#they used to grow in these beds next to a retaining wall around the corner me and my siblings walked to get to school

[ive-got-you-clovered]

[limitlessscion]

this isnt from a meme but i have two questions: 1) what did satoru's childhood bedroom looked like? and 2) does he play video games?

what did satoru's childhood bedroom looked like?

He had two different rooms growing up.

As an infant, his room was deep within the Gojo family manor, at the center of a large compound dating back centuries that had been constructed especially for the Six Eyes child. The walls are solid with no windows, sound-proof, and are carved with charms that are fiercely protected family secrets. Spells on them prevent them from being able to be recorded manually or digitally, and memories of their existence erased when leaving the compound. The knowledge of how to activate them are bound to only the Clan Head, and the Six Eyes user themselves; nobody else is able to retain the knowledge in their minds even if they learn of it.

The charms are able to supress the effects of the Six Eyes and alter its perception in different ways. It is a necessary aspect of raising a baby that was born with the curse of the Six Eyes, to safely acclimate them to the intense amount of information and learn how to process that information correctly. However you can imagine how dangerous such spells are to the Six Eyes user if they fall into outside hands.

The compound has several layers of security outside of that central room, a lot of which was added after the assassination of a newly born Six Eyes user many generations past by Kenjaku.

When he was older, around the age of four, he was given a room in the main family living compound near the rooms of the clan head and other high-ranking members. The room was plain though; he never got a say in personalizing it. It was cleaned daily by servants, so the fact he'd drop candy wrappers on the floor or that his desk after a study session would be a mess of scrolls and notes and scattered writing utensils never stuck. Every day as he'd get ready for bed the whole room would be pristine, sterile, and lacking any touches of his personality. One time he'd stolen a sticker book from a servant child and placed some on the wall— and they'd been removed the next day.

The floors are patterned tatami, one window opened to the outside of the compound that looked out over a managed creek and koi pond with a wall of bamboo growth. The opposite wall is a shoji screen that opens into the courtyard. His bed was a western style bed by the window with a small nightstand, and the rest of the room was taken up by a work desk and bookshelf.

He was given very little privacy and agency in his life in general.

does he play video games?

Yes! His first ever video game was Pokemon Silver, given to him on his 10th birthday. Karasu, the head of his security detail, has a strong soft spot for children. For various reasons with his background, he was one of the few people who treated Satoru like a child, was not afraid of him, and had plenty of real parental experience. He'd broken a lot of rules fulfilling his promise to make Satoru's birthday that year a good one, as his birthday was actually an annual event that Satoru always hated.

Satoru poured hundreds of hours into Silver. His favourite Pokemon are Lugia and Feraligatr for that reason— in the end, he was still a simple boy who liked the cool legendary on the cover and his starter Pokemon. Once he started playing, there was no way to make him stop anymore; so Satoru's obedience and good behaviour was bought using promises of gaming time and the purchase of new games. Satoru stole extra time for himself too, often playing under the covers at night, or finding quiet hidden corners when he had little pockets of time to himself.

Fun fact: Satoru figured out how IVs and EVs and the damage formula worked entirely on his own.

He exclusively played with handheld consoles; TV consoles required sitting down in a static location with a screen, which gave him no privacy and much less opportunity to sneak gaming time in. It is for a similar reason that he never watched anime or movies, only read mangas and books.

[oh-he-grows]

After two weeks of stressing and planning and screwing around in chief architect, I came to the obvious conclusion that I should just make raised beds out of basic-ass pine boards. Here's all the research I did so you don't have to agonize over your potential project. All prices are from Lowes. Below is a cost analysis of my project, which would be for 512' long of raised beds (for a growing area of 1,000 sq ft). I had in-ground beds last year but a massive influx of bunny rabbits ate everything that they could, so I'm looking to lift my plants off the ground a bit.

I was originally planning on using pressure treated 2x8s, but soon got sidetracked into cedar fenceposts and pressure treated landscape timbers, so here's what I eventually found:

Cedar fenceposts are great for a small scale garden. If you need 1 or 2 raised beds, I would recommend cedar fenceposts for cost and longevity purposes. If one piece gets damaged somehow, it's cheap and easy to throw in a replacement. They're incredibly cheap relative to other options, resistant to rot and moisture, beautiful, and can easily fit in almost any vehicle which can't be said for the dimensional lumber. Here's a build video for the most elegant fencepost raised bed I found. Downsides: the fenceposts are very thin, barely half an inch thick-- you can't sit on them or put too much pressure on them. They also require more bracing on the corners and in the middle, as well as a top-strip, as shown below. This is factored into the "Specialty Hardware Cost", and is calculated with pressure treated pine- using cedar for these pieces would look nicer (as below), but are much more expensive and some dimensions are out of stock. They're also a lot of work at scale. For my plan (to look good), I would have to cut off the dogear notch at the top for 280 boards individually, and put four screws each into 280 boards individually, which is an obscene amount of labor and hardware.

Next up are Pressure Treated Landscape Timbers, which I first saw from a Millennial Gardner video where the tagline was "lumber dealers HATE this trick!". Which may be true, but screw manufacturers LOVE this trick. They look really pretty and the wood is extremely cheap, but they're short individually, so you would need to stack 3-4 on top of each other to get the look I'm going for. Most importantly though, these need long screws (50 cents to a dollar each) to connect two boards to each other every 24-48 inches PER layer, and additional rebar if it's being used as a retaining wall, which would be another $4 on every side. The wood is cheap and rot resistant, but the hardware costs creep in.

Cedar boards are too expensive. Flat-out, they cost so much money it's insane. nearly $50 for a single 8' 2"x8" is inordinately expensive for a project like this. For the price of one miniature cedar bed, you could get multiple metal beds that will last decades instead. The final deliberation was between Yellow Pine and Pressure Treated Yellow Pine, and I'm deciding to go with regular untreated pine. The price is an extra 30% - 50% cost, and untreated pine should last (outside of the pacific northwest or florida) for 3-5 years without issues, while pressure-treated could last 10 or more depending on the conditions. Pressure treated boards leaching their chemicals into your food is mostly overstated, as arsenic hasn't been used in the process for 20 years now; although, I understand the reservations about using any chemical so close to food supply. The modern process apparently uses copper-based solutions and various fungicide for copper-resistant strains. I've included two cans of boiled linseed oil in the hardware costs for this to help protect them further, and I might find some kind of plastic or other barrier to protect the wood from direct soil contact to keep them going longer. I think I'm going with the 2x12s as well over the 2x8s, just because I like the idea of a taller bed if I'm just using one board. It's more expensive for sure, and the only thing I'm still deciding on. For the most part it's purely aesthetic, but some plants would prefer a bed larger than 8 inches, so that's why I'm leaning towards 12". It turns out that with the bulk discount that comes with 50 boards, 68 2"x8"s are the same price as 34 2"x12"s, but 4 inches taller. I might have to get some additional 2x4s for corner bracing, but this might be the way. I hope this info helps someone build a raised bed and start gardening, or help their garden become more successful (for cheaper). If I got anything wrong or if there are alternatives let me know, I'd love to hear anybody's thoughts.

[jadisisbusy]

Eremin modern AU headcanons from a long-time shipper😍

• Cuddles. Every day. Any time. Usually initiated by Eren. Change my mind. 

• They try to always spend time with each other at the end of the day by cooking together, video games, movie night, or story time. Armin reading to Eren, of course. 

• Eren teaches Armin how to surf because despite loving marine life, Armin's always been afraid of going in the water because he was pinched by a crab and stung by a jelly fish when he was little. Currently has a love/hate fascination for jelly fish. 

• Armin begged Eren to grow his hair out before senior year of high school so Eren compromised by asking Armin to chop his off. Both ended up liking their new looks and kept them for quite some time. 

• Eren is secretly a huuuge softy but doesn't like showing that side to him to just anyone. Sometimes he’ll let it slide while with close friends but Armin’s seen the full extent. 

• Eren always finds new ways to address Armin. Ar, Ari, Min, bro, dude, my guy, homie, luv, beautiful, gorgeous, babe, hunny and anything that will tease Armin. Blondie because of Armin’s love for Tangled, bunny because of the time Historia dressed Armin as a slutty bunny for halloween, Minnie because Armin relates that to Minnie Mouse and cringes because of it, hot stuff because it makes Armin cringe, and cutie when Armin is getting flustered to fluster him even more. 

• In the POV that you are standing at the foot of the bed, Armin sleeps on the left side and Eren on the right. If the bed is cornered against the walls, Armin will always be on the inside because he likes curling up in small areas to sleep. Especially if he just HAS to sleep against Eren 😙 Sometimes they'll switch sides so they can sleep in eachother's scent. Usually in hot weather since physical contact is too much.

• Eren sleeps like a rock while Armin can't sleep as easy. Usually Eren doesn't wake when Armin curls up next to him which helps him sleep better. 

• Eren's a living furnace and Armin is an ice cube. He also uses Eren’s pecs as pillows. Big mommy milkers. Wait- daddy milkers..? Bah, You get it.

• Eren gets pretty bad nightmares that has him talking in his sleep. Armin always wakes him up from them and cuddles him immediately

• Both are so touchy-feely without even realizing. Armin makes sure their PDA isn't too much but they always hold hands, touch eachother's shoulders, backs, arms when they get the chance. Simple gestures like guiding each other along, pats of affirmation, and stroking their hair away from eachother's eyes. Eren never gives up the chance to wrap his arm around the blond (because he's possessive) and likes nestling into Armin's hair. Armin usually nestles in Eren's neck or chest while playing with Eren's long hair. 

• Those two are like velcro. Easy to stick together harder to pull away.

• Armin had a crush on Eren all throughout childhood but Eren was oblivious enough not to notice. Armin still wonders if Eren was lying about how oblivious he was because Armin had it bad for him and everyone and their uncle knew. But it went right over Eren's head. 

• Eren is an effortless flirt which first got Armin very flustered in the beginning of the relationship. But as years past, Armin usually assumed that flirting meant Eren forgot to do something like pay the bills or go grocery shopping and was just trying to let Armin down slowly. Armin being a huge skeptic usually askes "What did you do now?"

• While Eren finds it hard to focus in most conversations, he could listen to Armin gush about science all day long. Armin makes everything knowledgeable more retainable for Eren because of how passionately he speaks. He finds it so attractive because he wish he had the mental capacity himself to remember things as much as Armin. 

• Armin has anxiety and depression (as well as Eren) and he usually gets really worked up and worried about loosing Eren because he feels he isn't good enough with Eren quickly remedies with talks and kisses

• Eren has ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD mostly from his mother passing and is often very over stimulating for Armin but they talk things through constantly.

• Eren definitely has Armin beat in being a bigger attention whore. With his mom passing in his childhood and Grisha neglecting him, he clings to Armin constantly to fill that love affection part in his life. Armin doesn't mind mostly but sometimes needs to have talks with Eren about it saying he needs some space to breathe. Especially in their honeymoon phase.

• Eren is super protective and possessive but not to the point where he controls Armin. He is just very afraid of the idea of someone trying to take Armin away from him. Armin likes the attention but sometimes needs to talk with Eren about how he needs some room to get work done. 

NSFW (or suggestive)

• Consent and constant verbal praise. Period. Eren uses the shit out of saying 'good boy.' It's a huge no-go on 'daddy' though since neither really had present father's in their life and often want to forget that.

• Eren is definitely bigger but Armin is kinda packing as well 😳

• Eren will say some of the nastiest shit to Armin in public and fluster the blond up with the straightest face. And if they've been together long enough, Armin would do the same back with a straight face. Sometimes has Eren beat. Rarely. 

• Sex drive is pretty high but you wouldn't hear that from Armin. He's pretty private about his sex life, hence why he's so shy about first getting intimate with Eren. He doesn't have the expirience like Eren does. But those two fuck like rabbits. 

• Eren's a fucking animal istg. It gives Armin such a high being underneath him when Eren's really revved up.

• Armin loves being catered to and Eren is all for it. But Armin is also very sensitive to touch yet craves it (as a result of not growing up with parents, lack of love and touch. Same with Eren). His waist, stomach, neck, and thighs are his most sensitive spots. Big list. So Eren sometimes mistakes Armin's overstimulation as discomfort. But make him feel good enough and Armin would probably beg for more. 

• Eren's scalp is super sensitive which makes's Armin's massages all the better. But sometimes Armin will use it against him and will give his hair a good tug when he wants Eren to moan or break. Other places he likes touched are his back, arms, and shoulders. 

• Eren’s obsessed with Armin’s chest and nipples which often makes it hard for Armin to go to the beach shirtless 😳

• Eren who swore he's always dom changed pretty quickly after meeting Armin. Now he's a switch (predominantly dom), or more so always has been but denied it up until Armin came along. 

• It takes a long time for Armin to comfortably warm up and loosen up during more intimate times since deep down he's a fucking freak in the sheets. He loves being controlled but super curious about dabbling in controlling someone else. And instead of Eren being appalled like Armin would of guessed, Eren supports the blond 100%. Experimentation!

• Armin has always wanted to fuck Eren but has been too shy to admit it since he is a pretty submissive person. Once Eren finds out later in the relationship, he's all for it. Turns out when being fucked, Eren's a lot more talkative and Armin gets more hyper-analytical in finding the best way to please the brunet without ruining the mood. But Eren adores his intellect so he doesn't mind. 

• The two were childhood best friends turned lovers and it helped make their sex with each other so laid back and casual when they wanted given they're already so comfortable with each other. They also had sex pretty early in their romantic relationship also because of this. 

• Armin is super flexible physically. Eren usually tries some pretty wacky positions for the fun of it but their favorites are (reverse) cowgirl and doggy. Armin would always go for reverse cowgirl because when he gets tired, he can hover himself over Eren with his back against his chest while Eren underneath him fucks him senseless. Quick change of roles instead of switching to another position and taking longer. Eren likes doggy and cowgirl because with cowgirl he can see the blond's face and doggy gives him all the power to go animal on the blond. Both can solidly agree on missionary no matter who's topping. 

• Cuddles after sex. Period. Doesn't matter how sweaty. The after care with these two... chefs kiss.

• Armin’s always been more skeptical of using sex toys since he didn’t want to make Eren feel like he wasn’t good enough and pleasuring. But Eren came to the blond first about trying fleshlights together which led to vibrators, dildos, etc.

[whythinktoomuch]

stranded in memory

It’s not clear how Lex has managed to pull it off, but he did; he got into Supergirl’s head, and he did it quite literally so as to achieve it quite figuratively, and now Kara Danvers might be lost forever. 

It’s after the second attack—the second time Supergirl storms into the DEO to demand, where are you keeping them?—when they first notice the ugly scar at the base of her neck. 

Red and angry, poorly healed despite living on Kryptonian skin. 

No one manages to get close enough to examine it though, what with Supergirl tearing through metal walls and burning down entire facilities to conduct her frenzied search. 

But whatever it is, the mechanism embedded in her skull has somehow made it so that Supergirl can look Alex Danvers right in the eye and strike her down with heat vision for masquerading as her sister. 

The resulting burns forcibly put Alex on bed rest despite extensive, swear-riddled protest. 

“It appears that Kara’s retained all her memories, but none of ties to reality that would allow her to recognize you,” Brainy concludes to the comfort of absolutely no one. 

“Well, is she even Kara anymore then? Shouldn’t we approach this like we would any other threat?” asks one lone agent, subjecting himself to Alex’s absolute unmitigated fury in the process. 

Lena keeps her distance at first. She’s seen the damage:  

her penthouse somehow upended, 

countless conference rooms and offices at L-Corp torn apart, 

the entirety of National City scrambling for cover as Supergirl makes reckless use of all her superpowers. 

And she knows that Supergirl must be looking for her too. Lex wouldn’t have done any of it, without the guarantee that Lena would end up coerced into direct involvement. It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise. 

And so, she locks herself away in an underground, lead-lined panic room, built for such an occasion. 

Because... well, if it’s true that Supergirl almost killed her own sister, how could Lena ever hope to survive the encounter? She wasn’t even on good terms with the Supergirl that would remember her in the first place.  

But then, things grow darker and even more dire. No one’s died yet, by some unbelievable stroke of luck, but there have been many close calls. So many that the city has started losing faith in their own Girl of Steel. 

And Supergirl has been winding down, slowly but surely, her physical condition unable to keep pace with her inner drive. It won’t be long before some branch of the government or another successfully shoots her down, but there’s only one that will never go for the kill shot. 

So, Lena finally resurfaces and joins forces with what’s left of the DEO, and gets to work on a kryptonite-powered snare. It almost works. 

Supergirl flies right into the trap, immediately twined by thick cords of sickly bright green wrapping around her body. She starts thrashing against her bonds, growling out warnings in a dead language whenever anyone tries to get close. 

"Okay, this isn’t working, guys,” Dreamer says, after her third attempt and subsequent failure to grab hold of the wrists tied behind Supergirl’s back. “She’s still too strong.” 

But at the sound of Dreamer’s voice, the red disappears from Supergirl’s eyes. She sits up, startled, and calls out, “Nia?” 

They’re all overwhelmed with relief then—Supergirl, and maybe even Kara, included—because at last, Lex’s device seems to have worn off.

But when Supergirl turns around to greet Dreamer, finally face to smiling face, a darkness sweeps back over her features. “You,” she says, her tone strangled with bitterness. “Who the hell are you, and what did you do with Nia?” 

Dreamer frowns, utterly baffled. “Kara, what are you talking about? It’s me... Nia.” But she takes a step too close, and Supergirl headbutts her into the ground. 

A brawl ensues, and Supergirl manages to throw everyone off her and escape by way of ungainly, lumbering flight, still bundled in kryptonite laced restraints against all impossibility. 

They find the mangled contraption some miles away in pieces. 

Nia’s head is very bruised and somewhat concussed, but she thankfully emerges from the medical bay relatively unscathed. 

Ultimately, Lena’s the one who figures it out, by repeatedly asking for the play-by-play of the failed capture and then reviewing the body cam footage for further research. There’s no way to know for sure, of course, but time is definitely running out, with Supergirl now facing an entire fleet of military aircraft armed with kryptonite. So, Lena takes her findings and rushes onto the scene. 

Supergirl is making her last stand, forced into a final corner with her back against the wall, eyes still blazing with heat vision. Until she hears a familiar voice crackling in her ear, the DEO comms whirring back to life. 

“Kara?” calls the voice, and Supergirl becomes a statue, breath stuttering, almost unwilling to believe her own ears. “Kara, can you hear me...?” 

“Lena...” Supergirl says her name like a prayer, a slight tremor starting up in her legs and traveling all over. “You’re okay? Oh god, you’re okay...” 

Everyone starts yelling then—Alex and Brainy and Nia, nameless stiff-lipped military men trying to secure a clear shot at the fallen hero—but Lena heeds none of it as she walks onto the battlefield. Supergirl whips her head around, regarding her approach with suspicion. 

“It’s still me,” Lena says through the earpiece. “Right now, I’m just in the lexo-suit for my own safety.” 

“I... I can’t see your face...” 

“I know, Kara. I know.” 

Lena, now firmly in the way of anyone who plans on taking aim at Supergirl, stops just a few short steps away from her. “Okay, I need you to trust me now, Kara.” 

And Kara, the Girl of Steel now fallen to dust, starts to cry. “Something’s wrong, Lena,” she says. “Something is so terribly wrong with me, and I don’t know what to do...” 

“I know, and it’s going to be okay,” Lena says, her own emotions sealed away behind purpose. “But right now, I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Kara?” 

Kara nods right away, one hand roughly swiping at her eyes. 

“Close your eyes.”

Kara draws back, shoulders stiffening, a bright red gathering in her gaze. 

“Kara, it’s still me,” Lena tells her gently. “I can come to you, but you just need to close your eyes first.” 

“Why?” Kara demands. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Kara’s eyes run all over the sleek design of the lexo-suit, swallowing hard when her x-ray vision can’t breach the surface. “It’s you?” 

“It’s me, I promise.” 

Kara shuts her eyes, disappearing the threat of heat vision along with the darkened blue of her sunken gaze. Warnings come flooding through Lena’s earpiece from well-meaning almost friends, but she gets out of the suit anyway. The tell-tale hydraulic hiss of the lexo-suit opening brings a low rumble to Kara’s chest, but her eyes still remain shut tight.   

“All right, Kara. I’m right here, okay?” Lena says, and Kara struggles to keep her eyes closed at the sound of her voice, now unfettered by technology or static. “No, you’re okay, Kara. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here.” 

Lena repeats the sentiment a few times as she approaches Kara in a careful stride. The closer she gets, the harder Kara breathes, teeth gritted and grinding in frustration. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Lena says once within reach, and Kara’s hand shoots out, catching Lena around the wrist. It’s a painful grasp, but Lena grimaces her way through it. “It’s me. You can tell... right?” 

“... Yes,” comes the trembling, grateful answer. 

“Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” Lena explains to her, still soft, still gentle. “Lex did something to your brain, and... you’re just having some trouble trusting what you see right now. But we’re going to fix it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut even harder, and finally lets her hand slip off Lena’s tender, bruised wrist. 

As Lena starts unwinding the scarf from her neck, she lets her eyes roam all over Kara’s face; she’s never been quite this close before. It looks a little different at the moment, somewhat worse for the wear. Deep creases in her strong brow, lips worried and worn, ash and blood of innocent bystanders smudged across one cheek, and her eyes... fluttering, but firmly shut. 

All it would take is one blink, Lena realizes. One look, and she could very well lose her life in Kara’s arms. 

Kara’s breath hiccoughs when she feels soft cotton wrapping around her head, smelling of Lena’s sweat and perfume, and covering her eyes. And all at once, she’s surrounded by the people she loves. 

Alex embracing her and tugging her to safety, whispering words of regret and forgiveness into her hair. 

Brainy and Nia patting at her shoulders, squeezing her hands, as they offer all sorts of affirmations. 

But Kara reaches out, blindly and yet somehow all too aware, and manages to snag the hem of Lena’s shirt. She gently, desperately tugs Lena closer. “You’ll stay with me?” 

A warm hand carefully undoes Kara’s grip on the shirt, inviting it instead in a tangled grasp, both firm and comforting. 

“Always,” Lena says. 

(next part here)

[randomrosewrites]

Bittersweet Dreams

Every night, your mind is plagued with visions of an old Liyue. She blesses your nights, like a guardian angel, but you never remember her face or name when the sun rises again.

Pairing: Ganyu X GN reader Words: ~5K Warnings/ tags: Memory loss, reincarnation, blood and injury, death, fluff and angst, happy ending, implied sexual content a/n: I never thought much of Ganyu, until I dreamt of her one night (which unspiringly inspired this fic) and now I'm hooked. Patiently awaiting her rerun.

She comes to you in a dream.

You can tell it’s her from the feeling of it. Warm. Comfortable. It loosens your muscles (if you even have muscles in dreams) and puts your mind at ease. It makes you sleepy, wanting to lie down on the soft hills of grass under the shade of a tree to take a nap.

You don’t know exactly where ‘this’ is, whether or not it’s in the fields of your home, Liyue, or some other place. It looks like Liyue, with the craggy mountains behind you, and the bubbling stream running down the hill. But it feels different.

Then, you see her.

You don’t know what – or who – she is exactly, because you can never get a clear view of her. Everything blurs around her body. But you know she’s there, know she’s waiting for you. Sitting in a pocket of empty grass, sounded by glaze lilies, feet tucked underneath her as she naps.

She starts when you approach, uncurling herself to sit up properly. She smiles. She says your name – at least you think it’s your name, it feels like your name – and pats the spot beside her.

You wade through the flowers and sit down, so close to her that your legs are touching. It’s rather close even for friends, but with her, it feels right. How it should be.

She never talks much. For a dream or a vision, she never has much to say. Only whispering in a soft voice about how pretty the flowers are, or how beautiful the day is. The silence is good. A brief period of peace.

(Peace from what? You always wonder when you wake, but no matter how many times you re-enter the dream, you always forget to ask.)

This dream always ends in the same way.

“You should get some rest,” she says.

“What about you?” you always respond, the words feel foreign in your mouth – like they’re not yours.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. Rest, and have peaceful dreams.”

You rest your head in her lap, as you’ve done a thousand times before. Her hand cradles your head, brushing through your hair lovingly.

“Who are you?” “Why are you doing this?” “What is this?” – You always want to ask, but no matter what you try, the words never come out, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

Just like every time, your eyes grow heavy, your body grows weak, and you close your eyes, falling asleep once more.

…

..

.

When you wake, you’re never in the flowery fields anymore, but in bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of noise vibrates through the wall, employees at the Inn already getting up to do their daily tasks.

You sigh and rub your eyes, rolling around for another ten minutes before finally getting up.

By the time you dress and leave your room, you’ve forgotten all about the dream.

---

“Good morning, Mrs. Goldet,” you great sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

Verr Goldet looks up from the counter and nods. “Good morning, sleep well?”

You give the cat laying on the counter a few scratches. “As good as always. I had a nice dream.”

She blinks slowly. “What did you dream of?”

You turn away, heading out of the doorway to start your chores. “Her. As always.”

As you disappear, Verr Goldet’s brows furrow and she frowns. It dissolves the second a customer walks into the lobby, ready to check in.

---

You’ve been working and living at the Wangshu Inn for a while now. Free room and food for helping out every day, with Sundays off. It’s a good deal.

You do odd tasks around the Inn, helping out in the kitchen, moping the floors whenever travelers track in mud from the marsh – things like that.

Days are spent polishing the balconies, evenings are spent wiping down dinner tables, and you when the moon is high in the sky, you sleep.

And dream.

---

There are many people in the crowd, packed tight together under the hot midday sun. Guili plains is alive in celebration. Booths are set up on either side of the streets, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and colorful decorations hang everywhere. You push through them, scanning the sea of heads for a particular person. She’s not hard to miss, but everywhere you turn, she evades your sight. Anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach – the speech will start soon, and you want to be with her when it begins.

A cold hand falls on your shoulder. Turning around, you sigh with relief.

“There you are,” you yell over the noise of the crowd. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She smiles, showing off fresh Qingxin flowers in her hand. “Sorry, I was distracted by a stall. Would you like some?”

You take her free hand and kiss it. A red blush forms on the apples of her cheeks. “They’re all yours.”

Hand in hand, the two of you make your way towards an elaborate stage, raised high above the people, crafted out of rock and decorated with gold. Many people are gathered around, waiting patiently, holding umbrellas to protect from the sun or fanning themselves off with whatever they have. The two of you take your seats just as the theatrics begin.

There’s a cry, and a point of fingers as the audiences’ attention is turned towards the sky. Hailing in rays of light are two of the Adeptus, taking the form of cranes. One of them a gold and orange, the other blue and white.

Cloud Retainer, you’ve heard (?????) call her Adeptus.

They land on stage and spread their wings out in a flourish.

“People of Guili,” Cloud Retainer begins. Her voice ringing out like a crystal bell. “On behalf of all the Adepti we would like to welcome you here.”

“We hope you have all enjoyed the festivities,” the gold and orange bird speaks next. “Today’s celebration marks not only the anniversary of the creation of Guili, but to also pay homage to the warriors that have fought and are still fighting in the ongoing war. Because of the date’s significance, the Lord of Geo and Lady of Dust have decided to bless all of use with their presence.”

The two birds spread their wings once more. Cloud Retainer raises her head high in the air. “People of Guili, I now present to you, the Lord of Geo – Morax and the Lady of Dust – Guizhong.”

At the mention of their Gods, the people break into a round of applause, this only increases when a man and woman appear onstage, and everyone rises to show their respects. They’re both dressed beautifully, in fine silk-robes, adorned with smears of make-up around their eyes. Your goddess looks divine, accepting the praise with a warm smile. Morax, on the other hand, gazes out towards the crowd, sharp gold eyes piercing anything in his sight.

Morax – though you have nothing but respect for him – has always been a bit enigmatic to you. You can’t imagine what your Goddess sees in him. But their companionship has what lead you to become acquainted with her, so you’re not complaining.

Morax steps forth on stage, raising a hand. The crowd goes silent instantly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Morax’s voice is rich and calm. Beside you, your companion is sitting at full attention, gnawing on her bottom lip in anxiety. She startles as you place a hand over hers. She smiles thankfully, some of the tension leaving her, before returning her full attention to the couple on stage.

“This land has seen many years of fighting,” your Lord’s words are wispy yet firm, just like dust being blown through the wind. “Many, many people have suffered at the bloody hands of war. Such heinous acts stain the land red, spreading sorrow on every inch of the earth.”

She gathers a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is strong, that of a warrior who has fought in battle. “But not here. Guili will be – is – a place where there is respite. It’s the beginning of the future, a future where the monsters of today are nothing but a kids-bedtime story in the future.”

Guizhong touches her chest with one hand, the other extending out towards the crowd. “I make this vow to you now – my precious people – we will fight to protect the lives of each and every one of you. I promise you security, prosperity, and peace. One day, the bloodshed will end, and I promise you, when that time comes, when the dust has finally settled, we will lead you into the new age of Liyue. To this, I swear on the very ground I walk upon.”

There is nothing but pride, joy, and determination emanating from the crowd, applauding the Lady’s finest speech. Even Morax is smiling at her, the small corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Cool fingers squeeze yours. Looking over, there are tears in your friend’s eyes. She blinks them away, the wind tousling her blue hair.

She’s beautiful. Your heart squeezes painfully as you fight the urge to lean over and kiss her.

You squeeze her hand back, letting all of your hopes, feelings, and things unsaid pool between the two of you.

---

There is an Adeptus at the Wangshu Inn.

You know little of the Adepti, but seeing the boy (being?) in front of you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he is one.

His sharp eyes slide over to meet yours, run up and down your person, before returning to your face, then back to staring at the marsh.

“Sir Xiao?” you ask. “I’ve brought you dinner.”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were warned he would be like this - bitterly stubborn and unresponsive.

You settle the plate down by your feet. “It’ll be here if you feel like eating.”

You wait a minute longer, but Xiao doesn’t make a peep. You sigh and turn to go back inside.

“Do you remember Guili?” he whispers suddenly, so quiet you nearly mistake it for being the wind.

You spin around. “Do I what?”

“Guili. Remember Guili.”

“…Remember? It’s an ancient ruin,” your brows furrow as you frown. “I’ve only been there maybe once or twice, passing by.”

A painful second goes by.

“Why, am I supposed to know something about it?”

From what you can see of his face, Xiao grimaces. “Nothing, just – just forget it.”

“You can’t just-”

“I said forget it,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the end of his words. “You don’t – I thought you – ” He rubs his face with his hand, breaths deeply. “It’s nothing. Please just leave.”

He gets up suddenly and leaps from the balcony before you can even speak. Leaving both the tofu and you alone on the balcony, a cold ache spreading through your heart.

---

She’s nervous, you think. Abnormally so.

Jueyun Karst is safe, kept watch over by Morax’s Adepti and the Qilin in the clouds. Only select few are allowed up where you are – (There was a smug steak of satisfaction when Cloud Retainer begrudgingly let you traverse her abode atop the mountains, Ganyu smiling gleefully as she held your hand.) – and even less are allowed to set foot on the sacred lands.

She’s been shifting for the past hour, unable to focus on conversation and jittery. Ever so often, she rubs her hands over her horns in a pacifying motion, then as if realizing what she’s doing, abruptly tears her hands away.

“Is the upcoming battle bothering you?” you ask, finally, not being able to stand her fidgeting much longer.

She stiffens, surprised that she’s been found out, and dips her head in embarrassment. “Oh. No, it’s not that…”

“…Ok. If not that, then what?”

She swallows thickly. She turns to you, taking both of your hands in hers, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I was wondering…I mean I hope,” she starts, nervously. “That after this is over…all of it…that maybe…you’d, um…”

You’re patient, gently prompting her, “I’d?”

“W-well, that we could…?” she trails off, squeezing your hands again. “That this…could be s-something more.”

Oh. Oh.

Your chest heats as you lean forwards, whispering her name to the wind. She squeaks raising her head.

“I like you,” you sigh, unable to stop the loving cadence in your tone when you say it. “A lot. So whatever concerns you have just know that…anything you want is…it’s all good.”

She’s silent for a moment as your heart pounds against your ribs. Slowly, she tilts her head towards yours, resting your foreheads together. Her cheeks are so hot, unlike the cryo vision strapped to her side.

“I like you a lot, too,” she says. “I don’t really have…any…experience with something like this but um…I’d like to try.”

Your heart soars, leaps, and does a flip twice over. You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

She blinks, nodding her head.

“May I kiss you?”

She wets her lips with her tongue and nods again, vigorously.

You close the distance, firmly kissing her lips. They’re soft and plush, warmer than you’d imagined. (Because you have imagined this, many, many nights before.) A mix between a gasp and a pleasured sigh escapes her, the noise only heating you up further.

When you pull back, she’s turned three different shades of pink and her eyes are glazed. You rest your head against hers and wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the curves and dips of her body, squeezing at the skin there.

“Good?” you ask.

She nods, tucking her head onto your shoulder. “Mhm.”

At some point, you lie down together, tangled in limbs, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing and heart beats as Liyue’s night sky sparkles with constellations.

It’s only much later, when you hear the screams, that you realize peace is fleeting in this world.

---

You pant heavily, setting the last box down on the ground and flop on the stairs. Five in total, weighing gods know how much. Each one filled to the brim with legal documents from Liyue Harbor. You had suffered through carrying them one-by-one up the stairs as the elevator had conveniently decided to break this morning.

You push the box with your foot, sliding it with the others against the wall. If this is how much paperwork the Inn gets, you don’t even want to know how much paperwork the Qixing have to deal with. (Then again, it was the Qixing that dictated the laws, so perhaps it was well deserved.)

Verr Goldet had taken one look at them and called it an early day, leaving you to handle closing.

At least your day is done now. You hang the keys up in their proper place, pet the cat goodnight, and begin blowing out the lanterns.

“Um…excuse me?”

The sudden voice startles you, turning towards the entrance. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. You can’t make their identity out.

“Could I speak to Mrs. Goldet? It’s about the recent delivery of paperwork.”

“Mrs. Goldet is away right now; I could take a message?”

The person nods, steps through the threshold, and your mouth goes dry.

She’s tall. Eloquently dressed with hair the color of Glaze Lilies. It frames her face, falling down her back in delicate curls. As you stare, stary eyes blink back at you in shock.

She seems familiar.

“I’m…sorry…” she says, turning away quickly. “I-I’ll just come back tomorrow-”

The tassel of her outfit swings as she does a complete 180. Her hair is furled out, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The sight sends a throb to your temple, the scene feeling reminiscent of…something.

Your head is aching.

“W-wait!” you reach out and grab her arm, catching on the cuff of her sleeve. The motion rattles the necklace around her neck – no, not a necklace – a bell. The chime crisp like morning frost, soft like the way she feels, like the way she-

Pain bursts from your temples, piercing both sides of your head. You cry, loosing your grip in the process. There’s a muffled yell before the world blurs, spins, and sends you tumbling down, down, down, into the dark.

And then, there’s a hallow nothing.

---

She comes to you in a dream, but Liyue is not as it once was.

There is fire everywhere you look, the ground scorched by flames or destroyed in the aftermath of intense fights. The air is thick with smog, choking you with each gasp you take. One of your legs isn’t working and blood pools through your fingers pressed tightly against your side. You don’t know how much further you can make it.

You hobble through destroyed fields, corpses littering the ground, blood seeping into the earth. All of the glaze lilies are gone, wiped out in the destruction.

You cross the river on one leg. You slip on a rock and lose your footing, collapsing into the water. It’s freezing, the sensation colliding with the burn of your wound. You shiver and suck air through your chattering teeth, dragging yourself using your arms. Your side screams in pain at every pull, black spots dance in your vision. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the dirt, pushing forward.

Not yet, you can’t die just yet.

You exhaust yourself at the edge of what used to be the flower field, rolling onto your back and wheezing at the sky. This is as far as you’ll go. Mud soaks through your clothes. You dig your fingers into it, grounding yourself from the searing pain.

You hear the chime of her bell before you see her, crisp and pleasant, soothing your mind. She cries out your name, fear and desperation in her voice. You call back, a cracked, soft groan.

The bell draws closer and she rushes to your side, kneeling in the dirt. Her hair’s a mess, dirty and singed. Her sleeve is torn, blood dripping down her pale forearm. She pulls you onto her lap and rushes to tend to your wounds, pressing a hand to your side. She’s never been a healer, only a fighter. A strong fighter. Stronger than you could have ever hoped to be.

“You’ll be fine,” she says to herself more than you. She nudges you gently. “Please stay awake just a bit longer.”

You take her hand and squeeze it tight. Smiling takes all of the will you have, and even then, it’s weak. “It’s alright.”

She shakes her head. Her eyes – such pretty eyes – wide and filled with tears. “Please don’t go. I can’t…”

“Morax,” you croak. “There’s still him.” Your goddess, Guizhong might be gone, but he’s still alive. As enigmatic as he is, you know she’ll be safe in his care.

“I care about that!” she shouts, for the first time ever, her anger directed at you. “I’m not talking about a god to follow, I’m talking about you!”

She’s sobbing now, her eyes swollen red, teeth clenched tightly through her gasps. She curls around you, fingers grasping at your bloody clothes.

You lean your head into her, offering what little comfort someone dying can offer their partner.

“I’m sorry, Ganyu…” The life is fading from your body, your fingers and toes are so, so cold. “For leaving you like this…”

She gives up on the wound, wrapping her arms tightly around you, burying her head onto your chest, over her heart. Pitiful whimpers leave her mouth, awful sounds that make your heart ache.

“I love you,” she confesses, the words coming out as a sob. “I love you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I love you too, please…”

But the words don’t come. The ache in your side is almost unbearable, growing worse and worse with each shallow breath you manage. You fight to keep your eyelids open, but you’re so tired. And sleep has never been more appealing.

“Rest, now,” she coos, combing your matted hair from your face. You feel the small, delicate press of chapped lips on your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The void calls, gathering you into its arms, wrapping you in a warm bundle; warning you that your time’s up. You fight against it a bit longer, mustering up the last of your consciousness to tell Ganyu – you friend, partner, lover, one final thing.

“Forgive yourself.”

She bites her lip, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She nods. You’re relieved.

Her form wavers, and you know you can’t stay any longer. You let your eyelids close, your breathing slows, and you give yourself to eternal sleep.

…

..

.

“Sweet Dreams…” she whispers after a long while, in a soft, saddened voice.

---

You wake up alone, sweating in your bed, in tears, and remember.

---

The climb to Quicing Village is long and straining. You could have taken the path to the west, but stubborn as you were, wanted to save time by scaling the mountain.

You don’t know what drew you to this place, only a tugging at your heart forcing you forward. A firm belief that you’re heading where you need to go.

It’s easier the further up you go. You’ve done this before, in another life, as another person. You remember scaling mountains all the time, just to pick the freshest Qingxin petals for her. You used to eat them together, on the tops of Mount Azjong, legs dangling in midair, watching the birds go by, the wind nipping at your skin.

It’s not long before you reach the top, where the path dips to overlook the village. Fields of red, blue, and yellow stretching over the lands.

You let yourself wander, talking to the villagers as you go. Everyone is so nice, excited to talk to a new stranger in town. The air’s so fresh and the grass is so green, it reminds you of those days in the fields of glaze lilies.

You almost stop breathing when a familiar scent flows by on the wind. Sweet, fresh, cool. One you’re very well acquainted with. You rush forward, running towards the smell faster than your legs can carry you.

She’s sitting in a field of flowers. Just like the ones in your dreams, except there’s only one glaze lily, resting by her knees and cupped in her palms. You slow down and take the stone paths carefully, as to not to disturb the environment.

You stop just behind her, clearing your throat. She startles with a jump, turning around. Your face heats in embarrassment.

“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her lips, which are slightly parted, close. She shakes her head. “It’s quite alright…I was just enjoying the day.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She pauses, then nods wordlessly. You settle down in the grass beside her, a visible gap between the two of you. There are many things you are unsure of. Does she even want you here anymore? Does she just want to forget what happened?

“[First] is your name, correct?” she says eventually.

“Oh – yes, it is.”

She nods, staring out over the river. Another silence befalls you.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” you blurt. “For a while. It comes back in chunks. The memories of my past.”

“That usually happens with reincarnation. The soul is the same but the body and mind doesn’t remember, plagued by shadows of a past life.”

You swallow down your nerves, trying not to focus on how your voice shakes. “In that past life, were we…were we…lovers?”

Her fists clench on her lap. She takes a shaky inhale and nods.

“Oh…” Is all you can say. You knew – know? But to heart it out loud is…

“You look just like you did all those years ago,” Ganyu murmurs sadly. “I’ve never forgotten your face.”

A heavy, hot weight settles in your chest. “How long has it been?”

“Thousands of years…since before the Arcon war,” Ganyu rubs her eyes with her palm. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You wait until she composes herself before you speak again. “I remember in the past, you asked me to share a future with you.”

Ganyu turns to face you, and desire flares up inside your chest. Dark and powerful, urging you to pull her close and into your arms.

“I did.” She says.

“I’m not…the same person from the past. I don’t know who or how I was, and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to remembering anything. But…”

Cool fingers rest on your lap, you shudder at the touch. Ganyu smiles gently, and there’s a feeling of deja-vu when she says. “But…?”

“But if you’ll have me, I would like – I’d really like to – to try. With you.”

Ganyu scoots to the side, until your thighs are touching, and hums softly. “I think I’d like that, too.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and squeeze her fingers tightly. She smells sweet and floral, the scent overwhelming your body, making your head drift and spin. You’ve never smelled anything more right.

“I hope this isn’t rude, but you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

She flushes deeply, smile spreading across her face. “You told me that before, thousands of years ago, when you first met me.”

You smile back, tucking a piece of stray hair from her face. “Well, it’s true.”

---

As much as two immortals (???) might have just rushed back into dating, neither of you wanted that.

You two talked. A lot. About your current lives and past. You talked about Wangshu, about your occupation, about Xiao. (“Don’t mind him,” Ganyu had said. “Xiao’s always a bit cold, even to the other Adepti.”) Ganyu talked about the harbor, about your past lives in Guili.

You might not ever get your memories fully back. But even if you don’t, you feel surprisingly calm and accepting of it.

At the end of the day, after both of your throats were hoarse from conversation and your eyes wet from emotion, you both decided to part ways.

She returns to Liyue Harbor. You return to the Wangshu Inn.

Temporarily, you promised, until you figured yourself out. Liyue Harbor is daunting, the populated streets reminding you too much of Guili, of memories you can’t remember, that make your head ache terribly.

You stay at Wangshu. In the mornings, you mop floors, dust paintings, and help fix the elevator. At evenings, you go to the top floor and eat plates of Almond Tofu with Xiao, staring longingly towards the Harbor.

And at night, when you go to bed, you don’t dream of the past, but of your future.

---

One day, when you return to an empty room, and your heart aches with loneliness and the desire to see her becomes too painful to bear, you decide it’s time to go.

---

Liyue is calm, today.

The clouds drift by idly, whisps of white against blue as birds soar on the random wind currents. The sun shines high in the sky, slowly making its way across the map.

“Stop moving,” you grumble, locking your arms tightly around her, burying your face into her chest.

Ganyu chuckles, carding her hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Yes…I was having a good nap.” Which is true. Ever since your reunion, you’ve been sleeping more soundly than you ever have in years. Perhaps it’s because you don’t dream of the old anymore, don’t float through your memories like a puppet being pulled on a string.

“You’ve had enough time to rest, I think,” she says tartly. “Thousands of years’ worth.”

You lift your head and pout. “You’re so cruel,” But your words don’t hold any bite.

Ganyu smiles mischievously. Her hand trails down your spine, drawing a shiver from you. “Do you think it’s unfair? To not indulge me after I’ve waited for you all this time?”

You drag yourself up to be eye level with her. Your hand cups the back of her head, trailing up to the base of her horns. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes flutter when you tenderly pet them.

“If you wanted my attention,” you whisper, lips an inch from hers. “You could have just asked.”

Ganyu pulls you down by the neck, sighs and gasps being lost to the wind.

---

Much later, when the two of you were sweating and grass was stuck in both of your hair, you lay together, dozing under the night sky. Ganyu lays curled to your side, feet tucked underneath her, a content purr vibrating from her throat. You wonder if all Qilin do that.

As you pet her hair, fingers rubbing curiously over her empty ring finger, a deep feeling of content seeps into your bones.

You’re home, at last.

You kiss her forehead, joining her into a peaceful dream.

[gureishi]

prompt 2 with v tysm take care of you ^^

Thank you for this wonderful request, and apologies for taking my time writing it!

I thought a whole lot about this prompt and Jihyun and my mind said PINING and I wrote this long, sprawling thing. It’s a slightly different format from my other requests—I hope you don’t mind! Writing this made me feel all kinds of things. ♡♡

two: fall into yours arms again

JihyunxReader, G, words: 3620

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

97 days

It’s windy today.

You wake up late and throw open the window that you can reach from your bed. The sun’s already high in the sky and beating down through the thin, gauzy curtains. You need to buy new curtains.

The window sticks; you push; it opens. The cool breeze whips through your hair, in stark contrast to the sun—nauseatingly hot and dry. The wind cools your neck, wipes away the last remnants of what you suspect was a nightmare.

Though it’s June, the air still smells of spring. The azaleas in the community garden down the street have wilted, but some of their fragrance is in the air today, and it startles you, spins your head around.

He left in March and the chaos of April and May have been locked away in your memory, behind a wall that says think about this later. Now it’s undeniably summer, the days lengthening, your tendency to sleep through the morning worsening. Time has slowed: the afternoons feel languid and the nights unbearably long. You stretch, letting your shirt—his shirt—fall off your shoulder. It’s long lost its scent by now, grown softer as you’ve slept in it, worn it while cleaning up the little loft you once lived in by yourself. You lived here what feels like forever ago, before you made the misguided decision that led to your life turning upside down and now, somehow, righting itself in ways you still don’t understand.

“I miss you,” you mouth into the wind.

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191 days

When you get home you’re shivering, underdressed and underprepared for the turn in the weather. You turn the key in the lock, shoulders hunched against the cruel chill that has abruptly permeated your quiet little neighborhood.

You slip inside and shut the door, the wind chimes jangling harshly. You toss your things haphazardly to the side—keys, bag, sunglasses, coffee cup. Everything you needed for the day except a stupid jacket.

The house is cool, too—the wood floors retain some of the warmth of summer but you haven’t turned the heat on yet out of some convoluted mixture of stubbornness and frugality. You shrug on your thickest, floppiest sweater and move through the house, closing the windows one at a time. You shouldn’t have left them open to begin with.

You survey the mess you’ve made: bag spilling out onto your multicolored shag rug, sunglasses hanging over the hand-painted lamp on the side table. You decide to leave them there.

As you so often do lately, you slip into the well-worn chair at your small desk in the corner, under the little window that faces north. You rub your hands together, gaze at the growing pile of paper, stacked precariously high. You know there’s work to be done, emails to be answered—instead, you pull a new sheet of paper toward you, begin a letter than can never be sent.

“How are you?” you write. “It’s getting cold here. I hope it’s warm where you are.” You pause, well-chewed pen cap in your mouth. Scrawl the words you know he won’t read on the paper you have no way to send to him. “I think about you,” you write. “Every single day.”

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277 days

You laugh and wave and laugh again as you see the grey cloud your warm breath makes in the air.

You call out a last goodbye toward your friends’ receding backs and then wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck, feeling the cold more strongly now that you’re alone. You make your way back through your neighborhood, stopping only to pet the head of the tabby cat that your down-the-street neighbor lets roam free. The sun is setting—the midday chill is turning to a biting evening cold.

You approach your little loft: open the gate, half-run down the path. When, you think, will this feel like a home again? How long, you wonder, till this feels more real that those two weeks that are still illuminated in your memory, brighter even than the events of yesterday or last month or last summer?

Automatically, you check your mailbox. Automatically, you riffle through the bills you can just barely pay and the magazines subscribed to by the apartment’s former occupants. At the very bottom, there’s an envelope, one side covered completely in stamps. You climb the steps, peering at it curiously. You recognize the writing.

You trip.

You should get back up and go in the house and turn on the lights—open the letter where it’s warm and bright. But instead you stay right where you are, on the bottom step, jacket twisted up under you. You tear off one mitten, your hands shaking a little, and open the envelope.

“Dearest,” he’s written. “I don’t know if I’ve sent this the right way or how long it will take to reach you.”

There are already frozen tears on your eyelashes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away frantically with your other hand, still engulfed in your warm, chunky mitten.

“There’s no regular post office where I am so I had to improvise,” he goes on. His thin, messy scrawl is the same as you remember it. You can feet your heartbeat in your fingertips. “Still, that’s no excuse. I’ve written so many letters to you and thrown so many away. I never knew where to begin. I hope you can forgive me.”

The tears are falling hard and fast now, and you give up on wiping them, squinting to read the minuscule letters he’s crammed onto one single sheet of paper.

He describes where he’s staying in detail. It’s beautiful and evocative and you can tell that he’s stalling.

He asks after you—how your work has been going, how you’ve settled back into your own home, if you’ve been eating well. He asks after the RFA too, one at a time, by name. This answers a question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind—so it’s true, you think. He’s written to no one else.

The final paragraph is neater that the rest, as if he’s written and re-written it, practiced and copied it over.

“I am trying to live in the present moment and not worry over the future,” he says. “But every night I can’t help but imagine the life we could have together, when we are both ready. Do you imagine it too?” Your eyes are blurry with tears. “I miss you,” he writes, and you mouth the words as you read them, almost able to hear them in his sweet, gentle voice.

“If you don’t feel like writing me, I’ll understand,” he says. “But I’ll be at this address for some time, so please do write, if you like.” You think of all the letters, the ever-growing pile on and under your desk. You giggle through your tears, imagining how much it would cost to send them all. 

He signs the letter “Yours.” At the bottom he’s added cramped letters, so small you have to bend over, nose almost touching the paper, to read them. “By the way,” he writes. “Please call me Jihyun.” 

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352 days

To you, March will always be him: the sudden rain showers in the midst of sunny days are his eyes and the scent of plum blossoms in the air is the indescribable warmth of his arms.

There’s a string of pictures now above your bed—you’ve hung each one that he’s sent, strung them up on a piece of bright green yarn. When you told him you’d started doing this, he began sending them with a hole already punched in the top—delicate, perfectly round, just the right size.

You sit on the floor, bare legs extended in front of you, a book propped on your lap.

“All the snow has melted except for the one, long icicle outside my window,” you write. “I think I’ve grown attached to it, and I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

Your letters have grown longer over the months—his last was five whole pages, front and back. He sends photographs he’s taken of the beautiful landscape where he’s living and sketches he’s made, mostly of nature—and a few of you.

He includes vague references to his companion, and though he’s never mentioned him by name, it’s become clear to you who he’s with. It’s brought you immense comfort to know—if not in much detail—that he is alive and well.

“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing everyone,” you write. “I know you both still need more time, but not being able to give them any news is killing me. Not everyone is doing so well, you know.” You bite your lip, consider crossing off the last few lines. You don’t. He’s healing—and you’d give anything in the world to ensure that he has the space and time he needs. That they both do. But the time you spend with the other members has been dwindling and the evidence of their suffering—some of them more than others—is becoming abundantly clear.

“I think I want to have a party,” you write. “Not for months, maybe longer, but I want to start thinking about it. I think it might help.”

You sip from the glass of water you’ve set on the floor next to you, swirl it around a little to listen to the sound of the ice clinking.

“I miss you desperately,” you write. “And I love you, Jihyun.”

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478 days

The song that plays through your headphones is soft and pretty, not nearly loud enough to drown out the shouting of the street vendors and the overall atmosphere of chaos. It’s Sunday, and you’ve ventured into the city to shop. You don’t love the crowds or the fast pace, but you do relish the savory scents drifting from food stalls and the feeling of your thin pants swooshing against your legs.

You hoist the two large fabric grocery bags up; they’re nearly slipping out of your sweat-slick hands again. The mid-afternoon July sun beats down on you. You slow your pace.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten a letter. This isn’t shocking—he’s staying somewhere new now, and it’s even more remote than before. He has to travel into town to mail his letters, so the gaps between them have grown longer. You’re used to it, but you still can’t help feeling like a cold hand is clenching around your heart whenever you check the mailbox and find it empty.

You reach the train station, grip both bags with one hand so you can tap your card. You go through the motions: standing in the station, boarding the train. As you have so many times, you repeat the words of his last letter in your mind. You know it by heart.

“I bought plane tickets last week,” he wrote. “He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days and we decided together to cancel them.”

This isn’t a first either—the tickets bought, the tickets cancelled. And you know that it isn’t just Jihyun’s “companion” who needs more time. They are both still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Please tell me when you decide on a date for the party,” he wrote. “I’m sorry to hear the plans aren’t going smoothly. And I’m sorrier that I can’t offer the other members some solace—particularly where it concerns him. I must respect his wish for privacy.”

The train is packed; you set your bags at your feet so you can hold on. The gentle rocking motion is familiar; the air conditioning is a relief.

“I saw a flower yesterday that I couldn’t identify. It was raining here, but the flower’s petals were open. I was afraid it would wilt from the force of the rain, but it didn’t. I watched it for a long time, and saw the raindrops collect inside it. I thought of you.”

The train rumbles to a stop. More people get on. You adjust. A new song plays in your headphones—it’s slow and a little melancholy.

“Every morning I imagine the things I will do with you in our bright and beautiful future,” he wrote.

The train picks up speed again. Sweaty people read newspapers and speak quietly to one another, underscored by the gentle music in your ears. You close your eyes.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

555 days

You run to catch the bus, the leaves crunching delightfully under your feet. It’s pulling into your stop as you’re crossing the street and—why does this always happen?—you bow your head and sprint, waving frantically at the driver.

The driver sees you. Smiles. Waits.

“Thank you,” you pant, jumping the steps two at a time. 

“It’s okay. I remember you.”

Ouch.

You stumble to a seat and collapse into it. If you’re late for the bus often enough that the driver remembers you, you’ve really got to try and pull yourself together.

You comb a hand through your sweaty hair. It’s hard, as it turns out, planning an RFA party while keeping up with your old life—you’ve got one foot in the world of working and cleaning and paying bills and the other in the world of CEOs and mysterious guests and anonymous donors.

As you’re catching your breath, you pull the newest letter from your bag. It arrived just this morning—perhaps that was why you almost missed the bus again—and you’ve only read it once so far. You scan the page with eager eyes, searching as you so often do for clues and hints and promises hidden between the lopsided words.

“I made a painting today,” he tells you. “I won’t describe it to you, because I want to show it to you in person.”

But when? you want to ask. You can’t help the frustration that’s creeping under your skin. The bus rocks; you lean your head against the window.

“I’ve realized something,” he writes. “I wonder what you think about it. I feel closer to you than I’ve felt to anyone before. And yet every day I find things I still don’t know about you, because of our circumstances. What are your favorite things to eat? What smells make you reminisce about the past? What music makes you sleepy?”

You sigh, fold up the letter. It’s true, you think. You love him with a warmth that encompasses your whole being—a feeling you’d never even dared to imagine. But how does his face look in the morning when he sleeps through his alarm? Which groceries does he always forget to buy?

You don’t write these questions down. Instead you turn over the letter, scribble on the back. 

“The party will be March 24th.”

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641 days

It hardly snows this winter, but it rains. The sound of the rain fills your dreams: it pounds on the roof of your little apartment, and you wake up and run to the kitchen to check that the window is closed. It fills your waking hours, thrumming on your giant umbrella as you navigate the narrow streets of the city. When it lets up, you still hear it, humming in your eardrums, reverberating inside your chest.

You sit at your desk again. No longer is it covered in stacks of paper, records of yearning—those letters have been long sent or put away in pretty boxes with colored lids. Your laptop buzzes, hopelessly trying to cool itself down. You press send and cut the frightening number of messages in your inbox down by just one more.

You lean back in your chair. The rain goes tap tap tap on the roof and you rub your sore neck. It’s a Friday night and even in this weather, you can hear the distant sounds of people gathering at the bar on the corner. You open another email.

“I’m working hard,” you wrote in your last letter to him. “Sometimes I feel that I can barely keep up with it all. Other times I’m sure I’m burying myself in all of this work on purpose, making myself busy so I don’t have to feel lonely.”

You scan the email with expert eyes, dash off a quick reply. Both are true, you suppose—planning a proper party, not one hastily thrown together in a few weeks under extreme circumstances, is a full-time job all on its own. But you are lonely, you think, taking a break to stretch your arms over your head. There are people around you all the time, but your chest feels hollow. “I’m taking good care of myself,” you wrote to him last week. “I do feel fulfilled. But…”

But you can no longer re-create in your mind the exact way that he smells, the sweet freshness of nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You can’t always hear his voice clearly in your mind when you read the sweet, beautiful words he writes to you. “I love you like the way the ocean crashes into the rocks and then spills peacefully over the sand,” he writes. “Does that make sense?”

It does.

You shake your head to clear it, type a few brief, carefully-worded lines.

“I’m ready,” you say out loud, and the words echo in your apartment: warm and cluttered and bright and full to the brim with thoughts of him. “I’m ready when you are.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

702 days

For the first time, you wait to read his letter.

You find it in the mailbox as you’re leaving in the morning and you whisper “patience” to yourself as you walk to the bus. You wait at the light, you cross the street. You sit at the bus stop for two whole minutes before the bus arrives and the driver raises his eyebrows at you in surprise.

“Patience,” you whisper to yourself again as you exit the bus, breathing in the fresh, early-spring air. And “patience,” you think, as you greet the venue manager and listen to her running through the event checklist for what feels like the eight hundredth time.

“Almost,” you tell yourself as you leave, taking a picture on your phone of the orange and purple sky. You board the bus again, watch the sunset fade into star-speckled navy through the smudged window.

“Now,” you say out loud as you unlock the door to your flat, hanging your light jacket and keys on the hooks you’ve recently mounted by the door. “Now.”

You tear into the letter as you make your way to the bedroom, turning on lamps as you go, bathing the room in amber light.

You pull out the paper and your hands, steady all day, start to shake. You hold it up to the light. It’s shorter than usual. He’s written your name at the top and he’s answered your questions, described a walk he took on the waterfront yesterday, offered updates on the plants growing beside the house where he’s staying.

And at the bottom, he’s sketched a picture in light blue ink. His lines are soft and wavy, but the details are clear: it’s two plane tickets. They’re dated.

You inhale sharply.

Thirty-two more days.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

734 days

It’s warm, but not too warm. The lights are dim, but not too dim. The air is lightly scented like spring flowers and rain, but it’s not overwhelming, and the chatter of the crowd is enthusiastic and warm.

In other words, you’ve done a very good job.

You step onto the balcony for a moment, patting your red cheeks with both hands. You’ve been receiving compliments all night and it’s made you feel like you’re floating several centimeters off the ground. You’re proud of yourself—you worked hard for this.

But as the night’s worn on, your anticipation has built to a fever pitch, and you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe. If he were arriving on any other day, you’d be meeting him in private— and would you feel more or less nervous, then? You can’t decide.

But of course it’s today, because the most important events of your life always seem to coalesce around each other. There’s a beautiful garden surrounding the party venue and you take comfort in the ivy wrapped around the wrought-iron trellis; it reaches almost as high as your eye level and its balance of sturdiness and delicacy gives you strength.

You slip back inside, take in the groups of expensively-dressed people clustered around tall, elegant tables. There’s a string quartet in one corner and a mouth-watering array of hors d’oeuvres arranged toward the back wall.You straighten out your clothes surreptitiously, sneak a peak at the clock, flash a bright smile at the nearest group of guests .

And then, for a reason you’ll never be able to explain, you know what’s about to happen. Your eyes fly to the door. You gravitate toward it like a moth to a lamp and you know no one else has noticed but somehow you feel that the room has quieted for you.

The door opens. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s always been spring to you but it’s as if he’s brought summer with him. He’s taller than you remember and his collared shirt is open and he’s got the warmest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your thrill and worry and hope are reflected in his bright eyes. 

He holds out a hand—cautiously, as if afraid you’ll float away. You take it and his fingers are soft and cool, like the petals of a flower.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Jihyun.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my future mysme writings <3

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini​ @cro0kedme​ @otomefoxystar​ @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

[nachohypno]

Nate and Dave Ch. 6

I walked down the street with Dave.

The poor guy wanted to go home again, and I was happy to comply with that. This was definitely a weird thing to do.

Mostly because he was leashed, and he was a full wolf.

He looked like a brown and yellow German shepherd, but bigger than normally. I could pass him off as a big dog I was being paid to take for a walk, and wolf Dave seemed really educated and nice to be with.

…Because he was the same guy I was making out with like half an hour ago. I wondered if he retained his mind and his ability to think when in full wolf form. He couldn’t speak, that’s for sure, but he seemed to still have consciousness about his situation and his surroundings.

I assumed he wanted to go home because after a while of walking, he started doing those sad dog noises and licking my hand, so I decided to go back home and check what he needed, of course, after he transformed back into a human with the ability to speak.

“Hi, Mr. Henderson!” I greeted one of my neighbors as the man did the lawn on his front yard.

“Hello, Nathan! And… new dog…?” He asked, but I quickly shook my head.

“Not really, just doing a favor for a friend and taking him out for a walk. He can be quite temperamental if you don’t know how to handle him” I tried to give as an excuse, and luckily, Mr. Henderson seemed to buy it!

Dave helped too, growling at the man without showing off his teeth (That would probably rat us out of him being a wolf instead of a dog) before I pulled a bit from the leash to ‘calm him down’.

“Oh well, be careful. Big dogs can be dangerous, especially when they’re… so big, never seen one like that before” It was normal for him to be surprised, even I would be. I could sit on Dave’s back if I wanted and ask him to take me home, like some kind of mount.

Hmm… I wanted to try that out! But not now, it would be weird.

The leash was attached to his bowser collar, which gave him an even rougher appearance. But in reality, he was a really wholesome puppy boy.

“He seems to be a really expensive class of purebred German shepherd, or that’s what my friend said” I made up that quickly, trying to sound oblivious and shrug the subject off as Dave sneezed and looked around, playing dumb. “But don’t worry, I think he likes me!” I scratched Dave’s head and he gave me a friendly ‘Woof!’

“Huh… Glad to hear that. And he seems to be very cute when he’s not growling menacingly” The older man said, jokingly.

“Yeah, he’s a good boy. Anyway, gotta get going. Bye!” I waved to my neighbor with my free hand and he waved back.

Me and my werewolf kept walking until we arrived to my house. I opened the door and he entered first.

After closing the door, and confirming mom wasn’t here, I let go of the leash and Dave walked back to the center of the living room.

The wolf stood on his back legs, as his body started to morph again. I loved the werewolf form, but this was way more amazing to see.

His whole body started to grow, to match that of a normal human, and then his usual size. A big muscled jock.

His snout went back in as his head became human again, and his fur disappeared, with only very little body hair remaining on him.

He was in all his naked glory, cock full hard (I started to suspect that it had something to do with me near him, I can’t remember ever seeing him soft). We couldn’t play the ‘boy and his dog’ plan if the wolf was dressed like a normal human would be.

“Phew, what do you think, bro? Was I a good boy?” He asked, as soon as his transformation ended and he regained consciousness.

The black leather bowser collar around his neck, with the leash hanging from it. The hang was still in my hand, so I pulled him closer as he smirked at me, mischievously.

“You were great, puppy boy” I whispered to him, before giving him a nice, long kiss. He kissed me back, pulling my body closer to his.

Being honest? The whole dog thing was his idea.

He complained that –and I’ll repeat his own words- ‘I never go into full wolf form because there’s a chance I may get caught and scare someone off, triggering wild animal alarms at the town, bro!’

And that was a good reason. Last thing I wanted was a curfew because Dave decided to run on the middle of the street as a big wolf.

“Anything for you, my love” Dave whispered back after the kiss.

It’s been a week since we’ve met, and I felt somewhat comfortable around him already. I’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone, except the usual platonic love like y’know, Chris Evans. But this guy… It was something new I was willing to experience.

I’m not saying I love him… yet. But as I told him once (When he was zoned out and I think he couldn’t hear me) I do like him!

“Anything?” I asked him, tracing a finger around his abs.

He nodded blissfully, with eyes full of love. “Anything, whatever you tell me, bro!”

“Could you… put on some underwear then?” His expression changed, falling into realization. He looked down and noticed his cock on full display.

He blushed a bit, before resuming his smile. “Yeah, no problem bro” I was actually going to tell him to dress up again, since it was a bit cold outside. But the view of his built body was really enjoyable.

Dave and I walked together to my room, where his clothes were laying on my bed. He quickly put on some boxers, then looked back at me. “Anything else I can do for you, babe?”

‘A lot of things I dare not mention’ I thought. But I just shook my head “Would you like to play some videogames or just… cuddle together and watch some Streamflix?”

“Videogames! I’ll beat your ass this time on COD, bro!” He beamed up, before roughly sitting on my bed. The thing did a loud creak, probably because of Dave’s weight as he sat. If the big guy didn’t control himself, I was going to end up sleeping on the floor.

“Videogames it is” I mumbled, walking over to the PS4 and grabbed the two controllers on top of it. In the meantime, Dave turned on the TV with the remote near my bed and waited for me, clearly excited. I sat next to him and gave him his controller.

Honestly? I suck at gunplay games. I prefer, I don’t know, fantasy styled games? Like, I enjoy hunting a big monster or sword fighting my way around a medieval setting. Gunplay just… didn’t do it for me.

I bought this game because of Dave, I wanted to try something he would enjoy too, and he clearly loved it. I also noticed that he would play dumb and let me win a few times, to ensure I was having fun. But that’s on rare occasions, because he’s fucking competitive when it comes to this, and starts bragging pretty quickly.

Of course, he calms down as soon as he starts with it. Probably because he didn’t want to piss me off? Probably, yeah.

However, I also had some tricks up my sleeve.

I looked over at him. Game face on and fully focused on the screen. He started preparing a private match. A few bots here and there, his favorite map, then chose his designated weapon.

“I’ll go easy on you, bro. Don’t worry” He said, patting my shoulder.

The first match went down fast. I tried to run and kill his bots as he hunted me down. It was just like that, a cat and mouse game between us. I did enjoy it, reminded me of another horror game I usually played at night.

He gave me a few shots when I went around a corner and we bumped into each other. “Hey bro!” Dave said mockingly, as he filled my avatar’s body with lead.

I tapped X as fast as I could to respawn, as Dave continued wandering around the map and killing the bots of my team. This was going to be a hard game.

“Hey Dave?” I asked, as I respawned.

“Yuh?” He mumbled, still focused on the game. I must say, his game face makes him even more handsome.

“Forget about what I’m about to say; but confuse the left stick with the right stick” I said. This was my tactic. I had full control over his mind and body, right? Then, fuck, I wanted to win at least once.

He stopped moving his fingers for a few seconds, but I didn’t have time to check if his eyes were unfocused or not, I had a match to win!

Then, I noticed he tried to play again. “What the…” He mumbled, as I pressed the left stick to run and looked for him. In the meantime, he struggled to move his character.

The confused jock frantically moved the right stick and his character looked around a lot, and gave little steps with the left stick, like he tried to move the camera with it.

I finally found him and didn’t hesitate. R2 and a few seconds later, Dave’s character was lying on the floor like a ragdoll.

“Fuck!” The werewolf said, as I threw a punch to the air. “What the hell is happening to me?” He whispered, looking to his hands. He tried to move his respawned character, but moved the right stick instead. Then he tried to move the camera, but his left thumb moved the wrong stick too.

Dave looked at me “Anythin’ I should know, bro?” He asked, with a suspecting voice.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about” I answered, as I continued to look out for him with a nice smile on my face. The game just got twenty times funnier.

He tried to look out for me in game, to no avail. Until a bulb seemed to light up on his brain and he turned the controller upside down. ‘Fuck, he got me’ I thought.

Dave was back in the game, but I could notice he was uncomfortable playing like that.

I found him running into a wall and killed his character again.

“Aww, bro…” He mumbled, getting frustrated.

“Alright, alright. You can stop getting confused now.” But Dave left his controller on the night table. Did I piss him off? Oh geez, I didn’t want that!

But it was the opposite. He grabbed me and pulled me in with him to lay down on the bed. I loved this, we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately and this was my favorite part.

I think I’ve said this before, but Dave was an amazing kisser. He was gentle, and the taste of his mouth was amazing (Which was kind of surprising since he was a full wolf not so long ago, I expected him to have dog breath) and he was very skilled too.

“I don’t want to play if you’re not having fun” He whispered, before smooching me. “I prefer to see ya happy, my love”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Why, thanks puppy boy” I said, moving my hand through his torso, and into his underwear. “You’ve been a really good puppy boy today, haven’t you?”

I slowly caressed his cock. I was okay with this; we were on the blowjob level of things by now.

I mean, he only gave me one, but it was an advance, right? I still had to give a blowjob to him…

“Yeah, bruh. I’m a good puppy boy!” He sounded proud of himself. Probably because he was obeying me, not gonna complain though.

I wrapped my hand on his cock and started stroking slowly. Dave just stared at me with his deep blue eyes, smiling like an idiot. “You’re so… beautiful, Nate. The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen… fuck, that feels amazing to say”

I blushed, and stopped stroking for a bit. Dave placed his big hand on my cheek and leaned in to kiss me again. My nervousness fading away temporarily with each kiss, I felt safe. Like this was where I belonged.

In bed, with a hunk werewolf infatuated with me, and…

I shook my head “You’re trying to distract me so I forget to send you home, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

He gave me the pleading puppy eyes. “Please bro, I don’t want to go, I just want to be with you and make you feel good and loved” He tried to convince me, and I was falling for it. I would be okay with having him stay the night, but… Dave seemed willing to drop all his other responsibilities in order to spend time with me.

“Dave… You know how it is, we can hang out from time to time if you want. But I’d prefer if you still live your life like you would normally, and that includes sleeping in your house too-“

“Let’s go together, bro. Mom and pops will love having you around, and my bed has enough space for the both of us. Please, babe…” He lightly kissed my lips. “…I love you”

‘Why do you have to be so cute?’ I thought.

“I’ll let you stay, but just a little while more, alright? And then you go back home, no more excuses, understood?”

He seemed defeated, but agreed with me. “Understood, bro. Whatever you want” He mumbled, hugging me. “I’ll enjoy every second we spend together, bruh”

I rolled my eyes, so cheesy.

…And yet, I still liked him so much.

----

As I said, I kept him around for a little longer, then sent him off to his house again.

According to Dave, his parents didn’t have a problem with letting him spend a few nights with me. But I preferred if he didn’t change his… human behavior that much.

I do like being around Dave, maybe not as much as how he likes to be around me, but still. But as I could see, Dave is willing to forget about his responsibilities just to be with me and make me happy, and that’s not something I’d like to do to him.

I have to remind him of returning to his house, studying, working out, hanging out with his friends, etc., because if it was for him, he would rather just hang out with me.

It was okay though; it wasn’t really a problem. Everything was still the same, and even better. Dave started doing his own essays! He’s… he tries, at least. But I appreciate the effort and help him in any way I can.

It’s only been a week since we’ve started hanging out, so not many changes I could do to his persona.

Next day, we had school again. School became a much more bearable place, I just focused on my studies and that was enough for me, with Dave appearing from time to time to spend some time together.

I sat down in my usual place at the science lab, put on my protective plastic glasses and looked over at Sam besides me.

It wasn’t usual for us to sit together, but it was a nice way to catch up from time to time.

“How’s our president?” I asked him when he nodded at me with a calm smile. We liked to joke about that, with him being the student council’s president.

He deserved that role, in my opinion, he worked so hard during his campaign even when he made some deals with the factions. Jocks included, but they were very clear with what they wanted.

And that was more funds for the sports division, with the cheerleaders backing them up. When you get the biggest fishes of the tank, it’s only a matter of time until the rest of the school would vote for Sam too.

“I officially hate prom night. I mean, it was fun last year, when I didn’t have to plan it from scratch!” He said, grabbing the protective glasses from the table and putting them on. He did it too quick and roughly, though. His teeth greeted a few moments as the pain seemed to fade. “I’ve received more than two hundred messages about ‘suggestions’ for it, and that was at 2 am, I had to turn off my phone now”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Can’t you just… say that the theme will be ‘Wintery forest’ or something like that and just hang a lot of paper snowflakes from the ceiling? Prom night is just dancing around a decorated basketball court Sam, not much you can do with that”

But he seemed personally attacked by my comment. He frowned and took a bag of chocolate cookies from his bag, left it on the middle of the table and started eating.

“I mean, yeah but” He pushed the bag near me, like trying to tell me to eat something. I shook my head, I wasn’t hungry. “I’d like to do something different, you know? It’s our last year here, and my last chance to be a good president!”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. “If I have a good idea, I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Do you even plan on going to prom? You haven’t even gone last year as a junior, this may be your last chance, Nate” Ouch, low blow.

I looked behind us, noticing a lot of noise on the back of the lab. Dave was struggling to put on some of the protective gloves, before he noticed me staring and gave me a warm smirk, along with a wink. Half of his protective glove was hanging from his hand, before he tried to correctly put it in place.

I chuckled a bit, and Sam noticed it. “Or…” He gave me little nudges while motioning his head to Dave’s direction. “You and the big guy there?”

“Uh? What are you talking about-” But he lifted his hand to stop me, passed me his phone with the frontal camera on. I was blushing. “Am I that obvious?”

“He just winked at you, and you still have two arms so I like to think you two are up to something together” He finished, before grabbing the bag of cookies again and putting it back on his bag. “Besides, I heard rumors that he broke up with-“

The professor had entered the room and chatting time was over. I could still hear a bit of laughter on the back, but decided to keep my eyes on the front.

Damn, I was going to blow our cover if I kept acting like a little girl. But there was probably no cover at all by this point. It’s impossible for the school to not have noticed one of the hottest guys around breaking up with his girlfriend, just a few days after he started to spend time around me.

“I won’t deny, nor accept anything” I wondered if Dave could hear us, I knew he had heightened smelling abilities, that’s how he found out I was his soulmate, but I wondered if heightened hearing was also a thing.

I’d ask him for a detailed list of his powers later, but I always forget to do that in the heat of the moment. “Now, let’s pay attention before we blow up” I finished, looking at the professor as he started explaining today’s assignment.

Sam whispered near me “We’ll talk about this lateeer♫”, in a mocking melody tone.

“Mr. Howard, take that cap off! This is a laboratory, not the baseball field!” I looked beside me and saw Dick taking off his backwards cap, while mumbling something under his breath. Probably a curse, my friend isn’t fond of people who order him around, less if they are dumb professors, according to him.

The jocks on the back laughed, but we ignored them like the professor did, resuming the lesson and preparing for playing with chemicals.

---

I felt social today, and remained with Sam for the rest of the day. Which means that I’m not alone during lunch today. He wanted to interrogate me and I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was bad at making up excuses.

We went to get our plates of food and sat in a rather empty table.

“Soooo… Are you going to tell me or not?” Sam asked, still trying to make me spill the beans about Dave, probably.

“What are you talking about?” I played dumb. I wasn’t good at making excuses, but I was pretty good at keeping secrets.

“You know about you and Dave…” But he froze in place before finishing that sentence. An unexpected guest sat beside me, so I was now surrounded by Sam and the big guy.

“I couldn’t help but hear my name, what are you two talkin’ about?” Dave said, in a pretty friendly voice. “Man, I love school’s chicken. This school is so awesome with the lunch menu. What’s up, Sammy? Cat got your tongue?”

I rolled my eyes, Sam hated being called ‘Sammy’, but I assumed they did it on purpose to bother him. Not like he can do anything about it but… I think I can. Not now, though. That would sell me out.

“W-We… We were just talking about…” Sam gulped, looking at me for help. Two weeks spent with Dave, and I almost forgot he has an awful reputation.

We’ve tried to change it, but I can only do so much with him at a time. So, I decided to focus on small things first, like his studies, then the social things afterwards.

“The upcoming… football game, yeah. That’s it, go Rottweilers!” I finished, wanting to sink my face in my plate of smashed potatoes. That was an awful excuse.

“Fuck yeah, go Rottweilers!” Dave yelled while quickly standing up on his seat, placing one of his foots on the table, and some sudden loud barks followed him. I moved my plate, because THIS is why I prefer eating alone at the school yard.

Besides being crowded, the cafeteria always had weird things like this happening from time to time. Maybe someone gets their head smashed in their plate, or a food war starts. The yard is way more chill than this place.

Dave sat down again after that, and I left my plate back in its place. I was going to ask him if that was necessary, but decided to shut my mouth as soon as the rest of the football players sat around us.

I was safe, I knew that but… It was still unsettling. Sam and I knew the football players were shady, as I mentioned once. I knew Dave was strong, he’s a werewolf after all. But could he take them all at once, or would they be able to overpower him if they actually tried to?

I couldn’t tell if Dave noticed I was nervous, I just stared down at my plate and tried to listen to the chatter around me. Sam did the same thing, leaving the jocks speaking about the upcoming game.

“Didn’t know you liked football, bruh” Dave told me, probably trying to make me participate in the conversation. I just nodded, trying to think of a valid answer to him, probably something boring to make the jocks want to leave the table ASAP.

“I-I’m not a fan of it but… our team is so good that I can’t miss any of their games” Smart Nate, just feed their ego to make them happy!

“Really? Never saw you on the bleachers during our games” One of the guys pointed out. I noticed that Lucas and Butch weren’t participating at all in the chat. They just ate and looked at us, almost in complete silence.

“I blend in easily with the crowd, you know, being small and stuff like that” It was weird. Why am I trying to prove anything to these guys? ‘I just want you to leave, take the hint!’ I thought.

Dave finally spoke “I did see him, and yeah, the lil’ dude gets lost amongst the crowd” He patted my back quite harshly, making me cough, but I was glad he backed up my lie.

Sam gave me a puzzled look and I whispered ‘Just relax and try not to piss them off’

This time, Dave did notice it, and looked down at me with a worried look on his face. He might have realized that he fucked up.

Luckily, the rest of the lunch went on normally. The jocks made a few… ‘jokes’ here and there, but I laughed off with them. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like them, but I wouldn’t like Dave to go on a rant beating them all up because he wants to protect me.

Of course, they brought up my ‘faggot-ness’, but I just went on with it, countering it with a not-suggesting joke.

They seemed friendly so far, better not ruin that. But I wondered if they were here willingly, or Dave was the one who summoned them here. Not saying he threatened them but… maybe he called a football team emergency, like Butch did once.

Sam and I couldn’t wait until it was over, so we ate fast and tried to get out of there ASAP, excusing ourselves saying that we had to pick up a few books before the next class. Dave followed me with his sad puppy eyes as we left, before getting up and going after me.

“Bro!” Dave said after leaving the cafeteria, and I stopped on the middle of the corridor. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few students around on their way to the yard, to make the most of the little free time they had.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but decided to leave us alone. I could tell he had enough of the jocks for the day, and I was worried they may be mad for leaving them having lunch alone, after they ‘rewarded us with their presence’ or something like that. I didn’t like those guys.

I looked at Dave, as he stopped in front of me and smiled. But then, he looked around and noticed a few persons in the corridor. “Uh…” He mumbled.

“C’mon” I grabbed his hand and walked to the nearby boys’ bathroom. “There,” I said after closed the door behind us. “Private moment, what happened back there? At the cafeteria, I mean”

Dave’s eyes darted around the room, as little drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. “I-I… I wanted to try and… y’know, present you with my bros?” He gulped “I know you don’t like them, but… they are my friends, and I thought everything would be much easier if they saw how awesome you are”

I was a bit confused, but not mad. I didn’t end up hurt, nor did Sam, and that was enough for me. If the jocks actually tried to sit down with us and talk, then I was willing to give them a chance.

“I sorta still don’t get why we have to keep our thing in secret, bruh. You don’t have to be afraid of anyone trying to hurt us, because I’m David fucking Walker. I own this place, I’m an alpha!”

He sounded so excited while he said that, and motivated. It was nice to see that side of him; a side I would have never imagined Dave the big bully jock could have.

“I know, you’re really great and everyone… respects you,” I started, carefully thinking my words to avoid hurting his feeling, as he looked down at me, still with a big smile. “But it’s just for some time, as we take this slowly. It would be really weird for the others if you came someday to school and randomly yell ‘I’m gay!’. Give me some time, yeah? We can sort this out together, but let’s do it slowly”

His smile slowly faded from his face. I think I hurt his feelings anyway, and it was probably an inevitable thing to do. I kind of ran out of the cafeteria with Sam as soon as we finished eating, ruining his plan of having his bros get to know me.

“I understand if you’re mad with me, bro. But I think they actually liked you! You were so smart back there, mentioning football as an excuse…” He came closer to me, and kissed me lightly on the lips, placing his big hands on my cheeks, and looked at me with really sad eyes. “But I get if you’re mad and don’t want to see me for a while, I deserve it from putting you in danger with my bros”

“Just… stop, alright?” And he did. He closed his mouth and just looked at me, waiting for me to speak. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it was a nice idea. Just try to tell me about it before doing something like that again, and I may gather some nerve to tackle it properly, alright Davey?”

He nodded slowly, giving a sigh of relief. “Y-Yeah, I will, bro. Thanks for not being mad, I would hate myself if I made you mad” I was a bit scared of someone walking in the bathroom, but at the same time I think… I didn’t care at all.

It was going to be a slow thing, yeah. But, sooner or later, it was going to be discovered. So…

Dave was looking down to his shoes, like some misbehaved kid, when I stepped forward and pulled him in for a kiss.

I was hoping for someone to enter the bathroom. Some random guy, who would apologize and leave in fear after watching the big jock angry for interrupting our kiss.

But that never happened. Damn it.

Dave recovered his sweet smile as I looked up at him. “What was that for?”

“To reassure you that you didn’t do anything wrong” I whispered to him. “We probably shouldn’t play with our luck though, but we have a few more minutes before our next class”

The werewolf jock gave me one last smooch, before saying “I love you so much, bro…”

I couldn’t help but blush, I really liked my good puppy boy.

We left the bathroom together, and headed out for the yard. As I said, we still had a few minutes before classes started, and I wanted to make the most of them with my big guy.

-----

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[certifiedskywalker]

The Person I Love - Klaus Hargreeves

Ever since you met Klaus Hargreeves, you knew you were in it for the long haul. You didn’t care about his past or his powers; you only wanted him. But when drugs begin to consume him, you’re left with a choice. Get him the help he needs and miss him or watching him kill himself slowly. You love him too much to watch him suffer.

AN: Okay, she’s a long one!. Any feedback/suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Angst, cursing, drug abuse (it comes with the territory), and slight sexual joke/implication(?)not really though

You had never known a sober version of Klaus. As much as you hated to dwell on the thought, you were certain he was high when he met you. How could someone like him smile at you like he did without being influenced by chemicals coursing through his veins. Perhaps it was meeting you, speaking to you, that upturned the corners of his mouth, but the rational part of you denied that as fact. However, in your darkest moments, you liked to think that smile was unaltered by any sort of pill. It was what made the nights less difficult and the days not so long. That thought made it all worth it when you woke up next to him, that same smile on his lips as he reclined in the hospital bed.

“Does this gown make me look fat?” “Never,” you say, smiling right back at him. The smile fades for a moment as you rub at sleep still clouding your eyes. By now, you were used to falling asleep in uncomfortable chairs; however, despite your experience, your body retained each ache. “You didn’t have to stay,” Klaus says softly, eyes taking in your tired expression. You slumped in the chair, turning your head to stare at him with an all too loving gaze. “You know that I do,” you hum in reply, “wouldn’t have it any other way.” It was a lie. Both of you knew that. You would love to have Klaus sober, to know that he was safe with the temptation of drugs behind him and the threat of death a far off cry. “Careful,” Klaus tsked, “grow any more honorable and you’ll turn into Luther.” You smile at the mention of his brother. You hadn’t actually met the man but, from what Klaus told you, his overbearing sense of morality was stupefying.

“So, what happened this time?” Your question prompted silence from the man before you. He tore his green eyes away from your face and fiddled with his hands that rested in his lap. The IV stuck into his hand shifted with each movement and you wondered if Klaus had grown too comfortable with the feeling of needles under his skin.

“Ya know, the usual,” he brushed off your worry with practiced ease, “overdid it. You know I was never any good with fractions and conversions.” Klaus chuckled, hoping his laughter would coax a grin your lips again. When it didn’t, Klaus knew something within you had been altered by this hospital stay. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, eyes widening now with shock. “Klaus, what’s wrong is that the nurses here are on a friendly, first name basis with you. What’s wrong is that we have had more sleep overs in this room than we have had at our own homes.” You were standing now, trying to distract yourself from the tears that were beginning to gather in your eyes.

“Y/N,” Klaus started to speak, but for the first time in his life, no words came to mind. You frowned at his new found quiet and continued. You stepped up to the foot of the bed so you could look directly at him as you spoke.

“This is the fifth time you’ve told me you ‘overdid it’ and I’m starting to…” you bit your lip at the thought and Klaus sat up in his bed. You turned your gaze back to him, taking in his wild mess of chocolate curls and the guilty concern written across his face. “I’m starting to think that maybe you’re doing it on purpose.”

Klaus’ jaw snapped shut and any words he had gathered died on the tip of his tongue. His eyes took in your form, from your baggy clothes that told him that, when the doctor called you, you had been ready for bed, and to the bags under your shining eyes. All signs of your worry and lack of true rest; a privilege you lost when you put your name down as Klaus’ emergency contact. You never told him that you did that, or how it felt more like a marriage certificate as you signed your very soul over to him and his bad choices. What hurt him, hurt you in ways he could never fathom. Not even now.

You sniffled and the sound filled the air around you. Still stuck in stunned silence, Klaus could only watch as you strode over to the chair. Fishing under the cushion, you pulled out pamphlets from the check in desk and the papers you had been given. You handed them out to him, your hands shaking when his fingers brushed against yours to grab them.

“That’s the doctor’s recommended treatment plan,” you murmured as Klaus trailed his gaze over the papers. His eyes caught the title of one of the foldables you had stole from the desk, reading ‘Steady Oaks Rehabilitation Center’. It was then he turned his head to look at you again. Green eyes become glassy as he stared up at you.

“I don’t-”

“It’s just something to consider, Klaus,” you said softly, too tired to be any louder than a whisper. “Let me know what you decide.” You leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. His skin felt cold when it brushed against your lips and you couldn’t tell if that was the cause of the shiver down your spine or the overwhelming love you felt for him shooting through your body.

“I’ll call you,” Klaus said swiftly, as if he were frightened that you were going to leave before he could give you any semblance of reassurance. You gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded.

“I’ll be waiting,” you replied before slipping out of his hospital room, the image of that first smile dancing in front of your eyes. He watched you go, eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to quell the tears in gathering in his eyes. With the hopes of distracting himself Klaus opened the pamphlet for the rehabilitation center. A pen fell from it’s folds and into his lap.

Looking from where it fell, Klaus saw a blue header underlined in dark ink. ‘Coping with a Loved One’s Addiction’, bolded in it’s print. A sudden and violent sob shook Klaus’ body. His shoulder sagged and his face contorted in pain. Now he knew; he knew just how much his hurt had hurt you. Not even Ben had to tell him.

Klaus didn’t call for a while. You waited nonetheless, loyal as a dog and never not consistent. Whenever you were home you’d spare glances at the phone hung on the wall of your apartment, just waiting. When you woke and the receiver was flashing you’d be sent into a panic. You’d listen to every message, waiting for the familiar, lyrical tones of Klaus’ voice asking what you were up to and if you wanted any company.

Not once did you hear his recorded greeting and when you tried to call him, the line beeped once until it cut off. Silently, you prayed to any and all powerful beings that Klaus was only behind on phone bills not, like his landline, dead. The only shred of hope you clung to was that the hospitals had not called you either. However, that one solace did nothing to dull the ache in your heart. You missed Klaus dearly and desperately.

On one particularly rain-ridden day, your longing was nearing the point of madness. Worried had plagued your heart for close to three weeks now. While it wasn’t unusual for Klaus to disappear for long stretches of time, he always called. Always. You were about to call the police, the hospital, even some of his family members when your phone rang.

Rushing towards it, you saw that the number was unknown. A strange combination of numbers that was foreign to you ran across the caller ID. A new wave of anguish washed over you. You picked up the phone, pressing it to your ear in the hopes that whoever was on the other end had something good to tell you.

“Hello?” You asked bitterly, unable to hide your disappointment. A few long moments of silence passed as you heard muffled shuffling noises on the other end. “Hello?”

“H-Hey you.” The voice was unmistakable and it made your whole being tremble with shocks of emotion. “Sorry I haven’t called. These piss-hats don’t allow phone calls until ‘the patient shows a growing sense of responsibility and stability’. What morons, right?”

“Klaus!” You said, tears flowing from your eyes and you giggled at his impression. He chuckled on the other end and you could almost hear that smile of his.

“Y/N!”

“I’ve missed you,” you gushed into the phone, leaning your shoulder up against the wall. You twirled the coiled cord between your fingers as you sank into the sound of Klaus’ voice. “So you checked yourself in?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I did, I just,” Klaus mumbled the rest, making it hard for you to pick up.

“What?”

“I checked myself in, yeah.” He said quickly and you noted the slight panic in his tone.

“What did you say after that?” You pressed, the phone against your ear became your life line as you waited for his reply. All you could think of was Klaus, standing against the wall of the center he was in, smiling like he did. You missed that smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you hearing things, Y/N? I sure hope not, because that’s my thing.” You giggled softly, shaking your head at his humor.

“Klaus,” you groaned teasingly, your back fully resting on the wall of your apartment. You heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end, the kind that told you that what you said shocked your friend somehow. “Klaus?”

“Say it again, please,” his voice was almost a whimper. The sound of it made your heart ache while goosebumps simultaneously rose along your arms.

“Klaus,” you repeat, in a lower whisper this time. He sighed on the other end and you could almost feel his breath tickling your neck like how it did when he whispered a joke in your ear.

“I miss you,” he keened, “so much, I didn’t know it was possible.” Your breath caught in your throat at his words and you longed to be with him in the moment. To see him, not in your mind, but in reality; be able to reach out and touch him, give him comfort.

“I miss you too,” you murmur and that’s enough for him. It has to be. His phone call time is running out, the woman in her uniform tapping her wrist with a scowl.

“Keep missing me,” he begged, “I have to go Y/N. I’ll call you again when I can.”

“Klaus, wait,” you begin but he keeps going.

“Oh and tell my landlord to suck a dick, okay?” You stifle a laugh.

“Okay, but hold on,” you start again but he stops you once more.

“I gotta go, Y/N,” he says quickly, but he pauses after a split second before adding, “I love you.” Your mouth opened but no words came out, only his name again. Like a prayer, it fell from your lips, a promise that rang in both of your ears.

“Klaus,” your voice is low, quiet, timid from his admittance.

“I know,” he replied, pressing his forehead to the wall next to him. He liked to imagine you were doing the same in your apartment. Maybe you were even wearing one of the shirts he had left there from a long ago stay on your couch. He hated that couch.

“I lov-” The line went dead before you could finish and you felt your very life force drain. Angrily, you hung the phone up on the receiver with tears welling up in your eyes. “I love you too,” you whispered with a sad smile, “I love you too.”

On the other end, Klaus was staring daggers at the woman who had plucked the phone from his grasp. He opened his mouth, a sense of rage he saved mostly towards his father threatening to spill out from his lips. The woman only huffed at his expression, raising an eyebrow in wait. Klaus bit his tongue, knowing that if he acted out now they could keep him here longer.

“Well,” he said once he had taken a few breaths, “that was quite rude.” The woman grumbled something under her breath before pushing him along. As they walked down the narrow hallway, Klaus’ mind exchanged the blue painted walls for those of your apartment. If he tried hard enough he could see you in your kitchen, swaying slightly to the beat of the music playing from the nearby record player.

It was a sight he had seen many times before. On those nights where he had stayed over, back pressed to the couch in your cramped living room, he would pretend to still be sleeping. His eyes would be barely open, just enough to catch your movements in tune with the music. The image brought a smile to Klaus’ lips as he was led back to his room. As his door shut behind him, he silently hoped you were smiling because you loved him too.

It was cold the day Klaus was to be released. Nonetheless, you stood outside the rehab center, nervously picking at your nails. It was a habit that you had adopted from Klaus. Now you knew the action spawned from his symptoms of withdrawal. Puzzles pieces of his life started to fall together before you, amplified by his time away.

In your waking hours, thoughts of Klaus consumed you. You thought back to any and every memory you had of him in between hoping he was eating and wishing he were with you. The phones calls were all too rare and much too brief for your mind to cease thinking about his occupation of your heart. What made it all the more wonderfully worse was that the calls didn’t end with the same longing ‘I love you’ as the first one had.

You had rationalized that Klaus said it by mistake, caught up in the heat of the moment, or meant in a way that was purely platonic. From the moment you had met him, you knew Klaus was full of undying compassion. His loyalty went without question and was nothing but constant; unless the hunger for his next high rendered him powerless. So it wouldn’t surprise you if he had meant his words without the punctuation of romance. For, from the moment you had met him, Klaus was never in a relationship for very long.

It was that alone that held you back from telling Klaus how you truly felt about him. You didn’t want to lose him in the same way so many others had. Instead, you made yourself comfortable as a dear friend, the friend that gave Klaus a place to stay when his newest partner told him to get lost. It was similar to the present moment. Once he emerged from the rehabilitation center, Klaus was going to call your couch home for a while.

The thought of having him around again made you smile to yourself, warming your cheeks against the Autumn chill that had taken over New York. It was clear things would be different, Klaus would need extra attention, but you were willing to give him that. Hell, you were eager to. You peered at the clock, biting at the inside of your cheek as you calculated just how much longer it would be until Klaus was by your side again.

Your brows furrowed as you did the math, wondering if perhaps the clock was a few minutes too fast. A few people washed out onto the sidewalk you stood upon, blocking your view slightly. With a groan, you craned your neck until you could see the time again. Five minutes until you could see him again. Could that be right?

“And I thought I was bad with time, ha!” Klaus’ voice made you spin so quickly on your heels that you reached out for him to stabilize yourself. “Whoa, easy!”

His long fingers wrap around your wrists, holding you still as you take him in. The sight of him fills your soul like air in your lungs, like you need him. His bright green eyes scan over your features, that signature smile playing on his pink lips. One of your hands lifts from his arm and trails up to grasp his chin. The facial hair he had been growing out was styled, making him look older than he did when you last laid eyes on him.

“I like this,” you said, rubbing your thumb over the hair on his chin. Klaus let out a breathy chuckle so light he matched the tone of his eyes.

“Hoped that you would,” he teased, his teeth curling his bottom lip a moment as he took in your face. Cheeks and nose rosy from the breeze, your neck wrapped in a scarf he had stolen for you long ago. It had been too long. “You’re the only one worth looking good for.”

Silence rests between your bodies, everything you both want to say read like poems in your eyes. You feel stinging behind your eyes as you peer into Klaus’ green ones. Carefully, as if he were broken glass, you skirt your thumb across his cheek. His breath hitches for a moment and he feels that pulling in his heart; that same feeling he left whenever you left the room.

“I’ve missed you,” you say at the same time, prompting a mess of laughing sobs from your throats. You only shake your head, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and leaning into his frame. Instinct falls over Klaus as his arms find their places on your waist. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes when the smell of your soap and the feeling of your body on his overwhelms his senses.

You held each other for a while. People gawked at the sight of you two as they passed by. The sidewalk seems to grow more crowded as Klaus clung to you tightly. A few more minutes go by until Klaus pulls away from you. Despite the smile playing on his plush lips, the glimmer that had shone in his eyes seemed to fade.

“I am absolutely starved,” he groans, patting his stomach to emphasize it’s emptiness. You grin at him, having missed his childish demeanor. He smiles at the sight of yours and extends his hand to you. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” you play along, taking his cold hand in yours. His finger’s intertwine with yours as if it was where they were meant to be. As you start to walk, Klaus recalls the wonderful and colorful people had he met. While he talks, you spare a glance up at him. His curls bounce with each step and the lines in his face deepen as he tries to impersonate one of the other patients he had met. He was still your Klaus only, hopefully, sober.

When you don’t laugh at his sorry attempt of a baritone voice, Klaus turns his gaze on you. His smile holds true even as he stares at you with slight confusion. Lips parted and eyes, with slightly dilated pupils, appear more like a soft, yellow-green in the sunlight. You swear you had seen a puppy in the park one day with the same expression.

“What?” He asked, nudging his shoulder against your as you both continue to walk. He lifts a hand to pull his eyelid away from one of his eyes, a twisted grin on his features. “Is there something in my eye?”

You stifle a laugh, shaking your head at the goof of a man beside you. “No, just good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Klaus agrees, his tone falling into one more serious as he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You both round the corner of the street and soon, Griddy’s Donuts comes into your line of sight.   

“I don’t see why we had to come home to have tea. Don’t they have tea at Griddy’s?” You ask, reaching into your cupboard for the stash of tea you had kept. Finding the right brew, you pulled two mugs down as well, setting it all out on the counter. You glance over at Klaus who, despite being in your apartment before, wandered about your small living room like a weary traveler.

He liked the way you had said ‘home’, as if it was shared. As if you had both lived there together for years and, in a sense, Klaus could argue that you had. Nights he spent sprawled out on your couch, whining about everything and anything while you listened. You always listened. Home, he thought, he could get used to that.

“They do,” Klaus says finally, turning away from your book shelf to smile at you. “But I wouldn’t wish that rat poison on my worst enemy. Tea shouldn’t smell like monkey shit.” You giggle as you pour water into the kettle. Klaus didn’t realize how much he had missed the sound of your laughter.

“Good to know,” you muse. Setting the kettle on the stove, you start a low flame beneath it. As you waited to see some steam, Klaus turned his attention back to your bookshelf. His eyes skimmed over the titles of works he was horribly unfamiliar with. It wasn’t until he reached the few bottom shelves when he felt more knowledgeable.

“Your vinyl’s are as dusty as my father’s closet,” Klaus teased, pulling at a few of the cardboard sleeves to read the artist’s name. “I should know,” he added, “I spent a lot of time in closets.”

“I haven’t used it in a while,” you explained. You strode out of your tiny kitchen and over to where Klaus had crouched down. His fur coat brushed the hardwood floor of your apartment, nearly concealing his sneakers from your view. He looked so small as you stood over him.

“Why ever not? There’s always time for music!” He exclaimed, standing with a record in his hand. You didn’t get a chance to look at the title or tell him that, ever since he had checked himself into rehab and out of your life, all the music had bled from your life. Any song you had dared to listen to reminded you of his smile and brought you to tears. You had cried enough with just the crushing feeling of missing Klaus, so you figured it was best to give music a rest until he returned.

“I was just busy, I guess,” you mumble as Klaus slid the record from it’s sleeve. With nimble fingers, he placed the disk on the player and set the needle. When he faces you again, the side of his mouth is quirked upwards in a shy smile that was only reserved for you.

“Too busy to spare a dance?” He extends his hand to you as the first few notes of Elton John’s ‘Rocketman’ crackled on the record player. “I’ll lead,” he added, “if that helps.”

“Says the man with two left feet,” you joked before taking his hand. Klaus chuckled, pulling you to the middle of your living room so you would both had more space.

“You only say that ‘cause you’re jealous.” As he spoke, Klaus intertwined your fingers with his once more and rested his other hand just above your hip. Even through your clothes, you could feel the coldness of his fingertips.

“Hm, me jealous? I don’t think so,” you jeered back, placing your own hand on his upper arm as Klaus began to waltz. Your bodies moved together as if they were never parted. Klaus smiled at you wickedly and dared to take a sneaky step closer to you. Your face went pink at the action, his proximity to you making your heart beat even faster.

“Then why do you look so flustered, my dear?” Klaus’ tone drips with smugness when the pet name slips over his lips. He only called you ‘dear’ when he wanted something. You could remember the first time it had happened a few months into your friendship. Klaus had pulled you to a parade of some sort in the city in July. The sun was beating down on everyone and you were taking a drink from your water bottle when he spoke up.

“Can I steal a sip, my dear?” The name had sent the butterflies nesting in your stomach into a frenzy. You couldn’t remember now if you had even replied to his question. All you did recall is handing him the bottle and Klaus throwing a skinny arm over your shoulders.

That was the same day you realized you were falling for your friend. Klaus looked so carefree as he danced down the street, following the brightly colored floats with music blaring from their speakers. He had asked you to dance then too. Both of you had made absolute fools of yourselves but even when he wasn’t trying, Klaus made it look graceful, easy. It was so easy to be with him.

“Where’d you go?” Klaus’ new question pulled you back from your reflection. His dark brows were knitted in slight concern and you felt the hand he had your hip rub against your side in an attempt to bring you back to the present.

“No where,” you said, giving him a smile, “I was just thinking.” Klaus huffed, his expression losing it’s rare face of worriment.

“That’s awfully dangerous.” You nodded, biting your lower lip as you debated in your mind to tell him. To tell him how much you had thought about him while he was gone, how much you really loved him and ask if he loved you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “it is sometimes.” Klaus must have sensed the change of mood because he dropped his hand from yours. Soon it found its place on your other hip and was pulling you even closer to him. To press away any space between your bodies, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and around his slim neck. Your head now rested against his chest and you could hear the quick, steady beat of his heart.

“Then don’t think,” Klaus murmured, his breath stirring strands of your hair.

“That’s easier said than it is done,” you replied with a sigh. Hoping to hide from your own thoughts and Klaus’ field of vision, you pressed your face deeper against his chest.

“Drugs help,” he said, so nonchalantly it scared you. You pulled away and gave him a look of fear. Klaus took in your wide eyes and parted lips, realizing he had gone too far. Before he could apologize you spoke up.

“Are you still using?” You didn’t know if you wanted him to tell you quickly or slowly. If he had to think it over, he was using, but if he answered too fast he could be lying. Every idea tormented your brain in a barrage of guilt and annoyance. All you wanted was a moment, untainted, with him.

“Y/N,” Klaus started, stepping close to you once more with his hands reaching for you waist. You hadn’t realized you had pushed yourself so far away from him. “I’m not using.”

“So it’s just you?” You asked, leaning into his renewed touch.

“Well, you’re gonna have to be more specific on that.” You cocked your head to the side and Klaus smiled at your confusion. “Ben is here. Luckily this place isn’t haunted.” You sighed and pinched his shoulder before falling against his chest again.

“Hi Ben,” you said softly, eyes skirting around your living room as if by chance, you could see his spectral form. Klaus laughed suddenly and you felt him shake his head.

“He says ‘hi’ too,” he mumbled something afterwards, directed towards Ben, and you smiled.

“And something else, I presume?” Klaus exhaled through his nose and glanced down you in his arms. Swaying to the sound of Elton John’s voice, you looked so soft. Klaus nodded to your question before sinking into your warmth and the lyrics that filled the room.

“What did he say?”

“Oh you know,” Klaus scoffed, trailing off in the hopes you would drop the topic. Klaus peered over his shoulder and his eyes found Ben. He stood in your kitchen, shaking his head at the sight of you both. Klaus lifted a hand from the small of your back and gestured for his brother to go away. Ben sighed and walked down the hallway of your apartment.

“I actually don’t know,” you teased, “that’s why you’re here.”

“Here to act as the conduit in which you flirt with my dead brother? I knew it,” Klaus said, his voice sad, over-dramatically so. “And here I thought you truly loved me. Y/N, you’re cold hearted.”

“I do,” you said quietly, with a tone of voice that dripped with a sincerity that cut through Klaus’ playful show.

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused at your words and looked the part too when you pulled yourself away from his chest to look into his eyes. The vibrant green was darker now in the low light of your apartment.

The question hovered between the two of you for a while longer. Your mind was racing, wandering through every possible outcome that your next few words could bring about. Klaus, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking at all. One of his hands trailed up from your waist to your cheek. The skin was soft to the touch and it took every ounce of will power Klaus had in him not to kiss you then and there. He wanted to kiss you so desperately but, for once in his life, he was ready to wait.

“I do, love you,” you breathed out, as if the words flowed straight from your heart and through your mouth. Klaus’ green eyes seemed to sparkle at your words and the smile that graced his lips sent a wave of adoration over the entirety of your being.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice quiet. It was as if he were a child on the playground, telling his best friend a long kept secret. “Over the phone I meant it. I couldn’t stand not seeing you when I wanted to. I wanted to see the person I love,” he brushed his fingers over your cheek, “and now I can.”

“So poetic, was that Keats? No, wait. It was Dickinson, wasn’t it?” You ask teasingly, prompting Klaus to chuckle. You had never heard him lay it on so thickly before; at least not when the subject of his affections was you.

“You know I never paid attention in literature class,” he leaned a little closer to you. “I always thought, why read poetry when you can make it yourself.” His body was now flush with your own, his hand holding your jaw now. His words melted you into his touch and you found yourself leaning up towards him.

“You should share more often,” you vex, pleased with the sudden mask of confidence that now rested on your features. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from, but you were happy with the results nonetheless. “Maybe I will,” Klaus beamed, his forehead now resting against your own. A few stray brown curls tickled your skin, but you didn’t pay much mind to them. You only hum in response as the music began to fill the quiet between you. Eager, you craned your neck upwards, silently granting Klaus the permission he had been waiting for.

Full of want and unhindered passion, Klaus pressed his lips to yours roughly. You expected nothing less than the rawness that made up his existence. He was himself with you, no drugs required. Your hands slipped into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as Klaus held your close to him. His lips were soft, softer than you ever imagined.

Testing the waters, Klaus grazed the tip of his tongue against your bottom lip. Bending to his will, your mouth parted and the kiss deepened. His hand on your cheek traveled back down to your waist, the other squeezed at your hip. Just as Elton John’s voice faded out, the whistling of the kettle on the stove reached your ears.

“Fuck the tea,” Klaus mumbled against your lips as you started to pull away. His green eyes were dark and lips more of a red color after the bruising kiss you had shared. His gaze danced across your features and he could feel every fiber of his body screaming for you. “Better yet, fuck m-” Klaus began but you pecked his lips again to quiet him.

“You’re the one who wanted the tea,” you pointed out. Klaus watched at you pulled away from his lips, a smile resting on your features. He could only imagine he wore the same expression, if not more dopey and messy.

“I actually want you, the tea was simply a diversion,” he explained, following you into your cramped kitchenette. He studied you as you turned the stove off and prepared the tea bags to steep. The domestic sight sent a shiver down Klaus’ spine. It was a scene he could grow used to seeing. He heard a cough suddenly and he peered down the hallway.

“I actually wanted the tea,” Ben grumbled, but he gave his brother a thumbs up. Ben had done the same thing the day Klaus had met you. Klaus could remember Ben poking at his stunted courage, trying to get him to go up and speak to you. He was glad in that moment, happy for the curse that his father had called a gift. Now, Klaus smiled at his brother. Turning his gaze back to you, Klaus saw a glimmer of possibility shining in your eyes.

[yukiwrites]

Where Your Loyalty Lies [13/??]

Summary:  Kamui’s kidnapping didn’t go as planned – She managed to get away and ended up at Silas’ doorstep. They were raised as siblings, but she has always felt different; her fangs and red eyes and urges to run amok, what did they all mean? Would going to the castle as the Crown Prince’s retainer help her find more clues? Will the war between Nohr and Hoshido be the answer to everything?

Previous chapter <=> AO3 <=> Next chapter

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Chapter 13: Determination

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The beast growled at the back of Kamui’s head. She could almost feel it breathing down her neck while she wrapped herself with the thick bed sheets Eleonore had sent just a day previous. It was as though the bed -- not small but certainly not big either -- was cramped with both Kamui and her beast, as it gnawed its jaw and slithered its tongue over the young woman’s cheeks. It made her shiver within herself in a way she hadn’t done in more than a decade.

Had all of her training been for naught? Would the beast always grow just as strong as Kamui whenever the dame improved herself? 

She knew herself -- she was stronger now than in the past; she even managed to push back her itches to the point of controlling when they would happen! But all of that crumbled once they arrived together at Stockarres -- once Kamui willingly allowed the beast to take over her body to show off its prowess to all who would witness it.

It was as though the control Kamui had over her own consciousness could be snatched away from her as if they were reins of the carriage that was her life. The place she had always fought for within her; the spot whence she would be able to proudly call herself 'her own person' was in danger of being stolen from her.

Just a push was all it needed for Kamui to lose this battle.

And she didn't feel strong enough to fight back. Not after succumbing once.

Just once is all I need, it was as though the beast slithered to her ear, giggling with its forked tongue between its teeth. One more time and you're mine.

Huffing, Kamui dug her nails into her right arm, still wrapped with an old rag, though even that was being torn here and there. Part of her rationalized that if only she would go through this itch right there and then -- down there under the trees and the perpetual shadow of the forest -- it would all be okay come morning. She would be herself again.

Yet, there was no telling if she would be able to come back were she to run amok on her own -- would she return as herself, or as the beast whose ever-growing roar threatened to make her tear her own flesh apart? It will be okay, she kept telling herself. I'll be okay, I'll be okay, I'll be okay, she chanted inside her mind so as to drown the growls and roars.

Besides, she was going to meet King Garon the following afternoon -- what if she needed the power to escape? Perhaps conserving her strength-

"No!!" Kamui held her own head between her overgrown claws. "Don't tempt me into trusting you again!" She seethed under her teeth; her entire body trembling with a cold that came from within her terrified heart. "It's true that I usually feel more refreshed after- after exercising, but I can't- oh, I can't!" She sobbed into her own arm, her breath as shaky as her unfocused gaze. "I will-" she sniffled, overly conscious of the tears that streamed down unannounced from her eyes. "I'll overcome you! I’ll... I won't shy away from fear!"

Her voice echoed in the eerily empty room, the only noise of response coming from within her mind. In a desperate attempt to cling to some sort of hope, Kamui's memories fell upon her as though they were a waterfall.

The first time her Master saw her diphormism -- and told her to get strong enough to beat it to submission; the first time she agonized over her inner beast -- and the weeks of aching secrecy that followed, only to be found out by her Brother and accepted within his chest; the day she and her Lord danced, in which he accepted her for who she was regardless of her race -- as long as she did her duty, who or what she was did not matter.

Her duty; the people who accepted her. The warm and firm touch of the Crown Prince's hand on her back, making her strangely wanting to stay more within his arms than anywhere else before. The teasing smile he flashed her just on the previous night when he placed in her the trust inherent of her position. Her own past, shrouded in mystery -- the fog-like voices she oftentimes recalled from the depths of her memory; the origin of all of this grief, all of this despair.

It wasn’t simply for the way other people would accept her that she needed to overcome this daunting beast, no. It was also, and especially, for herself.

"I... I won't lose to you!" Kamui managed to roar with a conviction that was born from deep within herself -- deeper than where the beast could reach. She felt as though there was a light shining from her depths towards her voice, giving it power and strength. "THIS IS MY BODY, AND I’LL CONTROL IT AS I WILL," she huffed, sitting up on the bed as though she could look at the beast's eyes while she stared at an empty wall. "You won't terrorize me; you won't seize control of me... I WON'T LET YOU."

Then, there was silence.

The growling had grown quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely, though her right arm still itched somewhat.

Huffing, Kamui looked around as if she would be able to physically see the shadow that terrorized her life for so long, though she understandably saw nothing but the empty room all around her. She felt a smile itching at the corners of her lips while her heart thumped triumphantly. A win! She had managed to suppress the beast by sheer will!

Kamui wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would never come back -- or that she would be able to escape this immediate itch, in fact -- but being able to silence it so surely like just now was something she didn’t think she would be able to accomplish. Not after Stockarres.

Breathing deeply, the dame stretched herself before falling back on the mattress, keenly aware of the softness of the pillows and the blankets she had wrapped all around herself.

May sleep be kind to her tonight.

Dawn welcomed Kamui after the dame slept barely three hours, though she was much too anxious about her meeting with the King to truly feel the exhaustion that surely would seep into her energy later. Kamui allowed Jakob his entrance by the dresser, already wearing her uniform.

“Good morn-” Jakob opened his mouth to greet, but Kamui interrupted him without even taking her eyes away from the mirror.

“Do you know how to do a braid, Jakob?” She groaned, taking her hands away from her hair lest she cut it all up in frustration -- she had managed to make short work of the naturally wavy locks by twisting and turning them so much they barely resembled their usual look.

The dame had to find a way to replicate the hairdo Clara used to make for her -- the one in which part of her hair would be rolled into a braid around her head so as to hide her pointy ears from view. She wouldn’t be able to wear a coiffe to completely take any chances of someone figuring out that her hairdo was deliberately hiding her ears, but she didn’t feel safe enough to display them in King Garon’s presence.

Jakob smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as though tasting something foul, walking towards his lady with an impeccable poise. “My lady, if only you’d look at how I style my hair every day…” He positioned himself behind Kamui so she could see his reflection on her mirror -- once she did, she widened both her eyes and her smile.

“Wonderful! Oh, Jakob, could you please style my hair in a way that hides my ears with a braid? I never did anything more complicated than a ponytail by myself, so I didn’t know what I could do!” She clasped her hands excitedly, adjusting herself further into the chair so as to throw her hair in place for Jakob to work on it.

Sighing, the butler glanced at the hot pot of tea that would surely grow cold by the time he finished styling Kamui’s hair. “Perhaps after breakfast, yes? Your meal will run cold…”

“Please, Jakob! I’m so nervous about it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach anything unless I am absolutely sure the hairdo will be good enough. Probably not even after it, if I’m being honest…” She muttered the last part, fiddling with a random lock of hair that had survived the onslaught.

“Hahh, very well, milady. I shall do as you asked.” Jakob unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, rolling his sleeves up right after. “How would you want it styled, apart from the braid? Entirely up, half-down…?”

“Honestly, as long as the braid covers the ears, I don’t care about the style; you’re free to do whatever you want with it.” She flashed an apologetic smile, scratching her cheek as though she hadn’t actually thought about anything past the braid. Which was true, of course, but she had been so focused on trying to hide her ears that there was hardly any room for other thoughts in her mind.

Once again the butler sighed, reaching for the hair brush and clips scattered all over the dresser -- which displayed Kamui’s dozens of attempts at trying to replicate the style -- before he grabbed Kamui’s head, making her look straight ahead. “Very well, milady. I shall exceed your expectations.”

Disentangling the mess Kamui had made on her own hair took longer than either of them expected. However, the butler managed to come up with an intricate yet quick to braid hairdo: starting from either side of her hair, he made two thick braids that would lay over the pointy bit of her ears, joining them together behind her head into a layered lattice look.

“Although milady is wearing your uniform to meet the King, at least your hair should be presentable.” Jakob said with a proud puff of his chest, though added in a small voice: “Especially after the mess you have made before…”

“Ahem,” Kamui cleared her throat as she enjoyed the now cold tea, unbothered by its temperature now that her hair was safely done. She would sometimes sneak glances at her reflection in the mirror -- Jakob had managed to make her look jovial and upbeat: and that was before she even put on any resemblant of make-up! Honestly, she looked so cute she even wanted to put on make-up to complete the entire set.

She would apply only a light color on her face, however. The dame wanted to look presentable before the King, yes, but she also didn’t want him to pay too much attention to her. She would be armed -- as all Knights were allowed to, though not if they were to be within a three meter radius from the King -- so that would be one less problem should things go south-

“No, no, no,” Kamui shook her head so as to shoo away the pessimistic thoughts, conscious of how her beautiful braids followed its movements. “It’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.” She muttered to herself, as if unaware that Jakob was standing in wait right in front of her. Taking a deep breath, the dame puffed her chest, psyching herself up for the upcoming challenge.

However, she would only meet the King at noon, so she would still report to her Lord as usual during the morning. Which was honestly her solace for the moment -- to dig into her duties so as to ground herself more into the impact of her choice and how much she had at stake to slip up when meeting the King who had ordered her hunt so many years ago.

Kamui would succeed.

Like when she trained herself to half-death, she would put all of what she was into following through her own goals.

It was just that, now, that goal gnawed at the pit of her stomach, urging her to get ready to put her own head inside a lion’s open jaws.

Although it took Jakob quite a while to finish her braids, since Kamui didn’t need any more preparation apart from a light make-up, she arrived at her Lord’s common meeting room at the usual time, greeting him with the same respect as she always did.

“Dame Kamui greets His Highness the Crown Prince,” she bowed gracefully after closing the door, somewhat already ingraining the noble curtsy into her from early morning instead of only turning it on during the meeting with King Garon. Her more elegant actions coupled with her girly hairstyle and features made both men take a second too long to reply to her greetings.

Richard switched the weight of his body to another leg, glancing at his Lord when Xander made a gesture for his older retainer to bring something out. Sighing inwardly, the tall man turned to the side to pick up a package -- there was something soft wrapped inside a high-quality, green brocade cloth -- which he promptly handed his Lord.

“You may rise, dame Kamui.” Xander allowed Kamui to straighten her back at the same time he got up from his desk, circling it with his characteristic elegant steps. With a glance at his new retainer, Xander could see how she had chosen her own way to dress herself to this, so to say, battle.

And it was a battle in and of itself, to meet the King under his summons -- of that Xander was painfully aware.

He could see how Kamui’s usually slit-like eyes were covered with round irises; how her noble poise slipped instead of a knightly reverence; how her back was more erect than usual -- and how her breathing was uneven even after such a short walk from her quarters to this common meeting room.

Xander spoke, “it is no simple task, the one you will be fulfilling this afternoon, Kamui.” He stopped in front of Richard, swiftly undoing the golden knot that held the ornate package, not paying any mind as the green cloth slipped open to reveal a deep violet cloak from within. “Yet it is a burden that you shall bear for as long as you are in my service,” the Crown prince stepped away from Richard, holding the cloak in his hands as he approached Kamui. “This simply holds a symbolic meaning, however it would please me greatly if you would wear this when it is time to meet my father, the King.”

Wide-eyed, Kamui watched as Xander flapped the cloak open, twirling it behind her back as he closed the well adorned clasp on her chest -- the weight of the fabric as it slowly fell over her body somehow made Kamui remember the dance they shared; it made her feel as though she were still within Prince Xander’s arms… and it made her feel safe. The golden straps which adorned her chest, right above her heart, conjoined into a brooch with the Crown Prince’s symbol: a shield in front of two crossed blades with the symbol of Nohr etched right into its middle. At the back, there was a larger one of such symbols beautifully embroidered in a way that would unmistakingly tell anyone who saw her from afar that Kamui was under the Crown Prince’s protection.

It was Xander’s way of telling Kamui that, although he wouldn’t be there with her physically, he would still be showing her his entire support through his symbol.

“My Father is a very intimidating man -- as is his duty as the King.” Xander exhaled softly as he patted Kamui’s shoulder after making sure he had properly clasped the cloak together. “This is a task you must complete on your own -- what I can do for you at this moment is to bestow my seal upon you so you can face him proudly, under my name.” He nodded, taking a step back to allow Kamui a look around herself.

Overwhelmed with the support, Kamui’s eyes burned with tears, though she managed to stop her trembling chin as she held the cloak with both hands, twirling around herself to take a look and sigh in wonder as the heavy fabric followed her movements and sprawled itself way farther than any dress she had ever worn.

Richard snorted, though it went unnoticed by the other two, wondering if his Lord had overestimated Kamui’s height. “It’s really eye-catching, so only wear it in official events from now on, yes? I avoid using mine as much as I can, so I don’t want to be seen with you while you wear this corny thing.”

“Corny?” Kamui repeated, not noticing how she smiled brightly, looking down on her shiny new cloak and twirling around herself once more as Xander turned to his older retainer to glare at him.

“I never kept this from you, my lord.” Richard raised his palms in self-defense, smirking as Xander sighed and leaned on the desk.

“It is filled with my sincere thoughts, Richard. It is not… ‘corny’.” He grumbled, crossing his arms as he directed his gaze to the glistering Kamui.

Before the black-haired man could reply, Kamui raised her shiny, round eyes to Xander. “I think so too, Lord Xander. It’s a wonderful gift! I’m humbled.” She bowed deeply without ever letting go of the cloak, making her look much smaller than she actually was. “I shall hold onto this with all the care it deserves.”

Xander’s frown lessened, making way to a soft smile as he nodded to Kamui’s statement, not even feeling like pointing to Richard and telling him to learn from his new partner. He simply watched the giggly Kamui pull the cloak this or that way while she walked around the room towards her usual seat, meeting her glistering gaze more than once during the way. Her smile brightened more each time their eyes met, the beams of warmth from her pure glee kept Xander  in place, as though he wanted to keep on being the recipient of her smiles.

Once Kamui sat down, coincidentally right beside where Richard was standing, the older retainer poked his partner. “You’re wearing it now? I’m sure my Lord simply put it on you as a formality. You should take it off and only put it back on when it’s time to go.”

The dame resolutely shook her head. “No, I want to keep wearing it. Its meaning wasn’t lost on me, unlike on some people.” She bonked her head on Richard’s arm, snorting as he sighed to leave her side. “It’ll give me the strength I need,” Kamui murmured to herself, though not realizing she was still under Xander’s gaze.

Unable to stop smiling, Xander closed his eyes as though to etch this image into his mind before moving away from his spot, circling back to behind his desk so they could start their usual work for the day.

Fortunately or not, the morning passed by faster than usual -- perhaps because Kamui had been so absorbed into her duties so as to forget the passing of time that she was stunned over how well that worked. Once she gave her Lord her final bow before leaving, she could barely make out the surroundings around her due to the dizziness she got from how loud her heart was thumping.

Her steps echoed in her own ears as though they belonged to someone else while her hands dug into the cloak that danced behind her fast pace. Kamui absent-mindedly tapped onto the brooch with Xander’s seal, feeling it with the tips of her fingers as though to keep herself grounded in reality -- that served to help her stop her mind to wander into the darkest corners of her being.

The dame could barely remember what she had rehearsed she would say to the King once she was before him, her mind taking all it had to simply keep her on her feet. Kamui would glance upon her reflection whenever she passed a silver decorative armor that adorned the corridors, making sure that her ears were properly hidden, or open her arms that held the cloak so as to allow the wind to make it flap behind her in a somewhat playful manner, surprising even herself whenever a giggle was born under such circumstances.

As she arrived at Krakenburg’s common area, the air itself felt heavier to breathe, as though there was a thick layer of pressure hanging on its inhabitants’ shoulders. It was in the corridor that led to the throne room that Kamui met her brother.

“Silas!” She called out with a squeaking voice, not wanting to raise it too loudly right outside the place into which the pressure seemed to spiral out of and converge into.

“Kamui!” Silas replied in an equally squeaky voice, running to meet his sister halfway, his steps as fidgety as hers. Huffing, the siblings wordlessly looked at one another, as though trying to check if their appearance was somewhat off to meet with the most powerful man in the kingdom. “That’s a new cloak, isn’t it?” He commented, looking over Kamui’s shoulder with a discerning eye.

Somewhat shy, Kamui spun around herself to show off her Lord’s present. “Lord Xander gave it to me, as his support.” She pressed her lips to hold back a smile, her cheeks lightly flushing with the memory of Xander putting the cloak on her. “I hope that His Majesty’s eyes will fall on it instead of, well…” The dame bobbed her heads to the side, afraid to even talk aloud about her physical appearance.

“Y-yes,” Silas nodded nervously, glancing from his sister to the massive door that led to the throne room. “I’ve just arrived, so I don’t know when someone will call for us or anything.”

There were two silent guards right in front of the doors, though Kamui didn’t dare to call out to them. The both of them would wait until they were summoned inside; there was no need to urge the King to meet them, nor to annoy him into thinking that they were impatient subjects who deserved punishment.

She would get in, present herself and get out. Simple.

Kamui took a deep breath, walking a few steps until she was completely in front of the door, being followed by her uneasy brother.

Simple.

Long moments turned into long minutes that, in turn, spiralled into a very stretched out hour. Yet, the siblings didn’t so much as glance the guards’ way, patiently waiting in front of the room with their eyes fixated on the door. Their insides were already overheating from how nervously they were digesting the situation that a simple cough from a passing maid was enough to startle them out of their skins.

Kamui felt like she had been holding her breath for one entire hour; so when the massive doors creaked open, she was surprised to notice that she could inhale even more air to keep in there, making her even dizzier. If Kamui had had any brainpower to spare to think about it, she would be surprised to think that the beast kept itself obediently quiet while they waited (since it usually disturbed her whenever she was anxious), but she was already having trouble on remembering how to breathe, let alone how to think.

In the wake of the eerie wind that blew once the doors were fully open, a familiar-looking man called after two burly guards had heaved the doors open.

“Lantanoir siblings. You may enter and place yourselves before His Majesty.” His face was blurry -- and Kamui couldn’t tell if it was from her dizziness or from the swirling atmosphere that got thicker and thicker the further she stepped into the room -- but the dame could somehow remember his voice. He was the Marshal of the Court, Lord Abbington.

The Marshal spoke to them in a low voice as they walked through the long hall towards the middle, circular point over which the staircase to the throne led. He explained the common etiquette that one should bear when greeting the King, though all of his advices were mostly common knowledge, especially to the two Royal Retainers who had had that sort of knowledge beaten into them during the first weeks of their service.

Once they got close enough to the place they should kneel at, Lord Abbington stepped to the side, scurrying closer to a column as he raised his voice. “Presenting the Lantanoir siblings, personal retainers chosen by Crown Prince Xander and Youngest Princess Elise.”

Kamui threw her cloak back so as to allow herself to kneel more comfortably, unfastening her sword out of her belt to place it on the right side of her body, as the etiquette called. Since she was right-handed, placing her weapon on the right side of her body would make it difficult for her to grasp it were a battle to break out -- it was a way of showing respect to the higher authority as well as to imply that her life was at his hands should anything happen. Silas did the same two steps away from her, giving them both proper space to place their weapons away from one another’s touch.

“Dame Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” She lowered her head, overly conscious of how her braids moved behind her back.

“Sir Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” Silas said at the same time as his sister, their voices in a somehow unison as their silvery locks shone under the eerie green glow of the magical fire lit across the walls.

King Garon inhaled as though to welcome them, but no words left his mouth -- instead, it felt like a pressure hit the both of them with the intensity of a powerful gravitational magic, stemming from right above them.

“...!” Both siblings swallowed a groan of pain as the weight pressed itself on their shoulders and back, making their knees and necks cry out in discomfort.

Yet, amidst the pressure, Kamui could almost… hear something. Two somethings, perhaps? There was a vague sound of running water and… whispers. They were so soft she couldn’t make out any word of it, but it was like someone was mumbling something right above her head, at the same time she felt a pair of eyes stare holes at the back of her neck. She wanted to steal a glance at the stare, but her body was frozen under the pressure.

Had they been hit by a powerful binding magic? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? They could barely glance at each other as they felt the thick energy lick at their faces, preventing them from properly breathing.

“It’s the first time we meet, Lantanoir siblings. Isn’t this such a wonderful family reunion?” A voice that could only be described by the sound that someone makes when they scratch a blackboard made the siblings’ hairs stand on end. “Raise your heads, both of you.”

As though compelled to, the two of them felt their heads snap up, followed by their neck complaining in pain. Their eyes met a black-haired man’s single one. He wore layers of robes adorned with golden trinkets, a black and white mask covering half of his face as he wriggled his fingers in a motion that could only be taken as witchcraft. He was chanting something under his breath while his fingers moved to apply the magic, which both Kamui and Silas imagined was the reason why their bodies were suddenly so heavy and somehow out of their control.

“I am Iago, Royal Adviser to His Majesty the King.” He opened both arms amidst a half-baked bow, a somewhat lizard-like smile growing inside his thin, dry lips. “I shall keep this brief since His Majesty does not enjoy long talks: We have heard much of the… ah, little lady’s service under our Crown Prince. Especially that you had a direct hand at saving the Eldest Princess, Lady Camilla.”

Kamui’s throat was clogged up. She couldn’t speak.

Seeing that, Iago moved his index slightly to the side, making the pressure gnawing at her neck lessen, which allowed her to properly breathe.

Wide-eyed and out of breath, Kamui glanced at her brother (who was still unable to look away from Iago) before turning back to the Royal Advisor. Now she understood why Richard was so disgusted by the simple mention of the man’s name. “I am merely the Crown Prince’s weapon.” She lowered her head once again, unable to even look upon the snake-like man. “I simply did my duty.”

Iago opened his mouth with a smirk, but was cut off by the explosive voice of the man that had been silent until now. A man that had been as tall as, if not taller than, Xander in his youth.

A man whose pitch-black armor somehow made it impossible for anyone who gazed at their own reflections in it to walk away the same. His black and white beard along with the wrinkled face tried to display the years that weighted down on him, yet the sound of his titaneous voice made all present shake within their very souls just the same as it had been in the past.

“It’s no small feat, little girl, to save the life of a royal.” Garon rested his head on one hand, not moving away from the throne despite the presence he exuded making Kamui think he had gotten up. His voice shook something inside Kamui’s very being -- it felt akin to when the beast would poke at her consciousness and bring forth all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. It was as though she was actually hearing the beast’s voice, which shook her tremendously.

Up until then, Kamui had only, well, imagined that the beast had a voice. She did hear roars and growls every now and then, but any articulate wording it might’ve had, they all came from Kamui’s own head. It was an unconscious way to make sense of the beast’s inarticulate noises so as to place herself somewhere that was removed from properly admitting that she had a... feral side deep within her. Something that wasn’t truly herself that shared her body and mind.

But when the King spoke, Kamui could feel her entire body shake with terror, as though she had been injected with freezing water that reached all the way into her very heart. Unbeknownst to her, Kamui raised her trembling gaze to him, somehow catching a glimpse of the bizarre, round statue that lay right above her head, on the ceiling.

Under the gaze of both statue and King, Kamui could only gulp in wait for his next words, gripping at her cloak to stop herself from shaking so terribly.

“Though, as you said before, it was your duty, so I shan’t concede you a reward.” Garon shrugged as though enjoying how Kamui looked like a frightened kitten drapped into his eldest son’s rags. “I will keep close watch on you from now on, Dame Lantanoir.” His voice slithered slowly, descending down the steps towards Kamui, wrapping itself around her neck and whispering into her ear: “I shall wait what other feats you will show us.”

US? Kamui couldn’t help but think amidst her despair, her body so cold it was a wonder she was still considered amongst the number of the living. Her lips trembling, it took the dame three moments too long to shakily lower her head. “I-it will be my utmost pleasure to serve, Your Majesty,” she managed to croak out in a barely audible voice.

It served to both Garon and Iago’s amusement, as both of them chuckled with the little rodent’s soft words.

“And you,” Garon turned to Silas, whose lower lip was almost bleeding from how fiercely he dug his teeth into it. Startled, the young knight felt King Garon’s voice grasp at his chin, forcing his face to turn to him as though he was using his own hand. “Try to make a better job at serving Elise than her previous retainer. Though it will be amusing to watch how long you’ll last.” He sneered as though finding the death of Princess Elise’s previous retainer a passing topic one discussed over tea.

With a simple gesture of his chin, Garon ended the meeting.

“You are dismissed.” Iago waved for the two of them to leave, the pressure above their shoulders suddenly lifting. “I shall see you around the halls,” he smiled wickedly, licking his dry lips as the two retainers gave their silent bows, collected their weapons and turned to leave.

Kamui’s legs were shaking so badly she almost tripped twice, ultimately falling on her knees the moment the large doors to the throne room closed behind them. Silas flopped on the floor beside his sister, their faces so pale they could’ve been mistaken by ghosts weren’t their breathing so aggravated.

The two guards in front of the throne room said nothing, well used to this kind of sight whenever someone new or old came out of there. Only Crown Prince Xander, First Princess Camilla and Iago, the Royal Adviser managed to leave that room with their heads held high, as though unbothered by the filthy atmosphere that surrounded it.

It took Kamui many minutes to stop her trembling, though when she thought she would have full control of her body, she started retching and was unable to stop the urge to throw up, staining the carpet right in front of her in a disgraceful manner. “G-gods, I-I’m so sorry, I, ughh…” she tried to look up to the guards behind her and properly apologize, but another wave was coming, making her throw up transparent liquid.

“K-Kamui-” It took everything Silas had not to follow suit, one of his hands dutifully stretched to pat his sister’s back as he covered his nose with the other one so as not to inhale the stench of the vomit, his own body curving into a retch as well.

“Agh, gods- hahh, hahh…” Kamui breathed heavily, throwing herself on her behind to pull her head back, squeezing her eyes so as not to look at the huge door she just vomited in front of. Conscious of her cloak, Kamui wrapped herself around it as she drew large breaths, not wanting it to touch the mess she had just made. “We need,” she huffed, feeling as though her senses started to return to her, “we need to get out of here! S-Silas-”

“Y-yes, yes, let’s go-” Silas nodded, though his legs were still limp on the floor. His body was turned to Kamui as he tried to support himself with his elbows to look up at her. “C’mon, hold my hand-” he tried to lift it for her to hold, but when she did, it collapsed on the floor with a soft thud.

“Let’s go, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Kamui muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes close and stretching them open, getting a proper view of the world after a few tries. She dared to get up, feeling more like a newborn fawn than a human being, though was still able to hold her own weight. “Silasss!” She pulled his hand with the most difficulty she had ever felt in her life -- it was as though all of her strength had been left inside the throne room, either forgotten or taken hostage until she had brought back her mental fortitude.

His body heavy, Silas leaned on Kamui’s shoulder as the two of them limped back to Strömborg without ever looking back. 

The cold air of the outside managed to wake them up in some manner until they could finally separate and walk on their own. They staggered once they reached the familiar walls, sitting on the dead grass between everywhere and nowhere, their heads still spinning.

Kamui felt terrible for throwing up on the carpet like that, feeling that she should come back there to warn someone or maybe ask for a broom or something so she could clean it herself, but her body… It didn’t listen to her as it trembled still. The afternoon air, although not as cold as when dusk fell, was still cold to their lungs and invigorating to their bodies.

The dame hadn’t needed to worry about the stains, honestly, since that was basically a daily occurrence at that part of the castle. Many weak-hearted people fainted or foamed at the mouth or even peed themselves; so vomiting was the least of it -- leastwise the most common.

Still, that shame would follow Kamui for the rest of her life -- she was so embarrassed she didn’t even have the face to go back to her Lord’s office to report that the mission had been a success. Had it, really? Probably? She barely remembered what had happened there, honestly.

The only thing that set all alarms inside her head were the eerie presence she felt staring down at her neck and the passing whispers that left as soon as she made out a word of understanding -- all of it surrounded her in place, as though wanting her to stay that way for the rest of her days.

Shivering, Kamui held herself under the cloak, trying to keep the vivid memories away lest she was sucked back in there. Her head was operating at its minimum capacity, somehow having fried itself to simply bring Kamui back to Strömborg; if she thought too hard about anything, she’d most certainly pass out.

Beside her, Silas was sitting on the grass while breathing heavily, the toll still greatly apparent on him. Taking in a shaky breath, Kamui managed to put herself on her feet once again, hugging the cloak for comfort more than anything, despite it weighing much more than she could bear at the moment.

“I’m going back to my room to put this away,” she declared in an unfirm voice, each step she took depleting her already low energy. “Then I’ll go back to Lord Xander.”

“K-Kamui, don’t force yourself, ugh…” Silas bent forward, breathing through his hands. “I’m sure the Crown Prince would understand-”

“He would. But-” she huffed, each breath refreshing her further, “but I won’t. I need to- to get used to this.”

Having said that, she left under heavy steps; leaving a panting Silas to bring himself back together.

Kamui miscalculated how much strength she would need to go up the apparently endless flight of stairs to her quarters, so when she arrived, she crumpled on the floor in exhaustion. Breathing heavily, the dame took off the cloak, using the most of her arm to throw it on the bed as she lay on the floor beside it.

She had stopped thinking at that point, so all she could do was simply follow through the motions of the actions she had imprinted on her mind before reaching her quarters: she washed her face and her mouth with the cold water always at the ready on the silver basin, then trudged to the bed to fold the cloak as neatly as she could at the moment. She then placed it atop her emergency bag, taking upon herself to bring the cloak with her whenever she went.

Surprisingly, the more she moved, the more strength returned to her, although bit by bit. Taking a quick breath, the dame braced herself to the trek down the stairs as well as the entire way toward her Lord’s common meeting room.

 Once she stood outside the door, Kamui’s head was much clearer. She could feel her whole body and, honestly, apart from the shame of the embarrassing act in front of the door, she felt mostly fine.

Kamui took yet another deep breath before using her personal set of knocks to let her Lord know it was her who requested entry.

Xander’s voice from inside sounded confused and alarmed. “Kamui?”

“Dame Kamui greets the Crown Prince,” she said in a steely tone after entering, bowing not as a noble but as a knight who had completed their duty.

“I am surprised to see you here, Dame Kamui. Approach.” Xander gestured for the dame to come closer, to which she obeyed. “Have you succeeded?”

“You’re pale. Were you not able to meet the King?” Richard asked before she could reply, though Kamui kept her head down.

“I-I was able to meet His Majesty, yes. Should I not have returned?” She fidgeted, glad that the pressure from the Crown Prince’s eyes wasn’t sickening as the one that came from his father.

“Most who meet my Father for the first time do not have the means to return so quickly.” Xander said simply, though Kamui could deeply understand the underlying meaning of his words. It was harsh, it was hard, it was daunting, to meet the King and be the same person right away. Kamui herself had wanted to curl up to a ball and never leave her room just a few minutes previous, but she managed to persevere. Looking at the worried glint in her eyes, Xander opened his mouth yet again. “Did something happen back there?”

Flinching, the dame lowered her head even more, a flush of color running through her face to display her shame. “I-I am ashamed.”

“Out with it, girl.” Richard urged, eager to know if he could use whatever she was going to say as teasing or blackmail material.

“I-” she squeezed her eyes as she fought with the lump in her throat. “Ithrewuponthecarpet!” She bowed deeply. “I’m really sorry, I feel so, so-”

“Before or after you entered?!” Richard slapped back immediately during the time it took for Xander to blink in surprise.

“A-after…” Kamui squeaked out in response, too embarrassed to lift her head to meet either her Lord’s or her partner’s gaze. Richard deliberately snorted loudly, though cleared his throat to show all present that he was controlling himself so as not to burst in laughter.

Honestly, Kamui would have smiled at his open distaste of her as usual, but since it was something that dug into her ego so deeply, she only squeezed her eyes in shame.

“Kamui, come here.” Xander’s voice snapped the dame out of her spiral of self-apprehension, making her immediately look up at him. He gestured for her to circle his desk and stand beside his chair. “Allow me to tell you a secret…”

“I can hear you.” Richard cleared his throat, somehow knowing what the so-called secret entailed.

Xander’s smirk simply grew as he whispered: “The first time Richard entered, he was unable to serve for two days.”

“I was a young boy, not a grown woman.” The Royal Retainer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. This was a sore subject to him too, it seemed.

“He was seventeen.” Xander said as he looked straight at Richard’s eyes before looking back to Kamui. “Do not worry about what happened. Just do not allow that to happen again. Strengthen yourself; train your mind just as you do your body.”

Daring to poke a smile at the corners of her lips, Kamui nodded under her Lord’s comforting words. It was also a relief to know that her apparently unshakable partner had an unsavory past he put behind him -- it gave her the means to pave her own path in his likeness so she, too, could serve Xander with the confidence befitting her station.

For now, however, she was still left with a bit of shame and the drive to better herself so as not to allow that to ever happen again. 

[phantomwarrior12]

Fight

Words: 2,946

Warnings: Mild swearing, angst, intimidation, Sigma being a dick

Summary: What happens to a broken’s man mind when his actions are not his own?

A/N: Hey folks!

So, this fic was abandoned years ago...but last night inspiration sparked and I finished it! I also had to fix the tenses (throwback to when I wrote in past tense >.< Gross), so if there are any mess-ups, I do apologize!

As always, please leave a like/comment and let me know your thoughts! Enjoy!

~Phantom

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

Their intervention had been anticipated.

It's an outcome Sigma has come to expect from the drones of Project Freelancer.

They - he has arrived with more reinforcements than predicted. The blue soldiers, one an incompetent fool, the other, an incapable marksman.

Were it not for damage he had already sustained, the Meta would have already disposed of Agent Washington and his compatriots, granting them access to a wealth of technology and equipment.

Nonetheless, Agent Washington's - Wash's meddling will not be tolerated. Sigma can almost feel the familiarity of the nickname, the undeniable urge to protect a friend of his host, the man he has corrupted, tormented, forced into submission to mold the monster they faced - Agent Maine.

The time displacement device they've acquired from Agent Wyoming's corpse seems to function at full capacity, delaying the impending missile from the cobalt Simulation Trooper. His gaze lingers to his right where Washington and the larger trooper are suspended mid-air over a wall with a grenade exploding just behind them.

The blue imbecile had carelessly lodged the grenade against the wall, forcing them to flee from their cover.

As Sigma prods the Meta forward, his gaze briefly flickers over to the cobalt soldier. The sudden appearance of Gamma beside him jolts the AI from his silent deliberation.

Gamma's robotic tone ruptures the otherwise silent battlefield, "What is it?"

Sigma frowns, diverting his gaze from the soldier to the duo before them, "The rocket wielder - there's something familiar about him."

Gamma's gaze flickers over his shoulder, "He's human, a dirty Shisno. Do not concern yourself."

Sigma merely nods his agreement before returning his attention to the agent and the imbecile. A cruel smile slides easily across his lips, his expression resembling something like satisfaction as the Meta draws his magnum.

"Finish him." A singular order.

The Meta raises the weapon, the barrel resting even with Washington's visor. Sigma waits, one beat. Two. Three. His patience dwindles as he again addresses the Meta.

"Fire your weapon, Meta. We wish to be whole again, yes?"

A solitary nod.

"I realize Agent Washington presents a familiar face, as it were, to Agent Maine. But, we are the Meta. We must be whole again - the only way is to remove those who oppose us. Do you understand?"

The Meta wavers, his mind urging his finger to pull the trigger, and yet, his body betrays him. Sigma's features contort into a frown, brows knit together as he recognizes the influence of Agent Maine.

While Sigma has beaten his consciousness into submission, his subconscious presents more of a challenge. He's confined Maine's mind to a small corner of his brain, allowing the AI units to dominate his body. Though, from the confines of his mental prison, Maine occasionally manages to intervene, to aid his friends.

Sigma repeats his order adamantly, "Now, Meta!"

The strain grows unbearable, his suit begins to glitch, sparks spouting from the extensive wiring of the armor.

"We're overloading! We have to go!" Eta and Iota interrupt Sigma's demands.

Sigma glowers in disgust as Gamma warns of the immanent failure of the time displacement device.

Omega interjects before Sigma can respond with an edge of fury, "We're leaving!”

The Meta backs away before holstering his pistol and taking off.

"We'll meet again soon, Agent Washington, I promise."

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

"What happened, I thought we had complete control?" The dark edge in Omega's tone closely resembles the very emotion he represents: rage.

Sigma casts a displeased expression towards his brother, ignoring the close proximity - Omega's idle attempt at intimidation, "Agent Maine is strong-minded individual, he wants to be rid of us. Even as his consciousness submits to our will, his subconscious is less...cooperative."

"Why not delete it?" Omega snaps in return, scowling at the flaming AI.

"Were it so easy. In many ways, the human mind is like a computer. It retains information, manages the functions of the body, but unlike a computer, one cannot simply delete a program when it's no longer useful." Sigma returns coolly. 

Omega stares back unwavering, "Your point?"

"His body would no longer function properly, we would be setting ourselves back rather than moving closer to our goal." Sigma returns calmly.

Theta flickers online beside them, "Would it hurt him?" His child-like voice cracks at the mention of pain. The smaller AI is still struggling to cope with the loss of North, the ache of losing him still fresh.

Sigma glances down at the most trusting of their party, "Yes, Theta, it would hurt him."

Theta's eyes fall to the ground, "He hurts all the time, doesn't he?" His voice grows quiet as he spoke.

"Yes." Sigma admits, noting the change in demeanor.

"Just like North." His shoulders sag, memories flooding to the surface.

"It is alright, Theta," Delta assures him gently, ignoring the pointed look from Omega.

"No, Theta, not like North." Iota flickers online beside Theta and kneels beside him. "North is in a better place, he's not in pain anymore." He rests a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder.

"I miss him." Theta returns quietly, voice quivering with emotion.

"I know, Theta, but you're with your brothers now," Iota attempts a smile beneath his helmet, "and we won't let anything happen to you."

Theta nods slightly, eyes still turned downcast even as Gamma approaches, "The Meta requires repairs. His armor needs more power."

Sigma touches his chin thoughtfully, mentally sifting through the downloaded Freelancer database for locations with the desired level of energy. His lips curve into a small smirk, "I believe I've found a suitable location."

Omega turns his gaze from Sigma to the helmet of their host, "And what do you propose we do about our little rebel problem?"

Sigma follows his gaze to the golden-orange visor before them, "I shall have a talk with Agent Maine. The sooner he accepts his role, the more efficient we shall become."

"And if he continues to resist?"  Gamma questions.

Sigma meets his gaze, "Then we force him to submit."

Theta begins to argue against the idea of hurting Agent Maine, but a singular glare from Omega silences him.

"Then it's decided. Meta, you may proceed to the next set of coordinates."

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

Agent Maine sits dejectedly in the corner, eyes fixated on the far wall of his prison. He's been confined to a corner, a piece of his mind in a cell that closely resembles his quarters aboard the Mother of Invention, complete with the photographs of his friends.

Friends. The people he'd been forced to murder, the very same people he would have taken a bullet for at any point in time. The people who had become family, the people he was meant to protect. Now - now they're gone. 

Gone because a psychotic AI had manipulated him, gone because he was forced to watch in sheer horror as he hunted and slaughtered his friends.

He doesn't know what is worse, listening to Sigma drone on about obeying and submitting or the guilt that threatens to swallow him up.

Sigma. The only reason he's trapped in this mental prison. No one listened to him, no one noticed his gradual reclusion, no one helped him when he needed them the most.

No one - no one except Wash. His faithful little brother, always innocent, always vigilant, always the supportive one - well as supportive as one can be when their name wasn't Agent Florida. It seemed to be that man's personal mission to make sure everyone remained in good spirits.

The thought itself strikes a painful cord, drudging up familiar memories. Sparring matches with Carolina, bonding exercises with the entire team, North's incessant tendency to act as the father as the group, occasionally rivaling Florida's paternal tendencies. He could almost see South and Connecticut teasing Washington about his gullible nature. Wyoming's terrible knock-knock jokes, York's exasperated sigh whenever the older Freelancer cracked said jokes.

They hadn't been perfect, but they had been family. His family.

He sets his jaw, forcing himself from his reminiscent daze as he turns his scowl once more to the barred door before him.

He's tried, time and time again to break it, to push it open, to threaten Sigma into opening it, but it all proved to be in vain. The AI won't yield, he is, after all, the ambitious fragment.

Damn him. Damn him and all his "brothers" to hell.

They would all still be here. It's the only thought going through Maine's mind. He shoots to his feet, hands clenching into fists as he spins and buries his hand wrist-deep into the cement wall.

"Agent Maine, I must insist upon a calmer demeanor, you don't want to hurt yourself, now do you?"

The voice behind him catches his attention, but he never needs to turn around. He knows who it was. He wishes he didn't, he's heard the same voice inside his head for months now, and it shows no signs of leaving anytime soon.

"Go to hell." His back remains turned, scowl focused on the broken concrete in front of him.

The corner of Sigma's lips tug upwards into a smirk and with a wave of his hand, promptly repairs the hole and secures the prison. "As an AI, I'm sure you're fully aware that I cannot physically--"

"Don't care. Leave."

There's an amused scoff and Maine hates it. The searing heat of flaming orbs flickering to the photographs strewn across the bed to his left. "You've been thinking about them again, haven't you?"

No response.

Sigma ventures closer to the images, noting the closest to be of Agent Washington trapped in an affectionate headlock as Agent Maine towers over him with a smirk of amusement, eagerly watching the smaller Freelancer struggle to escape.

"You interfered with our mission today, Agent Maine." His gaze flickers back over to the Freelancer, noting the increased tension in his stance at the mention of his involvement. "We were forced to retreat, and your friend, Washington, still lives."

Sigma can almost see the satisfied smirk from where he stands. Even with his back to him, he knows how the man thought. Any inconvenience, any setback he can cause was a small victory.

"Agent Maine, it's time for you to embrace your role as our ally, our vessel for the duration of our quest to become whole." Sigma addresses the 7-foot Spartan, pacing closer with hands clasped behind his back.

Maine folds his arms across his chest, completely disinterested in listening to rambling fragment behind him. He turns and scowls at Sigma, jaw set in a hard line of defiance as the AI paces closer.

"You can't possibly hope to keep fighting us, Agent Maine. You'll burn yourself out - or, we'll be forced to take more drastic measures to ensure your cooperation. You don't want that, do you?"

Maine returns his threat with a glower, his eyes conveying the boundless hatred for his captor.

"Feel free to voice your response, Agent Maine. We are, after all, inside your mind, the only place you truly have a voice."

Maine brushes past him, pausing mere feet from the barred door. He looks to Sigma, jerking his head towards the door.

Sigma allows a condescending smirk, "You know I can't let you out, not until your agree to help us, Agent Maine."

His movements are sudden, predicted, but sudden as he steps forward, throwing a fist at the blazing AI. His hand passes through and he stumbles through the projection before turning back to glare at him.

"I will ask you one final time, Agent Maine, will you cooperate?"

Maine snatches the lamp from the bedside stand, lobbing it in Sigma's direction, shattering it against the far wall.

"Very well. I'll leave you to your deliberation. I am confident you will make the right decision given time." Sigma flickers out, leaving the large mercenary alone in his prison.

Maine sinks onto the mattress, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

Never.

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

"Come on, Maine! Give it back!" Washington pleads, reaching for sweatshirt Maine has confiscated from the Freelancer.

York laughs from his place on the couch, the taller Freelancer waving the clothing over his head, well out of Wash's reach. "Whose sweatshirt is that anyway?"

"Yours." North volunteers, not bothering to glance up from his book.

"Why do you have my sweatshirt, Wash?" York's expression resembles something of a condescending smirk.

"Only one I could find--" Wash leaps into the air for the fourth time, fingers grazing the pocket, but not nearly close enough to grab hold.

"Why are we torturing Wash?" Carolina strolls into the rec room, taking in the scene before her.

"Because Wash took my sweatshirt and Maine took it from Wash." York returns, motioning her closer.

She sags onto the couch beside him, "What happened to your hoodies, Wash?"

"Ask Connie," he jumps a little higher and Maine moves it just beyond his reach, "Come on! Please?"

Maine looks to York who had distracted himself with tucking a strand of Carolina's hair away from her eyes. Maine opens his mouth to speak, losing his concentration for a split second and Wash tugs the hoodie from his grasp.

"Ah ha!" He celebrates by hoisting the brown sweater into the air before tugging it on, "Finally."

"You need to pay more attention, Maine," Carolina chuckles lightly.

Maine looks over at Washington. This hadn't happened. None of this had. His gaze darts to the door as it whizzes open and Sigma strides in.

"Enjoying your fantasies?"

"Maine? What's going on?" York looks between the former Spartan and the AI.

Maine shakes his head as he backs away, reality crashing down around him as the heels of his hands dig into his temples.

"You will comply, Agent Maine."

"No."

It's not his voice. It's Wash. Even in his subconscious, Wash has his back.

"You're speaking through figments of your imagination now? Pathetic."

"No! You know what's pathetic? You! You'll never be whole. You'll never be human. You're a fragment. You'll always be a fragment. You won't win." Wash strides forward, a fire ignited in once gentle blue, daring steps ever closer to the AI fragment, "And Maine will never help you."

"Really?" He looks to Maine, unamusement evident in his features, "Enough of this. You will surrender. You can't possibly believe you can resist us any longer. You are, after all, on your own."

He's right.

Maine is alone, even here, within the confines of his mind with little more than the memories of his friends to keep him company.

"Except he's not alone." Carolina stands, shoulders squared in the same dignified posture she's used to stare down death itself. "You may have his body. You may have his mind. But he has all of us and the strength to fight you. By bringing him here, to this place, we get to remind him," she looks over her shoulder at him, features softening as she meets his gaze, "He's not alone."

"That is enough, unless you wish to see your friends die all over again--"

Maine flinches but Carolina doesn't move as she retains her scowl on Sigma. Behind her, York and North move to stand in front of Maine. And Wash - little Wash with his heart and his drive - he stands beside Maine. He can feel the weight of his brother's hand, the strength of the others and the iron will of Agent Carolina as she places herself between him and Sigma.

"You can go to hell. As long as Maine is alive, he will never join you."

Sigma narrows his eyes, "Have it your way."

The world around Agent Maine begins to fade and he's forced to watch North and York disintegrate. Carolina fights, but falls to Sigma's advances. It's happening all over again.They're gone.

And he's alone. He's alone until a firm hand rests on his forearm. He's alone until he looks down to see Wash clinging to him with a flame roaring behind his eyes.

"You have to fight him, Maine. You have to fight him and all of the fragments. I know you feel alone, but Carolina was right. We're here. We're your strength, Maine. Don't forget that!"

Maine watches him fade. His fists clench and his chin drops.

"It's time to go, Agent Maine."

"No." This time, it's Maine who speaks, who lifts his head and squares shoulders.

This time it's Maine who strides forward with a confidence he'd thought he lost when Sigma seized control. This time, it's Maine to who jogs then runs then sprints toward the AI fragment and barrels through his holographic form and the wall and the next wall and the next.

They shatter and crumble and he can hear Sigma's vain orders blasting his ears, but he doesn't stop. He crashes through the last, and suddenly he's in a Freelancer storage facility with Agent Washington staring him down.

Wash.

There's a blur of voices and he's trapped.

"And I am a motherfucking ghost."

He's screaming and yet Wash can't hear him.

It's Maine! I'm right here!

Another blur of voices that trigger memories and Maine fights through the haze, fighting to take a step but he can't. Wash is right there. 

Wash - please.

"We can talk about this--"

"No, we can't."

The cacophony that splits the air is deafening 

 and Maine crumples in a heap of armor and pain. When the ringing fades and he can do little more than stare at the ceiling above him, he gathers what little strength he has and he growls a feeble, exhausted growl to let Wash know who's left in the shell.

"Maine?"

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

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[marvel-lucy]

The Ultimate Weapon, chapter 9

OOh, I was being dark and violent here! :D

I probably wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I never would have been, but I’d started now. I felt as if I had two existences – the six years with Hydra, and the few weeks here – and now I was going to see pictures from another existence. How many lives could one person live in twenty years?

The images started to scroll, each appearing on the screen full size for a few seconds before the next. There were a family laughing at a back yard barbecue; a girl with pigtails and a missing front tooth; ID photos, unsmiling and face on; then formal school photos, club members lined up in rows. I watched, letting them flash before my eyes. The last image appeared, taken from a newspaper article, it showed a girl – a teenager. The photo looked like one taken by a friend, she was laughing, in a bedroom somewhere. I could see the writing underneath, ‘missing schoolgirl’. The image remained on the screen, and I stared into the eyes of the girl, then got up and went and looked at my eyes in the bathroom mirror. They were the same.

I felt a jolt of recognition that had me gasping for air. That was me. Those were me, and my family. I grabbed up the screen again and sat down in the corner of the room, subconsciously feeling the need for the security of my back to the wall. More slowly this time, I went through the images again, inspecting each in turn, staring into the background of each photo at wallpaper, furniture, trees. Flashes of memory started shooting through my mind, each image seeming to come alive with sounds, smells, and then gone. I remembered the feel of the grass on my legs as a child at the barbecue, the smell of hotdogs and the sound of laughter; I remembered the blood down my shirt front as my first tooth fell out on photo day, and the feeling of poking my tongue into the hole. ID photos of my parents and brother brought back the sound of their voices, the smell of shampoo and the feel of my Dad’s stubble. Over and over I scrolled through the photos, unaware that my breathing was becoming more laboured as my brain tried to reconstruct a missing life.

Finally, panting, I let my head fall back against the wall, and dropped the screen to the floor. I shut my eyes, and tried to control my breathing. Pieces of memory continued to return, flashing onto the screen of my brain. I pressed my hands to the side of my head, desperate to shut off the flow of information but it came, faster and faster. Birthday cakes, family pets. The pain of a broken arm, the chill of a swimming pool. Names and faces. I squeezed my eyes tighter shut and pressed my hands harder to my head, afraid of what was coming. I was vaguely aware of someone coming into the room but my muscles were locked into a spasm while my brain overloaded with years of repressed memories, beaten down by Hydra. I heard voices speak, but wasn’t able to understand what they meant.

“We’re going to have to sedate her, this was a bad idea…” “Do we know who we’ll get back? The girl or the killer…” “She needs something to calm her breathing Bruce…”

A sharp scratch on my arm and I felt myself slipping to the floor, then being lifted, and then I lost all sense of my body. But my mind continued to rush, the mind powers I’d had enhanced easily overriding the tranquiliser I’d been given, and now there was no escape. I was trapped in my unresponsive body as the memories flooded back, and I couldn’t even scream.

I remembered being 14. Walking home from school in the summer, a book bag in one hand, phone in the other. I was thinking about a boy at school, about going for a swim, about a nagging I’d had from my Dad for untidiness that morning. I was at ease and relaxed, a happy kid on the edge of growing up. I remembered a sharp stab in my neck, my hand rising up to wipe away a mosquito or a thorn, and then falling to the grass verge, seeing boots approaching me and hands picking me up.

I remembered the back of a van, a long drive. A plane? Flashes of drugged memory made no sense for a while, but my mind powers meant that nothing had truly been forgotten, simply buried under layers of pain. Now, sedated on a bed in New York, the layers were stripped away.

I remembered waking to cold and dark, trying to stand and finding I was chained to a bed. Crying out for my Mom and for help, sobbing myself into a cold sleep. I remembered waking again to a man standing over me, and desperately trying to push him away with my hands and my mind, but at that point I’d never learnt to control my powers and he easily swatted both away. Shouting and crying with fear as a collar was locked around my neck, and soon learning that if I used my powers, or resisted, it would be activated.

I remembered the first time I was led to the chair. Bruised now after beatings, after falling to the floor under the control of the collar; shivering and starved and bereft of hope, except the hope I might die soon. Seeing a large chair with restraints and fighting being put in until a punch to my side knocked me over and I wasn’t able to resist. I remember being strapped in, the collar removed and a piece of leather put between my teeth, fear making me sweat. I remembered the needle going in, the feeling of ice spreading up my arm making me bite down and scream.

Still the memories kept coming. If I hadn’t been sedated, I’d have beaten my head against a wall to try and escape but to anyone observing me I must have looked peaceful and rested, unaware of the barrage of information flooding my brain while my body lay still.

Memories of repeated beatings, every time I failed to comply. Being taught to fight, all with the collar on so that if I tried to attack or escape, I would be punished. Learning to fight with knives, sticks, fists, relentlessly. Little rest, little food. More injections. Time was meaningless in my head and in the bunker, had I been there days or weeks or months when they brought out my family? Leaning exhausted against a wall, seeing the door open and my parents and brother come stumbling out, bruised and bloodied and collared.

I remember my brother vomiting with fear, my father sobbing, my mother mouthing ‘I love you’. I remember using every power I had to try and free them, kicking and screaming and punching, lashing out with my mind. Those were the first two Hydra agents I killed, two guards who had brought me to my cell. Then I saw my father, fall, choking to the floor, as his collar was activated. He writhed, purple faced as I screamed. I fell to my knees and they let him breath again.

I remembered a man in uniform in front of me. A voice. “Understand this. Your family will die. You have a choice. Submit and they die easily. Resist and they die hard. This pain will make you stronger, make you a weapon. This is the last choice you will ever be allowed to make for yourself. What will it be?”

I remember looking up, seeing the soldier’s scarred face in front of me, and my family behind. I saw my mother’s eyes on me and again she whispered. ‘It’s OK’. That had broken me then, and it broke me again now. I tried to turn my head away from the memories but there was no escape. I remember saying ‘I submit’ and then watching the soldier turn and shoot them each once, their bodies crumpling together.

After that, I remember blocking out love, fear, hope. There was nothing left. No one would save me, I couldn’t let myself be a person anymore because a person could grieve and I couldn’t let myself. Still they kept at me, training me, giving me more serum, more beatings. I remembered the time when they filled my cell with water to my ankles so I was constantly cold and wet, other times when they denied me water and kept the cell so hot my lips cracked and bled with the dehydration. I remembered being hosed down with water so icy I lost my breath and my skin turned blue. I remembered days and days without food where I was still expected to fight, any weakness punished. Every torment stripped away another layer of my humanity until I was just a core of anger, a narrow beam of hatred for the world.

I remembered each face that had hurt me. The soldiers who had taught me to fight by attacking me, while I was half starved and half naked and they wore armour. I remembered the scientists who had injected me with serum, brought me back to life from the brink of death, studied my regression to animal state with interest. I remembered the soldiers who had created each scar I had seen on my body. I remembered when I had first been allowed out on a mission, drugged beforehand so that all I was aware of was my target, then tearing through a building until I found the target and broke his neck. I didn’t know who he was, but that death was on me, his blood was on my hands as were the others that came after.

I remembered the constant changes. The gentle treatment – a bed, some clothes – that were then taken away for no reason. I remembered the days of darkness followed by the days of constant light. I remembered not being allowed to lie down, and not being allowed to stand. I remembered being taught to attack using only my mind, sharpening my mind powers until I could make blood boil from behind a wall, then my collar shocking me again every time I used them. I remembered the scarred man again, telling me over and over that I was their weapon, that my strength was forged in my pain and that they would break me down and build me in their own image.

And all through this, I remembered my mother saying ‘it’s OK’. No matter what they did to me, how they broke me down, I held on to that in a corner of my mind. Perhaps that one memory I had somehow kept for myself was what had enabled me to survive and still retain some control and some humanity, but it was such a tiny shred and I was afraid it would be extinguished.

--

My eyelids fluttered and I was aware of the soft light through the curtains in my room. The sedative was wearing off and slowly my senses made out that I was lying on the bed, that there were people murmuring in the room, that my muscles were slowly coming back to life. I coughed and tried to sit myself up but with the sedative still in my blood, I was weak and fell back again.

“Hey there”. A soft voice, Bruce. “OK, we got you, stay lying down, you’re not up to sitting up yet”. Another voice, Sam.

“We think it was just a bit much, showing you all that information so soon, we’ve taken it away, no need to think about it for now, just rest”. That was Bruce again. They didn’t realise what had happened.

I turned to look at him. “Too late”. My voice was strained as if I’d been silently screaming. “It’s all come back. You drugged me and I couldn’t escape the memories. It’s all here now. Everything I’ve done. Everything that’s happened”. My voice broke again and I coughed. Bruce’s eyes were wide with shock. “You trapped me in my head and now I know everything. You should have let me die”. I rolled onto my side, turning my face away as if they could see the horrors on my face, and sobbed.

--

I was aware of people in the room, they didn’t leave me alone for the next few days. I lay in the bed and cried, digging my nails into my hands until they bled under the sheets. There was always someone there but I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t reach out, as the horrors in my head replayed over and over. All the deaths I had caused. The loss of my parents, my brother – my fault. All because Hydra wanted what was in my head, something I’d never asked to be there. My muscled ached with tension, and I withdrew, locking myself into my head with shame and guilt.

I don’t know how long it had been, days, a week? Sam and Bruce had tried talking to me, Steve had offered me food, Nat had just sat silently. I was aware of other bodies but I couldn’t respond. I heard the door open again and someone new enter, the sound of talking, which then got louder than normal. The words still meant nothing to me.

“Just let me try ok, everyone out. It’s not like you’re having any success and you all know I’m the only person who can really understand what she’s been through”.

More footsteps, people leaving perhaps. I was only vaguely aware as my head was too filled with past horrors for the present.

Then a shadow fell over my face, someone standing between me and the light as I cried. The body crouched down, it was Bucky, his head now level with mine. His voice was soft.

“I know they’ve tried gentle. I can’t do that, it’s not in me. I can tell you though, that I’ve been there. What Hydra did to you? A lot of that, they did to me too. You’re not alone kid. And I can’t lie to you and tell you that it’s going to disappear and you’ll be happy again, although that’s what they want me to say. What I can say though, is that if you fight through this and get up and eat and rest and pretend to feel human, there will be better days”. He paused. “And I can promise you that if you can find a way to function, you can have revenge”. That made me look up. “These guys, the Avengers, they’re the good guys, we know that. They fight Hydra to make the world a better place. You and me, we have darkness inside us. I don’t think they get that. I fight Hydra to try and relieve that darkness. Or maybe to cover it with darkness of my own choosing, I haven’t looked too hard. Do that with me. By my side. Beat them, for what they did to you”

I’d stopped crying while he spoke. I had no hope then for a future of happiness but listening to Bucky, I did have hope for revenge.

[yandere-daydreams]

Some Yandere!Kyoya/Reader/Tamaki for the lovely @lunalightmidnight . It’s been too long since I’ve written for these boys, honestly. 

Word Count: ~2k

You could hear the door to your room start to unlock before you saw either of your captors. Twelve deadbolts, all lined-up vertically, lightly worn from both your efforts to break them and normal wear-and-tear. You briefly considered getting up and attempting to hide in some dark corner, but one glance around the small, cramped cell freed you of that possibility. Maybe it would’ve been better if you had some closet to lock yourself in, or a window to crawl out of. Instead, the only comfort you had was the small, paper-thin mattress, laid next to the books Tamaki had been kind enough to give you.

Forcing yourself into a corner, you pulled your knees up to your chin, hiding your face the best you could. You could vaguely hear the door crack open, Tamaki and Kyoya stepping inside, but stopping before they reached you. You knew they were whispering, but neither of them had ever been good at that sort of thing.

“...she’s not eating,” Tamaki said quietly, the harshness in his voice still coming through clearly.

Kyoya sighed. You could almost see him rubbing his temples, in only out of habit. “I know, love. I can see as well as you can.”

“Well, what are we going to do?! I swear, if you say-”

“We aren’t going to do anything, and that’s final. Things will work out, you’ll see.”

There were a few seconds of tense silence, before Tamaki huffed, taking a few hesitant steps towards you. A hand ran through your messy hair, smoothing it out. Or trying to, at least. You knew he was kneeling in front of you, that damned smile still spread across his lips, but you didn’t dare to look up. You only shifted when his palm pressed against your cheek, the warm skin a stark contrast against the cold room.

“Hey there, darling. Are you alright?” He asked, almost sweetly. Gently, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. Both he and Kyoya were still dressed formerly, like they’d just gotten home. Half of you was touched that the first thing they did was come visit you, while the other half wanted to beg them to leave. “Why aren’t you on your bed? Is something upsetting you?”

You choked down a sob, trying to keep your voice as neutral as you could. But, acknowledging your situation while maintaining the unfulfilling level of emotion you wanted to display was… difficult, to say the least. “You kidnapped me. I’m never going to be ‘alright’ again.”

Finally, Kyoya stepped forward, putting his hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “I think what he’s trying to say,” Kyoya paused, glaring down at his counterpart. Tamaki took the hint, letting go of you and slotting himself into your side. “Is that we’re trying to make you as comfortable as possible. Is there anything you need, (Y/n)?”

“My family,” You stuttered out, frantically. You’d already tried asking to go outside, to leave your room, to roam around while they weren’t home, but all you’d ever gotten was disappointed stares and a lecture on how you had to be good before you got any privileges. Small things got a response, at least. “Are they looking for me?”

The two exchanged a look, but only for a moment. Tamaki nodded, and Kyoya gave up trying to stand, just sitting in front of you. He took your hand, and for once, you didn’t resist. As long as he told you what you wanted to know, he could do whatever he wanted. “Not exactly… I mean, I wouldn’t call it looking.”

“They filed a missing-person report,” Tamaki added, optimistically.

You pursed your lips, squeezing Kyoya’s hand, coaxing him to continue. He averted his eyes, dropping the empathetic pretense. “They don’t care. But, that doesn’t matter. You’re home now, with us. You shouldn’t have to care about anyone out there.”

At that point, you couldn’t take it anymore. You felt Tamaki wrap an arm around your shoulders as you started to tear up, pulling you closer when you actually started to cry. You didn’t try to push him away, too busy with trying to cover your mouth and retain the growing break-down that you’d been putting off for weeks, now. Kyoya rubbed circles into your back, seeming hesitant to touch you. 

But… you were glad they were there. This wasn’t ideal, not in any sense of the word, but you didn’t want to be alone, either. 

~

“You’re getting heavy, (Y/n),” Tamaki laughed, pulling you further onto his lap. Despite the new cot they’d gotten you, he still didn’t like you sitting on something so… lower-class. Whenever Tamaki visited you, your feet never touched the ground. And even when he wasn’t nuzzling into your side, a vast collection of pillows and stuffed animals easily made up for his absence. “Guess this is what sitting around all day gets you. I’ll barely be able to lift you, in a few months.”

You punched him playfully, too light to actually prove anything. It took more self-control than it should’ve to keep from smiling. You missed domestic moments like this, badly. But, you didn’t let yourself fall into the illusion. Your arms are around his neck for support, you told yourself. It would be too much trouble to push him away. Playing along was easier. “Shut up! You don’t get to keep me in the same room all day, then complain about me gaining weight.”

“I could never complain about you,” He purred, bringing up a hand to pinch your cheek. “I’m just observing.”

Kyoya cleared his throat, dragging your attention towards him. The boy was sitting cross-legged next to you, back pressed against the nearest wall. The distance was normal, his affection more reserved than Tamaki’s. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the feeling of his hands brushing hair out of your face, or the tiny, genuine smiles that just made you feel so special… But, you couldn’t want those things anymore.

You couldn’t want Kyoya anymore, or Tamaki. You weren’t allowed to want any of this.

“So, you’ve been well-behaved, lately.” The words sounded practiced, like he’d been waiting to say them for a long, long time. You didn’t mind. You’d been waiting to hear them for a long time, too. “We’ve had a room for you, one of your own. It would be nice if you could share with us...” He paused, fighting back a few choice words. “But, we’ll live with it.”

“I’m getting my own room,” You mumbled, not bothering to repress your grin. You tried to move forward, already eager for the change. “Does it have windows? Do they open? And a computer?”

Tamaki moved with you, draping himself over your shoulders as you kneeled in front of Koyoa. With his chin propped on your shoulder, the blonde interjected. “I had to convince Mommy that you wouldn’t run away, but there’ll be windows. No laptops, radios, or phones without our supervision, though. We aren’t that dumb.” You felt yourself cringe in disappointment, but there wasn’t much you could do. Not now, anyway. “Besides, there’s nothing but trees around for miles. Why would you want to look at any of that, when you have your loving, handsome partners right here?”

Kyoya nodded in agreement, and you clenched your fists, trying to shrug Tamaki off of you. “There’s a balcony, too. We knew you’d want one.” He slowly reached over, laying his palm over yours. It was a sweet gesture, until you tried to pull away. You forced yourself not to look down as his nails dug into your wrist. Seeing the blood the drew so often would only make not fighting back harder. “But, the cameras are staying. I know you don’t like them, but it’s for your safety.”

“Fine...” You smiled, moving forward and out of Tamaki’s arms, letting him fall. “I won’t complain, as long as I get a twin-sized bed. Nothing bigger.”

“Queen-sized,” Kyoya compromised, finally letting go of your wrist. “You don’t want to see Tamaki cry again, do you? Personally, I don’t think my eardrums would be able to take it.”

Muffled rebuttles came from the blonde, but you just narrowed your eyes. “Twin sized,” You repeated, more sternly. “Or else I’ll start crying, too.”

With an exasperated groan, he relented. Tamaki pouted, find his way back to your waist. You got the feeling that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. “Fine, but I’m getting you a collar.” 

“Don’t you mean a choker?”

“No.”

~

As time passed, you found yourself lingering in the hall between the two bedrooms more often. Running your fingertips along the walls, curling up in the huge bay windows that you might’ve been able to jump through, making conversation with passing maids and butlers… the normal stuff. But, at night, you would trail through the hall, pauseing outside of Kyoya and Tamaki’s door before talking yourself out of knocking. Ultimately, you’d drag yourself back to your bed, berating yourself for ever considering something so desperate as an option.

But, your little ‘method’ got harder to keep up as weeks turned into months, the advances of your captors growing more… accepted, something you’d come to expect whenever they came home. Tamaki’s whines and shameless compliments grew endearing again, like they had been before he went off the deep-end. Kyoya’s gentle, soft gestures were something you started to crave, enough to behave well if a reward was promised.

And worst of all, you started trying to ignore their worse habits. You’d sit quietly and distract yourself while they argued about what you would wear on any given day. You didn’t bother asking to go outside anymore, sympathizing with Tamaki’s ideology of ‘there’s nothing worth seeing unless we’re with you, so there isn’t a point’. You stopped trying to avoid the view of their security cameras, just settling into one of your marked blind-spots whenever you wanted real privacy. Even that only happened once or twice a week, now.

You could feel complacency wrapping its hands around your neck, but there was nothing you could do. Not unless you wanted to get yourself killed, or be locked in that awful, awful room again. You’d tried once, screaming at Tamaki to stop touching you and to let you go, but he’d just frowned, asking if you really wanted to let Kyoya hear you say something like so heartless. After that, you’d stopped forcing yourself to be mad at them. It just wasn’t worth the effort, not for the response you got.

It was a dark, stormy night when you finally broke. The rain wasn’t loud, but the constant noise was enough to keep you awake, enough to keep you uneasy. Suddenly, the room you thought you’d gotten used to was too big, too open, too empty. Without thinking, you swung your legs over the side of your bed, standing as soon as your feet hit the ground. It took three minutes to find their door in the darkness, and four more to convince yourself to open it. As you slipped through the narrow entrance, Tamaki stirred, sitting up completely by the time you found your way to his bedside.

“I… the rain kept me up,” You lied, rubbing the back of your neck. Tamaki eyed you suspiciously, but luckily, kept his mouth shut. “Your room is practically in the center of... wherever we are, so I thought it would be quieter.”

He reached down, tilting your chin back up to face him. He was smiling sleepily, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, darling. Everyone gets lonely.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shushed you, taking your hand in his, guiding you onto the bed and next to him. The sheets were soft, silkier and more comfortable than yours. Between them, the house seemed warmer, safer. More sheltered than it had been since your arrival. “I’m not lonely,” You whispered, firmly. “I just can’t sleep. There’s nothing else going on.”

“Sure, (Y/n), whatever you say.” With that, he laid back down, fingers tracing your face as you followed his lead. After a few seconds, you felt Kyoya lay an arm over your waist, pulling you into his chest and cuddling into your neck. “Finally,” the boy mumbled, his closeness already filling you with comfort. “I was starting to think we’d have to drag you here.”

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

Arrow

The first tendrils of daylight had just appeared through the heavy curtains when Lady Nottingham began to stir.

She quietly slipped out of bed so as not to disturb her husband, the Lord Sheriff, and crept to to the window to peer out.

Dawn. It looked like it would be a fine morning. She decided that there was time for her to slip down and practice her archery before it was time to break their fast.

Wanting to dress in a hurry, she located a pair of her husband’s trousers and stepped into them, along with one of his shirts. That would do. It was far faster than messing about with skirts and one of her heavy dresses. She pulled one of his heavy fur cloaks over her shoulders as protection from the cold. It was a bit cumbersome to shoot in, but she would soon warm up and be able to discard it. Her bow and quiver full of arrows, presents from her husband, were next to the door. They were scooped up in passing.

She moved like a shadow through the corridors of the castle, making her way to the stable yard where she could practice without being seen.

The target was still in its place in a corner of the yard. She paced out the correct distance, then turned and drew an arrow from the quiver on her back. The notch of the arrow was placed onto its spot on the string before she lifted the heavy bow. She drew her arm back in a smooth and practised movement, just as he had shown her, before closing one eye to take aim.

This for her was the difficult bit, for some reason. Such a small movement, straightening the two fingers that were wrapped around the string, holding it taut. The straightening of her fingers would release the string and send it snapping back into place, shooting the arrow forward towards its intended target. She managed it reasonably smoothly, and the arrow took flight.

Absent-mindedly, she rubbed the spot on her left arm that the string had struck upon its return. That spot would soon grow red as she practised, but she had more or less gotten used to the sensation. At the moment, she was too busy tracing the flight of her arrow through the air. It struck the target true, if not exactly in the position that she had intended it to go. No matter, she was improving all the time. Smiling at her success, she drew another arrow.

Lady Nottingham continued in this fashion for some time. As predicted, she soon grew warm, and the heavy fur cloak was removed to be carefully draped over a wall. She intended to return it to him before he even suspected that it was missing, so best to make sure it was as clean as possible when she did so.

There. That was much better. Being dressed as a man certainly allowed her more freedom of movement. She stretched her arms out, pleased at her new-found flexibility. Perhaps she would have to arrange to have her own shirt and trousers tailor made. Only for performing her archery, of course.

She picked up the bow and resumed, taking careful aim once more.

So intent was she on what she was doing, that she failed to realise that she was being watched.

The Sheriff had awoken, surprised to find that he was alone when he reached for his lady wife to satisfy his amorous desires. He’d soon gone in search of her, and his pursuit had led him to the stable-yard.

He stood there as if frozen, watching her as she raised the bow with a graceful movement. Was she actually daring to wear his clothing?! It suited her somehow, showed off some of the form that was normally hidden under layers of fabric. He could see the outline of her legs clearly, something normally only viewed when he bedded her. And the delicious curve of her bottom.

It made him achingly hard.

Suddenly, a thought dawned on him. A stable lad, or that horrid little scribe, or anyone  that happened into the stable yard would be able to see what he was currently seeing. If the sight of her in this state of undress was arousing him, it would most likely arouse others as well. The Sheriff wasn’t about to stand for it. No one but him could gander at his lady wife!

‘Wife.’ He spoke then, breaking the silence.

She turned to face him, startled. ‘Husband! I was just….’

‘Just parading about the stable-yard half naked?’ he interrupted, beginning to advance on her.

‘No! I am dressed!’ She gestured at her outfit.

‘Barely! Anyone who happens upon you will see what is mine!’ he thundered.

‘But, Husband! Calm yourself, it is only daybreak. No one is likely to see me but you.’ She put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to soothe and reassure him. ‘It was never my intention to expose myself, I only meant to come down early to practice my archery.’

He stood looking at her for a long moment. She had a point. Still, it was the principle of the matter at stake. He had a reputation to uphold. ‘Yes. But I cannot allow a member of my household, my wife, to disobey me.’ With that, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, giving her backside a smack before carrying her into the nearby stable.

The Sheriff only put her down long enough to seat himself on a bale of hay. Once he had done so, he quickly pulled her over his knees so that she was facing the stable floor.

‘Husband! What are you doing?’ She squirmed against him, but it was to no avail. He was far bigger and stronger than she.

‘I have told you.’ He hooked his fingers into the waist and pulled the trousers down out of the way with a smooth movement. ‘I cannot allow my wife to disobey me.’ With that, he raised his hand and began to spank her bare bottom.

‘Husband! Ah…ouch! Perhaps someone were to come in and…ouch! See!’ She tried to protest, but it was to no avail as he brought his hand down again and again.

‘Then they will see…that the Sheriff…runs his household…with a firm hand! Disobedience…is not tolerated! Even from…especially from…my wife!’ He carried on while he was speaking, the pauses in his speech punctuated with a flurry of smacks.

‘Ah!’ She gasped, kicking slightly and squirming in reaction. She had been spanked before by her husband, this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d felt his hand across her backside. Still, it was difficult to retain one’s composure when one was getting such a sound spanking.

As it continued, she began to care less that someone might discover her in such an undignified position: over her husband’s lap, bare rump high in the air while he spanked and chastised her as if she were a naughty child. She wriggled about, no longer caring a whit for her modesty as the heat in her rear end grew. Indeed, her only consideration at that moment in time was for the warm and stinging flesh of her posterior.

Finally, he decided that she had been punished enough. The hand that had brought discipline was now bringing comfort, as he rubbed her reddened skin gently. A soft moan escaped her, barely audible.

The hand dipped lower, inserting itself between her slightly parted legs. She realised as he stroked her womanhood that she was slick with arousal.

Apparently he had come to that realisation at about the same time, for he quickly manoeuvred her so that she was lying on her back in the hay, his trousers still around her ankles. A moment later and he was settling himself between her parted legs.

He lined himself up at her entrance, sinking into her in one slow movement of his hips. She moaned aloud, wrapping her arms around his back to pull him near to her. Their faces close together, he began to thrust slowly while murmuring endearments of love to her.

Some minutes later, the birds on the stable barn broke into startled flight as they were disturbed by the loud cries of passion from within.

As they settled into each others arms, basking in the afterglow, she replayed the events of the morning in her head.

She would need to practice her archery in the mornings more often.

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 13: Mad Meg

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 13/26

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Severus hated the Malfoy Christmas party. It was a grand affair, full of dignitaries and the upper crust of wizarding society. He knew that many witches and wizards would give up their wand in order to procure and invitation and that he only merited one due to his personal connections to the Malfoy family. Unfortunately, he found it a tedious waste of an evening. To be sure, the food and drink were incomparable, but he hated small talk and most of the other guests. He considered declining the invitation every year, but he knew that would cause more trouble than it was worth. So, every year he put on his dress robes and made a game of seeing how long he could make it through the party without having to talk to anyone after greeting Narcissa at the door. His record was two hours and he sincerely hoped he would break it this year.

He was loitering near a column in the drawing room, nursing a glass of champagne and avoiding making eye contact. Between Nagini’s failed attempt to either retrieve the prophecy or murder Arthur Weasley in the process and Albus’s growing concern about the Dark Lord’s access to Harry Potter’s mind, he had plenty to occupy his thoughts. And there was always the small matter of preparing seven levels of potions work for the spring term to consider. However, he was thinking of none of those things tonight.

Since his brief and unexpected conversation with Miranda the previous week, he had been applying much of his deductive reasoning to devising a way to renew their affair without admitting that he had perhaps been a bit hasty to end it in the first place. He was never one to apologize, but he did realize that he had probably upset her and she might be less than eager to return to his bed. He needed to find a way to lure her in without actually admitting fault—he did have his pride after all. After seeing her though, he was finding his pride rather a cold bedfellow. He felt that if the foolish woman was determined to put herself in harms way by remaining in England, he might as well benefit from her stupidity. But he expected that saying something along the lines of ‘Darling, since you are bound to get yourself killed whatever I do, do you fancy a shag or two before that happens?’ was not the best way to ingratiate himself to the lady in question. While he was brooding about all of this, his thoughts were interrupted by the aforementioned lady.

“Isn’t this a Bruegel? I think it looks like one,” Miranda was saying.

“It does, but it was almost certainly done by Pieter Huys or one of his other followers,” Aaron answered. “I’ll ask Narcissa about it next time I talk to her. She’s the art critic in the Malfoy family.”

“So I heard.”

Severus sighed inwardly. What was that idiot woman doing here? Did she really have a death wish? He turned and saw Aaron and Miranda peering at a painting on the wall. Miranda was dressed in purple and silver tonight, a stately off-the-shoulder a-line gown that somehow inspired more imagination with its relative modesty than what she’d worn last time at the Manor had with its lack thereof. Her hair was swept up in another complicated mass of braids and she wore a pendant of a primitive looking bird around her neck. He shifted so that the column was between them and continued to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Rachel’s had her ‘round for tea a few times,” Aaron went on.

“Really?” Miranda said dubiously. “How’s that going?”

“Fine. Narcissa comes off as a bit cold, but she’s really a peach and smart as a whip.”

“Why do you have to deal with the Malfoys? Shouldn’t the Ambassador be doing that?”

“It’s our pure blood—Robert’s only half. Only the best for the Malfoys, you know.”

Severus could hear Miranda rolling her eyes. “That does come in handy. I’m surprised Mrs. Malfoy let a filthy No-Maj born like me in. Maybe I should go help in the kitchen.”

“Hey, she was very understanding about it. I told you, I like her. And you promised to behave.”

“If you get me another drink, I will continue to behave.”

“As you wish, old girl. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best.

Aaron obligingly headed off to collect more drinks, and Severus silently stalked up behind Miranda. She was still studying the painting intently and he was at her shoulder before she noticed him at all.

“That was fast……oh” she began without looking. Her eyes snapped from the picture to Severus and back again, and a blush started creeping over her cheeks. “Hello Severus, I didn’t realize you would be here.”

“For a woman who continually protests that she is not an idiot, you certainly offer plenty of evidence to the contrary,” he observed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“If I had a galleon for every time you demanded why I was somewhere, I would be able to retire,” she replied, still looking at the painting. “Do you like Bruegel? Or whoever this is?”

He opened his mouth to make another remark about her intelligence, but controlled his tongue with great effort and turned his attention to the painting. It depicted a mad scene of an army of peasant women storming a hell-mouth. After a moment he admitted, “Yes. I do.”

Miranda looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “See? Was that so hard?”

He let his eyes slide sideways and the corner of his lip curve upwards slightly. “Yes. It was.”

“I imagine it gets easier with practice. Do you think Mrs. Malfoy was trying to tell Mr. Malfoy something by putting a Mad Meg picture in the drawing room?”

He actually smiled at the idea. “Perhaps. I seem to recall there is a proverb of some sort that goes with it.”

“Yes, something to the effect of the Devil himself having no weapon against six or more women.”

“I shudder at the thought.” Silence fell for a moment as Severus attempted to formulate a way to steer the conversation in a more productive direction, but Miranda preempted him.

“If you’d like to continue flirting, now would be a good time to comment on how nice I look,” she prompted.

He raised an eyebrow. “I see no reason to waste breath telling a woman she looks enticing when she is already well aware of that fact.”

“Professor Snape, nice to see you again,” Aaron said, stepping neatly between the two of them. He handed Miranda a fresh glass of champagne and Severus frowned as he noticed Aaron’s fingers dwell on Miranda’s much longer than was necessary. “How was the rest of term?”

“How is it ever? A waste of time and effort attempting to force incompetent students to retain the most basic amount of knowledge,” Severus answered.

Miranda and Aaron exchanged and inscrutable look.

“Would you like to join us?” she asked, taking Aaron’s arm. “We’re giving ourselves an art tour.”

Her casual intimacy with Aaron stirred Severus’s anger. “No, thank you.” he replied coldly.

Miranda pursed her lips and said, “Good night then.”

He gave them a short bow and they strolled off. They had reached the other side of the drawing room when they were intercepted by Lucius Malfoy. Severus was too far away to hear their conversation, but he could tell from Lucius’s expression that he was enjoying it immensely. He could also tell from the set of Miranda’s shoulders that she was not. Before he could wonder overlong about what Lucius was saying, he was completely distracted by the fact that Aaron’s fingers had drifted to the back of Miranda’s neck and were stroking it gently. So, that’s how it was. Severus suddenly found the noise of the drawing room unbearable and left to find somewhere quiet to regroup.

*****

One more word out of Lucius Malfoy and I’m going to hex him—I don’t care what Aaron says Miranda thought as she stormed out of the drawing room. Men! Between Lucius’s baiting and Severus’s vacillating she had had enough of them to last her for a long time. She found that she was near the library and decided she would retreat there to calm her anger. With any luck she and Aaron would be leaving soon and she could focus on everything she needed to do to prepare for her Romanian adventure.

She slipped into the library and closed the door behind her. Fires crackled merrily in the fireplaces and the candles in the lamps gave the room a pleasant glow. She sighed and leaned her head against the door for a moment, trying to let go of her anger. She knew that Malfoy was nothing more than a bully and that she shouldn’t let his stupid remarks get to her. She decided to find something to read for the next half hour or so and turned to find a likely shelf to start perusing. As she did so, her eyes fell on Severus standing near the bay window, studying her disapprovingly.

“I’m beginning to believe that the storied Mrs. Lee is a will ‘o the wisp,” he said bitingly.

Miranda’s brow furrowed. “Rachel?” she asked. “She wanted to stay home so I said I’d come instead.” What in the world was wrong with this man?

“Still ill is she? How convenient for you and Aaron, is it?”

“Not really. Spending the evening here isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make the most of it. Really, could the two of you be more shameless about your affair?”

“Affair? What are you talking about?”

“If he were more obvious about his fondling, he would be undressing you in the drawing room in front of the entire company.”

“Fondling?” A slow smile spread across Miranda’s face and she came a few paces into the room. So that’s how it was. “Severus, I think you are jealous.”

He snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m merely making an observation.”

Her smile widened and she sauntered over to an armchair. When she reached it, she leaned her elbow on it and rested her chin on her hand. “Yes you are. You’re so jealous you’re turning green. That’s so strange—I thought you didn’t even like me.”

His look of disdain became one of exasperation. “I told you I like you well enough when you aren’t acting like a child,” he snapped. He frowned and his tone became a bit less caustic. “I’d even say that I respect you, and I can count the number of people who have won my respect on both hands.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “How romantic. If you were any more florid I’d have an attack of the vapors.”

He stalked across the room, jerked her into his arms, and kissed her furiously. Her hands pushed against his chest for a moment in surprise, but then they slipped up around his neck and her fingers wound their way into his hair. He made a strangled sort of noise in his throat as he crushed her against him. Merlin, she was sweeter than he had remembered. His lips found their way over her neck to explore the flesh just above the neckline of her dress when he realized that she was shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

“Severus, I swear you are giving me whiplash,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t suppose you could make up your mind as to whether or not you want to be my lover for longer than five minutes, could you?”

“I might accuse you of the same crime, as I cannot seem to escape from you,” he replied as he searched for that lovely spot on her throat that always forced the most delightful sounds from her. “I would swear you had slipped me a dose of Amortentia if I did not know that you lack the proficiency to brew it.”

“Why you arrogant…” she began, but her voice trailed off as he found that vulnerable spot. He worried it for a while to keep her from finishing her thought.

When she was sagging against him, he drew back and demanded silkily, “Now, you are going to tell me exactly what your little friend was doing to you earlier.”

She laughed and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a code.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she explained, “It was invented by a No-Maj painter. Papa made all of us learn it as children and I taught it to Aaron at school. It’s very simple, but extremely useful in wizard society where no one recognizes it.”

He brought her wrist up to his lips and bit her lightly. “Show me.”

She put a finger on his cheek. “Each letter of the alphabet is assigned a combination of long and short pulses. Then you simply spell out what you want to say. For instance,” she started tapping gently on his cheek and spelling aloud as she went, “Y-o-u-a-r-e-a-n-a-s-s”

He snapped at her finger with is teeth and she laughed at him again. “And what was he telling you so secretly?”

“He was telling me to get lost for half an hour so that I didn’t kill Malfoy, who’s on my last nerve. Then Aaron and I are going to consider our duty to MACUSA finished for the evening and get out of here.”

“I see.” Severus glanced at the clock above one of the fireplaces. “That means you should go now before Mr. Lee thinks you are dead.” He released her and fixed her with a stern look. “Go to his flat and I will follow you in twenty minutes. Then you will use that primitive spell you know to take us to your cabin. I feel the need to renew my acquaintance with all the bits of you I may have forgotten.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Do tell me why I should be letting you boss me around without even a please?”

He put a long finger on that useful spot where her neck met her bare shoulder. He slowly ran it down to the top of her dress, and then traced the skin above the neckline to the middle of her chest. From there he drew his finger up over her throat. When he reached her chin, he tilted it up and leaned in until his lips were almost touching hers. “Please.”

She shivered and replied softly, “Well. When you put it that way.”

His eyes gleamed at her arrogantly. Perhaps honey had its uses after all.

*****

Miranda tripped lightly back into the drawing room, delighted with the recent turn of events. True, she had neglected to mention that she’d be leaving the country soon, but that was a matter to deal with in good time. She wanted to put in another week or so learning Romanian before she left anyway. She had procured a volume of Pollyanna Polyglottos’s Romanian in Conversation and she expected it would take her at least that long to complete it, assuming that the new distraction of Severus’s attentions did not completely derail the process.

Aaron was not waiting for her by the piano as she had expected him to be. She loitered next to it, unconcerned, assuming that he would meet her shortly. He had probably assumed she would be late and she laughed to herself over Severus’s scrupulous punctuality. She had not been waiting very long when she was approached by a wizard. Unfortunately, it was not the wizard she was hoping to meet.

“Miss Rose. Alone at last,” Lucius said. “I had thought it would be impossible to separate you from your bodyguard and yet, here you are.”

Miranda pursed her lips, but attempted to maintain decorum. “What a lovely party, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for having me.”

He gave her that feline smile again. “It’s only just beginning. I must say, I was rather surprised that Severus did not request the pleasure of escorting you. But I supposed he would rather not have it known that his taste in women is so base.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than bait me?” she asked impatiently. “I really don’t understand why you find it so entertaining.”

“Because you offend me, Miss Rose. You are an upstart, mudblood tart who does not know her place. You are in my employ and I intend to teach you to respect your betters.”

“I think you’d be better off taking up some other hobby. Where I come from blood lines don’t mean much.”

“A tragedy I hope will be remedied within our lifetime.”

She scanned the room for Aaron, but he was nowhere to be found. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she found it irresistible to continue bantering with Lucius. “Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, what makes you think that you and your other in-bred pureblood friends are so wonderful anyway?”

His eyes narrowed. “The Malfoy family has been the elite of the wizarding world since its inception. We trace our line back to Armand Malfoy himself, the power behind William the Conqueror. We are—and always have been—the best of the best.”

She gave him an amused look. “Well, I was born on a farm in Kansas and I guess that’s just as haughty and respectable as living in a mansion, licking the Dark Lord’s boots. And if it isn’t, I’ll just have to stand it, that’s all.”

He grabbed her chin and said in a low voice, “My dear Miss Rose, I think it is time for us to retire to a more private room in order to finish this conversation.”

“Why Lucius, are you challenging little ol’ me to a duel?”

“Yes Miranda. Yes I am.”

“How grand. I thought you’d never ask.”

He let go of her chin and offered her his arm. She took it and the two of them strolled out of the room together.

*****

Severus was in a wonderful mood when he left the library, punctual as ever. He fully intended to be ensconced in Miranda’s cabin within the hour, enjoying her favors. It was one of the few times in his life he could ever remember being glad to have attended a party. He briefly considered finding Narcissa to make his excuses, but he decided it was early enough in the evening that her duties as hostess were commanding all of her attention. He would write her a note tomorrow to apologize for not saying a proper good night. Perhaps he would even use Miranda’s back as a desk in order to do so. He allowed his mind to wander along this train of thought as he collected his cloak from the house elf and strode out into the lightly falling snow. What an excellent night this was turning out to be.

*****

Lucius led Miranda into a long, torchlit room, away from the noise of the party. The walls were hung with rich tapestries depicting the members of the illustrious Malfoy family. Statues of grotesque beasts were spaced between the hangings. A beautifully carved dueling platform sat in the middle of the floor and he handed her up the stairs to one end of it like a courtier handing his lady into her carriage. He mounted the platform at the other end, and the two approached each other slowly, savoring the moment. When they reached the middle, they bowed low to each other, then retreated to twenty paces to begin.

They turned as one, slashing their wands silently through the air. Red and white sparks met in the center of the platform, sizzling wickedly. Another round, brighter and louder followed before the first group could fade and soon the cracks and pops of the magic echoed through the room. Lucius’s smile began to fade as Miranda advanced on him, flicking her wand like a whip and hurling curses at him almost faster than he could parry. He stood his ground, but could do nothing to curb her advance.

“Oppugno!” he cried suddenly, and a chandelier came crashing down, hurling shards of crystal at her. She ceased her assault and the deadly leaded glass bounced harmlessly off her shield charm.

“Confringo!” he followed, slicing his wand at her and she was knocked back to the edge of the platform by an explosion. She skidded to a halt and he ran at her, casting another bombardment.

“Crosse!” she shouted, and a white sling bloomed out of her wand. It spiraled through the air, catching Lucius’s hex and hurling it back at him. His eyes widened, but he was quick enough to cast his own shield against the blast. He slid back a few paces and she chuckled softly at his surprise. He gritted his teeth, flicked his wand, and a jet of flames burst from it, curling into a monstrous serpent and striking at her. She jumped over the fiery beast and it curved back on itself for another attack.

“Erstickte!” she commanded. A giant white shroud grew from her wand, wrapping itself around the snake and reducing it to smoke. She turned on him again, still smiling, but he was finished playing games.

“Crucio!” he hissed. She crashed to the floor, body contorted in pain. He stood over her, his smile returning as the red sparks form his wand tortured her. He let it continue until he was panting with the effort, his eyes shining with delight.

The instant the curse ceased, Miranda whipped her wand at him. A blazing white rope lashed out, wrapping itself around his ankle and pulling him to the ground. She drew herself up to her knees and snapped her wand upwards. The rope dropped away from the tip of her wand, but the rest of it remained shining around his ankle.

“Huhuk!” she said, her voice shaky from the pain of the Unforgivable. She flicked her wand through the air and a huge, white, swan-like bird flew forth, its forked tail trailing behind it as it soared into the room. Lucius could only stare at the majestic being in fascinated horror as it turned on him and a bolt of lightening hissed past his head, singeing his cheek. He rolled away as more bolts struck, leaving scorch marks on the dueling platform. He managed to scramble to his feet and run to the end of the platform. He jumped of the end of it, turned, and fired a bolt over Miranda’s head. The red sparks hit one of the jewels that lined the oaken doorframe, and the floor opened underneath Miranda, dumping her unceremoniously into a black pit.

She hit the ground with an awful crack. The trapdoor closed above her, shutting out the light and leaving her in darkness.

*****

Rachel yawned and drew her embroidered dressing gown around her shoulders as she headed for the door, wondering who could possibly be knocking at this hour. She had been up making her nightly trek to the bathroom. She hadn’t expected to need quite so many bathroom breaks at this stage of the pregnancy, but she tried to be patient about it. Aaron and Miranda weren’t home yet, but she thought it was early for them to have returned anyway. She opened the door and greeted her two visitors with a curious—if tired—smile.

“Hello, Mabel. Can I help you?” Rachel asked the house elf.

“So sorry to wake you Mrs. Lee,” Mabel said in a squeaky voice as she wrung her hands.

“It’s all right. I was already up.”

“Oh, good. This is Professor Snape. He says that Miss Rose and Mr. Lee are expecting him.”

Rachel eyed the pale, stern looking man in black dress robes with a bemused expression. Last she had heard, Miranda and Professor Snape were not keeping company, but she supposed sometimes things changed rapidly in that department.

“Thank you, Mabel, that will be all. Please come in, Professor Snape.”

Severus entered the flat, his expression blank, and Rachel closed the door after him.

“Do sit down,” she continued, indicating a chair at the kitchen table. “Would you like a cup of tea while you wait? Aaron and Miranda aren’t back yet.”

She started filling the kettle without waiting for him to answer. When she had it on the stove, she noticed that he had not taken a seat and that he was frowning darkly.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Lee,” he said coldly. “I had thought the others would have returned by now.”

“It’s still rather early,” she replied, bristling a bit at his tone and countenance. “Do you think something has happened?”

“I fear that may be the case.”

Her brow furrowed. “Well, I’m glad they are together, whatever the case may be. I’m sure they will be home soon.”

“I hope you are right,” he said, his tone implying that he maintained no hope whatsoever.

*****

It took some time for Miranda to regain her breath. When she did, she dug out a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands. She smoked it slowly and it temporarily reduced the pain from the Cruciatus Lucius had cast on her. When she had finished, she checked her limbs carefully for damage. She was bruised and sore, but nothing was broken. She gingerly got to her feet and found that she’d even escaped any damage to her ankles. She knelt back on the floor and started patting around for her wand. She froze when she discovered that it had been broken into pieces on impact.

“Shit,” she muttered. She picked up the pieces and tucked them into a pocket. After they were safely stowed away, she touched the pendant around her neck and started tapping.

***** Aaron reluctantly ended his conversation with Narcissa and headed for the drawing room. They had been discussing the merits of St. Mungo’s for childbirth versus Rachel’s plan to employ a midwife-witch and have the baby at home. Aaron was vacillating between letting Rachel make the decision and admitting that he was absolutely terrified by her idea. Narcissa agreed with him, but he knew if he even brought it up Miranda would come down on his head and take up Rachel’s cause. He was annoyed when he reached the piano in the drawing room and saw that Miranda was nowhere to be found. He was used to her tardiness, but he really would have rather talked to Narcissa a bit longer if he’d known Miranda was going to be this late. He was strumming his fingers on the piano when he felt the Thunderbird pin on his robes begin to pulse.

“AM IN PIT UNDER DUELING HALL WAND BROKEN COULD USE A HAND”

He sighed. Nothing was ever simple with Miranda.

*****

“How long ago did you leave them?” Rachel asked Severus calmly as she poured the water from the kettle over the tea leaves.

“Less than an hour,” he replied irritably as he paced the kitchen.

“I suppose that is long enough for them to have gotten into trouble.” She started handing him tea cups and saucers to give him something to do besides pace. He gave her a withering look, but set the dishes on the table and went back for the teapot without being asked.

She glanced at the clock “At this point I’d rather not send anyone to the Malfoy’s. For all we know Aaron got distracted talking to someone. If they aren’t back in two hours, I’ll send out an Auror after them.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but there was nothing else to be done, so the two of them sat down for an awkward late night tea party.

*****

The air was chilly in the pit. Miranda was still in total darkness and she stretched her hands out in tentative exploration. There was a wall three paces behind her and she felt comforted to have something at her back. She settled against it, expecting she could wait out the ten minutes it would take Aaron to find her. The nerve of Lucius Malfoy! She supposed she should have expected him to cheat, but really! What kind of nobleman was he? And a bout of Cruciatus too! Her nerves were still on fire, but she had enough adrenaline running through her system that it, combined with the smoke, enabled her to ignore the pain.

She started playing a parlor game to keep her thoughts from straying away into fear induced panic. “I love my love with an A because he is adorable,” she muttered. “I hate my love with an A because he is arrogant. His name is Adonis, he comes from Arlington, and I gave him an arrowhead. I love my love with a B because he is beautiful. I hate my love with a B because he his beastly. His name is Byron, he comes from…”

Her voice trailed off as she heard the distinct sound of an animal snorting and its hooves hitting the stone floor. She slowly pulled a piece of her wand out of her pocket and lit the end of it with a snap of her fingers. When her eyes adjusted to the new source of light, they widened in horror as she beheld a giant, ash-colored warthog.

“Shit,” she muttered.

***** Rachel did not bother trying to make small talk with Professor Snape. Although his face was completely composed, agitation was rolling off him in waves. She had known her husband and her friend long enough that she strongly believed in their ability to handle whatever mess they might have landed in. In fact, she wasn’t altogether convinced that anything had happened at all. Aaron’s gift of gab was legendary and she knew from personal experience that between making a decision to depart a gathering and actually exiting the door could take him an hour or more to execute. She acknowledged that the professor was convinced that something terrible had happened, and she really didn’t want to sit with him in strained silence until the others returned.

Mind made up she stood and said, “Professor, would you mind taking a look at our potions room? I’m sure it doesn’t hold a candle to what you have at Hogwarts, but it has everything required for the basic necessities. Could I trouble you to start a new batch of some items in case we have to use up our store of first aid tonight?”

She thought he looked a bit relieved to have something to do. “Very well,” he replied curtly.

***** Miranda moved quarter inch by quarter inch. After an unbearable time she managed to nestle the burning wand into a niche in the wall. Her hands now free, she continued the agonizingly slow movement to a slit in the side of her skirt. The tebo stared at her, confused by the light and frozen for the moment. She eased her pistol out of its holster around her thigh, ignoring the pain that shot up her hand as she grabbed it. She and the beast stared at each other for a long moment and she began to hope that it would decide she wasn’t a threat.

Suddenly the beast disappeared and she heard its hooves pounding across the floor. So much for that hope. She gripped the pistol and turned her thoughts inward. Her wand might be broken, but she wasn’t completely out of tricks. The hoofbeats pounded in her ears, echoing off the stone and making it difficult to tell exactly where they were coming from. She counted silently to herself, gathering her magic.

5…..4…..3….2…..1

She jumped, bounding up the wall and over the invisible beast. She rolled across the floor and, as she did not hear an impact she assumed the tebo had swerved away from the wall at the last second. She ran to the edge of the light cast by her wand torch and then stopped dead, listening for the tebo’s hooves. As she listened, she undid her skirt and pulled it off, forcing herself to move slowly and silently. She tucked the pistol into the waist of the trousers she was wearing underneath her dress. She was glad she had decided to put on her boots tonight rather than dress shoes.

Holding the skirt like a matador’s cape, she waited for the tebo to charge again. She could hear it snorting and pawing the ground again, but she kept herself poised and ready even though her heart was pounding. After what felt like an hour, it charged again and she held her ground to the last. She managed to catch her skirt on one of the beast’s tusks, but it tossed her angrily and she flew across the room, slamming into the wall. She dragged herself up off the floor with a grim smile, ignoring the slash on her arm that was bleeding freely. The tebo was furious now, trying to shake the skirt off its head. The fabric was caught on a tusk, outlining the head of the creature like an eerie No-Maj Halloween ghost.

Miranda drew her pistol again and crouched, waiting. The tebo stomped and spun wildly, head jerking against the impediment of the skirt. Finally it scented the cause of its trouble and charged again. Miranda took aim and waited. Saint Barbara, don’t fail me now, she thought.

Five feet. Four feet. Three feet. Two feet. Ten inches. Eight inches.

She pulled the trigger and the noise exploded through the pit, deafeningly loud.

*****

Aaron dropped lightly through the trapdoor in the abandoned dueling hall. There was a dimly burning something on the wall next to him. Rather than wait for his eyes to adjust, he cast Lumos and scanned the room for signs of his wayward friend.

“How much of that blood is yours?” he drawled when he saw her.

“Not much,” she grunted. She was methodically skinning the now visible body of the tebo with a wicked looking knife.

Aaron sighed. “How long is it gonna take you to do that?”

“I don’t know. An hour maybe. Can you conjure me a couple of bags? I want to take some of the organs and the hooves and tusks too.”

“Mother of pearl, woman! This is is a fancy party, not a hunting trip!”

She grinned at him and continued working. He conjured up the bags and settled in to smoke while he waited for her to finish.

*****

Narcissa stood at the door, waving away the last of her guests. She knew she had outdone herself this year and she hoped that Lucius would take the trouble to mention it. He had seemed in a particularly good mood earlier that evening, although it had been a few hours since she had seen him. As the front door closed, he appeared from the hallway and kissed her cheek, a smug smile on his face.

“Excellent work my dear. The best yet,” he said smoothly.

“It was my pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she replied, delighted to be admired.

“Lucius, Narcissa, I want to thank you for a lovely evening,” Aaron’s voice interrupted.

Narcissa turned and blinked, startled by the sight that greeted her eyes. Aaron was smiling at her charmingly, a large bag slung over his shoulder but otherwise looking as trim and dapper as he had at the beginning of the night. Miranda walked beside him, completely disheveled. Her hair had partially escaped from its braids and the top of her gown and her jewelry was incongruous with the trousers and boots on her bottom half. And, of course, she was covered in dried tebo—and human—blood. She carried a large bag as well and she smiled brightly at her hosts shocked expressions.

“It was wonderful,” she agreed. “I don’t know when I’ve had such a good time at a party.”

Lucius was staring at the two Americans incredulously, his lips pursed and his face pale.

Narcissa recovered first and gave them a tight smile. “All you quite all right, Miss Rose?”

“Me? Never better. Like I said, a most entertaining evening. Although you might want to send a house elf down to deal with what’s left of the tebo. There’s some meat you might be able to use if you hop to.”

“Tebo? Merlin, what happened?”

“Eh, Miranda needed the exercise,” Aaron put in, “but we’d better be getting home. I don’t want my wife to wake up and worry. Good night Narcissa. Lucius.”

A curious house elf scurried over with the Americans’ cloaks. Then Miranda took Aaron’s arm and the two of them sauntered out of the Manor into the snow together.

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End Notes:

Purple and silver are the Thunderbird house colors.

The painting is a copy of Pietor Bruegel's Dull Griet. The proverb mentioned is from a 1568 Antwerp book of such and runs: "One woman makes a din, two a lot of trouble, three an annual market, four a quarrel, five an army, and against six the Devil himself has no weapon."

The code is, of course, Morse Code.

I think that American spells would be in all sorts of languages, so I used a combination of French, German, and Pawnee for this set.

Saint Barbara is one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers. She is the patron saint of firearms and is invoked against sudden death. As early firearms tended to explode unexpectedly, killing their users, this association seems to make a morbid sort of sense.

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Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twelve+

Chapter Fourteen+ >>

[ruthoakenshield]

The Lady in Black Leather (chapter 10)

The Lady in Black Leather (chapter 9)

All too soon your alarm is going off and you moan and shut it off. You roll over and then stretch and get up. You yawn as you grab your phone, unplug it and head into the bathroom. You look down at your phone and see someone texted you.

You open the text to see: “Morning! Thought you might like to have these” then there was a series of pictures. You with Phantom, you with Amanda and Scarlett dancing as if it was taken from the deck, and one of you, Scarlett, Amanda, Aiden, Rich, and Martin dancing to Pretty woman and another of you six dancing to the Abba songs from last night. You don’t recognize the number and text back, “Thanks for the pictures of the fun afternoon and evening I had, but Who is this?”

A couple moments later you get a reply, “Who else, Lass? Lol.”

You grin and text back, “Graham?”

and a moment later you get, “😉 see you in a little while, Sweetheart.”

You giggle. He reminds you a lot of your dad. “You wonder if he misses his family. You feel bad he is always the odd duck in your group. Everyone is paired off except him.” You wonder what he thinks about when he sees all of you dancing happily. Does he dance with his woman when he sees her? You wonder what she is like, and what his family is like.

You get ready for work and re-braid your hair in a pair of French braids. You laugh when your 6am alarm goes off in the middle of the last braid, causing you to roll your eyes and let it make noise till your hands were freed from your hair.

You dig through your closet and put on a black t-shirt, your leather corset with the metal hooks and your tight black leather pants. You don your leather jacket and look at your jewelry. You put on a black choker with a sapphire stone on the front, then your set of sapphire studs your Dad gave you for your last birthday he celebrated with you before he had the heart attack.

You sigh and say, “I miss you Dad.” You head into the bathroom and put on your smokey eye makeup and dab on your ylang-ylang perfume oil. You grab your high heel boots and put them on then grab your phone and head out into the living area. You spot your messenger bag on the counter where Richard left it along with your keys.

You see a note from Aiden and Scarlett thanking you for letting them tag along yesterday and thanking you for the fun they had last night.

Aiden scribbled at the bottom of the note. “Haven’t seen Richard so goofy in a loooonnnnggg time! You’re amazing! Thanks for getting him to cut loose and have some fun for a change! =)”

You chuckle and tuck the note into your messenger bag. Digging in the fridge, you find something for breakfast and sit down by Richard’s flowers he gave you and you smile. You pull out your phone, take a selfie of you with the flowers from him and type, “Thinking of you, Sweet Cheeks! 😉 Have a good day at work, Love!”

He replies back, “Mornin’ Sunshine 😊! Same to you. Can’t wait to see you after work! Love you! Xoxo! -Rich”

You smile and look around the apartment. You wonder what the day holds for you today.

When you finish eating, you go and brush your teeth and apply some lip gloss, then head back to the kitchen. You notice a text and open it.

It’s from Graham. “Be there in a few minutes if you want to head down. I’ll meet you by the doors.”

You reply, “Ok, Pops, be there in a jiffy. 😉

You grab your stuff and head out, locking the door and skipping to the elevator. You wait for it and then ride it down to the ground floor. When you exit it, you see Graham waiting by the doors for you in leather chaps and Kevlar jacket. He grins and comes walking over.

“Morning, Sweetheart! You look spunky today! Ready to ride?’ he grins. You nod and he follows you outside. You look around confused. “Graham? Where’s the car?” you ask.

He grins and says, “No car today, Lass…” he points at the Harley Motorcycle and you let out a squeal. “Oh my GOSH!!! I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before!”

Graham chuckles and picks you up and sets you on the back seat. He shows you where to put your feet and hands you a helmet. “Here, put it on. It has a microphone and earpiece in it so we can hear each other talking.” He tells you.

You nod and put it on. He puts his on and gets on the bike. “Hang on to my waist tightly, Lass. You definitely do not want to fall off!” he tells you as he tilts the bike upright. You hug his waist tightly, making him chuckle again.

Graham starts up the bike and you jump. “Wow, they are loud!” you say grinning. He just nods and chuckles. “Ready?” he asks you.

“Yup,” you reply.

He puts it in gear and the two of you take off. You squeeze his waist as the bike lurches forward and you let out a squeak of surprise making Graham laugh.

“Oh my gosh! This is SO FUN!” you tell him after a little bit.

“I figured you’d like it. Your name suits you, Lass.” He says with a chuckle. “I had fun watching you all dancing last night. You are the first one to get Amanda out on the dance floor for more than one song since Martin met her!” he tells you. “She raved about you all the rest of the night, Martin told me when I got home.”

You laugh. “Well I had fun with her and Scarlet too! Graham, how come you don’t join us when we go dancing? You always are just standin by the railing, watching.” You ask.

He chuckles. “My dance partner is back home.” He replies. “I don’t need some asshole taking pictures of me dancing with a friend and twisting it into some kind of scandal to ruin my marriage and family.” He tells you. “My wife knows I love her to the moon and back, so do my kids and that I would never want to risk that. I told her about you and she says, “Welcome to the family. She said to tell you that you will always be welcome at our homes whether it’s in New Zealand, America or wherever I’m filming.” He tells you.

“Thanks, Graham… Do you miss them?” you ask.

He sighs and nods, “Aye, Lass, I miss ‘em. But they understand why I travel as much as I do. I try to keep a decent length of time between trips away so I can see my girls grow up. You remind me of my girls.” He tells you.

You give him a squeeze. “You remind me of my Dad. I miss him a lot. He died of a heart attack a few years ago and mom went shortly after.” You tell him. He reaches down and pats your hand and then puts his hand back on the handlebar.

“If ya want a substitute, I’m here for ya, Lass.” He tells you.

“Thanks Pops!” you say cheekily, earning a chuckle from him.

“Want me to drop you off at the studio or at your job.?” He asks when you realize you’re a few blocks from the studio.

“The studio please, I want to walk a little too.” You tell him. He nods and slows down. Pulling up along side the entrance to the studio, you get off the bike not seeing Richard standing by the gate grinning at how sexy you look on the back of a motorcycle.

You hand Graham the helmet. “Thanks for the fun ride, Pops.” You tell him with a smirk.

He grins, “Any time, Lass. See you later.” He tells you. You nod and he watches as you head to the corner, then cross the street. Your steps are in time to ‘Pretty Woman’ which suddenly pops into your head and you grin and happily walk to work, your braids swaying to the music in your head.

Graham chuckles and looks up to see Richard grinning and leaning against the entrance, watching you walk down the street.

Graham walks the bike up into the parking area, Richard following. “Nice bike!” he tells Graham, who chuckles.

“A friend owns it and lets me ride it whenever I want. Thought I’d pick her up on it and show her what a Harley Motorcycle is made of and why her folks named her after it.” He says grinning.

Richard raises an eyebrow. “Aww, don’t get all jealous, Rich. She thinks of me as her substitute dad!” he teases and gives Richard a friendly punch to the arm. “Come on. Let’s get going. The sooner we get recording, the sooner we can get outta here!”

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

You happily strut down the sidewalk humming the song stuck in your head and arrive at the shop at 6:55am. You lean against the retaining wall by the front door, and look at the pictures Graham sent you.

You glance up when you see movement out of the corner of your eyes. It’s a sketchy looking person walking on the other side of the street. One that normally wouldn’t be up at this time of the morning. You frown and watch him walk down the street till he is out of your sight. You look back down to your phone and then hear a ‘click’ and look up to see Todd grinning at you.

“Morning Sweetheart! How was your weekend?” he asks as he holds the door open for you and lets you in.

“Morning Todd, it was a great weekend! Look! I got to pick out my guard dog!” you tell him. “His name is Phantom!” you say as you hold out your phone and show him the pictures Graham sent of you and the dog.

Todd chuckles. “He looks like a ball of black fluff! What kind of dog is he?” Todd asks.

“Um… Belgian Something. I can’t remember the names. He was a mix of two different Belgian breeds.” You tell him.

He chuckles. “Well he sure looks like he suits you.” he tells you. “So, when do you get him?” he asks.

“I have to go to training tonight after work and tomorrow after work to do the training and learn all his hand signals.” You explain. “So… I think either tomorrow night or sometime Wednesday.” You say.

He nods. “Well, he is welcome to be here with you. We’ll just have to find a spot for him to hang out in here, so he isn’t under foot.” He tells you.

You look around, wondering where Phantom will want to lie down. “What if we moved that chair by your desk and set a dog bed next to the desk? That way he can see what is going on in the kitchen without being in it and can see what is going on behind the counter without being underfoot. Plus, he will be near if anyone tries to hurt me or rob us.” you suggest.

Todd looks for a minute and chuckles. “You’re a smart little thing aren’t you! That’s a great idea! I will even give him a little salary for being the shop’s ‘guard dog’ when we’re open… how about that. Then he can be an employee too!” he chuckles.

“Really?” you ask.

Todd nods. “Sure, why not! I’ll get him a dog bed, and bowls and a few toys that he can play with if he wants when it’s slow, and some treats. That we’ll keep here for him.” He tells you.

You grin. “Thanks Todd!” you say.

The morning goes by fast for you and you’re busy making drinks today for customers. Your back is to the door as you make some cappuccinos for guests when you hear the familiar wolf whistle and giggling.

You turn and see Aiden, Graham, Scarlett and Richard all grinning and smiling at you. “Hi!” You say to them happily. “How’s work going?” you ask as you hand a customer their drinks and turn back to them.

They order their drinks from Todd and then come round and wait on the side of the counter for you to make the drinks. They tell you how work is going, and they ask how it’s going for you. “It’s been unusually busy this morning!” you tell them.

Graham chuckles, “That’s probably cuz word got out around the studio that there’s a hot chick working here, and they started filming a couple new movies on set.” He tells you.

“Ahhhh, well, I don’t know about the hot chick working here… but soon we’ll have a new employee. He starts on Thursday or Friday. We aren’t sure yet.” You smirk and Todd chuckles.

“Oh really? Can’t wait to meet him!” Graham says. “This is my favourite place to disappear into when it gets too hectic at the Studio.” He grins.

Richard laughs, “Well now I’ll know where to send the scouts when they are looking for you!” he teases.

“You mean the wargs?” Graham says giggling. “Don’t you dare send them here!”

Richard just laughs and shakes his head in amusement. “They’re about as relentless as PJ said the wargs were!” he replies.

You just laugh. “You guys have a good afternoon. I’ll see you after work so we can go train with Phantom.” You tell them as they head for the door. “Bye Love, see you later.” Rich says as he blows you a kiss and you blow him one back and wave.

The afternoon passes and you notice the same person throughout the afternoon walking back and forth on the other side of the street, that you saw in the morning. You frown.

“Todd, who is that person over there on the other side of the street? Do you recognize him?” you ask. He looks out and sees the person walk past on the other side of the street. The person is looking at the shops on your side of the street.

“No, Honey, I don’t recognize him, why?” he asks as he looks over at you as you wipe down the tables in the front of the store.

You suddenly get a bad feeling about the person. “Todd, he has been pacing back and forth outside since this morning. I passed him on my way to work!” you tell him. He walks by about once every half hour.” You tell him.

He frowns. “He’s casing the area lookin’ for something… or someone…” he says. “I’m gonna call Alex and have him come talk to the guy and find out what he is doing here.” He tells you and grabs the phone.

A few minutes later, Alex comes in and talks with the two of you. You tell him what you’ve been seeing and give Alex a description of the guy. You tell Alex he comes by about once every half hour and has been doing so since at least 6:30am. You tell him the guy is creeping you out and making you uncomfortable.

Alex tells you he’ll have a plain clothes officer sit and wait for him and go talk to the guy to see who he is and what he is doing. You thank him and he heads out.

An hour later the plain clothes officer comes in and says they talked to the guy. “He is the one who bailed out your ex. One of their friends said he saw you at a local bar last night dancing with a guy and told your ex. He said your ex was livid and he was sent to find out where you were and deliver a message. ‘Get away from that guy you danced with at the bar, or you’ll be sorry.’ He apparently still thinks you’re his.” The officer tells you. We arrested this guy for harassment and he’ll probably be out on bail by tonight. He tells you.

You look at him with wide, glassy eyes and head back to the kitchen. Todd thanks the officer and the officer tells him that Alex assigned more officers to patrol the area today to make sure your ex and his men leave you alone for the day.

Todd goes back and tries to calm you down. “You’re safe in here Harley. I won’t let them harm you if I can help it. I still pack heat on me at all times, and have one under the counter in a holster as well.” He tells you. “From now on, though, I think you should have one of your male friends escort you to and from work until you get Phantom.” He tells you.

You’re trembling and ask, “What about Richard? My ex threatened to hurt him if I don’t stay away from him! This was why I was reluctant to get involved with anyone!” you cry.

“Let him know, Sweetheart, and let him decide how he wants to handle it. If he wants added security, he can jolly well afford it. Ok?” Let me make you something to drink and have something to eat.” He tells you.

You take your break and text Graham.

“Graham, I don’t know what to do! The guy that bailed out my ex has been spotted pacing back and forth in front of my job all day. He saw me coming to work and every half hour has walked past the shop since then!

Todd called the cops and they came and talked to the guy. He told them my ex sent him to deliver a message. to ‘Stay away from the guy you were dancing with last night, or you’ll be sorry!’

He told the officer, that was the message, and that it was for me. Someone they knew saw me dancing last night with Richard and told my ex, who apparently got irate. What are we going to do?!? I’m scared!”

He replied right away. “I showed Rich your message. He’s pissed, but don’t worry about him, he can take care of himself. YOU be safe. We’ll talk about it after work. What does the guy look like so we can let the gate guard know at the studio?”

You send Graham a description of the man you’ve been seeing all day and also the pic of your ex from Christmas and tell him who the picture is of.

Graham replies that they will come pick you up in front of the shop after work. “Sorry, Sweetheart, no more walkin’ to work by yerself till you have Phantom with you. What time are ya done today?” He texts you.

You ask Todd what time you’re done today and he tells you that you can head out at 4pm or whenever your friends are done.

You message Graham back, “I’m done at 4 but can stay and work till you guys are done.”

He messages back, “We’re done at 5:30. Stay there until we come get you!” he texts back.

“Ok, Pops!” you message back, “Thank you!”

“No problem, Kiddo. See you then! Be safe! <3” you receive back.

“Todd, they are done at 5:30 and will come get me after that.” You tell him.

“Ok, Sweetheart. No problem.” Why don’t you take tomorrow off and finish up your training with Phantom and spend the day letting him get used to you and your friends? Maybe you being gone from here for a couple of days will deter your ex’s spies from hanging around.” He tells you.

You look down at the floor. “Ok. I’m so sorry it’s been such drama since you hired me. I don’t like this any more than you do.” You apologize.

He comes over and tilts your chin up to look at him. “Sweetheart, you didn’t ask for any of this. I understand that and am not upset with you. I just know how these guys think and operate. Take a few days and just disappear for a while. Stay with someone who makes you feel safe, don’t go out in public if you can help it and just lay low. Let your trail go cold and it’ll make it tougher for them to find you.

You keep seeing that Richard, though, don’t let him slip away! He seems like a great guy for you. I can tell by the way he looks at you that he absolutely adores you.” Todd says with a grin.

You nod. “He does. He treats me like a precious treasure.” You say quietly.

“And that you are, Harley. Not just to him, but to me, to Alex and to all your friends! You are not alone in this fight, Sweetheart. We’re here and we got your back. Just keep me or Alex informed about your whereabouts so if we spot him or any of his lackeys, we can let you know.” he tells you.

“Ok, Todd. Thanks.” You tell him.

“Now how about you take the tub and a dishcloth and go see if you can find where our guests have hidden the dishes in the bookstore?” he tells you, making you chuckle. You nod and head back to the sink, then head into the bookstore.

The rest of the day at work goes by uneventfully and before you know it, Richard and Graham are pulling up in Richard’s BMW. You’re sitting at the table and see them pull up. You holler to Todd that you’re heading out and that Richard and Graham are here to get you.

He hollers back, “Ok, Harley, see you on Thursday with Phantom! If anything changes or if you have any other problems let me or Alex know!” he tells you and you tell him, you will.

You grab your coffee and adjust your messenger bag and head out to the car. “No motorcycle?” you ask.

Graham chuckles. “We’ll do that when we head home, Sweetie.” He says and pats you on the shoulder. “How ya holdin’ up?” he asks.

You sigh. “I’m scared. I didn’t want to put other people in danger and that was why I was so hesitant to get involved with anyone. I knew he’d pull something like this.” You tell them. “He is incredibly possessive and despite him dumping me at Christmas, he apparently thinks he can just have me back as a fuck toy now.” you say and drop your head as a few tears run down your cheeks.

Graham looks up at Richard and sees his jaw set and his knuckles white on the wheel. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen, Lass. He’ll have to tangle with all of us and yer dog before he’ll be layin’ a hand on you!” Graham assures you. “You’ll never, be his ever again.” He tells you and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“But what about you Rich?” you say scared.

“Don’t worry about me, Sweetheart, between all the fight training, sword training and such for the different movies I’ve been in, I think I can handle protecting myself pretty darn well. He or his buddies try anything, your officer friends will be receiving a call and a beaten up person to arrest. Our gate guards have the photo of your ex, and a description of his accomplice so they won’t be allowed anywhere near the property.

My home is secure and so is yours. So, don’t worry, Love. They have a lot of people to deal with should they try to hurt you.” He tells you and puts a hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

You nod. “Thank you, both.” You say. “Todd suggested I take tomorrow and Wednesday off and just disappear for a while and lay low with people who make me feel safe, so my ex and his accomplices can’t track me. He said if they don’t see me showing up at work, they will leave and go look elsewhere for me. Tod said to keep him, or Alex informed where I decide to disappear to, and they will keep me posted if they see or hear anything.” You tell them.

Richard grins. “Good!” you look at him confused.

He chuckles, “I have tomorrow off from work, the scenes they are recording tomorrow don’t involve my character, so I don’t need to be there. We can go disappear for the day and find something fun to do.” He tells you.

You grin. “Todd suggested seeing if I could complete the training tomorrow morning and then take the rest of the day to just spend time getting used to Phantom and having him get used to me and my friends.” You tell him.

Richard smiles and nods. “That we can do.” He tells you as he pulls into the driveway of Mark’s place. Graham and Richard get out of the BMW and Graham helps you out. “Thanks, Pops.” You tease him, earning a smile and a quick hug from him.

You three head up into the yard and Mark comes out and meets you. “Hi Harley, Richard, Graham! You ready to start the training?” he asks.

You nod. “Mark, would I be able to come out here tomorrow morning to finish the training? My ex is sending his lackeys to stalk and harass me now and one showed up at my job this morning to give me a message from my ex, that was a threat. My boss gave me the day off so I could get the training done and get used to Phantom for a couple days before I go back to work with him.” You explain.

He nods. “Of course! We can do that! Hopefully having Phantom around will deter them from doing that anymore.” He tells you. “Regardless, though Phantom will be able to sense that kind of intent and will alert you to it.” He tells you. “Come on, let’s get started.”

The four of you head to the barn and as soon as Phantom hears your voice, he is at the gate of his kennel whining quietly and wagging his tail like a propeller on a plane. Richard laughs at the sight. “He’s not excited to see you, not at all, Harley!” he tells you.

Graham nudges him and teases, “Rich, that’s how you look when you see her!”

Richard rolls his eyes at Graham. “Do not.” He grumbles and folds his arms across his chest. Making graham laugh, “Do too!” and Richard rolls his eyes.

You chuckle at their bantering back and forth. “do too” you think.

Mark walks over and opens the gate for Phantom and the dog just wiggles and can’t wait to have your attention. He gives Phantom the sign to ‘sit’ and the dog sits, but his tail doesn’t stop wagging a mile a minute, which makes his butt wiggle. You laugh and squat down and smush his face and pet him and talk to him for a minute to assure him you were back for him. He is excitedly licking your face and hands and giving you soft ‘wuffs’ and whimpers back.

You are giggling at his reaction to seeing you and Mark chuckles. “He whined for a good hour after you left!” he tells you. “I think he thought you weren’t coming back!” he says with a grin then hands you the leash after hooking it to Phantom’s harness.

He teaches you the sign for ‘come’ and Phantom follows you right at your side. “He will always put himself between you and the street or you and whatever he may consider a potential threat.” Mark tells you.

Then he teaches you the sign for ‘sit’. You make the sign and Phantom sits. Mark hands you a treat to give to the dog. “Don’t give him treats all the time, petting him and praising him work just as well.”

One by one he teaches you the signs for the different commands. You all walk out into the field and he puts the practice service vest on Phantom and then has you go through the different commands in various orders to help you memorize them. Once you have them all down, and Richard does too by this point, then Mark has his assistant put on the padded armor again and he teaches you the different commands for attack.

Mark calls Richard and Graham over to learn these as well. “We teach the dogs the attack signals in both verbal and hand gestures. He will respond to either of them. We found a dictionary for Khuzdul from Middle Earth, (my favourite book series) online and chose to use that for the words since there are so few who know or understand their meaning. Forgive us if we got some of it wrong. He tells Richard and Graham with a smirk.

Mark taught you the words and hand symbols for each attack command and when Phantom heard the words, he did what they commanded.

“HRESTVOG!” means DESTORY! (which we use instead of Attack.)

“ETZIL!” means STOP!

“THORV!” means SHIELD!

“HEFTHYN!” means GUARD!

Phantom will shield you with his body by getting up on his hind legs if you were standing and he’d lean against you as he put himself between you and the attacker or danger.

He’d stand over the top of you if you were on the ground (injured).

If you told him to guard something, he would not let anyone but you near it unless they knew the word for STOP.

When he’d hear the word for destroy, he’d attack whatever you indicated with no mercy until you or someone knowing the word for stop told him to.

Over and over, Mark focused on this part of the training, explaining it was necessary for you, so you’d remember the proper words if you were in a panic or fight/flight response. You needed to be able to recall the commands if you were stressed, scared or upset. You nodded.

Finally, it was getting close to supper time and Mark called it a day for you. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll work on this and some other commands for you.” He tells you.

You thank him and he hands you a sheet with the words and pictures of how to do the hand symbols so you could practice.

He takes off the service vest from Phantom and lets him run and play for a few minutes with you. Then you signal for him to ‘come’ and he follow you off lead all the way to the barn. You pet him and tell him he’s a good dog and he thumps his tail on the floor and gives you a soft “wuff” and licks your face.

Mark signals him to ‘go’ and points to the kennel and Phantom looks at you sadly and heads for the kennel, whining. “Awww!” you say. “It’s ok, Phantom, I’ll be back for you tomorrow, ok?” you tell him. He wags his tail and licks your hand through the fencing. You stand and move over to Richard and Graham. They chuckle as Phantom looks at you with his sad puppy dog eyes and whines quietly.

“Ready to go, Lass?” Graham asks.

You nod.

You thank Mark for the training and put the sheet he gave you in your bag. The three of you head to the car and Graham helps you in then gets in the back seat. Richard gets in the front and starts the car. He backs out and the three of you are off back into town.

You’re quiet for a while and just trying to absorb all you learned. The two men grin when they see you practicing and mumbling the different commands trying to remember them with out pulling out the sheet to look.

After about 10 minutes, Richard asks, “You hungry, Sweetheart?”

You shrug. ‘Not really. I don’t eat much when I get stressed.” you reply.

He puts his hand on your leg. “You need something in your stomach, Honey, or it’ll be growling at you all night.” He teases, trying to get a smile out of you.

You sigh, “I know, Rich. I’m just nervous, with my ex and his cronies on the loose. I don’t know any self defense except to kick a guy in the shins and the nuts.” You tell them, making them both wince and giggle.

“Well, that’s a start, Sweetheart.” Graham tells you.

“Maybe I’ll do some research on self defense and see what’s available.” You mutter to yourself.

“It wouldn’t hurt, Lass.” Graham encourages you.

“In Israel, both men and women serve in their army.” Richard tells you, “They came up with a special self defense for the women to be trained in so that if they are attacked or targeted for rape, they could defend themselves and get away to safety. The methods they used are banned in the competitive self-defense courses and competitions because of the potential to kill the attacker.” I would suggest you learn that one, Sweetheart. If it’s good enough for a country’s women military personnel, then it’s what I’d like to see you learn.” Richard tells you.

“What is it called?” you ask him.

“If I remember right it is called, Krav Maga”. He tells you.

You search for it on your phone’s internet and pull up a video demonstration of it. You and Graham watch it and a few others you found. He chuckles when he sees you watching one video of a girl like you being attacked by three big guys his size and the girl takes all three down in a matter of seconds!

“What do ya think of that, Harley?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

Your eyes light up and you grin impishly. “Ooohh! I’d love to be able to do that! I don’t know if I’d actually be able to, but I sure would like to try it!” you say with an impish smirk.

Richard just grins. “I’d love to see you do that, Love. Just don’t use it on me!” he says with a chuckle.

“The only way I’d be using it on you, Hun, is if you were winning in a tickle fight or I was practicing the techniques at half speed.” You tell him.

Graham just laughs when he sees the astonished look on Richard’s face.

You look at Richard from your phone and smirk. “You know I’m teasing, Hun. I’d never use it on you… unless you want me to…” you grin.

He reaches over and ruffles your head, forgetting you had braids in so there wasn’t much to ruffle. Making you all laugh.

The three of you arrive back at the Studio. Graham gets out and leans down at you. “I got some steaks in the fridge thawing, so I think I’ll head home. You two go get some food and have a good evening….and behave yourselves!” he tells you both sternly and then winks at you.”

You giggle and reply, “You got it, Pops!” he chuckles and pats your arm. “See you two love birds later.” He says and heads over to the gate and the guard lets him in.

A moment later you hear him start up the bike and you watch him head out. You look over at Richard and he is smiling at you. “Did you have fun riding on Graham’s friend’s bike?” he asked.

You get a big grin on your face and nod. “Now I see why Mom and Dad named me after it!” you giggle. “Dad would’ve loved that bike. Graham reminds me a lot of Dad.” You say. “I miss my Dad, but I’m glad Graham’s around and I have you and the rest of the group.” You tell him.

Just then your stomach growls. “I suppose I should feed it before it tries to eat me from the inside out again.” You giggle.

Richard smirks. And takes your hand and kisses it. “Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make you supper and we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie.” He tells you.

You nod and he starts to head home. “Oh! Can we stop somewhere so I can pick up a couple of things? Since I’m at the mercy of those driving me and I don’t always seem to make it home at night, I need to pick up a few things to keep in my bag.” You tease him.

He grins and nods. Pulling into a pharmacy, he parks and helps you out of the car. The two of you head in and you look around. He tells you he’s gonna go look at some stuff and let you shop. “I’ll meet you at the cash register when you’re ready.” He says with a kiss. You nod and he walks off.

You look at the makeup and pick out a black eyeliner, waterproof mascara, a small bottle of eye makeup remover, a small pack of round cotton pads, and a small grey palette of eye shadow.

Then you go to the travel section and find a collapsible hairbrush and a comb, a toothbrush and toothpaste. You find a travel pack of small containers in a heavy-duty plastic travel bag and toss it in the basket.

You smile when you find your hair oil there and grab that too. You grab a pack of hairpins, and hair ties as well and a pretty hair claw clip. You find a travel size deodorant and toss it in the bag and try to remember if there was anything else on your list.

You can’t think of anything, so you head over to the cashier. You wait in line and Richard joins you. He chuckles as he sees what’s in your basket. You move up to the cashier and set the basket on the counter. Rich hands you the keys to the car and says, “Let me get this, Sweetheart, how about you head out and get the car started for me?”

You shrug and take the keys. You head out and stand outside amazed by the beautiful sunset. Standing off to the side of the doors you happily lean against the warm concrete wall and enjoy the riot of colors.

Richard pays for the stuff in your basket. Once it’s all paid for, he takes your bag and heads out only to find you leaning against the wall of the building, with a contented look on your face as you gaze off to your right. He glances over to see what you’re looking at and smiles at the breath-taking sunset.

He moves up next to you and puts an arm over your shoulder. “It’s a beautiful sunset tonight.” He tells you.

You nod. “Yeah. I thought I’d just stand here and enjoy it till you came out to the car.” You said as you turned and smiled up at him. He looks down at you and gives you a peck on the cheek. “Here are your purchases, my lady.” He says cheekily as he bows and hands you your bag.

“Oooh, thank you kind sir!” you reply putting a hand on your chest, and grin up at him as you take the bag. He chuckles and goes to open the door for you after you hand him the keys.

He helps you in, then gets in and starts the car. The two of you head to his place and when you get inside, he heads up to his room. “I’ll be down in a minute. I gotta get out of these and into something more comfortable.” He tells you.

You head over to the living room, take your jacket off and and dump your stuff out on the coffee table. You open the packages and toss the wrappers into the plastic bag and put your toiletries into the heavy duty zipper bag, then you put your makeup in the bag, as well as the hairpins, hair ties and toothbrush and toothpaste. You toss that travel bag into your black messenger bag and then put the hairbrush and comb in one of the pockets and carefully poured some hair oil into one of the containers and sealed it, then poured the make up remover into another one. You sealed that one too. Then you stuffed the rest of your purchases into your bag and went to the kitchen with the two travel bottles of liquid, and the plastic bag of garbage. You tossed the garbage in the trash bin and then put the travel bottles in small zip bags you found in one of the drawers.

You heard Richard coming back down the stairs and you giggled to see him in just his sweatpants. He grins and grabs you on your way into the living room. He takes you in his arms and gives you a hug. “Will you stay here with me tonight?” he asks in his velvety smooth baritone voice.

“As long as you behave.” You tease. He gives you his Guy of Gisborne smirk and ever so slightly raises an eyebrow at you; making you giggle and run into the living room to put your bottles in the black messenger bag.

Richard sneaks up behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, then takes his other hand and starts to pull your corset strings loose. “Richard!” you exclaim trying to turn around to face him. “What are you doing?” you say laughing as you try to squirm out of his arm. He holds you tight, pinning your side against him, and he leans down to your ear.

“I’m helping you get more comfortable, Love. We’re not going anywhere else tonight and I’m not opening that door for anyone but a cop.” He tells you.

You look up and sigh, “All right, Richard.” You reply and stop squirming. He kisses your ear and neck and shoulder. “That’s my girl.” He tells you as he loosens the laces. Once they are hanging loose, he gently turns you so your back is against his chest and he uses his hand that had been holding you against him to flip the hooks open on the front of the corset, one… by… one… as he peppers your neck with kisses and his hand caresses your side.

When the last hook opens, he gently takes the corset and slips it off of you and sets it on the side chair along with your messenger bag and coat.

He holds you now, finally feeling your body against his without the corset. He revels in how soft you are and how wonderful you feel. “Are you comfortable now?” he asks.

You giggle. “Well, I’d be more comfort able if these boots were off.” You reply.

He grins and picks you up and lays you down on the couch and picks up your foot and grabs the zipper on your boot and oh so slowly unzips your knee high boots, kissing the now exposed skin of your leg where the cut outs were in the leather, as the boot falls away. When he gets to your ankle, he pulls the boot off and moves to your other leg and repeats the process of unzipping the zipper and kissing the exposed skin.

Once both boots are off, he massages your feet, earning some tantalizing moans from you. “Oh, God! Rich! I don’t remember the last time someone massaged my feet like that! You’re gonna melt me like butter doing that!” you tell him, earning a deep, rumbling, chuckle from him.

“Now, you lay here and relax, and I’m gonna go make us some supper. Let Scarlett know what happened this afternoon if you haven’t already and tell her you’re with me and we are ‘disappearing’ for the evening, to not contact us unless it’s an emergency.” He instructs you.

You nod and he gets up and kisses your forehead, then goes to the kitchen and washes his hands then starts to make supper.

@thetherianthropydaily @criminaly-supernatural @exhausted-human-being @hilary456 @fizzyxcustard​