped you. “Hey, do you need a ride back?” A small smile shot crossed your face as you nodded, and soon the two of you were out the library and making your way down the eerily silent campus. “Sorry I parked so far, didn’t plan on being here so late.”

“It's fine,” you hummed out, kicking a small pebble along the sidewalk. “Besides, we had fun and got a badass proposal out of it. We all worked great together and bouncing ideas off of you was cool.”

“I guess we make a pretty good team,” his eyes caught yours and all you could do was nod. 

“Yeah, we do. Don't we?”

That was two years ago. After getting put in the same group project for your business class the two of you became nearly inseparable. With similar majors, the two of you found each other studying together, and even scoring internships at the same company. 

“Ok I think that the company should rethink their expansion plan. When you look at the current revenue in comparison to the expenses we have a problem. For 1, they are spending too much on-” Osamu’s mind completely blanked as he watched you talk. The two of you were currently overlooking the business’s future plans and were tasked with improving them. This was just one of the many times Osamu Miya found himself completely and utterly fucked.

From how smart and passionate you were, to how kind and funny, and how you weren’t even afraid to put his brother in his place. Osamu fell hard. It didn’t make it any better that the two of you were a complete dream team when you worked together, and because of that found yourselves paired together the majority of the time. “Hey Samu, what do you think?”

The gray haired man made his way over to the whiteboard you’d written over standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with you. “Sounds good. I just think we should-” his fingers brushed against yours lingering momentarily as he took the marker out of your hand and wrote his own notes and added to your drawings. He couldn’t help but find himself smiling to himself at your terribly drawn buildings. He remembers the first time he saw you try to draw and compliment your descriptions. He called them trash but the way you laugh had him not minding at the shitty stick figures and lopsided buildings over the years. 

Once he finished he glanced over at you to notice you shuffle. “Hungry?” he raised his eyebrow at you as you nodded. He knew it. That specific shuffle where you’d slightly stand on your toes before shifting your weight to the right was a telltale sign that you weren’t feeling the best. And given the time of day, he figured you were pretty much ready for lunch. 

“Ya liked the onigiri last week right?” At your nod he continued. “Well I changed the filling this time. Wanna give it a try?” Osamu mentally cringed at the memory of his roommates the night prior as he prepped the dish.

“Oh c’mon Samu. I’m hungry,” his twin complained as he swatted his hand away. “I don’t care Tsumu. It's not for ya.” His annoyance grew at the blonde’s studpid laugh. “Of course not. It's for (Y/N). God yer such a simp.”

“I think sucker is a nicer way of putting it,” the twins’ third roommate called out lazily. Osamu ignored the ‘Shut up Suna’ from his brother as he continued his task. 

----

“Come on Samu, it’ll be fun.” You drew out the n as you leaned against the kitchen’s counter. Your friend stood over the stove as the smell of food overtook your senses. “Yeah Samu, it’ll be fun,” a third voice chimed in mimicking yours. “Fuck off,” the two over you said at the ame time. Your eyes drifted to the annoying blonde, while Osamu didn’t even bat an eye. “You two are so cute ya know. Talking the same.” This time you wordlessly flipped him off before turning your attention back.

“Come on Samu, it's gonna be spring break. What better way to spend it then getting drunk and having fun with our friends. Dancing the night away and taking on the town. You know it sounds like fun.”

And that's how Osamu found himself alongside you and several of your mutual friends, mildly intoxicated, sitting at an empty park acting like teenagers again. Osamu isn’t sure the heat he's feeling is from the alcohol, his reaction to the cooled night air, or the way your hand held his the entire walk from the bar as you half haphazardly dragged him along

The laughs of your friends were drowned out as the two of you sit on the park fixture on the opposite end of the park. The alcohol had started wearing off as the two of you settled on just a comfortable buzz. The two of you laughed along to the tik tok videos flashing on your phone the buzz making things even funnier than they usually wouldve been. 

“See aren’t you glad you came out tonight,” your head fell onto his shoulder, as you locked the device. 

“Yeah, I am. Too bad I’m not gonna remember the first half of this night.” His head fell back against the park fixture as he shut his eyes. “Oh don’t worry. I have the video of you almost falling off the ledge from earlier,” you teased out thinking back to how you had challenged him to walk the ledge outside of the bar, him nearly falling several times. You had to admit though, that he did better than you. You’d only gotten a fourth of the way through before you had to give it up. 

“Remind me while I followed along with your idea. It was like the blind leading the blind”

“It's because you like (Y/N) ya scrub.” The words came out obnoxiously loud before you could even speak, causing you both to jump in surprise. “Yeah and (Y/N) you like Osamu back,” Both of your eyes widened at the flash from the phone as both your friend and Atsumu stood behind the two of you. They ignored both of your exclaims to shut up as the camera kept going. 

The hand on your shoulder stopped your continuing expletives as lips fell on yours. You ignored the hoots and hollers of the rest of your group who had somehow made their way over to annoy the two of you as well. You continued to ignore them as slightly chapped lips moved against yours and hands pulled you so that you were straddling your friend on a kids park fixture. 

The tiniest bit of alcohol, the feelings for your friend and the adrenaline that had come from the sudden kiss allowed you to keep ignoring your friends who only began to grossly gag and back away as hands fell on your butt and your tongue slipped into his mouth. When you finally pulled away you noticed the two of you were alone. Your forehead rested against his as the two of you let out heavy breaths. You couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, as he joined you. 

“Glad you followed me into the dark now?”

“I guess I am”

a/n: yeah sorry for the hold up bby. Idk i still dont actually like this and I struggle with writing osamu, so i hope this was at least tolerable. Requests are open, but pls check my rules first :)

funfact the beginning of this is inspired by an irl thing that happened to me this past semester. He was cute too and our team actually won the prize and our group was deadass in the library for 13 hours straight and left at 2am to be up by 9am. and he did drive me home LMFAO but nothing came of it and maybe i’ll see him at our prize conference if covid doesnt ruin my life further (he was a senior and graduated smh)

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Word Prompt #10 - NSFW

Word: Honorific WIP: Thriving series CW: 18+ only, my fellow humans(?), for this is…not in any way safe for work whatsoever. Word Count: 1,922 Additional Notes: This is directly following up another WP piece of mine, Beard, and uh yeah. Also, I’m kinda glad I originally pulled this cuz I made a few minor changes to it.

***

Possibly two feet from the bedroom door was when Warren realized he was in the midst of experiencing the most difficult anticipatory moments of his life, and he glanced from his bags in Thrive’s arms up to the beautiful beard growth over the sharp angles of his jaw, the silver pin keeping the small bun of hair in place, and wanted so badly to knock the luggage out of his clutches and throw himself at him right in the middle of the hallway.

Thrive, however, had slightly different plans. He allowed Warren into the bedroom first, kicked the door closed behind him, and set the bags on the floor at his feet. Then from all but nowhere shot his hand to grab Warren’s throat and shove him back into the wall with barely restrained effort.

“Oh, fuck,” Warren managed to gasp before Thrive silenced him by claiming his mouth, the urgency of their kiss very apparent right off the bat. Warren pulled him closer by the hips, slid his hands up his back, clutched him around the ribs, weak in the knees from letting Thrive run his tongue over his bottom lip while simultaneously giving his mind permission to curl around his psyche, to return home where it was familiar and warm.

Warren reached up to remove the pin holding Thrive’s hair together, and he couldn’t even pull away to get a look at it as he was too busy reeling from the thigh that had made its way between his legs and the fingers creeping their way into his hair. Somewhat luckily, their mental connection allowed him to foresee it when Thrive decided to grip his mahogany locks and tug his head to the side, grazing his teeth over his throat and inhaling deeply.

“Hmm,” he murmured, and Warren could feel his husky timbre vibrating in his sternum. Thrive pressed his mouth to Warren’s ear. “This smell is unfamiliar.”

Heat roiled in Warren’s stomach and all of the blood in his head made a quick and terrible nosedive in the complete opposite direction. “This smell is possibly a whole month of being in the wilds of Logoryt.”

“We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” Thrive said, his voice barely a whisper as he deftly moved down the succession of Warren’s shirt buttons with one hand. “You and I both know the only scent that should be on your skin is mine.”

He’d growled the last word and Warren’s knees nearly buckled, though the thigh between his legs did a good job keeping him upright. “This is…probably the most functionally deficient I’ve ever been in my life—”

Thrive kissed him again, his beard barely scratching against his face, and it only became clear that he’d finished unbuttoning Warren’s red and gray flannel when his fingers found the strained zipper of his jeans and he dusted his knuckles across the swollen shape.

Warren, who’d been touch-starved for about an entire year, quickly pressed Thrive’s hand to himself and kept him still, biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Ah…careful. I’m a bad gust of wind away from ending this whole thing.”

Thrive’s eyes glittered with a thought. “Is that so….”

Warren didn’t even have the chance to confirm before Thrive sank to his knees, popping his jeans open and releasing him in one fluid movement. He curled an arm around the underside of Warren’s thigh and pinned him against the wall.

“Hey, now, wait a minute, wasn’t I supposed to be the one—OH! My fucking god—” Warren’s head smacked the wall upon Thrive’s mouth enveloping him, and it was all he could do not to buck forward, though that proved moot once Thrive’s other hand gripped his hip to keep him still. “Yeah, shit, I can't—”

“You can,” Thrive said against him, tightly squeezing him and inciting an inconsequential amount of pain to keep him in check. “And you will.”

Warren took a few deep breaths through his nose, his legs already shaking. “I’m gonna die here and it’s your fault.”

Thrive slid his hand up Warren’s stomach and stroked him slowly, angling a crooked grin in his direction. “What a way to go.”

Warren ran his fingers through Thrive’s chin-length hair and cradled the back of his head well into finding himself back in his mouth, screwing his eyes shut and simultaneously enjoying the sensations and doing his absolute best to keep himself going for just a little longer.

“Okay,” he panted, cupping Thrive’s face as a warning. “Okay, okay, okay….”

Thrive pulled back, but instead of stopping, he continued to stroke him, watching him intently. He used his other hand to flip his hair to one side and made direct eye-contact with Warren. “I don’t think you realize who’s in charge this morning.”

With a loud groan and a sharp cant of his hips, Warren writhed against the wall, full-body shivers overwhelming him and practically uprooting him as Thrive encouraged everything out of him. His limbs turned to jelly and he didn’t notice Thrive had begun to remove his jeans for him altogether.

“God,” Warren said forcefully. “I think I gotta leave home more often….”

Thrive stood. “Bed.”

Blinking away his lightheadedness, Warren glanced at him. “I dunno if I can walk, babe.”

Thrive curled his fingers around him again, causing him to inhale sharply and hiss through clenched teeth. “…You will address me by my honorific.”

Warren groaned again. “Mm…sorry…Your Majesty.”

“Get on the bed.”

He sat on the edge, watching Thrive carefully remove his cape and peel off the few layers of his robes and flushing a deep crimson when his hair caught the light of the sun through the window.

“On your stomach,” Thrive ordered.

Warren shivered again, doing as instructed. “Wanna get this thing out of the way?” he asked, tugging the collar of his shirt.

Thrive rummaged around the drawers of Warren’s dresser. “No.”

The fabric of his bedspread made Warren’s sensitive skin tingle. “I gotta say this is kinda hitting on a fantasy of mine,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve spent years daydreaming about you, uh, dominating me and….” He scratched his temple. “The choking thing was really doin’ it for me.”

“The idea of me breaking you in half arouses you?”

“Fuck yes,” Warren laughed. “Yeah, exactly. The fact that you could is like…combined with the fact that you’re super smart is just….”

Thrive had meandered back over to the bed. “Talk more of what turns you on about me.”

“So many things,” Warren said, fully aware of the snap of a bottle opening and the scent of synthetic peach filling the air, and his gut tightened in response to the bed sinking beneath his knees. “Your eyes are so gorgeous, the way you talk to me sometimes is so hot, and your body….” He dropped his head to the mattress when he felt a hand at the small of his back. “…Is incredible.”

“This is not my body, Warren,” Thrive murmured.

Warren clutched the bedspread with tight fists as Thrive’s coated fingers found their target and sent a wave of electricity through him. “Yeah…yeah, I know that….”

“If I were to become natural at this very moment, would you still feel as unraveled and vulnerable as you do now?”

Warren couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst forth from him again. “If you became natural right now while you’re doing what you’re doing I would actually explode without further prompting.”

There was a curious pause from Thrive as he continued to touch Warren, hot palm caressing his back and the curve of his backside as his other hand prepped him. “…That is good to know.”

Warren’s grip on the bedspread only tightened when Thrive pulled him back by the hem of his shirt, then his hips and sheathed himself within him. “Ah, god….”

“Up,” Thrive grunted, and with his help Warren pushed himself upward so Thrive could wrap an arm around his midsection and hold him tight to his chest, finding a pace that drew the most sounds out of him. He tugged on Warren’s earlobe with his teeth. “Right…I’m not letting you out of this house again.”

Warren’s head dropped back onto a broad shoulder, his emotions swirling together with Thrive’s. “I…can’t see myself arguing with that at the moment….”

The sun eventually reached its peak in the sky and Thrive flipped Warren onto his back, his hand once again tight but safe around his throat, and Warren hooked his legs around Thrive’s waist for leverage, and between all of that and the fact that they were in full view of anyone who happened to fly by the window at that time—

“Oh, fuck, Thrive,” Warren groaned, overwhelmed with heat and the rise of pleasure in their mental connection.

“Say it,” Thrive growled.

“Your Majesty—!”

Thrive arched himself over Warren and threw a dark leg over his shoulder, rolling his hips into him a few times before Warren couldn’t contain himself any more and let go, pulling Thrive’s face down to kiss him hard and dig his nails into the flesh of his back, releasing cries of ecstasy that he was suddenly glad no one else was in the house to hear.

Slowing to a stop, Thrive smoothed Warren’s hair down on his head and instantly collapsed beside him, holding him in his arms as Warren came down from his euphoric state.

“Holy shit,” Warren panted, throwing an arm over his face to hide the tears streaming down the sides of his head. “That was so fucking amazing….”

Thrive stroked the side of his face. “You’re alright?”

“I’m shaking….” Warren held his hands up to look at them and chuckled. “God, yeah, I’m great.”

“Was it too much for you?”

“No. No…no, you could’ve even pushed harder, to be honest.”

“I worry about hurting you.”

Warren turned his head to look Thrive in the eye, a bit taken aback. His chest heaved with his efforts to catch his breath. “I mean, everyone’s got a limit, but…a little pain isn’t too bad. Is it?”

Thrive linked his and Warren’s hands together and brought his knuckles up to his lips. “As long as you’re fine with what transpired here.”

“Are you?”

“Truthfully, I only had you in mind.” Thrive shook his head to keep his hair out of his face, and he smiled when Warren raked his nails through his beard. “I only ever have you in mind.”

He dropped his head low to meet Warren in another kiss.

“Damn,” Warren whispered. “I’m so glad to be home.”

“Well,” Thrive replied, “I very slightly meant what I said about keeping you here. It’s always a ruin to contentment without you at my side at all times.”

They lay in quiet for a moment, gazing into each other, and Warren held his face in his hands.

“Let’s do this again,” he murmured. “But keep looking at me just like that.”

Thrive obliged him, and they spent the rest of the day in bed, making up for lost time, until Warren had nothing left within him to spend, and the start of the sunset called for a long nap in each others’ arms with the view of the three moons of Tournaltis curving across the sky and the waking desert lights bobbing over the distant shore.

“Love you, Your Majesty,” Warren mumbled sleepily beneath Thrive’s jaw.

Thrive tucked a hand comfortably into the waistband of Warren’s sweatpants at the small of his back. “Love you as well, Your Highness.”

Warren smiled against his skin.

***

NSFW tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @pertinax--loculos @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @biscottibitch @drabbleitout  @holidaysong

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Part 3 of my previous two asks, where the humbled prince and knight reunite, but the prince is them captured by a dragon the size of a horse, and when the knight tracks the dragon to the den, she sees the prince has tamed the dragon gently to be a regal riding steed.

Thank you for the ask! I warn you though, this isn't edited.

The Prince and the Knight Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings: injured animal (cuts on a horse), kidnapped (? It's by a dragon...), exhaustion

Anyway, not much.

~

And they were reunited at last- loved ones caressing each other in the largest of embraces.

"Thank God," the knight whispered into her prince's ear, nuzzling her face into his neck.

"So will you marry me, my dear?"

"Shut up," the knight said, but it was with a laugh. One filled with relief and adoration.

"Never," the prince teased lightheartedly before whistling. A pretty horse pranced into sight, dappled gray with large eyes. The knight gasped and ran to the horse, seemingly more interested in its arrival than the prince's.

"Did you really?" The knight was close to tears as she stroked her gelding's face. The horse nickered, thrusting its face into his owner's arms.

"Yes, of course," the prince seemed proud of himself, but not overly boastful. He's changed, the knight realized with a twinge of disapproval. She once admired the snarky comebacks, the sharp tongue. In a way, it seemed like a key component of the prince's complex was gone, leaving an empty hole, a void.

But maybe it was for the better. The knight grabbed her prince's hand and held on to it, grinning ear-to-ear. Whether or not the prince came to terms with the knight's level of appreciation for his newfound modesty, he didn't show it as he helped the knight onto her Andalusian's back.

"Thank you, kind sir," the knight said in a playful tone. The prince smiled and leaned against the gray horse's shoulder.

"Give me one reason that you still won't say yes after all these months."

The knight's face fell and see looked to the ground. "Royalty isn't for me," she said, voice taut with the whispers of tears.

"We don't have to be-"

"Let's just go," the knight interrupted and gathered her reins. "Let's just go home."

The prince nodded solemnly and hopped on his black horse. They rode towards the fluorescent sunset in utter silence.

《~~》

"I'm getting married today," the prince fumbled with his tunic's collar as he gazed at the knight.

"Fantastic. Do you want me to gather the rest of the knights and set up a procession? Or do you want me to ride to the other kingdom to extend the invitation?" The knight asked, compliant and ready for orders, even though her heart beat with a dangerous mixture of regret, jealously, and anger.

"No I want you to stop this," the prince said, mischief pulling the edges of his mouth up. "Flatten the cake, ruin the citadel, give false orders." The prince then said, in a soft tone, "Say yes to me."

"I won't say yes to you and you know it," the knight snapped and went back to work, scrubbing the laundry.

"Okay stop that," the prince grabbed her hands, but the knight ripped them away. She glared daggers at him.

"Please don't touch me sir," she asked in a light tone.

"I love you," the prince pleaded.

"And I love you too!" The knight exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I love you more than anything else in this world."

"Then why won't you marry me?"

"Because I don't want to be a queen."

The knight said, spun on her heel, and walked away.

《~~》

The prince galloped through the woods, hanging on to his horse's thick mane as thought rushed through his head.

Renounce the throne, live in the countryside.

Give up the throne to your brother, let him rule the kingdom while you mosey along your life as a farmer.

The prince groaned and pressed his head into the horse's mane. He allowed a couple tears to slip through his flimsy defenses, but that was all.

He had to make a choice. The throne or the love of his life. His head screamed at him to take the throne- his brother would go to war with every king within a week's ride. But his heart ordered him to give his heritage up and marry the elegant knight.

It was one or the other, both produced their own various deals of pros and cons- quite equally actually, leaving the prince unable to determine the greater path.

Suddenly, the prince was flying. But that only lasted a second before his body made contact with the hard ground beneath. He gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of him, fingers clawed at the ground. The overwhelming stench of blood filled his nose as the tingling formed throughout his bones and muscles.

His horse galloped away, clearly spooked.

"Mhnngh," the prince groaned, trying to navigate through his spinning vision. Everything hurt, oh how everything hurt.

Then, as if levitation was a new involuntary talent, the prince was soaring again. Fear gripped at his very being as realized that he was going up... up...

He was going to drop. The prince thrashed, finding his hips tightly bound by some sort of fleshy contraption. He couldn't move.

Couldn't move.

The prince opened his eyes, very slightly. Above him was a red and black mass with shiny scales.

Dragon.

The prince kicked out in desperation, but teh dragon was stronger and carried him above the top leaves of the evergreens.

"Let me go!" The prince hollered, but the dragon's swift wings did not falter.

So the prince was doomed to ride the wind with a foreboding beast.

《~~》

The crowd bustled in merry joy as the kingdom prepared for the wedding. Children ran with flowers in hand while men courted young ladies in hope to have a date for the ball. Old women gossiped amongst themselves with tall tales of how the prince's father once asked them to marry him. It was a time for celebration.

But the knight was not amongst the giddy crowd. She hung out in the stables, braiding countless horse's manes in a waterfall braid pattern laced with red roses- the princess-to-be's favorite flower. Every once in a while, the knight contemplated chopping a good portion of a horse's mane off in an angular fashion to make it look like it was rubbed off.

But she held herself back. She did this upon herself. She could've been the lady on the altar, the bride being kissed, but she refused and had to pay the price.

The knight snickered. There were so many other men in the kingdom, some with more delectable features like brown hair instead of blue. Not that she actually cared about appearances, the knight tried to love what's on the inside, but...

The knight sighed and looked out the door. The prince should be returning soon after his ride. Actually, the knight glanced at the sun for a moment. It was nearly five in the evening... he should be home.

No worries, the knight thought and continued to prep the mares and stallions for the parade. If he wanted to be late and miss the wedding, then so be it. Not the knight's problem.

"Knight!" Came a rushed voice. The knight looked over her shoulder to see a young boy, an apprentice of some sorts with dirtied pants, runninf up to her. "Where is the prince? He needs to go to the church to prepare for his marriage."

"He left and hasn't returned," the knight said as she strung a piece of thread through a tightly braided knot.

"He left?" The boy asked astounded. "Why?"

Because he's a coward, the knight wanted to say, but based on the boy's large mouth, she assumed that anything she would say would be repeated, so she settled for,

"I don't know, probably to soothe his nerves."

《~~》

The prince was thrown against the wall of the cave and landed with a thud. His arm throbbed, but he could move it.

The creature in front of him, a small dragon barely the size of a large horse, approached him, snarling. If it wasn't for the dire circumstances, the prince might've called the sight beautiful.

That was if the dragon wasn't trying to eat him.

The prince pressed himself against the wall and searched for objects lying on the floor. Dragons liked to collect things, right? Or was that just a folktale. Whether the dragon just wasn't your typical beastly being or there was another phenomenal reason, there wasn't anything. Not even a wooden spear.

The situation was hopeless. The prince squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for imminent death.

But after three agonizingly long seconds, he still was alive- heart beating and lungs breathing. He peeled an eye open to see the black and red creature still staring at him, ready to pounce.

"Can't you just kill me?" The prince said galantly.

Well, he wanted it to be gallant like the princes and knights in stories, but in reality it came out as a squeak.

The dragon didn't reply, just stared.

Oh it just stared.

For the longest time, its brown eyes watched the prince. Every movement, no matter how miniscule, was calculated.

Slowly, the prince stood up, and once again the dragon observed. It didn't attack, just watched every contraction of muscle.

The prince drew in a shuddering breath, lungs aching. He didn't realize he was holding his breath.

The prince took a hesitant step forward. The dragon growled, baring its teeth. The prince took one step back, two steps forward.

His hand hovered over the dragon's nose. He could feel its hot breath...

His hand landed on the rubbery snout.

《~~》

"The prince is missing! The prince is missing!"

The knight silently cursed herself for interacting with the young boy as she rubbed the dirty grease of her fingers. She hustled outside to see the citadel filled with civilians and members of the army alike.

"Knight!" She heard one of her subordinates call. "Where did he go?"

"I think he took a horse and went for a ride. He said he would be back in an hour and that was maybe two hours ago?" The knight replied, running up to her small group of knights. They were the head knights, the best in the kingdom, and she was good enough to lead them.

"We need a search party," one said.

"Yes," the knight agree. "Send out other patrols, we need to cover as much territory as possible before the sun goes down."

Within ten minutes, the knight and her fellow soldiers were cantering out of the city and into the woods. They took the prince's favorite path- a long stretch for an easy gallop through the forest.

Suddenly, all the men and women halted their horse and dismounted. The black horse, the prince's mount, was grazing nearby. The knight hurried to the horse, who was too content with his grass to mind, and examined his well-being.

Other than a couple tiny scratches on its back, the horse appeared fine, but the saddle was close to ruin. The seat was torn up by what appeared to be claws.

"Dragon," one of the other knights whispered, running her fingers over the garbled leather. The knight hummed in agreement.

"Someone bring this horse back to the stables, I would hate for some bandits to steal him," the knight set her eyes on the weakest member. He squirmed under her piercing gaze before grabbing the reins and mounted his own horse. He rode away.

"The dragon took flight," the knight noted, looking at the broken branches overhead. "So it's not land dragon."

Which makes this harder, the knight wanted to add, but didn't.

"Send word to the villagers in the mountains. I have stationed a couple good knights for protection, have them send word if there was any movement in the cave," the knight ordered. Two of her knights nodded and galloped away.

"We need to alert the king and send troops to the mountains," the knight instructed the remaining knights. "The wedding is postponed."

And the knight couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at that.

《~~》

Two days.

Two days without any word.

Everyone was on edge, pacing and refusing to eat.

"We should send some troops up," the knight argued with the king. "Check him out ourselves. My knights haven't even returned from sending word!"

"Which is why we can't go until we have a plan," the king argued back, running his hands through his coarse, gray hair. He seemed to get much older these last two days, though his strength was not failing.

"I can confirm things myself," the knight begged. She was about to drop to her knees to plead if this arguement continued to go in its current direction.

"I can't lose you!" The king roared, slamming his fists against the mahogany table that served as his resting place these last two days.

The knight was dumbfounded, stunned into silence.

"Why?" She asked with a slight testing tone.

"Don't ask," the king brushed her off.

Suddenly the doors to the room busted open. Both the knight and the king looked up to see a blue-haired man striding into the room.

"Prince!" The knight exclaimed, running over to him. She wrapped him in a hug.

"Hey," the prince's voice wavered. He was tired.

"Are you okay?" The knight wrapped her hands around the prince's face.

"Just tired," the prince mumbled, leaning into the touch. "I have a dragon."

"You what?!"

"A dragon," the prince grinned.

Why the heck would he have a dragon?!

[thejudgingtrash]

Mel, my darling! ❤️ Mel's little cookout: model Percy/makeup artist Annabeth pretty please (ILYSM ❤️❤️)

Beccaaaa YOU HAD ME SCREAMING WITH THAT REQUEST!!!

I have an ENTIRE headcanon for Model!Percy and edits to make for it!!

Do you know how much I love you? This isn’t funny!

Okay! Enjoy your prompt!! (also thank you Torie @percyheartsannabeth for being an amazing beta!)

 The Model (WC: 2,3k)

Annabeth Chase had a secret passion. Makeup. Most of her classmates would’ve never thought that she would enjoy the art of the daily enhancements, but she secretly did. Techniques, palettes, brushes, sponges… Everything was kept in boxes at home, all neat and tidy.

Annabeth Chase also never thought that she would actually get the gig at MAC to work there. She aced the multiple interview rounds, impressed her future employer with her skills and diverse approach in makeup and was nearly hired on the spot. And now she was a fairly skilled makeup artist. One of the best.

There was another thing that Annabeth Chase never would have guessed. That it would take only one random afternoon to change her life forever.

A man entered the store. He was tall, wore sunglasses and an expensive Italian suit. He chatted with Drew, Annabeth’s supervisor.

“Oh, yes!” said Drew with a polite smile. “Annabeth?”

The blonde turned around and approached them. “He wishes for something natural for the day to cover the circles under the eyes,” Drew explained. “Can you do that quickly?”

“Of course, I can. Please follow me, sir!” Annabeth rarely worked with men, but there was a first for anything.

Her client took a seat and removed his sunglasses. Despite having rich dark skin, blemishes and fatigue ruined an otherwise fairly handsome face. The man took care of himself. Mostly. Sleep apparently wasn’t important enough.

Annabeth took her arsenal of makeup and other supplies and put them in front of the large mirror the client was facing. “You are warm toned,” she softly spoke and grabbed foundations to mix them together.

“Skin is already primed,” the man added. He also sounded Italian.

“Oh yes, I can see that!” she smiled. Then she started her work. She grabbed her sponge and placed the mixed foundation. Slow buildup, little by little. She used the concealer to smooth the surface and brighten the under eye area a little bit. Highlighter for a little pop. The customer didn’t want a full eye look, just curled lashes and mascara and sharpened eyebrows. Roughly twenty minutes passed, and Annabeth stepped aside so that the man could see the magic she had worked.

“Oh wow!” the client sounded impressed and tilted his head.

“Very natural. I like that!”

Annabeth smiled. “Oh yes. A full face can be so expressive and fun but not something for the day to day. A natural look should enhance your beauty, make spots disappear, not turn you into something you aren’t.”

“Very true,” the client agreed.

“Can I book you again?” he then asked. Annabeth nodded to Drew.

“Oh sure, just ask my boss!”

The man laughed and shook his head. “No, no, honey. Can I book you?”

His hand wandered into his suit and pulled a business card out. He handed the card to Annabeth.

Charon Bianchi. Casting director. Paris – NYC - Milano. DMFASHIONSTUDIO.

Annabeth looked up to Mr. Bianchi. “Uh…sure?”

The following four years changed everything for her. Gone was the job at MAC after she had signed with Charon. Hello flourishing career as an international MUA that got booked for galas, editorial shootings and runway gigs. Even certain celebrities and YouTubers hired her.

Annabeth had seen it all in those short years and had worked with all of them. She had been in Shanghai and then in Greece two days later. Flights from Paris to Kabul, New York to London. Annabeth had crossed paths with famous makeup artists like Pat McGrath, Charlotte Tilbury or Lisa Eldridge. She had been on the sets of photo shootings with incredible photographers such as Lara Jade, Lina Tesch, Cass Bird and even the famous Peter Lindbergh before he had passed. But the more recent things she had been booked for were runway gigs. Less pay, but more fun and definitely more stress.

Paris 2020. Dior Men, the new fall/winter 2020/21 collection. Designer Kim Jones wanted Annabeth to return to the set, so she did. The venue was beautiful. That was all Annabeth could think before she and a dozen others were sent backstage to prep their own little areas before models, videographers and photographers would swarm the place. Four hours until the show began, and everybody was already stressed out. The first few models showed up. Annabeth had been given a set card with faces she would work with on that particular day. 47 looks in total with 37 male models. Second looks, great Annabeth thought. More stress.

Malick Bodian, Ludwig Wilsdorff and Perseus Jackson were the models that were assigned to her. Perseus Jackson. A handsome young man, not much older than Annabeth came to her mind. Long curls, brown skin, light eyes and a beautiful grin. Annabeth had seen Perseus multiple times, but she had not worked with him directly before. Whereas many designers or their agents chose models because they had an interesting look or a beautiful symmetrical face, Perseus had both. The IT factor. His walk was among the best of his generation.

Annabeth was done with Ludwig’s look as she saw how Perseus stepped into the hectic atmosphere. He was two hours early which meant that he was four hours too late in the fashion world.

“You’re good to go,” said Annabeth to the young man next to her.

“Thanks,” he laughed and got up to get dressed.

Annabeth waved Perseus over to her. His lips formed an “Oh,” before he sat down next to her.

“I think we’ve never worked together before, haven’t we?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Well, Percy,” he introduced himself.

“Annabeth,” she smiled.

“Annabeth?”

“Don’t ask,” she rolled her eyes. “A southern thing.”

That made him roar with laughter. Annabeth had the entire Dior makeup arsenal next to her and was supposed to focus on enhancing his looks, but she couldn’t. He was way too charming, way too funny, way too charismatic. They talked about life before fashion. Percy got scouted at the age of sixteen as he was working at his mother’s bakery in NYC. At first, he thought it was a joke and his mother also had been very skeptical, but after the first few gigs, they realized that Percy had the potential of making it big in the scene.

Annabeth could sense that he was one of the few male models that could actually live a fairly comfortable life with his runway, video and editorial income. He was way too relaxed, and Annabeth knew how struggling models looked like.

Percy had seen Annabeth’s work before. They’ve crossed looks behind the scenes of Prada, Valentino and Isabel Marant. At first, he had thought she had been a model herself with her height and gorgeous looks. The fact that she had been hired as a makeup artist came as a total surprise to him. The blonde set the foundation. He paid close attention to the movement of her hand. That is how he saw her diamond for the first time.

“Oh, wait you’re engaged?” His eyes widened.

“What?” Annabeth looked at the ring on her finger. A birthday gift to herself.

“Oh that,” she laughed.

“I think I might have missed the memo, but I’m pretty sure that I’m single.”

“Oh,” Percy laughed. He almost sounded relieved.

The makeup was a soft look that should set focus on the grooming of the models. A glow on the cheekbones. Smooth skin. Little crystals that were set around the eyes functioned as little highlights. A black earring dangled from his left ear. Then Annabeth moved further to his lips.

Annabeth used neutral brown tones that were supposed to enhance his looks. She applied the color and slowly worked on his bottom lip. His lips slightly parted and his intense stare made Annabeth blush. Her gray eyes wandered back to his lips to finish her work.

“I think you’re good to go,” Annabeth said.

“Already?” he pouted. It was unfair. How could someone shift from fierce to seal eyes in less than a second? Features that could shift from humor to almost anger so easily from the shoots Annabeth had seen from him.

“Move,” she laughed.

Perseus got up. “See you around,” he winked. A warm feeling spread through Annabeth. He’s just cheeky. That’s all.

*****

The collection had a touch of British fashion. Percy grabbed his stuff and was placed into a changing room by a stylist. As soon as he left, he had been swarmed by people that corrected everything. From the way the tie was sitting to the way the white jersey was stuffed into his pants. Someone actually got on their knees to work on the socks. His first look was a gray wool coat which was accompanied by a dark set of pants, a white jersey which had a silver shirt underneath. A fitting white tie and white gloves were set as highlights.

“We need someone to do a little retouch!” one of the stylists yelled. Percy turned around to see if Annabeth was around somewhere. She was not. She still sat in her niche and worked her magic on his colleague Malick. They were laughing. A pang to his heart. Disappointment.

“Hey Percy!” Makeup artist and great friend Piper McLean greeted him and redid some of Annabeth’s layers.

“All models must be ready in the next ten minutes!” yelled director Luke Castellan over the noise and busy people. “First Looks and then get in line! Ten minutes everybody!”

Percy got to the small corner where photographers were ready to take the first pictures of the entire looks. Posing, demonstrating, not getting blinded by the flashing lights. Percy stood in a group with Jason Grace, Ethan Nakamura and Taemin Park. They broke the formation after a few minutes to make room for the next set of models with other looks. Percy got in line for the runway. He wasn’t going to open the show; he was the fourth look. But he would have the honor of closing the show. A key highlight. He made a silent prayer and then it was time.

Assistant Grover Underwood gave the opening model Nico di Angelo the go to walk out. Everyone stared at the screen backstage in anticipation.

“Go!” Charles Beckendorf left.

“Go!” Jason Grace moved forward.

“Go!” It was Percy’s turn.

*****

Annabeth was in awe of his work. Percy walked upright. The right amount of poise and elegance. A hint of arrogance. A lot of determination. He did not move his hips too much and he accentuated the movement of his shoulders. A strong masculine walk and on beat with the music too. A beautiful strut. A neutral game face but his sea green eyes were set aflame.

Percy focused the minute he had reached the middle of the runway. He could do a sloppier walk in the beginning but not anymore. Eyes open, be casual but attentive. The camera that would capture the picture for Vogue Runway which would be sent all over the world in a few minutes caught his gaze. He worked around the crowd of celebrities and fashionistas that captured his looks with their own smartphones and made his way backstage. The coat got taken off immediately. A stylist handed him the final outfit which he had to change in less than a minute. Then Piper caught up with him and did small retouches before he went to Second Looks.

Percy wore a black coat which was embroidered with silver elements. The strong silver started from the collar and was reduced by the chest area. The streaks got less and less, like feathers that were falling and captured. The black fabric of the coat took over and created an interesting silhouette.

Percy was surprised. Annabeth stood next to him and actually did his retouching again. Her thumb brushed the fallout off. A small gesture he truly enjoyed.

“What? No good luck kiss for me?” Percy asked innocently. Annabeth’s jaw dropped. She actually laughed. Cheeky. He was very cheeky.

“What would you need a good luck kiss for?” He was more than just professional. Percy didn’t need luck. He just worked and did so perfectly each and every single time.

“Go!” said Grover and pushed him out. A last cocky grin and wink to Annabeth and then he was back on stage.

Annabeth stood next to designer Kim and watched how Percy worked his magic on the runway again. All 37 models were set in a row and did one final round one after another after Grover’s go. After that, the designer went on stage and bowed to the crashing applause.

The crew backstage cheered as well. Another gig was done and over and the fashion world knew what the man would wear in the coming fall season.

Annabeth helped collect the makeup and clean the area. She turned around and nearly walked into Percy. Percy almost looked nervous.

“Oh. Is everything okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you whether you had makeup wipes,” he said lamely.

Annabeth grabbed a few and handed them to him. He was already changed back into his casual jeans and black hoodie. It almost broke the makeup artist’s heart to see the model cleaning the canvas. But with or without makeup, Percy was a handsome man.

“Thank you,” he smiled. And he did not move an inch. A question rested on his lips.

“Would you like to drink some coffee with me?” Annabeth halted her movements and looked up to Percy.

“What?”

Percy was surprised at her surprised reaction. The fact that top model Percy Jackson was single and actually had asked her out blew her mind. Annabeth nearly dropped the brushes.

“Are you serious?” Annabeth asked him. He was confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? I like you,” he explained. A man that was direct. That was something Annabeth certainly liked.

“So. Coffee or not?”

“Sure,” she said and shared his smile.

The End

The looks I’ve chosen are looks 4 and 47 from Dior Men!

And of course! The letter! I haven’t forgotten! 

Thank you so much for the prompt, Becca! Writing this was so much fun!

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Cute/Cursed Cookout Writing Prompts

[nitewrighter]

I'm weak for pre-fall Gency. Could you write some angsty but soft-at-the-end prompt for them?? :3

With all this AU stuff, it feels like forever since I’ve written Gency Proper. I gotta get back to my roots.

-----

Genji sat on a bench in a locker room and nervously tested the plates of his new prosthetic arm, sliding them back and forth into place. He lifted his head to see Mercy, her back to him, putting her hair up in a mirror. Tracer was stretching and Winston was fiddling with his shield projector. They were all dressed in their black, gray and orange training jumpsuits, save for Mercy, who was in a less-armored version of her Valkyrie suit, though the lines of the training jumpsuit were visible underneath. Genji’s jumpsuit was sleeveless to accommodate for the heat sinks on his shoulders.

“Right, team,” said Tracer, “We’re staying focused, it’s just like any other training session.”

“Except Morrison is watching,” said Winston, readjusting his glasses, clearly nervous.

“And we aren’t going to worry about that,” said Tracer, putting her hands on her hips before looking at Genji, “None of us are.”

Genji apparently wasn’t paying attention until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head jerked up to see Mercy smiling down at him.

“Just a normal training session, right Genji?” said Mercy.

“Oh--uh--right...right,” said Genji pushing up off the bench.

“Morrison wants a new strike team, and that’s exactly what we’re going to show him!” said Tracer. She stuck her hand out, palm down and looked at the other three. “New strike team?”

“Oh!” Winston stuck a hand out over her hand, “New strike team!”

“New Strike team,” said Mercy, putting her hand over Winston’s, “You’re going to be a wonderful leader, Tracer.”

“Aw, Doc!” said Tracer, rubbing the back of her head with her free hand bashfully.

“New Strike Team,” said Genji, putting his hand over Mercy’s.

“Aaaaand break!” said Tracer, pressing her hand down before throwing it up as the rest of the team followed her lead, “Let’s go!”

She darted down the corridor to the training area and Winston lumbered quickly after her, “I still think we should run through our strategy one more time--!”

Mercy and Genji followed after them at their own pace.

“I still can’t believe they’re giving me this chance,” he murmured, “McCree was the one Reyes was grooming---he should--”

“Tracer wanted you, Genji,” said Mercy, “And I wanted you too.”

Genji’s shoulder vents steamed. “Uh--”

Mercy suddenly reddened and caught herself. “Bad phrasing! Bad phrasing!” she said waving her hands nervously, “What I’m saying is, you trained Tracer. She knows how to work with you. And as important as McCree is to Reyes and everyone, you have to admit he’s been...out of sorts... since Venice.”

“Not to mention Reyes probably likes having him on reserve for more ‘vacations,’” muttered Genji.

“But you’re going to be a great addition to the team,” she said.

“...if Morrison approves,” said Genji as they stepped out into the sunlight of the Zurich training field.

----

“...I’m still not sure how good of an idea this is,” Jack murmured, standing on an observation deck overlooking Zurich’s biggest training area, watching as several maintenance workers prepped the area.

“You wanted our input, and here it is,” said Sojourn, standing next to him.

“We benched Blackwatch for a reason, and he was one of the most volatile agents on it--granted ‘Volatile’ and ‘Blackwatch’ sounds redundant but...” Jack trailed off.

“He’s made a lot of progress,” said Sojourn, “And he and Oxton have built up a strong rapport these past few months. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re more concerned about the ninja than the gorilla.”

“Overwatch has never shied away from an unconventional image,” said Jack with a shrug, “Plus he’s... y’know, cute. Kids’ll like him.”

Sojourn snorted. “Always thinking of what looks good on a poster, huh? Let’s just hope he’s as good in a fight as he is in a lab,” said Sojourn as they watched the four figures take their places at the edge of the training field.

“Is that Genji?” he said, looking at a figure in a silver helmet with only the green line of a glowing visor at his face.

“You haven’t seen the new prosthetics, yet?” said Sojourn.

“No I--It’s a good look. He’s...”

“Less terrifying?” said Sojourn arching an eyebrow and smirking.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah but it’s fun making you uncomfortable,” said Sojourn, rolling her shoulders, “So--what should we throw at them? I took the liberty of customizing some of the training bot AI’s.”

“Let’s not softball it,” said Jack, “We aren’t just putting this team together to sell posters.”

---

“Take a deep breath, everyone,” said Mercy.

Genji heard Winston audibly inhale and exhale and he elbowed him a bit playfully. “You’ve got this, Winston,” he said. Tracer pulled her goggles down over her eyes and readied her pulse pistols.

“I sure hope so,” said Winston. A loud buzzer sounded and Jack Morrison spoke over the loudspeakers.

“Good afternoon, agents, this is Commander Morrison. As you know, with the impending retirement of Lieutenant Wilhelm, and Chief Engineer Lindholm’s transference out of field missions, we need to restructure our primary strike team. You are our top candidates for that team, but obviously you need to demonstrate an ability to work together before we can send you out in the field.”

He means us, thought Genji, looking over at Winston, He already knows Tracer and Mercy can work together--if we blow this, I’m back on the bench and Winston’s back in the lab. I don’t know how much longer I can stand being cooped up here if I mess this u--

He felt a hand touch his arm and startled slightly, glancing over at Mercy. She brought her hand away from him and mouthed ‘Deep breath,’ then demonstratively closed her eyes and drew in a steady breath through her nose, lifting her chin as she did so, before exhaling out of her mouth and relaxing her shoulders. He matched her breath as Jack Morrison went on.

“Your test is to break through enemy defenses and secure two objective sites. The objectives are indicated on your HUD and holographically indicated in the field. The training bots will maintain an assault on you throughout this whole mission, and there is a time limit so you don’t back yourselves into a corner and hope to mow them down slowly.”

Sojourn cut in here, “The training bots’ blaster rounds are nonlethal, but they have been known to break the odd bone or cause second degree burns here and there, and your suits are equipped with sensors that recognize the damage done as equivalent to pulsefire. Basically: Once your suit reaches and registers ‘critical damage’ from enemy fire, you’ll be flagged as ‘dead’--and if you’re dead, you’ve failed the test. No miracles here, Doc.”

Tracer swallowed hard at this but Mercy just furrowed her brow with determination.

“Of course, we’ve taken the liberty of replacing Ziegler’s traditional biotics with an anti-damage ion tether that functions, in the eyes of our sensors, as healing. So your role, Doctor Ziegler, will be essentially the same, just with no risk of anyone actually dying.”

“Except for the second degree burn part...” murmured Winston.

And the risk of never having a field mission again for the rest of my career, thought Genji.

“Any questions?” said Sojourn.

“Yeah!” Tracer spun her pistols, “Is that all?”

“Don’t get too cocky, Oxton,” Sojourn playfully chided over the intercom, “Test begins in 3, 2, 1--”

A loud buzzer sounded and suddenly training bots were flooding into the training area.

“Keep it tight, loves!” said Tracer, already firing off her pulse pistols, “Winston! You and the Doc go high and head for that objective site! Genji! Cut a path for them! I’ll run interference! Break!”

Mercy kept a damage boost on Winston as he hurtled upward in a leap. Genji had to trust Winston would be able to body-block her from incoming damage as he and Tracer went low. These bots were faster, more armored, and more aggressive than the usual goofy, doddering training bots he was so used to effortlessly destroying. They must have taken some notes from the Null Sector attacks, thought Genji as he did several backhand springs out of the crossfire of several training bots before Tracer plowed through them in a blaze of pulsefire. Winston slammed down onto the objective point, crushing two training bots before hauling up his tesla cannon and unleashing a braid of sparks across the training bots, short-circuiting them. Mercy slowed her own descent with her valkyrie wings, taking advantage of her higher perspective to knock out a few training bots before their return fire forced her to drop down to the ground and take cover behind Winston, keeping a steady stream of her ‘healing’ ions so that he could draw the brunt of enemy fire.

“How are you holding up?” she called to him over the high-pitched sounds of pulsefire.

“No second degree burns, yet!” said Winston and Mercy smiled a little.

“Doc! Incoming!” Tracer called and Mercy had to pivot on her feet and draw her blaster to take out a flanking training bot before seeing a flash of green corkscrew through a mess of bots and see Genji burst out of the skirmish, sword drawn and bots exploding behind him.

“Are you both all right?” said Genji, deflecting several shots from various angles as he backed up to rejoin them.

“We’re fine!” said Mercy, “You seem to be handling yourself well!”

Genji just chuckled as he kept up his deflection, “Well, being benched, there wasn’t much to do besides wrecking training bots,” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t jinx it!” said Tracer, darting into formation with them, “Okay, big guy! Your cue!”

“Right!” said Winston, slamming a shield projector down. The four of them stood back to back on the objective, protected by Winston’s shield, keeping the waves of training bots at bay. Mercy patched up any damage indicated on their suits before drawing her blaster and helping them maintain the perimeter with her own fire. Genji sent out fans of shuriken, just enough to split the training bots’ attention between himself and Tracer and to make up for the lack of range on Winston’s tesla cannon. Even though he could see fissures already running through Winston’s shield. there was a comfort on this team that he couldn’t remember ever having on Blackwatch.

It’s probably the shields, he thought a bit ruefully, but then he saw Mercy’s feathery ponytail bob into the periphery of his vision as she fired off her blaster, and it occurred to him how at ease she made him feel. Moira as a medic was a far less comforting presence---those unsettling heterochromatic eyes dissecting him, the fact that he could feel the amusement emanating from her as he limped after a biotic orb, and the odd rapport she seemed to have with Reyes that made Genji very uneasy with what should be ‘routine compartmentalization’ of Blackwatch’s intel. Mercy, meanwhile, would zip right to him in the thick of battle to heal him. The team clearly trusted her. He trusted her. She felt constant. Just having her at his back made him feel like no opponent was too tough. Then a loud chime sounded over the speakers.

“Objective A captured,” Athena spoke over the intercom, “Commence attack on Objective B.”

---

“Mm,” Jack Morrison watched, unimpressed.

“Yeah I agree,” said Sojourn, “Not much compared to London, huh?” She stooped over one of the monitors controlling the training bots on the field and typed in some new commands, “Maybe my buddy from Toronto can give them a challenge.”

“Toronto...?” said Jack.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sojourn, hitting a few keys.

---

“Didn’t I tell you this was like any other training session? I don’t know what you and Genji were getting so worked up about!” said Tracer, as the four of them ran out from the previous objective.

“I wasn’t getting worked up,” said Genji, a bit sorely, but he heard a gentle snicker from Mercy and he just huffed.

“Stay focused, team! Next objective!” said Winston as they rounded a corner on the training field. They had reached a rhythm now, Tracer and Genji breaking off to flank the training bots converging on them from all sides, Winston barreling forward, and Mercy darting between all three of them to keep the damage indicators on their suits at a minimum. Mercy had to admit she felt a lot better about having Tracer flanking when Genji was backing her up--during her missions with Reinhardt and Torbjörn, Tracer could hardly stand to stay near Torbjörn’s turret--she simply wasn’t a “maintain the perimeter” sort of fighter, often to the frustration of Torbjörn and Reinhardt--but Genji and Winston greatly increased the team’s mobility. And Mercy couldn’t deny the grace with which Genji moved. When Genji talked about his missions, he usually did so in a minimal manner, as if every move was simply the next logical step, but watching him cut through training bots, run along walls, run on enemy’s heads, it seemed almost like a dance. Plus (And she would never bring this up to Tracer) Genji couldn’t recall and leave her in a patch of enemies. Which was nice. 

Her wings blazed as she kept a damage boost on Genji to quickly dispatch the high turrets pointed down on their objective as Winston touched down and lay down a shield generator.

“Taking the point,” said Tracer, darting around Winston and laying down cover fire, “Last one and we’re home free, loves!”

Genji and Mercy touched down onto the point alongside Winston and Tracer.

“Easy peasy!” said Tracer. But then a loud, droning horn sounded.

“...please tell me that was the ‘we took the point’ sound,” said Winston.

“It was not, “ said Genji as two massive steel doors just behind the objective point.

The whole team fell silent as a massive robot emerged from the steel doors.

---

“Is that pushbot?” said Jack, looking at Sojourn.

“He’s called TW-1,” said Sojourn.

“That isn’t a training bot, that’s a piece of industrial machinery,” said Jack.

“It’s a challenge,” said Sojourn with a slight smile as they both watched Pushbot slam Tracer and Winston off of the point with a swipe of its massive arm.

---

Both Winston and Tracer thudded hard into the walls bordering the end of the training field. Winston pulled himself up and tried to shake off his disorientation from the blow.

“Are you all right?” said Winston, looking over Tracer.

Tracer grunted, shot a training bot over Winston’s shoulder, and popped up to her feet. “Why is pushbot here!?” she said, firing off her pulse pistols on a few more training bots.

“Move!” said Genji and they all dove out of the way of another swipe from Pushbot. Tracer zipped around the heels of the robot, unleashing bright bursts of pulsefire until it pivoted and swiped at her and she recalled back to the team’s previous position before blinking over to them. Genji lost count of how many shuriken he had embedded into the robot’s plating, but still it lumbered around them, protecting the objective like an oversized goalie. He felt a tingle jolt up his spine from Mercy’s damage boost, yet even with the additional force, the robot’s movements weren’t slowing in the slightest.

“That armor’s too thick---” said Genji.

“My HUD indicates less than two minutes to take the point,” said Winston.

“That’s not enough time for any of us to get through that robot’s plating!” said Tracer.

“Is this part of the test!? Do they want us to fail?!” said Winston and Genji’s stomach lurched at the thought.

“Just stay calm--I can figure this out--” said Tracer.

“Violence isn’t the solution--” said Mercy, suddenly.

“Doc--Now’s not the time to go all pacifist--” said Tracer, shooting off several more training bots.

“No, I mean the test is about taking the point, not taking the robot down!” said Mercy.

“We only need one person on the point,” said Genji.

Tracer’s face lit up.

“60 Seconds remaining,” said Athena.

“Doc! Genji! You go high! Winston, knock him off-kilter!” said Tracer, darting off.

“Oh! Uhhh right!” said Winston. He took off his glasses, tucked them into a protective pouch, cleared his throat, then let out a near deafening roar as he leapt at the pushbot in a primal rage. Tracer dipped past the pushbot in a blue flash and darted about on the point, doing her best to keep the waves of training bots from overwhelming it. Genji quickly scaled the body of the Pushbot and drew his sword while Mercy flitted about its head, firing at it with her blaster. Between Winston at its midsection and Mercy at its head, Pushbot didn’t even notice Tracer holding down the point, but it did notice Genji jamming his blade through its shoulder. Winston, still in a haze of primal rage, was now working on knocking back several training bots from Tracer. Pushbot suddenly seized Genji and threw him hard. Genji sailed through the air, partially regretting how easy the lightness of his prosthetics made him to throw. He braced for the impact of a wall, but Mercy tackled him in mid-air instead. They tangled in the air only briefly before she loosed him from her arms and he found himself below her, her holding onto him by his forearm, his shuriken-bearing arm free.

“Are you all right?” she said, breathlessly.

“Ryū-Ichimonji is still jammed in its plating!” said Genji as Mercy tried to keep Pushbot’s attention on them by firing her blaster at its face. Genji did his best to back her up with his shuriken. Slowly the robot lumbered toward them.

“As long as Winston and Tracer are holding down the point, we can--” Mercy cut herself off as there was a high-pitched chirping sound from the point. Tracer had apparently set off one of her pulse bombs to knock back another wave of training bots, and caught the attention of Pushbot. Pushbot pivoted and started heading back to the point.

“Oh no--” said Genji.

“...I’m going to try something stupid,” said Mercy.

“Stupid?! Stupid how?!” said Genji. Mercy was not a ‘Try something stupid’ kind of person. 

“Just trust me and get your sword!” said Mercy, holstering her blaster, wrapping her other hand around Genji’s arm, spinning around hard in the air, using Genji’s own inertia to swing him around and increase her speed until she let him go like a hammer throw. A surprised yelp escaped Genji as he hurtled through the air, limbs flailing, but he turned a somersault to re-orient himself before making impact against the pushbot. He scrambled up and took ahold of Ryū Ichimonji’s handle and yanked down. There was a scream of metal and a blaze of green as Ryū Ichimonji tore down through Pushbot’s chassis. Genji yanked his blade out and pushed off or the robot, backflipping through the air to bounce back on his feet. Mercy aimed her blaster at the new fissure funning down the side of Pushbot’s chestplate as she drifted to the ground next to Genji. The robot lurched toward them and Genji instinctively stepped in front of Mercy with his blade in a defensive position, but then a loud chime sounded.

“Objective B captured,” announced Athena.

Winston and Tracer were whooping and cheering on the objective point as the remaining training bots shut down and slumped over. Even Pushbot powered down to a slumping position.

“Sorry about the, um... throw,” said Mercy, twisting her grip on her staff nervously.

“No--that was--that was incredible. You’re really strong,” said Genji, sheathing his blade.

“Well, you’re pretty light so...” Mercy was pushing her hair back from her face and smiling.

“.087 seconds remaining,” Jack Morrison’s voice came in from the periphery and all four agents turned around to see him walking amidst the mess of broken training bots, “Cutting it a bit close, but... congratulations.”

“Uh--thank you, sir,” said Winston, clumsily putting his glasses back on.

“That shield generator’s very impressive, Winston,” said Jack, walking past him.

“Thank you! I mean--I already said that--not that I don’t mean it again!” Winston was nervously stammering before Tracer playfully elbowed him and he eased up a bit.

Jack Morrison came to a stop in front of Genji.

“Agent Shimada,” he said.

“Commander Morrison,” said Genji.

“Your combat style has gotten more... collaborative,” he gave a glance over to Mercy.

“Most of the credit should go to Doctor Ziegler,” Genji started on reflex, “I was just--”

“Genji was reviewing strike team mission logs from under Lieutenant Wilhelm’s command for months,” Mercy cut in, “And he trained Tracer in close quarters’ combat. He possesses incredible intuition with regards to the team.”

“...right,” said Morrison, before turning back to Genji, “I hope you understand this team won’t be operating like Blackwatch. There’s going to be a lot more eyes on you.”

“I understand,” said Genji, “I am thankful for this opportunity, commander.”

“Spotlight’s not easy, Shimada, the spotlight isn’t easy,” said Jack.

“How about we lighten up and just be happy for ‘em, Jack?” said Sojourn, stepping up alongside Jack, “We have our strike team.”

“We’ll see how they do in the field before we pop any champagne bottles,” said Jack.

Tracer’s shoulders slumped slightly but Sojourn cleared her throat “Buuuut,” Sojourn added.

“But...we... did take the liberty of getting a cake in the event that you passed this appraisal,” said Jack, “Which... you did.”

“Cake!?” Tracer’s face lit up.

----

Genji wasn’t in the habit of eating in front of other people, but Tracer still insisted on sending him off with a slice of cake. He stood awkwardly with the plate full of cake for a few minutes in the conference room, watching as the others mingled and answering the odd question from Sojourn or Jack, until their attentions trailed over to WInston and Tracer. Genji quietly excused himself from the room and started walking through the hallways of Zurich headquarters. He stared at the quaint little slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting with flakes of toasted coconut as he walked away from the conference room. He heard Mercy’s valkyrie boots tok-tok-tokking up briskly behind him and he slowed his pace and turned around.

Mercy was holding her own plate, already a few bites taken out of her own slice of cake.

“You should be celebrating with the others,” said Genji.

“Jack’s doting on Tracer and Sojourn’s interrogating Winston,” said Mercy.

“Jack dotes?” said Genji with a slight chuckle.

“Only on Tracer,” said Mercy with a smile, she gestured over her shoulder, “If you wanted to eat alone I can...”

“No--” said Genji, “I--um...I mean, I’d appreciate the company.”

“I imagine we’ll be spending a lot more time together,” said Mercy.

“Really?” said Genji, his visor brightening.

“Well... yes,” said Mercy, looking at him a bit oddly.

Genji suddenly caught himself, “Oh--Strike team,” he said after a beat.

“Yes, strike team,” said Mercy, smiling wryly, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Genji looked out the hallway window out over Zurich headquarters. Custodial workers were still carting out training bot wreckage from the practice range. His initial discomfort at first, standing with a piece of food he didn’t really feel comfortable eating in front of others, but now it was hitting him that he was off the bench. He would be going on missions again. Suddenly the world past the window glass seemed so much larger. He gave a glance back to Mercy, chewing on a bit of cake and following his line of sight nonchalantly.

“I’m looking forward to it, too, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji.

[delicatebluebirdruins]

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay

The Hunger Games; Catching Fire

Part One

- “I try to work out what is true and what is false”

- “I’m still not entirely convinced that I was hallucinating... the floor turning into a carpet of writhing snakes”.... nope

-- So many good quotes in this first chapter alone

- “Some walks you have to take alone”

-- I wonder who were the other Capitol rebels

-- Kat’s reaction to seeing Peeta on the screen breaks my heart

-- Poor Peeta

-- I love the imagery when Katniss says she’s going to be the Mockingjay, with her arms slightly raised as if she had wings

- Kat about the pearl holding it to her lips “It’s soothing a cool kiss from the giver himself” --- “a token it will make until I come home to you”

-- I love Katniss and Prim talking together

- Coin: want to present Gale as your new lover? Me: oi shut it

-- I always love Cinna’s sketchbook

-- I love the prep team’s interactions with Katniss... what happened to them after the series ended

- the prep team where punished because Octavia took a slice of bread

- Mrs Everdeen reading the pain on a person’s body

- I want a story about Greasy Sae

- Precious Posy... I want a story about Gale and his family like what happened to them all

- I am mad that the hummingbird room was cut in the film

- I love the bow Beetee designed for Katniss (I wonder what happened to it)

- Finnicks line being give to Effie kind of annoys me

- aww Katniss

- I love this scene for so many reasons but especially when the berries are mentioned and how they affected the different people

- I love Finnick so much

-- a big regret of mine was not being able to ask a teacher about why they were so shocked that Rue was cast as black... I was fifteen at the time  It doesn’t excuse me being quiet

But I was also a coward. I wasn’t even able to tell a teacher about the time a girl dry humped my head, I dropped something on the floor because she and her friends kept staring at me and laughing and I couldn’t look at them any longer so I had to duck down and when I did she got up and came over and I froze and well she grabbed my head and shoved her crotch onto the crown of my head whilst her friends laughed and the rest of class and teachers didn’t notice I have only told one person this story and that was last year

- Finnick Odair in his underwear

- I love Cressida and I want to know more about her

- I love the hospital scene for so many reasons

- Kat about the bombing: “I assumed, as usual, it was my presence that brought on punishment”

- I always love the fire is catching speech

- I love Katniss so much

- I wish we saw the tribute to the tributes videos

- I love Kat and Finnick having a meal together- though I still don’t understand why he wanted them to hide their knowledge of seeing Peeta

- I love Finnick and Kat “hunting” together

- The Hanging Tree: I never realised it was jabberjays in the “dead man called out to his love” and I hate the pop remix with a passion

- Katniss: “I could remember almost anything set to music after a round or two”

- Katniss speculating about the song is pretty spot on

- I dislike the kitchen kiss so much

- Peeta’s warning :(

Part 2

- I don’t know why but them in the bunker is a favourite scene of mine

- “I almost hiss at him too” it was crime they didn’t have JLaw hissing at Buttercup in the film

- First Peeta hijacking ref: “waging a sort of battle in his mind”

- and more chats with Prim

- and chats with Finnick

- I love Buttercup

- Plutarch x coffee was amusing

- “Glance at Finnick who gives a thumbs up- But he’s looking pretty shaky himself” -- my poor babies

- my poor precious Finnick- I wonder whom among Snow’s friends got poisoned one I am certain he poisoned is Lysistrata

-- I wonder what was going through Gale’s head when he volunteered

- Katniss is so giddy to see Peeta and well you know

- Prim telling of Plutarch is *chefs kiss*

-- Poor Portia and all the other stylists and prep teams

- “I can’t say Gale’s absences have inconvenience me”

-- I love Delly

-- I hate District 2 kiss because of that article written in 2018

-- Wraps Finnick and Annie in blankets and glares at Gale

-- I love Gwendoline Christie in the MJ 2 behind the scenes

-- what could be worse than what Gale said about the workers in the Nut

- I just love Boggs

- District 2 speech is also great and she quoted Peeta!

- the capitol having emergency supplies stockpiled... Me: i bet they have

- Oh Finnick and Annie’s wedding :)... Katniss: “Finnick loves Annie and that’s good enough for me”

- Katniss seeing Peeta makes me sad

- Poor Johanna and of course I love Johanna

- I love Finnick and I want to hear more about the sea turtle which stole his hat... hey is there any fanart of that scene?

- everyone was creeped out by Peeta threatening to steal Annie away from Finnick

- “everything screams in my dreams tonight” this line always chills me

- gulps “your squadron leader gets hit by a mortar” mortal being a type of bomb

- I love the pine needle sachet that Katniss makes Johanna

Part Three

- I dislike Haymitch at times and this lecture of his is one of them

- I love Jackson for coming up with Real or Not Real

- I love Mitchell trying to act

-- Looks at Cressida with huge heart eyes

- the best brotp Finnick x Peeta

- “now this place tastes like the arena”

- I love Messalla’s moment about the centre unit

- Peeta with Pollux

- “Katnisss” Me: shit x3000

- “Snow can’t tolerate looking like a fool”

- everytime Finnick’s ***** gets me and I just love my boy

- “don’t let him take you from me”

- Tigris! is in Ballad fucking fight me on this

- “my face runs into a hanging chain and I pull it”... snorts

- Jagged sutures and smear on cream vs gently rinsing and bandaging

- “I know it happened and yet it doesn’t seem real” *whimpers*

- the guy who was mistaken for Peeta :|

- Tigris and the can of salmon

- all the next events are a lotTM

- and then Prim and the medics died

-- did you know there are people who were angry at Katniss for not showing emotion after Prim died? No well there were and I don’t like them

- Snow: snake eyes again; about Prim: so wasteful

- Haymitch: “more boy trouble” Katniss: “I don’t know why, but this hurts me in a way Haymitch rarely can”-- Thoughts?

- what happened to Effie

- I still Katniss voted yes because she wanted Coin to think she was still on her side

- “Its all over when the Mockingjay sings”... “hour after hour of ballads, love songs and mountain airs”

- I love Greasy Sae

- I really want to know what was going through Peeta’s head when he decided to dig up evening primrose bushes

- “flakes of skin the size of playing cards” owie ouch ow ow nope

Bonus CF: I love Mags just wanting a nap

- poor Madge

- poor Buttercup and Katniss I just love them bonding

- growing back together is something I love... does anyone have good fic recs for growing back together?

- I love the description for toast babies so much

-- “I make a list of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do” I remember I had a very bad day and I was reading this scene and was looking at this blank notebook I had and thought why not and just have this small notebook with a few different stories of kindness in it and things I drew a picture of the blue mockingjay on it and a dandelion

- “Much worse games to play” It took me awhile to understand what this meant and I understand now

. 

.

It was kind of a ride rereading this series again especially after Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and you know what I still love this series and these characters

I don’t see Lucy Gray turning into Coin but I do see them as being related

[tlbodine]

Editing in Action

Someone asked me if I could show a before and after of my editing process (as detailed in this post) and GUESS WHAT I totally still have all of my editing notes from Nezumi’s Children. EXCITING. 

Big ol’ spoiler alert if you haven’t read the book, and I’ll pop this under a cut because it’s a long post. 

First off, let’s take a peek at the rough draft! Here is part of the final scene in the rough draft: 

The morning dawned, too early.  The rats lingered, uncertain if they wanted to go through with their plan.  Top Ear touched her nose to Bitey's shoulder and they were silent for a time.  Then the four of them bravely, resolutely, crossed the open space and found their way into the trap, allowing themselves to be caught within it.  They ignored the bait.  They waited.   

The exterminators came.  They wore orange suits and carried with them strange machines, the machines of death.  They smelled like death, and the rats in the trap huddled together in fear.  The rats in hiding huddled, also, and crept behind whatever cover they could.  

T​op Ear rushed at the side of the cage, realizing it was impossible to escape.  She threw herself at it, desperately, and squeaked miserably, and realized that she was inexorably trapped.  The feeling of being out in the open -- of vulnerability -- fell over her, and she shuddered; it was the most terrible feeling, being trapped in a cage when death was approaching, and she cast a horrified look at the others.  "We made the wrong choice," her expression said.  She couldn't bring the words out.  She could only feel the terror.   

T​hey would be trapped here, with no chance to escape, as the slow creeping death came over them.   

The air was nothing but death, she thought, hearing Nezumi's voice echo in her thoughts.  The air was death.  

And here is that same section from the final version: 

The morning dawned too early. Three rats sat huddled inside a cage. Another hung back fearfully in the shadowed overhang of the shelf. Between them, straddling both worlds, Bitey pressed herself against the outer wall of the cage.  She had neither moved nor slept, and the tendrils of gray light that crept through the skylight were the only hint of the passage of time.  

Outside, footsteps crunched over gravel and debris.  Voices spoke and drew near as the echo of footsteps grew.  Great Ones, a pair of them, unlike any Bitey had seen before. They wore orange suits and carried with them the machines of death.  They smelled like death, too; they smelled of snakes and floodwater and poison.  Bitey, caught in the open, froze, every hair standing on end.  Competing messages – Run! Attack! Help the others! – flooded her mind and held her immobilized.  

“Hey, look at that,” one of the Great Ones said, in the deep lumbering voices made of sounds and earthquakes.  “Bold little thing, isn't it?”

“Not for much longer it won't be.”  

Top Ear rushed at the side of the cage.  “Bitey!”  She yelled, hopelessly.  “Bitey! Do something!” She threw herself at the mesh and squeaked miserably.  

Outside, Bitey found that she could do nothing.  It wasn't like facing the Big Water or fighting off the Ukeshu – times when the only choices were fear and courage.  There was not enough courage in all the Beyond to save her from this.  The feeling of being out in the open -- of vulnerability -- fell over her, and she shuddered; it was the most terrible feeling.  The others might be in a cage, but she was every bit as trapped as they were.

It's all just cages.  Everyone has become a snake.   “What do we do with this cage?”  The Great One's voice rumbled like the distant roll of thunder, like the approach of another flood-bearing storm. “There's a couple live ones in there.”

“I think some girl's coming for it, is what the owner said.  I don't know.  Come on – help me lay down the tubing.  If she's not here by the time it's done, we'll just keep going.”  

The air is nothing but death, Bitey thought, watching as the boot steps retreated.  None of it made any sense, but she knew in her heart that Dumbo's words – no, Nezumi's words, the usoothe's final prophecy – were coming to pass.  Another storm.  Another flood. Another cage.  

So a few things you can see here. One is that I stuck to a closer, deeper POV. The original draft had a very top-down omniscient perspective and head-hopped between all the characters all the time. There really wasn’t a protagonist in the story and it showed. So when I revised, I chose Bitey to be the main character (although others still carry a lot of POV) because she was the one who had the most dramatic character arc -- true to her name, she’s first introduced biting a a person and expressing her distrust of humans; by the end, she chooses to trust the human because that would keep her with her kin. 

You can also see that between drafts I got more confident with keeping the imagery consistent, and I went deep instead of the very exposition/telling-heavy almost list of actions in the rough draft. 

Here’s what my revision prep looked like: 

Nezumi's Children – One Pass Revision

THEMES:  

Blood is thicker than water

Misplaced faith can have deadly consequences

Nothing is as simple as it seems

25-WORD SYNOPSIS:

“Rats revere humans as gods. Abandoned, they must learn to survive alone in a world that is not as black-and-white as they thought it would be.” (27 words)

ONE-LINE STORY ARC:

“Bitey must put aside her preconceived notions about both rats and humans in order to survive one  inconceivable threat after another.”

250 WORD BLURB:

Bitey is a five-month-old fancy rat. Like her sisters and the other rats of Rocco's Pet Emporium, her world is a two-foot by three-foot plexiglass-and-wire hutch.  Twice a day, the sky opens up and the giant hands of the Great Ones invade Bitey's world to provide food and water.  Sometimes, the hands pick up rats and the Great Ones hold them for a time.  Sometimes, the rats never come back.  

All her life, Bitey has been raised to revere the Great Ones – to shower them with affection, to earn their particular attentions – so that one day she too might be taken by the hands to live in paradise amongst the Great Ones.  

But Bitey rejects the hands, nipping at their fingers and running from their touch.  Something in a deep, instinctual part of her believes that there is more to the world than her cage and some unknown paradise occupied by giants, and she yearns to see what's out there.  

When the Great Ones fail to arrive one morning – and, again, that night – Bitey and her kin realize that they have been abandoned.  What's more, Nezumi the ailing prophet is having visions of a terrible horror.  There are no words in ratspeak for “storm” or “flood” or “evacuation”, but she knows that something awful is coming, and before she dies, she imparts a final warning:  get out, before it comes.

Faced with the inconceivable task of climbing outside of the world itself without the hands of Great Ones, Bitey must find a way to lead her kin to safety – and that's just the beginning.  Turns out, the world is much bigger than Bitey had ever dreamed...and substantially more dangerous.  

(287 words)

(and then the scene list here, but I won’t bore you with that, there’s like three pages of them).

Some memorable changes I made between drafts included combining two similar side characters into one role, changing the order of when certain characters die (originally the titular Nezumi the prophet survives to the end before dying in the next-to-the-last chapter, rather than her death serving as the inciting incident), and a lot of POV tweaks to establish Bitey’s character arc and keep the head-hopping at bay. 

Anyway! I hope this progress shot is helpful :) If you want to see the finished product, Nezumi’s Children is available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Nezumis-Children-T-L-Bodine-ebook/dp/B00EWTMONG

[starswornoaths]

The Price of Her Burdens

There were only so many Scions left, but they were relied upon no less. They needed an Antecedent again.

Or:

Serella and Aymeric keep their promise.

Disclaimer: spoilers for 4.5a, following the Ghymlit Dark. This is, as an end result, not a happy story.

The encroaching dark, while slow, had been steady in its course. Systematically, one by one the lights of those that surrounded the Arcbane siblings were extinguished. Snuffed as though it were as easy as putting out a candle flame.

They should not have been surprised that by the end of it all, there was just the two of them. It should not have hurt the way that it did, searching for their sibling’s shell shocked gaze across the dimly lit tent. And yet, there they were, in the quiet dark, wondering how it all came to this. How any of it was worth it.

“Just us now.” Serella spoke up, avoiding looking at their adopted little sister, another little light lost to them, because they could not save her.

Because they weren’t enough.

“Yeah,” Uthengentle acknowledged in a raspy voice. “Tends to be that way, doesn’t it?”

“This is…” Serella shook her head. “This is different.”

“…Yeah.” Uthengentle agreed again.

They lapsed into silence, the only sound in the tent was their breathing. 

“We’re all that’s left of the Scions.” Serella finally said in a distant voice, peering out of the small gap in the canvas of the tent. “Of those that can represent them, at least.”

Uthengentle looked at her, surprised anger sparking in his chest. “That’s…that’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He hissed, and wasn’t even sure why he bothered to keep his voice down. It wasn’t as though he was going to wake Alisaie. Nothing would. “What about Alis—“

“I’m thinking about it,” Serella snipped—and clearly they were both frayed at the ends from everything that recent months had done to them and theirs. With a swallow she softened her voice, “because now someone has to look out for all of them.” She flinched. “Someone…someone has to be the Antecedent again. There’s too few of us to go on as we have.”

Would that Minfilia was still there, they both thought but did not say. Her presence had been sorely missed, though recent months made the loss of her calm and steadfast leadership all the more difficult. With everything that had happened and how few answers their desperate scrambling turned up, they had never missed her more.

“You’re…you’re right,” Uthengentle conceded slowly. “Who…who should…?”

Even as he asked, he knew who it would have to be; with his aversion to leadership and difficulties with communication, he wasn’t the ideal candidate. It was why he refused to accept any promotions beyond First Lieutenant—two squadrons was more than enough for him to manage.

But maintaining all the connections Minfilia had worked so hard to establish? Building new ones? Coordinating with Alliance leaders on more than just the battlefield? His stomach was in cramps just thinking about it. Looking to Serella, he knew that she knew that, too.

“I’ll…I’ll do it.” She answered him quietly. Her tone was soft. Defeated. “I…” she swallowed thickly. “I’ll have to inform them…”

“Ellie, it doesn’t have to just be you—“ Uthengentle began.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree.” Serella said, adamantly keeping her gaze looking out through the part in the canvas. “But we can’t both be beholden to neutrality. One of us has to answer to their commanding officer directly. And...and there has to be someone the Alliance can go to that’s impartial—“

“Ellie, you’re with Aymeric—“ he cut himself off as a thought occurred to him. “Or…you wouldn’t—Ellie, that isn’t fair to either of—!”

“Give me an alternative.” She practically begged him, even as she couldn’t stand to look at him. 

Her hands clenched into fists atop her knees as she sat on her cot. She squeezed them tight enough that he heard the leather lining her gloves creak. Still, she kept peering out into the chaos outside.

The armor of the soldiers that walked past blurred—red, steel, yellow, blue all looked the same mottled, grime covered gray from there—though it was no different to how they looked from within the tent.

War made ashes of them all, it seemed.

“At this point, do we really have to stay impartial…?” Uthengentle’s question drifted as he looked at his sister—really looked at his sister. He had not realized she had shut herself down until it was too late; her mind was made up. “Ellie, you can’t honestly think they’ll expect that—“

“I can.” Serella said, brokering no argument. “Because they do.”

The disassociation in her gaze cleared a moment as she looked to Alisaie again. There was grief there—a familiar, exhausted agony—and her voice was softer when she spoke again. 

“I would ask you to take Alisaie to the Rising Stones.”

“There’s a war going on, Ellie.” He argued. “You can’t expect me to leave. I can arrange for—“

“I want you to escort her, Uthengentle.” Serella said firmly. “We,” her voice cracked. “We have to look after our own, Uthen.” Her eyes met his again, and he saw she still struggled to close herself off. “We’ve got no one else to do it.”

He wanted to argue with her—because he knew exactly what she was going to do in the name of neutrality, knew what taking up that responsibility would cost her…but he was a worse option, he knew. He was better at leading the smaller groups, the squadrons, he was better at doing, not talking or planning anything on a grand scale. As a Captain, Serella had been groomed by Merlwyb for leadership in the event that something required her to lead in the Admiral’s place. She wasn’t ready, but she was their best bet until they could rescue their fellow irregulars.

“You’re not shouldering this alone.” He said instead. His tone was firm even as he gently gathered his littlest sister in his arms. “You’re not fucking allowed, Ellie.”

“I know.” She said. When she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Get her home, Uthen, and come back as safely and swiftly as you can.”

She spoke as the acting Antecedent now, he recognized—she was easing herself into the role as much as she could, circumstances allowing. Would that there was someone else…anyone else…

“I’ll be back soon.” Uthengentle promised her instead, and carried Alisaie’s slumbering form out of the tent.

He heard no response, and pretended not to hear his sister sniffle quietly as the tent canvas closed behind him.

***

**

*

It took little effort to find the picket line for caravans carting away the wounded and the dead; gods knew there were enough of both. There was a smaller cart headed for Mor Dhona for supplies and to tend to wounded volunteer adventurers, and when Uthengentle spied Arenvald amongst them, his concern spiked. When his fellow Scion saw him, he gave a nod of his head and hopped down from the caravan.

“Just ‘ere for escort duty,” Arenvald reassured him. His gaze turned somber when he saw Alisaie cradled in the Warrior’s arms. “Not her, too…”

“Looks like we’re both on guard duty.” Uthengentle said.

“I can take her, get her settled.” Arenvald offered, and Uthengentle was careful in transitioning the Leveilleur sister into the gladiator’s arms. “Caravan still needs some prep work—might do well to let the Alliance know where we’re goin’, lest they wonder.”

Uthengentle nodded, and while Arenvald saw to getting Alisaie comfortably settled in the caravan, he craned his neck beyond the triage set up to see the Alliance leaders convening over the war table, doubtless trying to coordinate troop movements.  

“Caravan isn’t leaving for a few minutes yet,” Arenvald reassured him, stepping off the caravan again and clapping a brotherly arm on his shoulder. “Go on, I’m not leaving without you.”

“Thanks.” Uthengentle said, reaching over to give him the same familial gesture before stepping off toward the war table.

The Alliance leaders all looked up at him when he drew near, and he hated the way that he instantly clammed up; he felt his throat trying to close on him, even as their gazes were merely inquisitive, concerned. It didn’t matter that they didn’t look angry, he still somehow felt like he’d done something wrong.

And here he had thought he could take up the job of acting Antecedent. He wanted to spit at his own cowardice.

“Back from the frontlines.” He rasped. When he found lowering his gaze made speech easier, he honed his focus to the pieces scattered on the war table. “Arenvald and I are taking Alisaie back to the Rising Stones, but then we’ll be back joining the fray again.”

“Sensible,” Pipin said with an affirming nod. “Given the circumstances, it is good that she is being guarded by such capable warriors.”

“The Scions…” Kan-E-Senna spoke up hesitantly. “With their numbers fewer still after—“

“Wanted to bring you news of that, too.” Uthengentle said quietly. “There’s…not a lot of us left that can lead the group. Speak for us, I guess.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “So...Serella will be acting Antecedent, until we can save everyone.”

A hush fell over them all, and subtle glances were directed toward the Lord Commander. He seemed focused on a vigil piece set upon the map.

“If you have questions, or need anything from the Scions, she’s the one to go to for now.” Uthengentle explained quietly. “Once the others…come back, we’ll go back to how it was before, but—“

“It makes sense.” Merlwyb said uncomfortably. It was clear she understood that for the foreseeable future, she had just lost her Captain. “We will take time to speak with her.” Her gaze flickered over to Aymeric. “Individually.”

Uthengentle nodded, and promptly made for the caravan. There was no point in sticking around, not when there was more work yet to be done.

***

**

*

I’m fine, Serella lied to herself. This is temporary. I’m fine.

She paced the scant length of the tent, awaiting word that Alisaie was back safely with the other Scions. The more she thought of Mor Dhona, the more she fought back the nausea that twisted her stomach.

Because until everyone awoke again…that would have to be home. It wouldn’t be…it hadn’t been since the Crystal Braves. She’d have to clean off the dust in that room they refused to relinquish to anyone else, but there was a bed. That’d be enough. It was sensible, she told herself; living there made her close enough to everyone that she was a stone’s throw away but isolated from them for the sake of impartiality. It was why the Scions had chosen it in the first place. Why she had helped fight so hard to make it home for them.

All the same, she...she didn’t want this. Not that it mattered what she wanted; she would do it because she could, because she had to. She would sleep among the dreaming and live amongst the empty until they were returned. If that was forever, so be it.

Her throat closed at the thought. With a shuddering breath she pinched the bridge of her nose and waited for the stinging in her eyes to just stop. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she let it, unsure of how to stop feeling long enough for her to still it.

“Arcbane.” Serella tensed when she heard her Admiral’s call.

“Enter,” she called back tiredly, though still did not turn around.

The canvas fluttered, and she could hear the Admiral’s boots softly thumping against the earth. Faint light carved a slice into the hushed dark long enough for Merlwyb’s shadow to loom over her before the flap closed again.

“Admiral,” Serella greeted. Pulling her shoulders back and filling her lungs with the deepest breath she could manage she turned to face Merlwyb with what she hoped was a brave face.

“I was given the news,” Merlwyb said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Acting Antecedent, eh?”

“We’re out of options.” Serella said quietly. She winced. “I’d hoped to speak with you all about it—“

“Your brother saw to that.” Merlwyb explained.

“I see.”

“Let me tell you the same thing I told Minfilia years ago—and offer some words for you alone, for good measure.” Merlwyb stepped close enough to place a hand on her bicep. Serella reluctantly looked up to see Merlwyb watching her reactions pensively. “’Tis now your responsibility to guide the Scions with an impartial hand—not an unfeeling one.”

Serella lowered her gaze, feeling strangely as though she were being called out. What a way to start my tenure, she thought.

“I’ll try,” was all she could manage. It was all that would be truthful.

“I’ll not have you worrying about your rank as Captain—it’s still yours when everything is settled, and Llymlaean knows your squadron will follow no other.” The hand on Serella’s bicep squeezed gently. “None of us can offer advice; it would seem we were trying to curry favor if we did.” Serella nodded. “But know that we all support you.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” She said quietly.

“Now then,” Merlwyb removed her hand and straightened. “There’s a line of people eager to say their piece to you. Who among them am I not beating back with a stick?”

Serella’s eyes widened. Gods, she hadn’t even thought that far ahead and now—fuck, now it all just felt like everyone was trying to say goodbye to who she had been before this moment and if that were the case...

“Just Ayme—“ with a wince, she cleared her throat. “I would see the Lord Commander. I will…I’ll make time to speak with the others later.”

“As I suspected.” Merlwyb said with a nod. “I’ll shoo the others away, then—though know that their sentiments will echo mine.”

“I know.” Serella yessed her.

“We’re a crew, Captain.” Merlwyb reminded her. “We’ll steer this ship through the storm. We always do.”

The Admiral left after that, though Serella hardly felt more composed for the visit. So everyone wanted to, what, greet her as who she was to become for her new very temporary role? Or were they saying goodbye to who she was to them because they accepted the Scions as lost? 

They could also just be worried for her, she reminded herself; panic tended to make a fatalist of her.

Because she was panicking. For very personal, very painful reasons.

***

**

*

“Storm Captain?” The reason for her panic spoke from outside the tent, and she fought the urge to curl into a ball at the title.

It wasn’t hers. Not anymore. Same as him.

“Enter.” She said again—gods, she thought she would have more time to brace herself.

She had a promise to keep, she knew. She just didn’t want to say goodbye.

Still, the acting Antecedent crossed her arms tightly across her chest and tried to remind herself of their promise as Ser Aymeric stepped into the tent and closed the flap behind him.

“Lord Commander,” she greeted, her voice already splintering beneath the weight of his title.

“I shan’t pretend you do not know what brought me here.” He said.

She felt the space between them keenly, and clenched her hands into the cloth covering her armor.

“You know that I am acting Antecedent,” she said as evenly as she could. He nodded. “I…I’m glad you sought me out.”

Ser Aymeric seemed more sure of himself than she in that moment, more ready to cast aside his title for her sake. She clung to it all the same; it made this conversation…easier.

Another lie she told herself.

“I…” She swallowed, and wished she had been given time to write the words down rather than fumble to speak from a heart she was desperately trying to close off. “I only intend to have this title until the Scions are restored.” She stumbled to explain herself.

“I know,” the Lord Commander spoke softly. “You were never one for titles. Nor for power.”

“I don’t want it.” Serella whispered, forgetting herself. 

“I know.” 

The Warrior of Light drew in a breath and clarified, “I only hope to be half as capable as Minfilia—gods know there’s—“ she flinched. “—fewer people to manage.”

“Ella—“ Ser Aymeric tried to dispel her titles too and godsdammit they promised each other—

“I don’t know how long I’ll hold this title.” The acting Antecedent cut him off; if he said his name for her so softly again it might be her undoing. “But for however long that I do hold it, I have to be as neutral as I can be.”

“I accept this,” the Lord Commander said. “And would expect naught less.”

Perhaps it was his endless patience with her. Perhaps it was the unassuming, somber look in his eyes as he regarded her, but she felt herself falling apart. The tighter she clutched onto herself, the more she felt every ilm of her being cracking under her own pressure.

“I—I can’t come home.” Serella whispered, curling tighter into herself. Her titles fell at her feet. She did not reach for them again. “I have to stay in Mor Dhona because it’s neutral and it makes more sense. It’s a centralized location, of course it makes sense—“

“Ella,” Aymeric said—fuck but she’d let go of his titles, too—as he closed the distance between them.

Her eyes welled with tears until she couldn’t see him clearly anymore as she felt her goodbye burn on her tongue like poison. With equal ferocity she wanted to all at once swallow it to ruin herself instead and press the poison into his heart and wither it enough that he would not follow her. Her chest ached with the weight of the promise she had. Keep it, she urged herself. You’re a woman of your word. He would not be the first casualty in your path, don’t act like he is.

“And I can’t ask you to wait for me!” She sobbed as quietly as she could. “Y-you’ve—I’ve already left you waiting for a godsdamned year and—“

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her crying because she had to do this for him even if it killed her. She had to free him. He would only suffer with her like this.

Her tears were cold against the flushed heat of her face. They made her lashes sticky and her vision obscure in the shuttered dark. Her lungs protested the stuttering of her pitiful sobs, aching and pressing against her ribs. Her overworked and tired muscles tingled from the way she trembled. 

What a hero, she thought bitterly.

His hands, soft as they were, startled her when they coaxed her into looking at him again. His thumbs were careful as they swept her tears away.

“If I have left you to believe,” he began slowly. “That I would not wait an eternity for one moment of happiness with you, then I have done a poor job of showing you what you mean to me.”

“But that isn’t fair to you,” Serella sobbed even as she pressed her face into his hands. “You deserve better.”

“As do you.” Aymeric countered. “Forgive me, dear one, but I love you far too much to let you languish in such agony. I will accept your farewell no for other reason than that you do not love me.” His eyes were still patient as he asked, “is your heart no longer mine?”

Gods, but that wasn’t fair either. The words were there, the denial that she was still his pressing against her teeth. Because that would free him — he deserved to be free of the pain that the path she walked would inflict upon him.

But she could never lie to him. 

“It’s yours,” she whispered. “I’m...I’m yours.”

While not surprised, he looked relieved. Doubtless he guessed at her thoughts. 

“As I am yours.”

When he gently guided her head into the crook of his neck she let him, and for a moment, she let herself be his Ella. She could tell in the way he stroked her hair as she cried that this was him taking one last moment to be hers, too. Clutching at the front of his coat, she took shuddering breaths and willed the heat in her head and her throat to cool that she might think straight.

“There is work for us yet to do that we might end this war.” When he spoke again, she felt her ears perk to focus on him. “And we will not…not see one another for much of it.”

“I know.” She wheezed, taking another breath and stepping away from him.

“So allow me make another promise to you,” Aymeric murmured, reaching out for her hands. She met them half way. “Your home will be there when the realm is ready to give you back to me.” She sobbed, but he continued, “Though I might not always be there for them, I will see to Vardr and Rhalgr when I am in Ishgard—they will know that you are coming home.”

“They’re going to be so mad at me.” She said around a watery chuckle.

“I am sure their upset is naught that a pet behind the ears cannot fix.” He reassured her with his own shaky smile. “And they will be loved in the meantime besides. I will see to that.”

“What happened to impartiality?” Serella asked.

“I daresay having fewer concerns in Ishgard to split your focus goes great lengths in maintaining such neutrality.” Aymeric countered easily.

“Always have an answer for everything.” She smiled through her tears.

“Because I must.”

He kissed her then, a whisper soft brush of lips. Not a farewell so much as a promise of see you soon.

It still felt final when he released her hands and took a step back.

“Go, Antecedent.” The Lord Commander said in a voice ringing with clarity and surety. “May the Fury guide and keep you.”

“And you, Lord Commander.” The Warrior of Light answered.

Ella still fought down tears as Aymeric stepped outside into the ashen night.

[writersmacchiato]

Friday {artist au} - [Ponyboy Curtis x Reader]

based on this

* this is a modern au and ponyboy is aged up

You caught his attention, not because of your looks — you were pretty though — it was the yellow knit sweater that you wore. It was very similar to the one that he was currently wearing but yours had a small enamel pin on the right. He couldn’t make out what it was from across the classroom.

You’d only just transferred to his school, two weeks into the new school year and he was intrigued by you. It wasn’t often they got transfers from out of state and there was quite the buzz about you. If you knew, you didn’t show it and mostly kept to yourself.

“I like your sweater,” he almost choked on his spit when he realized that you, you, were talking to him.

“Thanks, I got it from Goodwill,” he didn’t stumble over his words, but why did he tell you that?

“Oh hey, I got mine from Goodwill too.” You smile at him and sit at his table, “is it okay if I sit over here? Table three is annoying and too crowded.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Ponyboy couldn’t believe his luck. The mysterious new student was sitting with him and complimenting him.

It was silent after you thanked him - it was just a planning day in the studio so it was mostly quiet except for the classical music that played over the speakers and the before mentioned table three gossiping. Ponyboy didn’t really know what to do for this project. It they had to do was plan out a design for a pot but it couldn’t be a simple pot.

“What are you doing for your bowl?” He asked you, after erasing yet another design.

“Hm,” you lifted your head out of your sketchbook, “oh, I have no idea.”

“Then what have you been drawing?” You’d been hunched over and the soft scratching from your pencil had filled the silence at the table.

You flipped around your sketchbook and Ponyboy saw that you were drawing a sunflower. A very detailed sunflower.

“The shading on that is really good, wow,” Ponyboy was genuinely surprised. It seemed as if you had an eye for fine details.

“Thanks,” you shrug, “I don’t really like it, though.”

“Maybe that can be your bowl design?” He suggested, pleased with how your face lit up.

“That’s a great idea! Thank you, Pony,” you said with a warm smile.

Your eyes meet across the table and it lingers, before he glances away.

“You should design a cat for your vase,” you offer with a small laugh.

“Why?” He wasn’t opposed to it and frankly had no ideas.

“Who doesn’t love cats?” You raise your eyebrows at him, “although, I bet you have a dog.”

“I do,” Ponyboy chuckles at the look on your face, “but I wouldn’t mind designing a cat. Like one of those really tall and skinny cats that seem all elegant.”

Your eyes shine, “that’s exactly what I had in mind.”

————

He didn’t see you for the rest of the day. It turned out that Ceramics was the only class you shared together.

You texted him throughout the day, blatantly ignoring the no cell phone policy, and each time his phone vibrated he smiled when he saw your name come up. He answered the questions you occasionally asked, but for the most part, you just talked to him. Maybe you were just lonely and only talking to him because he was the first friend you made at a new school, but he couldn’t help but feel flattered. You had a cute smile, nice eyes, your hair was pretty. Ponyboy thought you were beautiful.

Lunch came up and Ponyboy waited by the entrance. His eyes scanned the crowd for any sight of you and almost drops his notebook when someone tap his shoulder from behind.

“Jesus!” He exclaims, turning around with half the mind to punch whoever it was. Instead, he’s faced with your sheepish face.

“Nope, not him.” You say, biting back a smile.

“Real funny,” he scoffs, but he’s smiling.

“So, how do the art kids spend their lunch?”

“Well that depends...”

“On what?”

“Whether you smoke.”

“Well I don’t. What are my options?”

Ponyboy pretends to think about it, “well...you could hang out on the bleachers like I do, or eat in the art rooms. Mrs. Lou doesn’t mind.”

“Bleachers?”

You pull out a wrapped sandwich, “lead the way, Ponyboy.”

——

Weeks fly by and summer has officially gone. Trees that were once a vibrant green are curling with yellow and red, fluttering to the ground one-by-one. The wind that was once a comforting breeze against the scorching sun is now a bitter assailant in the streets. It marked an end to your lunches outside with Ponyboy. Only after shaking from the cold for an entire afternoon, even indoors, did you and Ponyboy decide to move lunch inside. It turned out that he knew a lot of spots in school, ones that weren’t frequented.

The auditorium was always empty, unless a school production was being put on or used for a class. During lunch, though, it was always empty. There was something about being in there. The dim lighting, collected dust, the feeling that you shouldn’t be in there - it was your favorite spot in school.

Ponyboy was laying sprawled out across the stage, his piece of the sandwich you brought and shared next to him, his sketchbook in front of him. You watched as he sketched a sunset that he had described to you earlier. The sight was much more interesting than the geometry homework you were attempting to do.

“Hey, Pony,” you say, interrupting the flow he was in.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna hang out after school?”

He stops mid-sketch, his hand frozen over the paper. “Uh, you wanna hang out with me? Outside of school?”

“We’re friends,” you say, concealing your laugh at his shocked face. “I want to hang out with you. If you’re cool with it?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He tries to hide his blush.

Why did he have to be so awkward around you?

—

Ponyboy was pretty sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest. It had been beating extremely fast at your invite of hang-out. He stumbles into the DX, hoping that Sodapop was a break.

“Soda,” he calls out to his brother.

Sodapop walks past the counter, messing up his hair. “Hey, little brother. Whata doing here?”

“Remember that girl I told you about?”

“The real artsy one?”

Before he can respond, Steve cuts in. “As if he talks to other girls.”

“Shut up, Steve.”

He suddenly couldn’t find the words to say. Not when Steve was waiting to ridicule him. Soda picked up on that, leading him to a more secluded spot.

“What’s going on?” He asks softly, concern shining through.

“She asked me to hang out on Friday and I said I would.”

“All that fuss for a girl?” Soda laughs, his concern gone. “Listen, Pony, she’s just a girl. No biggie. Follow my advice and you’ll be fine. Just be yourself. She wouldn’t be asking to hangout if she wasn’t interested in you.”

Those words rang through his head on his walk home. Be yourself. How could he? He acted differently around the gang than he did around you. He hoped that Darry would have words to reassure him.

Darry was home, early for once, and prepping supper. “Hey, Ponyboy.”

“Hey, Darry...” he trudged into the kitchen, beginning a tangent of words that he managed to rein in, “so, I don’t know. We’re friends, but she digs okay, and she understands me.”

Darry doesn’t respond right away, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to look at him. His eyes are unusually bright, the only giveaway that he isn’t completely serious at the moment. “Just be respectful, alright? This isn’t an official date, but it’s just a date without the pressure of being a date.”

Somehow that made him feel worse.

——

Ponyboy hopes that he looks nothing like the nervous symphony that is stringing along inside of him.

It was Friday. The day of your designated hang-out.

He was not nervous. In the slightest. Just...apprehensive.

His stomach drops when he sees Steve saunter towards him.

Steve claps his shoulder, “don’t forget protection, Ponyboy.”

“Shut up, Steve.” Ponyboy is sure that his cheeks are deep red.

Just when he’s beginning to entertain the thought that you were joking and it was all a prank, he sees you turn the corner looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry, Pony, Mr. Peters called my ass out for the paper I did.” You huff, “said it was bullshit. Well, not his words, but that’s what he meant.”

“Mr. Peters sucks,” Ponyboy says, “had him last semester and it was awful. Never took him again.”

“I know that now,” you scoff, but shrug it off. “So, have you heard of the Tulsa Art Museum?”

“I went once with my parents, when I was real little.”

“I was wondering, because they’re bringing a limited-time Van Gogh exhibit to it and I wanna go. I love his work.”

“Maybe we could go together...” he looked more confident than he felt.

Your eyes lit up, “I’d love, too. I’ll look into more details and let you know.”

Ponyboy nods, eyes shifting past you and to the dreary gray sky. You turn to follow his gaze and frown.

“I hope it clears up tonight. I want to stargaze.”

“I just want to see the sunset.”

—

Your house is simple. Ponyboy is surprised at how quiet and still it seems, almost untouched.

“My parents are at work, so it’s just us.” You tell him as you unlock the door, “I probably should’ve told you that before.”

“S’okay.”

Your bedroom is almost exactly how he pictured it to be. Not that he thought about it often...

Silence lingers in the room before you pull out one of your sketchbooks.

“Will you be my model for an art assignment?” You ask hopefully.

“For what class?” He knew that the ceramics class didn’t require any human portraits.

“Art two. We’re on the portrait section,” you explain, “it’ll only be a quick sketch, won’t take long.”

Ponyboy shrugs, walking over to your windowsill and taking a seat. His head leans against the frame as he takes in the sunset. You have a good view of sunsets from your window.

Time passes by in comfortable silence. The only sound being the scratching of your pen on paper, distant hums of cars passing by, and the soft tap of his foot on the floor.

“I’m done,” you say, walking over to show him what you drew.

His eyes widen as he takes it in. It’s a simple pen drawing, with minimal details and just a basic outline of him.

“I purposely left it minimal,” you explain, “I’m going to use watercolor to capture the sunset.”

“Do you have a kit with you?”

Your eyes seem to glow as you bring it out, “I was thinking it would mainly be yellow with some pink and orange.”

“Yeah, pale daffodil would work, but I think it was more bright yellow.”

“You’re right.”

He looks over the colors you have. Admiring the selection as you both work out the color scheme. It reminds him of ceramic class and he feels warm at the thought. He felt comfortable with you.

“Hey, follow me.”

His heart stops when you slide the window up and climb onto the roof. You stick your head back in, eyes bright and smiling.

“Grab my blanket, it’s chilly.”

He does as he’s told, clambering through the window no near as gracefully as you had. You take the blanket from him and wrap it around both of your shoulders, head leaning on his shoulder. Your eyes are trained solely on the sky, watching the twinkling stars and seeing pictures that he could never make out. 

You were utterly enchanted by stars, having a random fact to sprout out at any given moment. Now, you seemed content to just gaze at the stars. 

“Is that the Big Dipper?” Ponyboy points, squinting as he tries to make it out. 

“No, it’s right...” you grab his hand, moving it to the correct spot, “there.”

He looks down at you, “you sure love space, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be wearing,” you pull up your jeans to reveal socks with spaceships on them, “these, if I  wasn’t.”

Ponyboy laughs, admiring them. He looks down at you, the words dying in his throat when he sees just how close his face is to you. You don't move away and neither does he. It’s still for a moment. He can hear more cars driving by, their lights shining light on the house before disappearing. His hands are cold and he finds that so are yours, when you touch his cheek. You pull him in for a kiss that makes him feel warm and fuzzy. He breaks away, cheeks flushing. Your lips are swollen, parting to say something that you never do as he’s pressing his lips against yours. 

Time stills and he can only focus on how you taste and how you feel. This was by no means his first kiss, but there was something about being under the stars. Something about you. He couldn’t get enough. You nip his bottom lip and he all but melts into you, letting out a sigh. 

His phone goes off in his pocket, startling him as he breaks away abruptly. It’s a notification from Darry.

Come home soon, please.

Checking the time, it’s past 10. Past his curfew. He sighs, looking at you unsurely. "I better go.”

He crawls back inside your room, gathering his things as you watch him from the window.

His shoes scuff on your floor as he chooses to avoid your gaze, “so,,,”

“So, same time next Friday?” You say, smiling when he lets out a dorky grin.

“Yeah, next Friday.”

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

taglist:

@ponyboyvhs @unique05sstuff @vanilla0826

the outsiders: @80smen @onlyfangirlsunderstand @charmingcheesecake @gclden80s  @retrodillon @greasygold @staygoldguys

everything: @venusstarlight108 @knivestheresnothingtoit @awesomefaith14 @ardentmuse @yajairayellow @salladwinston @maddieb97222 @anchy-bananchy @staygoldponebone 

[itssandflower]

Mischief: Part 2

Read part 1 here

Trigger warning: Extreme Gore

At this point, I opened the carrier to get Mischief’s vitals. She was a gorgeous black cat with the standard green eyes. Her left side was facing me, and I could see her left hind leg tucked under her protectively. “All right, darling, I’m just going to take a quick look at your leg, okay?” I cooed to Mischief, shifting her hind end carefully so I could see the leg. I tried to keep my face passive as I took in the wounds-- they looked very much like something had scraped its claws down her flesh, but it the wounds looked pretty old. Mischief’s mom told me then that the inside of the leg was much worse. Privately, I wanted the surgeon to take a look at it before I did. I stroked Mischief’s short black fur and tucked her leg gently back under her before I closed the carrier. I informed Mischief’s mom that I would take her back to be evaluated, then bring her right back.

The surgeon I was receiving for was not my usual one. She was a tall, dark-haired, and mildly intimidating to those around her. She wasn’t a mean person, just very blunt with an impassive face. She was an intelligent doctor, and I was confident in her treatment plans for Mischief. We called her MML. I brought Mischief back to her and explained her situation, and MML, the intern on our service, and I went through the hospital to find a place to evaluate Mischief’s gait as part of our physical exam. The radiology suite was the only place we could go with a door, in case Mischief decided to make a break for it. We closed the door and took her out of her carrier, but she just huddled in a dark, unmoving heap on the floor. We gave her a few minutes, but she still didn’t move... She didn’t even turn her head to evaluate her surroundings.

Eventually, before I could move, MML went to turn the cat over. I should have known something was drastically wrong when Mischief didn’t resist; it was a very un-catlike thing to do. My heart dropped when I took a look at her hind leg-- there was no flesh on the inside of it. I could see the muscle, but it wasn’t a healthy pink... More like a washed- out beige. I could smell the infection, and it made my stomach churn. MML quickly and carefully picked Mischief up to return her to the carrier, and immediately after went to talk to Mischief’s mom. As I waited, I typed in some triage notes on the computer, anxiously thinking about that terrible wound and wondering how it got as bad as it did.

Suddenly, MML came rushing back into the surgery prep area, urgently snapping that we needed to bandage the leg before Mischief got a hospital-borne infection. The intern grabbed Mischief’s carrier while I moved around the surgery prep area like a whirlwind, grabbing betadine and saline for cleaning the wound, cast padding, bandage tape, vet wrap, and gauze. I placed a warm towel on a free gurney and the intern carefully lifted Mischief out of her carrier. She was limp and did not resist. I laid her on her side so that the inside of her left hind leg was visible to the surgeon and the intern, but I found I didn’t even have to restrain Mischief. Still, I talked softly to her, telling her I was so sorry that this got so bad for her, and that we would do everything we could for her.

As the intern began to clean Mischief’s wound, my stomach lurched-- the skin was sloughing, meaning it came off with very little pressure. MML seemed to grow more urgent, skillfully evaluating the wound and placing a bandage over the entire leg. She informed me that this cat needed to be evaluated by our Internal Medicine service immediately, and if they couldn’t do it, our Emergency service needed to take a look at her. My heart began to race as the reality of the situation finally clicked with me; Mischief was in a lot of trouble. I asked MML what we could do for this wound, and she sighed. She said that with the way the wound looked, amputation was unlikely to be successful, as the infection could have spread to Mischief’s bones in her legs. At worst case, it could spread to her hip joint and even to her pelvis. Therefore, the options were very limited for the small black cat.

When the bandage was placed, the intern brought Mischief back into the room with her owner so I could find someone who was free to evaluate her. I set off at a brisk pace to internal medicine, informing the techs and the doctors of the severe situation. Mischief had an appointment with the Internal Medicine service, anyway, which was definitely for the best. For extra measure, I also informed ER of the possibility they may have to evaluate her. From there, I had to move on to my next appointment... But my thoughts were still on Mischief and her mom.

Mischief’s appointment was originally at 9 am, and by the time my next appointment came, it was 10 am. When I came back from my next appointment, I saw Mischief on the crash table and had a grim realization that things were getting darker for her, not lighter. I overheard that her blood pressure was extremely low, and I noticed the ER nurses placing an intravenous catheter on her so they could bolus her with fluids. Throughout it all, the little black cat did nothing to resist.

Hours passed. Other appointments finished, and I noticed Mischief’s owner in the room that I had left her in as I walked past with other clients. Every now and then, I saw the Internal Medicine specialists and nurses in there with her, undoubtedly sharing Mischief’s progress... Or lack thereof. Of the few glances I was able to catch of Mischief’s owner, I noticed her red-streaked cheeks. She had been crying...

Eventually, the day drew to an end, and Mischief was the only patient of mine that was left in the hospital. By this time, her care was taken over entirely by the Internal Medicine service. A part of me wanted to stay on her case, but I knew there was not much I could do for her. Instead, once I was able to, I approached one of the Internal Medicine nurses.

“How is Mischief?” I asked cautiously, half-dreading the answer.

The Internal Medicine nurse sighed, confirming my prediction before she spoke. “Her owner decided to euthanize. She was suffering too much.”

It was a bittersweet end. Sweet because Mischief was no longer left to exist in agony... Bitter because all I could think of was her owner; she had arrived at my hospital with a sick cat in hopes that we could fix what was unfixable. Instead, she left that night with an empty, rusted cat carrier.

. . .

I still think of Mischief and her owner. A few weeks after her death, I had a dream that a small black cat was called back to us as a “STAT triage��. When a STAT was called, the patient was critical and needed to be evaluated immediately.

In this dream, an ER nurse brought back a gray cat carrier. We opened the top of the carrier carefully and swiftly, revealing a petite black cat huddled in the very back corner. The cat looked fine, and I couldn’t see a reason this patient was labeled “critical”. I readied myself as the nurse cautiously began to lift the cat out of the carrier. The nurse slowly turned the cat until her belly was exposed to the surrounding team...

There was a large wound splitting the cat from the neck to the tail, gaping up at us like a black hole. The body cavities were completely empty-- no heart, lungs, intestines. This cat should not have been alive. I had enough time to register the horror of the scene before the cat let out an unearthly screech, kicking her back claws at her throat. Everything about the scene was... Wrong.

I woke the next day, distraught. That dream comes back to me when I see a mortally injured patient. I still see the cat’s belly, exposed to the world... But that wasn’t the worst part of the dream. The absolute worst part was, in spite of the fact that the dream cat must have been in immense suffering, the owners in the dream refused to euthanize.

I know this dream was related to my experience with Mischief. I wish I could talk to more people about how seeing Mischief’s wounds, and being utterly helpless to help her, truly affected me. But I must keep my head up; move to the next patient, be there for the next owner, and help treat the next sickness or injury. But I’ll never forget those patients that have a place in my heart now... And Mischief is one of them.

[lisatelramor]

Lay In the Atmosphere Ch1

So as I was writing Not Left To Stand Alone, the idea for this fic, with Kaito's history with the Kudos, was nagging at the back of my brain and the second I was done writing the bulk of NLTSA, I was writing this fic. ^_^;;; Which... emotional whiplash as NLTSA ends on happy notes and this is ANGST-DEPRESSION-TEARS for Kaito. >_> I mean it's not 100% angst, but let's be real, most of this is a grief and anxiety spiral mixed with shit life choices that Kaito eventually manages to drag himself out of.  That said, if you haven't read NLTSA this should stand well enough on its own as a separate story.

I was listening to Panic at the Disco almost nonstop when I was writing this so the title comes from “A Casual Affair” which is kind of ironic since Kaito, Shinichi and Ran don’t do casual anything. ^_^;; A more fitting piece of music for this fic is “Smoke and Mirrors” by Imagine Dragons, but that could just be my current music binge talking. :P Hop on the angst train, guys, hope you enjoy sadness catharsis and bittersweet ends since this fic is Kaito at a very low point in his life.

Chapter 1

Kaito shuffled a deck of cards absently as he and Jii leaned over a map. It was covered with Kaito’s notes and annotations about guard shifts, traps, and escape routes. “I think that about covers it,” Kaito said. “It’s only a small role you’ll be playing this time, Jii-chan.” He flashed his assistant a grin, “You shouldn’t have to worry about anything tripping up those bad knees of yours.”

“My knees are perfectly fine, Kaito-sama,” Jii said with a sniff. He was older, much older than when Kaito first met him, and he’d looked old then. His gray hair was going mostly white now, what little he still had left of it, his glasses that much thicker and his hands a bit more gnarled than before. He was still a capable magician in his own right though, keeping up with Kaito like he was half his actual age.

Still, Jii wasn’t getting any younger, and sometimes Kaito worried that he was asking too much. Ever since the divorce with Aoko, Kaito had been holding more heists again, and it was taking a toll on both of them. Kaito sat back with a sigh. “I think we’ll take a break after this one,” he said. “Rest a bit and do some research. Leave the police guessing. Work on some new gadgets to keep them on their toes.”

“Active resting,” Jii commented, amused.

“You know me, always doing something.” It was a joke, but it wasn’t; Kaito hadn’t rested much at all since Takumi was born, not even before then with school and Kid work, but especially not after Takumi. “Buuut, you should actually rest. You’ve been saying you wanted to go on vacation. Why not close up shop for a bit? Go to Okinawa and get that time on the beach, or heck, go to France for a few weeks.”

“I don’t know...” Jii gathered papers together, conflicted. “I couldn’t leave all the work to you to do. You should take a proper vacation too, Bocchama.”

Kaito was hardly as young as he used to be, but he couldn’t help a lopsided smile. He’d always be the ‘young master’ to Jii. “It’s fine. I’m not planning on doing much. Just scouring webpages. I promise that I won’t do any legwork until you’re back.”

Jii returned the smile. “Well, if you insist...perhaps a short vacation would be nice.”

“Of course it would. You’ve earned it.” The deck of cards fanned from one hand to another and vanished up Kaito’s sleeve. “We’ve earned it,” he corrected at Jii’s pointed glance. “I promise to do actual resting.”

“Perhaps take a real vacation of your own?” Jii said pointedly.

Kaito considered. How long had it been since he went somewhere just to relax? Since he didn’t have work or school or Kid or child-rearing? He drew a blank. That was probably Jii’s point. “If I take a vacation I don’t think I’d go anywhere, or not far. I don’t want to miss spending time with Takumi.”

“Then take him with you. A family vacation.”

“That could be fun.” Takumi camping or taking him to visit a zoo or to see the sights in Kyoto. Kaito could show him how to do coin tricks and do every fun thing he could think of that a child might enjoy for a week. Aoko would never go for it though, so it would never happen. Not a weeklong trip like he desperately wanted. Kaito shook his head. Maybe he’d just settle for taking Takumi to an amusement park sometime soon. Take Takumi and Momoi’s kid, Shiemi, since they got along so well, let them get hyped on sugar and run it all off between rides. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Jii said. He smiled, the sort of proud, doting smile that always made Kaito wonder if this was what having a grandparent felt like. Probably not. Grandparents didn’t defer to you.

Kaito stretched. “Get some rest, Jii-chan, we’ll have a lot of work tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Kaito-bocchama.” Jii collected the notes into a neat pile to stash away in his office like so many other heist prep days before.

“Night, Jii-chan.” Another late night, another early morning, but nothing out of the norm for either of them. Kaito fixed tomorrow’s plans in his head one last time as he left. It had been a while since he pulled a supposed teleportation trick. They got harder every time he had to think up a new way to make one work. Thank goodness Jii was still quick as ever. The usual firm resolve solidified around the plan’s concept. He’d get it done. He always did.

***

The jewel-inset mirror in his hands felt abnormally heavy as Kaito raced through prepared retreat paths. His heart pounded overtime with adrenaline and the steely satisfaction of leaving Nakamori-keibu in the dust, cuffed with his own cuffs to a guard rail. “Jii, I have the mirror,” Kaito said, curt as he saved most of his breath for running. “Get yourself out.”

Ideally, Jii would already be on his escape since his role in the teleportation trick had ended, but knowing Jii he’d stuck around. He had the habit of doing it to make sure Kaito had someone watching his back, and it had helped Kaito more than once out of some bad scrapes over the years. There was an affirmative through the earpiece; Jii would take the north route while Kaito kept attention his way a little longer before he pulled his final vanishing act. Good.

Kaito dived down a stairwell leaving a smoke bomb bubbling thick blue smoke behind him. A slap of a hand on a trap trigger, and somewhere his dummy should be taking off, one more diversion.

The number of diversions he needed were ever increasing. There had been no gunshots during the heist proper this time, nor the time before that or the one before that either, and the gap had him feeling twitchy. It was usually every couple heists that there was some sign of the crows he attracted with his shiny displays. Nothing.

A face switch, clothes switch, quick change and makeup in record time for a young woman to emerge around a building and watch for a moment as the task force scrambled by a few minutes later, going straight in the direction Kaito had been headed.

There was a burst of static on the com. “Jii?” Kaito checked the mirror. The gem was dull in the moonlight and the faint neon light a short ways outside the alley Kaito hid in. Not Pandora. He slid it away again. There was another burst of static. Kaito glanced up just in time to see his dummy going down, perfectly silhouetted against the moon. The false glider made a V as it tipped straight down.

The crows or Nakamori? Kaito shivered. “Jii-chan?” Kaito tried again.

Nothing.

That didn’t necessarily mean something was wrong. Jii could be somewhere he couldn’t answer for fear of being caught. Or maybe he hadn’t heard—he was a bit hard of hearing in one ear...the ear that didn’t have the earpiece... Or maybe he’d been forced to drop the earpiece altogether for some reason.

Kaito clenched and unclenched his hands, staring back toward the route Jii would have taken.

He turned back.

No one paid any attention to a young woman dashing down the street—she wasn’t running away from the scene of the crime but toward it after all; Kid wouldn’t run back toward it and ruin his escape. Kaito was glad for the anonymity as he slipped past a few stray groups of officers doing rounds and circled around to Jii’s escape route. The north route had less bolt holes and twists than the path Kaito took, but Jii should have been plainclothes, back to being a seemingly frail old man. Even if the police stopped him, it wasn’t like they’d hold him. He wouldn’t have a mask and Kid was well known to be a young adult.

“Come on, Jii, where are you?” Kaito murmured under his breath. If Kaito was Jii and sure that he wasn’t needed anymore for the heist where would he...? Kaito ducked down an alley. Jii had a stiff knee and a lot lower stamina than Kaito. He wouldn’t have climbed, but he’d probably run until he found a good place to stop. This alley came out on a side street and there was another even narrower alley up ahead with a fence that was easy enough to put between him and a pursuer...

Kaito rounded the corner, inching past an over-full garbage can and froze. “...Jii...chan?” A shape was huddled at the end of the alley near the fence, on its side in almost a fetal position. Kaito took a step forward. “Jii—” He saw the blood. Too much blood. One more step and Kaito recognized the scarf, had given that scarf to Jii a month ago for his birthday, had joked about the four leaf clovers woven into it marked him as a Kuroba in all but blood. The clovers hadn’t brought Jii any luck as part of his face was missing where the bullet must have exited. Kaito’s stomach clenched.

Jii. Jii was on the ground, broken, bleeding. Dimly, Kaito guessed he’d been climbing the fence. When he was hit. The earpiece had fallen out, blood-soaked now. The shot and the fall the bursts of static? Or had Jii realized...? Kaito reached for him—to check what he already knew, move him, cover his face, Kaito wasn’t sure—but as he bent a shot cracked just past his head into the concrete wall beside them.

He dropped on instinct. Jii three feet away, but bullets. But Jii. Kaito bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Another shot made the choice for him, sending him back out of the alley and its deadly narrow confines. Each footfall was a reverberation in him, ache spreading out from his chest like he’d been the one to get shot, throbbing like a bruise. Beat-beat-beat and Jii left behind him.

The alleys and roads were a blur, indistinct and unreal compared to the scene by the fence and yet so sharp in focus Kaito could remember the glint of broken glass on the pavement like dozens of knives and the cold press of metal searing into his palm when he ducked past a fire escape to get to another bolt hole and change identity again.

Nothing from the earpiece, broken, nothing to receive.

Kaito was a middle aged business man when he got back to his neighborhood, inconspicuous. Another person walking home. Another person possibly drunk. He didn’t need to affect his stagger. Each step was heavier the closer he got to his own door.

Change to himself, go home, hide the mirror, check the phone for messages on automatic because maybe Kaa-san or Jii—

Feed the doves. Sit in his childhood bedroom come home again.

Kaito sat and stared at the same walls he’d stared at the night after meeting Jii years ago. On his desk was a note about looking into vacation spots. If Kaito stared at them long enough, maybe it would all prove to be a bad dream and Jii would still be planning a trip south and Kaito would call Aoko and make a bargain to get Takumi an extra night so they could have an adventure.

The moon was still bright and silver out the window. Light enough that it could reveal anything, even what you didn’t want to know.

Kaito wanted to believe Jii was okay. That he’d walk around the corner any moment and apologize for making Kaito worry. But death was a lesson learned young.

—Kaa-san with her hand across his eyes, “Don’t look, Kaito, don’t look,” the impression of a fireball burned into his retinas as tears dripped down his face without him knowing why, yet, just that something was terribly wrong—

Kaito touched his cheek. It was dry. Funny. It felt like he was crying inside.

On the desk, his phone buzzed. He didn’t remember putting it there, but the body would follow routine when on automatic. It showed Aoko’s number. Kaito watched it ring, the phone buzzing and buzzing before it rolled over into voicemail. A minute later it buzzed again with an incoming text message.

The thought of talking to Aoko right now was too much. Kaito left the phone buzzing and headed to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and stepping under water as hot as he could bear it. Its sting left his skin red and aching.

If he’d been faster...no, Jii would still be dead. If he’d pressed Jii to go on vacation sooner... If he hadn’t gone with a doppelganger teleportation plan. If Jii had been safe at home tonight. If, if, if. He looked like he had a full body sunburn by the time he shut off the water. It gurgled down the drain, chased by drips and drops as he stayed hunched over the shower knob. He hurt all over, inside and out now, and it wasn’t quite enough still.

Kaito left a trail of wet footprints back to his room, not bothering with a towel. Kaa-san was away. No one would care if he was naked because there was no one there to care. His phone showed several missed calls from Aoko and four texts.

Kaito, what the fuck. They just ID’d a body as Jii. What’s going on? Kaito closed his eyes. Jii... to be found be some unknown person like that... Kaito wished he could have taken him from that alley. But then what? He looked at the next message. Kaito? then, Pick up your phone dammit. The phone started ringing again as he held it. Kaito read the last message with a squirming feeling of guilt inside the numb grief and horror: You’d better not be dead too. The caller was Aoko again of course. He answered.

“Aoko.” There was a long silence on the other end. Kaito wasn’t sure what tone his voice had had.

Aoko let out a breath. “You’re not dead.”

“No.” That was Jii. Kaito wasn’t hurt at all for once.

“What happened?” Aoko demanded.

“I don’t know. He didn’t answer and I found him like that. Had to leave when someone shot at me.”

“...fuck.” There were goosebumps all over his arm and legs now. He ignored the cold, listening numbly for Aoko’s voice. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they’re reviewing this as a mugging because Jii didn’t have a wallet on him. The only reason he was ID’d is because one of the officers that found him remembered him from seeing him around us over the years.”

“A mugging? With that angle of a shot? And high caliber rifle bullets?” Kaito said, disbelief leaking through the shock that had followed him from the scene of the crime. “Anyone with eyes could see he was climbing the fence when he was shot.”

“Look, I didn’t see the details, that’s just what I’ve heard.” Aoko was tense, upset. She had been close to Jii once too, even if since the divorce they cut contact.

“A cover up,” Kaito said. He could almost laugh because of course. Of course it would be covered up, swept under the rug and dismissed as quickly as possible. Kaito was willing to bet the case wouldn’t even last a month. Old anger curled through him at the unfairness. They took his father and now they took Jii and both of their deaths would be seen as chance happenings instead of the premeditated murder they were. “Dammit.”

“Was Jii at the heist tonight, Kaito?” Aoko asked. There was the cold, judging tone he had come to expect from her. The one that laid blame on his shoulders every time she spoke to him or looked his direction.

Kaito didn’t answer that question. Answer or no answer, it would damn him either way.

“Damn it Kaito,” Aoko said. “It’s not enough to just be you, but Jii?”

Kaito didn’t answer that either and for a while there was just Aoko’s ragged breaths over the line and Kaito’s controlled ones. The world was falling out from under him but he still had control over his body. He could walk out of here and in the path of a bus and die smiling if he felt like it, a convincing smile even as he couldn’t cry. Not tears that were his own anyway.

He licked his lips, mouth feeling dry, swallowing past the lump in his chest. “How soon do you think the body will be released?” It was Kaito who would arrange a funeral. Kaito who was the officiator of Jii’s will. Kaito who had been everything to Jii once he stepped up into his father’s shoes. It felt a bit like betraying Jii, worse than failure, that he was in this position now, stuck fulfilling these roles long before either of them thought he’d need to.

“I don’t know,” Aoko said. “Until they close the case. If they don’t find any leads or if someone is framed...”

“Okay.” He could handle this. He was an adult. Almost twenty-six. He could handle this and Jii’s loss. “Okay, thanks.”

“Kaito—” Aoko’s voice low and sharp with anger or a threat, he wasn’t sure, but he hung up on her anyway. She’d take that out on him some way later, probably when she dropped of Takumi on the weekend. If she dropped off Takumi on the weekend. Fuck.

Kaito scrubbed at his eyes.

Just...fuck.

Jii was dead and it was Kaito’s fault. There was no going back from this.

***

Jii left him everything. His business, his collection of magician paraphernalia, his house, his savings—everything. Kaito wasn’t sure what to think or feel about that. Jii’s body had been released only two weeks after his death when a supposed mugger turned himself in, pled guilty, and got a life sentence. Kaito looked into the mugger, but whatever they had on the guy to make him be a scapegoat, Kaito didn’t find it.

And now here he was, holding a memorial in Jii’s bar for him because his body was already cremated and he hadn’t left any specifications for his burial. There were frequent patrons drinking to Jii’s memory and old magician friends. Not Chikage. Kaito hadn’t been able to get ahold of his mother in the last few weeks. Of all the times for her to pull one of her radio silences, this was the worst moment for it. She should have been here. As Toichi’s wife, one of Jii’s older friends, she should have been here but she wasn’t and might not have even seen any of Kaito’s messages to know Jii was dead yet.

Alcohol burned down his throat. He’d poured himself a glass of Jii’s favorite whiskey to drink for him and hadn’t stopped drinking since the memorial started. It was a bad idea but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

There were two regulars—Ryousuke and Yuuta, both people Jii had been on first name basis with—in front of Jii’s memorial photo at the moment. They had offerings of alcohol and the mochi from a shop a few miles away Jii had loved.

There was something restless rising in Kaito, had been rising for the last few weeks since Jii’s death. He wanted to take a pool stick and shatter it.  Jump off a building and wait until last moment to deploy his glider. Bait the police and the organization on his tail until there was no room for thinking beyond what was needed for survival. There were two dozen half-planned heists on his desk in the hidden room at home. Kaito hadn’t slept much lately. The only time the restless feeling was quiet was when he was pushing his body in the small hours of the night, seeking out what he needed for the next heist, the next, the next, however many he had to do.

There’d been a moment where he wondered if it wasn’t better to quit. It got Oyaji killed, got Jii killed. It’d probably kill Kaito too. But that moment had passed quickly and it felt like there was even less reason to stop. They kept taking and taking and he’d have to be the one to stop them somehow. He had to.

The whiskey tasted like nothing. One more liquid swallowed down. At the door, Aoko and Takumi entered, dressed for a proper funeral instead of...this. Kaito swallowed again, though there was nothing in his mouth. “Hey.”

“Kaito,” Aoko said. She looked around the room and the people at various stages of drunkenness with a small frown. “This is...lively.”

“Yeah, well...” Kaito shrugged. He had let whoever showed up, show up. Some of them might only be there for the alcohol. He crouched down beside Takumi to give him a hug. Small arms hugged back. Takumi was six now, already so big, and getting bigger every time Kaito saw him. Aoko who lived with him every day probably didn’t notice little things like how Takumi’s hair was just shy of needing a haircut or how he’d gained a centimeter that month alone. “Hey. You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Takumi settled back on his feet, glancing at the rest of the room. He’d been here before. Jii had a holiday party most years, and he’d babysat Takumi a lot, especially in the first few years. “Kaa-san said Jii-chan died.”

“Jii-chan did die,” Kaito said, heart heavy. Takumi was old enough to understand death, had been for a while. This was just his first encounter with it being someone he knew.

“Is he like Yuki?” Takumi asked, referring to one of Kaito’s doves that had died a few months ago. She’d died of old age and they had found her body in the dovecote when they went to feed the birds one morning. It had been a chance to talk about life and death. Kaito was glad they’d had that talk because Takumi was glancing around like he expected a body to roll off one of the pool tables.

“Not quite like Yuki,” Kaito said, “but he’s passed on like she did. There isn’t a body because it’s already been cremated—burned up.”

“Oh.” Takumi bit his lip and Kaito gave him another careful hug. He hadn’t drunk so much that he’d lost control of himself, but he’d had enough that Takumi needed his full concentration. “That doesn’t hurt right?”

“No, he was already dead.” Kaito glanced at Aoko, and from her expression, he guessed that this was something Takumi’d asked already and he was getting a second opinion on. “You can’t hurt anymore if you’re dead.”

“Oh,” Takumi said again.

“There’s a memorial if you want to say goodbye to Jii-chan,” Kaito said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear from you. Ok?”

“Ok. I’m going to tell him I’ll miss him and I hope he’s happy wherever he is.”

Kaito forced a smile for Takumi and patted him on the head before Takumi marched toward the memorial with a determined look in his eye. That left Kaito with Aoko.

“He cried when he heard,” Aoko said.

“He loved Jii-chan,” Kaito said. Takumi was in front of the memorial, hands clapped together and his face screwed up like he was trying to will his prayer to reach Jii through sheer determination. It was uncomfortably similar to how Kaito used to stand in front of his father’s memorial as a kid, face screwed up as he promised he was working hard to be a magician.

“You’re drunk,” Aoko said, and Kaito realized she’d been studying him. Sober, he would have noticed immediately.

“I had a few drinks in Jii-chan’s memory,” Kaito said. “He ran a bar, Aoko, it’s how he’d have wanted it.”

“That doesn’t mean you should go get drunk.”

“Maybe you need a drink.”

Aoko glared at him.

Kaito held up his hands. “Fine. Stay sober.”

Aoko crossed her arms, clamped tight around her middle like she was holding herself together. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she muttered.

“No, it shouldn’t.”

“I know he was helping you,” she said, not looking at Kaito at all. “He’s the only one who could have been all these years.”

“I never denied it,” Kaito said tightly. His hands itched to fiddle with his cards or perhaps pour another drink. He settled for rolling the buttons on his cuffs between his fingers. Takumi’s serious expression had softened into something sadder. A bittersweet expression better fitting on an older face than a six year old’s.

“They killed him for it.”

“I know.”

“Like your father.”

“I know.”

“Like they’re trying to kill you.” Aoko gave him a pointed look.

Kaito hissed out a breath between clenched teeth. “I know, Aoko.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from throwing yourself head first into danger.”

“Who the hell else is going to do anything, Aoko? The police? You? The police just arrested a man for mugging Jii when anyone with eyes could see that wasn’t what happened. The police can’t stop a damn sniper from showing up at heists. The police have done jack shit in getting rid of any of the crows.”

“Oh, because committing crimes is vigilantism and everyone knows how effective that is,” Aoko said, scathing.

Kaito’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t want to have this argument. Not again, and not here. “Drop it.”

“Kaito, Jii’s dead. How many more people are going to die before you’re satisfied?”

“Aoko, shut up,” Kaito said, teeth gritted.

“No. You’re out there on a grudge mission and who the hell is benefitting? Jii-chan was like a grandfather to you and he died for your damned selfishness. Who’s next Kaito? You? Me? My dad?”

“Dammit Aoko, not now!” Kaito’s throat hurt and he realized he’d just shouted. Everyone in the room was looking at them and he couldn’t grip his control at all in that moment. “This is a funeral,” he said, still loud, but not quite shouting, anger burning through him because couldn’t they just...just feel sad about losing Jii together for one moment? “If you’re going to get mad at me, you can leave.”

Aoko stared at him, and he realized this was one of the only times he’d raised his voice at her. Aoko yelled. Aoko was flashfire anger, outbursts that burned quick and died when she let that anger out. Kaito didn’t yell. Kaito tried not to ever yell at all even if he was angry, and he’d screwed up this time. In the mass of faces looking at them was Takumi, eyes wide with something a lot like fear. It hit like one of Aoko’s mop swings to the gut.

“Please,” Kaito tacked on, quiet again. “Not today.”

Aoko’s lips formed a tight line. “I’ll say what I need to say to Jii-chan and we’ll go.” She was across the room in a handful of strides and Takumi was still staring at Kaito like he’d never seen him before.

The other people in the room looked away, trying to pretend they hadn’t been staring and Kaito sat heavily in the closest chair.

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before Aoko was marching back toward the door. Takumi trailed after her, hesitant.

“We’ll talk later, Kaito,” Aoko said to him before she left. When Kaito offered Takumi a hug, he held on to Aoko’s hand and didn’t accept it.

That was another blow to Kaito’s heart. He’d messed up bad. When the door closed, Kaito buried his face in his hands for a moment. “Fuck.” Years of trying to at least look like he and Aoko didn’t fight in front of Takumi, years of keeping his voice down and not escalating things and he’d fucked it all up in one moment.

Was it the alcohol or his own emotions betraying him? Both? His patience finally reaching a limit? Why didn’t matter, it had happened either way. “What am I supposed to do with this mess, Jii-chan?” he mumbled to himself. Around him the funeral was continuing, people moving on from his family’s outburst and returning to celebrating Jii’s life.

Well, Kaito had already fucked up and he was already halfway to drunk. He might as well bury himself deeper. Kaito poured himself a new glass and forced himself to mingle with the other people. Jii would want to be celebrated so Kaito was damn well going to try.

***

Kaito gripped the toilet as his body did its best to physically remove his stomach via his esophagus. The alcohol burned twice as bad coming up as it had going down and left an even worse taste on his tongue. Ugh. He hadn’t had this bad of a hangover since... since maybe forever. Kaito hadn’t even drank that much at his own wedding. Ugh. Never again. He wasn’t touching alcohol ever again. Sorry, Jii, all of it went to paying customers only. Kaito would leave a bottle on his memorial instead of drinking a glass in his memory...

Ugh.

It would be bad enough to be glued to the toilet with his insides roiling, but Kaito’s conscience was nagging at him too. He’d been drunk when he argued with Aoko last night, but not so drunk that he didn’t remember Takumi’s fear or rejection. Fuck. Kaito was the worst father. He’d scared his kid and lost his temper and for what? Getting shitfaced in an ill-advised moment of trying to forget he existed? He deserved each and every moment of agony he was experiencing.

What had he been thinking?

Kaito had work in an hour. Work and then he had to take Jii’s ashes to his family grave. Kaito wiped his mouth as his stomach twisted again. No vomiting this time. Just a steady nauseated ache that filled his whole body. Tomorrow he was supposed to have Takumi for the day. He’d planned to take the day off work and spend it with his son at the zoo or something, following Jii’s advice to take a break back when they were planning a vacation. Kaito had put in the request for the day off and everything, but it was kind of hollow now. There was still the opportunity to make up for scaring Takumi. Put on his happy mask and do fun things and make Takumi laugh because hearing his laughter always made Kaito feel lighter inside.

He could fix this screw up even if—

Kaito shoved away from the toilet, flushing its contents like it would erase the last half hour from happening. Move, he had to move, get dressed, drink water and get out the door. Don’t linger in the kitchen with its unwashed dishes and the table where he’d laid out dozens of heist plans over the years. Don’t linger on the urn in his bedroom. Don’t linger on the new set of keys or paperwork to be filled out or any of the other official odds and ends that had been dumped on him. Definitely don’t linger on the photo hanging in the hall of Jii and Kaito and Aoko at Kaito’s wedding.

Somehow Kaito made it out the door and to work without being late. The glass of water had had middling success of staying down and the pill he took to counteract the headache only soured his stomach more, but he made it. Another day at work, another day his coworkers couldn’t see him hanging on to his sanity by the skin of his teeth.

He forgot to pack a lunch, but then he wasn’t really hungry anyway.

***

There were three heist plans spread across the table, all of them for the next month. He’d planned to have a break, but now it felt like if he stopped even for a moment, life would shatter apart at the edges. Takumi hadn’t come over on the weekend—Aoko said he didn’t want to come that week, and Takumi had agreed when Kaito asked to talk to him, and this wasn’t the first time this had ever happened, but for it to happen now... So no Takumi and still no Kaa-san around the house and too much time and space to himself just like in high school, Kaito had to fill it with something.

All of the heists were ones he’d started compiling information on a while ago, things Jii had gathered preliminary information on. Now Kaito would have to do all the legwork and research himself. This was fine. This was fine, he could handle it. The first was at the museum and he knew it so well by now that he could plan an exit at any point in the building in his sleep at this point. And the other two were owned by collectors and he’d been chipping away at figuring out the defenses on those for a while. There hadn’t been any callouts from Jiroukichi in a while so he should keep an eye out for challenges soon as that would be on schedule any time now...

Kaito lost himself in minutia, going over things with a fine toothed comb and composing the first of his heist notes bit by bit.

It was easy to lose track of time in Kid’s hidden room. Especially when there was no one there to drag him away from work.

Kaito wasn’t getting much sleep these days.

***

He’d said he wasn’t going to touch alcohol again, but that was a lie. Funny thing about being left a bar; there sure was a lot of alcohol in it. Jii’s whiskey glinted golden in the light, one light in the back because the bar was closed. Just Kaito and a bottle of imported whiskey and a heist note.

He needed to hire someone to run the bar. For now it made a nice place to be when he didn’t want to go home. The back room smelled like Jii—cigars and cologne and a particular brand of aftershave all mixed into one scent that lingered. Jii’d lived out of that back room. The bar was a home and a business and the back room was testament to it with its shelves of collector items and Jii’s futon folded away in the closet and his scent seeped into the tatami. The bar was Western, but the back room was Japanese. Jii’d served them tea under a kotatsu in the corner, peeling tangerines and plotting new magic tricks.

The room spun a bit as Kaito sat up from the floor. He didn’t remember lying down, but he must have at some point. There was the heist note. The note he meant to do something with tonight. Send it?

He used a children’s substitution cipher, worked it into a poetic format that read like a nonsense poem until you pieced its clues together. It mentioned blackbirds. Would anyone notice the significance? Would anyone care if they did? The police didn’t catch his watchers often. They were like literal shadows sometimes, more slippery than Kaito as Kid when they sent out the snipers, the professionals, the assassins, not just the run of the mill thugs.

The golden whiskey—no, it was amber, wasn’t whiskey always amber? Kaito couldn’t decide if that mattered or not—caught the light one last time before it slid down his throat. Gone. (More in the bottle, but—) Kaito set the glass down hard enough to smack over the bottle. It had its cap on though, nothing spilled, wow didn’t want to spill Jii’s whiskey. The room went a bit hazy on the edges, tilting as Kaito stood, or no, that was him tilting and he had better muscle control than that.

Steady. In control. His hands didn’t shake, his body didn’t waver. Deliver the note.

To who? Nakamori—no, too loud, bad choice. Not Aoko. Couldn’t be Aoko, Kaito couldn’t be around Aoko that would hurt worse and if he hurt worse—not Aoko. The owner? Too far, trains weren’t running this late. Maybe the paper, but the paper was last note and there was such a thing as too predictable and maybe he should choose a police member... Kudo! Kaito grinned, wavered in place a moment. Kudo hadn’t been to the last few heists and that wasn’t right, Kudo saw things better and he noticed the shadows even if Nakamori didn’t and Kudo still owed him for helping take out the crime organization a few years back. Give Kudo a note and he had to come and that would make the heist harder, but that just meant Kaito would have to work harder and working harder meant less time feeling and Kaito wanted that even if it was too hazy right now to pinpoint why—

Jii.

Kaito frowned. The room was empty, just a light and a bottle and a glass and Kaito. It smelled like Jii and whiskey where Kaito spilled a bit pouring, though that was his sleeve not the room. Jii wasn’t there and Kaito was alone. His throat went tight and his hands went clammy and the room spun in a way that wasn’t from the alcoholic haze in his head.

Note. Note to Kudo and then home, sleep, work, heist.

Jii’s bar was closer to Beika than Kaito’s home. It was closer, but by the time he reached the Kudo manor, his head was a bit clearer, enough to wonder what the hell he was doing, but not so clear as to change his mind and back out.

Even drunk it wasn’t hard to avoid Kudo’s surveillance cameras. Kaito had visited before, a few times, all the way back in high school, and while the security was better than back then, it wasn’t that much better. A light’s on in the study, and another upstairs. Kaito perched outside a second-floor window, glimpsing Kudo Ran in a night-light lit hallway pacing back and forth with a child in her arms.

Kudo had a daughter. Kaito’d forgotten that, but there she was, still a toddler, so little that it hurt to look at her because it brought up all sorts of memories. That had been Kaito once. Kaito, pacing with a crying Takumi, woken up by nightmares and Aoko living in the police dorms during her training so there had only been Kaito to hold him. Whispered words and hummed songs, little silly stories and soft reassurances in the dark until Takumi had calmed and slept again. Long, achingly exhausting nights that Kaito sometimes wished he could live again because for all that it had been hellishly difficult, it had been happier too. Simpler. Ran’s lips moved and Kaito could make out syllables of a lullaby.

He tore himself away, moving to the next window and the next with a clumsiness he blamed on the alcohol, then back down toward the glow of the study.

Kudo sat at a large wooden desk, paperwork strewn in front of him. Not that anything was getting done. Kudo kept starting to write then stopping and glancing at the door. If he wanted to check on his daughter, he should just check on his daughter.

Kaito fiddled with a pen in his pocket, filled with the urge to add a personal note to the heist note. Kudo should know not to waste what he had. If it was Kaito he’d—

Kaito flattened himself to the wall as Kudo glanced up at the window. The light inside would make it hard to see anything outside, but the mirror effect meant nothing if Kaito was all but pressing his face against the glass.

Kudo stared for a minute before shaking his head. He rubbed at his eyes with the weariness of a man that didn’t get near enough sleep as he should. Kaito knew the feeling well.

Go, Kaito thought. Go to Ran-san. Lo and behold, Kudo did, giving his work a last look of distaste.

The light in the study went dark. It took a matter of seconds to get the window open and land amidst Kudo’s stacks of papers. Kaito staggered a bit on the landing, the room spinning a bit. Still drunk. The papers on the desk were gibberish until Kaito’s brain clicked and the writing resolved itself into English. English case files? He could pick out the words, but the meaning wasn’t forming a whole. Kaito gave up snooping and set the heist notice in the middle of Kudo’s desk where he’d be sure to find it when he went to do paperwork tomorrow morning.

Kaito always thought Kudo would be neater than this. Files, files everywhere, with an organization system only Kudo would know. They’d tell him what Kudo was up to now, but it wouldn’t give Kaito any information he could use. He tiptoed around them, back out the window and into the dark. He should leave now. Instead, Kaito climbed upward again.

Ran was still in the hall with the night light, but Kudo was there too, arms around her and gently running a hand over his daughter’s hair. Kaito ached inside alongside a bitter twist of jealousy. Stupid brain, he had no right to be jealous when he ruined things himself. But Ran forgave Kudo. Why couldn’t Aoko forgive me?

His hands hurt, clenched tight on the window frame. No wonder Kudo hadn’t been to many heists lately. He had this to come home to. This to protect. He didn’t need the distraction of Kid heists like he did once. Didn’t need the danger they could bring either.

Kaito could climb back down and take his note back, plant it somewhere else.

But Kudo dealt with murderers and Kid’s heists were no more dangerous than Kudo’s daily life most of the time.

If Kaito opened the window, waited for Kudo to let Ran put their daughter to bed, waited for him to turn and walk down the hall and find Kaito there, how would he react? With fear? Block off his wife and child and stand defensive in the hallway? Or would it be like in years past, when Kaito had time to bother him more? Would he roll his eyes and complain after that first tense moment of anticipation? Kaito’s hands itched to open the window, to see if Kudo saw Kaito as a threat or not. To see what would happen simply for the sake of curiosity.

He shifted in his perch and—slipped. He was falling before the sensation registered as falling, a beat too late to stop. Only muscle memory had his arm flinging out and catching a thin tree branch to slow the fall. It broke with a sharp crack, wrenching his arm and leaving him to smack face first into Kudo’s azalea bushes.

“Owww....” He hadn’t done something that clumsy since high school when he was constantly flying by the seat of his pants.

Upstairs, the window opened. Kaito flattened himself against the wall.

“...No, I don’t see anything. Maybe a tanuki?” Kudo’s voice said.

Adrenaline pushed the last of the alcohol haze away. Wait...wait... The window closed. Kaito dashed for the walls and was over them in record time. He was two blocks away before he realized he’d taken the tree branch with him. He left it at the next trash site he ran across.

Yet again, Kaito vowed not to drink that much anymore.

***

Normally Kaito felt at least a bit of a rush from heists. Even the ones he was least excited about brought on the adrenaline rush of a performance, the thrill of having eyes on him that would always happen because he was a performer at heart. Since Aoko joined the grunts in the Kid task force, though, that rush hadn’t been as sharp. Since Jii’s death, well, Kaito wasn’t feeling much of a rush at all.

There was still a flow of emotions animating his movements under his skin, but it wasn’t a performer’s high where everything came together in the moment. No, it was closer to desperation and the chilling certainty that he was always dancing on a knife’s edge these days. With Aoko, with Kid’s goals, with his own sanity.

His cape billowed white around him, snapping in the wind. Rooftops felt a bit like freedom. Jumping from them felt a bit like absolution.

Kudo stared him down, there before Nakamori or Aoko, one step ahead as always. That, at least, Kaito could rely on. He’d take what little slices of normality his life could get.

“I see you accepted my invitation,” Kaito said, pulling his hat at a better angle to shade his face.

“Considering you broke into my home to leave it...” Kudo said, trailing off as he narrowed his eyes. “What’s your game this time, Kid?”

“Game?” Kaito smiled. It was easier to smile with Kudo right there, easier to play the part when he had a foil to work against. “Can’t I just miss having you chase me? It’s been, what? Over half a year? You’d think I wasn’t your favorite thief anymore.”

Kudo huffed. “Kid, I work homicides.”

“Then this is like a vacation. With less bodies. Your vacations always end up bloody.”

For a moment Kaito thought he would get a smile from Kudo, but he got an eye roll instead. Pity. Kudo had a sense of humor unlike some other detectives Kaito knew. “Give the gem back, Kid,” Kudo said, one hand held out like he thought Kaito would comply. Oh such optimism. There was open air behind Kaito’s back and even with the search lights combing the wrong direction, there was nothing stopping him from jumping.

“Has that ever worked in all the time you’ve known me?” Kaito said.

“Mm, if you feel threatened enough.”

“You’re not chibi Inspector Gadget anymore; somehow you were more threatening a meter high with a soccer ball.”

That did get a flicker of a smile. Good. Good, something bright to spark a bit more life into the hollow thrill. Kudo had a gun. He didn’t aim it in Kaito’s direction though. Instead he...pointed? “Who says I don’t have any more gadgets, Kid?”

Kaito’s eyes widened as there was a flicker of something— He fell backward off the roof before whatever it was could hit, activating the glider. That had been too easy. What was the catch? The air caught, jerking him from a plummet into a glide. Kudo was left standing on the edge of the roof, watching. No further attacks, no gunshot-cracks or stinging pain from a glancing blow. Far below police lights flashed blue and red in little clusters, lost to his misdirection. Their lights didn’t touch him here, and the bit of him wound tight since the start of the heist uncoiled. Kaito exhaled slowly, letting lingering tension leave his body.

Exhaustion creeped at the edges of his consciousness, but for now it was ignorable. Just fly a bit more, change to something less noticeable, and get home.

Halfway to his rest point, Kaito noticed a small white object on his sleeve, almost unnoticeable except that it was a shade too bright compared to his suit. A tracker, tiny and intricately made, and something that had to be Agasa’s work. Ha. Kudo almost had him there... Kaito made sure to slip it onto a neighborhood cat collar when he changed clothes; they liked to linger near a convenience store a block away and would lead Kudo on a frustrating chase.

***

Aoko was up late again, nursing a cup of coffee from what Kaito could tell from his vantage point. Doing paperwork, writing reports, some of them probably relating to the third heist he’d pulled this month. Kaito could almost feel the beat-up wooden kitchen table under his fingertips and smell the sour scent of coffee brewed too dark too long. Aoko would have her hair pulled back and the tired frown between her eyes and her free hand tapping away as she tried to put things into objective, unemotional accounts. Kaito used to sit across from her and see her get closer and closer to boiling over before doing something little, like a shoulder rub or refreshing her coffee with something better for her to get the persistent frown to melt away into a tired smile. There was no one to do that now.

Takumi slept upstairs, had been asleep for several hours now. He came over to Kaito’s home over the weekend, but he had spent most of his time with Kaito’s birds and none of Kaito’s attempts to engage him in things that would normally brighten his day had worked.

This wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had happened. Kaito knew that it was hard on Takumi whenever Aoko and Kaito were more at odds than usual but... It still hurt.

It felt like he was missing all the important things in Takumi’s life. He was in first grade, and his best friends were Momoi Shiemi and Fujitaka Gen, and right now Takumi loved frogs and sentai shows and anything he could learn on animal origami. Last year it had been kites and things that flew and Kaito had helped him make a giant kite in the shape of a penguin because Takumi had insisted that penguins should get to fly.  But Kaito didn’t see the day to day. He didn’t see Takumi get excited on the first day of school or when he made a new friend. He didn’t see him come home every day and hear what he thought about each new thing he learned. Kaito heard it after the fact, on weekends when Takumi would rather draw pictures or go to the park or practice simple magic tricks than talk about things like school.

It was Kaito’s own fault he didn’t have that and life never stopped shoving it back in his face.

At the kitchen table, Aoko made an unhappy face at the taste of cold coffee. That was Kaito’s cue to leave. He could only get away with looking so long. Somehow, eventually, Aoko would notice and she’d be mad.

Sometimes Kaito needed to see them breathing to know what was real though.

***

“I’m so sorry about Jii, Kaito. He was a good man...”

“He was so much more than that,” Kaito said into the phone cradled in his hands. A phone call, not even a video call, but a phone call. He couldn’t even see her face to see how much she meant it, though she had to mean it. Jii was important to Kaa-san too. “Where were you? Where are you, it’s been weeks—” He caught himself before his voice broke.

“I’m so so sorry, Kai-chan,” his mother said, voice soft like it was when he was little. It was too little too late to soothe him now though. “I should have called... My suitcase got lost and I only just got it back. I didn’t know. I didn’t know...”

Kaito stared up at him father’s painting, the side with Toichi, not Kid, and Kaito was almost as old as his father had been when he had Kaito.  A few more years and he’d have outlived him age wise. A small, unfair part of him wondered if she would notice if he was the one that died tomorrow, not Jii. Chikage had been globe-trotting for years now, this wasn’t anything new, just a bit longer than they usually were out of touch for, just... He wanted to cry, but there weren’t tears to do so, just a clogged up feeling in his throat and a tight chest like when he’d broken a rib and he’d been wrapped in bandages for weeks. He breathed and it didn’t show at all.

“...How are you holding up? Do you need me to come home?”

Yes, Kaito thought. Yes and Please and I need someone so much right now, but what came out of his mouth was, “No.” Kaito marveled at how calm it came out. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You’re busy doing...” She hadn’t said what she’d been doing this time, or where she’d been going that led to losing her suitcase. “You’re busy. I can handle things. I’ve been handling them. Jii left me the bar and I hired someone to run it. I was thinking about hiring Momoi Keiko—you remember Keiko?—to keep track of stock and finances...” In his spare time—ha—Kaito was looking into what it took to run a business and what he’d need to know to make sure the bar was running properly. He’d moved anything Kid related far from Jii’s place and he’d managed most of the other trying details that death left behind. Paperwork. Emotional weight. Kaito managed for the last twelve years well enough without his mother to turn to at all times, he could do this now. “I’m fine.”

Part of him hoped she’d insist on coming home anyway.

The rest of him wasn’t really surprised that by the end of the call he still didn’t know when she would be back home.

***

Blueprints and messily handwritten notes laid spread about the table. Kaito’s pencil tapped at an increasingly rapid tempo as he scowled at the executive office diagram. “It’s like they designed the room to be as restricted to get to as possible. Not only is it the top floor, it only has one window of bulletproof glass, and can only be accessed by a private elevator.” The CEO had recently obtained an ornate antique clock set with large gemstones at four quarters of the clock face, and of course he’d chosen to have it displayed in his office. An office that was ridiculously secure. The man had to be paranoid. Maybe justifiably paranoid if he’d risen to his position under suspicious means, but that wasn’t Kaito’s main concern.

“Ugh...” Tap-tap-taptap-taptaptap. “I could probably impersonate an employee to get in there, but that’s the first thing they’d be looking for. Maybe if I climbed the elevator shaft...? Jii, what do you—” The tapping died as Kaito froze, realizing his mistake. He stared blankly at the papers in front of him for a moment. “Shit. Right,” he said. “Right.”

The silence he’d momentarily forgotten felt too loud. The house was too big, the rooms too empty. There were photos of dead men on the walls in the hallway and all the decorations were chosen by a woman that spent less than a full month a year in the house. The pencil lead snapped under the pressure of Kaito’s hand.

“Right,” he repeated under his breath.

He clicked out a new length of lead.

It was harder to get back to work now that he’d remembered he was alone.

***

It felt a bit like when Takumi was a toddler; Aoko at the police dorms and Kaito juggling school, a baby, and Kid all at once. Only now it was Kaito juggling work, attempts at bonding with his son, and filling every spare hour he had with Kid until it felt like he was more Kid than Kaito. Kaito had loss and family struggles hanging over his head. Kid had targets and research and traps to funnel energy into and Kaito was funneling more energy into them than he had in the last five years.

If he held still too long, the world would catch up to him, so he kept going. Delved into gem trade records and museum collection records. Scrounged through rumors and imports and legends. He ran through blueprints and pieced together traps and smoke bombs and a new knock out gas. He constructed new tricks and practiced them until he saw them in his sleep. Mirrors, wires, speakers, training doves to go to new places and carry new things.

Kaito sent his attention in a dozen directions and felt each new task stretch him a little bit thinner. He was caught in the arc of shuffled cards but he didn’t know who held the deck or what card would come out on top.

He’d learned how to balance things, once. He knew how to take breaks and appreciate little moments and build relationships with coworkers and informants and what not. Kaito had learned to enjoy early mornings with cups of coffee and the sound of doves waking up in their roosts and the orange glow of the sun peeking over the horizon. There weren’t any of those moments now. He slept when his body gave out and he woke to the shrill of his phone alarm with enough time to get to work. The ate a lot of take away and instant meals when he remembered to eat at all, and it was only in the moments Takumi was there that time seemed to slow into anything resembling the calm he’d found.

It was better this way though. It was better because Kaito would rather keep busy, burn himself out, than find out what would happen if he stopped moving.

[wastedwishesandhope]

Noche

It was several hours later when Anna woke up. Her bedroom was still filled with darkness but the overflowing light coming from the moon went through the window and the chilly night breeze blowing the curtains to move like a dancing ballerina. She rolled over to her side and there she realized she wasn’t sleeping alone that night. She propped her head on one raise hand, the better to watch Park Jimin as he slept, but otherwise didn’t move. She still felt a bit shaky, and it wasn’t because her muscles had been pushed to their limits, maybe beyond them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew she’d never be the same again.

She gazed at Jimin’s sleeping face, and a wave of tenderness swept over her, so intense it was more a little terrifying. She suddenly felt the familiar feeling of those nights that she felt so alone and now she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

His face was glowing from the moonlight that serves as a spotlight to boast his perfect facial features. She loves so much his eyes, his plump lips, and even his cheeks. She smiled to herself while tracing every part of his face through her eyes. She felt calm after she surrenders herself to him. Everything that happened tonight felt so magical. She doesn’t want the morning to come up; she wants to stay like this forever, and ever.

Right after her Dad died, she had never felt so loved by anyone again. Given that her beloved best friend but the outspoken love she receives from this man beside her is truly unexplainable. He made her feel things she had never felt before; she experienced genuine happiness through his smiles, kisses, and hugs, and an opposite anguish during back the days he’s not around. He’s a nightmare but a dream, and even he could kill her, she would still stay spending her last sight with the view of his face. That’s how much she loves him, and now, she’s ready to even fight the whole universe. She got no swords but she’ll use her arms to defend him. She got no power but she’ll use her strength to protect him. He may be a vampire, but to Anna, Park Jimin will always remain her angel.

 She leaned in forward and kissed his lips. She felt him smiled and when she looked down at his face, she saw him smiling still with eyes closed. Park Jimin opened his arms and pulled her closer to him. Anna smiled sheepishly and pressed her nose against his neck. She felt his arms tightened around her naked body and he pressed his lips to her forehead. Soft kisses that made her whole again.

  —   —   —

  A tickling little breathes on his neck woke him up. A warmth flesh sticking on his skin like a sweet honey made him feel he was connected to a plug and charging his most likely dead body from stress and exhaustion. Tender hands placed on his chest and when he touched it, a smiled occurred on his lips realizing she was really there, sleeping soundlessly against his. He opened his eyes and the bright sky sprinkled radiance around them like a magical pixie dust in every fairytale. The sun is up and was shouting to wake the whole world up.

He tilted his head a little bit to place a soft kiss on top of her head. His arms around her shoulder. He tried moving but she shows no sign of waking up. He rubbed her arms gently, savoring the warmth he had been longing since the day he decided to leave her alone and devastated. Till now, it was a huge mistake he had ever done in his whole life. Granted after the day he left Wangbi before, too. But Anna’s case was different.

He carefully removed his arms around her, scared he might wake her up. He gets up and remained seated watching her. He had never felt so close to another human being, so… wrapped up in her.

And so afraid of her.

How could he protect her from the cruelty of this world? How could he keep her safe? He knows he can even fight the billion people who would try to hurt her, but how can he fight the possibilities that he- being a vampire might be the only reason that could hurt her so bad someday. Rest assured that she will always stay with him, no matter what, but until when? He’s scared that she even would sacrifice herself just for the sake of him.

 Park Jimin drew a long breath, leaned down and kissed her cheeks. This is a new day, a new beginning for the two of them. A second chance for their love. He realized he should stop over thinking and just savor the moments he have right on his hands.

Careful not to wake Anna, he slid from the bed and found his shorts and jeans. He would rather have remained in bed with her, watching her sleep and waiting patiently for her so they could make love again. But he needs to start prepping up. He has plans to do.

  —  —  —

  Later, Anna woke up stretching her arms to find him next to her, but her eyes opened when she realized she was alone. He wasn’t there. She gazed around the room trying to recall if what happened last night was just a hallucination or a dream, but then she saw her body naked underneath the blankets. Anna fumbled for the clock on the nightstand and it says 10:30 A.M. She immediately gets up from the bed, she don’t know why but she felt the intense anxiety that he might have gone already. She’s afraid that their sex was only a goodbye sex and he’ll be back to his cold self again. Clutching the blanket up to her chest to cover her naked body, Anna walks across the room and saw a gray oversize shirt hanging on the chair.

 “It’s Jimin’s shirt,” she whispered. She have decided to wear it instead and walked outside to her bedroom. A loud noise of metal clanging from the kitchen caught her attention, and then a sound of something’s being fried, too. She quickly runs to see him flipping a fried egg in the pan. Park Jimin was shirtless with his only pants on. His damped hair must have been said he just got out from the shower. His naked back to her and tone muscles showing every now and then whenever his arm flexes.

She’s silently watching him from the door frame when he spoke.

 “Are you enjoying the view?”

 She almost jumped from her spot when he turned around. She blushed and tried to avoid his eyes.

 “H- How did you know that I’m here?” she asked.

 Jimin chuckles and his smug face made her face reddened more. “Are you seriously asking me that? I know everything the moment you opened your eyes from sleep.”

 Oh yeah, I’ve must have underestimated him, she thought.

 “No, you’re not princess,” he answered. Anna accepted her defeat when she realized this guy knows everything. “You better take a shower. You in nothing but only my shirt is testing my self-control. You better be sure that you don’t want me to undress you again right here and make this kitchen counter your new bed,”

 Bloods rushed to her face, she knows her face must have said how embarrassed she was. She squealed and took off running inside the bedroom to dress herself properly. Park Jimin laughed when she saw how her cheeks turned into a tomato. He just shakes his head as he resumes cooking for breakfast.

 Anna was towel drying her hair when she gets back to the kitchen. She was wearing a comfy extra- large white shirt and gray sweatpants. She saw that he’s still not yet done the cooking. She took a big bite of apple sat on the counter and waited for him.

“If you’re hungry you can help yourself. I’ll be done in a minute, I’m just making sure this well- cooked,” Jimin said without looking at her.

She didn’t respond and just watch his still bare- back like a flawless mannequin body. His broad shoulders and two- little dimples just above his bum makes everything outrageous. It was too late when she realized she was already walking towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist to hug him from the back. Obviously, Park Jimin was surprised with morning back- hugs but he most likely felt smiling.

Anna closed her eyes, feeling his warmth flesh against her cheeks. Her lips pouting like a little kid thirsty for attention.

 “What’s with the hug? Hmm..” he asked still busy cooking. She remained silent but he felt her shaking her head against his skin. Park Jimin turned off the stove burner and turned around to face her. Her arms remained on his waist and he untangled few strands of her still messy wet hair.

 “Were you scared?” he asked. Anna looked up at him, watching his angelic face in the morning. “I know you’re scared when you woke up and I wasn’t there beside you.” Jimin kept brushing her hair with his fingers, talking without even glancing at her eyes. Her hair sprinkles every time he combs her hair up to the end like a sprinkler in a garden.

 She took a deep breath. “I just thought you’re just a dream and everything that happened was an illusion.”

Jimin stopped what he was doing and plant a kiss on her forehead before he squishes her cheeks between his palm. He laughed when her lips parted open into a pout. He pressed her face between his hands and thought this probably what it feels like when you’re holding the world.

 “I will never leave you again. I promise, princess. I will never ever be gone again.”

 Anna smiled and tip- toed to kiss his lips. He smooched her lips and laughed giggly when she said, “I don’t know why they call you small, but you seem like a tower whenever I’m with you. I had to tip- toed to kiss you,”

 She yelped when Park Jimin suddenly lifted her up and sat her on the chair. “Lets’ eat, we’ll go somewhere today,”

She frowned. “Where?”

He smiled. “You’ll know once we’re there.”

  —  —  —

  Lee Gikwang smiled happily when he welcomed his parents from their trip vacation to London. He was standing alone in the airport wearing a button- up brown shirt, pants and louis vuitton frontrow sneaker he got as a present from her older sister during his birthday. Her mom immediately hugged him and his Dad just smiled when they saw him at the arrivals.

“You both looked you had a good time,” he said. His mom smoothly touches his son’s face before answering.

“I wish we were with you and your sister.”

 An awkward silence grew between them and her Dad had to clear his throat trying to change the topic.

 “We rushed back home when the executive assistant informed me about the progress of your sister’s case.”

 Lee Gikwang scratches his cheeks, a part of his habit whenever he feels uncomfortable. “Uhhh… yes. We’re getting lead for Hyekyung noona’s case, but you shouldn’t stress yourself about it, trust everything to me. I might be still grasping for information’s but I got colleagues who diligently helped me to seek for justice.”

 His Dad heaved a deep sigh. “You shouldn’t carry the responsibility on your shoulder, Gikwang. We allowed you to switch over to a different field of courses but that doesn’t mean we’re giving you the job to fight for the case. We got lawyers—“

 “Dad I am doing this not because it’s my dream to become a prosecutor, but because this isn’t a regular case. It’s my own sister who’s involved with this and I want to make sure we’ll get justice for her death.”

 Mrs. Lee holds his hands, checking his fingers as what she regularly do as a mother, tracing his skin like you were tracing a word in a dictionary looking for a definition.

 “Up until your noona’s death, she’s still supporting your dreams. I wish she could see you getting that degree. I’m sure she will be so proud of you.”

 He remained silent, trying to suppress the waves of loneliness crawls up inside him and stayed after his sister’s death. Lee Hyekyung is two years older than him but she protected him ever since they were little kids, and she even stands up for him when he was pursuing their parents to allow him to go to the law school.

The day she died, he made a pledge that he will take justice right into his hands. He will fight even if it causes his life

  —  —  —

  They were driving back to the Daegu and up until then, he wasn’t saying what are they gonna do there. She was so confused for the whole trip but she better keep remain silent. She thought that maybe he’s planning to do something and it must stay as a surprise. Anna secretly giggles with the thought and Jimin smiled without looking at her when he heard her composing different scenarios inside her head.

It was before noon when they pulled over in a one- hour parking place on Main Street. She looked around and frowned, but even the most suspicious glance around this extremely small and peaceful town could discern no threat or whatsoever; it was a postcard-perfect image of a small town in South Korea.

 “Now what?” she asked.

 He unfastens his seatbelt and bent sideward to unfasten her too. She remained stayed still waiting for his answer.

 “Come with me,” his only answer.

 They both get off from the car and she gets to see the closer looked of the area. Park Jimin walked up to her and took her hand. He led the way, walking beside Anna along the sidewalk toward the edge of town.

 “Where are we going?” she asked him again. They were walking up a slight hill, and the only thing she could see in this direction was a pretty little church at the top of the hill.

“Jimin, why is it that you have to be here?”

He didn’t answer until they stood before the small church. Then he stopped and looked at her gravely. “We’ve come here because I want you to meet someone.”

Even then, she still didn’t understand. He took her hand again and led her around the church and into the neat graveyard behind it. He led her through the graveyard to the very back, where a big oak tree stood bare-limbed in the cold October air.

There was headstone placed where it would be shaded in summer.

 She almost froze to her spot when she read the names written on the headstones as if a big mystery has uncovered yet she couldn’t find the right emotions she should be feeling. She felt Jimin’s hands tightened against hers but she remained immobile the whole time her eyes pierced onto the grave. She was looking deeply convincing herself that if she looked intently, she would see the face of that someone buried underground.

 The name’s written “BAE WANGBI”

 It was her mother’s name—Wangbi.

 She felt a void covered after a long time inside a deep dark part of her. If she could just see her personally, ask her questions and if given a chance, hug her too. She had never experienced a mother’s love and she always dreaming how it would feel if she met her real- biological mother. Her eyes keep reading back and forth each letter engraved on the stone. Her mother’s birth year and the cause of death—Dies in childbirth.

 She had never read three word sentences which were painful as the words written on this tombstone. She wasn’t there but the thought she gave up her own life to give a chance for a new life of a new human being to see the beauty of this world was too overwhelming. It was too late when she realized there are tears in her eyes already.

How great would it be if she had met her mother at least once?

 She wiped her snot and tears on her eyes then she felt him pulling her closer to hug her so tight. “If you wanted to know better your mom, just look at the mirror and you will see her. It’s as if she was reincarnated through her own child.”

Anna laughed at what he said. “You know this sounds awkward, right?”

He just chuckled and gently caress her hair.

  —  —  —

 Mrs. Kim placed a hot tea on the coffee table while Anna was busy looking at the old photos of her mom together with Mrs. Kim. They looked around mid-twenties and both carry a beautiful face, charming smile and a youthful look. Their beauty could be seen on television and she has no doubt on it. She wonders why does her mom look so pretty but she isn’t? They all said she look after her mom but she don’t feel like as pretty as her.

There was this photo where they were both sitting in the middle of a huge strawberry farm. Her mother was wearing a hat while Mrs. Kim was just covering the blinding sunlight through her hands.

 “I honestly don’t know what to feel. This is so strange,” Mrs. Kim opened.

 Anna looked upon her and Mrs. Kim stare directly at her eyes but then looked away laughing awkwardly. “No wonder why I saw Wangbi in you the very first time we’ve met! At first, I thought I saw a ghost because you look paler than her. I think your skin looks fairer than your mother, and your hair was longer than her. You got her round eyes and smile, even the way you speak was all copied. It’s as if she’s not dead but was just living inside you. Every time I look at you, I remember the good old times we’ve spent together. We grew up together. Taehyung’s grandmother took good care of her since your grandparents died when Wangbi was only a child. She grew up like you, she had never experienced the love of her real mother, but then my mother promised she’ll stay by her side, and I was tagged along. We’re more than friends, more like true siblings. She’s like my sister.”

 Park Jimin took a sipped of tea then put it back on the table.  “I’ve even told her that if she wants to get to know her better, she just needs to look at the mirror.”

 They all laughed.

 “Mrs. Kim…” Anna called.  

 “What is it dear?”

 Anna looked at Jimin before continue speaking to her. “Could you please tell me more about her? I want to know her stories.”

 Mrs. Kim smiled widely. “Of course! You’ll stay overnight here, right? We could spend all night long talking about your mom. I can even start telling you her stories while we’re preparing for dinner. The boys will come over so it’ll be a lot of work.”

 She looked puzzled. “The boys?”

 “I called Taehyung… and I hope you don’t mind but I want you to meet the rest of the group. If that will be okay?” Park Jimin said.

 Mrs. Kim butts in, “You could all stay at the old house, it’s big and I just got it clean last week. You can all sleep in there. Take it as a short vacation from the city.”

  “Wait! Hold on!” Anna interrupted, she looked back at Jimin. “When you said… the boys… the group… you mean the… the…”

 He just nodded.

 Her eyes grow big. “No waaaaaaaay!”

 “Don’t you want to meet them? They’ve been accusing me that I’m dating someone so maybe this will be the good time to tell them about you!”

 She gasped. “I know but what I mean is Park Jimin its Bangtan!”

 “And you haven’t realized that the man sitting in front of you is Bangtan, too?” she chuckled.

“That’s a different case! Ghad imagine how would Deby react if she will find out I spend a night with the Bangtan Boys!”

 Park Jimin just laughed and said. “I bet you will be more surprised if I tell you how starstruck she was that ‘The Bangtan Boys’ picked her up at school saying she just won a special prize and the prize will be spending a night with all of us.”

 Her eyes get bigger.

  —  —  —

  It was past 6 pm when they all heard a van pulling over in front of the house. Anna and Mrs. Kim were busy preparing for their meal when Park Jimin announced the arrival of the group. She immediately removed the plastic bag on her hand she used while making kimchi and rushed over to the gate to see them. She was so excited to see them all as if everything was a dream and that dream includes her best friend Deby.

She hides behind the wall and peeks over to see Jimin helping the boys with their bags. She saw Kim Taehyung first run over to see Soonshim- their dog. She then saw Kim fucking Namjoon and Kim fucking Seokjin. They both went inside and bow to greet Mrs. Kim. She hugged the boys and the rest came over, too. She saw Min fucking Yoongi, Jeon fucking Jungkook and the ball of sunshine Jung fucking Hoseok.

 “This must be a dream,” she squeals. “But where’s Deby?” She noticed. Anna looked around and there she saw her best friend standing behind looking so clueless and just smiling trying to decipher everything. Anna decided to reveal herself and went outside the door. Her best friend’s eyes beamed with happiness when she saw Anna. She quickly runs to hug her neglecting that the boys were just standing around them.

 “What the fuck?! They said I won a special award but I can’t remember joining any special games!!! Did you won too?!” Deby asked almost jumping in front of her friend trying to contain her excitement.

“I was also surprised when I heard that! Jimin just told me recently about it!”

“Oh my... fuck Anna, I sat in between Kim Seokjin and Kim Taehyung for whole fucking hours and I thought I’ll be dead! C’mon check my pulse rate! I might be dead but just a zombie!” she said freaking out.

“Stop it! You look so stupid! Chill, Deby! Taehyung’s mother is here and this is Kim Taehyung’s hometown.”

 Her eyes got bigger than Anna’s eyes before. She gasped with what she heard and shouted, “I THINK THE FUCK NOT?!”

 Anna immediately covered her mouth and looked around them. Deby felt her face turned red when the boys looked at her and she met Mrs. Kim’s eyes too. She was so embarrassed that all she could do is to cover her face with her hair and bow down. Anna saw how Kim Taehyung laughed secretly and immediately hide it when he saw that he was caught by Anna that he's smiling.

Deby meets Mrs. Kim and greeted her courteously, she even apologized for her words and said she just got too excited.

  —  —  —

  After the dinner, Kim Taehyung led the way to the old house not too far from their house. It was his ancestor’s house and nobody wanted to stay there. It’s already 10 o’clock in the evening. The rocky road was too dark but grateful the moon shines so brightly that they don’t even need a flashlight to light their way.

The whole place looks spooky and Jung Hoseok keeps talking how they should just stay back in the main house. Deby was walking next to Kim Seokjin, secretly waiting for the correct timing she could at least hold the hem of his hoodie because even though she doesn’t want to admit, she feels so scared too.

 “Are we heading to hell? Its year 2017 why didn’t they even put light posts here?” Min Yoongi coolly complained. He was walking next to Jung Hoseok who keeps sticking his side to him making sure if ever something happened, he could hide at the back of the brave Min Yoongi.

“I think there were light’s here before. I saw light posts standing on the sidewalk. Maybe it was all broken.” Kim Namjoon said what he observed.

 “Yeah, we used to have lights here but rumor said the ghosts hate it so they all broke it,” Kim Taehyung said in a serious tone and that sends shiver down their spine.

Anna tightened his hold around Jimin’s arms but then her boyfriend just laughs with what he said. He leaned into Anna’s ears to whisper and said, “Don’t believe him. It was all broken because the storm broke all the electrical wires and the town government hasn’t fixed it yet. He’s basically just scaring Hoseok.”

 Jeon Jungkook suddenly made a noise you heard when things get spooky at night. Jung Hoseok literally jumped off and hold at Min Yoongi’s arms screaming.

 “WHATS THAT?! WHATS THAT SOUNDS?!”

 Jungkook laughed so loud. "It was an owl, haven’t heard of it before?”

 Still, Hoseok keeps his hands on Yoongi’s arms.

 “If you won’t let go in five seconds we’ll make sure to offer you for tonight’s ritual,” Yoongi coldly said.

 Hoseok getting tensed up and his face looks so pale. Anna wants to laugh out loud but she knows better, this isn’t the right time. “You know you can’t do that, right? You’ll lose your lead dancer and one of the main rappers! I got a huge fan base as well so basically, the company’s gross income would go down if ever I’ll be dead!”

Yoongi just shows his smug face. “You know we got Jimin and Jungkook to cover you up. Besides, two rappers in a group are enough. If ever we need three for cypher then we can recruit Taehyung in the team. He had wanted to perform Cypher. Right, Taehyung?”

 They heard the boys laughing but then Taehyung still ride in with the joke. “Of course! I got lots of potentials!”

 Suddenly, Kim Seokjin interrupted.

 “What do you call a bird who drinks too much?”

 Nobody answered but Deby who finds it as a great opportunity.

 “What?” she asked showing interest with the joke.

 “An owlcoholic.”

 Again, nobody laughed.

But Deby.

 Anna literally put her palms on her face because of embarrassment. She knows her best friend better and it was her time to shine.

 The group was able to reach the old house even before thirty minutes since they left the main house. That was a long but fun walk.  The boys put down the bag with snacks in the long table placed at the corner of the house. It was an old- style mansion but looks abandoned. The furniture’s shows extravagance but some of them are too old to work or use. Anna and Deby helped to fix the heaters in the middle of the living room. Namjoon and Taehyung both removed the sofa’s, tables and other furniture at the side of the room to make a space in the middle. They have decided to sleep all in the living room since Mrs. Kim said that the bedroom lights of the house are not working anymore.

They put a huge comforter in the middle with blankets and pillows.

 The maknae started to scare his hyung again. “Hoseokie-Hyung, I heard that Taehyungie-hyung’s great- great grandparents used to pull prank on someone who’s most scared in the group? I heard they can even move their eyes on the paintings and they would stare at you till you pass out.”

“Yah! Jeon Jungkook! You think that’s funny? Do you want me to shove your muscles down your mouth?!” Hoseok shouted back.

 “OMG! HE GOT ABS?!” Deby screamed.

 “We all got abs here. We’re just being demure to show our body in front of the camera,” Taehyung interrupted.

 “Can you show me?” she asked with her eyebrows wiggling. Taehyung looks disgusted while staring at her.

 “Anna, can you give me the mustard?” Namjoon asked.  She nods and walks at the table to get the mustard when Seokjin started throwing puns again.

 “What did the mustard say to his friends at the race?” he asked laughing all by himself.

 Again, nobody bothered to pay attention.

Except for Deby. 

Again.

 “What?” she diligently asked.

 “You better ketchup.” And they both laughed together. Jimin and Yoongi both scratch their heads while listening to both of them laughing in their own world.

 “Noona~ did you bring the chicken?” Jungkook asked Anna.

 “Yes, it’s here. Why? Do you want some?” she asked. Park Jimin opened the Tupperware to show him the chicken that they prepared.

 “Ah, thanks~ yes. I’ll just get the plate. I’m hungry again.” The maknae said and rushed to get plates from the plastic.

 And again, Kim Seokjin has another joke to share.

 “What kind of currency do Chicken use?”

 Min Yoongi answered just above his breath but Deby still heard him. “Why the fuck I have to spend night with these weirdos?”

 Deby’s the loyal one who answered him right away. “What?”

 “Bock Bucks.”

 And they both snorted to laugh. Min Yoongi suddenly walked over to Deby.

 “You know the biggest mistake you've ever done in your life? It's answering his stupid jokes. You basically are letting yourself fall into his trap. Run away before he ruins your life forever with his jokes.”

 Taehyung barged in. “I think Seokjin- hyung finally found someone who will laugh with him even with the stupidest joke.”

 “What’s wrong with my jokes? Maybe Deby has sense when it comes to joking, unlike y’all who killed joy!” Seokjin defends.

 Deby almost peed her pants when her bias called her name.

 “I think he’s just being respectful, hyung,” Hoseok answered.

 Namjoon joined their conversation. “Nah, it’s because I’ve found out Jin- hyung is her main bias. Right?”

 They all looked at her. Deby quickly looked at Anna who shakes her head saying it wasn’t her.

 “It’s obvious! Deby- noona keeps herself beside Jin- hyung all the time!” Jungkook said.

 “Being worldwide handsome doesn't mean anything if I’m not her ultimate bias. Right? You’re just jealous! Go! Find your own fans!” Jin bragged then laughed again.

 Anna yelped when Jimin slipped his arms around her. “I don’t need. I got mine here.”

 Yoongi scrunches his nose. “Y’all are so disgusting.”

 “I better listen to Jin- hyung jokes than Jungkook’s scary stories!” Hoseok said.

 Namjoon and Jimin put all their foods in the middle and they’ve planned out to form a circle to make their conversation interesting as if they’re camping outside. They turned off all the light and sat forming a circle with a dim- yellow lamp in the middle. The foods are in the middle, too. Namjoon sitting next to Seokjin, and Deby’s sitting between him and Taehyung again. Next to Taehyung is Jungkook, then Hoseok and Anna. Next to Anna is Jimin sitting beside Namjoon.

 “Where did you meet her, hyung?” Jungkook asked.

 A blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm and he started the story how they met. Some are true but he, of course, kept some things hidden. Taehyung shows that like the rest of the boys, he doesn’t know anything about Jimin’s dating status.

After all these hours, Deby still was so amused that what happening that night was truly unbelievable. She took pictures with them but then Namjoon asked her not to post it online since it might cause rumor and they don’t want that to happen. She promised she’ll keep it till she died, just like her promised to Taehyung that morning they took a selfie together.

Everything feels surreal for Anna. She’s leaning against Jimin’s shoulder while listening to Namjoon’s stories about their practices and even personal life. It seems like they have never treated them as a fans, but as friends. There are only two of them among the seven boys yet they never feel unsafe with them. She felt like they are just like the common circle of friends out there.

 Min Yoongi gets a sushi to eat when Seokjin speaks again.

 “What did the sushi said to bee, hyung?” He’s laughing even he hasn’t said his joke yet.

 Yoongi aggravated when he looked at him. “Since when did a fucking sushi speaks, Kim Seokjin? C’mon, tell me. When did the sushi start speaking? I’m sorry if I’ll throw honorifics here but when did the sushi talks, Seokjin- hyung?”

 They’re on the floor laughing so hard how Yoongi broke into his joke. The eldest glared at him looking upset like a little child. He was trying to hide his laugh then just turned to the woman sitting on his side.

 “I think I’d rather ask you. What did the sushi said to bee?” he asked Deby.

 Looking so helpless, she just chose to answer for the sake of his losing dignity as the eldest member. “What?”

 “Wasabi!” Then he laughed so loud all by himself again. When Deby was about to laugh too, Taehyung suddenly pulled her to turn her around and she was stunned when he did that. She was now facing him and Seokjin automatically reacted.

 “Yah! What are you doing?! Are you trying to steal my only fan here? Go away!” he said then pulled her too with her arms.

 “Yah! Yah! Yah!” Namjoon spoke in between them. “She’s not a toy! She’s hurting! Deby, you better avoid those two abnormals. They’re no good, they might rip off your arms!”

 Hoseok meddles. “And then they accidentally killed you and of course we’re Bangtan and famous, we’ll hide your dead body and burned it to hide evidence. Then we’ll burn each possible evidences here, too. Then Jiminie will take care of your friend. He’ll drug Anna to make her believe that everything she witnessed was just her imagination.”

 “Yah! Are you planning to kill me?!” Deby yells.

 “Just saying what if’s,” he answered.

 “Want to hear a joke about potassium?” Seokjin once again tried.

 “NO!” they all said in unison except the two ladies.

 “K.”

 It took five seconds before they realized he still managed to pull off his joke and he vigorously laughed all by himself again. By this time, when it says alone, not including his ever-supportive only fan that night.

 “Fuck.” Yoongi muttered.

  —  —  —

 It was already midnight and everyone fell asleep except Jimin and Anna who remained awake after the long conversations they shared before one by one passed out. They’re both lying at the end of the comforter. Jimin at the far-out corner, next is Anna, then Deby, Hoseok who’s hugging tightly the snoring Taehyung. Next to him is Jungkook, then Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon.

 “You know, even in my wildest dreams, I’ve never had the thought that I’ll spend a night with y’all boys. I mean that. You made me very happy especially my friend who obviously still in shock whenever she realizes that Bangtan boys are just standing around to her.”

 Anna pressed her lips to his neck while his hands tightened around her frame.

 “If you want we can do this every time we got short breaks,” Jimin suggested.

 “Really?!” she yelped almost getting up to see his face if he’s being serious.

 Anna’s smile widened when he pulled her over on top of him. “It’s going to be interesting, isn’t it?”

 “Oh, yeah,” Jimin said. “That’s one word for it.”