#they should let me wear blood to the bar all year round to be honest I’ve never felt hotter

[killaura]

just absolute gallons of the stuff

[rohanabb]

ABBASI, ROHAN: an introduction, of sorts

Following immediately after Seth.

It’s widely considered bad form to start one's story with their protagonist waking. So let us begin, then, what is most assuredly not a story – something quite smaller and grander in scale – with most assuredly not our protagonist – lacking categorically across the board – with, of our own forthright admission, an interlude on morning routines and the spiraling outwards of them.

Like most mornings, Rohan rises with the bile-bitter tongued feeling that he’s already late for something important.

Unlike most mornings, he does so in a bed his body does not recognize and without the usual sunlight streaming across his face. The sky, from what Rohan can see of it, sits lower here than in Arizona, a singular grey plane through which it feels little can escape between. What light does is equally low and flat, casting the as-yet-unfamiliar room in unflattering shades of, well, more grey. Rohan reaches semi-blindly for the bedside lamp for what little it'll help, his face still half-pressed to the pillow and — a protein bar.

He hadn't dreamed it, then. Seth had been here. The silver, crinkling assault of Kirkland's Worst nestled in the indent only just previously occupied by Rohan's head enough to rematerialize — something of the morning. God fuck, what time was it?

Rohan swings his legs over the side of the bed. It's cold. Of course it's cold, it's February, and for most of Rohan's life February has meant fucking cold. But Arizona, clearly, has made him soft. Cold-blooded, in need of a large, smooth rock to stretch out on for a few more hours. Missing the same sun he had complained so thoroughly about for so much of the year. Maybe he should think about investing in a sun lamp; any chance Amazon will still honor a two-day delivery?

...

When Rohan does arrive at the right room, it's under frankly more layers than he has any business wearing and would be embarrassed by in nearly any other circumstance. And he still feels cold — though, if we're to be entirely honest, as much as Rohan is ignorant to it beyond wishing he'd worn another jacket, it likely has more to do with the freezing waves rolling off the rest of the team than any real change in air temperature.

Rohan, for his part, started practically vibrating the second he so much as stepped foot in the building. To say he's operating on a different wavelength than many of his coworkers might be, perhaps, an understatement. He enters brightly, bristling with awareness of each pair of eyes that swivel towards him. This, at least, is in some way familiar. Orientation; a round table of stiff-mouthed and too-rehearsed introductions, even if Rohan is the only one leaking genuine excitement and anxiety on making a good first impression out of every pore.

If there is any hesitation in Rohan's step, it's not in taking his seat. That's easy. He slides into the space held for him, Seth's bag deposited gently on the back of his chair and Rohan's slung the same. A matching pair. He gives Seth a gentle tap on the ankle to say what he needs to and won't in the presence of strangers. Hi. Good morning. Thank you. Don't look at me like that. Pay attention.

Beyond that, Rohan is by all accounts well-behaved and characteristically himself. He does not take notes, does not cross his arms and avert his gaze. Rohan sits forward in his seat, chin propped in hand, making as much direct eye contact with each speaker as they'll allow. In the space between he leans back, settles beside Seth, and allows himself the brief vice of workplace gossip with his best friend.

When his turn comes around, by virtue of it just having been Seth's, Rohan slides again to the very edge of his chair, elbows planted on his knees, and gives a half wave.

"Hi, all," he starts with a smile, trying and failing to meet the eye of everyone left in the room through it. "I'm Rohan. Just Rohan, please. Dr. Abbasi if you feel especially professionally compelled, but really I'd prefer if we kept things more casual and friendly, seeing as it looks like we're going to be spending some serious time together. You're welcome to call me Tree Hugger, if that feels right to you, but you might have to say it a few times to get my attention."

He tries for a self-deprecating smile, drops it, and tries again with something a little more honest and open.

"With that said, please forgive me if I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to call-signs. I'm in my seventh year at the Foundation, but it's all been on the research side of things. Lab work, mostly. I'd be more than happy to go into details with anyone who's interested, as Seth knows I can go on all day about it and then some, but I'll spare you all the gory parts and give you the rundown: I'm a neuroscientist and pharmacology guy by training with a more recent focus on amnestic applications in animal and humanoid SCP recovery. I definitely consider myself a pretty active participant in the Foundation's scientific community. One of my long-term goals that I've had — pretty much since I started here has been to incorporate academic and modern medical research principals into what we do. It's something I bring to work with me every day and I'm more than excited for the opportunity to continue bringing it but on a much larger scale and alongside all of you.

"So — yeah. That's about it on my end. Again, pleasure to meet all of you. Please feel free to grab me afterwards for anything or any reason. I'm also on the hunt for a running partner, maybe someone else interested in starting a journal club of sorts — so. Yeah. Grab me if that's you. Thanks for listening. Onto the next."

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 6 of 16

Kinda OOC Gally at the beginning, but I can do what I want, shuck you!

~~~~~~~~~~

(not my GIF <3)

You groaned as the dawn of a new day hit you directly in the face. You absolutely hated mornings, and the ever increasing ache in your back from sleeping in the dirt didn’t make things any better. But, you just kept telling yourself that you get out of the Slammer this morning.

You sat up to see Thomas already awake, fiddling with some pieces of grass that managed to grow inside the cell. “Hope you slept better than I did.” You yawned, hearing a couple satisfying cracks when you stretched out.

Thomas chuckled softly. “No, not really.”

You hummed in thought. “That can’t be good, not getting a good sleep, especially since you’re a Runner now.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” He huffed.

Minho’s slightly silhouetted figure walking towards the cells caught your attention, and you moved closer to the wooden bars that separated the cells. “Be careful today, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid.” You told Thomas with concern etched onto your face.

Thomas looked confused for a moment, but then nodded once. “I’ll try not to.”

“Y’all look cozy in there.” Minho joked. “Sure you don’t wanna sit this one out?”

“Come on man, get us outta here.” Thomas chuckled.

The cool morning mildew on the grass tickled at your ankles as you hopped out of your cell, the chill giving you goosebumps over your arms. “Good luck out there.” You told the boys.

“What are you, our mother?” Minho sassed, making you roll your eyes.

“We’ll be careful.” Thomas reassured, and you gave him a grateful smile and then giving Minho a sharp glare, which only made him grin.

You watched as the maze doors opened yet again, like clockwork, feeling a clench in your gut as Minho and Thomas ran in. You wished you weren’t such a worrier.

You shook your head, he’s gonna be fine. They both are. But first order of business you made for yourself, you wanted to check in on Alby. Maybe whoever was watching over him a break, if the shank needed it.

Second was to find Chuck, give him that hug that you promised him the night before. You weren’t one to like breaking promises, no matter how tedious it may be. But you could see him at lunch, give him the hug and half your slop that Frypan would serve today.

For all the jokes, you actually enjoyed his cooking, not that you had anything else to compare it to.

Third, you really wanted to sleep in your nice hammock. But since you couldn’t, not until it was the time anyway, you just planned to work just like any other day. Go and build whatever the shuck you were building today.

Heading over to the Med-jacks, you saw a few of your fellow Builders heading over to the Homestead, one of the boys giving you a friendly smile as he passed. Odd, you thought, shouldn’t they be on the way to the Builder’s station? Well, it wasn’t like you were at the moment, so you had no reason to judge you supposed.

You greeted Jeff at the door to Alby’s room. “How is he?” You asked.

Jeff sighed. “Still passed out. Clint’s watching over him right now.”

“Does he need a break or anything?”

Jeff smiled a little. “He just switched out, he’s good to go for a couple hours. Thanks though.”

“Oh, okay.” You nodded, turning back to exit the building, heading over to the Builder’s area.

You smiled to yourself when you saw Gally, his brow furrowed that signaled that he was intensely focused on whatever he was doing. You still didn’t see any other Builders around. “Hey, Gal.” You greeted.

Gally quickly snapped his head towards you with a smile, subtly standing in front of the work bench that had a couple blueprints scrawled over it. “Sleep well?” He teased, knowing fully well you didn’t.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You responded sarcastically. “So, where is everyone? Do we not have work today or something?”

“Uh, no, we do. Just fixing up some broken flooring in the Homestead.”

“Oh. Well, let’s head on over there then.” You went to start walking over, but Gally stopped you

“No, wait,” Gally stuttered, making you look back at him in slight shock. He never stuttered. “Uh, not us.”

You furrowed your brows with a nervous chuckle. “Why is that?”

“Uh, well, uh,” Gally stuttered a bit more, it was starting to concern you.

“Gal, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He said quickly, making you try to stifle another chuckle. He sighed frustratingly.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Should you go see Jeff?”

“Yes, I’m fine, really. I just...ah, shuck it, I’m no good at this.” He took a deep breath. “Remember how you said that you wanted your own place to sleep, away from the Homestead?”

It took a bit of memory retrieval, but you remembered. It was around the first week of being in the Glade. “Yeah, I remember. Especially when you said, ‘Oh, the Homestead not good enough for you, princess?’”

Gally cringed at himself. “Can we just pretend I didn’t say that?”

You giggled and nodded. “Sure thing, Captain. So, why do you ask?”

Gally smirked and moved to the side, allowing you to see the messy blueprint that he was blocking, revealing measurements for a rushed looking drawing of some sort of hut.

You gasped and snapped you head to look at Gally’s slightly flustered face. “Gally.” You said in shock.

Gally scratched the back of his neck and turned his focus to the blueprint. “It’s not much, I know. I sorta made a rough draft of a plan last night when you were in the Pit. Only being here for a short time, I figure you probably aren’t used to sleeping in the same building with a bunch of ugly dudes.” He chuckled nervously.

“Gally...”

“Ah, you hate it, don’t you? I just wanted to make up for getting you punished yesterday. I can do something else if-”

“Gally!” You interrupted with a huge grin on your face.

“W-What?”

You shook your head gleefully. Gally flinched when you threw your arms around his neck, paralyzing him in shock. “I love it, Gally. Thank you.” You grinned into his shoulder.

Gally slowly brought his arms around you and leaned into your embrace, sighing in relief that you didn’t just tear up the blueprints in rage. “Good...that’s good.” He whispered breathlessly.

You pulled away from the hug, still wearing a grin on your face, the muscles starting to ache since it’s been a while since you’ve smiled so much. “Are we gonna get to build it today?” You asked while bouncing on the balls of your feet, causing Gally to smile at your childlike excitement.

“Yeah, at least the foundation. It’s kinda why I wanted it to be just us building it, without those other shanks, you know.” He chuckled. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course! Where we building it?”

“I was thinking near the tree line maybe? Near the gardens? It’s quiet there most of the time.”

“Sounds good. Let’s get started then.” You smiled, going over the blueprint to see how the framing would be set up and how long the measurements for how long the planks should be. It was a fairly simple structure, probably only would take a few days to build. Maybe four, if all went well.

You were excited. You’ve always wanted a place for yourself, but always thought yourself selfish for thinking it. It took a lot of self control for you to not do more than just hug Gally however. Just seeing how nervous he was about his plan, since he was usually so confident in everything he does. You’ll be honest, it was super sweet to see.

Gally felt elated after seeing you get so excited about something he made, well, planned to make. If he could’ve made the hut for you overnight, then he would’ve. But he felt so tired after spending a couple hours coming up with a decent blueprint. He was only one guy after all.

Gally didn’t realize he was staring at you sawing a piece of wood until you smiled at him, sweat beading at your forehead. He quickly felt the blood rush to his cheek and tried to focus back on his own task. He hated how flustered only you could make him.

After a couple hours sawing and nailing pieces of boards together to make a wooden foundation, Gally called for a little break just to look it over before moving on.

It was a floorless frame, but you could already imagine what it would be like to sleep alone without a bunch of snoring boys around you.

You looked to Gally to see him already looking at you with a soft smile. “What?” You smiled.

Gally simply shook his head, locking eyes with you before clearing his throat. “Lunch will be soon. We should go wash up.”

You nodded bashfully. “Yeah, Thomas and Minho should be back soon too.”

Gally rolled his eyes at the mention of Thomas, but nodded anyway. “Let’s see what that shank did now.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the comment.

You and Gally stood together at the maze doors with some of the other Gladers, all confused by the loud shifting sounds from inside the Maze. You smiled in relief when you saw the two Runners rounding the corner of the corridor and swiftly entering the Glade. “Well, what the hell’s going on out there?” Newt quickly asked the exhausted boys.

“Yeah, the hell you’ve done now, Thomas?” Gally asked, making you glare at him.

“We found something. A new passage, we think it could be a way out.” Thomas explained.

You quickly jogged to catch up with Thomas. “Are you serious?”

“It’s true.” Minho panted. “We opened a door, something I’ve never seen before. Think it must be where the Grievers go during the day.”

“Whoa, wait.” Chuck said. “What, you’re saying you found the Grievers home? And you want us to go in?”

“Their way in could be our way out, Chuck.” Thomas replied.

“Yeah, or, there could be a dozen Grievers on the other side. The truth is, Thomas doesn’t know what he’s done, as usual.” Gally expressed angrily, causing Thomas to quickly confront him.

“Yeah, well, at least I did something, Gally. I mean, what have you done, huh? Aside from hide behind these walls all the time?” Thomas snapped.

“Thomas...” You spoke up, trying to stop the argument.

“Let me tell you something, Greenie, you’ve been here three days, alright? I’ve been here three years-”

“Yeah, you’ve been here three years and you’re still here, Gally!” Thomas interrupted. “Alright, so what does that tell you, man? Maybe you should start doing things a little differently.”

“Thomas!” You snapped, sighing in frustration when they kept arguing, then noticing Teresa walk up to the crowd that surrounded the arguing pair.

“Hey!” Teresa finally interrupted the pair. “It’s Alby. He’s awake.”

“He is?” You asked. She nodded, turning back to the Med-jacks infirmary.

Thankfully, Gally and Thomas stopped bickering for the sake of being there for Alby. You tried not to glare at both the boys, so you just walked behind with Newt. “You alright?” He asked.

You sighed. “Yeah...” You glanced down to his leg. “How about you?” You tried not to mention how obvious his limp was today, knowing it was a touchy subject, but he knew what you were asking anyway.

“Just a bit more sore than usual. That’s all.” Newt weakly smiled.

Gally kept glancing back at you as you all were walking to the infirmary, but you kept your eyes to the ground.

“Has he said anything yet?” You asked Teresa as you entered Alby’s room.

“No.” She sighed.

“Alby.” Newt called out softly, slowly sitting down beside the stoic boy. “Alby, you alright?”

Alby didn’t respond. He just sat there, looking straight forward with tears in his eyes.

Thomas moved passed you to kneel in front of Alby. “Hey, Alby. We might’ve just found a way out of the Maze. You hear me? We could be getting out of here.”

Alby gently shook his head. “We can’t.” He whispered tearfully. “We can’t leave. They won’t let you.”

Thomas glanced back at the group for a moment. “What’re talking about?”

“I remember.”

“What do you remember?” Thomas asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Alby turned to look at Thomas. “You.” He said, making everyone turn to look at the shocked boy. “You were always their favorite, Thomas. Always.”

A commotion from outside caused you to lose on the conversation. What the hell was going on? When the shouting got louder, you ran outside, everyone else quickly following behind.

It was getting dark outside, a bunch of Gladers lighting up torches and running around in a frenzy. “What the hell is going on?” Thomas asked Winston.

“The doors, they aren’t closing.”

You looked to the doors and he was right, they weren’t closing. You and Gally gave each other worried looks, but you quickly followed after Thomas to stand in front of the doors. “I don’t understand. Why aren’t they closing?” You voiced, mostly to yourself, but you never got a response as an ear splitting clank echoed around the Glade.

You all looked in the direction of the noise, behind you, and what you saw was terrifying. Birds flying away in the distance as you all saw another entrance to the Maze opening up, the lack of use making it squeal and grind against the aligned stone pavement.

You didn’t even know there were other entrances, and by the look of everyone else’s faces...they didn’t either. You only noticed Gally moving you closer to him when another piercing clank echoed.

To the right, another entrance opening. Then one more...all four sides of the Maze were open.

“Okay, Chuck, I want you to go to council hall and start barricading the doors.” Thomas said.

“Winston, you go with him.” Newt said.

“Get the others. Tell them to go to the forest, go hide, now!” Gally ordered.

“Teresa, Y/N,” Thomas voiced, “we’re gonna go get Alby, okay?”

You were about to nod in agreement, but Gally grabbed your arm. “No, she’s staying with me.”

You didn’t have time to protest when all of a sudden, a bunch of Gladers to the left started running away screaming. A shrill howl was heard from where you all were standing. You all looked down the entrance to see a Griever, a real live Griever.

“Alright, everybody hide!” Thomas yelled.

“Come on!” Gally yelled, grabbing your hand and quickly forcing you to run with him.

It was the complete opposite direction of Thomas and Teresa, but you couldn’t hesitate or else you’d be Griever food. You just had to trust that they’d be safe, so you followed Gally.

You weren’t used to running for your life, you never had to, not from horrifying monsters. You probably weren’t the best runner, but you did your best to keep up with Gally and the two other Gladers that followed him.

You heard screams all around you, itching so bad to help whoever needed help. You teared up at the thought of your friends dying in pain, but you had to be selfish. You wiped away tears that were blurring your vision. Looking to the left of you, you saw a Glader, who you couldn’t remember the name of, injured, desperately trying to crawl to safety.

“Fuck...” You whispered to yourself, before turning to help the kid.

“Y/N, no!” Gally yelled, briefly stopping before making it to the Box.

You quickly made it to the boy, quickly seeing lacerations all over his body. “Help me...” He said pitifully, blood seeping out of his mouth. You didn’t hesitate as you helped onto his feet, the weight of him quickly slowing you down as he wasn’t that much help.

Gally looked on in panic as you stupidly played hero. His panic only grew more as he saw a Griever spotted you two. “Y/N, you gotta leave him! Now!”

You looked behind you to see a Griever quickly catching up to you and the nameless Glader. You looked to the boy with panicked eyes, seeing that he was on the verge of unconsciousness.

You let out a sob as you dropped the boy to the ground, the Griever quickly finishing the job and gnashing him up with its jagged razor sharp teeth.

You being able to run full speed gave Gally a smidge of relief, but you were so full of guilt that you couldn’t focus on how fast you were running. “Hurry!” Gally’s voice snapped you out of your your own head and you soon ran at full speed, but it was too late.

You yelped as the Griever wrapped its tail around your ankle, tripping you and making you plummet to the ground.

You rolled over to see one of the Griever’s metal legs open up to reveal a syringe, but just in time, you dodged and rolled away, only to be trapped beside another leg. The Griever looked at you, almost tauntingly, before opening up its disgusting mouth, causing its thick drool to pour out of its mouth heavily onto your face.

You couldn’t believe you were about it die by this ugly thing, with the most disgusting thing you’ve ever tasted in your mouth, besides Frypan’s food.

But death never came.

Before the monstrous creature could tear you to shreds, you heard it screech in pain and you felt yourself being harshly pulled out from underneath the Griever. “Gally?”

“You’re so shucking stupid!” Gally huffed, carrying you to the Box in his arms.

You were quickly placed in the arms of another Glader as Gally hopped in the Box and closed the doors, quickly shushing everyone.

You were gently placed down on the floor, and you suddenly noticed the throbbing pain in your leg. You lifted your pant leg up to see blood seeping out of multiple cuts up your lower leg.

After it was quiet for a few minutes, Gally finally exhaled harshly. The only thing your mind focused on was the distant screams of your fellow Gladers. Please be okay, you thought to yourself. “What the hell were you thinking?” Gally scolded, but still aware to keep his voice at a low volume even when he wanted to scream at you.

Knowing that he definitely wasn’t addressing that to the other Gladers, you lifted your gaze up to Gally’s enraged face. “I thought I could help him...” You whispered, looking back down to the floor in guilt and shame.

Gally quickly kneeled down to your level and placed his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.  “You almost died. You almost fucking died. Look at your fucking leg. You’re lucky it was only your leg.”

You harshly pushed Gally’s hand away, making his glare increase if that was even possible. “Well, I’m alive so...”

Gally gave you an incredulous look and stood up to pace around the Box.

Your bottom lip trembled, your face felt sticky. You lifted up the hem of your shirt to get at least some of the Griever’s drool off your face. You cringed when you pulled away the fabric, seeing that it mostly took off the drool. At least it wasn’t on your face anymore. 

Gally sighed when he saw you looking over your wounds, his face softening slightly. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if you had been killed...

“Hey, Gally. It sounds like the Grievers are gone.” One of the Gladers said.

Gally leaned up and slightly peaked out the top of the Box. “I see everyone outside. Let’s go.” Gally said.

The same Glader helped you to your feet, you having a slight limp. You reluctantly took Gally’s hand and he pulled you up, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. “You okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded, testing out the strength of your wounded leg. “Just a flesh wound.” You said, hissing in pain when you put too much pressure on your leg. 

Gally’s scowl came back when he saw your pained face. “This is all his fault.” He spat.

You immediately knew who he was talking about. “No, Gal-”

“It’s his fucking fault.” He turned to walk to council hall, leaving you to follow after him with your limp.

Gally stormed up to council hall, quickly finding Thomas in the crowd. It was hard to keep up with him, but you managed, and you were close enough to see him ball up fist tightly.

“Gally, no!” You shouted when he pulled is fist back and swiftly collided it with Thomas’ face, him immediately falling to the ground.

A few Gladers quickly started to hold Gally back. “This is all you, Thomas!” He fought. “Look around!”

“Hey, back up, Gally. It’s not Thomas’ fault!” Minho quickly defended.

You felt helpless as you watch the chaos ensure, you didn’t know what to do.

“You heard what Alby said! He’s one of them!”

“One of who?!”

“He’s one of them and they sent him here to destroy everything, and now he has! Look around, Thomas! Look around! This is your fault! Everything has been your fault! You’ve gotten us killed! Y/N almost died because of you!” He ranted.

Thomas quickly looked to you, soon noticing your leg, how your blood was bleeding through your pant leg. Jeff quickly went to you with bandages already out, gently sitting you down on the grass as he tried to help you.

“Maybe he’s right...” You faintly heard Thomas say.

You looked to him in confusion, your eyes widening in panic as he was holding a Griever stringer. “Thomas?”

“Thomas, no!” You screamed as Thomas strung himself. Even if you were injured, you crawled your way to the now convulsing boy, along with everyone else. “Chuck, get the other syringe!” Teresa ordered.

“Thomas, you stupid shank.” You cried.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oof

[burnedbyshoto]

reincarnation

— Five chances to fall in love. Five reincarnations to find the person you’re destined to be with. It just so happens that in each life you keep meeting a man with brown hair and a sweet involvement of primroses —

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: soulmate au!, reincarnation au!, royalty au!, fake dating au!, college au!, villain!kaibara au!, fluff, angst, cursing, alcohol consumption

word count: 11,820

a/n: this is for the bnharem flower server collab!!!! check out the masterlist here, its pretty dope as fuck!!!! also I know dat none yall know who he is because we sleep on class 1-b, but i worked so hard on this and I wrote it in a single day, and its 4 am rn and im exhausted so pretty please help a girl out and just read it ;-; I also tried out a new... voice??? idk how to even explain dis, but yes huzzah!!!! kaibara sen rights!!!!

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The world is a fantastic place.

And to my beautiful reader, know that this is a world where soulmates exist. A world where someone is created flawlessly for you is someone who holds you to the highest symbol, who carries you through the most significant highs and lowest lows without a whine or grievance. 

A soulmate is destined to be yours, but sadly they are hidden within the world. 

My dearest reader, you only have five chances to figure out who your soulmate is. Five reincarnations to figure out who the one who is meant for you. Lucky for most humans, soulmates are found within the first two reincarnation cycles but heed this warning.

At the end of you and your soulmates twenty-first year, you must find each other and fall in love. Should you fail to find and love your soulmate, you’re put into another reincarnation to try again. Each attempt is marked on your wrist, a Roman numeral to indicate whether you have succeeded or failed. You will carry the rest of that reincarnation unable to ever see your soulmate ever again, but when the tattoo changes colors, you know the person you love is the one for you.

Good luck, my dearest reader, this is a challenging journey, but I know that you will do well.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ i ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone on their first reincarnation!”

Your eyes looked up to the handmaiden, who was currently helping you dress for the ball tonight. You were to wear a heavy dress of silks and satin sitting prettily on your body, the detail exquisite, the meaning behind each embroidered flower astonishing. 

You knew that the importance of your appearance was paramount as the daughter of a duke and duchess. You could very much be a future Queen consort considering that the royal families were dried of ladies. This was to be a ball in your name, a moment for courting, and arrangements to be made. 

At the age of eighteen, it was much later than other people would have expected it to be, after all, most balls such as these were to be done in the sixteenth year, definitely not the eighteenth. Two years truly made a difference.

But to your parent’s advantage, it would mean that by tonight you would most likely be engaged to some man you had been educated on years before. 

Glancing down at the small Roman Numeral I on your wrist, you smiled, nodding your head. Around this area of the world, most people already seemed to be on their second and third reincarnation. For all that was good, your parents themselves were on their third and second reincarnation. They weren’t soulmates but figured a life of leisure and power was better than a life of love since they had more chances.

“I know that I am the only one on my first reincarnation cycle around here,” you sighed, your manicured finger tracing the innard of your wrist. The red ink was strong against your skin, so strongly procuring against your skin, a statement of your isolation from your soulmate. 

Long ago, you had learned about soulmates, you remembered the warm light that held you in your earliest memories that explained the concept, and you further learned more as you grew. A near 75% of the population encountered and fell in love with their soulmate on their first reincarnation. Of course, once you fell in love and lived happily ever after, that was it for you, or so that’s what everyone claimed as there had been no true love gold ink gracing anyone’s wrists on their second or so on reincarnation. 

You were a bit of a romantic, keening in the thought of having someone perfect for you. Inexplicably yours, impossibly perfect for you.

You often wondered if you had already met your soulmate, but the barring symbol of no one else having a roman numeral one on their wrists made you realize it was no one you already knew.

“Mrs. Lane?” you spoke, your fingers twisting into the silk undergarments you wore.

Your hair was done already, the makeup sitting beautifully on your skin. But there was an undeniable fear in your eyes when you brushed over the mirror before you. 

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Have you met your soulmate already?” you asked, your stomach twisting in the thought of what may happen tonight. Could you really handle maybe passing a handsome gentleman or a beautiful woman with a Roman numeral one on their wrist and resist not immediately believing it was your soulmate?

“I have,” she nodded, exposing her slender wrist to you, the gold Roman Numeral II shining beautifully in your gaze. “He works in the palace, actually. Why do you ask, Your Grace?”

A soft smile graced your face at the sight of the golden ink. For too long, you had only seen it within your literature. Never once having been exposed to it in your world that was heavily plagued with those who cared more about politics than love. 

“It just occurred to me that I had never once asked if you had,” you smiled, your fingers letting go of your tightly held undergarments. “But let us carry on, my guests should be expecting me soon.”

~

Balls were glamorous and needless to say, quite fun.

The music was lively, the food was exquisite, and the people were merry and handsome as they danced around the floor. Most balls you attend always leave you rosy-cheeked with both alcohol in your blood and from the rounds of dancing you would participate in, but tonight was different. 

Your cheeks were rosy with exhaustion, hours of being twirled along the dancefloor, terribly bleak conversations going on between you and a hopeful courter, and the refusal of alcohol from your parent’s behalf. They wouldn’t have you messing up their only chance of seeing you married to the Prince, who was duller than a rock. 

Your feet hurt with the unforgiving throb of the tight heels you had to wear, and in this moment of peace, you wanted to cry when you watched two men come to approach the table where you sat between your parents.

“Your Grace,” the older man bowed lowly, his most likely son bowing as well.

“Duke Kaibara, what do we owe this pleasure?” your father spoke clearly and eloquently, the smile on his face charming, but you knew better. 

He didn’t want a marriage of equal status — especially not when the Kaibara family was known for their war abilities, which were meaningless in a time of peace.

“My son wishes to have a dance with your own daughter,” Duke Kaibara spoke with a transparent lie painted on his face.

Attempting not to scoff, you glanced over at the man who stood beside the Duke.

He was reasonably tall, his stature befitting of someone of his class and quite honestly much better than the Royal Highness himself. Unruly dark brown hair that you could tell immediately had his servants in a craze to put into the slicked-back style it was attempted to be in, the few strands falling into his eyes, making him more comfortable to look at. His eyes were as black as midnight, shining bleakly yet with stern sharpness to it that had you questioning his stoic aura. 

The black of his suit was also adorned with pops of gold and royal blue, definitely a commander.

“Y/n would love to accompany him for a dance,” your mother spoke, her hand pressing against the back of your dress, lifting you up to stand before you could even think of protesting.

“I’m glad,” the Duke laughed heartily, and you sighed quietly.

With your hand pressing into his own, both of you walked in silence to the dance floor. 

The song began, one that involved more one on one time and less prancing with everyone on the dancefloor, and you were unsure whether you appreciated that at all. On the one hand, it would have saved you the horror of having his smoldering eyes everywhere on you, but it also meant you two could waltz around without a care.

“I don’t care to marry you,” he spoke suddenly, catching you off guard immediately. “As a matter of fact, I had no desire to come to your ball.”

“Well, that’s a bit rude to say,” you splutter, your fingers digging into his shoulder while you nearly stumbled in your box step. “There was no need to tell me that!”

“My father thinks that because we are both in our first reincarnation, it will give some leeway into having our union, but he is too much of a romantic.”

“And just who are you exactly, Your Grace? I know of your surname, but if you are going to be speaking to me so brashly, I have the right to your birth name.”

As the two of you spun against the floor, the throb in your feet ignored; his eyes came down to meet yours in a piercing gaze. Was he shocked by your lack of submission?

“Sen,” he spoke, his lips pursing. “Sen of House Kaibara.”

“Well, Sen, you are incredibly rude!” you flustered, smoothly moving with him with the sudden pick up of speed in the music. “Even if you are not here for my hand, the least you could do is pretend!”

“You looked like someone who appreciated honesty, Your Grace,” there’s a glint in his eyes. Something you can’t quite pin or understand, but it sends your stomach into a loop at the way his lip quirks with his words, and how his eyes narrow almost as if in teasing.

“Oh, I definitely am, but even that was too honest for our first conversation,” you bite back, your long ruined lipstick-stained lips pulling into a smile. “Have you never been around a lady before? You should really be paying attention to your etiquette classes, Sen.”

“Are you really lecturing me on my etiquette while calling me Sen?” he asked, his jaw-dropping just the slightest in disbelief, using a heavy hand on your waist to pull you in and twirl you out of the way of a drunken pair of dancers. “I think it might be you who needs to be paying attention, Your Grace. Especially if you are defying my every word and not turning into a submissive rock at my commands.”

“It is a woman’s job to make sure a man knows their place,” you snickered, twirling with the beat of the song. “I am simply doing that.”

Kaibara’s mouth opened, words almost daring to pour out, but alas, the song was over.

The two of you parted, bowing to one another while the other dancers did the same while everyone cheered and rejoiced in their ability to dance to this song.

“Would you like to go on a walk with me?” Kaibara asked, his hand reaching out towards you. 

“I don’t care to walk with you,” you breezed, quickly repeating his first words to you ever. “But I assume it will be better than returning to the table to be sold off.”

Although Kaibara’s stoic face had long remelted over his face, you couldn’t deny the glint of amusement in his eyes at your words. With yet another outstretched hand, you took it, and off the two of you went. Away from the party and into the cold night.

The both of you wandered aimlessly through the gardens of your estate, the hedge labyrinth being something you went through with him under his predictions as you already knew the answer to this puzzle. 

You felt at ease with Kaibara, the initial belligerence of his personality seemingly disappearing the more you talked with him. He was still quite aggressive, his words clear, loud, and intentional with each speech he made. But you found yourself enjoying it more and more, especially after the two of you bonded over the spinning fountain in the royal palace. 

“Do you like flowers?” he asked when the two of you sat against a stone bench.

“Depends,” you hum, placing a finger on your chin. “I am less than thrilled with flowers with thorns. Do you have any idea how many idiot men have given my flowers with thorns in them?”

“I will assume a lot?”

“Three! That is three too many!”

Kaibara laughed merrily, his hand running through his gelled unruly hair, while his head dipped back to stare at the sky. 

“I’ve only gifted someone a flower once, and I did not go according to plan.”

Your eyebrows scrunched, you studied the man who stared up at the sky in a way that looked like he would fight the gods themselves should they appear. The soft glow of the halls barely reached this side of the garden, but with the help of the heavenly moon, you saw him clearly. He was a stranger, you knew that, but there was something about him that called for you, pleading you to learn more about him — everything about him.

“What was the plan?” you asked softly, your bare foot hitting his leather-clad shoe with a pointed toe. He had helped you take off your shoes the moment you entered the garden.

“Well, we were the same age, as you and I are,” Kaibara nodded, his hands pressing to the bench behind him as he shifted his weight to lean on his hands. “As I spoke earlier, my dad was a romantic, and embarrassingly enough, I was too at one point…”

He trailed off, and your head tilted, you felt like you knew where he was going with this.

“I offered the girl I loved a red rose, but she told me that we would be wrong together. She was on her second incarnation, and I was on my first, so there was no way we could be destined for one another,” Kaibara confessed, his tongue wetting his lips while he shrugged. 

“That is quite unfortunate,” you frown, your gaze dropping to your hands. 

“It was.”

The two of you fell into a tense silence, your mind unable to procure any form of thought to ease the tension between the two of you. But you looked up and saw a bush of white primroses before you. With a surge of confidence, you stood up and took a single primrose from the bush. Returning to Kaibara’s side, you placed the primrose in his hands.

“You may not appreciate this primrose, but our estate is known for the primrose, it's a trademark of my family. You may not have found your soulmate yet, Your Grace, but when you do, they will be amazed to call you theirs.”

Kaibara’s hold on the white flower was delicate, his fingers twirling the stem between his fingers while he sat there. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and he nodded, his eyes warming up while he locked eyes on you.

“You’re a bit weird, you know that y/n.”

“Only those I trust know that,” you winked, further delighting in the way that a crooked grin sat on his face.

Unfortunately for you after that night, you would never have one like that again. The arrangement to marry His Royal Highness was set, and you would never see Kaibara again after your wedlock to the Prince that happened on your twenty-first year alive — not that the two of you realized that.

You long after passed away.

You lived a happy life, a full life, but the thoughts of his Grace Duke Kaibara Sen always plagued your mind no matter what you did. How you wished that he was to be reborn too so that you could possibly meet him once again.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ ii ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Sen, leave my primroses alone!”

“I just can’t believe you still have these?!”

Your face was abnormally warm while you stared at your childhood friend Kaibara who was currently walking around your entire room, deliberately, and horribly going through your personal belongings. He was in workout clothes, black gym shorts, and a grey t-shirt under a yellow windbreaker; the sight of him so comfortable in your room made you a bit more embarrassed. 

The two of you had been friends for forever! Your parents were best friends and soulmates, so they figured that both of you would be soulmates. While it had been a cute and innocent thought when the two of you were young, it wasn’t so nice with the two of you nearing twenty-one and with no actual relationship in sight. How your parents found each other on their first attempt was beyond you, especially since you had the exact ii marked on your wrist.

But the worst part of your parents trying to convince both of you that you were soulmates was the thought that the two of you had once sort of dated. It had happened in secret, after all, both of you agreed should your parents find out it would equate to some block party celebration — which both of you didn’t want.

Still, the two of you were only sixteen when it happened, and while it could have happened that the two of you were meant for one another considering, you shared the same birth year and were on the exact reincarnation it didn’t work out. You loved Kaibara, you indeed did, but the romantic feelings between the two of you quickly burned out. Thankfully, it hadn’t made anything genuinely awkward between the two of you, and your parents never knew!

Win-win!

But the first memory you ever had of Kaibara and you, it involved a primrose. It was spring, and he had found a bush full of them, and with his chubby baby hands, he had picked them out for you and gave it to you. You had loved it, and it seemed to become an unspoken tradition between you and him.

Every significant moment between your lives, he would always give you a primrose, even when they were out of season. 

The last time he had given you a primrose was when both of you graduated high school and went onto college. He had gone to a different one from you, and it was like facing death itself when you no longer saw him in your classes. Nowadays, the two of you only saw each other during breaks and the occasional facetime.

So in the middle of summer break, he was over in your room after a run — judging everything you were saving apparently.

“I should destroy these flowers; they’re not supposed to be kept like this,” Kaibara sighed, the stems of the dried and pressed flowers so brittle between his fingers. He looked back down at the box he had found, his free hand stretching out towards your storming figure to keep you at bay. “Damn, y/l/n, did you really keep every single primrose I ever gave you?!”

“It’s sentimental, asshole!” you cried in embarrassment, your hands trying to grab the box that indeed held every primrose he had given you with a tag that had the day you got it and why.

“How have I known you my entire life and still not know this about you?” Kaibara grinned, his knees bent, and ass jutting out to keep you from nearing too close.

“I’m going to kill you!” you sobbed, your fists beating into his back while he simply continued on.

“I haven’t seen you face to face in months, and you’re going to kill me? You’re sort of the worst best friend ever,” Kaibara admitted, finally relenting and letting go of the box and leaving your possessions alone. 

You quickly covered the box, grateful that he hadn’t destroyed anything, and sighed when you put the box back in your bookshelf. Out of sight, out of mind for now.

“I do have a favor to ask of you,” Kaibara admits, your bed groaning quietly under his weight while he sat on your bed. Your face immediately questioned his motives; you knew your best friend probably better than he knew himself, and you knew that there was no bliss in having him say those words to you. All your life, his favors had nearly landed you in the hospital after all.

“And what favor is this?” you asked, your arms crossing while you looked at him with your eyebrow raised. “Am I going to have to go egg your highschool rivals' house again? Oh! Am I going to tell your girlfriend to not be intimidated by me anymore?”

Kaibara’s grin melted away, a stoic and unnerved face glaring back at you. Being best friends with someone like him was not a good thing at times like this, it seemed.

“Then I’ll go ask Ami for help then,” he spoke without a hint of mercy, his hands pressing onto his lap to stand up.

“Wait, no, Sen! I was joking! Please don’t do this to me!” you whined, shoving him back down onto his bed so that he was sitting there with a still expressionless face, but his eyes gave him away. “Anyone but stupid, Ami!”

“Well, if you don’t want to help me, I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince you,” he pointed out with a slow blink.

How he got under your nerves sometimes.

“What do you want then?” you grumble, sitting down on the bed beside him, your arms folded and a pout on your lips. 

“I need you to be my date on top of pretending to be my girlfriend,” Kaibara replied immediately, his eyes resting on you with ease and grace. You looked ready to question everything he was saying, so he moved on to explain. “My parents were invited to a wedding, and I need to win a bet.”

“What kind of fucking bets are you making that it involves having a girlfriend? I thought you were anti-soulmates?” you question, your gaze unamused while your dark-haired friend raked his fingers through his spiky hair. 

“Okay, first of all, I just found your creepy primrose collection, so I know you’re still in love with me, but I’m going to need you to back off —” he dodged a punch you aimed for his shoulder— “But the bet was made because no one thought I could get a girl like you.”

“You can’t get a girl like me.”

“I already have, hello?”

You grinned at his look of discontent at your statement, but you finally sighed, your head coming to lean on his shoulder. You smiled, feeling his head resting upon yours, and a silent agreement was exchanged through this pose. 

“When’s the wedding?” you ask, your eyes closing at the gentle rolling heat emitting from his body.

“This Friday.”

“The theme?”

“Summer? I don’t fucking know.”

“How long have we been dating?”

“Seven months.”

“Oh, so detailed,” you softly sigh, eventually laughing when his fingers twisted the skin on your shoulder. “Do you still kiss like a twelve-year-old boy?”

“No,” he groaned, his hand covering his face. “We shouldn’t have to kiss anyways.”

You laugh more, your shoulder pressing into his a few times while you bite your lower lip, “I’m just making sure we cover all the bases.”

“Yeah sure,” he sighed, holding your hand in his. “Thank you for agreeing.”

“I’m going to look hot as fuck, and I expect to make sure that everyone at this wedding is starstruck by me.”

“I’m sure they will be.”

~

The apples of your cheeks burned from all the fake smiling you had done while exchanging hellos with the other guests you had never seen in your life at this wedding. It was the wedding for Kaibara’s boss, which explained why your parents were not here today — most parties had both your families in attendance after all.

“When Sen told us that the two of you were finally dating, I think I actually cried,” his mother told you, her hands grabbing yours when you sat beside her. As part of the favor, Kaibara had asked you to run most of the crowd control just because he was horrible at keeping things… not hostile. “Your parents told me that they didn’t know either!”

You laughed, your gaze flashing over to Kaibara, who was in the middle of a conversation with the guests who were sitting at his left. A coworker, it seemed, and if you knew any better, a coworker he liked just based on his body language.

“Yeah, it just sorta happened over a call?” you squawk unsure of how to handle this best. “I guess it helped that we’ve known each other for so long!”

She nodded her head, her eyes swimming with mirth and love while she sighed happily. 

“I can’t wait until it’s your wedding with Kaibara!”

With a nod of agreement, you were almost too excited when plates of food were distributed to you all. For the remainder of the dinner, you and Kaibara put up a solid front, the both of you falling into old habits of once being lovers to pull off this scam. It was the gentle whispers between the two of you, the silent exchanges, and the physical actions of your relationship that seemed to tie the story together.

“Y/n?” Kaibara’s female coworker spoke to you in the middle of a joking argument between you and Kaibara. You paused mid-rant, your head dipping towards the table so you could see her past Kaibara’s chest. 

“Yes?”

“Do you mind coming to grab some dessert?”

With no reason to say no, you nodded your head, a smile gracing your figure.

The two of you went over to the esteemed dessert table. Piles upon piles of sweets and goodies sat on the table that called your name while you skimmed around with his coworker.

“I’m Kimi, by the way,” she introduced herself when you zeroed in on a brownie.

“Nice to meet you!” you smiled, the name further confirming the fact that she was the one that Kaibara liked.

“Likewise,” she smiled, bringing a Rice Krispy treat to her plate. “Um, Sen told me about the bet, I know that it’s all fake.”

Your eyebrows raised, you hadn’t known that much.

“Don’t worry! I’m not spilling! This is a bet against Tsurabara, and I want him to lose anyways,” she quickly interrupted, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. “You two looked ready to start a big fight, so I thought it was best to get you out.”

A burst of soft laughter bubbled in your throat while you nodded, “Oh yeah, it’s okay! I’ve known Kaibara since we were in our mom’s bellies, this isn’t anything!”

Kimi’s eyes blinked rapidly, her eyes casting to the side in some sort of inferior action that you knew almost too well as the best friend of a handsome boy. “He likes you too,” you whispered, winking at her before walking back to the table to provide your fake-boyfriend and his parents with their favorite desserts.

But as you returned to the table, you were stopped when Kaibara stood up, his face set in a soft scowl, and his stare a mile away.

“Please go and dance with our son, y/n!” his father asked with sincere hope in his voice. “The two of you have been entertaining us this entire time, please go have fun!”

You wanted to say that it was fine, but it seemed in the three minutes that you had gone, Kaibara had been made to do this. He grabbed the plate of desserts in your hand, dropping them onto the table and led you out to the dance floor where everyone was gathered.

And as a slow dance came through, a weird sense of deja vu overcame you when he held you close. 

“I haven’t danced with you in years,” you mused when your wrists rested onto his shoulders, his hands warm on your waist. 

“And that’s my fault?” Kaibara asked, his eyebrows raised in amusement and annoyance.

“For sure,” you sighed your gaze stubbornly on his. “If you didn’t let me go to all those high school dances with a date that wasn’t you, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

“You say brat, but I prefer the term… aware of my worth.”

“You’re as equal in value as my pinky toe is.”

And even though there was never an awkward moment in your relationship with Kaibara, there was this melting that occurred between the two of you. Something invisible that melted away between the two of you while you swayed side to side while in his arms. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he lay on your head. A peaceful silence while you danced in time, a perfect movement between the two of you while the music seemed to fade away.

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?” he whispered in your left ear.

There was a weird yet pleasurable shiver that traveled down your spine with his hot breath against your ear. You liked it, but that still didn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you pulled away. His eyes were dark and serious, so very much Kaibara Sen it seemed.

“Okay.”

His lips met yours in a soft embrace. The smoothness of his lips softly parted between yours, dancing in different ways from your swaying bodies, and much more fulfilling than any other kiss you had ever shared with him before. Your fingers locked in the back of his hair, and he drew shapes into your back.

Kiss after kiss was exchanged between the two of you on this dance floor, each sequential kiss blazing your heart brighter and brighter until you realized that your heart was hammering disgustingly loud in your ears when he finally pulled away for the last time. You didn’t think that this favor would have landed you in the hospital, but with the way your heart failed to stop drumming violently throughout your body after the many kisses the two of you shared that day, it was hard to say that he didn’t. 

But after that day, you came to realize that you still liked Kaibara, but he didn’t feel the same way. You cut off contact with him when he started dating Kimi, and the two of you last saw each other Christmas on your twenty-first year alive. He was happy and in love, and you quietly sat with your head in the storm clouds.

After that… you never saw him again, which made you think that made your parents have been right about the two of you being soulmates. 

But you had to move on for this reincarnation, it seemed.

You lived, loved, married, and died.

The box of primroses he had given you your most prized possession until the day you peacefully passed away.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ iii ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Can I please get a black roast coffee... in the biggest size you have,” you sniffle, your eyes red, fingers dabbing a tissue at the falling tears on your face.

“Uh, that’ll be seven hundred yen,” the man with the name tag Kaibara S. spoke.

You handed him the cents in your hand and waited for your receipt.

“This is only five hundred,” Kaibara slowly stated, and it seemed to push you over the edge because you began to bawl.

Primrose Coffeeshop was the only coffee shop that had discounts for broke college students such as yourself nearby, so it was the place you went to practically every day. So it was to no surprise to workers such as Kaibara to see that you were finally breaking down.

The world blurred in the time he told you that it was okay to not have the adequate amount since you were always buying things from the store, to someone quite literally leading you back to your mountain of textbooks and laptop, and the coffee coming out and being placed at your table. Through your tear drowned eyes, you looked at the assignment you had to write.

Twenty pages of research for something you didn’t understand at all. 

“Are you okay?” a voice interrupted the hiccuping snuffled sobs that continued to pour from your mouth.

With a tear-streaked face, a wet nose, and blotchy skin, you looked at the dark brown haired barista who seemed to have gotten off of his own shift. His apron rested on his forearm, his hair still pushed back with the hairband that sat on his face, and his clothes were plain and simple. His face was pretty stoic to look at. Given the apparent discomfort in his eyes, he must have taken a lot to ask you this.

“N-No!” you sobbed, your lips trying to keep shut to stop the self-proclaimed horrible sobs that still tried to pour from your mouth.

“What’s… uh… what’s wrong?”

“My whole life is falling apart!” you laugh humorlessly, your hands slapping the coffee table with a pathetic sniffle. “I-I’m on my third reincarnation, and the statistics of finding your soulmate this late in the cycle have plummeted dramatically! My thesis for my p-paper isn’t viable anymore because I didn’t c-contact my professor on time. So I h-had to make a new one… I don’t even know!”

Kaibara remained silent, unsure if he should stay or leave. He had only asked because his coworker had been weirdly worried for you, and well… he did too, but this was a bit too much for him. Why couldn’t you have just said you were alright?!

“That… sucks, I’m sorry.”

You let out a choked sob, the veins in your face bulging in your attempt to just… stay quiet.

Kaibara stared at you, pity and concern seeping into his bones the longer he looked. With a sharp sigh, he pulled the chair out and sat down. “How can I help?”

Somehow from this one interaction, a weird comradery began between you and the barista you had ordered from for two years. 

In the span of an hour, he had helped you calm down, calmly instructing and aiding you in your academic endeavor to understand what you were doing. It was a paper for a stupid physics class you were forced to take, and thankfully Kaibara was a physics student himself. 

Kaibara introduced you to some reliable papers, explaining to you the things you didn’t understand in very perceptive depth and understanding that you didn’t get from your own professor. An hour into talking and you realized that you were no longer crying, your coffee went drunk to completion, and you were smiling while he pointed to different things on your screen.

“I’m y/l/n y/n,” you finally introduced yourself when he was standing to leave. 

“I know,” he nodded, a soft smile on his face. “You have been ordering from me with that name for two years now.”

“Well, it wasn’t ever an introduction, though,” you pointed out with a sigh. “Besides, this is much more official.”

He nodded in agreement, his hand pulling off the headband in his hair, letting his shaggy hair fall onto his eyes. “I’m Kaibara Sen, and I know you didn’t know my first name.”

“I did not,” you agree, your head bowing in both thanks.

He seemed to debate something in his head, teetering between telling you and not, but with a tilt of your head, and a lean towards him, he broke.

“I’m in here a lot, I don’t know if you’ve noticed? I work fulltime on top of going to school and guessing by the professor’s name, you also attend Tokyo University,” Kaibara said, his eyes locked onto yours. “If you want, I can help you out for the rest of the semester with physics. I know that it can be a hard class.”

“Are… are you serious?!” you gasp, your hands pressing to your mouth in undeniable joy and mirth.

“Completely.”

“I’d appreciate that so much!” you chirped, your body resisting the urge to hug him in your gratitude. 

“Okay, that’s good,” he nodded, his feet already moving towards the exit.

You watched as he walked to the door, but noticed that he hesitated when he reached the door.

Wordlessly he lifted up his left arm and showed off a tattoo.

iii

“I’m also on my third reincarnation,” he admitted with a shrug, and the embarrassing memory of your breakdown hit you heavily over the head while your face grew red hot. “It’s totally okay if you haven’t met your soulmate yet, that’s why we have multiple shots, right?”

You were for a loss of words, only managing to nod your head in stunned embarrassment. Kaibara smiled, his face genuinely pleased while he pushed onto the front door.

“Then, I’ll see you later, y/l/n.”

Like that, a friendship was born between you and the cute barista.

Without even this new tutoring system between the two of you, you had always shown up at the coffee shop every day, but now it was put at specific times — typically taking in mind his shift and class schedule. Day in and day out, he would help you out with physics, teaching you about work and joules and energy, and you, in turn, would buy lots of coffee and pastries and even helped him with his own work that wasn’t physics related.

You came to know more about Kaibara too.

About how he was born the same year you were, or how the both of you were a bit scared about the fact that you were on your third reincarnation. You both would even make up extremely extravagant stories of your past lives. Of how you were royalty and the smartest geniuses alive who had created the items you had used to this very day. 

Jokes of knowing Newton and Plato and Shakespeare never failed to make the both of you smile during moments where you weren’t worrying about your academia. 

Kaibara Sen was someone you could come to see could be very special in your life. His often neutral and stoic personality quickly melted away to become invigorating and chaotically loud. He was someone you would very much appreciate to be friends with, no matter what class you could have met him in or timeline you met him in.

“How do you feel about this year?” 

Your words were soft in the empty coffee shop, the warm sweater you wore snug on your body while you drank a new concoction Kaibara made for a future menu item.  It was something sweet, not overwhelmingly so, just enough that made it pleasant to drink without milk or sugar — not that you didn’t mind a cup of black coffee every once in a while.

“I’d rather not make it to a fourth reincarnation,” you heard Kaibara admit, from beside you, his face buried in the notes he was rewriting during your studying session. “This seems like a good time frame to have things end with the person I’m meant to be with. Nothing crazy is happening, it’s calm… I like that.”

“You have no sense of adventure Sen!” you laugh, your hands bringing the coffee cup to the table and writing down your thoughts and rating for the drink onto the yellow paper he had given to you for an official review. “I think I’m going to push it to reincarnation number five, I want to see the flying cars and moving cities.”

“I’m not sure if that sounds horrible or like a nightmare,” he dryly stated, flipping his notebook for the next significant section to write on.

“Don’t be rude,” you huff, your pen scratching out the mistake you made with a frown. “I mean, I wouldn’t remember anything, but it would still be nice!”

“And just who do you think your soulmate is?” Kaibara asked, his pencil dropping on his notes while he shook his sore and tired wrist out. He looked at you with a crooked grin that made you smile back, and he leaned in to whisper, “I can imagine that you’ve pictured what they look like.”

“How’d you know?!” you ask in mock surprise, your hand pressing to your mouth in a dramatic effect.

“You look the type,” he snickered, leaning back against his chair. “Okay, what does a lover boy look like, and what does lover girl look like?”

“Okay, so ideally, a male soulmate will look like a supermodel. Like the kind that just drives girls and older women wild because goddamn is he fine,” you whistle, your tongue wetting your lips in an attempt to mask your humor from this.

“Yes, I can see you with someone like that too,” Kaibara sagely nodded his head, his fingers now grasping the pencil in his hand. “Now, the other?”

“If it’s a girl… I don’t care, just as long as she’s super tall,” you sigh wistfully, your smile growing when Kaibara seems to agree with this information.

“You are ready to meet your soulmate, I’ve decided,” Kaibara announced his pencil scratching his paper as he began to write again.

“Oh thank you, kami-sama, please reveal to me the name of my betrothed.” 

“I will, under one circumstance, and one circumstance only.”

The smile that spread on your face was warm, your eyes looking at how his lips were curled into his own smile that he often enjoyed hiding from you.

“What must a mere stupid mortal like me do?”

Kaibara finished writing his section of the notes before pulling away, his eyes severe while they peered at you. Dark, serious, and very, very intense.

He often confused you; he was so dark and brooding at times but often melted into someone you could only describe as a twelve-year-old boy finding out that his parents installed his favorite game to whatever console he loved most. His eyes, despite their deep charcoal color, seemed to melt into warm chocolate the longer he held your gaze, and finally, he spoke:

“Go on a date with me?”

Your eyes blinked rapidly, and a sour feeling erupted in your chest at his words.

Oh no.

“I… I can’t,” you spoke, your eyes traveling to your lap, the previous warmth in your chest disappearing quicker than the speed of light.

Kaibara blinked, his jaw opening and closing repetitively, almost as if in confusion and misunderstanding of the situation. 

“Can I ask why not?” he spoke, but his voice had never sounded this hollow before.

“I’m actually seeing someone right now,” you admit slowly, your stomach twisting and knotting because dear god had you led him on this entire time? “We uh… we started dating a bit after you and I started talking.”

Kaibara’s face was void of all emotion, the deep chocolate gone from his eyes, replaced with only reliable bitter charcoal. 

“Are they… are they your soulmate?” he asked in the softest of whispers, a tone you recognized as someone who was doing everything in their power not to cry. His nostrils flared, and he trembled slightly, his stoic mask entirely see-through to you. 

“I hope so,” you admit, your fingers digging into your sweater. “I’m sorry, Sen.”

Kaibara’s lips press into a thin wavering line, and he shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. Um, let’s finish up?”

He didn’t accept the rejection well, although he was still a good friend and helping you out, you could read this man better than yourself; it seemed because you could see how much it pained him to sit next to you every day and help you. Study sessions diminished by a lot, his free time being occupied more and more until it was finally after midnight for new years, and despite whispering that you loved your partner at the stroke of midnight, the tattoo remained red — not golden.

 You visited the Primrose Coffeeshop the moment it was opened, and to your dismay, Kaibara had left the shop, and his phone number no longer worked. 

You stayed with your partner; both of you agree to just live out the rest of your life in love since you had been so sure of the other being your soulmate. But no matter how much time had passed, the shape of your soulmate began to resemble Kaibara, but you knew better than to wish for such silly things, especially in this world. For if it was true, there was no use to even trying to find him — after all, the world forbade it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ iv ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The world was emerging with the beginning of quirks.

There wasn’t a high population of individuals with quirks yet, but there was a growing number of them. People hated those with quirks, pushing backs against the “freaks” of nature, demanding that they get put down and killed without a moment’s thought.

Without a doubt, people with quirks would begin to fight back, some turning to villainy, some to vigilante work, and some to hero work. 

Everything was masked, no one could know anyone’s true identity, or else it would end in heads being chopped off. It was like a comic book gone wrong.

And you? You were a hero, someone just trying to get by because while you didn’t want to be a freak of nature, those with powerful quirks using them against the quirkless still was not a righteous society.

Right now, you were living the most perfect life.

A secret hero that the quirkless were starting to appreciate, keeping a big evil villain in check, succeeding in your job, and in love with none other than Kaibara Sen, who you were so positive was your soulmate.

You screeched as Kaibara held you over his shoulder. Your legs kicked as he threw you onto the bed. His grinning face blowing raspberries into your exposed stomach. Your howls doing nothing to stop him. 

“Stop it!” you shriek, trying to remove his lips from your abdomen. “I’m–Sen–GOING TO PEE IF YOU DON’T STOP!”

Kaibara pulls away, peppering kisses up your chest until he’s kissing you over and over again. Your lips can’t even form a pout from your exhaustion, letting him kiss you so weirdly while you lay in defeat. “If you peed yourself, I would have made you clean it up.”

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever!!!” you moan in exhaustion as Kaibara nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. 

“I know, it matches your worst girlfriend category too,” Kaibara grins against your skin, and your fingers tug at his hair, trying to get him to kiss you again.

“Mm, so I’m the worst girlfriend? I might call Silence on myself then,” you tease, your lips pressing against his. 

“I would fight her to keep you then,” Kaibara brushes your hair out of your eyes, and your eyes flutter. God, there was so much you would do for this man. You loved him so much, it hurt you.

“Alright, baby, I have to go! It’s ladies’ night!” you sigh into his mouth despite doing everything you could to keep him there. Kaibara’s hands keep you close to him as his tongue slips into your mouth. You moan in half-hearted defeat at the feeling of his tongue dancing with yours. 

“You can tell Fukuda-san she can rip you out of my fucking hands,” Kaibara growls as he sucks softly against your neck. You arch into him as you shake your head. 

“Stupid, she could totally beat your ass, and you have that — fuck, you have that meeting of yoURS!” you smack his chest when his fingers brush against your bare skin. “Kaibara Sen!”

“Fine, fine, fine!” Kaibara chuckles, pulling away, love lacing his eyes. “I love you, stay safe tonight? You girls can’t handle your liquor.”

You roll your eyes as you peck a last kiss to his lips. “Only because we go straight for the hard stuff!!!”

Kaibara walks you out of his house, and into your car. His face sticking through the window for some last kisses. You give him as many as you can until you have no more time to waste. “Okay, bye! I love you!” you chirped, finally driving off.

You watch as Kaibara continues to wave at you from the street, a smile on your face until you turn the corner. Your smile instantly drops as you’re far away. 

You give a call to Fukuda, and she instantly picks up.

“Hello? Are you ready? There’s a lot of activity going on tonight… I’m worried,” Fukuda’s voice cries, and you’re consumed with the smallest bit of guilt as you drive faster. 

“I’m sorry… where to first?”

~

You ran along rooftops, your eyes locked on the man running away from you. Your breathing is harsh, raspy. You’ve been running for almost an hour now, jumping and weaving through pipes. You’re trying to get to him, the one man you’ve been chasing for years now. The man that taunted your dreams. Your life.

Your eyes caught onto the rubbish on a nearby ceiling, and you threw out your arm. Yellow energy shoots from your arms as it attaches to the objects and falls. Trapping the man by high walls, and a fifty story drop. 

“Come on, you know you want to give in!” you pant as the man stops running, turns around, and his guard is up. His gaze concentrated on you entirely as you stopped in front of him. The yellow energy filling your hands as you raise your own guard. “Give in.”

“As much as I would love to wrestle it out with you, sweetheart, I’m in a loving relationship.” his voice is dripping with sarcasm as whirring noises emit from his skin. 

The two of you were among the minuscule population that had superpowers. A revolutionary feat that had the world in battle. You were a superhero. As if you were straight off a comic book, you fought against people who threatened those beneath them. Hell, most times, you were a glorified therapist! You really only hardly ever got into fistfights, but this man. This… vile man in front of you was an exception. He was cruel.

Using this power of his to create chaos and mayhem. It was not something you liked, you hated him for it, and you have been trying to get him. To corner him! But he was always one step ahead. A finger brushes away from you as you try to get him.

It was a dreadful and repeating dance now, one the two of you frequently explored. You would lunge forward, and he would take a step backward, you would spin out, and he would pull you back in. Even the way you two fought, it was fluid, sharp, deadly, yet melodic. The occasional locking fists could have been a dance had it not been for the fire in your stance.

The masks on his face covered everything on him, but you knew he was looking at you. The only thing you needed though, was to have him pinned to the ground. His wrists in a handcuff as you dropped him off to the police. Then you’d be able to go home to Kaibara, to tell him the only secret you kept from him. 

You ducked under his gyrating fist, something you had known too well as it sent you flying into walls on multiple occasions, but he stopped jumping backward when you rolled to the side.

“I will have to bid you adieu, my sweet Silence! Duty calls, and well, I’m merely here to distract you!”

Your eyes widened as an explosion blew in the distance, and you whipped around. You snap back through to see him waving goodbye, and you freeze. “Oh, no...”

You took off in the direction of the explosion, your heart hammering away as you near it. Screams and cries echoing through the streets as you jumped in to help. Your words aiding everyone in the fiery trap. “Don’t worry, I’m here for you!” You repeated over and over, but their pain never stopped.

~

“Hi, beautiful,” Kaibara says, walking into your room. Your eyes look up at him in the mirror, and your smile is affectionate. Kaibara is in a pair of dark blue slacks. A white button-up shirt that hugged his chest beautifully, and a black-tie with a jacket on. His hair combed back, overall, he was drop-dead gorgeous. 

The brown-haired man walks to you and hugs you by your waist. Kaibara’s eyes dawdling on your outfit as you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple. “Hi.” 

“Let’s go for dinner now?”

You nod your head, this dinner was a much-needed distraction from the explosion after all. “Yes, let’s go.”

The dinner is fantastic. 

You love the way Kaibara’s eyes burn like steady embers into you the entire night, his energy never once wavering. His hand held yours after the meal was over, listening to you all while he pressed fluttering kisses to the tattoo that reads iv. You giggle out his name as he refuses to quit, and your cheeks burn.

“Y/l/n y/n,” Kaibara states, and you raise your eyebrows inviting him to continue. “I met you years ago, and you’re… incredible. Your energy is intoxicating as is your smile.” Kaibara smiles as he kisses the back of your hand. “I love the way you hate Tuesday mornings, I love that you always jump onto your bed, you do not have to, but you do. You complete me, you make me want to be a better person, and I have only one thing to ask…”

Your eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and Kaibara presses up and kneels before you.

“Will you marry me, y/n? Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

A black velvet box presents itself on his palm. A luminescent diamond ring shining against the light surrounded by primroses, the flower you said represented your love with him. Your tears shedding uncontrollably from your eyes while you grin like a fool.

Your head nods over and over.

“Yes!” You cry as you pepper wet kisses all over his face. “Yes, please! Yes!”

The diamond ring slips onto your finger, and you can’t even begin to describe your emotions as you kiss him. The cheering of the crowds disappearing as you hold him even closer.

He asked you for your hand that night, and yet you felt united in a whole other way. The overwhelming love between the two of you palatable the entire night.

~

You struggle against the wall, gasping as the villain holds you by your throat. You had foiled his next plan and were now paying dearly for it. 

You slam your foot into his crotch, and he grunts, letting you go. You collapse to the ground gasping for air. You stagger but act quickly, sweeping his feet out from underneath him. He falls to the ground, and you shoot energy from your hands, allowing you to smoothly and rapidly hop on top of him. You press your knees into his arms, and he hisses.

His legs sweep up, kicking you forward, and you tumble off of him.

So the two of you embark on another dangerous dance of yours. Fukuda screams in your ear about the dangers lurking around you if you don’t get out of there! But you had landed a hit, you were going to get him today!

You duck under a punch and shove a palm to his ribcage. He stumbles backward, you narrow your eyebrows as you lock an energy strand around his leg, pulling him in. You race over, but you miss the whirring of his skin. You’re blown backward, white-hot pain scorching your cheek, the mask on your face cracking in two. You gasp for air, the mask breaking completing as it falls to the ground. You couldn’t hear Fukuda yelling at you anymore as knees slam into your chest, and you wheeze.

Your eyes lock onto the villain before you. His arm cocked back for another devastating punch, but he’s frozen. His body is still. You don’t feel your energy power up, only that your arm is thrust up, and he’s thrown off you. A sickening crash is heard, and you sit up wheezing. 

You stare at the man, your vision dizzy, and you feel sick.

Not because you’re dizzy, but because of the face that’s revealed as his mask falls.

Kaibara.

His eyes are so vast, and your eyes are tearing up.

He can’t stand up, and you stumble to your feet, swaying where you stand.

“Get the fuck out of there, y/n!” Fukuda’s voice is yelling at you, and you flinch, finally hearing it. 

“Sen…” You whisper, your head shaking in disbelief. “You can’t be… how are you, Spinner?”

The villain’s name. The name you loathe, the name you refuse to use. You prefer ‘villain’ because giving him a name gives him an identity. A reason for him to be committing the atrocities he’s committed.

How was this man in front of you the person you loved with all your heart? 

You can’t remember running away. You only remember that you’re back in your house sobbing as you stare at the diamond ring on your nightstand.

~

You stare at the ceiling of your room. You feel hollow. 

Since that fateful encounter, neither one of you has attempted to reach out. Neither one of you calling, texting, or showing up. You hated it, but you couldn’t stand seeing him here. How could you ever talk to the man you love knowing who he was? What he was; what he is?

You knew everyone had secrets, but why was his secret this, anything but this…

The engagement ring is on your finger still. It makes perfect sense, everything tells you that it should be there. But it feels heavy… it weighs you down in more ways than its weight. Could you really forgive a man like him? Yes, he’s your Kaibara, but he’s also Spinner.

Notorious as the underground crime king. Spinner was someone you’ve been fighting since day one. It made you nauseous, just thinking about how that man was your Kaibara. 

How were they the same person?

The floorboards in your hallway creak, and you slam up. Your eyes concentrating on the doorframe. Your mouth runs dry as you stare at angry black eyes. His mouth pressed into a flat line as his hands roughly weave through his hair. 

It hurts knowing that it wasn’t a hoax. You knew Kaibara Kaibara like the back of your hand, and being able to read him now burned your throat and heart. You lick your lips as he steps closer, his eyes focused on you. 

“You’re Silence?”

“You’re Spinner…”

Kaibara shakes his head, his lips barking with cold humor as he can’t believe it. To be fair, you can’t either as you stare at his conflicted features. 

“I don’t understand?” he admits, his eyes swimming with confusion, anger, and yet longing. 

“You and me both,” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head as you look up at him. “Care to explain?”

“I don’t really want to.” Kaibara shakes his head, his smile sad, and you blink. 

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” you snap, your brows furrowing when you stalk over to Kaibara, who held his ground. “You’re the one causing all this mayhem, and you’re not going to even explain it to me?!”

“What’s the point, y/n? So that you can cry the next time we meet? You’re not going to give me mercy! You don’t understand! So why should I bother?!” Kaibara’s face clouded, angry, and focused. 

“Because you fucking love me!” you hiss, shoving Kaibara with your full strength. This entire time you’ve been able to pull off using mere fractions of your power. Enough to fight with Kaibara, but definitely not enough to send him stumbling backward. 

Kaibara’s black eyes snap on you as he gathers his balance. “Don’t do this.”

“I am a hero!” you tremble, your hands pulling at the roots of your hair. Your heart is racing in the worst of ways. You feel faint, ready to fall over, and never wake back up. “I save people nearly every damn day, Kaibara! I save people from you!”

There’s a glower on his face, and you know it’s because you’re putting Kaibara on a fence he doesn’t want to be. A wall that he hates. Kaibara always had something to say, he wasn’t one to pretend to not have an opinion, and so this was killing him.

“Some people in this world deserve to have checks,” Kaibara states, his steely voice calm, his eyes raging. “I don’t do anything to people who don’t deserve it.”

Your nostrils flare, and you can feel your throat thick with emotions. What the actual fuck was he on? “Really? Do these people deserve to die? People fucking deserve to get their life blown to shreds because of what? Because you think they’re corrupt? Oh, grow the fuck up, Kaibara! No, I don’t believe your bullcrap! Do you think I really haven’t tried finding correlations? Correlations for every single crime you committed? Yes, these people are terrible! But that’s why we have other ways of stopping them! You can’t play fucking god and decide whether these people deserve to live or not! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You’re pressed flat against his chest. Your chest heaving with lack of air and overwhelming emotions. Kaibara’s face contorted with anger. His black eyes flashing before sinking into blackness. 

Then you say words you wish you could regret, words that broke your heart as you said it.

“How can you expect me to love someone like you?”

He left your shared place after that. The year ended, and there was nothing to stop the tragic downfall of both Spinner and Silence, both of you never recovered from this moment.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ v ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Kaibara, is that you?!”

Your eyes looked at the brown-haired man walking into the hero agency where you were currently a sidekick in. 

It had been two years since graduating from UA, and you were here with Miruko, a signing that had honestly shocked many, many people when it happened. Sure enough, as an alumnus of UA and being a part of his rival classroom 1-A, it was a pleasant surprise to see someone outside of your classmates.

“Y/l/n?” he greeted you in return, his hands resting on his hips, his body completely decked out in his uniform. You guessed he started his day before you.

“It’s been so long!” you grin, stopping at his side with your hands clutched by your thighs, “How can I help you today?”

“Well, I need some help. I’m here to recruit you to help with Gang Orca’s mission.”

You watched him hand you a folder and immediately upon reading it understood why he was here for you. This was a job that was perfect with your quirk.

“I can help out,” you say after reading the file, a smile on your face. “Will you be there?”

“I am his sidekick, plus I gathered most of the evidence,” Kaibara shrugged, and you nodded.

“Okay, sounds good, Spiral.”

Kaibara smiled, his eyebrow lifted while he walked away. “Good, see you then.”

You and Kaibara always got along, maybe it was because both of you were the only people in UA who were on their fifth reincarnation cycle, but knowing you weren’t alone was always nice. He was still kind to you, even if he seemed bland at times, but you came to see that it was just… him. Regardless he was a formidable foe and a strong hero. Your only regret was not getting as close to him as you could have since the rivalry between the two classes never lessened.

The team-up mission went smoothly. The extraction of the hostages on top of capturing the brass of the cult, and stopping their influence on victims of their power was an excellent boost to your reputation and Miruko’s agency. Still, you had suffered minor injuries and had an EMT checking you out this very moment.

Your eyes fell on Kaibara, who was a few strides away. He had a nasty looking bruise on his jaw, a punch he had taken for you during your lack of attention. Signaling that you were fine now, the EMT let you go, and you walked over to Kaibara, your guilt looming heavy in your stance.

“Sorry for getting you hurt,” you apologized, your finger looming over the spot where he got hit on your own skin.

“No problem,” he brushed it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t see it, plus you still got it handled in the end, which was much more important.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I owe you drinks or something,” you huff, not at all pleased with how he was okay with this.

A silence fell over you two, the EMT avoiding eye contact as if this was like avoiding the plague. But with your vision glued to your feet, you didn’t catch the way that his eyebrows bunched and relaxed over and over in thought until finally, he spoke.

“I could go for drinks.” 

And so this night where you and Kaibara found yourselves at a bar with drinks in hands, did you realize that you wanted to actually get to know him. You didn’t want to associate Kaibara as the other fifth reincarnation cycle guy, or the guy from class 1-B, you wanted to know him for… him. 

It turned out, he felt the same way. 

Thus began a strange but quaint relationship between the two of you.

Kaibara ended up being a personality you enjoyed to be around a lot. He often danced between being a straight face and serious, to chaotic and enthusiastic, to sometimes straight-up aggressive and demanding. The fluctuation often amuses you, three different branches to his personality, much like the three spirals on his gloves. 

“I don’t think I’m ridiculous,” you point out, your finger following Kaibara’s walking form as he was grabbing the two of you drinks from his fridge. “I get that most people give up at this point, but I really do think I’ll meet my soulmate this time about!”

Kaibara looked at you incredulously when he sat next to you, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow so you could see the Roman numeral for five tattoo on his wrist. “What makes this lifetime so special? Besides, we know that soulmates always meet in every reincarnation. If you and your soulmate haven’t clicked since the first cycle, what’s the point in fighting so hard at this cycle?” A frown overcomes your face, and you glare at Kaibara, who struggles to uphold a serious reaction. “I’m sorry, too far?”

“Shut up.”

His laughter fills the room while you turn away from him pouting. 

“So you don’t want to meet your soulmate?” you asked, trying your hardest to not sound too nosey but just the perfect amount of curiosity. 

“I’d love to meet my soulmate, don’t get it wrong,” Kaibara sighs, his back falling onto the back of the couch, his head tilting up to the ceiling. “But it’s… weird to keep my hopes up. With no memories of past reincarnations, it seems like I’m stumbling around in the dark.”

You hummed, your fingers bringing the drink to your mouth and taking a small sip from it.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” you asked when you brought your cup down.

Kaibara looked at you, his eyes like the void, daunting dark yet beautiful, “Why?”

“Well, if this is going to be my last reincarnation, I don’t want to live a life of regrets,” you smile, your head tilting to the side. “I would always regret not asking you out.”

His face melted into one of softness and undeniable excitement at your practical confession, “As long as you think your class could handle you dating someone from class 1-B.”

“I think that’s more of a question of if your class can handle you dating someone from class 1-A!”

So the two of you began to date.

It took no time for you to fall inexplicably and wholly in love with Kaibara Sen; he was perfect for you. Day and night he was someone you could entirely rely on, never once would he slip up, always coming to aid you when you needed it and vice versa. There were still hard nights, after all, you were still human. 

But rain or shine, momentous fight or sweet staples of your relationship, the both of you always ended up in the same bed, holding each other close as night consumed you. 

Before you knew it, it was New Year's Eve, and instead of going out tonight, you and Kaibara decided to stay in. A feeble nervous attempt in the hope that the two of you genuinely were soulmates. Five reincarnations later, and now you would finally find out if he was made for you if you were made for him.

“I want to give these to you,” Kaibara spoke to you when you came to the couch, a hefty blanket in your arms that you planned on drawing the both of you in while you watched the fireworks display on a TV monitor. Today was your first day off in a while, and because the crime rate was notoriously low on this holiday, staying home together sounded better than a clashed reunion of your high school classmates.

Your eyes found the small bouquet of primroses in his hands, the pink and white flowers sitting charmingly in their tan paper. A smile spread across your face immediately, and you brought your lips to him in a chaste kiss.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you happily sigh, moving to sit at his side, snuggled comfortably against him with the blanket over both of you. “What do they mean?”

“I can’t live without you,” Kaibara whispered, his eyes locking against yours.

And with warm cheeks, you smiled earnestly and connected your lips against his. 

The bouquet went forgotten as the two of you continued your passionate kiss, the words of ‘I love you’ continuing to pour from your lips well past midnight. Hope and endearment fully saturated between your hopeful mouth.

And alas, my dearest reader, I’m glad to tell you that at last, you found the one meant for you.

Primroses graced each of your lives with Kaibara Sen; after all, they were the flower of love, a flower that also meant that you couldn’t live without the other — a real sign of soulmate love through reincarnation. And my sweet reader, the moment your lips removed from Kaibaras as the stroke of midnight passed, the words of love exchanged between the two of you with complete honesty, you’ll be pleased to know that the tattoo turned to gold.

[olderthanthemorning]

south london forever (sirius black) part 1

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: "and everything i ever did was just another way to scream your name." in which reader remembers adolescence and a certain someone's youthful grin.

wc: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of drinking

a/n: look so i fell off the face of the earth for the past few months but i'm in school and also mentally unwell so that's my excuse. this didn't turn our the way i wanted it to but i feel like that's ok?? not quite as painful as it could've be. (also ik i need to do gold rush pt2 but ive been trying to write it and never like what i write so :/) anyway, feedback is always welcome! also request stuff! characters or songs!! (p.s. i'm obsessed with SOUR by olivia rodrigo rn so pls request songs !!)

the night bus jolted and shook you awake. it was a long journey from hogwarts, but you were finally near your own neighborhood. as you looked around, everything seemed just slightly different. you were suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you would never be in any of these places as a student, or a child, again. the old church that had at least 4 weddings every spring seemed a little faded, the park and playground where you and your mates would drink at night looked much smaller in the light of early summer.

within the playground was a swing set, which hadn't meant much to you until a year ago. after a night of singing way too loud with a group of your friends, the manager of the local pub, david, kicked the lot of you out. after a few playful swears and hand gestures to the man, you promised to be back the next night and headed across the street to sit and sober up before trying to climb back into your bedroom window. the group you were with seemed larger than usual so you linked arms with mary, a fellow witch that lived up the street from you.

"picked up a few stragglers, have we?" you asked. mary was a social butterfly, and when you didn't know someone, you could count on her to know them.

"yes! and even better, they're from school," she was careful not to name hogwarts. one of the only downsides of hanging out with muggles was having to police your conversations. "that one there is james," she said pointing at a boy in a slacks and a button down that looked like it was only tucked in a fraction of what it had been at the beginning of the night. his hair is neatly cut and he wears glasses, although they make him look young, like you can see him growing out of them in while you look at him.

"he looks like he's far from home," you laughed, the boy seemed far to sheltered to have been just thrown out of a gay bar.

"tell me about it," mary snorted, "but no he's here with the other one," she nods at another boy who looks more like the others. he has on jeans and a t-shirt that is just short enough to threaten showing his middle at any moment. his hair is dark and curly but a lot messier than james', like he had been listening to a lot of rolling stones. "he's called sirius. apparently he's staying with james this summer because his parents kicked him out. they're pure bloods, real pricks."

"you'd have to be a knob to call your kid sirius," you snickered, letting go of your friends hand and flopping onto the grass. you looked up and saw the upside-down face of sirius, "just wait until you hear my brother's name."

you feel yourself go pale and cover your face with a hand, "shit. i'm sorry," although embarrassed, you couldn't help but giggle.

he chuckled, "no, it's alright. but i your going to make fun of my name, i should at least know yours." he sat beside you, prompting you to sit up, and frantically brush the grass from your hair. "i'm y/n," you say, sticking out your hand, "and that's mary."

"hi mary," sirius give your friend a knowing smile, which confuses you. "you're both going into seventh year?"

you nodded and he continued talking for a bit. sirius seemed to be engaged in the conversation with you and mary but would look around every so often, like he was expecting something. over the course of a few minutes, he managed to refer to three family members as "dickheads," admit to a prank that had involved a charm on a library door that resulted a tidal wave dowsing whoever tried to open it, and start an argument about how the chudley cannons were so much better than the holyhead harpies. the last of which you disagreed with, hence the argument.

"come on sirius, you're not fighting about quidditch again, are you?" james sat down on mary's other side.

"i like to think of it as educating our new friends. they support the harpies, james. they need all the help they can get."

"no no, harpies are decent. they've got you there." james replied, smiling softly at mary.

"listen, y/n, do you want go on a walk?" sirius suddenly turns to you.

"um..." you're caught off guard by his forwardness, you only just met the guy.

"yeah, come on. just a short walk." he pulled you up to your feet and dragged you away.

you follow him into the middle of the street, illuminated by a dim yellow glow from a light post. "how come i've never met you at school?" he turns around to look at you, walking backwards.

"dunno, not looking hard enough i guess?" you tried to test the waters of flirting, since he tried so hard to get you alone.

"i guess not," he smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets. a silence fell over the two of you as you continued to walk, just around the block.

as you rounded the corner to the opposite side of the park from your friends you decide to speak again, "so do you just really like walks or something? this seems like something you could've done alone." you continue to follow him up to a swing set and sit down in the swing next to the one he had perched in.

"you can be kind of thick, you know?" sirius looked at you as if he had just explained a simple concept to you.

"i'm sorry?" you felt annoyed, like he was mocking you. "look, you're the one that asked to be alone with me and then go on acting like a preteen boy that's never kissed anyone."

"y/n, i wasn't trying to put the moves on you, honest. i know i can go on a walk alone, but it's a little awkward to make out with someone while their best friend's right there, innit?" he pointed across the park to where mary and james were coming up for air from a kiss, giggling.

"oh." a different kind of embarrassment washed over you. "how long has that been happening?"

"james hasn't shut up about her for about a week, but tonight was the first time he's had the guts to actually talk to her."

"right." you had a sudden wish to recall a hex that would allow you to melt into ice lolly goo and seep into the mulch at your feet. you took a chance and glanced at sirius, who was grinning at you. "please don't say anything, my ego is already bruised," you said, dropping your head again.

"i mean, i'm flattered, really," he clutched his heart, dramatically, "but if i was really trying to pull you, we would be long gone by now."

"wow, you know some people find humility endearing."

"not me. how could i be humble with a face like this?" you're unsure if your eyes have ever rolled this much before in your life.

"so your ego has also had enough attention for the evening," you laugh. there is another short silence, much less awkward than the one during your walk.

"it's a star, by the way," it's sirius who breaks it this time. "sirius is a star in canis major," you realize he's referencing to your comment about his name earlier.

"yeah, i know. brightest star in the sky, right?" night lessons in the astronomy tower hadn't prepared you for much, but it was proving helpful now.

"something like that. i agree with you though, it's a little much. my parents are kind of," he paused, "supercilious? that's not the right word. but i'm not sure there is a good word for what my parents are."

"i didn't mean to give you shit about it earlier. i actually like your name," while calling it your favorite name would be a stretch, but you felt like this was the sensitive thing to say. he couldn't change it, after all.

"thanks."

"oy!" james calls to you two. the entire group had gathered and was waving you over.

"well, i guess that's our queue," you stand up and walk back together, making small conversation on the way.

the group had gathered because it was apparently time to call it a night. everyone said their goodbyes and started walking their separate ways. you were now waiting on mary to say goodbye to james, as she was always your buddy to walk home with. once again, you're left with sirius as he waits for james.

"well, it was a pleasure to meet you y/n, i look forward to next time." he said. you rack your brain and try to remember if you had made plans to hangout again. you were drunk but not still drunk enough to have missing memories.

"next time?" you ask.

"i've already bragged about how quickly i could charm you. now i just have to prove it." you hope the light post is dim enough to hid your slight blush.

"well, then i look forward to disproving you." and with that, mary is ready and the two of you link arms once again to walk back towards your homes.

[radiantroope]

Lonely Heart || Rafe Cameron

Chapter Three - Loose Stitches

chapter summary: What was supposed to be a fun day out on the Druthers takes a turn when you find out the secret everyone’s been keeping from you. Rafe and Topper have a tough conversation.

warnings: minor alcohol consumption, swearing, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 3.3k+

author’s note: and so it begins. there’s a scene in here that i’m not 100% happy with but i couldn’t re-write it again because i was over it lol. i feel the need to point out that topper and y/n are completely platonic, he’s not pining after her. ok enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

read chapter two here!

series playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

Your first week back in the OBX had gone without incident. You went to your mother’s chemo treatment with her and sat by her side, holding her hand as you read from a magazine. You hung out with Topper and Kelce at one or the other’s houses and spent some time on the beach. You spent the night with Sarah, who was fully offended you went to see Topper first instead of her, and officially met her boyfriend John B. You and the Pogue knew of each other but had never truly spoken. He wasn’t too keen on you at first until he realized you weren’t like all the other Kooks who stood behind the rivalry.

Janelle had texted you, asking if you were home and a short apology about your mother. She had said she was returning home soon as well and had so much to tell you. You weren’t sure if you were exactly excited to see her and have her drown you in information, especially about Rafe. You’d told her okay but were making plans left and right to try and book up your days so you didn’t have to see her before you were ready.

One of those plans was a day out on the Druthers. Ward had invited your parents and you, of course. You dragged Topper into joining you, not wanting to be a third wheel with Sarah. Wheezie was seventeen now and didn’t follow you or her sister around anymore. He made a fuss about having to be around his ex girlfriend and her insufferable boyfriend, but he couldn’t say no to you — especially when you promised to purchase all of the kegs for his next house party since he was still underage.

When you arrived at the Cameron’s and made your way down to the yacht, you could hear the chatter and laughter of many people. They were all older, friend’s of Ward and Rose and your parents. Some of them you recognized from your going away party and they congratulated you on obtaining your Bachelor’s, gushing to your parents about ‘raising such a fine young woman’. You made your rounds talking to everyone, took the Pacifico Ward offered you, and dragged Topper to the front of the boat.

“If one more person asks me if I’ve seen any celebrities while in Cali, I’m gonna scream,” you grumbled before taking a long swig of the cold beer.

Topper laughed loudly and leaned against the side of the boat, raising one of his fluffy eyebrows, “Well… Have you?”

You pressed your lips together tightly and made a small screaming sound in the back of your throat, swinging your arm and smacking the sandy blonde on the chest. He laughed again, slinking away from your swinging arm. You heard Ward say you’d be leaving soon, just waiting on two more people to arrive.

You took another swig of your beer and fell into conversation with Topper, Sarah and John B. joining you after a beat. They asked how college life was on the West coast and if you’d made any friends. You had, but none of them compared to the people you knew at home. They’d texted a couple of times to check in on you but that was the extent of it. They were shocked to hear you’d held a ten minute conversation with Brad Pitt at a bar and ran into Elizabeth Olsen a handful of times at your favorite Cafe, because yes, you had met celebrities but you weren’t one to brag.

“If you can hook me up with the Scarlet Witch, I’ll marry you right now,” Topper said, eyes wide and completely straight faced.

“Okay, that doesn’t make sense—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Ward’s voice when he playfully says, “There the lovebirds are! Late as usual!”

Your back is turned and Topper and Sarah see it before you. As you go to turn around, the taller boy wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you into his side. Sarah tries to think of something to say to keep your attention on her, stuttering and waving her hands. John B. just looks confused, staring bewilderingly at his girlfriend then glancing at you and Topper.

“Why are y’all being so weird?!” you exclaim, shoving a hand on Topper’s chest to get him off of you.

You spin around before you can be stopped again and your blood runs cold. Your heart hammers in your chest, pounding painfully against your rib cage. You don’t realize your beer has slipped from your grasp until it shatters on the deck, glass flying at your feet. Everyone’s attention turns to you, but you’re staring at the two people who just stepped aboard the boat. Their hands were linked together and the smiles they’d been wearing fell. Your stomach lurched, the lunch you’d had before coming threatening to resurface.

Rafe’s eyes were wide and his face visibly paled as he stared at you. The expression on his face was unreadable and the look his eyes matched. Janelle stepped away from him, her hand coming up as she started to say something to you. Your ears were ringing so loudly you could hear her. Your eyes caught on her left hand, a massive rock sitting on her ring finger, sparkling in the sun.

You felt someone’s hands on you, you didn’t know who, trying to shake you and bring you back to Earth. As realization dawned on you, you turned suddenly, leaning over the side of the Druthers and emptying the contents of your stomach into the ocean. You gasped for breath, tears burning in your eyes from the act of throwing up and the situation itself. Your body started shaking, all of the different emotions hitting you at once and overwhelming you.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Sarah says, pulling your hair out of your face. She glances at Topper who rubs his face and shakes his head. You weren’t supposed to find out this way — none of them wanted you to find out this way. If they had known Rafe would be there, they would have skipped on the boat day and taken you somewhere else.

“Y/N..” you hear Janelle’s hesitant voice, feel her hand on your arm.

You flinched away as if she burned you, into Sarah’s arms, hissing, “Don’t touch me.”

The raven haired girl’s face fell, hands falling limp at her sides. Your head was spinning and your thoughts were moving a thousand miles a second. You could see everyone looking between you, whispering, like this was going to be the hottest gossip on the island. Your mother stood and went to reach for you but you shrank out of the way, out of Sarah’s arms.

Without another word, you made a beeline for the exit of the boat. You caught Rafe’s eye again for half a second, a pained expression on his face as he talked quietly with Ward. You rushed out of the yacht and practically ran up the dock towards Tannyhill, ignoring the calls of your name from behind you. You were choking on your own breath, trying to fight off the tears burning in your eyes.

“Y/N, please, stop,” Topper panted as he finally reached you up by the house.

You scoffed as you turned to look at him and saw your parents as well as Sarah following behind him. You went into the house and began searching for your mother’s purse so you could take the car. Your hands were shaking, a few tears slipping down your cheeks that you wiped away roughly.

“Honey, please,” your mother’s voice was soft, hands grabbing onto your arms to stop your frantic movements.

“You all knew!” you shouted, bottom lip quivering.

“We didn’t know they were coming,” Sarah said softly, nervously twisting her fingers together.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you snapped in response, eyes holding a fire none of them had seen in a long time. You shrugged yourself out of your mother’s grasp, sitting down in a chair in the main living room. You put your head in your hands and asked, “how long?”

Sarah glanced around at the others before saying, “Three and a half years, engaged for almost one.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“They begged me not to tell you,” Topper admitted, mentally kicking himself for agreeing to keep his mouth shut. Rafe may have been his best friend, but so were you. Sarah nodded, silently saying they’d done the same to her. “They said they wanted to tell you themselves.”

“I haven’t spoken to Rafe in five years!” you shouted, throwing your arm up. You tried to keep more tears from falling as you allowed everything to sink in. You’d been bottling up everything you felt for so long it was starting to spill over. Everyone but Topper looked shocked, clearly not knowing the full extent of your damaged relationship with Rafe. They didn’t know he’d cut you off all together, they just thought you didn’t talk as much, drifted apart a little.

“After Thanksgiving, he stopped calling. He stopped answering my texts. We haven’t seen each other since my going away party,” your voice broke at the end, tears steadily flowing down your face at this point. Though, you quickly became angry as you thought about the other person involved. You spit, “Janelle and I talked once a week. I should have known something was up when all she would talk about was Rafe. She never mentioned they were dating, let alone engaged!”

“Your mother and I didn’t want to hurt you, sweetie. It didn’t feel like our place to say anything,” your father said, walking over and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He knew there was more to the story than you were willing to say. They didn’t know how much turmoil you’d been going through the last five years and he felt horrible for not noticing.

You knew it was partially your fault for not saying anything. Maybe this all would have played out differently if you had just been honest and told everyone you and Rafe weren’t even friends anymore, as much as it hurt to admit. Maybe Ward wouldn’t have invited you or would have given you a heads up that his son was coming. Maybe Sarah would have told you Rafe and Janelle were dating and you could have confronted her sooner. Maybe you should have confessed your love to him that day sitting on your bed before you left.

There was no way to change what happened. Like your mother had said, you can’t dwell on the past, you have to live in the present. The sad reality was that Rafe was engaged, to someone who was supposed to be your best friend, and there was no chance you’d tell him how you felt now. He’d gone five years without you and clearly had no intentions to keep you in his life. You had to accept that.

“I just want to go home,” you whispered into your father’s shoulder, holding back a sob.

“I’ll walk with you,” Topper quickly offered, stepping forward, “I wasn’t too keen on his boat day anyway.”

Sarah walked over as you stood up, wrapping her arms around you tightly. She stroked her hand over your back and mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” you replied, pulling back and taking her cheeks in your hands. You pressed a kiss to the younger girl’s forehead and teased, “I still love you.”

You mother and father both hugged you tightly. You knew they couldn’t skip on this day with Ward, especially now that they had to do damage control for your actions in front of their friends. You mother kissed your cheek and gave you a soft smile, “We’ll talk more about this later, yeah?”

You nodded, allowing Topper to wrap his arm around your shoulders and guide you out the front door. The two of you walked in silence, his arm stayed around you, keeping you close. You felt comfortable but your mind was still reeling. You looked up at him, his indigo eyes meeting your bloodshot ones.

“I’ll still buy you those kegs,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

The boisterous laugh that erupted from Topper’s mouth made you smile slightly. It had taken a long time to mend the broken and cracked pieces of your heart — you thought you’d finally stitched it whole again. The further and further you got from Tannyhill, you could feel the stitches coming loose, the cracks in your heart re-breaking.

—

“You said you talked to her. You told me she was okay with this!” Rafe tried to keep his voice level, not wanting to cause more of a scene on the Druthers. He’d pulled Janelle to the interior of the boat, down into the hallway and away from the prying eyes of his father’s friends. The look your mother had sent him when she came back made his gut twist, your father’s expression was unreadable.

“I was going to tell her when I saw her in person! I didn’t think she’d be here!” Janelle argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve been keeping us a secret for so long there’s not an easy way to drop that bomb on her!”

Rafe sighed frustratedly and ran a hand through his hair, ruining the slicked back look he’d achieved with the gel. He chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the wall in thought. “Maybe I should go talk to her,” he decided, going to move past Janelle and leave the boat.

“No!” Janelle exclaimed, grabbing onto her fiancé’s arm. “It’s been five years, Rafe. Don’t you think if she wanted to talk, she would have when she saw us? The best thing we can do right now is give her space.”

Rafe knew she was right. He knew he was the last person you wanted to see. He felt his stomach sink at what Janelle said next, “Besides, she obviously left with Topper.”

Topper. His best friend. He remembered after your move Janelle telling him how closely you and Topper remained. After Rafe stopped speaking to you, he took his place. He was the one you called multiple times throughout the week. He was the one you FaceTimed with on Saturday’s. He was the one you spent time with when you visited in the Summer. Jealousy bubbled in his stomach hearing that all those years ago, now the thought just made him sad. Did he make the right choice cutting you off to mend his own heart? Did it make you move on to his best friend instead?

“Come on, honey,” Janelle’s voice broke him from his thoughts as she tugged in his hand. She grinned up at him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Rose wants to talk wedding plans.”

Rafe smiled and nodded, allowing his fiancée to lead him back out on the main deck. He looked over to where Sarah was cleaning up the glass from the bottle you dropped. John B. was quietly asking her what happened and why you left. Sarah simply shook her head, locking eyes with her brother. She gave him a disappointed frown and retreated into the boat to dispose of the glass.

—

Topper had stayed with you at your house, quietly moving about your room as you napped in your bed. The events that had taken place took a lot out of you. You’d cried some more when you got there, mourning your broken friendships. He laid with you, stroking your hair and whispering a thousand apologies as you sobbed. There was nothing he could say to make it better, but he still tried.

When your parents got home, they peeked into your bedroom. You were still fast asleep, curled with your back to the door and facing the window. Topper sat at the edge of the bed, flipping through the old photo album you still hadn’t touched. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of pictures in there — of him and Kelce, your parents, Sarah and Wheezie, Janelle, but mostly of you and Rafe. Your smile would put the sun to shame with how brightly it shined. The stars in the night sky would be envious of the sparkle your eyes held as you looked at Rafe in the photos. It was painfully obvious how in love you’d been with him back then, if only the boy himself had known.

Your parents thanked him for staying with you, promising to have you call him later that night. He made his way home, heart heavy in chest. He hated being in the middle of his two best friend’s — torn between two sides. How was he supposed to split his time with both of you? He knew you’d be understanding, tell him it was fine because Rafe is his friend. He knew Rafe would have a fit, say he was choosing you over him. As if you all hadn’t known each other the same amount of time. As if he had an upper hand because they were ‘the boys’.

“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours,” Rafe’s gruff voice asked from the couch. He had a glass of Topper’s mother’s scotch sitting on the table in front of him. The blonde had seen his truck in the driveway, expecting him to be in that exact position.

“I was at Y/N’s,” Topper replied with a shrug, dropping his keys in the bowl by the front door and kicking off his shoes.

Rafe’s hard demeanor softened a bit at your name. His eyes flashed with a look Topper couldn’t pinpoint before turning cold again. He had every intention of showing up here and genuinely asking if you were okay. He knew he’d hurt you before and even more so now that he was engaged and you had no idea. Though it all went out the window when he heard his best friend had been at your house for hours, alone with you. The blonde grabbed the bottle of scotch off the counter, pouring himself a glass as he prepared for whatever Rafe was about to say to him.

“You two dating now? Just fucking or something?” the brunette scoffed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you really just ask me that?” Topper asked incredulously, face contorting into a look of disgust. You were a gorgeous girl, he wouldn’t deny it, but that was a line he’d never cross. He saw you as the older sibling he never had. He looked at Rafe over the rim of his glass whilst taking a sip. “Why do you care, man? You’re the one who cut her off.”

Rafe chewed on the inside of his lip, shaking his head as he avoided Topper’s gaze, “I don’t.”

“Clearly you do,” Topper argued, crossing the room until he stood at the other side of the coffee table from his best friend. “You ignored her until she stopped trying. You snuck around with her best friend for years, then got engaged to her. You swore everyone to silence and didn’t even tell her yourself like you said you would. You know she never told Sarah or her parents you weren’t even speaking?”

“Okay, Top, I get it,” Rafe said through gritted teeth. He knew what he did, and he knew he was wrong for it. He didn’t need it being thrown back in his face.

“Do you?” the blonde questioned, not thinking his friend was fully grasping the situation. He sat down opposite the brunette and rested his elbows on his knees. “She’s hurt, Rafe. She’s been hurting for the last five years and seeing you today… with Janelle of all people… It was a tipping point.”

Rafe rubbed his hand over his face, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He looked at Topper, regret swimming in his pale blue eyes and desperation lacing the tone of his voice, “What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know if you can, man,” Topper replied honestly, shaking his head, “My best advice to you right now, is just leave her alone.”

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[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love Pt.3/6

Previous

Geralt was riding towards Posada, with Jaskier trotting next to Roach and whinnying constantly. The shifter was carrying his satchel and lute, Roach was carrying everything else including Geralt. It was probably a strange sight to see, a witcher with two horses riding down the path, one fully saddled and the other with just a bag and a lute slung around its long neck.

Geralt sighed at Jaskier’s non stop chatter. He wondered whether the shifter could understand Roach and whether his mare was just as annoyed at Jaskier’s need to fill the silence. “Jaskier!” He snapped.

The chestnut horse galloped around them in a circle and whinnied.

“Shut up.” Geralt muttered and urged Roach on a faster.

They’d been travelling together for two weeks now, ever since Jaskier had effectively chosen Geralt as his companion, not that Geralt had tried very hard to get away. He enjoyed the easy company of animals, even if this particular animal was a little more on the human side of things. He’d still not actually seen Jaskier’s human form. He wasn’t sure why Jaskier was so desperate to hide behind the array of animals he could shift into. He wondered whether it had simply been a while since the bard had allowed himself to shift.

Either way, Geralt had stopped asking whether Jaskier wanted to change back. He trusted the shifter would reveal himself in time.

“Get out of the way, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled as he hand to steer Roach around the chestnut horse in the middle of the path.

Jaskier didn’t have a chance to answer as an arrow flew past Geralt’s head. “Shit!”

He ducked and drew his sword, scanning around him as he circled around on Roach. Another arrow brushed past his ear, in exactly the same manner. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The archer was missing on purpose. He dismounted Roach and lowered into  a defensive stance.

“What do you want?” He asked, focussing his senses to try and locate the attacker. There was a light crackle of leaves underfoot. He focussed on where the sound had come from. There was faint intake of breath as his eyes met a pair of rich brown ones. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He added.

“Lower your sword and give me one of the horses!” A young girl called from the edge of the path.

She had long golden brown hair, plaited all the way down her back. She was wearing hunting clothes, forest green light armour. There was a scar across the bridge of her nose and her brown eyes were flaring with determination.

She was also aiming at arrow at his head.

Geralt sheathed his sword and raised his hands in surrender. Jaskier whinnied next to him and reared up. “I can’t do that.” Geralt murmured.

“Yes you can, witcher. Don’t underestimate me. I will shoot.” She snarled. “I need a horse. You have two. Now hand one over.”

Geralt shook his head and glanced at Jaskier who was stomping the ground. “I have one horse, and Jaskier.”

“What the fuck is a Jaskier? There are two horses, I can see them! One.” She pointed the arrow at Roach and then moved it to Jaskier. “Two. Two horses. I need one.”

Jaskier whinnied. Roach began to shake her head restlessly.

“Jaskier is not my horse.” Geralt insisted.

“Bullshit!” The archer spat. “I saw you leading them both, but I guess if he isn’t yours then you won’t mind if I take him.”

Geralt felt a dull panic. He couldn’t let her take Jaskier and the shifter seemed reluctant to reveal himself as anything but a normal chestnut horse.

“I’ve always wanted a lute.” The archer smirked and lowered her bow so he could make a lunge for the chestnut horse.

Jaskier reared up, kicking the archer to the ground, before bolting off down the path.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called after him but he was too fast. Even if Geralt mounted Roach immediately and galloped after him he would never catch up. Roach was carrying too much weight in comparison.

He spun round to face the archer. She was sitting up and holding her nose, blood poured from her nostrils and it looked like Jaskier had knocked out a few teeth too. He sighed and pulled a bottle from his bag. It was a healing potion, not one of his witcher brews. He’d bought it from the last market they’d visited. Jaskier had a bad habit of putting himself between Geralt and whatever danger he was facing. He was worried that the shifter would hurt himself so he’d made sure to have some better supplies on hand. It seemed only fair after Jaskier helped to ensure that he was paid correctly, and for some reason a witcher with a pet cat seemed to be less intimidating to tavern owners and merchants. He’d been treated with more care since Jaskier had joined him.

And now the bastard had run off.

He knelt down next to the archer and passed her the potion. “Here.” He grumbled.

She spat blood in his face which he wiped off with a grimace. “Why are you helping me?”

He shrugged. “Jaskier hurt you. Call it compensation.”

“I don’t need your charity.” She growled.

Geralt smirked. “No, just my horse.”

“Fuck you!”

Geralt pressed the potion into her hands and then helped her to her feet. “Take it. What’s your name, archer?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Maria.”

“I’m heading for Posada, Maria, if you are going that way then you can join me.” Geralt offered.

“Why the fuck would you want that?” Maria snarled.

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t force you.”

“I’m going the other way.” She said through gritted teeth. “Without a fucking horse!”

Geralt tilted his head. “You scared Jaskier off, that’s not my fault.”

“Only because you were being a selfish prick.” She tucked her bow onto her back and trudged off down the path, blood still dripping down her face, leaving the potion on the path.

Geralt picked the bottle up and tucked it into his pocket with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand either.” He petted his mare’s neck and then swung up to sit back in the saddle. “Come on, Roach, let’s go.”

Jaskier galloped hard away from Geralt and the bratty archer girl until he was sure he was out of sight then he darted into the trees and shifted into his human form, catching his belongings in his arms. He quickly pulled out a dark blue doublet and got dressed. They hadn’t been far from Posada when the girl had attacked and he’d been running a while. His legs had started to burn before he’d slowed down and he desperately needed a bath. So he was certain that the village wasn’t far away.

He pulled on his boots and slung his lute and satchel over his shoulder. It felt weird to be back on two legs again but at least the crazy archer girl wouldn’t try to steal him away in this form.

Probably.

He had been told he was quite handsome by people of all genders.

He grinned and walked back towards the path. Hopefully it wouldn’t be far to a tavern. He was starving!

Luck was on his side and after about half an hour he spotted the tavern. It was up a sharp incline in the path and across a rickety bridge, standing proudly overlooking vast beautiful forests and mountains. It was stunning. Easily the most picturesque tavern he’d visited in years, if not ever. Posada was the last human settlement before the Dol Blathanna and the Edge of the World, home of the elves, if legends were to be believed.

He managed to haggle for a room and some dinner. He didn’t have any coin of his own. He’d been stuck as an animal for two weeks with no income besides what Geralt had earned on his contracts. He hadn’t needed any coin as an animal. Geralt shared his food and he was able drink from whatever water source Roach found, at nights he’d curled up as a wolf next to Geralt, sometimes on Geralt. As a human he wasn’t so lucky, but at least he could play for his keep.

He was half way through his second set when Geralt slid through the door. He was scowling up a storm and every human in the bar seemed to shirk away from him. Jaskier grinned and spun around with a flirtatious wink at a nearby villager. They scoffed and batted him away but Jaskier didn’t mind. He could just move onto the next person. He kept singing until Geralt had settled in a corner of the bar with a pint of beer.

And oh was he a grumpy bastard.

Jaskier was delighted! He carefully put away his lute, and pranced over to the witcher.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” He cocked his head and smirked at his sulking witcher.

If looks could kill Jaskier would be a very dead bard. “I’m here to drink alone.” He grumbled.

Geralt hadn’t recognised him!

Jaskier pouted and slipped onto the bench opposite the witcher. “Come now, witcher. We all need a friend.”

Geralt furrowed his brow and downed half of his beer. “Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier gaped and put his hand to his chest. “Oi! Fuck off, yourself. You wouldn’t treat Mister Fuzzball like this!” He poked Geralt in the arm.

Geralt froze and his hand flew to his medallion. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier grinned. “And there we go. I’m hurt that you couldn’t recognise me!” He pouted dramatically and leant on his arms.

“You’re human?” Geralt asked quietly.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Close enough.”

Geralt stared at him incredulously.

“Geralt?” He put his hand on Geralt’s arm. “Is this ok?”

His thoughts started to race. Was the only reason Geralt had put up with him for so long was because he’d been an animal? He’d been unable to talk for two weeks. What if Geralt hated his talking? He had been told over and over again that he talked too much. Oh gods, and Geralt said he wanted to be alone and now he had a human that was clinging onto him and forcing him to make conversation.

He should leave.

He should turn back into a cat. Geralt liked him when he was cat. Jaskier knew that the witcher enjoyed the sensation of Jaskier’s purring, and most cats only hissed and spat at the witcher.

“I can leave.” He stammered. “I just thought, you’ve been wondering about…” He gestured to himself.

“It’s fine, Jaskier.” Geralt reassured him with a fond smile. “Your eyes are the same.”

“Ah yes. Yes they are. Thank you for noticing. I’m not really sure why, not really sure about any of it if I’m being totally honest. I just woke up one day as a kitten, and I’m always sort of gingery brown with blue eyes. Lila, she was my nurse as a kid, thinks that how my kind are able to tell each other apart in family groups but I’ve never known anyone else like me so fuck that.” Jaskier rattled off, the weeks of not talking finally catching up with him. “Yennefer of Vengerberg, scary sorceress from Aretuza that my parents hired to cure me—”

“Cure you?” Geralt interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with you?”

“Yeah, well, try telling my dearest parents that. On second thoughts, don’t. It took me long enough to escape.”

“Escape?” Geralt growled.

“I’m, I’m a monster Geralt, the beast the lovely Viscount and his wife wanted to hide from the world.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt stood up abruptly and thumped the table hard. Beer spilt over the lip of his tankard and the tavern fell silent. “Fuck!” Geralt cursed and closed his eyes. “You’re not a monster.”

Jaskier was taken aback by the ferocity in Geralt’s voice. The witcher had only known him for two weeks but he was so certain, so sure that Jaskier was not what he’d always been told he was. Jaskier reached out for Geralt’s hand and gently pulled him to sit back down.

“Right well, I won’t argue with the monster expert.” Jaskier teased gently.  

Geralt scowled and pulled his medallion from his chest. He handed it to Jaskier with a tilt of his head. Jaskier held the wolf medallion in his hands. As a cat he’d often ended up curling up to it when Geralt let him sleep on his chest. He found the vibrations relaxing as they brushed against his fur.

The medallion was still now in his human hands.

“What’s this got to do with anything?” He asked, tossing his fringe from eyes as he looked back at Geralt.

“It’s silver.” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier frowned and looked back at the medallion. “Which means?” He prompted.

“It doesn’t hurt you.”

Jaskier laughed and tossed the medallion in his hands. “Silver is for monsters. I see.”

Geralt sipped his drink. “It’s not a fair test. Some monsters are kinder than any human.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and stood up. “May I?” He asked holding up the chain.

Geralt nodded, so Jaskier carefully placed the medallion back around his witcher’s neck. He let his fingers linger as he pulled Geralt’s hair through the chain, brushing the back of his neck.

“You know…” He breathed “when you pick me up by the scruff of my neck I am utterly helpless. It’s really not fair.” He trailed his fingers across Geralt’s cheek and then sat back down opposite him on the bench. “I can’t even shift when you do that.”

Geralt scoffed. “Does it work as a human too?”

Jaskier laughed. “Don’t you dare!”

“Hmm.” Geralt smiled into his drink.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined. “Don’t go all… grumpy witcher on me now!” He waved his hand in front of Geralt’s face. “I haven’t been able to have a proper conversation in weeks!” He pouted.

Geralt tilted his head. “That’s on you, bard.”

“That’s on you, bard.” Jaskier mimicked. “You’re a bit of an asshole aren’t you?”

“I’m the Butcher of Blaviken, haven’t you heard?” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt’s drink across the table so he steal some. “Bollocks. You, sir, adopted the first stray cat that paid you any attention!”

“Butcher?” A new voice asked tentatively as a man approached the table, his fingers fiddling with a coin purse.

Geralt glared at Jaskier. Jaskier just took a long gulp of the beer and winked at his friend. Geralt sighed and turned to the man hovering by their table. “Yes?”

“I’ve a job for you.” The man held out the coin purse.

Jaskier zoned out for the rest of the conversation. Geralt was awfully dull when he started talking business. Normally Jaskier would be sat in his lap or by his side, depending on which animal Geralt had at the time, and Geralt would be petting his fur. As a human that wouldn’t really work. So he finished off Geralt’s beer and went to find Roach in the stables, grabbing his lute on the way out. He knew Geralt would come out when he was ready.

Roach, unlike his idiot witcher, recognised him immediately. He couldn’t talk to Roach, not properly, not even in horse form. It wasn’t as if he could translate her words but he did have a better understanding of animals, he always did. He seemed to just… know, and he was able to chatter back at her in a series of whinnies and ear flicks. Again it wasn’t as if he was knowingly speaking horse, it was just instinct. He still thought fluently as if he were a human but his communication as an animal was driven by emotion and instinct. He always thought it was rather similar to how he felt when he was composing music, when he found a melody before the lyrics. It didn’t matter about the rhymes or syllabic pattern, all that mattered was the feelings inside that were screaming to get out.

He patted Roach’s neck and pressed his head against hers. “Hey you, sorry I ran off earlier. Wouldn’t want you to get captured because of me.”

Roach’s snorted and he laughed. “Yes yes. I know. Geralt would have protected us, but it was safer to run. Oh don’t give me that look. I always run when there’s trouble.”

Roach’s ears flicked and she nudged him with her muzzle.

“Well I would if I thought it would help” He grinned and stroke the soft fur of her muzzle. “and this time it did.”

He sighed and settled down on the hay to play his lute whilst he waited, it was the one thing he had sorely missed during his weeks as an animal.

He’d missed the music.

_____

Next

[newobsessionweekly]

Flirting can drive you crazy 🌿

@remainingtouch said: hey!! i wanted to request an arón imagine ((: maybe one where you two have been flirty with eachother for a while but are both too scared to admit anything but then you finally have your first kiss?? 🥺🥺 i love what you write!

a/n: I hope it’s alright. It took me like ages to finish it and I wasn’t feeling alright today so that’s it for now. But I’ll try and write some more tomorrow. Enjoy 🌿 word count: 2.730

Arón Piper x reader🌿

You met Omar in your first year of high school. He was in the same class as your best friend back then. As the first year flew by, you tear apart from your best friend, being magnetized by all the brightness Omar emanates around him. You immediately became inseparable and, in fact, he was your first boyfriend. Nothing much happened between the two of you, maybe it would have if your family wouldn’t have been forced to move in England due to your father’s job. You haven’t talked or seen him, until one day you were walking down the street and saw a promo for some spanish Netflix series. You had to stare at that photo for minutes to realise is him. You were used to him smiling, all the photos you have together, he’s only a smile, a very dynamic person. It was strange to see him frowning, with a serious, angry expression. You realised then his dream came true and you broke your promise that you will be his date to the premiere of his first important role. He has changed in better and you no doubt what a talented actor he is. You weren’t a fan of tv series and that Netflix thing you considered useless, but you immediately created an account and binged first season in one night. You searched for his number, but you realised you lost it a long time ago. So shame of you. 

You were in Madrid for a week already and you just walked and visited all your favourite places. There aren’t many changes, but the city has developed so beautiful. You passed by the place where you had your first kiss with Omar and soon enough you were in front of the building he used to live. Used to live? Maybe he still lives there and you thought, why not, go and check. What could even go wrong? 

 As you reached the front door you realised his last name was stil on the mailbox. Your heart climb due to the excitement in your throath and you could even hear it beating. Your palms where so sweaty that you had to press the bell three times to ring properly.       

“¡Tener paciencia, ya voy!” you heard a voice behind the door and bit your bottom lip, trying to hold a stupid smile.

“Sabes que no tengo paciencia.” you responded as the door opened and you can clearly seen the hansome man. 

You both stared at each other maybe for too long, but you couldn’t say anything. How much time has passed? Almost five years have leacked without knowing anything about him. You had taken your time and stared at each other while from inside, curious eyes were searching the two of you. You could recognise those people, Polo, Ander, Guzmán, Nadia, Lu, this guy you didn’t remembered his name and Carla.  

“¡Joder!” he was in shock. Maybe it was a bad idea to show up at his door so suddently.

“What, little star? You forgot your first girfriend?” you laughed at him as on his face started to grow an imense smile. That’s the Omar you knew and missed so much. 

“You came back!” he exclaimed, opening his arms.

“And you waited!” as you jumped in his arms and welcomed his tight hug, you made eye contact with the actor that plays Ander. Joder, these people are looking even hotter in real life, starting with Omar and finishing with thig guy.

Omar invited you in and while he clossed the door, you searched the room and you found that he still has the photo with the two of you from the concert of your favourite band. Everyone was looking strangely at you until someone breake the silence.

“I tought we were supposed to be just us.” the blonde guy with a lot of freckles on his face spoke first.

“I could go and come back later if you want.” you responded, but Omar moved his hand and reduced you to silence.

“This is (y/n) and is the best friend I could ever ask for.” he smiled and everyone was looking at you, but you were hipnotised only by the curly headed one, with the brown sweet eyes and a “bad ass” expression. “And you, señorita, have the chance to meet in person the most important cast of Élite.” he was joking, of course, but presented you to everyone and you kissed cheeks with them. 

“We were about to watch the second season of Élite. Wanna join? After that you could stay the night and tell me everything.” Omar rubbed your back then sat on the floor, in front of the couch. You sat beside him, and rested your head on his shoulder.

Two episodes later, you were so caught in the action that you didn’t realised your position. At some point Arón parted his legs and set a pillow between them so you could rest your head. Omar looked suspiciously at you, but why would he? He raised his eyebrow at Arón before he walked to the window and lighted a cigarette. Well you knew he was smoking in the series, but not in real life. You must admit, he looks damn hot while doing that.

“What? I saved your puta hombro! I couldn’t see properly because of her head!” you laughed at his words and stretched a little. That floor was uncomfortable.

“¡Joder! Amigos, I have a photoshoot in half an hour! I gotta go!” Miguel announced as he grabbed his stuff and ran out the door.

Danna had to leave as well because she has a date with Jorge, the one that plays Valerio. Mina, Ester and Álvaro founded excuses to leave and Iztan left after the first episode.

Just you, Omar and Arón remained and opened a bottle of wine to the all the good and the bad times you’ve been through, but without each other.

“So, England, huh? Very strange people those britains.” Arón smiled before he took a sip from the red vine.

“They are, indeed! I couldn’t stand them anymore. I dropped Oxford and came back home!” you proudly answered the unspoken question.

“You dropped Oxford?” Omar asked you, visibly shocked. “That was your dream!”

“Are you nuts or something?” Arón asked then turned to Omar “¿Está loca?”

“I’m not crazy, thank you very much. But I’m home sick, alright? Even though I had my parents there, I couldn’t fit in. My heart was in Spain and I just couldn’t leave all my life here like it never happened.”

“Speaking of, you remember that bar you liked very much but closed after the end of the ninth grade?” you nodded. “It opened a few months ago and it’s magnificent!” you missed that apartament, you missed the round table, you missed the urban agglomeration and hearing Omar speaking spanish. Right now it felt like heaven.

“We should totally go there, like the old times!” you used to go there every day, eat a lot of fried potatoes and talk for hours about everything and nothing actually.

“Totally. Also, there’s a new coffee shop that I think you would adore. She’s an coffee addict.” Omar informed Arón laughing.

“Where is it?” your eyes shined. You indeed liked coffee very much. 

“I can actually show you. Are you free tomorrow?” the voice came from Arón and it was unexpected. 

“Are you asking me out?” you had a devilish smile on your face. 

“For God sake, you women! No, don’t get too excited. I’ll get you to drink the best coffee of your life! This place beats Starbucks’ ass so bad!” he seemd into this subject, maybe you had some things in common.

----------

As you established, the next day at noon Arón was there waiting for you. You stared too many minutes inside your closet, nothing seemd suitable for this date. Is it a date? Well, the other day you definetly flirted with each other. Omar told you he never saw Arón this way. You could say he’s an introvert, and a little shy, but did a brave move. When you finally picked a blue flourished dress, was already three minutes after the hour you decided to left home and get there in time. And because you put make up on and erased it two times made thirty minutes fly away. So when you left, you were already 5 minutes late. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I overslept!” you lied, of course. You didn’t want him to believe you get over your head because of this meeting.

“For a moment I thought you won’t show up.” he let the smoke come out from him moth as he extinguished his cigarette. You found him standing at a table outside, scrolling through his phone. He was wearing something simple, a t-shirt and some blue jeans, but he managed to look incredible. Even God love’s what is beautiful. You could tell this man is kissed by the Aphrodite, the Goddess of beauty herself.   ”All these insecurities are from that german blood? Because I know something about spanish people, we are damn confident! And people of word!” you sat down afront him and let your phone on the table.

“Someone did some research, I see.” in fact you did some research and stalked him on Instagram.

“How could I not? You are a hard to forget type! Anyway I couldn’t find much about you, only unnecessarily basics.” you were honest, because you are trying to gain his trust and friendship.

“I think we are on the same page here. All I know is your name and that you are a damn confident and direct person. Oh, and a woman of word, of course.” The waiter came with your orders and interrupted your conversation, but as he moved around you, clearing the ashtray for Arón, you were looking into the menu considering ordering maybe a muffin. But when you looked up,the waiter was already gone, and Arón was looking at you.  

“I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me.” you breake the silence, but never look away from his side. 

“In that outfit, who wouldn’t be?” he winked at you.

“So you that’s how you addmit you were staring at me?” you caught his sight while you bit your bottom lip and did’t retire.

“Well, you obviously caught me doing that, but guess what, you were staring too.” his tongue override his lips.  That was true, both of you were staring at eatch other, but how could you not stare at this handsome man? He stretched his back to get you back from your thoughts before he spoke. “There’s a small party saturday at some club in the centre, maybe I’ll see you there. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to go for a shooting.” he grabbed his phone and got up, but before he passed you stopped. You stood up as well and he initiate a hug. You were surprised, but when he whispered “It was nice to see you, beautiful!” you frozed. That was so nice of him, shame of you because you couldn’t say a thing. -------- Saturday you spent almost all day figuring out what you should wear and what kind of party is that. Two days ago you spent with Omar his birthday and had so much fun together. You haven’t told him about Arón’s invitation, however without telling him much about what happened, he still gave you strange looks. So this time you made sure to left the house and get there in time. You knew the club, but you didn’t knew how to find him, thus you find your way through the entrance where you find a man. “Name.” he said warely. You frowned. Was that a joke? Maybe Arón made fun of you and invited you to some party where couldn’t even get passed the door. The anger started to spread into your body along with the cold. Though Spain is a warm country is still spring and the nights are still not warm enough. 

“(y/n)” you responded. “Arón Piper knows I’m coming.” you thought the best option was to say the name of someone famous. “I mean, he doesn’t know I’m coming, but he invited me.” you begin to stutter and say nonsenses.  “Sure... wait a minute.” he was suspicious, you can tell. After he came back, he wasn’t alone. Arón followed the man outside and he faced a bright smile at the sight of you.  “You came!” he grabbed your hand and he led you to a table where everyone was looking strangely at you. Just as the first time. The only difference is that you knew their name this time.

“¡Hola!” you smiled at them wile you sat down next to Omar.

“What are you doing here?” he’s doesn’t mean to be rude, but it was a surprise for him to see you there. A good one.

“Arón invited me.” you shrugged.

“Strange, he didn’t mention a thing though. He’s kinda reserved when it comes to private things, like his birthday.” ha looked at you then sip from his cocktail.

“Yeah, he is very reserved.” you mumbled.

The fact that Arón didn’t tell you it was his birthday, made you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t be here. As Omar said, he is very reserved and a birthday party is for family and friends, and you were none of them. You searched the room and found Arón coming towards the table. You stood up quickly and stopped him.

“Why haven’t you told me is your birthday?” you confronted him.

“Well hello, Beautiful. What’s with that frowning?” he ignored your question as he handed you a drink.

“I didn’t get you anything!” you insisted. Well, actually he didn’t need anything from you because he can buys himself more than you could ever thought of. He put his drink and yours on the table then reached for you hand.

“That’s fine because I just need one thing from you.” he made his way towards the dance floor, still holding your hand.

What would he possibly need from you? You had milions of thoughts and questions running through your mind, but he erased them all when he grabbed your waist and urged you to do the same.

“You look very beautiful tonight.” he screamed over the music, before you could tell anything.

“You didn’t look bad yourself!” you smiled at him. Arón was stearing at your lips as you talked. “So what was that thing you needed?”

“Kiss me.” that came out of nowhere, he knew that too.

“What?”

“Kiss me, hermosa!”

You looked him questioning all the posibilities. He’s trying to make fun of you right now? Does he really want that? As you got stuck on your mind, he leaned towards you, but you could tell he’s too afraid to do something. You both stood there in the middle of the dance floor with your foreheads pressed and with eyes closed.

“You know,” he started and you smelled some cigarette mixed with alcohol and mint. It doesn’t smell bad at all. “I am very good at flirting, that’s why I’m so confident doing that,” you couldn’t agree more. You observed that, he’s a cocky guy when it comes to the things that he’s good at, and ¡Joder! he’s good at many things. “But when it comes to kiss a pretty girl, it’s more complicated, you know. I’m afraid not to mess things up.”

He’s talking nonsense. You rubbed you nose to his and made the bravest move you’ve ever done. You pressed your lips to his and smiled. He smiled too and kissed with so much desire, you were shocked. He’s a very sweet person when he’s not wearing that “bad ass” attitude. As you distanced from the kiss, he looked deeply in your eyes.

“I wanted to do that since the day one.” he laughed a little and smiled at you. He admired you on the dance floor long enough then he went for the drinks you abandoned on the table. Arón was the life of the party all night. He danced, he sang and was so happy, that you couldn’t stop smiling. You had the chance to met this amazing man and even kiss him, you were indeed grateful. Omar stood by your side and glanced at you two all night, but he was happy too.

[eldritchwriter]

Defeating Sunrise by @eldritchwriter | Fandom: Final Fantasy VII | Rating: Explicit | Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough

Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Found Family, Slow Burn, Pining, Hero Worship, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Sephiroth is Oblivious, Denzel is So Done With Them Both, Grown-Up Cloud

Summary: Cloud isn't good at this whole 'parenting' gig, and even when he tries, it doesn't seem to be doing him any good. He's ready to give up, when he is inexplicably pulled into the past with his young protege in tow. The last thing Cloud expects is to be dropped straight into the Wutai War and in front of a Sephiroth who is younger and still in charge of his own mind.

As Cloud spirals headlong into his trauma-filled past, trying to make sense of his memories and discern truth from his own fictions, long-buried feelings for Sephiroth begin to emerge. With Denzel's help, he can surely change the future, but the biggest question of all is what that future should look like at all. Read here on AO3 or read more below:

Chapter One

“It’s not so easy. We’re all traumatised by what we went through. Cloud most of all.”

Cloud rested his head back against the door to the rebuilt Seventh Heaven and let out a soft sigh. He hadn’t meant to intrude on the conversation between Tifa and Barret, but now it was inevitable. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn’t just walked in and that his enhanced hearing had picked up the urgent tone of Barret’s voice before he’d opened the door.

At least this way he could steel himself for whatever Barret was going to ask him to do.

“Well, we all got heaps of trauma. Enough to keep the shrinks goin’ for decades. But Cloud’s tough. He’ll do it, no problem.”

Do what? Cloud wondered. What more could you possibly have to ask of me?

“When he says no, I don’t want you to push it,” Tifa’s reply was exasperated sounding, and Cloud detected the sound of a bar towel hitting the floor. “I mean it, Barret, I know that Cloud needs… reminding sometimes that people need him to do things, but I don’t want you pestering him. This isn’t something he’s duty-bound to do.”

“I wasn’ planning on it,” Barret said, a creak of a bar stool. “It’s just the easiest way, is all.”

“Well, have a Plan B ready.” The sound of glasses being thrown into a dishwasher, one of the newest additions to Seventh Heaven, now that there was running water into the place.

Cloud had plumbed it in himself, after several assurances from Reeve that the water was definitely clean and not contaminated. Cloud had made him drink it straight from the tap when it was plugged in just to prove the point.

“Roger that. Say, how’s Denzel been doin’ in school? Marlene’s been tellin’ me all kinds of stories- “The conversation turned to the children and Cloud stopped listening. Whispered conversations about him rather than with him were the norm, and he’d long grown used to people acting in his best interest without consulting him. Sometimes he was glad that Tifa acted as a buffer between him and the ridiculous requests of his onetime comrades, other times it frustrated him.

Today, he was just tired.

He pushed away from the wall, steeling himself to head inside, to listen to whatever Barret’s request was and to grit his teeth and give his answer whatever way it went, but then…

Why?

Why indeed. Why did he have to? He had his own plans for the rest of the week. Nothing urgent, certainly, but he had a few delivery jobs, a run out to the Chocobo Farm… Hell, it was Parent-Teacher Meetings this week and he’d promised Denzel that he’d make it to this one despite not feeling remotely like an appropriate paternal figure.

If he stayed away, eventually Barret would leave. Tifa had made it clear she would not bring up whatever this was. He didn’t have to deal with it now unless he wanted to, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to.

He stepped off the porch and walked towards Fenrir, kicking his leg over it. It showed how lost Tifa and Barret had been in their conversation that they hadn’t heard the thing roaring up next to the bar in the first place.

No, he wasn’t going to deal with this now. He’d pick it up later, much later.

He disabled the kickstand and revved the engine.

Cloud was not in the mood to deal with this today.

*

It somewhat surprised Denzel to see Cloud outside his school. Some older boys had gathered around Cloud’s bike, trying to strike up a conversation with him. Cloud remained detached though, his arms folded on his chest and his eyes showing that he was completely lost in thought.

Not so unusual, and it probably made him look cool to the kids who had flocked around him, but Denzel knew better. He knew that, no matter how cool Cloud looked with the all-black motorcycle and the enormous sword strapped to his back, that his unwilling mentor was just a shy space cadet.

“Er, hi?” Denzel leaned around the front of the bike to put his face in front of Cloud’s and snap him from his reverie.

Cloud blinked slowly, then the corners of his mouth tilted up a bit. “Hey. Thought I’d give you a ride back from school today.”

Denzel wondered what had spurred that decision, but he knew he wouldn’t get an actual response from Cloud about it. Cloud and Tifa had been involved in his life for years now. He was in his teens, but they had nowhere near what could be called a father-son relationship. Cloud was too distant, his reasoning for his actions too coloured by his own past, to be much use to Denzel in learning to navigate the world.

But still it was useful, especially when wanting to seem cool in front of some upperclassman.

“Sure. Can I shove my backpack in the storage?” Denzel asked, like it was an everyday occurrence for Cloud to let him ride on the back of Fenrir.

Cloud got off the bike, showing an impressive show of strength by just casually holding it upright with a one-handed loose grip while the other opened the under-seat storage to let Denzel dump his bag in. The other kids were goggle-eyed at Cloud, and that made Denzel smile a bit.

Cloud shoved a helmet and goggles into his hands, causing Denzel to pout. It was less cool to wear this thing. Cloud pulled on his own goggles though, without a dorky helmet though. Denzel knew that Cloud probably couldn’t be killed by coming off the bike at speed like he could though, and if it meant that Cloud might rev the engine harder it was worth looking stupid for.

Helmet in place, Denzel clambered onto the back of the bike. Cloud leaned forward, then looked over his shoulder, waiting for Denzel to adjust himself.

“Hang on,” was all Cloud said, before the engine roared and Cloud was already kicking the bike into a higher gear.

Denzel scrambled to wrap his arms tightly around Cloud’s waist before he fell off the back and found out precisely how effective his helmet would be. Cloud weaved the bike through traffic and crowds and back allies that definitely shouldn’t have been driven down.

In anyone else’s hands, this would have been suicide, but though it was exhilarating, Denzel felt safe. For all Cloud’s faults and sometimes dumb decisions, he never purposefully put anyone in danger. The incredible strength to manoeuvre the bike through tight gaps, and the lightning-fast reflexes he had meant that it was rather more like riding on a rollercoaster. The safe journey to their destination was all but pre-determined, so Denzel could just enjoy the ride there.

Pulling up outside Seventh Heaven wasn’t exactly welcome, but his arms were sore from holding on. Cloud kicked down the stand and waited for Denzel to dismount before making sure that he had his bag and that the helmet and goggles were stored appropriately.

Cloud reached out, self-consciously ruffling Denzel’s hair in a way that was a shadow of paternal instinct that just made both of them feel awkward.

“Go say hi to Tifa,” Cloud said, grabbing a box from inside the storage attached to the bike.

“You mean, go check the coast is clear, don’t you?” Denzel asked, putting his hands in his pockets. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ride, but you only come pick me up when you want a buffer between you and whoever’s in there.”

Cloud’s shoulders hunched. “That’s not- “

“It’s fine,” Denzel said, shrugging. “But at least be honest about it, at least to yourself if not to me.”

He didn’t wait for Cloud to turn round, instead announcing his entry to the bar and greeting Tifa brightly. No one else was here, so maybe Cloud was just trying to avoid being alone with Tifa. It wouldn’t be the first time for that either.

When Cloud entered, he didn’t meet Denzel’s eyes, but there didn’t seem to be a tension between him and Tifa, so Denzel let it go. Whatever this was about, he’d find out in the end anyway, when the row inevitably started and Cloud roared off on his motorcycle at 3am to Ancient’s knew where.

“Denzel!” Denzel turned to see Marlene running from behind the bar, pink bow bouncing in her hair. “Papa says I can stay for dinner tonight! Let’s do our homework together?”

Cloud groaned. “Is Barret still-“

“’Sup. We need to talk.”

*

Returning to Nibelheim, to this Nibelheim, left Cloud with an itching soul. The people here, the few that had returned, were not originally from the town. They didn’t know the legends of the local mountains, or the best way to trap Nibel Wolves, or which paths to avoid so they didn’t run into dragons.

Most of them didn’t even know that Nibelheim had once burnt to the ground. All they knew was that there was a town here, rebuilt and mostly empty, and that the WRO was interested in generating hydropower from the waterfalls in the mountains. That was enough for them.

As usual, it was capitalism that was the driving force of Nibelheim’s destiny, and a new flow of money brought a new flow of residents and washed away the blood and soot and smoke. Even the acrid tinge of mako in the air had long since dissipated except in Cloud’s mind.

“I didn’ think you’d come, bein’ honest,” Barret said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cloud had fully intended not to, but there were some things that he still felt he couldn’t say no to. This was one of them. Nibelheim was a wound on his soul that wouldn’t heal and that he couldn’t stop picking at.

“Right, not feelin’ talkative, got it,” Barret scratched the back of his neck with the barrel of his gun-arm, looking sheepish. “I’ll be headin’ out into the mountains a bit, gotta check up on the generator to report back, y’know? But you’ll be alright here, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cloud waved him off. “But you can’t take longer than a few hours. I have to get back.”

“Yeah. School shit. I remember. I won’t make you late to play daddy, promise.”

Cloud didn’t want to question Barret’s parenting skills, but he thought out of all his former-comrades, the one was most likely to put work above ‘school shit’ was probably Barret. For all his bluster and dedication to Marlene, he had a somewhat lax attitude towards the formal things that it seemed children needed. Like routine. Or regular schooling. Or a parent figure who didn’t disappear on them at the drop of a hat.

Well, Cloud couldn’t really judge any of that. He hadn’t exactly been a model guardian either.

He didn’t bother to answer, instead turning towards the hotel and hoping that there’d be somewhere for him to sit and wait. He had no desire to explore the town the way he had done coming back here five years ago, where he had frantically run from house to house trying to work out why it was different, his own fear and horror reflected at him from Tifa’s eyes.

The hotelkeeper was new, a man with a Rocket Town accent and clothes that were just a little too thin for the mountain temperatures. He greeted Cloud warmly, offered him a room for the night – which Cloud politely declined – and then offered him a warm meal instead.

And so, Cloud spent the afternoon eating Nibel Stew that someone who had never tasted the original had clearly prepared, and waiting for Barret to return. He kept his eyes firmly on the woods outside the window, trying not to give in to the ghosts in his vision of the old townspeople, of the flames, of the shuddering clones.

He didn’t think much of it when it started to rain.

*

Cloud didn’t expect Denzel to actually throw something at him in frustration. It was only a towel from the bar, soaked in beer, but it still hit him in the face with a soft whump all the same. Cloud let it slide to the floor, just as he’d let it hit him. He deserved this.

“I waited for you for hours!” Denzel yelled.

Tifa reached out hesitantly for Denzel’s shoulder but he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked away from her.

“Denzel, I’m sorry. The dam that Barret was working next to burst and-“

“I don’t care! You should never have gone! You could have gone next week! Or he could have found someone else to go with him!” Denzel shouted, his fists balled by his sides. “No one would have died if you’d waited!”

Well, that was debatable, as it wasn’t like Cloud or Barret’s presence had set of the chain of events that caused the dam failure. In fact, their being there had saved many lives. But none of that was going to make an angry thirteen year old like him any more, Cloud was sure of it. Long gone were the days where Denzel was impressed by heroic tales from far-off places. No, now he wanted something more concrete from Cloud, stability and dependency, both things that Cloud had never been in the best situation to provide.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Cloud offered, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. “I should have said no. I shouldn’t have let you down.”

It seemed like the wind went out of Denzel’s sails at that but instead of doing what he usually did and apologising too, it seemed that Denzel truly had settled into his teenage years because he stormed out of the front door of Seventh Heaven instead, letting it bang behind him.

“It’s late, you should go after him,” Tifa said after a few moments silence.

Cloud shook his head. “Better if it’s you. He doesn’t like me much right now.”

“Which is why, it’s got to be you.” Tifa began to push at Cloud’s shoulder, forcing him towards the door. “You might not be forgiven, Cloud, but you have to sort this one out yourself. Family don’t go to bed on fights.”

“We have plenty of times,” he pointed out. “You’re always yelling at me late at night after the patrons have gone.”

“Yes, well, I’m not thirteen years old and I didn’t just wait for you for hours,” Tifa countered, pushing Cloud towards the door again. “Just sort things out, Cloud. And next time… just don’t be late.”

Cloud reluctantly stepped out of the door and onto the porch. Denzel hadn’t gone far. He had a rock in his hand and was standing next to the Fenrir, but Cloud couldn’t see any scratches on it. Clearly Denzel had entertained the thought of scratching it, but thought better of it.

Good, because Cloud would have hated to add that to the fight as well.

“We’re going for a ride again,” Cloud said, walking past Denzel and getting on the bike without looking at him. “Hop on.”

“No,” Denzeil said stubbornly.

Cloud waited as seconds rolled by to become a minute.

He felt hands on his shoulders as Denzel climbed on and waited until the boy was settled before he took off.

He hadn’t really known where he was going until he ended up on the cliff edge. He’d brought Denzel here once before, to show him the place where a hero had died. It seemed fitting that they were here now, in the place where the hero that Cloud had tried to emulate before all else was memorialised, to have this conversation with a child who emulated him.

Cloud got off the bike and went to sit on the edge of the cliff, looking over at the lights of Edge and the ruins of Midgar. There was still so much rebuilding to do.

“I’m only human,” Cloud said finally, mostly to the night, but knowing that Denzel was still awkwardly perched on the bike and no doubt watching him. “If there’s one thing I learned, through all of it, it’s that I’m only a human with faults and flaws.”

“Yeah, well, one of them is being really shitty about remembering to show up for things.”

Cloud couldn’t deny that. “Memory is not my strongpoint, agreed.”

“You’re just never around, even when you promise you’re going to be.”

Again, not something Cloud could deny. How many birthdays and holidays had he missed? Sometimes on purpose, sometimes because he simply forgot about them? His thoughts were always scrambled, stuck in a past he fuzzily remembered and one that he had constructed for himself from pure trauma.

None of those were things that a teenager would understand though, even one like Denzel. Cloud had no intention of burdening him with the knowledge of it either.

“I won’t promise you I’ll always be around,” Cloud conceded, and he heard Denzel getting off the bike. “But you know, there are some things that you get to do that others don’t. You’ve never seen me let Marlene anywhere near the bike.”

“Only because Barret would riddle you with bullets.”

It seemed Denzel wasn’t going to join him, so Cloud stood up, giving up on the male bonding moment over the edge of the cliff with a sight.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am doing my best. This… this whole series of events is just…” Cloud struggled to find the words. “Every event in my life has taken the worst possible turn. Even when I try, I still mess up. It seems inevitable at this point, and though I’m going to try my best, I know that I’ll still disappoint you.”

Stood before Zack's grave, with Denzel's quiet censure worrying between his shoulder blades, Cloud couldn't remember a time when he'd last felt good about himself. He hadn't asked for this hero-worship, or to be the guardian of a teenager who was turning out to be just as taciturn and unruly as Cloud had been at that age. He hadn't asked for any of this, and duty could only take him so far down a path before he had to put some effort in.

"If you truly think this is the worst timeline, the worst it might get, then do you really think it's okay to throw in the towel?" Denzel asked, eyes hot and accusing. "Is it really okay to just give up and not even try for a better one?"

"A better timeline?" Cloud rubbed his temples. "Sure. We'll just magic one into existence for everyone, shall we?"

“Now who’s acting like a kid?” Denzel challenged him.

Cloud turned now, ready to just apologise again, but what he saw chilled his blood. A shrouded figure with long, reaching fingers.

“Denzel! Come here!”

But it was too late, the creature had snatched Denzel, dragging him into a dark portal.

Cloud’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He lunged after the creature, into the dark and cold unknown. It lasted only a fraction of a second where he felt like he was floating in the Lifestream once more, before his boots hit ground at a different level than he’d been expecting and he tripped.

He landed on something soft, and was relieved to take in a surprised expression under a mess of red-hair.

“Where’s the monster?” Cloud asked, looking around them.

Their environment was completely different. From the vegetation, Cloud guessed they were somewhere near Wutai, which was not only impossible, but was also deeply worrying. How had they got so far from home?

“Cloud! Behind you!”

Cloud didn't think, he reacted, immediately bringing First Tsurugi up to parry the blow he vaguely caught from the corner of his eye that would rend him and Denzel in two. He didn't expect for the katana to spiral through the air, landing six feet away, embedded in the dirt with the moonlight reflecting off its blade.

Masamune.

No.

Sephiroth was frozen, hand empty. Green eyes, glowing and surprised, fixed on Cloud and for the first time Cloud recognised that this Sephiroth was not the same Sephiroth he had fought last. He was younger, his features still a little softened by adolescence. The Sephiroth that Cloud had seen in the papers fifteen years ago. The Sephiroth that he had idolised, left home for, joined Shinra for.

"You have got to be fu-" He remembered Denzel was still behind him. "'Effin' kidding me."

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Banner Ch1: Back Into The Field

Summary: Katie heads back to SHIELD following the crazy events in Miami and finds herself on desk arrest following a disciplinary for two weeks. But when catastrophe strikes on a mission, she kinda wishes she had stayed there.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x O/C Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language (no smut, yet, but will be down the line. A bit of angst,  injury and blood (some may find upsetting)

Stark Spangled Man: Re-cap

Steve was mad, furious, absolutely and utterly infuriated. His foot tapped as he rode the elevator up to the 95th floor where it pinged open and he stepped into the living area of the tower. Katie uncurled herself off the couch and started to speak before the doors had even shut behind him.

“I know you’re pissed…” she began, but he held his hand up, shaking his head.

“Pissed doesn’t even come into it…” he said, “Are you insane?”

“Not last time I checked.”

He felt his jaw tighten, this wasn’t the time for her jokes or quips. As he looked at she felt herself quell under his gaze and she dropped her eyes from his and sighed.

“I had to help.”

“You’re a fucking idiot_!” he stood, arms folded as he glared at her. She raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent as he unloaded “You could have been seriously hurt, or killed… I told you to call me!”

“You’re only pissed off because you missed a chance to play the hero…” she snapped and then inwardly groaned. As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them.

“Is…is that actually what you think?” he frowned, looking like puppy dog she’d just kicked across the floor.

“No, its not…” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean…”

“I was worried about you!” he pressed, “Katie, you’re my best friend and I couldn’t cope losing you as well…”

As well as Bucky.

His sentence hung, unfinished, making her feel like shit. She sighed and crossed the room, slipping her arms around his waist. After a second or two he unfolded his arms and hugged her back.

“You should have called me.” He sighed, his tone softening as she lay her head on his chest.“It was so frustrating. Fury was refusing to do anything, if I knew how to fly one of those damned jets I’d have taken one myself…"

“Ask Clint for some flying lessons.” she said, stepping back to look up at him, sighing again as his face displayed no amusement at her attempted joke. “Look, I’m sorry, truth is, I didn’t think. We just got caught up and I didn’t want to drag you into something that wasn’t your fight. This was down to Tony and a very long list of people he has pissed off…”

Steve snorted as he released her from his grip “Well then it isn’t your fight either is it?”

“He’s my brother, Steve, I’d die for him if I had to.” she shrugged.

“How is he now?” Steve asked, following her towards the bar area.

“Seems ok.” she said, stepping behind it. “Recovering from the surgery, destroyed all his Iron Man suits…”

“He what?”

“Clean Slate protocol… blew them all up. Including the one he had made for me.” she slid an open beer across the bar top towards him. He caught it as he settled down on a stool, shaking his head.

“Wait, he made you a suit?” Steve frowned “An Iron Man suit?”

“Iron Maiden…” she grinned, leaning on the bar opposite him as he looked at her blankly. She rolled her eyes and grinned “They’re a band…rock… add them to the list.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and pulled out the notebook she’d gifted to him the year, making a note of the name, before he slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

“So he made you a suit…” he said, motioning her to continue.

“Yeah, well wasn’t much point seeing as I only got to wear it for like half an hour or whatever. It was only a prototype, nothing I could use with SHIELD either as it was too conspicuous, not that it matters anyway as he blew them all up, like a massive firework display”

“Why?” he frowned, bottle paused halfway to his mouth.

“Some kind of outward gesture to Pepper, basically said that any designs for a new one she gets to help him with…”

Steve took a big pull of his beer and swallowed. “That’s a big step for him.”

“Yeah, I know. He loves her.” Katie swallowed a mouthful of beer “And she loves him, she’s good for him.”

“Is she ok now after the whole Extremis thing?”

“Yeah. Tony managed to engineer an antidote with a bit of help from the SHIELD lab and she’s good.”

“And how are you?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Katie snorted, shaking her head “absolutely exhausted by all of it. Gods, Aliens, crazy assed super soldiers that explode…” her eyes narrowed as she eyed him playfully and suspiciously “you’re not gonna explode are you?”

“Not planning on it, no.” his crooked grin spread across his face.

***********

March 2013.

Any doctor would cry if they visited SHIELD; the caffeine and alcohol intake of pretty much every worker there would way exceed a dose construed to be healthy. Mind you, if you asked any agent whether they’d give up coffee or alcohol, they’d say alcohol in a heartbeat. Well, most of them. Katie couldn’t imagine surviving without an ice cold beer on a hot summer’s day, but she also didn’t function until she had her morning cup of Joe. It was a tough choice to make.

Not today though, she needed coffee. And lots of it. After ‘going rogue’ to chase the Mandarin with her brother Fury was pissed and as such was basically giving her the most boring thing he could think of- working through piles of mission reports, analysing and cross referencing them with others to pick up on common threads .To be honest, she didn’t mind it too much. After the excitement of the festive period she had welcomed a relatively quiet return to work, and didn’t particularly give a shit what Fury thought about her either. That said, it was heavy going, but as with anything she was soon engrossed, circling a part of the hard copy of the report with highlighter pen, before glancing back at the screen to cut and paste it into the Scrapbook App she used to trace trends with, letting out a groan. 

Nope, this was officially crap.

Steve’s morning wasn’t much better. After one particularly gruelling Ops Training session, whereby one of the newest kids suffered a broken nose after colliding painfully with a stray shock baton, he showered and headed up to find Katie. She’d skipped the Ops training, not particularly needing it to be fair as she was a dead shot as it was, but her main reason was she was buried in work that Fury had dropped on her desk. He found her sat, paper in her hand and she was looking her computer screen. She sighed, scratching at her head before she dropped the file onto the desk letting out a groan. It was such a pure, natural action, Steve felt he was interrupting something, even though he knew he wasn’t. So he gave a little cough and as she turned round, her pretty face cracking into a smile which he returned. 

“Fancy lunch?” he asked her.

She nodded instantly “God yes. Can we get FroYo after?”

“Yeah but don’t let me pile it with all that crap this time!” he shot her his best playfully disapproving look as he remembered the first time she had taken him to the Frozen Yoghurt stall. He had loaded his with all sorts of different things and the result had been beyond foul.

Katie gave a laugh and picked up her jacket, shrugging it on. He held the door for her and she stepped under his arm, and he followed her to the elevator.

“Stick to chocolate chip, mint and cookie dough!“ she said, stepping into it. “Trust me.”

They strode across the foyer and into the early spring sun. Katie pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they crossed the street. 

“How are you just wearing a shirt?” she asked, looking at Steve as he fell into step besides her, making sure he was on the side nearest the road. He noticed that she’d long since given up chiding him on this old fashioned habit after he had revealed it was something he used to do for his mom too, and Bucky’s younger sister. She’s simply rolled her eyes but today he swore he saw something that looked like a soft smile flicker on her lips when he positioned himself on her left, but as quick as he noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s not too bad. Been through worse.” He grinned as he opened the door to the Deli for her. He followed her in and stood besides her in the queue and became aware that she was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, turning to her exasperatedly. Katie couldn’t help but grin, she enjoyed winding the usually mild mannered man up

“I’m trying to imagine how you would look with a beard. And with shorter hair.” she said causing the Captain to roll his eyes. He was used to her utter random comments now. She was very like her brother in that respect, her mind moved at about 100 miles an hour and half the time he had no idea what made her come out with the stuff she did and to be honest, he’d long since given up attempting to understand.

“Not gonna happen.”

“What the hair cut or the beard?” she asked.

“Neither.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Captain America doesn’t have a beard.” he shook his head.

“Steve Rogers could…”

She was impossible, but Steve couldn’t help but want to laugh. This playfulness was the thing that he enjoyed the most, how she could just treat him like any other punk she knew.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re exhausting?” he rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his face as she stepped forward in the queue.

“Yeah, you.” she spun round to face him, grinning “Several times. But you still come back for more.”

“Well I have the distinct impression if I didn’t you’d hunt me down anyway”

They ordered and ate their lunch, Steve filling her in on the ops drill and after Fro-Yo they made arrangements to slob out that evening at Steve’s with a film. Katie headed back to her office to continue sifting through the Mount Everest of reports she had to do. As with anything once she got the bit between her teeth, she completely zoned out. It was only when she heard a gabble of voices all bidding each other goodbye that she looked up from her work. It was dark outside, and past 6.

“Shit…” she groaned as the realisation washed over her. She was supposed to be at Steve’s for half past. She clicked to save her work whilst calling him at the same time, phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder.

“So…I’m running late” she apologised the instant he answered. He chuckled.

“I thought that you said the one good thing about being confined to desk duties was that you set the hours!”

“Yeah, well I got caught up in something…but I’m leaving now. Do you want me to grab pizza on the way?”

“Sounds good, not Chicago Style though. I’m hankering for a proper piece of pie.”

“God you’re such a New Yorker.” she rolled her eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” he said, his voice taking on a mock hurt tone and she could imagine him pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Hmmm, I’m undecided. Right, I’m going now…see you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

“What are you my dad?”

“Old enough to be” he shot back.

“Touche.” she sniggered, cutting the call

*******

“Boring New York style for Mr S Rogers…” she spoke into the intercom and he buzzed her in. By the time she’d climbed the stairs he was waiting at the door to his flat, leaning on the door frame.

“Bout time…” he muttered, taking the boxes off her “Was about to send a search party.”

“Mario’s was packed” she said, kicking off her sneakers and heading straight through to his kitchen to grab a beer out of his fridge without waiting for him to offer, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. 

Steve headed into the living room, depositing the 3 boxes on the coffee table and reaching straight in for one of the pepperoni slices before Katie flopped down next to him, handing him a beer.

“What we ticking off the list tonight?” she asked.

“A Few Good Men.” he said, nodding at the tv where he had queued the movie up ready.

“Wait...did you manage to navigate that Android box all by yourself…” she looked at him and he sighed. 

“I’m not completely useless ya know…”

“Jury’s out.” she teased, curling her legs up onto the sofa next to her.

They watched the film. Steve got most of the references within it. He chuckled in the right places, and laughed out loud when Katie was unable to stop herself uttering the immortal line “You can’t handle the truth” When the film had finished, Katie unfolded herself from where she had been sat and they launched into Steve’s favourite part of Movie Nights- the post film analysis.

“Who was the guy who played the colonel…errr Jessup?” he looked at her.

“Jack Nicholson” she said, “Amazing actor. He’s in a few on your list.”

“He was good. Kaffee annoyed me a little, arrogant, cocksure.”

“Reminds me of Tony” Katie sniggered.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything” he said, giving a little smirk.

“You enjoy it?” she asked.

“Yeah, very good. Better than the one we watched the other night anyway.”

“Yeah, pisses me off though. I mean Galloway, she’s a strong female military woman and they still have to go with the romance angle. And with Kaffee too. Personally I’d have punched him in the face several times.“

“It does seem to be a tried and tested format” he said, leaning back against the cushions on his couch “Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy wins girl over…”

“Appeals to the hopeless romantic in all of us.” Katie shrugged “Crap like that, happy endings and all, never happens unless it’s in a film. What’s more likely to happen is boy gets you into bed and then fucks off when the chase is over. Well, most men anyway.”

Whilst her action and mannerisms remained neutral, the bitterness in her voice gave her away and Steve felt a surge of anger towards her ex. He’d never met the guy and still wanted to punch his lights out for the way he’d treated her. They continued to chat for a bit longer until Katie glanced at her watch,and seeing the time decided to call it a night. Steve walked her down to her car, he always did without fail, another thing she had given up chiding him for and when he came back upstairs and got in the shower, he found himself straying back to the first time he had seen her, the minute she had stepped into the light in the boxing gym and he’d found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

The more he stood there in the shower and thought about her, the more he started to feel something…well…different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it that he found her attractive? Well of course he did. To be honest, he reckoned you’d have to be blind not to. And if he was totall  honest, since he’d seen her the first time in that little boxing gym in New York he had noticed how pretty she was. She had the figure of the stars of his time. Hour glass waist, brunette hair, shapely ass and legs and quite large breasts considering she was so slim. But what did it for him were her eyes. Deep, warm green pools that he could lose himself in quite happily. And that smile, that fucking smile that could make him stop in his tracks when she flashed it. But it was more than just that, she was…well…just Katie.

It was strange, really, she reminded him so much of Peggy in some ways, but in others she was so different. Both were vivacious, smart, strong willed and beautiful. But where Peggy had been harsh, after a military upbringing, Katie had a softer edge to her. She was still ferocious at times, but she was a people person, and somehow knew exactly how to explain and understand what he was trying to say even when he struggled to himself.She made him feel at ease. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising they had grown so close. He could trust her and knew that she would do anything for him because she was a good person. And she made it so easy to be around, he didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness around her. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself a friend he could be as honest and open with again, one he would happily lay his life on the line for, not just out of a sense of duty but out of a sense of love and friendship.

Who you trying to kid, Rogers? 

He knew his feelings went deeper than that. All those times he'd felt irritation at other men looking at her or touching her, all those times he'd looked at her and just wanted to smile because she was just her... the fear he had felt when he had known she was off chasing the Mandarin and he wasn’t able to help...none of that was anything to do with mere friendship. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiles of the shower cubicle and groaned. He was crushing on his best friend. He was so fucked. *******

Katie’s desk arrest didn’t last long. 2 weeks later she was catapulted back into the field, on what was supposed to be a simple op, simple by SHIELD standards, anyway. They had a request from the Cuban government – all very hush, hush, of course –to take down a drug lord who ran the cartel SHIELD had tangled with last year.

Katie read the files, all the intel, pulled together a briefing and delivered it, answering questions that came her way from the team and then handed over to Steve when it was his turn to take the floor. He started issuing out his orders, and informed everyone that the 3 newest recruits would be joining them as it would be a fairly straight forward op to ease them into.

And it had been, for the most part, until one of those new recruits, Steven Adams, had frozen mid fire fight and as a consequence he’d taken 3 bullets to the chest.

“I got him…” Katie said, calmly taking aim at the hostile responsible and as soon as she knew she’d hit him, she broke cover to get to Adams, as she was closest to him. She skidded to the floor, pressing her hand to his chest and her other reached to his face, turning it to look at her.

“I got you…Adams…look at me…” she said gently, her hand warm, wet and slick with the young man’s blood. Steve dropped besides her and she turned to face him.

“I can’t stop the bleeding…” she said, her tone giving away exactly how worried she was.

“Medic, NOW!” Steve yelled, looking around frantically for help “We need emergency evac…”

“This is just like Coulson all over again…” Katie mumbled to no one in particular as she reached into her belt and retrieved a tab of morphine. Steve gripped the young man’s hand as she administered the pain relief.

“Son,look at me…” he instructed and Adams horrified eyes turned to Steve “That’s it, keep looking at me…”

Steve swallowed, figthing to keep his face calm. He’d seen that look so many times on the battle field, the look that told him the man who lay injured knew he was injured beyond repair, that there was nothing to be done for him. But this was now, 70 years into the future, medical science had worked so many wonders since then, they had to be able to do something, right?

“RUMLOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT MEDIC?” Katie screamed, her tone frantic.

“Still got hostiles on us!” Rumlow replied in his ear “Evans has taken 4 down but they’re approaching from the right! We need to cover the medics in and now you’re down there…”

Steve instantly looked round before he looked back at Katie “We can take him ourselves”

She bit her lip, looking at the young man, then up to Steve again. Everything in their training told them not to move casualties, but Steve knew if they stayed here he was going to bleed out.Katie seemed to come to the same conlcusion a she nodded.

"Alright…Brock, we’re coming to you. Have the medics prep the bay…Evans, we need top cover…”

“Roger, Nova…”

“Steven… we’re gonna move you now.” she said, looking at him, her voice calm and level. She took his hand out of Steve’s which allowed the captain to haul him into a lift over his shoulder. Once he had the man positioned he gave a small jerk of his head and Katie picked up his shield in one hand, and her pistol in the other as they broke cover, sprinting across the front of the industrial yard towards the jet. In the corner of his eye, Steve spotted 2 hostiles moving but before he could shout a warning, Katie had fired off 2 shots, the thumps and lack of returning meaning each bullet had hit its target. Soon they were joined by Rumlow who flanked them up the ramp where she dropped the shield to the floor and offered her hand back to Adams, Steve placed him gently on the stretcher.

“It’s gonna be ok…” Katie said, soothing him as the medics bustled around, glancing up every so often to watch what they were doing.

“Can you tell my mom…I love her…and dad…” Adams was mumbling now and she shook her head.

“You can tell them yourself. “she smiled “you’ll be fine, I promise…”

“We’re locked down outside, local authorities are handling it now. How’s he looking?” Rumlow asked as he stepped up besides Steve who had stood back from where Katie was knelt by the injured man. Steve turned to Rumlow, shaking his head sadly.

“Not good. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that point Katie suddenly drew back slightly, looking at the hand held in hers, before she glanced at the medic who was sadly shaking her head. Katie threw her head back closing her eyes as her face screwed up.

“Shit.” Rumlow muttered as Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger.

“Radio base” he turned to Brock, his voice soft “Let’s get him home.”

*******

Writing mission reports wasn’t Katie’s favourite thing to do, but this one was awful. So she’d treated it like ripping off a band aid, and after a horrific nights sleep, she’d been at the T riskelion early to get it done. As a result it was little after 10 am, she was done for the day and was about to head home until she heard a familiar voice.

“Eat me…eat me…” The voice was accompanied by a bag from her favourite bakery, which was hovering in the space between the door and the frame, before Clint Barton’s head poked round the side, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey!” She beamed at her friend as he dropped a cup holder containing two coffees and the bag onto her desk before taking a seat, scooting the wheeled chair over the floor towards her.

“Heard you had a rough time of it yesterday so I brought donuts and almond croissants.And coffee.”

“Hawkeye, you are a godsend.” she said, taking a large drink and leaning back, closing her eyes.

“That the first time you’ve lost a man on a mission?” Clint asked.

“Other than Coulson.” she shrugged. “He was 24 Clint. His whole life ahead of him.”

Clint watched as she rubbed at her temple before reaching into the bag and pulling out an almond croissant. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, it must have at least been before the mission.

“How’s Cap taken it?”

“On the outside he seems ok, but I know he blames himself. Keeps saying he shouldn’t have taken him.” Katie shrugged “He’s gone with Fury to see Adams’ parents. Rather him than me.”

“This job is hard.” Clint said after a moment “We fight to keep everyone safe, but y’know, sometimes not everyone makes it. Thing is, if we can’t find a way to deal with that, then maybe next time no one gets saved at all.”

“You mean like Collateral damage?” she snorted, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that everyone one of us that are out in the field know the risks Nova, hell last year 7 of us took on a horde of Aliens in New York. For hours we fought them, and did any of us give a second thought to our own safety? No,because that’s what we do.”

His words made sense. She knew they did, but that didn’t stop the feeling in her stomach that if she had done her research more, maybe she could have spotted something that would have told them about the armour piercing rounds.

*******

Adams’ parents already knew he was dead. Which made it slightly easier. Fury had the local authorities call ahead, common practice now, but still Steve found himself sat on their couch, talking, informing them all about their son’s last moments. They hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed or blamed him. Instead, they’d thanked him for what he had done and for bringing him back so they could hold a proper burial.

By the time he got back to base, he was exhausted.

“Here.” Fury said, handing him a glass of scotch from the bottle he had pulled out of his desk. Steve took it, dropping into one of the sofas at the side of the large office, Fury settling into the other. Steve knew the drink couldn’t’ get him drunk, but he liked the momentary buzz he got that lasted all of 60 seconds post sip.

The scotch was smooth, he expected nothing less from the boss. And the pair of them sat in silence for a few moments.

“Ever done that before, a death message?” Fury asked, leaning back.

“Can’t say I have. Wasn’t really my job back in the day.” Steve said, undoing his tie.

“Worst part of the job. Doesn’t matter how many times you do it, never gets any easier.” Fury ran his hand over his face, and it struck Steve how tired his boss actually looked.

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly up there with my favourite thing to do.” he said, rolling the tie up and shoving it into his old Army uniform pocket.

“How’s Nova?” Fury asked.

“She’s upset.” Steve sighed “But she’s strong, she’ll be ok. I’m gonna head over and see how she is later.”

“You two spend a lot of time together outside of work.” Fury commented, innocently enough but there was something in his tone, something that was almost good natured accusation.

“Not a problem is it, Sir?” Steve asked, face straight.

“No, not at all.” Fury said “Why do you think I partnered you up in the first place? She’s a people person…”

“She’s a good friend.” Steve nodded “We get on.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fury said “There’s going to be a debrief with the Secretary of Defense tomorrow.”

Steve sighed “If they’re looking to blame someone, the buck stops with me. I should never have taken the kid.”

“Bullshit.” Fury said simply “I’ve read the reports. From what they say, he just froze.”

“He wasn’t experienced enough.”

“It was a straight forward in and out job Captain.” Fury leaned forward. “What happened was an accident. A tragic one, but an accident none the less. From the reports, neither you nor Stark could have done any more to save his life.”

Steve shrugged, the words were kind but didn’t help him feel any better.

“Taking risks is part of this job.” Fury said simply “It’s a dangerous gig.”

3 glasses of scotch and an hour later he shook the director’s hand and left the office, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to appear like he was checking up on Katie, so he pinged her a text, dressing it up like it was him who needed to see her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He did, he was craving the normality she gave him.

Can I come over? I could do with seeing a friendly face

He read it a few times, before deciding it was casual enough before he sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.

My door is always open for you. And I made Mac and Cheese…plenty left.

He couldn’t help but smile. One of the best things about this “new life” was the food, and her Mac and Cheese was frankly his favourite thing to eat on the planet. He shot a message back.

He changed into a pair of sweat and a hoody, hastily making his way to her penthouse and the the smile she gave him when he walked into her place instantly made him feel at ease.

“Hey…” she said, crossing the space towards him and giving him a hug which he happily melted into, a hug they both needed.

“how did it go?” she asked, pulling away.

“As well as can be expected.” He sighed as he followed her into the kitchen, dropping into the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “His mom broke down but…they were ok about it. They didn’t shout or yell…”

She flipped the lid off a beer and handed it to him. He took it, with a nod of thanks and pulled a large swig as he sat back down, staring at the bottle in his hand.

He was brooding and blaming himself, Katie could tell so she gently lay her hand on his, reaching over the counter.

“it wasn’t your fault Steve.” she said, gently. She did that all the time, knew what he was thinking. It gave him the unnerving impression that sometimes she could read his mind.

“I should have spotted that shooter…” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m the fucking mission analyst.” she sighed. “I knew from last time those guys were packing, if I’d done more research, maybe I would have found out about the armour piercing rounds…”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself?” Steve’s head shot up unable to believe she actually thought that.

“Why not?” she sighed sadly. She’d been over it a million times in her head that day and had come to the same conclusion every time. She should have spotted something, dug further. “I didn’t do my job.”

“Yes, you did.” he implored, his eyes locking onto hers “Your report clearly set out the layout, the learning from previous missions…Abrams was just too inexperienced, I should never have taken him…”

There was a pause as the microwave pinged and Katie turned to look at it.

“You know, Clint made a good point before.” she said, reaching in for the plate and the smell of the food made his stomach grumble again as she continued “This job, it’s hard. We fight to keep people safe but not everyone makes it back all the time…and if we can’t learn to live with that then maybe next time no one gets saved.”

“It feels like trading lives.” He said as she placed the plate down in front of him “It’s just wrong.”

“I know…” she said, handing him some cutlery and sat down next to him.

“You eaten?” he asked, looking at her, suddenly aware she didn’t have a plate. She nodded.

“Couldn’t have waited until now, I’d have starved to death…” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly.” he replied, mouth full, instantly realising he had said the wrong thing as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that a fat joke?” she asked, making him roll his eyes as he swallowed. That hadn’t been it at all, he was referring to the fact that she never actually stopped eating, despite her tiny frame she gave him a run for his money.

“No, that’s not… I mean you’re tiny…” he said, almost choking on his food through his protests.

“So now you’re making short jokes?” She said back, Steve looked at her, dismayed she thought he was picking on her but then he spotted the look in her eyes and rolled his own.

“Punk.”

“Jerk” she shot back. 

It was the perfect way to escape the trauma and stress of the last few days. Once they had finished eating the two of them flopped down on her large L shape sofa, Steve’s legs extended along one side of the L shape, her legs on the other as she leaned against his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of her shampoo…apple, he thought, along with her perfume. Her proximity was making his head buzz but he wasn’t about to move her. The contact was comforting, clearly for her as well as about an hour or so into the film- the first in the Lord of The Rings trilogy- he felt her head growing heavy. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed and as he watched her head slipped slightly. He shifted so that he could catch her gently, and grabbed a cushion from behind him. He placed it against his leg and manouvered her head so that she was lay down, gently brushing her hair off her face. She stirred slightly, snuggling down further into the cushion as he absentmindedly rubbed between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew gentle and even.

Steve stayed like that, engrossed in the film right to the end, surprisingly. He had enjoyed it. Katie hadn’t woken up, and he looked down debating whether or not to wake her or simply carry her through to her bedroom. Pondering for a moment, he decided to do neither, reaching for the remote as he sifted through to find something else to watch. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he was too comfy and too at ease. Picking one of his favourites, Casablanca, he settled down, getting himself comfy as he immersed himself in the familiar world of Rick’s Café Americain. At one point he felt his eyes growing heavy and he lay his head back, deciding to rest them for just a little while…

Cold air was blasting his hair back…there was a hole in the side of the train…then a flash of light and Bucky flew straight through the hole. “BUCKY…” he yelled, grabbing onto the side of the train, the bar in one hand as he stretched to reach his friend with the other.

“Steve…” The voice was louder, but not loud enough. No, he had to get to Bucky…

But he was gone, Steve was grasping at nothing but air.

“Steve…” Katie was doing her best to wake him from his obvious nightmare after he had jolted her awake, thrashing in his sleep. She placed both her hands on his shoulder and shook him. Softly at first, then a bit stronger, trying to shake him out of his sleep. His face contorted into a silent scream and then he jerked awake, his eyes wide, breathing deeply. It took him a while but he suddenly realised where he was and whose eyes were looking at him he took a shaky breath and lay his head back.

Damned it, he’d fallen asleep and had a nightmare. On her sofa.

“Shit…sorry…” he said, his voice croaky “I err…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” Katie said, gently “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Whilst she was gone he leaned forward, swinging his legs off the couch so his feet touched the floor, wiping his clammy head with his hands.

“Thanks…” he said as she handed him the glass. He took a large gulp, his breathing returning to normal.

“You ok?” she asked, kindly as her hand gently knotted into his, her concern evident.

“Yeah, just a nightmare…” he said softly “I’ve not had one for a while.”

“Understandable with what’s happened.” she said softly “What was it about?”

“It was…just Bucky.” he said shaking his head, “I saw him fall…”

“You know you can talk to me about it Stevie.” she said softly “It might help.”

“They’re always the same.” he said, shaking his head, swallowing thickly “I either replay him falling or me going into the ice…”

She didn’t speak, simply waited for him to continue and for a moment she though he wasn’t going to, but then after a sigh he leaned forward and placed the glass on the table and ran his hands over his face again.

“It was a Hydra train,” he started, “We had a tip that Zola, a Hydra scientist was traveling somewhere and thought that it was our chance to capture him. One step closer to taking down Hydra. There was a blast from one of their weapons and it bounced off my shield and blew open the side of the train car and Bucky was thrown out.” he blinked, swallowing  “He grabbed onto a bar and it wasn’t stable, and he fell.”

Katie stayed silent for a moment before her hand curled round his shoulder and she pulled him to her, causing him to lay his head on her shoulder. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more” he said softly. The guilt ate him up every day, that he had survived, why had he deserved that any more than Bucy?

“How?” she said again. “How could you have done anymore?”

"I should have gone after him.” he said quietly.

“What would’ve changed if you had?” Katie asked “There’s no way he could have survived that fall.”

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.“ he said softly, "I should have gone after him, brought him home, done something.”

Katie remained quiet, her hand gently running through his hair which was nice, far too nice. He took a deep breath and sat up moving away from her touch.

"What time is it?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Nearly six in the morning” Katie replied

“You’re kidding?” Steve snorted.

“Nope. You want some coffee?” she asked, standing up.

“Yeah if that’s ok…” he replied, following her to the kitchen. From her body language he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if she wasn’t facing him.

“I don’t know if your Ma ever told you, but it’s rude to run out on a girl after you spend the night with her.”

“And as you know, I’m useless with women.” he said, as he sat down at the barstool on the breakfast bar. He watched her, but he didn’t say anything. She bustled about, throwing some bread in the toaster and went to the fridge for the butter, marmalade and jam, sliding them onto the island. At that point Steve held his hands up.

“You don’t have to-” he started to say, but she silenced him with a glare, similar to the ones Peggy used to give him, the look that could stop him in his tracks it was that stern.

“Shut up.” she said, pouring them both a cup of the coffee before adding milk and a spoon of sugar to both, passing one to him. The bread popped up from the toaster, and she put it on a plate before handing it to him and adding more bread to the machine.

His stomach rumbled and he gave in, smearing butter over his toast. He eyed the jam curiously. He’d had marmalade before but…he looked at Katie and she nodded. “It’s good…”

So he added some, and after a bite he concluded she was right, and nodded in agreement. Once the next round of toast was done she sat next to him.

“So…when did I fall asleep.” she asked, swallowing her food.

“About an hour into the film.” he said, taking another bite of his toast.

She shook her head “What an ass…”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He replied honestly with a shrug, chewing his breakfast “to be honest I enjoyed it.”

She looked at him “What, me drooling on your leg?”

He swallowed, his eyes wide “I meant the film.”

“I know…” she smirked, and he rolled his eyes before he smiled softly.

“Punk…”

Tags @the-omni-princess

[starringemiliaclarke]

Press: Emilia Clarke: ‘I didn’t want people to think of me as sick'

THE GUARDIAN – As she stars in this year’s Christmas feelgood movie, Emilia Clarke talks about the intense scrutiny of Game of Thrones, how she coped with the brain haemorrhage that almost killed her – and why we all need to escape reality sometimes

Gallery Links:

PHOTOSHOOTS & OUTTAKES > 2019 > 2019 The Guardian

MAGAZINES > 2019 > 2019 The Observer – Dec 1

  Emilia Clarke had a headache. It was 2011, just before Valentine’s Day and just after she’d wrapped on the first series of Game of Thrones, playing Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. She didn’t yet know, as she crawled into the locker room of her local gym in north London and vomited bile into the toilet, that Game of Thrones would run for seven further seasons, break Emmy-award records for most wins for a scripted television series and for a drama, be named one of the greatest TV shows of all time, and quickly come to define her. But there was much she didn’t know.

She didn’t know that at 24 she had suffered a life-threatening stroke, a subarachnoid haemorrhage (SAH) caused by bleeding into the space surrounding the brain. She didn’t know, as she lay on the floor repeating lines from Game of Thrones in order to test her memory, that a third of SAH patients die immediately, or that those who survive require urgent treatment to avoid a second, often fatal bleed. She didn’t know there was another swollen blood vessel in her brain, which had doubled in size by the time she finished filming season three. She didn’t know that one day, eight years later, over biscuits on her pink sofa, she would be smiling with the dark realisation that her stroke was one of the best things that could have happened to her.

Her pink sofa is in her pink house, which is also green and blue and muted shades of rust, and has a secret bar hidden in a courtyard shed, and an outdoor screening room heated by a wood-burning stove. To walk into her living room, where one corner is painted with a symbol relating to her mum, another to her late dad, and a third with a meaningful dragon, is to enter the cosiest corner of Clarke’s mind. By the stairs, horsehair is visible in the plaster; the walls are stripped back to the bone. She shows me round with a raw sort of glee, a sense that her comfort and safety are bound into the details: the friends’ art on the walls, the “single girl’s” bedroom. She moved in after Game of Thrones; in this and many ways, her life can be cleanly dissected into before and after.

Before, Clarke, now 33, who grew up in Oxfordshire, had appeared in a single episode of the daytime soap Doctors. She was ambitious, optimistic and relentlessly cheerful. After, after Game of Thrones, and the death of her father, which shook her family, as did her life-threatening stroke, she is sitting on her pink sofa and contemplating a decade that changed her.

“And yes, I’m at the point where I definitely think of the brain haemorrhage as a good thing,” she nods. She has extremely expressive eyebrows that appear jointed – for every word Clarke says, and she says many, they add 15 more. “Because I was never destined to be the ‘young actor goes off the rails’ type, up and down the gossip columns. And having a brain haemorrhage that coincided precisely with the beginning of my career and the beginning of a show that became something quite meaty, it gave me a perspective that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” She pauses. “I’m quite a resilient human being, so a parent dying and brain haemorrhages coinciding with success and people following you in the street and getting stalkers – you’re just, like, ‘Well let’s try and make something sensible of it.’”

It was a decade that contained the very best and very worst of a life, and one of the sensible things she tried to make of it was the founding of a charity, SameYou, to provide treatment for people recovering from brain injuries and stroke. It was only in order to promote the charity that, eight years after her stroke, she finally decided to talk about it, in a piece for the New Yorker. “On the set, I didn’t miss a beat, but I struggled,” she wrote, of returning to Game of Thrones after brain surgery. “Season two would be my worst. I didn’t know what Daenerys was doing. If I am truly being honest, every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.”

It’s remarkable, considering her profile and her regular appearances in the Daily Mail in lovely dresses and grand smiles, that she managed to keep it secret for so long. She didn’t want to tell strangers, “Because it was mine.” She feared, too, that people would “sneer at it”.

It so happened that, the week before I went to meet her, I had a similar (though less dramatic) neurological diagnosis – when I tell her about it, for some reason my voice shakes. She is warm and quick with recommendations, and as she continues she says, “Well, you know, then. You know the worries. That people will think your soul, your movement, your voice, who you were,” was damaged. “It was nerve-racking to share it, to be honest. It always is, when you make yourself vulnerable.” She waited so long to talk about it, because, “I didn’t want people to think of me as… sick.”

There are still days on set when she will quietly pull aside the makeup person and say, “‘I think I’m having a brain haemorrhage. I’m not, I promise, but maybe just put me in a cold tent and we’ll sit down for a second, and I apologise in advance if I freak you out.’ Over the summer I was burning the candle at both ends, and I was with my mate on the plane. And I was like, ‘Dude, I feel really weird…’ But I was fine. It’s hard not to think the worst. It’s hard to think you’re overtired, or you’ve been on Instagram too long, and to realise these might have the same side-effects as something deadly. But the charity evolves with me. I use it. Here’s something else that I feel: maybe someone else feels the same way.”

She talks about the summer just gone with a regretful kind of wonder – it was th e summer after the Game of Thrones finale had divided fans, when she was coming to terms with how the “overwhelming” amount of nudity in the first season had affected her. And, after years of “filling every hiatus with a movie, shit, good or otherwise” (she starred opposite Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator Genisys, and as Qi’ra in Solo: a Star Wars Story) she had decided to take a break. Or, the decision was made for her.

“After we did the premiere for the last season, it felt suddenly like I lost all of the bones in my body. And I was in this puddle on the floor going, ‘Maybe this isn’t just the show.’ I’d never wanted to look around and see what we had, because I was convinced it was just going to blow up in our faces. And, well, at the end it kind of did. So I kept my head down. Then, after the premiere, I finally was able to stop, and that was difficult.” She travelled and went “raving with my mates, but that was not fulfilling. So, bloated and exhausted I went away for two weeks with my best girlfriend, [The Good Fight star] Rose Leslie, and it was in this retreat in India that I suddenly got it. This is what stopping feels like. And I was able to finally… be kind to myself.”

All this is recent. All this is really recent, with a new understanding of grief. Her beloved father, a theatre sound engineer, died of cancer in 2016. “The world felt like a scarier place once my dad wasn’t in it,” she said at the time. “There was the referendum, too,” she shudders. “It was the year of everything bad.”

But it was after her lost summer that, “I finally got this feeling. As if, on a cellular level, I’d grown up. And it’s so bittersweet, because I was clinging on to that childlike optimism. Then, when I finally let it go, I realised that was actually quite a heavy backpack to be wearing. I felt like that at the Emmys, too, finally popping my head up from the bunker. It’s as if you can see the actual landscape that you’ve been living in this entire time from another perspective.”

Occasionally she looks at me apologetically, her eyebrows like arrows, to check she’s not saying too much, and then she continues. “It can be perceived as such a feminine trait, can’t it – the responsibility to ‘put a smile on it’. And, and you feel like it’s a defeat if you give in and admit, ‘Maybe it’s not going to be OK in the end.’ But then, if you do, then you have an opportunity to go… ‘and what if that’s all right?’ Death is shit,” she says, dramatically. “It’s really hard and grief is horrific, and yet it is completely and utterly guaranteed. No matter how much Silicon Valley boys want to prove to everyone it’s not. But the finality of death, the absolute certainty of it, I’ve realised, is such a tonic.”

Along with a good stroke, I add the loss of a parent to her list of recommendations. “No! I’m not recommending it to anyone, obviously. But it is something real you can actually hold on to. We don’t look at grief properly. I’m not talking about the random moments of completely overwhelming emotion, I’m pretty in control of that… there was only one time on set where I just physically couldn’t stop crying. It’s the other stuff that we don’t discuss – the functional grief; when your worldview and your perspective on life and yourself changes irrevocably, forever.”

How is she dealing with that? “By realising that there is a framework that life lives within, and knowing when you reach the edges of it. There’s that. And I try to use the shit feelings as opposed to just ‘breathing through it’. It’s like putting my plastic in the recycling bin – it might not do anything, but I should at least try. And then being an actor and having a production company, knowing that the greater understanding I have about life, the greater storyteller I can be. As an actor, you’re always observing – no matter what trauma you’re going through, there’s a wee bit of your brain that’s like, ‘Isn’t this fascinating?’”

Every time I interview a famous person I leave feeling slightly high and slightly sad, because to enter their fabulous world also, inevitably, means you see the shadow of their cage. The imposed disconnect, for instance. And the constant smiling and the many locks. Clarke was catapulted to extreme fame during a period when she nearly lost her mind. She started to find gifts outside her door, from one of many stalkers. One, she says, is extremely unwell, another extremely mean. “The stalker stuff is just horrible because, as a single lady walking around town, I already feel like I’m being followed.”

These stalkers believe they’re having a relationship with her, “which is confusing, because having a relationship with people I don’t know is a big part of what I signed up for. I care about what art does to people. But it carries with it a responsibility, and when you leave your front door you take that with you. And it’s a difficult path to navigate. Because sometimes,” and she’s talking about fans now, the line between the two often being blurred, “you get grabbed physically and your instincts kick in. When you see shock being registered on someone else’s face, you’re like, ‘Where’s the danger?’ And then you realise, oh, it’s me – I’m the danger.”

Her fanbase is due to change shortly, as she maps out her career without dragons. Clarke’s new film is Last Christmas and is based on the Wham! song. While it is a box-office hit, reviews have been… mixed. “The kind of bad,” said Rolling Stone, “that falls somewhere between finding a lump of coal in your stocking and discovering one painfully lodged in your rectum.” It threatens to become a cult classic. Reader, I loved it.

Clarke plays a woman whose messy life, it becomes clear, is partly a result of recent illness. “I was able,” she says darkly, “to bring a lot to the role.” There is a romantic twist, a twist so gooey it may cause diabetes in vulnerable audiences, but there is a second twist, in that this film (co-written by Emma Thompson) could prove to be the most effective piece of anti-Brexit propaganda of the festive season. Clarke (with Thompson as her mother) plays the youngest of a family of first-generation immigrants, dealing with the fallout of the referendum.

“We filmed a scene of a hate crime,” Clarke says, a scene on a London bus where a couple are told to go back to where they came from. “And Emma said, ‘Come on, let’s be honest: haven’t we all witnessed something similar?’” She loved working on this film, in part because of the women in charge, “who recognised that we all had a life outside this movie. You don’t have to have a vagina to do that, but the difference lay in that slight… lack of patriarchy?” And in part because of the intersection between entertainment and what she describes as “meaning”. Something she continues to search for, albeit with regular disclaimers of privilege, and embarrassment.

“The world is scary at the moment, both politically and environmentally. You have politicians pushing people to the absolute limits of their left versus right parameters, and the middle ground that we were all living in before is now wasteland, because both sides are life or death. It feels so much more polarised and extreme than ever. You’ve got 33-year-olds like me asking, ‘Should I bring kids into this world? If I do, what will that kid feel like?’ It feels frightening, consistently. And I’m not alone. I’m leaning hard on Bake Off right now.”

But the fear has made her reassess her work, post-Game of Thrones. “Entertainment is about taking you outside of yourself for a second, which is largely what I think the success of Game of Thrones was. People wanted to see something familiar, but also have that level of separation, through dragons and magic. Escapism is what lots of people go to art for. So, if we can cherry-pick stories to tell people in a shitty time, I’d like to give them something really good. It could make them feel better, or less alone, or make them realise there’s something outside of their front door that they should care about.”

She takes a sharp breath. “You know, I spent a lot of time being like, ‘What I do is all bullshit. I’m completely selfish, a total narcissist.’ And then…” And then the world hit her at a great speed, and she emerged into this new adulthood, and 10 years crawled over her like glittering rats. “And then I realised what it was for. I help provide relief. And that’s worth something, especially now. Right?”

It takes a second before I realise she is waiting for an answer. “Right,” I say, reassuringly. “Right.”

Last Christmas is in cinemas nationwide now

Press: Emilia Clarke: ‘I didn’t want people to think of me as sick’ was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke | Est 2012

[danetobelieve]

A Name Of Thrones || Blanche, Nell, Regan and Winston

Winston, if that was really their name, was hardly sure about this plan that they had managed to cook up with Nell and Blanche. It hadn’t exactly taken them long to decide that they would have to pretend it was someone’s birthday and invite Regan. That was the only way they could realistically pull this off. They had suggested that Nell go along with it and pretend it was their birthday, after all Regan knew what their birthday was and they had seen their ID so they would know it was wrong. But when they had suggested that they pretend it was someone called Faye’s birthday, they hadn’t exactly been convinced. But both Nell and Blanche had been fairly insistent that there was no better plan. They were hardly convinced by this plan but as they sat awkwardly at the bar in the Siren’s Serenade waiting for their drink, they were just grateful that they had not been IDed. Maybe for the first time ever. “You guys nearly here?” they sent in the groupchat they’d made with Blanche and Nell.

There was no other way to do this. Regan knew Blanche’s birthday and knew she was underage, and Nell…. This was the best possible plan they could come up with. Get Regan hammered and then coax her into saying that Winston could have their name back. Faye’s birthday was an obvious choice - er, sort of. If they could get Regan drunk enough, then maybe it wouldn’t matter that Faye was truly Granny, a very, very annoyed tag along to their makeshift party. She texted Winston back as she got out of her car. Here. Give me a second. Granny was ranting to her about how irresponsible it was, but Blanche ignored her and walked straight in, flashing her fake I.D and spotting Winston at the bar. “Okay, hey,” Blanche said, sitting down next to them. “So, remember what we told you. Faye is turning 80 and really, really, really likes moose. She’s in the bathroom right now - the single-person one, not the stalls. You ready to get your name back?”

If there was one thing Nell wanted to leave in the past when it came through the recent weeks— it was the whole Faye debacle. Not the body being thrown out of Devil’s Gullet. Not the fact that she was drugged at a karaoke place. But that there were people on this Earth that thought she’d had the hots for some 79-year-old woman. Anything else she could live down. And yet here she was, striding into the bar a little late to celebrate Faye’s 80th birthday. Apparently they’d parted on good terms. Whatever. She hadn’t seen Winston’s text yet, too engrossed in getting there to check her phone. So in a moment she was sliding in next to Blanche and Winston, ready to get this show on the road. “Did I miss anything important? Regan’s not here yet, right?” She was still reeling a bit from the whole- Winston now knows about a kernel of the supernatural. After all she’d been hiding it from them for years, but that was a conversation for after they got their name back.

Well, this was immensely confusing. Regan supposed she liked Faye enough from their limited online interactions, but they weren’t exactly friends. And if it wasn’t for Blanche’s insistence that she came out tonight to celebrate, she wouldn’t be here. As she walked through the doors of Siren’s Serenade, she couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water; drinking with young people to celebrate the birthday of an 80 year old? What the heck was she thinking? But before she could change her mind and walk out, she caught sight of Blanche, Penelope, and Maybe-Winston at a table, with one empty seat. Maybe they really didn’t want her here. But their eyes were encouraging, and it was too late to back out now. “Uh, hey,” Regan sidled up to the table, plopping a gift bag in the center of it. She wasn’t sure what to get Faye, so she opted for a nice bottle of champagne. That seemed like a safe bet. “Where is Faye?” She looked around. Hesitated to actually sit in the empty seat, since that was clearly where Faye was supposed to be. “Is she not here yet?” She knew that most of the older people in her life usually ran a good 20-30 minutes late to just about everything; she couldn’t relate. Still standing by the table, she said, “It’s, uh, nice to see all of you. Outside of needing to draw your blood, I mean.”

“No, you didn’t miss - oh fuck,” Blanche kicked Nell’s chair lightly, nodding in the direction of Regan. “Ohmygod that’s a fucking giftbag…” Was she starting to feel guilty? A little. Was it wrong to get someone drunk? Probably. Blanche nervously smiled at Regan, before gesturing for her to sit down. “Oh, she’s in the ladies room. You know how she is,” Blanche said, forgetting that she was a horrible, horrible liar. “Spends 10 years putting her makeup on after getting to the restaurant,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “Join us - we’re just about to, uh, order our first round,” Blanche said. She looked to Nell. Take over please god. She hoped her silent mind signal would at least get through while she turned and went to grab a round of shots - Why did her dumb ass have to speak first? If she was going to get through this she was going to need some alcohol too. 

Of course Regan would be thoughtful enough to bring a gift for Faye. The sight of the bag just made the little pit of guilt grow larger in Nell’s stomach. This would all be so much easier if Regan just knew she was fae. Maybe they could all be a little more honest then .But for now...this is what they had to resort to. But Nell almost groaned as Blanche began her lying, knowing that her friend wasn’t the best when it came to spinning tales. “Definitely, she’s always been finicky about her appearance. I think her turning 80 doesn’t help her sensitivity about it.” This was an easy situation for Nell to tell her lies, her shoulders relaxed as she carried on for Blanche. “It’s nice to see you too though, Regan. We should not draw blood more often,” she finished with a bit of a grin. “So what did we all want to drink?”

“She didn’t put on makeup before going out?” Regan asked, raising a brow. That was a bit odd; Regan didn’t wear a lot of makeup herself, but she was pretty sure the fluorescent lighting in a bar bathroom was far from the ideal place to apply it. “I guess I was just excited to meet her,” she laughed, “you know, in person. She seems to have made a big impression on you guys.”. And as Blanche returned to the table with a tray of shots, Regan felt her stomach tighten and steel itself. For a couple of reasons, actually. “Blanche, you’re 20. Ergo, not of legal drinking age.” She sent a glare a Blanche, before it traveled around to Penelope and Maybe-Winston, too; were they just going to allow this illegal activity? “I can’t let you drink that alcohol. I’m sorry; I know you were probably looking to celebrate Faye’s birthday by -- well, drinking.” Still standing next to the table, Regan couldn’t help but still feel incredibly out of place. It was a mistake coming out here, she knew that now. This group was too lively for her. “I -- I probably won’t have anything to drink,” she replied to Penelope. “You know, it would be unprofessional. You’re all much younger than me. Aside from Faye, of course.” She eyed the back of the bar where she assumed the bathroom was.

Raising an eyebrow at the situation that Winston found themselves. “Faye will be out soon…” they didn’t usually lie, they didn’t like to lie. But they needed this fairy to give them their name back. They couldn’t help but wonder if Regan’s wings would pop out at any moment. How was she hiding it? “She is a good advise person you know, gives you lots of sage and thoughtful perspectives. “Regan is kind of right …” Winston sometimes forgot how much younger then them Blanche was, “but i am sure that Blanche was just getting everyone else drinks and her own soft drink is being made as we speak.” They reached out and snapped a shot back, wincing as the alcohol trickled down their throat and burned it quietly as they did. Wiping a tiny trickle of tequila from their chin, they quickly texted the groupchat under the table. “Get a spirit and a mixer like coke and vodka and act like it is a soft drink.” They slipped their phone back in their pocket and reached out for another shot. “To Faye, hopefully she will have the best time on her happy day.”

Blanche should have known that Regan was going to nail her for the underage drinking. Granny was cackling behind her while Blanche shot Regan a look of disbelief as she carefully put the tray down, nudging it towards Nell and Winston. “Relax, Regan, it’s alright,” Blanche said, feeling her phone in her back pocket buzz. She took it out, glanced at it, and almost snorted. Winston had a good idea, but if Regan had 3 older brothers like she said, she was pretty sure she could sniff out that bullshit from a mile away. Besides, it wasn’t like she was here to drink anyway. Winston was different, though, they’d been through enough with the name jacking. They got to drink as much tequila as they wanted. Still, Blanche plucked a shot glass up off the tray, mostly as a joke. “One won’t hurt, right?” Blanche asked Regan, a grin on her face. “C’mon, sit down, join the party.” What was Regan going to do? Take it from her and drink it herself so she couldn’t?

Faye still wasn't out of the restroom, and Regan didn't feel quite right joining in on giving her a toast when she wasn't present. This whole situation was pretty weird, wasn't it? She couldn't even remember the last time she did a tequila shot. College? She was pretty sure she had just turned 21. Before she could decline a shot, Blanche picked one up and looked her straight in the eyes. One wouldn't hurt? Regan couldn't believe her ears. This was illegal. "You put that down right now!" She hissed, not wanting to raise her voice and make a scene. "I don't think Faye would approve!" But Blanche lifted it closer to her lips and -- "No!" Regan practically dove across the table and grabbed it out of Blanche's hands. She only half-realized she'd knocked it back herself. The tequila burned her throat, and she coughed. Squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the blood rush to her head. Damn it. "You--" she pointed at Blanche, slightly woozy as the alcohol did its work, "-- none of that for you."

Amazingly. Despite all of the odds. Somehow this plan was working. Regan had already sunk one drink and Winston experience that it wouldn’t be long before she sunk more if they could get her going. It was just a matter of making sure that she started drinking and didn’t stop. “Woah …” they said with a smirk as they surreptitiously slid another shot towards Blanche whilst Regan wasn’t looking, “you really downed that like a champ. Do you like tequila Regan?” they could feel the sticky liquid on their chin, the trickle that had rolled off of it had left a trail like a slug. “Faye once told me that she started drinking at the tender age of sixteen, I don’t think she’d mind all THAT much if Blanche just had one, right guys?” they weren’t really sure who Blanche’s friend Faye was. Until this moment they hadn’t had any reason to interact with her apart from bullying their friend Nell about her apparent love affair with the old aged pensioner. 

Perhaps this would be easier than Nell thought, with how passionate Regan was about Blanche not drinking. “Oh definitely, Faye was a riot in her time. All sorts of debauchery that she would get up to. I think I actually heard her talking about how kids are too sensitive these days when it comes to drinking laws and stuff. Of course....I think she thinks most people under 25 are kids.” But she shook her head at Regan, figuring if she had an actual drink of her own, that wouldn’t hurt either. “It’s not unprofessional. I mean- it’s not like we’re coworkers or anything. We’re just here to celebrate our mutual acquaintance. “Faye probably would actually say that having only one was for weaklings,” she finished as she slid another one in the direction of Blanche in conjunction with the one Winston was trying to ‘give’ to Blanche. “And it’s Faye’s birthday right? We should celebrate how she wants to.”

Blanche stared at Regan, slightly slack-jawed. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that. Luckily, Winston and Nell had the same idea that just popped into her head, nodding along whatever Faye would want. “Well we can’t have Faye think I’m a total weakling,” Blanche insisted. Granny snorted from behind her. I already think you’re a weakling, she had said, I see you when you have to deal with cockroaches. Ignoring the not-very-helpful tip from great-grandma, Blanche greedily took not one, but two shots off the platter, before looking at Regan with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Wanna see if I can do two at once?”

Regan couldn’t believe she’d just taken a shot. What was she thinking!? And the worst part was that Winston slid another shot closer to Blanche and -- oh, Golgi, she saw where this was headed. “No, I don’t really like tequila,” she turned to Maybe-Winston, not totally realizing she was glaring daggers. This wasn’t supposed to play out like this. She was just going to drop by, deliver her present to Faye, and call it a night. Not stand here in the middle of a bar downing shots because Blanche was trying to engage in an illegal-- “Hey!!” She nearly screamed when she saw Blanche had a shot in each hand. She couldn’t let that happen. With the same speed as before, she grabbed both shots from Blanche, squeezed her eyes shut, and… eeeeeghblg. That burned like heck. Regan sputtered again, nearly spraying alcohol across the table. “I’m -- I’m going to find Faye.” Regan struggled a bit to get the sentence out, but her determination was crystal clear. “If she’s still alive in there, she won’t let this happen.”

Winston hadn’t been expecting Regan to jerkily head off in search of ‘Faye’ not that they were entirely sure exactly who that was. Grabbing the last shot off of the tray, they sunk it and wince as the tequila burned their throat. Biting down on a lime, they did their best to ignore the acrid taste as they felt as if their head was wrapped in cotton. “I don’t really think … Faye uh…” they paused for a moment to try and get their head straight, obviously quite a bit more drunk then they had anticipated. “I don’t think she would care,” after all she needed to be real for Faye to care and they weren’t entirely convinced that Faye was actually a person. “Regan, do you want me to get you another drink?” they asked as they realised that they were leaning on the bar, “Excuse me?” they asked the bartender, “My friend Doctor Kavanagh would like some Jaeger bombs please.” They turned to Regan and pointed at the bar. “You definitely need another drink and Faye wouldn’t want you to disturb her without a Jeager bomb, I once heard her say that she would use someone’s guts for garters if they disturbed her alone time in the rest room without a strong alcoholic beverage.” 

So Winston was...drunker than expected. Truthfully, Nell could have kept a better eye out. By now she was rather familiar with their tolerance. But honestly good for them- they deserved it after having their name stolen. Penelope, meanwhile, was staying rather sober for the moment, intent on getting her childhood friend their name back. “That’s true, I’ve heard Faye say that on more than one occasion. Almost even witnessed it when someone tried it. You definitely need at least one drink before going in there. Otherwise I can’t guarantee you’ll come back.” She reached out to place a hand on Regan’s elbow, as if trying to gently keep her from going. “I wouldn’t want that to happen to you. You can find her in just a bit, don’t worry.”

Blanche couldn’t believe how well their plan was working. Hell, even Winston was having a good time. That had to count for something. She hurriedly got up to go to Regan’s other elbow - apparently her and Nell were the responsible parties tonight. Did Regan drive here? Blanche wondered, vaguely, if she should search her person for keys. “C’mon Regan,” Blanche said. “Seriously, Faye is a monster when you disturb her in the restroom, come do a jaeger bomb with me and -” er. Not Winston. She couldn’t say Winston. Blanche wanted to shake Regan’s shoulders and just say out with the name already! Actually, if Blanche had done that when Regan was sober, she wondered how willingly Regan would have said it to get her off. “Watson. I love Jaeger bombs.” 

The room was spinning slightly, and Regan hated it. She was a casual drinker at most, and even that was rare. Binge drinking behavior… it had been years since she’d done something like this, and she wasn’t going to let it get any further. Not around these three youths she probably should be keeping an eye on, making sure they stayed out of trouble. Or maybe Faye should have been here doing that. “No, no -- no drink. No more.” Regan shook her head, now realizing her tongue felt too thick, too slow. “Guts for garters would be… highly inefficient. Bad. Messy. Not strong enough to support anythin. Anything.” She shook her head again, as if trying to clear the doubles she saw of everyone around the table. But two arms looped around hers, turning her away from the hall where she figured the bathroom was -- and the real prize: Faye. “I -- no, we need to find her.” Suddenly determination gave way to panic. Her eyes shot open and she looked desperately at Blanche, then Penelope, then Maybe-Winston. “She’s 80! She could be -- aren’t you worried? She could be dead.”

Winston was certain that Faye wasn’t dead. But they couldn’t exactly prove that to Faye was fine now that Regan had said that she could be dead. This was a conundrum that they were a bit too tipsy to deal with. So they had another drink in an attempt to clear their head a bit and really think through the problem. “Isn't that a little bit of a jump?” They asked with a shrug. “Faye is in good health and sure she’s been in the bathroom a while but I’m sure she’s fine, we can check on her and get shouted at. Or! We could just text her because she is actually very tech savvy, they quickly renamed Nell’s contact to Faye, threw an old woman emoji in there because it needed to be convincing and sent a text to Nell AKA Faye. “Hey Faye, you ok in there?” 

Nell took a quick glance down to her phone, and felt a small grin slip over her lips at Winston’s ingenious solution. Even a little tipsy, they were still coming up with their great plans. In a moment, she’d shot off a quick text back. All’s well! Just finishing up with re-powdering my nose. Keep having fun. Waiting a moment, she turned to Regan, deciding it was time to get this ball rolling based off of Regan’s new speech patterns. “Regan- remember how you told me about when you and-” Winston. “-my friend were at the mime place? There was that weird cat eating dog, possibly frat boy, right?”

Ruh-roh, Regan was spiraling fast. Why did she go straight to dead! That wasn’t cool. Just because Faye was technically dead didn’t mean a perfectly healthy 80 year old woman was going to croak in the bathroom. Probably. If there was a dead woman in the bathroom, who would they call? The medical examiner was drunk. “Don’t worry Regan,” Blanche encouraged, patting her on the arm in what was hopefully a soothing manner. “Nell’s right! Let’s talk about the mimes. You don’t mind the mimes, right?”

A surge of relief spread through Regan as she peered over Maybe-Winston’s phone and saw Faye’s texted response back. These things could be faked, sure, but she didn’t think her fr-- these people -- would stoop to doing that. Faye did seem pretty tech-savvy for an 80 year old, though, it was true. “I… okay. But I still think we should check on her. Besides, it’s -- isn’t this her celebration? She’s missing… this.” Whatever the heck this was. Regan decided she wasn’t fond of it. And then Penelope veered into a new conversational topic, and Regan was mostly just relieved it wasn’t about alcohol. That seemed to be just about all these guys had on their minds. “Maybe-Winston?�� Regan asked, cocking her head. She glanced over in their direction. “Yes, I remember, why?” And Blanche wanted to discuss it, too. “Are you curious about the dog… thing? I’m leaning toward frat boy now. Or performance art! This seems like an -- an artsy town. Artsy town full of mimes. Which are, well, they’re fine I guess.” She looked at Blanche. “What were you asking again?”

Raising an eyebrow at the new topic of conversation Winston elected to ignore the first part of what Regan had said and focus more heavily on what was more important. Getting their name back. Not to mention they weren’t exactly sure how long this Faye lie had left on it, the sooner that they got out and were able to pretend like this was never really a thing the better. “Why do you say Maybe-Winston?” they asked curiously, “Also, I know we’ve been over this, but that wasn’t a; dog, cat, college frat boy with some weird mouth harness on their stomach and I very much doubt that was performance art. If it was performance art then it was very cruel. That poor cat…” they sighed sadly at the memory of the bones crunching between it’s jaws. 

Nell honestly could care less about the creepy dog and cat thing at the moment. More having brought up the situation just as an attempt to make her mentioning it catch more attention. The good thing though was...since Regan didn’t know she was fae, they didn’t exactly have to be completely subtle. “Wait- did you call them Maybe-Winston because you’re unsure of their name? That’s entirely fair, to be honest. Sometimes names can be tricky. Or are you holding their name hostage?” she ‘joked’ figuring on the nose wasn’t the worst approach. Not when Regan was generally so literal, and they needn't worry about her catching onto what they were really trying to accomplish. 

“Yeah Regan,” Blanche said. She agreed with Nell. On the nose, especially since Regan was so literal and absolutely blasted, was probably the best approach here.If they could get her to say a few simple words, Winston could have their name back and then they could all go home… Or, well, Regan and Winston would be driven home. Because she wasn’t letting either of them drive. “You don’t want to be a name thief. Give Maybe-Winston back their name. Don’t be mean.”

Was Maybe-Winston offended that Regan kept calling them Maybe-Winston? It sort of sounded that way. But she wasn’t exactly sure of their name, given all of the confusion surrounding it. And what was all this about holding a name hostage? Either this conversation had taken a very strange turn, or the alcohol was starting to sour in her brain and belly. “No, no --” Regan held a palm out, which quickly became a gesture to help her keep her balance. Okay, so the tequila was pretty strong. Those shots had to be, what, at least 30% ABV? And she had 3 of them on a practically empty stomach, in the span of about 2 minutes. Before she could start calculating out in her head what that meant for reaching sobriety, she realized she had something she wanted to say. “--Someone is stealing their identity. Wiped everything from the police database.” Regan pinched her nose as she tried to think clearly. “Has to be a hacker. Computer person. Maybe -- maybe they want them as a hostage, too.” That was what Penelope was saying, right? 

Blanche audibly groaned when their digging didn’t seem to do anything, and Regan just started spouting off whatever ‘logical’ explanation there was for Winston to forget their whole damn name. “Nobody wants to hold them hostage, Regan,” Blanche said flatly. “That’s the last thing that anyone wants to do right now. But it would make it a lot easier if - “ If what. Blanche bit her lip, considering for a moment…. “Alright, fuck it,” Blanche muttered, shaking her head. “Alright Regan, look at me - no, at me,” Blanche insisted, grabbing her arm. She was going to try a direct approach. What could be more on the nose than that? “Repeat after me: I, Doctor Regan Kavanagh, give Winston back their name. Can you do that for me Regan? I, Doctor Regan Kavanagh, give Winston back their name.” 

Holding onto the edge of the table for balance, Regan’s head turned toward Blanche as a hard edge formed in her voice. She seemed serious, all of the sudden -- punctuated by an F bomb. “Is everything alr--” Tight hand around her arm. Regan’s eyes buzzed around the bar until Blanche practically forced them to meet hers. She knew Blanche had a bit of a crush on her. Was this an attempt to-- “Blanche, I’m not interested in you like -- remember when I said I’m much older? Rem--” But apparently that wasn’t what Blanche wanted. And even hearing what Blanche did want Regan to say didn’t leave her any less confused. Regan shook her head for a moment, hoping the motion would clear out some of the static between her synapses and make sense of things, but it didn’t help much. She repeated. “I-- sure. Okay. Why? Err -- I, Regan Kavanagh, give Winston their name back.” She blinked blankly. “I’m not sure which part of the investigation process this is s’posed to be.”

Honestly. Winston had never quite felt something like this. A plethora of memories to do with their name came flooding back in and for a moment they felt their jaw fall slack. The first time they had met Nell, introducing themself to Regan and even when Blanche had called them Winston the first time they had met on the Moose Tour. They looked at Blanche in disbelief. She had really just said fuck it and fixed a problem that had been plaguing them for too long. Still not entirely convinced that they hadn’t received an electric shock to their system, Winston forgot about Faye, forgot about everything and hugged Regan. “Thank you, that was driving me crazy, and just to reiterate that was definitely not a dog / cat / frat boy et cetera.” Turning to Blanche, they hugged her tightly too and then enveloped Nell in a hug. Their long arms wrapping tightly around them. “You guys are the best,” they said as a grin slipped across their face and they stepped back, grabbing their drink and grinning some more. “I cannot tell you how much that was bugging me, I had literally considered renaming myself in an attempt to get rid of the niggling feeling in the back of my head that something was missing. But now I know. Winston Winston Winston Winston. God I have the coolest name.” 

She didn’t know about anyone else, but Blanche was ready to shut Regan up by any means necessary if she didn’t can it about the one time Blanche had said she was hot (and smart and intimidating). It seemed, however, that it wasn’t necessary, because she got the needed reaction from Regan. Blanche relaxed a little, for the first time in a while, and let go of Regan’s arm as Winston clearly remembered their name. She watched, amused as Winston hugged Regan and once again assured everyone that the monster they saw was not a frat boy or a dog, and was going to laugh until she got a hug too. She laughed, patting Winston on the back, “You do have the best name, Winston. It’s perfect, I wouldn’t change it even if I could,” Blanche assured them. “Er - not to be a party pooper, but who drove here? I’m confiscating keys. Fork’em over, everyone.” Except Nell, she was positive that both Winston and Regan were blasted. Someone had to be the responsible party, especially now that their mission was complete. Blanche, like when Winston and her successfully got the pictures of chest and the lobster head, was feeling very pleased with herself. 

A wide smile crossed Nell as Regan finally gave Winston back their name, and she was enveloped in a hug. Thank god that had been resolved. Of course, there was still the matter of Regan stealing names in the first place, but she supposed that if it ever happened again...they could maybe just get her drunk again. Or maybe she’d have to someday try and drive it into Regan’s head what she actually was. After all, this could potentially have been much worse. And there was no telling what promises Regan was going around town and holding people to. But that thought was able to be pushed aside for the moment as she rejoiced in their success. “Your name definitely gets better the more you say it,” she grinned, amused by their apparent need to repeatedly say their name. “And I’m glad I have my Winston back.” As for keys, she figured she was exempt. Still, she turned to Blanche saying, “We could take them home in your car?” Hopefully Regan wouldn’t raise too much of a stink about not even seeing Faye. “I think Faye actually already headed out. Someone put her in a bad mood in the bathroom.”

The hug was… certainly unexpected. Regan flinched into it, the weight of the fact they were practically coworkers on her mind. This was unprofessional. Unprofessional and weird. And -- "Wait. Why are you thanking me?" She blinked. There were two Maybe-Winstons for a second. "I didn't do anything and --" Their name. They said their name. Had they recovered from whatever bizarre head trauma they'd sustained? Regan half-wanted to do a thorough examination. She'd never seen something come flooding back like this. "Winston? You remember now?!" Of course Blanche demanded her keys, which was beyond embarrassing, but Regan knew better than nearly anyone the perils of drunk driving. Not that she was drunk. Just, uh, tipsy. "I'll keep my keys, thanks. You should still, uh, give me a ride though. Probabably. Probably." She frowned. "B-but Faye didn't even -- I didn't even get to give her the present…" she whined, but a new task cemented itself in her brain that served as a distraction. As she carefully navigated to the bar's exit, she stopped in front of the bartender. "Hi!" She gripped the edge of the bar so as not to fall. He flicked his eyes toward her as he cleaned a glass. "Can I have your name, mister? I have something to -- something to say." "Sure. Dave. What can I do ya for?" Regan pointed an accusatory finger at Blanche. "She's underage. Don't serve her alcohol." And with that, Regan was ready to call it a night.

[fuzzydemolitionsquad]

The tractor part two

Zeb cruised down the main street of Snag Toe, a not-so-bustling metropolis that was only a skip and a hop away from the Trodd family farm. Puggles lay back in his reclined seat, picking his nose and flicking his findings into the wind.

“I told you to STOP DOING THAT!” Zeb popped his cousin across the chops with the back of his hand. “If one of those gets on me I’m gonna choke you out!”

Puggles cackled. He sat up in his seat and watched a jumble-shrub blow across the road. There were no vehicles hovering by the curbs or krauntaun mounts tugging at their hitching posts. Everything was quiet. A lone drifter clad in beaten leather fueled his speeder bike at a dark fuel station. He turned onto the street without looking in the opposite direction and headed for Transitway Nineteen East. A solitary bantha in a paddock across the road lowed plaintively  as she watched him go, her long tongue stretched out in his direction of travel. All the shops–including Gurvis’s Tractor and Farm Supply– were closed. The windows of the shops  were concealed by plate-metal shades, like the eyelids  of sleeping lasats.

“Welp, looks like evrry’thang is closed.”

“It’s only an hour and a half to mid-sun!” Zeb said.

Puggles scratched his hairy chin. “Wunner if this has sumthin to do wit the elly-mentry school carnival? Old Gurvis volunteers fer the milk bottle toss erry year, an Mizz Clapp, y’ know, the sundry shop owner, sells tickets. Yup, pract’ly the whole damn town gets involved.”

Zeb palmed his face. “ WHY didn’t you mention this BEFORE?”

“I unno. Jus’ slipped m’ mind.  Oh well. Guess we has to go back home.”

“No. No, I promised pa I’d help him fix the tractor today.”

Puggles sighed. He lit a cigarette and took a drag. “Well if you insist. We kin turn left at thee stop and head on over to Needlesap. They got a tractor parts store there too.”

Zeb thought for a moment.

“Nuh-uh.  Needlesap  has all those crazies  who were released from the mental hospital. Oh. Heh. Sorry Puggles, no offense. Besides, it’s where all the Lunxx boys hang out. I don’t feel like saving your scrawny tail today.”

“Save mah tail? Shheeeoot. . . I kin hold my own with them blinked-milk-suckin’ moon-calfs.”

Zeb laughed. “Whatever you say, Puggles.” The big purple lasat stretched his arms over the steering yoke and rest his head on them. His ear twitched.

“What iz yew doin’? Gettin’ sum shut-eye’?”

“No. I’m thinking, and. . . I think I have an idea. How long has it been since you’ve visited the capital?”

“Amethyst City?”

“No. The other capital.” Duh.”  “Of course Amethyst City!”

Puggles’ brown face twisted. “I’d rather suck on the business end of a lightsaber! Or scrawl m’ name acrost a Mandy-lorry-an’s helm! Hells, I’d rather go skinny-dippin’ wid a love-sick dianoga than go to thee blasted capital!”

“So you really don’t wanna go?”

“No!” Why would I? Place is fulla ijits. Dandy lads an’ snooty gals and polly-tish-ans and such.”

“There’s lots of nice lasats too.”

I heard there wuz  staurmtroopers there. An’ guards all  a’suited in red.”

“Well, yes, but that was over two dust seasons ago.” Zeb said, a  small crease forming over his brow. “The Empire wants fealty.That’s why the Emperor has sent envoys over the last couple years. Same thing happened when the Separatists and the Republic were vying for our  support. Lasan isn’t interested in any political affiliation other than its own.”

“White and red. Bone and blood.” Puggles intoned.”That’s what Mossy said. Bone and blood.”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “ I think Mossy’s been eating too many toadstools.”

“Mebbe so. But he’s a witch’s son. Sometimes he has the mindsight. You member that.”

Zeb’s eyes shifted to the floorboard of the speeder. He looked at his feet. His prehensile toes kneaded the warm, plastoid-sheathed metal. Puggles’ worries were his as well, though he would never admit it.

“Capital’s two hours away. We better get going. I want to get pa’s tractor up and running today so he can get an early start tomorrow morning.”

“Land a’ muddlin’. Fine. Let’s git a move on.”

The big city filled Puggles with a combination of loathing and excitement.

There was nary a field nor hollow nor tree to be seen, save the topiary monstrosities growing from large bronzium planter boxes lining the streets.

Massive domes and tall conical buildings competed with one another for space, corrupting the natural skyline of purple mountains beyond. Sheer crystal sidewalks tinged lavender and green fronted a myriad of shops for blocks and blocks on end. Lasats in colorful attire bustled about like bees in a hive, their servant droids walking behind them, shopping wagons in tow..

Zeb entered a round-about on one busy street. In the middle was a statue of a heroic-looking female. Her quadranium arm was raised, a large bo-rifle in her grip. The sun glinted off her tattered uniform and one bared breast.

Puggles' eyes widened three sizes. “Did yew see that? Her tiddy is showin’! Whoo-wee. . . and it’s a nice un’!

“Be respectful, Puggles. That’s Shaddis Rrochious. She was a highly-skilled warrior and martyr who perished in the barbarian wars.”

“A warrior huh? Sheeeoot, she could shock me wid that ‘lectric rifle any time.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her spirit that when I’m in temple. Oh, and by the way, there’s a great statue of Firuz in front of the Warrior Council building. We should bring Jenni next time. I’m sure she would admire the bulge in his-

“All right all right. Point taken.” Puggles turned and looked back. “I’m sorry Miss Shaddis! Please ‘cept a Southern boy’s humble ‘pology!” 

They continued on down the street. Colorful, high-definition holograms flashed in the fancier shop windows, advertising the wares inside. The colors danced across the hood of Zeb’s speeder. Puggles’ whistled through his teeth.

“I ain’t been here since I wuz a lil’ sapling. Don't ‘member any of this crap.”

“Are you sure you could see over the dashboard?” Zeb threw back his head and laughed.

“Go fuck yerself.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” The big lasat covered his mouth with his hand and snickered.

Puggles hmmmf’ed. “I’ve been off planet and I never seen a sinners paradise like dis.”

“You keep on bounty hunting and I’m sure you will. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be offered a job in Coruscant.”

“ Lucky. Oh yeah, sure. Thee lower levels of Coruscant iz a killers’ paradise.”

Puggles changed the subject.“Where is we going t’ git the doodad for pa’s tractor?”

Zeb smiled proudly. “Just so happens I have access to the parts depot near the guards barracks.”

Puggles went silent, as if he was in a trance. He blinked his eyes. A wicked smile unfurled across his face.

“That means yew has access t’ the munitions depot too. Don’t yew?”

Zeb’s hands shifted nervously on the steering yoke.

“N-no. Of course not. I’m not authorized to go in there.”

“Yew iz lying cuzz. I kin always tell. Yer nose gits all pink and twitchy. Course It don’t happen much, since yew is such an honest soul.”

“As opposed to you.”

“Yep, as ‘posed t’ me.” Puggles raised and lowered his brows in quick succession. Goading his younger cousin.

Zeb stopped at a signal. Three attractive older females with fantastically coiffed hair crossed the street in front of him. All three were walking tiny, white-furred  oorvarks  with gemstone encrusted collars.They waved and lowered their eyelids in a flirtatious manner. When they were out of ear-shot Zeb turned to face Puggles and grabbed up the front of his shirt.

“Let’s get one thing straight. . . CUZZ. This isn’t a fireworks buying expedition. There’ll be no bombs, no thermal detonators,  no percussion grenades, no flares, no flash-bangers , no detonite, and no rocket launchers! NOTHING!”

Puggles pulled back and brushed off the front of his old flannel shirt.

“ Of all thee in-dig-nitties! I swear Zebediah, military life has made yew as ornery as a croaker eel!! I just wanted a little sooveneer.”

“I’ll buy you a tee-shirt.”

Puggles mumbled under his breath. How dare his little cousin treat him like some kind of infant cub! He had half a mind to throw a fit, one that would embarrass Zeb to his core.

The speeder approached a busy establishment named the Tooth and Claw. It looked warm and inviting with its polished wood balistrades and stairs. A brawny male wearing the same type of skin-suit that Zeb wore had another male in a tight headlock out front. The trapped male didn’t seem distressed in any way. He laughed as he went to his knees and flipped his assailant over his shoulder. Both lasats stood up and patted each other on the back then lifted their huge ale mugs from a small table to the side of the stairs. Puggles clapped his hands and licked his parched lips.

“It’s a bar Zeb! Pull over! I could really use a beer!”

“Oh, I don’t know Puggles. You’ve been drinking a lot lately.”

“What iz yew, mah ma?”

“No. I just worry about you that’s all. Besides, we don’t have time.”

“We have time fer one beer!”

Zeb knew if he didn’t give in, his cousin would continue to harp about the weapons depot. He listened to the crowd inside the establishment.  Clinking glass and raucous  laughter spilled out the doorway. The laughing turned to cheering. It was the toeball finals, and Zeb knew that some of his mates were inside. He looked at Puggles who was practically salivating.

“Okay. First of all, here in the Capital, it’s called a pub. Second, ONE beer. Then we leave. I think I should warn you. There are some first-year honor guards in there. Like me. They get pretty rowdy. Especially when they’re watching sports.”

“I hate sports.”

“Yeeeah, maybe don’t mention that.”

Zeb parked the speeder around back. He and Puggles stretched their legs and headed for the front door. As soon as they entered the pub, a whole table of green skin-suited males jumped up, whooping and hollering.

“Hey it’s good old Orrelios! ”

“The Zebster!”

“What’s up Zebby?”

“Come over here mate! The Shocktown Royals are knocking the stripes off the Burrndock Howlers!!”

Zeb waved. Puggles was off like a rocket before his cousin could make introductions. He jumped up onto the bar’s foot-rail–squeezing between two big graybeards smoking their pipes–and banged on the wood planked bar.

“ Anyone here? Someone pour me a cold one! No foam now, ye hear?”

The tender stepped out of the shadow. She was almost eight feet tall and as wide as the two graybeards combined. Her hair was an enormous blue bush and her chin was as square as a box.  A dark mole stood out on her right lower cheek like a bullet wound. The cobalt stripes on her impressive biceps were as wide as one of Puggles’ legs. A fat cigar dangled from her lower lip.

“Didja say something, love?” She said in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

Puggles stared up at her boulder-sized breasts and lava-hued eyes and let out a gasp of genuine admiration. He fluffed out his jaw fringes.

“Great Bearded One! If yew ain’t the most stunning creature of thee female sex I’ve seen in this blasted city! Howz about yew pour me a cold one an we kin step out back for a spell.”

Panicking, Zeb and two of his mates rushed the bar. ‘Tiny Teeks’ the bartender picked up a heavy glass mug. She looked like she was planning to smash Puggles’ in the mouth.

“I don’t like blokes funnin’ with me, Short-shanks!” She said.

“I ain’t funnin’ you Big Blue! I likes what I sees!”

The square-jawed female looked at Zeb, who had a pleading look in his eyes. She put down the mug. “Orrelios, ye came in with this little squirt. Is he for real?”

“Unfortunately he is. He fancies himself a ladies-male. He’s my uhh. . well you see, he ah..that is, me and him are. . .

“Cousins, Teeks!” One of Zeb’s squadmates–a few-years older male named Gron– shouted. “That’s Zebby’s hill-trekker cousin! The one he’s always talking about.”

“Well I’ll be a korsa’s dewlap.” Teeks said with a snicker. “Don't see the family resemblance.”

“Hit cain’t be seen on thee outside gorgeous. Our fam’ly’ semblance iz our love-makin' talents.  Iddent that right, Zebadiah? Us Trodds iz natural born kit-magnets!”

“Oh Gods and Ancestors . . .” Zeb blushed while his friends fell on the floor laughing. He wanted nothing more than to shrink down to the size of a flea and disappear into a crack in the wall.

“Puggles, would you shut your-

Zeb didn’t finish his sentence. Horns blared from the holovid player speaker. They were proceeded by the roars of a couple thousand spectators. Lasats in the pub went wild. Teeks jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “GOOOOAAAAAAALLL!!! Oi, did ya see it boyos? Xaniboor’s ball flew into the net faster than a mynock flying out of th’ inferno! GO ROYALS!!”

Teeks picked up Puggles like a rag doll and kissed him on the lips. Then she dropped him and poured him a beer. “There’s more where that came from, love! No no, put away your credits! I’m buying. I don’t know about your special talents, but you sure as dust are a good luck charm!”

“What about me, Teeks?” A dark-faced, yellow-furred guard asked in a whining tone. “I’m your best customer!”

The big female frowned. “Squints, I wouldn’t piss in ye pocket if ye was dying’ of thirst. I heard what y’ said about me! That me arse is bigger than any of the arses in the Capital Zoo.”

“That wasn’t me! It was Bear.”

“Sure, sure. And I’m th’  bleedin’ Queen!”

Puggles puffed out his chest and walked jauntily toward the table where Zeb had re-seated himself. Noticing that there was no chair available for him, he dragged one from the next table over and shoved it between Zeb and another young male. The  soldiers were talking–more like gossiping–about what seemed like a very serious incident.

“. . .so she snuck out, again, and met Lorrbskr  in the priest’s gardens.”

“I don’t believe that.” Zeb said, shaking his head. “Lorrbskr’s got a good career ahead of him. His whole family is military. He could be General some day.”

Squints made a funny sound with his nose.“You know how the Princess is. Always flirting. Always sneaking out. Getting blokes into trouble is a sport for her.”

“But, her guards. How does she keep giving them the slip?”

“She’s as slick as snot, that one.”

“ Lorrbskr's going before a review committee. Karabast, I wouldn’t want to be in his shin guards.”

Zeb sat back and took a drink of his ale. He burped against his fist.

“You guys are jumping to conclusions. He was probably at the temple to pray for his sick mother. The Princess saw him from her window, climbed out and comforted him. You gotta admit her life has to be pretty boring. She’s not allowed to have a suitor, can’t go anywhere without a chaperone. Hells, the Queen probably picks out her wardrobe and food and everything.”

Puggles rolled his eyes.

“Yew fellers iz thee most borin’ stiffs I’ve ever met. Gossiping like a flock a’ hens. I’m gonna go play spinner darts.”

“You do that.” Zeb growled.

The little lasat ditched his chair and padded up to the bar. Teeks had a cold one waiting for him.

“Ye really should have some of the stout. It’ll hit ye in a most pleasant way.” She said, winking one orange eye.

“Darlin’, if beer was meant t’ be warm ittid be served in a soup bowl.”

                                                                             ~

Zeb watched Squints shuffle a nudie sabbacc deck.

“You in?” The yellow and brown lasat grinned.

“Sorry, no. We can only stay for a little while. Gotta get a part for my adoptive father’s tractor then drive back to Needlesap County before it gets dark.”

“No pressure mate. Hey uh, Zebby, me and the boys were meaning to ask you something.”

The other young guards turned away from the toeball game and stared at Zeb.

“What?”

“You know Captain Zanku is going to retire soon. Do you think you might try to claim his position?”

The purple lasat widened his eyes. He visibly swallowed. “ Me? Captain? I dunno. I mean I’ve thought about it. Maybe years down the road.”

“Come on. You'd make a great one! Right boys? That would be wiz! You as our Captain!”

Everyone nodded in excited agreement.

“Mnnn. The trials though. I’d have to get in top shape. Physically and mentally.”

“What are you talking about?  You’re already there!  Strong as a gnapstrup and sharp as a dirk. You passed your first trials with flying colors. Hells, you know more about military history than Zanku himself.”

Zeb put his hand behind his head and rubbed his neck. “Yeah. He made me regret correcting him on the dates of The Battle of Kisgothi.”

“Latrine duty sucks nodge-gobs doesn’t it?”

“Sure as shit does!”

The two lasats laughed until tears came to their eyes.

Gron slapped Zeb on the shoulder. “You got my vote, Orrelios. Karabast, you’ve got all our votes.” He raised his mug and the others at the table did the same.

Everyone in the pub clapped their hands over their ears when an ear-splitting shriek sounded high above the din. A surge of ugly, gray-green smoke boiled out of the back room. Puggles Trodd bolted through the smoke, his ears flat and his eyes enormous.

“Zeb! Let’s go!!” He screeched as he bounded across table-tops.

“Puggles? Is- is that one of your smoke screamers?”

“Stop wid thee questions and run!” Puggles shouted drunkenly.

“Why?”

“Y’ know a big dude wid a gray cape and a green bo-rifle?

“Yeah. That’s our Captain.”

“Well, I hit him in thee forehead wit a dart. Right smack tween th’ eyes. Don’ worry, he’s still kickin’.’”

Zeb’s eye twitched. As his friends ran for the door, he grabbed Puggles, threw him over his shoulder and sprinted outside. He tossed the little lasat into his speeder’s passenger seat and leapt into his own. The engines roared to life. Zeb floored the accelerator, fishtailing, then careening out into the street. He banged on the steering yoke.

“I knew it. I knew something like this would happen!” He turned in his seat and watched pub patrons spill out onto the sidewalk, coughing and clutching their pained ears. He hoped beyond hope that his friends would keep Puggles’ identity a secret.

“That’s it. We’re getting the part and we’re out of here! I am never taking you to the Capital again as long as I live!”

Puggles crossed his arms and grumped.

“Suits me jus’ fine. I nebber wanted t’ come here in the first place. Stupid dart. Spinner must’a been warped.”

“The only thing that’s warped is you!” Zeb snarled, so venomously it made Puggles start.

“How much did you have to drink back there? Hmm? Five, six?”

“ Seven. I din’ pay for them if that’s what’s eatin’ ya. I still has all my money.”

“Karabast! I don’t care about the blasted money!”

Puggles slammed his small fist on the dash. “Honestly Zeb, I cain’t fer the life a’ me figger  you out. Why is yew is so bowed up?”

Zeb chewed his lip. His anger swelled anew.

“ Because you’re a disgusting alcoholic and you refuse to see it!”

There came an uncomfortable silence. The gentle thrum of the speeder’s engine sounded like a roar in Zeb’s ears.

Shocked and hurt, Puggles turned over in his seat. His body was slumped against the door and his ears were drooping. A minute went by before he spoke. His voice was devoid of emotion.

“Yew jus’ keep on beein’ perfect Zeb. Show us pathetic losers what it’s like t’ be a livin’ god.”

Yeeeah, hopefully it will take me less than sixteen weeks to put up part three. 

[artificialqueens]

[hey baby] i think i wanna marry you (Kasia) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - I am here, I am queer, I have written Kam/Asia for this fic challenge! I used the trope ‘A and B are best friends who are secretly in love with each other and neither knows’ along with a healthy does of drunk marriage and it being on tour. Ot was lowkey inspired by this instagram. Thanks to frey for being one of my favourite tumblr humans (and also less importantly beta-ing this mess, it was chaotic.) There will be more whether you like it or not, Enjoy!

*

He wakes up with a pounding head and a heavy heart. He can feel the sweat on his back as the person pressed to his front shifts a little, erection pressing against his own. If he opens his eyes he might vomit, he muses to himself.

Kameron does this all the time. He’s a little proud of who he becomes when he drinks Tequila- happier, brighter, more forthcoming. What he’s not used to though, is when the man is still there by the next morning. From the vague smell of pancakes wafting through the crack under the hotel door, he deduces it’s probably around breakfast and he figures this is the best time to quietly kick someone out of the room (he assumes it’s his room with a great deal of hope, because there is no way in hell he could leave quietly). He brings the hand not sandwiched under the other person up to his face and rubs it hard, tries to tell if there’s any makeup left caked on there and is grateful to feel that it’s clear. Leaving the hand, he gently holds his head as he attempts to open his eyes. He closes them immediately under the assault of bright light.

If he is correct (and god knows he’s seen him asleep enough to think he is), the person curled into his side like a koala is no one other than Asia O'Hara.

He’s not angry, maybe just a little stressed, as he tries to slowly pull out his arm from underneath the sleeping man. Admittedly, it’s an adorable sight as he snuggles closer to Kameron in his sleep, a hazy smile gracing his lips. The taller man smiles to himself, a quiet, subtle smile. Once he’s released his arm from the numb hell of being a pillow, he makes to sit up, gently sliding in a way that removes Asia’s head from his bare chest. He stretches the arm lazily and he sees something glint in the early morning sun. He closes his eyes again, hopes it’s a mirage - a mind-forged hope for the future. Unfortunately, when he opens his eyes for the fourth time, it’s still there. He panics.

The steel feels hot on his finger, burning like a long forgotten sin or something like that. He removes it quickly but the mark remains - etched into his soft skin like an omen

Then Asia wakes up.

*

Eureka is just being Eureka and that’s fair enough, but when Asia calls him out for acting like he’s the ‘Kam whisperer’, there’s a flood of relief that flows through him like never before. He’s a ball of nervous energy at this point, let’s be honest - all of them are - and being in the top four means so much, but he can’t help to stare at Asia instead of actually writing the rap.

It’s not a problem (but then again, they didn’t think Vanjie’s outfit would be one, and yet here they are).

So he stares and over the course of the day (and the entirety of filming) he realises he might have a small (read massive) crush on Asia O'Hara. But it’s okay, not a problem. He hopes they’ll never have to lipsync against each other and moves on. Not a problem.

*

Asia wakes up and the reality of the matter hits Kameron in the face. It’s like a cargo train, heavy and loud, and suddenly he can’t tell if it’s the hangover or the anxiety that makes him want to throw up. It might be both but Asia’s reaction is worse.

He doesn’t react, not a smile, not a frown, just a blank expression as he stares Kameron down for a second.

“If,” he starts hesitant, voice shaking. “If I asked what happened, would I like the answer?”

Kameron frowns, if he squints enough he’s sure he’ll see Asia smiling on the other side of this hangover, but his head feels like someone is driving a spike through it with every ray of light he takes in. He shrugs, non-committal and easy. One look at Asia tells him this was not the right move.

They do not speak as Kameron shifts out of the bed, suddenly aware of his lack of clothing, as he tries to separate his stuff from the other man’s on the floor where they’d thrown them the night before. They do not talk as Asia twists the steel band on his finger round and round and when Kameron leaves without a word, Asia does not follow. He just waits calmly in the taller man’s bed, hopes that something good can come out of this, when all he has is a vow and a little bit of hope.

Fortunately, he has known the other man long enough, has toured with him for enough time, that he knows exactly where he’s gone.

The gym is pretty empty but it still manages to smell of stale sweat and rubber - the scents mixing in the air to form a displeasing aroma that hits Asia the second he walks through the door. He leans against a wall and watches as Kameron punches a bag with such power that he is a little glad the other man doesn’t get angry very often. It’s mesmerising and terrifying all at once to see the bag swing so ferociously. He waits for long enough to see him unwrap his fists, sees the drops of red on the white bandage and leaves. There’s an overwhelming feeling of violating his privacy.

He took the key for Kameron’s room and not his own, so he returns to the bed, making himself comfortable on the covers that housekeeping had smoothed and fluffed in the time he’s been downstairs. He notices Kameron’s ring on the bedside table, tries to convince himself it wouldn’t be smart to wear a ring when boxing, and settles into the cushions. Waits, although for what - he’s not sure.

*

Asia pulls him aside in the interval, smiling like a Cheshire cat, and practically begs him to do a stupid dance at the closing. He doesn’t say no, wouldn’t be able to - not when he’s slightly in love with the man under all that makeup. It’s been a long, slow-building crush but he’s not mad - couldn’t be, his brain chose mighty well. The queen in question is currently in half drag - a product of having an hour to do a costume change - and the way his jeans fall on him is sinful (Kameron isn’t wearing a shirt, he doesn’t really have the right to declare anything sinful).

He’s convinced pretty quickly by the way the man’s tongue dips over his lips to wet them halfway through a pleading ‘just copy me,’ and he really can’t say no.

They dance like idiots and it’s the most fun he’s had all tour, the grin on his face giving it away the second he looks at Asia.

“I should make you dance stupidly more often,” He says as they step off the stage, Kameron’s smile still wider than ever. “That was cute, Kam.”

Kameron doesn’t think the smile will ever leave his face again.

*

He calls Aquaria. He’s not entirely sure why, and later will decide it was a pretty terrible decision, but he calls the man nonetheless - searching for answers. He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hey Ant, what’s up?” His voice is high and chirpy and it makes Asia want to throw up or throw something - maybe both.

“Hey Gio, you - ” It takes him a second to decide on wording, he doesn’t need to make this weird or obvious or involve Kam, he just wants answers. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened last night, would you?”

Aquaria sighs down the phone and he can picture him running a hand through his hair.

“Let me guess, you got fucked?”

“NO. No, nope nothing like that.” He defends quickly, prays the younger man cannot hear the stutter in his voice as he lies through his teeth.

“Look, I don’t know - we were at a bar and you and Dane took a bunch of Tequila shots and then fucked off to somewhere. Call me back when you find out, I wanna hear the details.”

Asia hangs up.

When Kameron gets back, he does not expect the other man to be curled up in his duvet, drinking coffee and watching ‘Golden Girls’. That’s what happens, but he does not expect it. He also doesn’t expect the warm smile he gets, or the amicable nod when he lets the other man know that he’s just going to take a shower, he shouldn’t be long.

He lets the hot water pummel his body, wash away any blood from his knuckles and the soreness from his muscles. Hopes it will wipe him clean of the previous night like holy water, cleanse him of his sins till white roses grow in the cracks of his skin instead of moss.

When his mind is a little clearer and his skin a little softer, he returns to the bedroom. They have to talk it out.

*

So they did have to lipsync against each other eventually and it was terrible and awful and Asia has never felt such an overwhelming urge to quit and never come back. It’s like an ocean has hit him all at once, knocking down years of strong floodwalls that they all thought could withstand anything. He starts running the second he leaves the stage and when Kameron follows, mere seconds later, he pulls the shorter man into a bear hug. He needs it.

They stand there for what feels like hours, Asia holding on for dear life, as Kameron drops kisses on his forehead and tells him it is all going to be okay. And maybe he doesn’t believe him yet, but he thinks he might be able to - one day.

*

They both sit there a little nervous. If the energy in the room was set alight, it would burn the hotel down easily, but that’s not what they need when they’ve got a show to rehearse for in six hours.

Asia starts when he gets impatient, a little huff escaping his lips which Kameron finds utterly endearing.

“Why did you leave?” he asks and though the other man feels there are more pressing questions, he can’t really answer this one.

“Because - because I was scared, I guess?”

“Yeah. But of what?” Asia rolls his eyes a little, wants to probe into the answer so much that he knows the raw emotions Kameron is hiding behind his walls.

“Scared of what, Dane?” He tries again, softer, as the Nashville queen comes to rest his head on the pillow next to where he is sitting. Asia runs his fingers through his damp hair, twists it and plays with it as the man thinks.

“I guess, Tequila Dane is more confident than regular Dane. And I know that I want it, maybe not in this exact way but I want it. And I’m scared that Tequila Antwan wants things you don’t.”

He sighs into his hands, palms rubbing his face till it’s a little red, eyes screwed shut to avoid looking at Asia who’s fingers are still intertwined in his hair. The other man looks worried, eyes soft and warm as they gaze down on the taller man.

“I have seen Tequila Dane before,” he muses to himself. Kameron removes his hands from his face and rubs them up and down his towel.

“I like you.” He says calmly and without hesitation. “Like, like you,” he adds with a small smirk. Asia raises an eyebrow, matches the other man’s face with a practised ease - teeth white like snow.

“Well, I ain’t mad about this.”

*

They’re running, Asia'a hand in his, as they power down a back alley heading towards a gaudy looking chapel. Its entrance reflects neon into the puddle between the cobblestones, Kameron’s feet slipping every so often causing the other man to catch him (not that that would be much help, they are hammered).

When they reach the front door, Asia pulls the taller man’s head down to his, kisses each cheek before letting their lips melt together- slow, languid. It is a moment of warmth in a downpour, the water from Kam’s hair dripping down his face like tear tracks but happier. With their combined bodyweight, Asia still wrapped in Kameron’s arms, they push through the door together. This is a terrible idea, they are both drunk.

*

Kameron moves his head so it’s on Asia’s lap and convinces himself it’s so that he can play with his hair easier - doesn’t think about why he’s enjoying it so - or why he feels like he’s on fire with every touch.

“So,” he muses after they finish a fourth episode of ’Golden Girls’. “What do we do now?”

Asia shuffles down so he’s lying, faces close enough that when he sticks his tongue out it touches the other man’s nose.

“We could do this?” He says before surging forward, lips on Kameron’s with a fervour he’s never felt before. It’s like the drop on a rollercoaster when you’ve been waiting in suspense for too long - free falling but knowing that you are still safe, and warm, and loved. It’s deep sea diving and knowing you’re wearing the mask and are attached to the boat - freedom within comfort. He yearns for more, just like oxygen- it’s the only thing that keeps him going, and Kameron’s teeth are on his lips and on his neck and god. He didn’t know kissing could feel this good.

They stop when they realise that Kameron is dangerously close to getting a hickey that would not be covered by his outfit - a mistake they don’t need broadcasted to the entire cast. Instead, they cuddle as they both quietly slip their rings back onto their right hands this time - no one needs to know.

“I feel like this is all the wrong way round,” Kameron mumbles into Asia’s head as they snuggle under the duvet and he feels the man go stiffer under the covers, his body suddenly tense.

“No, no not like that hun,” he quickly soothes, “I mean, Antwan, my dear husband, would you like to go on a first date with me?”

“No strings attached?” he jokes.

“Sure baby, I’d love to.”

*

“Do you, Anton, take Daniel to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The officiant looks bored, like he’s not even trying anymore and to be fair, it’s the worst side of midnight so he can’t really be blamed.

“Uhuh,” Kameron nudges him, falling slightly in a fit of giggles.

“Sorry, yes, I do.”

“Do you, Daniel, take Anton to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Asia smiles, a big bright white smile and even in his Tequila haze, Kameron falls a little more.

“I do.”

“Well, with the power vested in me by the Internet, I now pronounce you husbands. Kiss.”

When they do, it is sloppy and messy and they are drunk at 3.am. in a fast chapel. But they’re both a little in love, and it’s okay. It’s perfect.

*

[ephrampettaline]

google doc with @thatwhichbindsus; ciara gives ephram some help figuring out his newly-accessible witch magic. takes place before ciara goes to california.

She’d invited him to meet her in a small glade not far from the coast. Wild grass and native flowers in full blossom, pollinators buzzing around idly as she watched them. Far enough from local parks and paths, but not so far that either of them were isolated. Especially as, truth be told, Ciara didn’t trust Ephram’s declaration entirely. So few had held the cinquefoil and succeeded in sealing a demon to themselves. She knew little of it and much of the nature of binding magic. There was always cross contamination. Always.

There was part of him that was fundamentally demon now, Ciara believed it in her core, and that was if this wasn’t a trick by Anaxis. Yet, she could afford a little optimism, and had brought a kit of things for them to try together. Magic management, it seemed.

Ciara was wearing her witching uniform, but not the standard black she’d worn all year. This was a deep, deep olive green, a dress with bell sleeves that reached only past her elbow, tucked in tight at the waist, and the dropped softly to the ground. On her right arm there were three steel cuffs, each connected with filament chains that then webbed across the back of her hand to the rings on her fingers. On her left was nothing but the flutter of her sleeve, flashing over her Mark. It drew more attention than planned, but too late for that now. Either the sheriff knew what it meant, or he’d find out.

On the ground she’d spread a mat with just enough space for the, to both sit, and some magic toys not unlike the one she’d sent him yesterday. It was here she waited for Ephram to join her, flicking through one of her old Grimoire, breathing idle magic into the grass as she waited.

From the moment he caught sight of Ciara waiting serenely for him, looking every inch the witch in her flowy green dress and intricate jewelry and the Mark on her skin, thumbing through a book that looked much more beaten and worn than the one that he was toting, Ephram felt a thrill surge through him. It was a renewed energy and zest that he’d felt pumping through his body since he’d mastered the Cinquefoil and with it the demon, and although he knew in his more cautious, logical mind that he should maybe hold off on pitching woo over life and its loveliness, it was hard to suppress that feeling.

He’d lived so, so long with Anaxis and damnation and quiet, internal agony dragging him down. Right now, he felt the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground was how much he relished the corporeal. Everything physical seemed new and bright, exciting beyond limits.

“Hey there, honey,” Ephram greeted Ciara with a wide grin, stooping to hug her before she could object. He plopped down on the mat, crossing his long legs, and set his own blank grimoire to balance on one knee. “I feel like I ain’t seen you in forever. You look ... “ he considered, tilting his head to one side as he regarded her through a clear-eyed squint. “You look settled,” Ephram finally decided on. “It’s nice. It’s good to feel like you’ll be hangin’ round town for a while. Huh?” 

He raised his eyebrows and nodded at Ciara, looking for confirmation. 

Ephram had a genteel warmth to him, that she leant into as he hugged her. It wasn’t something he’d done before, but as he let her go Ciara found that she didn’t mind it at all. He wasn’t a threat, there was no demon in him nor her, and there was no point to her secrets anymore. She’d sat trial, and it was over. The brief brush of skin gave her a spark of what was to come, but she felt no dark stain on that flicked of green and silver. Good. 

“Hey yourself. You look… rested”

“Depends on the day,” she replied wrily, but her smile was entirely genuine. “I have an apartment now, so I’m settled for now. We’ll see where this road leads. And in the mean time, you can benefit. I hope.” A promise to him, and a compromise - Ciara had never taught anyone before, not anything except herself. It would not be perfect, but it would be good enough. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Ciara offered him her hand, palm and Mark up. She almost asked if he knew its meaning, but Ephram was so talkative it would come up on its own, or wouldn’t, and it wasn’t her problem. The limiting spell on her abilities was a bigger concern - it was possible, in all this, that Ephram was stronger than her right now. 

“Let’s see what you’re working with here. Are you having any difficulty with it bursting out of you, or with more force than intended?” She asked, waiting for him to take her hand, already searching him for those tell tale signs of magic going awry. Skin that was mottled, or eyes different colour. Some things were obvious; singed clothes, wilting plants where he walked. Others were less obvious, like a fuzziness to his features, or a hum in the air around him, quieter than a bee’s wings. And sometimes it wasn’t noticeable at all, until it burst out of them, like opening the lid of a shaken soda bottle.  “I’d love to hear about how you used the cinquefoil too.”

“If you’re stickin’ round town, I would call that a benefit whether or not I git the favour of you teachin’ me as well.” Ephram grinned at Ciara, adding the expression’s honest pleasure to the easy Southern charm of the accompanying remark. He could feel that her guardedness had lessened, even more so than their last conversation at the bar, and in turn Ephram banished the wary neediness that had coloured his own interactions with Ciara. They could start more-or-less afresh, a prospect that filled Ephram with effervescent anticipation.

The way he felt about everything, these days. “Feelin’ rested and refreshed,” he elaborated, nodding. “It’s a mite difficult to keep the magic tuned down and focused, yeah. After so long with Anaxis sappin’ up most of it, man -- it’s like all these years I was workin’ blindfolded and gagged.” Ephram held up one hand, watching in wonder as bright, strong strokes of silvery spring-green leapt and spiked between his fingers. “I don’t barely need to even think bout it now. I never had any idea, Ciara, what all I got at my disposal.”

Still nowhere near a woman witch of any skill, Ephram was pretty sure, but for him? It was an Old Faithful-level geyser. He reached for Ciara’s hand with his sparking one, content to let her examine him as closely as she needed to -- grateful for it, in fact. “I feel like I got my blood replaced,” he confided, leaning forward earnestly and accidentally toppling his grimoire off his knee onto the blanket. “It’s like I can feel every single twitch that goes through my muscles, my whole body feels like it got fine-tuned and it ain’t a junker no more.” His ocean-blue eyes were alight, skin getting ruddy with excited joy. “I feel alive. I din’t realize … I din’t realize how diminished my life was before.”

That brought a cloud over Ephram’s face, his gaze turning down and troubled at the thought of the pall that Anaxis had cast over twenty years of his existence. The compromise and the lost opportunities and the constant, underlying strain. 

But he shook himself out of it with some effort, composing himself to focus on Ciara and her impressions about what he seemed like now, what she could sense. “I’ll show you the demon seal,” he said, “where I set the Cinquefoil in at. And you, honey?” Ephram stroked his fingers against the Mark on Ciara’s skin, although he was holding her gaze. “How’re you doin’ with this?”

“I’m not going to be easier on you just because you’re playing teacher’s pet,” Ciara replied slickly, with a comfortable smirk as she readjusted her legs beneath her. He was glowing, bright and enthusiastic and full of it. This was no demon putting on an act, they didn’t understand joy like this. This was Ephram, living. 

“Like I said, we’ll focus on that today. It’s a muscle you’ve been flexing for years, and we don’t want you to lose it, especially if you’re finding it hard to control how much you do at once,” Ciara explained, talking with her hands and a smile. “It’ll get easier over time, but I’ll teach you some… cruder methods for using up magic so that when you’re using it for spell casting you have the right amount at your disposal.”

A mite difficult sounded an understatement, she thoughts as she took his hand in hers, pressing her magic into him just enough to feel his own sparks jump. Her eyes widened as she felt it anew, as clear and crystalline as spring water, rather than a city river. The green of his magic was a meadow after fresh rain, and the silver a fresh polished air. There was a dark, twisted filth to it, but that was so tightly confined she could barely feel it, and when she did, she shied away. “That’s amazing, Ephram.” This time, she sounded like she meant it.

But he also hesitated, and she drew back to look at him fully, tilting her head with sympathy, and waited for him to shake it off. There was no comfort she could offer, except her presence, so that was what he got.

“Thank you, I’d like to see it,” Ciara replied. He may have been holding her gaze, but as his fingers traced her marked skin, she looked down instinctively, watching his careful movements as a small frown set in her face. “I’m adapting. I haven’t been given any real trouble for it yet, and people who would have avoided me for my magic anyway now just have to look instead of having to touch.” The much greater struggle with it was internal, but courtesy of Iann, Ciara had had more than enough exploration of the internal. She looked up at Ephram with a sharp look, “You don’t seem too surprised about it.”

“I’m your onliest student!” Ephram protested, tilting his head to give Ciara a winsome grin. “You got no choice but for me to be your pet.” 

Not that he at all minded the prospect of being put through his paces when it came to Ciara’s lessons. Ephram had never made any bones about his feelings when it came to Ciara being hard on him; it was something he liked, always had, ever since he’d been a boy and his older step-sister Cheyenne had reined him in like a fractious colt when he needed it. And sometimes as a preventative measure. In Ephram’s estimation, being bossed around by a strong-willed woman equated to being cared about. He’d looked to Faye to fulfil that role, before, but it seemed more and more like their lives were taking them in separate directions and Ephram missed that dynamic in his life.

“That makes sense,” he mused when Ciara explained that she’d teach him something fundamental when it came to throttling down his flow of magic, now that it was unfettered and rampant. “I’m used to going full-tilt with my magic, only I never realized it before on account of Anaxis draining it all as fast as I could produce it.”

He flushed with pleasure when Ciara complimented the change in his magic, the fresher and cleaner untainted feel of it, her words of positivity helping to shelve the passing regret he felt. But when it came to herself, her witch-killer Mark, it seemed Ciara was somewhat more on edge -- not that Ephram could blame her. It was a helluva thing to have to carry on your skin for the rest of your life, for everybody to see. 

“I am surprised,” he said. “I just ain’t … shocked. For the whole time I known you, Ciara, you had skeletons and dark spirits dancin’ at your door. It makes a certain sorter sense that it would all eventually culminate in something … well, indelible. And damning.” There was sympathy in Ephram’s voice as he kept touching Ciara’s arm, instinctively tracing the circular lines of the Mark without having to look down at it. “I’m sorry it got put on you. But I feel like you seen this comin’ from years away.”

Or maybe he was wrong, maybe Ciara and other blood witches were naturally fatalistic, playing into the ghoulish aspect of their particular magic element. Maybe for all Ciara’s tense grimness, she really hadn’t expected to ever end up like this, branded a murderer for all to see. 

“Anythang I should know? Bout how this went down, you gettin’ this Mark.” Ephram was quiet and authoritative as he clarified, “--from a law and order standpoint, is what I mean. So’s nothin’ comes up on me unawares, when it comes to you, honey.”

“You asking for a confession, Sheriff?,” She asked, teasing a little less than she’d meant to, and quirked her lips in a half smile, as if the thought didn’t leave her mouth soured. The confession was right there on her arm, under his broad fingers. “This mark and the dampening of my abilities should be the end of it. I’d love to see any human cop prosecute me. Arson, maybe. I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

For now it was just another reason to remain safely within Soapberry Springs, not that she minded too much. It was just fine. Totally fine. As fine as her an Iann, Ciara thought ruefully. “As you’re asking, is there anything you’d like to know?��� Better to get it all out at once?

But they weren’t just here to chat about her crimes. Ciara brushed a daisy chain off her knee and stood, taking her grimoire with her. “The idea for the first one is just feeding the magic into a system. It’s not exciting, but like your puzzle, it’s about honing control. There’s magic in everything, the trees, the ground, the water, the air. So the idea is that you contribute your magic into those systems. You’re not steering the shape of the magic, because that exists in the system already, you just control the flow. The idea is practicing the rate of that flow, and getting enough magic out of your system to make it more manageable.”

Ciara paused, cocking her head, and gestured for him to walk with her. “I’m not sure how clear all that was, but I’ll show you what I mean. Obviously, I jive most with the magic in blood, and for obvious reasons I don’t pour this kind of magic into blood, so I’ll demonstrate on that pine there.” Her hands were a little clammy as she walked them over, planning logistics in her head. She’d had months since she’d made this offer, and yet here she was, feeling a little uncertain. “Um, and while you’d normally have a lessons from all sorts of teachers, you’ve just got me so you should know that not everyone agrees with me that everything has magic. But the principles of the exercise are the same, so if you put your hand on my arm, you can feel me do it.”

“Okay, then. I won’t worry bout it.” Ephram wore a half-smile of his own, though, returning evenly, “...but if I was askin’ for a confession, Ciara, you’d be able to tell. And you’d be givin’ me one.”

Even over the short time that the two of them had known each other, Ephram’s confidence in himself as a person and as a lawman had grown; now, after the Cinquefoil, that sureness in his own abilities had increased exponentially. Anaxis wasn’t there echoing in the back of his brain at every given moment, doing its level best to shred any self-esteem that Ephram managed to salvage and shore up.

He could lay down his sword for the first time in twenty-three years, like Freddie had said. But he found that he hadn’t so much lain it down as simply lowered it. Cinquefoil or not, that would take a while longer.

So Ephram didn’t take Ciara up on her suggestion that he interrogate her now as a preemptive strike, instead opting to continue with their lesson. He stood as well, following alongside her with his hands clasped loosely behind his back while he listened to Ciara outlining magical theory.

“I think I get it,” Ephram nodded, a frown of concentration between his eyebrows. “That there’s a way of thinkin’ that I’m familiar with, how there’s … well, a life spirit in all of nature and earth, even if I din’t directly term it as magic. I can feel it even better now.” He let his eyes drift shut, chin lifting, hands raising at his sides with palms up and fingers half-extended, half-curled as he took a deep breath and reached out for the swirls and eddies of energy inherent in the woods around them. “Stronger’n I ever imagined.”

He slid one big hand against his midsection as he let the other fall, opening his eyes to look at Ciara as she said she’d demonstrate what she was instructing him on. “What would it do?” Ephram asked, curiously. “Iffen you shoved your excess magic into blood. Would it make somebody, uh … blow up, or somethang?” Ephram mimed an explosion with his fingers and a soft bouuphh sound.

He was just pushing up his sleeves when Ciara started in on her disclaimer, making Ephram shake his head impatiently. “If I was of a mind to go searchin’ for regular teachers,” he said, laying his hand on Ciara’s proffered arm and letting his long fingers wrap slightly around the bony circumference of it, “I’d head on up to the university and find em. It’s your view on magic and your way of doin’ it that resonates with me. Has done ever since I found myself tethered to you in that other world.” Ephram looked up at the pine tree. “So lead on, Miss Woodman, ma’am.”

“Would I, now?” Ciara replied, a light quirk in her voice. 

A life spirit. That fit, Ciara thought, softening as she heard him talk. All the earth and soil and plants. When you were quiet, you could feel it breathe. When you were listening, it sang songs of life and love. He reached out for it, and she thought, good, let him feel. That magic would teach him better than she ever could. “It’s reaching out for you too. I feel it.”

“I've only had reasonable control of my magic for a dozen years. I'm very lucky I didn't kill anyone by accident. The body is such a small, contained space,  there isn't much room for that energy to escape, and a huge number of ways it can go wrong. I think you'd have to work at it to blow someone up, but I don't think anyone who experienced even the shortest instinctive bursts of my magic has been left unscarred.” Her reply was said with a carefully calculated calm demeanor, a complete detachment of the reality of those experiences. A flash of anger as her sister’s arm ruptured under her hand. Fear in a back alley with a man’s hand pinning her throat, that rocketed to terror when he dropped her and watched his hand blister and boil. Begging someone to leave her alone because she couldn’t help how badly she might hurt him. It was no wonder she was laser precise now.

Ephram’s reassurances sank skin deep and she nodded, comfortable for now as his hand wrapped around her wrist. She pushed it against the pine, molding herself to the shape of the coarse bark. A tiny line of black ants marched around the tips of her fingers. Ciara breathed, and pushed. Magic looped from the leys of the earth right into her, and through as a a conduit. Steering, not shaping, as she began pouring it into the tree. After barely moments, she was panting, sweat beginning to glisten on her skin in the sun. The steam was unwavering and smooth, a constant high pressure even though it did not fit in this shape well. The fit wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t long before Ciara felt the tightening of her chest as the limitor came into play, slowly constricting her own. Despite the pour of magic, the tree changed little, sprouting a few dozen new buds.

Ciara dropped her hand, closing her eyes as she panted hard and fast, and twisted to cough in her elbow. Dry, rattling coughs. “Right. That’s what it feels like. Your turn. I’ll make sure you don’t start a wildfire or knock all the oxygen out the air, but the rest is up to you.”

It felt like the best kind of validation when Ciara said that the magic was reaching out for Ephram too, that she could also feel it; he trusted her implicitly when it came to being abe to interpret what was happening magically. Malvoth aside, witch-killer mark aside. If there was anybody who was able to siphon through the cacophany of darkness that had attached itself to the witch and focus solely on Ciara herself, in her purest most stripped-down form, it was a man who carried his own miasma of demon and death with him.

“Reckon I can count myself lucky, then, that Anaxis took up so much of my magic all this time.” Ephram twisted his arm, letting the silver-green wind its way up to his elbow, wrap itself around in thick loops like some eldritch armour before carving it down to more delicate, fanciful curlicues against his skin. He said it a little wryly -- nothing about Anaxis was lucky, in any context -- but all the same, Ciara’s experiences were sobering. And contextualized against his own magic being bound up, the guilt that her magic had caused seemed comparable, in a way.

Christ, but she had fissures in her that you couldn’t even begin to reach. Deep, deep under the open ocean that was Ciara. Ephram held back a shudder.

That impression only got stronger as Ephram hitched along with Ciara’s demonstration of her magic, gathering and redirecting the energy with hardly a pause in her body. Ephram could tell just from riding with the pulse of it that his own body would cause more problems, that there would be hitches of unsureness and stumbling blocks of inexperience for the flow of magic to get hung up on.

He nodded when she told him it was his turn, rolling out his shoulders and tipping his head to the side sharply to crack it. “Hold onto me?” Ephram asked, scrunching his face briefly before stretching his fingers to splay against the tree bark. 

The contrails of Ciara’s magic were still there -- he could feel them tickling like those little black ants that avoided his hand just like they’d avoided hers -- and Ephram used them as a guide as he opened up to the life energy surroundings. It was like throwing open vents inside his chest, and his mouth opened to give a hoarse gasp before his teeth clacked together and a burst of magic stormed through the palm of his hand, blasting them both instantly backwards into a sprawled tangle on the ground.

“Fuckfire,” Ephram coughed, then coughed some more, rolling up onto one elbow and blinking rapidly. “You okay? Ciara?”

With a smirk, Ciara nodded, and came to stand beside and just behind him. Breathing was still a heavy labour, but she barely minded as she wrapped one hand around the bare skin of his arm, muscled and veiny and covered in blond hair. With the other, she put her hand on his hip, far from the cinquefoil that both frightened and amazed her. She slipped one finger between the seam of his shirt and his jeans, touching the skin too. Closing a circuit. She was the safety latch, ready to steer magic into her if it became too much. Ciara breathed deep, her chest pressed up to his back ,keeping the both of them secure.

He was the wildcare, and when she felt his magic stir, she felt it all the way to his core. Green and silver, so entangled it was hard to tell one from the other. Ciara had felt this before, the first time they’d met, when she’d soaked her hands in his blood and used him as a teleport. But then, it had been cut short. Here, it felt almost like a bottomless well, in comparison to what he’d had before. She could feel the ley inside him.

The magic bulged and burst through him, surging out through his arms. Bang. Ciara by instinct grabbed on tight as they were hurled back through the air. When they landed, they landed hard, knocking whatever breath she had right out of her. She coughed and spluttered and wriggled to get her arm out from under Ephram. Ciara sat up and rested her hands on firm ground, looked at the tree they’d been standing by, and starting laughing.

It started as a giggle, but like his magic soon burst into a full belly laugh, face scrunched as she doubled over. It was loud and silly and slowly died into coughs. She looked up at him, so he knew she was laughing from joy and not at him. “Not quite what we were aiming for, but that was-“ Ciara looked back at the tree - “that was impressive. Not bad at all. I’ve - Two questions: What did you feel, and are you ready to try some more?”

Ephram goggled at the sight of Ciara, laughing. Laughing fit to burst, mirth cascading out of her in a way that he wouldn’t even have thought she was capable of, and Ephram started to hoot and guffaw along with her. Both in honest amusement at his own exuberant fuckup and at the unexpected infectious quality of Ciara’s laughter.

“Jesus,” he said, his drawl stretching the word out to about eight syllables. “I was expectin’ maybe some lil flashbang but I sure wasn’t expectin’ that.” Ephram gestured at the poor tree that had borne the brunt of his uncontrolled magic. But Ciara was saying he didn’t do badly, Ciara was praising him for his effort, even, and Ephram couldn’t help but puff up a little at having made Teacher proud.

“What did I feel,” he repeated dutifully, rolling up to kneeling and sitting back on his heels. “I felt … it felt like if you’re used to drivin’ beaters but then you get to drive a normal car and you don’t realize you only gotta tap the gas jes a lil bit to get ‘er going. Because you been accustomed to havin’ to mash down on the gas pedal to even push that ol’ beater to start.”

It was a good analogy, but Ephram wanted -- keenly -- to make sure he’d answered the question from every possible angle and interpretation. “What did I feel, was energy rumblin’ through the … fibres of my muscles, and the blood in my veins. But not swirlin’ inside me, more like … building up. Storing itself but vibrating the whole time.”

Ephram pushed the heels of his hands against his knees, half-rising a bit before sitting back down again. “Is that good? Bad? Dangerous?” The feel of her hands against his skin had been dangerous, a little bit. Raising up the tantalizing spectre of them doing blood magic together, so seamlessly, with such grand effect.

But that was a different time, one shadowed by their demons. Now Malvoth was gone and Anaxis was locked away, and it was only the two of them. 

Licking his bottom lip and then biting it, Ephram looked at Ciara, then nodded in tiny rapid motions of his head. “I wanna try again,” he said, anticipation lining his voice. “More.”

Ciara sent her own flicker of magic across the field, checking for residual magic that tangled in knots, and would pop at inopportune moments, likes clots on the ley. But Ephram’s magic didn’t feel so congested, there was nothing to untangle. It had come out of the flood gates, and flooded that tree, but now was gone. His descriptions earned him a smile.

At the question, she paused, looking him over thoughtfully. Good, bad or dangerous had summed up so much of Ephram’s existence with his magic, after all. Even with the Cinquefoil, his magic would never truly be separate from the demon. His faith was also known for dealing in dualities also, and Ciara could both understand the fear of it being “bad” and simultaneously felt perplexed by the considering of it in such simple ways.

“It just is. I don't know if it's permanent or just a case of being out of practice. But the more you pay attention to those feelings, the more you’ll learn. There’s only good and bad for you,” Ciara settled on, standing and offering him a hand to do the same, although they both knew she didn’t need it.

"Okay, so try again. With the tree,  the soil, or the air. A gentle tap, this time.  Slowly speed up." They would do this again and again, until he was tired or until he got it someplace reasonable. Ciara didn't expect perfect, but this was the first way to get it safe. Once they got it safe, the world was his oyster. When he chose his spot, there she was again, thumb to his hip and hand to his arm. Over and over. Ciara was patient, after all.

"Only good or bad for me."

Ephram kept that in mind, a steady foundation along with the feel of Ciara touching him, grounding him, keeping hold of him. As he tried and tried again, sending clots of dirt and grass spinning into the air one time, creating a frenzy of fresh soft green pine sprigs on another, some of the attempts coming out half-measures while others knocked them on their backs. 

And still Ciara was there, dogged and encouraging as they dusted themselves off and refocused for the next attempt. Ephram was accustomed to hard work and repetition and didn't often expect the same of anybody else; but Ciara matched him each time, murmuring suggestions and moderate praise and sometimes what Ephram thought might be gentle teasing (he liked those the best). 

He wouldn't have been able to say exactly what iteration they were on when Ephram finally got it down properly -- especially because he had to repeat the exercise five times running, bringing mulberry-coloured pinwheel flowers up from hard little buried bulbs, before it could be considered real and not a fluke.

"Ciara," Ephram said, puffing slightly as sweat dotted the line of his nose and his forehead. "Holy shit." He squeezed her waist, then her wrist, and then loped over to the small patch of waving pinwheeling blooms and gathered a handful of them, bearing them back to present to her like some shiny apple placed on her desk. "Look, look," Ephram said eagerly, and bit his lip as he focused his magic into a manageable, civilized stream, tying a silvery bow around the long green stems. He gave Ciara a big, open-mouthed doggy grin, then blinked rapidly and reached out to brace one big hand against her shoulder.

"Whoo," Ephram breathed after a moment. "Must of … whoo. Reckon I got a lil slap-happy there, huh? It's harder'n I thought it would be, whittling the magic down to where it could be useful instead of goin' crazy. After all that time tryin' to make my magic work better and harder, it's the complete opposite."