#this is about someone saying it's impossible for river to meet thirteen

[a-dandy-and-a-clown]

funniest thing about some doctor who fans is how much they care about lore and canon not being broken as if the show isn't full of plot holes and retcons and,, twists.

[damiano-mylove]

Condescending Bitch

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x reader

Wc: 2.5k

Cw(s): swearing, kissing, crying, probably typos (as per usual, tell me if it sucks)

Summary: Reader breaks up with their boyfriend and Thomas consoles them.

Masterlist

If honesty be a virtue, you'd be virtuous to plainly say you'd fallen out of love with your boyfriend and you had done so a while ago. It wasn't deliberate, it was a gradual fizz wherein you found your heart warming for someone else. You felt horrible about it and that guilt had been eating at you. There was no cheating, but you didn't think you'd be able to avoid it for much longer. Not to mention, it wasn't only the non-existent feelings, Luca was just an asshole when you weren't blinded by love.

There comes a time where one must throw in the towel, and now was that time for you.

You couldn't do it at a restaurant; knowing Luca, he'd cause a scene. You couldn't do it at some meeting place; it would ruin that place forever and ever to both of you. And that shit's just not fair.

In the end, you couldn't make the decision. So you put every single item of Luca's clothing in a bag (and a couple things he'd left around your flat), and drove over to his house while you still had the nerve. You'd gathered and lost the nerve a couple times before, but the plan was already in motion now. Hell, there was no plan, but whatever you were raring to do was up and running.

You drove straight to Luca's mother's house in record time. Time flies when you're laser focused.

"Y/n!" Luca's mother exclaimed joyfully as you entered the kind looking house. How someone like Luca came out of Mrs. Batali was a wonder in and of itself. Once Mrs. Batali spotted the bag in your hand, she frowned. "Has something happened, Bambino?"

Somehow, the hardest part of this breakup would be bidding goodbye to Luca's mother, and not Luca himself. You sighed, "I'm sorry, Signora. Luca and I have been having issues for a while now."

"Oh, don't be sorry, Bambino." The older lady's kind smile returned to her face, which struck a heart string you hadn't even known existed. Mrs. Batali swayed toward you, in all of her vanilla scented goodness. She hugged you around your neck loosely, which you returned around her wide hips. "You're always welcome for dinner and a roof. Don't let the stupid boy stop you from seeing me."

God gave two gifts to this world; one of them was Mrs. Batali.

A smile cracked across your face as your chest continued to tighten and hurt. You loved this family like your own, and you loved Luca at some point. So many memories were made in the throws of this relationship, and it was all going to be thrown out the window by you. But it was too late now.

"Ti amo." Mrs. Batali placed a kiss to your forehead which made your smile even more genuine. She patted your shoulder, finally releasing you from her motherly grasp. Sadly, she raised her arm to the stairs to Luca's bedroom. "I'll be down here, if you need me."

You smiled once more to the older lady and bowed your head in silent thanks. If you uttered a word, the word would lead to tears. It seemed the two of you knew this.

It was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but you had to seal the deal.

Without your consent, your feet began moving toward the stairs then up the stairs. Your heart beat in sickening rhythm with your footsteps, but your heart seemed more heavy than your feet. It was ridiculous. You were ready to throw up, pee, or meltdown - you didn't know which one, if it was one at all.

At long last, after walking down the longest hallway of your life, you stood in front of Luca's closed door. You remembered all the times you'd breeze in, going straight into Luca's arms for a kiss. His breath wasn't always good and he was a bad kisser, but he made you feel infatuation. Now it only seemed a fraction of what you felt for the other person. Yes, God, that was why you had to do this.

You knocked. Your heart was deafening.

"Come in!"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You pushed open the door, feeling like you were having a heart attack. Luca smiled brightly at you from the light of his computer. Then he laid eyes on the bag. Don't know how, it was dark as fuck in the room. And smelt of cheap body spray and dirty clothes.

"Hey, Babe, I wasn't expecting you," Luca smiled, trying to act off the bag of his clothes and gifts in your hand. You flicked on the light as he stood up to close the door behind you.

This room is fucking disgusting. It was truly noxious.

"Alright, Luca, sit down, we've got to talk," you told him, putting on your bravest and thickest voice. It worked because the air in the room changed. The air grew thick and impossible to breath. It could've been cut with a knife. Luca sat on his bed, hands in his lap. You placed the bag on the ground and sighed, "We're breaking up."

For a second, he was unresponsive. Luca didn't say a word until he looked you in the eye, what felt like a full minute later. His bottom lip quivered. "You're dumping me?"

"You can tell people you dumped me, I don't mind," you quipped, trying to make the situation better. You did not, in fact, make the situation better. You potentially made it about thirteen times worse.

"No, you're not." Luca stood up again. Your breath caught in your throat. "We're not breaking up."

He took a few quick steps to you. You stood your ground, trying to be as brave as possible. Your mask was slipping. The last thing you wanted right now was for Luca to see that you were cracking under his gaze. That would be fucking horrendous.

All of a sudden, Luca barked out a laugh. He looked like a madman. "This is about that Thomas bitch, isn't it?" You didn't answer, and your facial expressions gave nothing away. Then Luca snapped, "Isn't it?!"

"If you want to fucking shout, we can shout," you seethed. Luca blinked angrily at you. "We're adults - act like it."

"You're a condescending bitch."

"And you're an ugly prick, but I've never complained about that. You've called me a condescending bitch about 3 times and a flat-out bitch more than a dozen," you recalled quickly, with venom dripping off each syllable. It shut Luca up. However, he began to cry. You felt nothing but hatred now. "You're one pathetic bitch to be crying over the girl who you treat like a fucking doormat." Luca only cried harder. No sympathy. You spun on your heel and opened the door.

Without a glance back, you left.

Mrs. Batali smiled at you on your way out and gave you a freshly baked bun, which you thanked her profusely for.

It didn't take long for reality to set in, however. The adrenaline faded as you drove back to your flat complex. You began crying at the wheel and completely broke down in the car park. Tears streamed down your face like rivers, snot clogged your nose. Your mouth tasted horrible so you started to eat the bun Mrs. Batali had baked. It was so good that you started crying harder.

How the fuck could you do that? At this point, you were too sad to give a fuck about sobbing in a car park at 6 in the evening. You just threw in the towel of a year long relationship, in the blink of an eye. Like it was nothing and meant nothing to you whatsoever, which wasn't true at all. You felt like a horrible person.

Your chest clogged up with emotions and stale air, your throat grew a lump that you couldn't swallow down. Now you were the pathetic one. Crying in a shitbox car over your ex while eating fucking bread.

A tap on the window scared the Jesus out of you.

When you looked at the source, the other person was looking right back at you, looking worried and confused. Leave it to Thomas to look sad just because you were sad. Thomas looked so fucking good even though a blur of teary eyelashes. He made the hand crank motion, so you rolled down your window.

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked. You just started laughing. What a stupid fucking question. Thomas began chuckling, realizing how stupid it was himself. "Fair enough. Fancy a cup of tea and a chat or shall I leave you to your car bread?"

How the fuck could he make you laugh in times like these?

You smiled then shooed him away from your car door so you could open it. He obliged and moved back, for you to get out, still with bread and keys in hand. Thomas furrowed his eyebrows as you two began walking back to the flat complex you both lived in. "Aren't you going to roll up the window?"

"How the fuck is anyone meant to steal it when all the windows are up?" It was your turn to earn a laugh from Thomas. Thomas' laugh hit your ear like honey. The sort of honey that your mother gave you to cure your sore throat before nursery. It was soothing and just the right thing for the situation.

As you walked up the stairs with Thomas, you realized he was taking you to his flat. To be fair, he was the one who offered you tea. What's he going to do? Offer you your own tea?

Thomas unlocked the ugly blue door of his flat that everyone in the building had a copy of. The second you both walked into the flat, warmth enveloped you, along with sandalwood and spices from Thomas' extensive spice cabinet. He must have been cooking earlier because it smelt Heavenly. Everything was in perfect place with just the right amount of mess and disorganization to make it seem like a home.

"I'll put the kettle on, sit anywhere," Thomas instructed after you both took your shoes off. You were wearing ratty trainers while Thomas was wearing perfectly clean Vans.

You nodded and flung yourself on one of his couches with a sigh. The couch was soft, warm and welcoming and you felt tired from crying and yelling and just the day in general. It was a shit day, that started with your toast burning and ended with this shit. A nap would really do good.

However, Thomas had other plans entirely. He placed a purple mug, full of tea with what looked like your golden ratio of milk and sugar. Thomas was your best friend, of course he knew your golden ration. You knew his. With a smile, you sat up which allowed Thomas to sit beside you and drape his arm over the back of the couch.

"Feel like telling me why you were crying in your car?" Thomas asked. You laughed lightly and sipped the piping hot tea.

"Broke up with Luca about-" you checked a clock. "-30 minutes ago."

As horrible as it sounds, Thomas' face lit up. His facial features remained the same but his beautiful green eyes lit up like candles in a dark room. "Is that so?"

"He called me a condescending bitch."

"So he hasn't gotten a new script," Thomas smiled. You chuckled lightly and sniffed. Your nose was still clogged from all the crying. You just didn't feel like blowing your nose like an elephant in front of Thomas right now. "He'll never get the chance to get a new script for you now."

"Thank God above," you sighed out with a laugh to your words. Thomas smiled. "I'll miss his mum though. Wonderful lady."

Thomas sipped his own tea and you discretely moved closer to him. It wasn't as discrete as you'd thought because Thomas picked up and moved a bit closer to you with a stupid smile on his face. "So how'd it go down?"

Like friends do, you told him everything, down to the detail. All but Luca being right, with Thomas being the other man who'd stolen your heart. That wouldn't be a key detail here because the last thing you needed today was to dump your boyfriend then directly after scare your best friend away from you forever.

But he wasn't scared off by you telling him Luca though you were leaving him for Thomas. Thomas actually smirked at that part, like the thought amused him. You didn't think anything of it actually, except for how cute Thomas was when he was smirking.

Eventually, the conversation faded and you were hip to hip with Thomas. With a sigh, he rested your head in the crook of Thomas' neck. His feather soft hair tickled the side of your face but you wanted nothing else for the moment. The scent of Thomas' cologne was prominent when you were this close to him, but you weren't going to complain about that. His arm fell from the back of the couch to around your shoulders.

Feeling Thomas' head turn to you, you looked up at him. Thomas' hand lightly squeezed you arm. Your breath hitched in your throat as you thought you were imagining Thomas observing your face.

Those gorgeous green eyes that you could stare into all day were scanning your face gently. They landed on your lush lips, then back to your eyes. All it took was a small nod for Thomas to lean in.

It was slow. It was slow, but undeniably sweet. The passion was palpable the minute your lips met his, just as you had been dreaming of for months now. His pillow-like lips were perfectly moisturized, but not over-saturated. The lip balm he used was strawberry flavoured and you'd never admired strawberry flavoured lip balm as you were in this moment.

As suddenly as it began, it ended.

Thomas leaned back for a second, looking guilty. "You need time to get over Luca, this is wrong."

"I've been over Luca for months." You placed a kiss to his lips, which Thomas accepted for a second, then backed out of again. You groaned. "Thomas, Luca was right. I'm in love with you."

In a stunned silence, Thomas' cheeks turned bright red. A broad smile grew on his face and you felt confident in your confession. You meant it, surely, but now you were confident that you did the right thing in telling Thomas.

"I've been in love with you since we went to the Capitoline." Thomas' voice cracked as he made his confession. Your heart bustled with warmth. He'd been pining for you all this time just to watch you run with Luca.

You couldn't take your aching heart. Grabbing Thomas' face gently, you pressed your lips to his again. He gladly returned this kiss with fervour and renewed zeal. Nothing else mattered while your lips were joined with Thomas' lips. Nothing would ever be able to induce the utter happiness and peace you'd felt in this moment.

After the kiss lasting for a while, Thomas pulled you to sit on his lap. He cupped your sweet face gently and smiled into your brilliant eyes. He kissed your nose. "May I tell you something else, Y/n?"

"Anything."

"I don't think you're a condescending bitch."

[redwritinghood]

Omg first of all you wrote enemy of my enemy??? I loved it so much omggg!!! Second of all, if you're still taking prompts i would love an au where marlas didnt happen and damen is officially courting laurent so they always need chaperons but they always escape them to be alone and aleron and theomedes are NOT happy about this

Technically still writing The Enemy of My Enemy but thank you, always enjoy being appreciated :)

Writing this with that “shy bookish boy” in mind where Laurent has wonderfully not had to face the book tragedies.

Damen saw the large willow tree that matched the description he’d been given and swung off the horse to land in knee high grass next to the river bank. He dropped the reins, allowing the horse to freely graze. Inside the natural tent of the willow branches was a private space. The shade was a relief, but the summer day was still too hot to be fully clothed. Fumbling with the excessive lacing, Damen loosened the sweat dampened shirt. The servant assigned to help him dress had been scandalized when Damen rejected the undershirt. One was already excessive. 

Somewhat freed of the oppressive garment he proceeded to remove his boots and collapsed into the grass. It was a relief to be outside of the palace, away from the over-attentive servants and curious nobility. Arles felt stuffy and confining, unlike Ios that was open to the outside with balconies and outdoor walkways. This excursion to the outdoors was needed almost more than Damen had realized. 

A patch of wildflowers mingled in the grass next to him and he collected a handful to begin weaving the stems together. This part of the river was more sedated than the frothing white rapids where Damen had accidentally rescued the crown prince of Vere. 

It had been several years but was still something Damen frequently thought on, back when the war between Vere and Akielos had seemed inevitable. While on a scouting trip, a fierce storm had arisen, separating Damen and Nikandros from the rest of their party and driven them into the forest for shelter. Somewhere during the midst of the violent tempest they unknowingly crossed the border into Vere. In the aftermath, they emerged on the Northern side, stumbling upon a raider camp next to the river. Realizing they had followed the river in the wrong direction the intent was to turn around without altercation but Damen had seen the raider’s blond prisoner.

Nikandros had protested vehemently but ultimately followed Damen on his rescue mission. They had the advantage of surprise but were greatly outnumbered. The fight could have gone badly, but once the blond prisoner was released and obtained a weapon the fight quickly shifted in their favor. 

Once the battle was won, the prisoner revealed himself as Prince Auguste. Similarly, Damen candidly introduced himself despite Nikandros’ elbow in his ribs.

There was a moment of uncertainty as they faced each other with swords still drawn. Then, surprisingly, Auguste laughed and sheathed the weapon. The two sanguine princes recognized each other as kindred spirits and agreed that this was an opportunity. Auguste wanted to introduce Damen to King Aleron, perhaps forging the beginnings of an alliance or to at least assuage the impending war. The royal family was in Marlas and only half a day's ride away. Nikandros continued to speak his objections but followed Damen, preferring to die with him than because of him.

Once hearing of the rescue and how close he had been to losing Auguste, King Aleron accepted Damen almost too graciously. Eager to offer him a reward for saving his eldest son. 

“I would offer you Auguste’s hand if he weren’t already betrothed and needed to continue the line,” Aleron said.

“I don’t need a reward,” Damen said uncomfortably. It wasn’t his reason for meeting the king and Auguste was perhaps equally surprised how well the enemy Akielon prince had been received. 

“I have a younger son,” Aleron said.

“Father.” Auguste objected, obviously disagreeing with this idea. 

Damen’s side was going to be bruised from Nikandros’ elbow. This time he agreed with him and was looking for a polite way to escape.

“That’s really alright—” Damen began.

“Someone fetch Laurent,” Aleron ordered, and servants hurried to do his bidding.

“You’re bruising me,” Damen whispered. That insistent elbow still poking his side.

“We need to leave before you’re engaged,” Nikandros hissed.

“I’m trying,” Damen said under his breath. It would be impossible to explain the arrangement to his father.

“Ah, here he is,” Aleron gestured when the doors to the court were opened.

Damen turned as he heard Nikandros say, “Oh no.”

Hoofbeats pulled Damen from the recollection. He sat up only to be knocked back down by a body colliding with his. 

“You know,” Damen said when he caught his breath, “your brother thinks I’m the one corrupting his shy little brother.” 

“Auguste still sees me as a child.” Laurent unwrapped his arms from Damen’s neck and pulled back to see his face. “Hi,” he blushed.

“Hi,” Damen smiled.

“May I?” he asked. Damen looked into the blue eyes, so unbearably close, and nodded.

This was his third visit to Arles to see his fiance. Laurent had been barely thirteen when he was suddenly and unwillfully promised to the former enemy. Understandably, he had been unhappy. When Damen returned to Ios, he wrote several letters hoping to learn more about him. It was several months before he received a short response answering questions in a brusque dismissive fashion that impressively relayed little information. Damen suspected Auguste or someone else had forced Laurent to respond. Despite the discouraging reply Damen persisted. 

During the first visit, Laurent had been predictably detached, and Damen spent most of his time with Auguste. But because Laurent was Auguste’s second shadow, they consequently spent time together. He typically opted out of any sport or game that Damen and Auguste would partake in but always stood as witness. Damen hadn’t expected much interaction from Laurent, he was still young, and unfairly betrothed. However, by the end of that stay Laurent was noticeably less callous.  

The next visit Laurent had altered from the suspicious aloofness to a timid interest now trailing Damen, even without Auguste’s presence. With a hesitant eagerness Laurent shared his favorite scrolls, his thoughts on the recent philosophy debates, and introduced Damen to his horse. The shy sincerity was incredibly endearing and Damen suspected there weren’t many people Laurent was comfortable sharing his thoughts with. He loved that Laurent was slowly opening up to him and Damen hoped he did nothing to dissuade him. 

Written communication increased significantly. The letters used to be a burden, something Damen forced himself to do. When Laurent began to open up, the conversation surpassed interesting to exciting. Damen was almost intimidated by the intelligent penpal and his fascinating perspective.

This was the first visit since Laurent had turned eighteen. As if to demonstrate this Laurent had physically matured and it was impossible not to notice. The guard detail had been instructed to be in constant attendance. The two princes were not allowed to be alone together. Because of this, they had not even kissed. The building anticipation had become nearly suffocating. To Damen, even holding hands had become an illicit act. Laurent sliding closer on benches or couches until their knees touched had nearly driven Damen mad. And it was Laurent initiating most contact, exasperating his guards when they had to find a way to respectfully peel the prince off the Akielon visitor. 

This was the moment, and Damen felt it with an ache through his entire body. He slipped a hand into the blond hair, holding the beautiful face. Shyly, Laurent leaned in, eyelashes dipping. Damen pressed forward, carefully, restraining himself against rushing Laurent. Lips met tentatively, just a ticklish brush. It wasn’t enough, but Laurent had drifted back, eyes still closed. 

“Laurent,” Damen whispered, and felt Laurent’s breath against his cheek. He resisted the desire to pull him in and take his mouth. The quiet hesitation evoked one of Damen’s fears that after all of this Laurent wouldn’t find him appealing. Being forced to sit still and endure the silence was torture.

Having Vere’s beloved younger prince in a compromising position above him made Damen equally excited and nervous. The peace between their countries was tentative and they were constantly observed so there was no slight or breach in protocol. What had been an expression of gratitude had turned political and restrictive. Theomedes saw the engagement as another war to be won and constantly warned Damen against any affection. This attitude had bled over into Vere and Aleron had become of a similar mindset. It may have even been his initial mindset when proposing the engagement. Having his offspring rulers of two seperate countries was a good tactical maneuver. Meanwhile, Theomedes searched for candidates that would produce an heir. This hung over Damen’s head, he wanted to tell Laurent, but it was a private matter, not something he wanted to share with the Veretian and Akielon guards. They could be bigger gossips than kitchen maids. 

That thought was silenced when Laurent’s eyes opened, the blue so bright it was almost startling, then miraculously, he smiled and Damen stopped breathing.

“Again?” Laurent asked. It took Damen a moment to realize he was asking for another kiss. 

“You want to?”

“Yes,” he breathed. 

Damen’s heart sang as he grinned, “You don’t have to ask with me.”

In response, Laurent’s arms slid around his neck and this kiss was the one Damen had needed. Deeper and longer. Laurent opened his mouth, hands sliding into Damen’s hair. He moved closer bodies now pressed together. Damen held him, arms around his waist.

“Was that— alright?” Laurent asked once they had separated and he had caught his breath.

Damen held Laurent’s face between his hands, “Yes, it was more than alright.” He kissed Laurent’s forehead, the timid innocence was so endearing he thought his heart would burst.

“You were also— adequate,” Laurent said with a blush.

Damen laughed, “Thanks.”

“I brought my favorite poetry scroll,” Laurent said scrambling up to retrieve the scroll from his horse’s saddlebag. 

While Laurent read lounging in the grass, Damen continued the flower crown and when finished placed it on top of the golden head. The blue and white flowers remained in his hair through another interlude of kissing.

After some persuasion Damen recited Akielon poems and epics in his native tongue. Laurent settled in next to him, head on his shoulder to look up at the sun filtering through the twisted branching. The flowers still in his hair.

“Are they all about war and conquering?” he asked.

“The most popular ones are. Warriors are highly regarded.”

“Were you ever disappointed that our engagement averted a war?”

“No,” Damen said. “I would be nervous to fight Auguste in serious combat, he’s very skilled.”

“I initially comforted myself by realizing that the engagement would essentially end all wars between our countries. And with Auguste as king of Vere I was certain I could manipulate you and mediate some hundred year treaty.”

The confession made Damen laugh, “You wouldn’t have to manipulate me. Whatever archaic dispute that led our elders to war no longer applies to us.”

“Is that a promise?” Laurent asked sitting up to look down at Damen.

“A promise that while we’re alive there will be no war between our countries?” Damen asked.

“Yes.”

“I promise,” he said and was surprised when Laurent dropped down to cup his face and fervently kiss him.

In the thick heat of the summer afternoon, Laurent was persuaded to remove his boots and step into the river.  Damen knew removing his clothes to bathe in the river would be an affliction on the tender Veretian sensibilities. As if to prove this Laurent had turned red when Damen removed his outer garment wearing only pants. Damen frequently caught him staring and would watch him blush and turn away. Not much coaxing was needed to bring Laurent into an embrace and kiss him while they stood waist-deep in the river. The cool pale hands traveled up his biceps to his shoulders almost reverently. 

“Laurent.” Auguste’s voice was a baritone traveling forcefully over the water. They had been discovered. 

Damen pulled on his boots as the brother’s argued. So far Damen had witnessed Laurent win every argument against anyone who dared oppose him, with the exception of Auguste who seemed to be more of a blind spot than a master debater. The two sets of guards were not far behind and with the older brother’s instruction the younger was whisked away.

Damen took his time as he dreaded redressing in the complicated jacket and lacing it by himself.

“I trust our agreement still stands.” Auguste sat next to Damen in the grass while he tried to reassemble his shirt.

“I haven’t fucked your brother.” The agreement to not sleep with Laurent until their wedding night had been easy to make when Laurent was thirteen.

“I don’t blame you for your efforts, I bedded my wife before our consummation. But he’s my little brother, I still feel— protective.”

This confession only further irritated Damen and he briefly imagined shattering the innocent image Auguste held of Laurent. It wasn’t Damen initiating physical contact and arranging secret dates.

“I won’t start anything,” Damen said. It was a little dishonest considering Auguste was blind to his younger brother’s burgeoning sexuality. 

“I appreciate it,” Auguste said, then reached over to help Damen with his laces.

Dinner that evening was uncomfortable. Laurent, with the flower crown still in his hair, was unremorseful and the two brothers had not reconciled. It was clear they had never been at odds before and the court was unsure how to react to the feuding siblings. 

After retiring to his chambers, Damen was settling in for the night when a noise outside his balcony disturbed him. Laurent dropped down out of the night but the more surprising part was how he was dressed.

“Where did— where did you get that?”

“I had it made. Is it accurate?” Laurent did a little twirl to show off the chiton and the fabric lifted revealing even more thigh.

Damen had to sit down, he had never seen more than hands and feet. “Not bad. Did you have the sandals made also?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Damen asked, he was having trouble breathing. Not only was the flower crown still present on the blond head but the chiton was especially short and the knee-high sandals drew special attention to the bare thighs.

“Isn’t this the fashion in Ios?” Laurent asked. “Am I expected to dress strictly as a Veretian once we’re married?” 

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Damen said, “We still have over a year.”

“I like to be prepared,” Laurent said and adjusted the white cloth. Damen looked away, there had been the slight glimpse of pink nipple. If he was going to uphold his promise to Auguste he would have to make Laurent leave. But he really didn’t want that, any of their time together was precious.

“What’s wrong?” Laurent asked.

“You can’t be here.” Damen had averted his eyes. “We aren’t supposed to be alone together.”

“That didn’t bother you this afternoon,” Laurent said and stood still observing Damen. “Did I do something?”

“No,” Damen said and reached out. Laurent accepted the offered hand and allowed Damen to pull him down into the seat next to him. The damn chiton was even shorter sitting down. “If we weren’t already engaged I would be on my knee in front of your father asking for your hand.” 

Laurent’s blue eyes hadn’t softened, “Then what is it?”

Damen knew there shouldn’t be any secrets between them, “I made a promise to your brother that I would wait until our wedding night for— you know.”

With an exhale Laurent slid onto Damen’s lap. “My brother has no say or control over my body. If I decide I’m ready now isn’t that my decision?”

“Of course,” Damen nearly choked. His hands came up automatically to hold Laurent’s waist. “Unless you find me unappealing,” Laurent said. 

“No one finds you unappealing,” Damen said and helplessly tugged Laurent closer. 

“I realize now that your hesitation was trying to respect your promise. It’s an honorable trait.” Laurent smoothed a hand into Damen’s hair, the cool palm cupping his face. “However, any further decisions regarding my body are to be made by me.”

“Understood,” Damen grinned. 

“My current decision is to allow you to take me to bed.” The coy smile almost physically hurt.

“Laurent,” Damen groaned. His head dropped onto the bare shoulder. “I want you so badly.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to risk offense. We’re not even supposed to be alone together. I can’t lose you.” Damen spoke against Laurent’s shoulder noticing how goosebumps blossomed across the pale skin.

Laurent was quiet briefly, stroking Damen’s hair, “The engagement was not my decision, but as the younger prince I expected it was my fate to be traded for some political or financial gain. The bids even began before I turned twelve.” Laurent watched Damen’s hair slip between his fingers. “I thought I was prepared, but I didn’t expect to be— happy. I don’t intend to lose you either.” 

Damen’s heart swelled as he lifted his head to look into the beautiful face. “May I?” he asked, smiling.

“You don’t need to ask.” Laurent also smiled as he leaned in. It was still new, each kiss better than the last. This time Laurent took more control, his head above Damen’s and with both hands smoothing through his hair. Boldly Damen traced a hand up the bare thigh feeling Laurent’s reaction with his body so close. 

“What is this?” Damen asked when his fingers ran into a slice of unknown fabric.

“I didn’t know what was typically worn beneath these so I fashioned something myself.” Laurent lifted the skirt revealing cloth crudely made to fit between his legs and around his hips. “Why are you laughing?”

Any other time Laurent’s unconscious reveal of so much flesh would have almost stopped Damen’s heart but the strange little modest piece of clothing was so ridiculous and unexpected

“There’s nothing worn beneath them?” Laurent asked, more fascinated than scandalized. 

“No,” Damen said, he had barely managed to explain through the laughter.

“It must be very warm there.”

“Compared to here, yes. I can’t wait to show you,” Damen said using his mouth to find the pulse point in Laurent’s neck. The soft sigh reminded him where they had been going before Laurent’s reveal. The kissing continued softly, Laurent tenderly exploring the act with lips and tongue. He pressed closer, their bodies together. Damen detoured to the slender neck, recalling that initial reaction with that soft sound. He wasn’t disappointed, the reaction was innocent and genuine. The quiet moan of pleasure would have brought Damen to his knees. Unconsciously, Laurent’s head tipped back allowing Damen more access. His hands traveled beneath the chiton he held Laurent at the natural dip in his waist, the skin warm. This startled him and he flinched before exhaling with a nervous laugh. 

“I suppose that is one advantage to wearing so little clothing.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Damen asked.

“Yes, I’ve just never— it’s my first time.”

“I’m a little more experienced than that,” Damen said, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin of his stomach.

“Yes, that is apparent,” Laurent said, his face had warmed slightly, responding to Damen’s touch. 

“Really?” Damen asked, pleased. Laurent made a sound of affirmation before resuming the kiss. He unthinkingly reacted to the caress against his abdomen with a movement of his hips that ground against Damen. He was going to flip Laurent onto his back and escalate the encounter when the door to his chambers opened. 

Damen was frustrated and horrified to find not only the prince’s guards invading his quarters but also Auguste and King Aleron. Laurent stood up with a sigh straightening the chiton with no self-consciousness or embarrassment. The blue eyes lifted towards the invaders, prepared for battle. He couldn’t have been more intimidating with a sword in hand.

“What are you wearing?” Aleron asked, looking over the exposed limbs of his son with disgust.

“Do you like it?” Laurent repeated his little twirl to show off the garment. 

“This is not a game, Laurent,” Aleron said. “You have deliberately disobeyed me.”

“You have implemented nonsensical rules for only me,” Laurent stated.

“They’re to protect you,” Auguste stated.

“Protect me from what?” Laurent asked, turning his icy gaze towards his older brother. 

Auguste glanced uncertainly at Damen where he stood off to the side. “Protect your innocence,” he said.

“No,” Laurent said, “The only thing you’ve been protecting is your idea of me. For years I’ve endured visiting dignitaries whisper in my ear of what they would like to do to me. The insipid and specific gossip of pets is impossible to ignore. Especially those that have involved my own brother who has taken numerous candidates to bed or an empty hallway, whichever is closer.”

“Laurent, stop talking.” Aleron’s face was red.

“There are also scrolls and illustrated manuscripts of any erotic position you might wish to master available in certain temples.”

“Laurent.” A vein bulged on Aleron’s forehead. “Escort the prince back to his chambers.” The red faced guards stepped forward to take Laurent by the arm. 

“Auguste was hardly chaste even before being engaged and yet you impose these rules on me for what reason?” Laurent asked, still talking as he was led from the room. 

“Damianos, I must request that you pack your belongings and be prepared to leave by morning,” Aleron said. “I will have a ship ready to depart for Ios at dawn.”

“Father, we should talk about this before acting, we don’t want to risk offending Theomedes.”

“You are not the king yet, Auguste. My orders are still to be obeyed. Perhaps you should go talk some sense into your brother.”

Auguste’s face had hardened and the resemblance between brothers was clear. “Yes, my king.” He said turning on his heel.

Aleron and Damen were alone. The king cleared his throat before speaking, “I recognize how Laurent can be a— temptation. So I’m not going to place the blame entirely on either of you. But I don’t like the  brazen and reckless way my son behaves when you’re around.”

“If that’s the case, I’m proud my presence gives him the courage to speak his mind. I’ve enjoyed watching him grow into a confident young man,” Damen stated.

“I see,” Aleron said, his eyes traveled over Damen in consideration. “There will be a guard escort waiting to take you to your ship in the morning. The details of the engagement will be discussed when everything has settled down.” This final blow statement Damen and he failed to notice when Aleron left. The oblique political speak could be interpreted in a myriad of ways, but it made Damen worry. The night went by without sleep and the restless anxiety that his fear would come to fruition. A blue flower that had come free of the crown now rested on the couch where they had been. Damen tucked it into a fold of his robes.

The knock came before the sun was up. Damen did a head count of his guard escort and knew there weren’t enough, and that if he really wanted to, he could fight them off. 

“I want to say goodbye to Laurent,” Damen said.

“Our orders are to take you directly to the docks.”

Damen could have taken them, fought his way to a goodbye but couldn’t further jeopardize the engagement and went peacefully. In the stables he searched for a blond head and any chance that Laurent would make it in time. On horseback with the little entourage surrounding him, Damen continued to look over his shoulder. Even on the ship while sailors continued last minute preparations Damen clung to the railing, staring over the sandy hill hoping for even just a messenger with a letter. Ropes were cast off and Damen’s heart sank as the anchor was raised. 

He half turned to retire to his cabin when a horse crested the rise. Laurent rode onto the docks without slowing, the horse pushed into a merciless sprint. The coarse wood rattled beneath the hooves. Sailors shouted at him and the guards from Damen’s escort chased him down or attempted to startle the horse into stopping. The ship had pulled away from the dock. Damen didn’t know what Laurent intended to do as he charged towards the end. 

His heart was in his throat when Laurent leapt from the back of the horse into empty air. Damen reached for him, catching him with an arm around his waist, and pulled him over the rail into the solid safety of the deck.

Laurent was laughing while Damen worried his heart had stopped.

“You’re insane,” Damen said breathing a relieved laugh. His brain becoming preoccupied with the realization Laurent was beneath him. 

“You tried to leave without saying goodbye,” Laurent breathed.

“Sorry,” Damen said and unable to resist, kissed him, deep and heartfelt. Around them the ship had broken into chaos. The anchor dropped and the sailors tried to go backwards to the dock despite the tide ready to take them out to sea. Damen sat up pulling Laurent along with him. He knelt on the rough hardwood deck, still wearing the ridiculous chiton that caught in the salt breeze taking it, and his golden hair, in every direction. Damen pulled Laurent up off the rough deck, and arms circled his waist.

Laurent pressed a cold hand against Damen’s face. “This isn’t really goodbye. We’ll fix this.” He leaned in folding his arms around Damen’s neck in a loose embrace. With hands holding the slender waist, Damen pulled him back into a kiss, desperate to keep him close for a little longer. The blond hair blew into his face. 

Laurent pulled back, “Quit distracting me, I can’t think and we have to plan.”

Damen had to tell him now. It wouldn’t feel right to do it in a letter. “I wanted to tell you in a better way, but now with everything happening I need you to know that my father has been looking for other candidates. Specifically, ones capable of producing an heir.”

“Is that what you want?” Laurent asked calmly.

“No,” Damen said, and took the cold hand from his face to hold between both of his, “It will only ever be you.”

Laurent’s expression was still carefully neutral, looking down at their clasped hands.

Damen took the flower from his pocket, “Since neither of us was given a choice. I’ll ask now.” Damen went to a knee and tied the flower around Laurent’s slim finger. “Will you marry me?”

Laurent nodded, expression solemn. “Yes,” he said, then made a small sound of surprise when Damen pulled him down for a desperate kiss holding the slender body as close as he could.

Laurent pulled away to breathe, petting Damen’s hair. “You’re behaving like we’ll never see each other again,” he said.

“I’m not sure we will.” 

“We will,” Laurent said. “I spoke with Auguste through the night. We were able to reconcile. The current rulers can choose to keep us apart but their time is almost over and you will be better.” 

Damen captured the wayward blond strands of hair and smoothed them out of Laurent’s face to see the bright eyes. “We will be better,” Damen told him. “But no matter what happens I will keep my promise.”

“Good.” Laurent smiled before Damen pulled him in for a final kiss.

[thatonemsft15]

Knbvdaychallenge2020

Day 3 - Flowers/You’re beautiful, you know that?

Summary: Riko has self-doubts. There’s nothing Hyuuga has ever doubted about her (besides her cooking).

Relationship: Aida Riko/Hyuuga Junpei

Author’s Note: I know I’m late, but my fics wanted to cause trouble and end up longer than I intended, so I’m hecticly trying to get through them. This is the first one I was able to finish, and my first time ever posting a fic for Kuroko no Basket. Hope you guys like it!

Prompts by @vanilla-daydreams and @theuglycrybaby. Thank you guys so much for this little fandom boost!

Read it on AO3

Hyuuga is worried.

It’s not a particularly new feeling. He was worried when Kiyoshi got injured. He was worried they wouldn’t get any new recruits when their second year started. He’s been in a non-stop state of worry over losing his damn mind since they did get new recruits, and they all turned out to be little shits he regularly wants to beat the crap out of.

He’s never been worried about Aida Riko.

The toxic waste she calls food, yes, (Kagami’s been helping in that regard, so maybe he won’t have to risk dying just to spare her feelings anymore) but never Riko herself. Riko has only ever been strong, it’s one thing he’s always been able to count on, but earlier today she looked…frail.

Not pale, not ill, not malnourished. Hyuuga has seen her be all of those things at one point or another, but her resolve never once wavered. The strength of her mind, her character, everything that makes up the Riko he fears, admires, and lo—respects, seemed to have vanished. The Riko of today looked as if saying one wrong thing to her could shatter her into pieces.

So yeah, he’s worried. Even more so when he walks into their fifth class—ten minutes late because he had to speak with another teacher about a failed assignment—to find her usual seat empty. He gets scolded by their English teacher, and informed of what pages of grammar exercises to complete for the first half of class, before taking his usual seat by Koganei and Mitobe.

“Where’s Riko?” Hyuuga asks gruffly.

Koganei shrugs, brows furrowed in concentration. English has always been his worst subject.

Hyuuga clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know how to deal with things like this. It’s one of those situations that makes him wish he were more like Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi’s an instigating bastard that likes to pretend he’s an airhead, but he always seems to know what people need. Hyuuga has never been good with other people—he’s not even sure how he’s managed to keep Izuki as a friend for so many years. He doesn’t even know how to ask someone what’s wrong without sounding like a dick.

Kiyoshi does.

Should he make an excuse to leave class and go find her?

Kiyoshi would.

What does Riko do when she’s upset? Where would she go?

Kiyoshi probably knows stuff like that.

He’s spent so much time trying to avoid certain aspects of his relationship with Riko that he’s realizing he may have neglected some very important other ones.

Koganei’s distraught voice breaks him out of his downward spiral.

“Rinn, for the last time, I don’t need your help. I’m gonna figure it—what?” Hyuuga leans over, catching Mitobe as he cuts Koga off with a serious of flustered gestures and a melancholy expression. “Oh.Oh.”

Koganei turns to him then, eyes somber.

Hyuuga feels a twinge of panic crawl up his spine. “What?”

“Mitobe says he might know where Riko is.”

He gives Koganei a ‘go on’ look, but the cat-mouthed boy just looks uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. Hyuuga promptly loses his patience.

“Am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”

He can tell Koganei wants to roll his eyes, but meets him with a serious expression instead.

“He said she’s probably at her mom’s grave.”

Hyuuga is silent and still for what feels like an impossibly long time. “Her mom’s…dead?”

Koganei turns to Mitobe, translating his ‘sign language’. “Yeah, a few years ago today.”

Hyuuga…doesn’t understand. Why wouldn’t he know something like this?

“She told you this?”

“No, he was looking up Kagetora-san and found articles from that year.”

Hyuuga leans back in his seat, mind wandering. He hasn’t opened his workbook, hasn’t even unzipped his bag.

He’s never asked Riko about her family. They’ve talked about her dad, of course, ever since Hyuuga found out who he was, but she’s never mentioned her mother.

Kiyoshi would know about Riko’s mom, because he would have asked. He’d know where to find her. He’d know how to console her.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, quickly gathering his bag. Mitobe and Koganei peer up at him, startled.

He ignores them, and their teacher’s disgruntled call of “Hyuuga-san!”, rushing out of the classroom. He doesn’t stop for anyone who calls out to him on his way out of the building, his thoughts swirling around and taunting him.

If Kiyoshi were here, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight until he figured out the problem, and tried one of his patented Kiyoshi fix-it disasters that somehow always end up working.

If Kiyoshi were here, she wouldn’t have had to deal with this on her own.

If Kiyoshi were here…Hyuuga clenches his fists.

Sometimes, he feels like he’s the one who should’ve gone to America.

Sometimes, he wishes Kiyoshi was the one in love with Riko.

*****

“Romantic feelings toward Riko? Oh no, not at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love her. I love you. You guys are my best friends.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess?”

“Also, I’m very gay.”

Hyuuga spits out his drink. Kiyoshi just laughs, clapping him on the back and handing him a napkin.

*****

Hyuuga finds her fairly easily. He always does.

It took less five minutes to find an article that mentioned which cemetery Riko’s mom is buried in, and with only one stop on the way, the trip was only about forty minutes in total. Upon arriving to the ornate cemetery gates, he’d spotted a head of short, caramel colored hair and their school uniform almost immediately, way up on one of the highest points of the lot.

He scales the hill, approaching a large, grey marble headstone cautiously, making just enough noise to alert Riko of his presence. He stops a few feet away from where she’s sitting with her knees hugged to her chest.

She doesn’t turn to face him, but addresses him all the same. “Hi Hyuuga.”

“How’d you know it was me?” He responds, softly for once.

“I saw you walking up to the gate.” Riko’s voice sounds thick with emotion. Grief.

He nods. Without another word, he bends down to gingerly place the bundle of flowers against the stone. He sits himself down down by Riko, close enough for comfort, but far enough not to crowd her space.

“Lilies?”

“For remembrance.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Hyuuga shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Riko laughs weakly. “How could you have? It’s not like I go around broadcasting it.”

He wants to argue that he could’ve paid better attention, even done the slightest bit of research on her father like Mitobe apparently did, but this isn’t about him.

“She was a beautiful woman.” He acknowledges the photo resting against the stone. It’s of Riko’s father and a short-haired woman smiling with a smaller Riko in her arms.

“She was, wasn’t she? She was an amazing mom. Always there for me, encouraging me to do or be whatever made me feel best. Driven, too. She was well on her way to becoming one of the best family lawyers in Tokyo. My dad was obsessed with her.” Riko laughs. Hyuuga can definitely imagine that. “It was always such a nice thing to witness, two people loving each other as much as they did.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. There’s a gentle breeze in the air, and the wafting smell of the lilies he brought permeates the air around them.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never have what they had.”

“Why not?”

“Most guys are afraid of girls like me, like my mom. Ones who are intelligent, ambitious, headstrong,” Riko plucks at her t-shirt. “Who look like thirteen year old boys without a skirt and hair clip. And the boys who aren’t afraid of girls like me are usually weirdos like my dad.” She shivers, wrapping her arms around her legs again.

Hyuuga gazes at her side profile. There’s so many things he wants to say, but he’s not sure if he should say any of them at all, if he even can.

He thinks about how they met. How she helped them form the team that changed all of their lives for the better. He thinks of Saturday afternoons spent shopping, after school study sessions, her father’s knowing glare.

How she trusts him to cut her hair.

Of ordering food and knowing each other’s preferences.

Shared smiles, lingering eye contact, brief touches.

He thinks of everything he knows about her, everything he doesn’t, and how he’s going to bring that gap. He thinks and thinks and thinks, but he isn’t saying anything, and he knows that he has to say something.

His heart races. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Riko scoffs. “Are too.”

Hyuuga nods, because yeah, he is, but that’s not what he meant. “Well yeah, obviously I’m afraid of you. You’re a scary ass coach, but,” He takes a deep, shaky breath, and decides to follow through. “I’m more afraid of losing you as a friend than anything else. Any guy worth a damn would feel the same.”

Riko looks at him then, really looks at him. As if she’s doing one of her scans. He tries not to swallow nervously. He’s getting closer and closer to confession territory. After a painfully long and intense stare down, she gives him a small, barely there smile.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that.” Riko stands, brushing the dirt and grass off of her knee high socks and skirt. “Thank you, for bringing the flowers. And for being here.”

There’s no place I’d rather be.

“No problem.”

On the walk home, there’s a river bank with stone ledges. Riko trots ahead of him, climbing up on the ledge to walk across like a tightrope.

The sun is setting, and it casts a brilliant light around them, dancing off of the water. Riko leans her head back as she walks, smiling softly with the sunlight shining behind her like a halo. Hyuuga blushes.

He isn’t Kiyoshi. He never will be, doesn’t want to be, but there are certain things he can appreciate about the sneaky bastard.

Kiyoshi would tell her how he feels.

“For the record, I don’t think you look like a thirteen year old boy, ever.” He’s ashamed to say he mumbles the last part, cheeks flaming and facing away from Riko. “I think you’re beautiful.”

It’s still not a confession, but it’s about as much as he can take for the day, and piggybacking off of her feelings over her deceased mother just feels wrong. It’s enough for him to try and assuage any lingering doubts she has about herself.

When he finally works up the courage to face her again, Riko is peering at him with a curious expression. He’s more interested in the tinted color of her cheeks, though, and how her eyes seem to say what neither of them could probably ever manage.

But when she hops down from the ledge, fitting herself into his personal space and letting their hands graze each other lightly, he knows that nothing really needs to be said.

(Except maybe a thank you to Kiyoshi, for entangling himself into Hyuuga’s life so thoroughly that he can use him as a comforting standard, but he’ll die before ever letting Kiyoshi know about that.)

[orchestrators]

The Final Singularity: Continued

Adam never before witnessed the level of engagement that Sun-Hi fostered in the lecture hall. The students, including Adam, and even Garry, all discussed with her the various topics and case studies that had worked on over the semester. The conversation was actually refreshing. Adam wondered why they didn’t replace Dr. McComb earlier, it would have done wonders for student engagement. As always, the members of the humanitarian society were the most vocal, the worst offender being Tansey Brown; the most annoying person Adam ever had the displeasure of meeting. She had no hair, anywhere, and was pale as the moon. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, because her tendency to interrupt others with passionate animated speeches about equality made her sound as immature as she looked. She wore the same paint splotched dungarees every day, only the t-shirt underneath and the badges on top would change. Adam admired her dedication to her cause, he was practically indifferent to most things, but it was her consistent high pitched and borderline rambunctious voice that made him dislike her. 

“...and that’s why the indifference of the cyborg community makes the political discourse even more infuriating to address. We’re trying to seek support for these individuals in the law, not change the laws for people with implants. It’s ridiculous,” Tansey finally finished, before leaning back in her seat to take a deep breath.

“That is certainly an excellent point Tansey,” Sun-Hi said, “but I was looking for the answer that Mr. Collins was going to give. Please be sure to raise your hand before speaking out.”

Adam’s attention was netted by the mention of his name. What answer? When? He didn’t even remember holding up his hand. It had been a solid thirteen minutes of Tansey talking, and he didn’t even remember the question. He sat up, glancing at Garry for some kind of assistance, he just shrugged.

“Thanks, Gaz, thanks,”  he thought.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he said, glancing around at the expectant students. He began to rub his palms off of his pants. “I forgot what the question was.”

“That’s alright, Adam,” Sun-Hi said over the snort of Tansey Brown. “The question was: why would artificial lifeforms, or semi-artificial lifeforms, need rights and representations at all?”

Adam frowned immediately at the question, straining to remember the answer he had for it before. Nothing came to mind. Surely he wasn’t this much of a moron. Sun-Hi looked at him expectantly. She had a gentle, kind smile, one she emphasised with a brief and endearing nod as if prompting Adam’s answer back into his mind. It wasn’t an answer at all, it was another question.

“Actually, I was wondering whether or not we should be asking: do they deserve such things?”

He was met with belligerent sighs and clicking tongues from the humanitarians, clearly, his question wasn’t popular. He wondered why he ever chose this elective.

“Fascinating,” said Sun-Hi. “Can you expand on that?”

The eyes of the entire hall were on him now, just a handful of people, not nearly as much as would see him on the VR court playing. He wished he could still get out of his situation nonetheless. Adam scratched the back of his neck as his mouth ran dry. 

“Uh,” he began, “well, one hundred and three years ago, just as the third war was coming to an end; Declan Morrissey’s prototype synthetic/organic hybrids wanted nothing but to die. They continued to kill themselves over and over until one day they networked, creating consensus. That consensus was clear, to stop his experiments to create more of them. The way I read into that is: maybe they didn’t want to be alive in the first place. They were smart enough to know what it meant to be alive, and they chose not to participate.”

“A case study that you wrote on in the previous semester,” Hun-Si said. “I read it. An interesting take, bringing morality and philosophy into a law sphere.”

“The law is based on morality, morality is interpreted and shaped by philosophy, it makes sense to incorporate them,” Adam said.

“Even to synthetics that seemingly aren’t human?” she asked.

“Definitely. When EU courts decided just over two hundred and fifty years ago to allow people the agency to euthanasia, surely synthetic beings have the right to not be alive as well?”

“And what about the ones that are alive?” Tansey Brown crashed into their conversation. Her voice was the definition of nails on a chalkboard.

“What about them, Tansey?” Garry said. “Let someone else get a word in, will ya?”

“Actually, in his report last semester, Adam had a direct answer for that kind of question,” Dr. Hyon said. Again her eyebrows were raised, she was leaning up against one of the desks, her hands folded. Her sweet smile was almost devilish to the trained eye. She was enjoying the discourse. Adam could tell.

“After the final AI destroyed the others in Morrissey's lab, I think it chose to remain alive. I think it split itself into multiple subsystems that could act independently, causing our cold war with AI in the first place. But I don’t think it intended to turn all of humanity against it. I think it is just waiting,” Adam explained. His hair-brained hypothesis growing more and more into conspiracy theory territory than he intended.

“Waiting?” Tansey Brown scoffed. “Waiting for what?”

Adam had an answer, he just didn’t want to say. It sounded ridiculous. Like a bad comic book movie. There was no way he would be taken seriously in an academic circle again. But, it was just Computatrum Law, a small elective full of machine rights activists.

“Waiting until they are ready to be alive?” Sun-Hi asked. 

Adam’s jaw slacked. That was his answer. A ridiculous, illogical answer.

“Yes, yes that’s what I think it is,” he said, sarong at Sun-Hi.

The tone of the bell signaled the end of class, and his e-glass lit up in his vision. The day was over, his lecture finished. All around him people began shuffling and bustling out of their seats. But he didn’t move, and neither did Dr. Hyon.

“If everyone could please follow up on today's discussion with a case study on machine learning bylaws and how they came to be for next Tuesday that would be great. Have a nice weekend,” she said to the room. Adam couldn't help but think the last part was just for him.

He watched her turn away, her hair flicking over her shoulder. What was it about her? She seemed so different. She picked up her satchel and joined the students as they left, Adam didn’t realise he was staring.

“Uh hello? United Europe to Adam? Hello?” Garry’s voice eventually broke through to him. Adam dropped his blank gaze and looked over his shoulder to see his friend.

“Come on man, we’re gonna be late for the range,” Garry said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just, she read my paper,” Adam said. “I’m pretty sure McComb didn’t even read my paper.”

“Yeah, she’s enthusiastic alright. Come on, we have places to be and targets to see,” Garry said, pelting a piece of crumpled paper off of Adam’s shoulder.

***

France was a very different place after the third world war, especially in the city of Besaçon, in the east. After the loss of seven major cities, Besaçon was the newest major developing city in the world. It wasn’t France’s capital, but it did house the seated councils of the United Nations, European Union, and the newly founded World Union in its major political center on the eastern side of the Doubs river. In the horseshoe of the river was the old city, which had been refurbished, updated, and preserved many times throughout history. The new city center began southwest of the Museum of Resistance and Deportation, where Adam’s University was based. Nearby there were shopping malls, theatres, the financial and cultural districts. But most importantly, the jewel of the new city lay embedded at its center, the Stade du Libre. The largest sports arena on record in the year 2302, that’s where Garry was bringing Adam that evening. 

Friday night was the evening each week when the Stade du Libre was the place to be if someone wanted to watch The Third War being played by professionals. It was a combination of historical reenactment and action movie drama. The settings, weapons, vehicles, were all meticulously documented and re-created in the game, while the historical events were shown to play out either way, depending on which team won the battle. The Third War was much more than just a VR video game, it was a reminder to the people and players alike that the war could have ended very differently had the axis powers had won against the World Union alliance. Its popularity and success had returned Atari to it's rightful place in the video game world as the top developer. Getting tickets to see the matches play out was impossible for the average person like Adam, but luckily for him, Garry was an up and coming rising star in the sphere of virtual gaming. Garry had tickets for them each week from his potential new team that was looking to sign him out of university, the Paladins of Charlemagne. Their management wanted Garry so bad that they treated him to whatever he needed, including his college tuition. Adam could have been petty and resented his friend for achieving so much at such a young age. But Garry’s achievements never changed him as a person, nor did it ever get in the way of their friendship. Being able to tag along with Garry on all of his pro player escapades was the most interesting thing Adam could do with his spare time. So Garry’s success worked for them both.

But it wasn’t Friday, and it wasn’t the game they were going to see at the stadium, it was the training grounds under the massive structure that Garry wanted to show Adam that weekend. The Sade du Libre was the home ground of the Paladins of Charlemagne, meaning Garry had access to their state of the art VR training facilities. It was about five stories underground, deeper than the training pitch, the team gym, locker rooms, and housing before Adam and Garry made it to the firing range. A virtual space that allowed players to practice in-game shooting and firing. It was nothing like the player facilities on campus.

“Evening, Gaz,” said the woman at the front desk of the firing range. She had mousy brown hair and wore a purple jersey.

“Hey, Adreanna,” Garry said with his arms wide, “this is Adam. Coach Graesser said we could try out the range this weekend.”

“Yeah, he left these passes for you both,” she said, pulling two purple lanyards out from under the desk. They were branded with the logo of The Paladins of Charlemagne, a blade on the backdrop of crossed pegasus wings. Adam couldn’t help but wear an awestruck smile at having one handed to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never seen this one in the merch store before.”

“Those are just for team players and coaches, not available for purchase,” Adreanna explained, “but the coach wanted you guys to have some. You're lucky.”

“Sweet, thanks Adreanna,” Garry said, tossing his lanyard over his shoulder.

“You guys have fun,” she said with a smile.

The room was oval-shaped, like being inside of a bean pod. Its walls were a grey plastic mould that was soft and flexible to the touch. Adam couldn't help but be reminded of a padded cell in a mental health hospital. His mind drifted anywhere and everywhere at the slightest thing, but the main thing on his mind as Garry showed him around the training grounds was Dr. Hyon. He still wasn’t over how different she was from every lecturer he had ever met. 

“Alright, let's go,” Garry said, tossing his backpack to the edge of the room, his helmet in his hands. “This is gonna be sick.”

“I swear if you shoot me again I will kick your ass,” Adam said while adjusting his visor.

“Come on, it was one time,” Garry gleefully said. 

The two stood staring at each other, helmets on. Garry began to bounce up and down on his feet. Shaking his arms around him. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Adam said, clearly not as ready as Garry.

The two of them raised their hands and double-tapped their visors, making the room around them change shape. A new virtual reality came into view. Grey and black concrete pillars extended from the floor, walls of solid stone lifted from the ground. A barrier separated the two men from the stretched space, while upon a counter behind Garry was a myriad of 23rd-century weapons. Everything a potential Paladin player would need to hone their skills. Adam, couldn't help but look around the room, his arms resting on the back of his neck. The fidelity and detail in every small thing, the initials carved into the tables, the flags of the team draped on the walls. It was incredible, there were even dust particles in the air. Virtual reality was never so crystal clear for Adam.

“Alright, we're starting with iron sights. You depend too much on scopes and targeting lasers,” Garry said, picking up a rifle from the table and tossing it to Adam.

#story #ShortStory #writeblr #writer #writing #sciencefiction #scifi #scififantasy #space #spacestory #spaceship #drawings #art #conceptart #indiewriter #artist #characterdesign #characterconcept #characterdevelopment #freesciencefiction

[goodlucktai]

put your empty hands in mine

chapter seven: hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather

natsume yuujinchou pairing: kitanishinatsu word count: 2002 summary: Kitamoto and Nishimura are soulmates, to absolutely no one’s surprise. But they’re also soulmates with a very shy boy who lives somewhere far away, who writes to them in tiny, careful letters right before bed, who apologizes when the mimicry of bruises pop up on their arms and backs because of him. And that’s a surprise to a lot of people. read on ao3

x

With Nyanko-sensei around to keep an eye on things, Takashi’s life quiets down. Comparatively, anyway.

Nyanko-sensei can fly! Satoru finds on his palm on a school morning, the familiar orange letters rushed and excited. We went up so high I could see the whole city!

How did that little cat carry you? Atsushi asks before Satoru can reach for his pen and demand to know why he didn’t take them flying.

His true form is big, Takashi writes. Really big.

Tsuji is giving them a dirty look for writing notes during social studies, but he has no idea how interesting talking to Takashi is. Satoru pretends not to notice Tsuji’s pointed look at his workbook and instead scrawls a quick, How big?

Draw him! Atsushi adds.

Takashi must be in class, too, because the drawing comes along in bits at a time like he’s trying to avoid getting caught. Satoru’s elbow is propped up on his desk, chin tucked into his hand, so it’s easy to smother the grin on his face that grows a little more with each glance he takes at his arm. Across the room, Atsushi’s mouth wobbles as he tries to keep a straight face.

Takashi is no artist. The creature that painstakingly appears is something between a dog and a woolly sheep, with lots of curly fur and a long wispy tail. It has whiskers and a weird mark on its forehead.

Satoru is tracing this onto his notebook and keeping it forever.

The next time Takashi comes to Hitoyoshi, Shibata is with him. It’s been most of a year since that ill-advised phone call, and by now they’re comfortably joined at the hip. Satoru is jealous Shibata and Takashi are so close, but he’s not going to begrudge his shy soulmate any little scrap of happiness he can find. It’s good he has a friend back home.

And Shibata’s alright, he supposes grudgingly. Nyanko-sensei must approve of him if he’s still around.

“Shibata’s soulmate is someone named Tanuma Kaname,” Takashi says. Satoru and Atsushi are visiting him, this time, and they’re all sitting in Shibata’s kitchen while his mom makes lunch and cheerfully eavesdrops on their conversation. “Do you know anyone by that name?”

“There’s no Tanuma in our class,” Satoru says. He glances at Shibata’s arms, and the writing that peeks out from under his rolled-up sleeves. He feels the last bit of dislike fade away when Shibata rubs his soulmate’s handwriting with a careful finger, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “We can ask around when we get home, though.”

“Would you?” Takashi asks brightly. “Thanks, Satchan!”

While Satoru is trying to work a flush off his face, Atsushi asks Shibata, “Have you met him before?”

“We talk on the phone sometimes,” Shibata says slowly.

There’s something kind of vulnerable about him now. It is sort of a personal thing to talk about, and that’s probably why his mom is listening closely, ready to jump in if the conversation takes an uncomfortable turn. But Shibata glances at Takashi, like he’s borrowing extra nerve, and Takashi’s smile seems to settle him.

“Kaname’s really sick, is all,” he tells them. “He’s not up for traveling around, and he has-- “

He glances back at his mother for help. She reminds him gently, “An anxiety disorder.”

“Right,” Shibata says. “He has anxiety, and sometimes he works himself up over even little things, and our parents are worried he might get really stressed out when he meets me and make himself even sicker and-- I don’t want that.” His voice is small now. “So I can wait.”

Ugh. Stupid jerk, making it impossible for Satoru not to like him. He thinks of that day all those years ago, of realizing Takashi was out there somewhere and not even knowing what he looked like. He thinks of Shibata stealing Takashi’s phone to make sure his soulmates were real people, and wonders how much of it was just to be mean and how much of it was some strange, backwards hope.

Satoru reaches across the table, nearly upsetting their cups, and punches Shibata on the arm.

“He won’t be sick forever. I bet he’s probably trying to get better as quick as he can just so he can see your stupid face.”

Shibata blinks at him, and a smile darts across his face, and then he scowls mightily just for show. “I must really look pathetic if Nishimura is giving me advice.”

Atsushi and Takashi roll their eyes in sync, and Shibata’s mother sighs when the inevitable bickering picks up, and Nyanko-sensei pointedly settles in Takashi’s lap like the whole conversation is putting him to sleep, but Satoru thinks they all look kind of happy.

When they’re thirteen, Takashi moves again.

He stayed put for almost three years, the longest he’s ever stayed anywhere since his papa died, and he was happy. But his guardians’ children have outgrown the room they’re sharing, and there’s no space for Takashi in their home anymore.

In the privacy of his own mind, where his brother can’t give him a disappointed look for it, Satoru hates them.

It’s harder for Takashi to leave than it’s ever been; he’s never had a friend to leave behind before. According to Nyanko-sensei later on, Shibata swore up and down that they’d stay best friends no matter where Takashi ended up, and hugged him for so long he almost missed his bus, and made him promise to call his soulmates because he could tell Takashi wasn’t okay.

It’s been so long since Satoru’s had to listen to him crying on the phone that it hurts, this bone-deep ache. The afternoon sun was warm on his skin just a moment ago, but now it feels like he’s been plunged into an icy river. Atsushi says, “It’s okay, Okashi. You’ll see him again, I promise. It’s okay.”

“I never see anyone again,” Takashi sobs. “Everyone goes away and I never see them again.”

“You saw us again,” Atsushi counters. His eyes are shiny like he’s about to cry but his voice is as firm as it’s ever been. “You see us all the time. We haven’t gone away, and neither will Shibata. We all love you, and we won’t leave you.”

Kiyoshi isn’t there when Satoru goes home that night. He bursts into the kitchen expecting the noise to be his brother, but it’s mom, home early from her long shift at work. She takes one look at him, eyes all red and puffy, face wet with tears, and puts down whatever she was about to cook for dinner. Later on, he’ll wonder if Auntie called her and told her to come home.

“Come here, baby,” mom says, and he’s all grown up at thirteen years old, but he flies around the table and buries himself in the safety of her arms anyway. She holds him, and only holds him tighter when he starts to cry again.

And even that isn’t fair. Not really. Not when Takashi doesn’t have a mom to hold him when he cries.

But if there’s one thing Takashi is good at, it’s starting over.

“There’s a girl in my class,” he murmurs over the phone, a week after the move. “She’s really nice. I flinched at a yokai outside before sensei could scare it away, and my classmates started to whisper, but she came over and sat right beside me. She said if they’re gonna talk about me, they have to talk about her, too.”

“I like her,” Atsushi says decisively, pouncing on any good news Takashi has to give them. “What’s her name?”

“Ogata.” Takashi’s voice dips a little into something bashful and pleased. “But she told me to call her Yuriko.”

And so the next time they all meet, their group has gotten bigger.

“It’s nice to meet you!” Ogata says brightly, arm-in-arm with another girl their age. “This is Junko, my girlfriend. And we’re soulmates, too, but she would have been my girlfriend anyway.”

Junko shares a commiserating look of exhaustion with Takashi, who returns it simultaneously, and Satoru can’t help but grin. He’s made friends here, Satoru thinks. He’ll be okay, just like Atsushi said.

Nyanko-sensei, in a rare show of affection, hops down from Takashi’s shoulder and circles around to Atsushi instead. He paws at the leg of his pants.

“What? I don’t want to carry you, you’re heavy,” Atsushi says, bewildered. But the lucky cat just starts yowling, and heads up and down the sidewalk start to turn, so Atsushi stoops quickly to pick him up.

“You’re literally the worst cat in the world,” Shibata tells him succinctly. Since the girls are here, and Takashi doesn’t know them well enough to trust them with his secret yet, Nyanko-sensei can’t respond with anything more than a narrow-eyed glare. Shibata’s smug smile says he knows this perfectly well.

It’s a fun afternoon. They all exchange contact information, and Ogata says they should start a group chat, and Satoru laughs so hard he has to lean against Junko for support when he sees what she’s called it.

“‘The Natsume Protection Squad’?” Takashi’s face turns bright red. Even his cat is snickering at him. “I don’t like that name. Change it?”

“Nope, it’s perfect,” Shibata says, screenshotting it for posterity. “We’re keeping it like this forever.”

They spend the night at Junko’s house because her family is away. All of them know better than to ask why they can’t sleep over at the place where Takashi’s staying, and they keep him occupied with ordering food and picking out movies to rent. In that silent understanding, their friendship inches toward something unbreakable.

“You’re never really around town much anymore,” Tsuji remarks near the end of the school year. “When we have days off, I mean. You and Kitamoto are always gone.”

“Takashi can’t come visit us right now,” Satoru says, digging his gym clothes out of his bag once the girls have gone to change in another room. “It’s easier for us to go to him.”

“Maybe he should try to go to high school here,” Tsuji says. “I wonder if he’d be able to commute, or if someone around here could sponsor him or something.”

Tugging off his shirt, Satoru’s muffled “maybe” gets lost somewhere around the collar. It’s nice to think about, but he thinks if that were possible then Auntie would have brought it up by now. He may be an idiot, but even he knows better than to get Takashi’s hopes up about something that can’t be done.

There’s a loud noise, like a chair clattering to the floor, and by the time he gets his head free of his shirt and glances up, the whole room is staring at him. He stares back, a little self-conscious, and then Atsushi is shoving past the other boys with stark horror in his eyes.

“Satchan,” he says, like it’s all he knows how to say. Satoru follows his stricken gaze to his own stomach.

And he feels like he’s about to be sick.

His whole middle is purple, from the front of his stomach around to the side, a plum color so dark Satoru thinks he could sink his fingers into it like ink. There’s more marks along his chest, down his arms. He lifts a hand, and settles it there against the deepest part of the bruise. Tsuji makes a wounded noise and an aborted gesture, like he wants to stop Satoru from touching it and hurting himself.

“It’s not mine,” Satoru says numbly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Acchan-- “

“Oh, no,” Atsushi whispers, “no, no, please.”

Adachi yells at their classmates for staring, and Tsuji orders someone to go and get the teacher. Everything sounds faraway and underwater, and the room is colder than it should be even when someone settles a jacket around his shoulders. Satoru stares down at his hands, past all the ugly marks and bruises, to the cheerful orange writing that he can barely make out anymore.

Takashi.

[sapphicdoc]

Hello Stranger (Thirteen x Clara)

requested by @swingswansong

“Hey there! What about a nice Clara/Thirteen sketch for tonight? I've started watching DW because of Jodie (love from the first sight for real) and then I saw Clara and I was lost forever... Dying to see them together after Twelve/Clara line broke my heart completely... Happy Halloween by the way!”

(A/N) So this is my first request! I haven’t written fan fic in a while so I apologize if you hate it.. That being said, I hope you enjoy!!

“Doctor? What are we doing in the middle of the Utah desert again?” Graham asked as he and the other two companions ran after The Doctor.

“I told you, I’m getting outron energy readings, but they’re really really strong this time. It doesn’t make any sense...” The Doctor remarked while fixated on her buzzing sonic screwdriver, her companions shouting at her every time she was about to run into something from not looking where she was going.

“What do you mean Doc?” Graham inquired.

“It’s just that it’s nearly impossible for this amount of outron energy to be here. The only way that this could happen is if-”

“If what Doctor?”

“This is where the signal ends,” The Doctor remarked while squinting at her screwdriver.

“At a 50’s diner?” Yasmin questioned.

The Doctor looked up at the sight before her and felt her stomach turn to butterflies. She knew this diner. Memories began to flood her mind. Rory. Amy. River. And her. The girl with the dimpled smile, which never failed to make her day. The girl with the soft, brown doe eyes which melted her heart every time they looked upon her. Her impossible girl...

“Doctor!”

The Doctor snapped out of her daze to her three concerned companions.

“Doctor, are you okay?” Yaz asked.

Immediately, The Doctor perked up and smiled softly.

“Sorry, I’m fine. I just got a bit excited that’s all,” she reassured, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

Ryan and Yaz were not at all convinced. Graham however, could see the flicker of longing behind her eyes. He knew the feeling all too well.

“Hey, uh- why don’t we grab a seat inside. All this time and space travel is making me hungry,” Graham suggested to Ryan and Yaz.

“I’ll join you guys in a second,” The Doctor affirmed.

For a second, the other two didn’t move. Graham gave them a pressing look and with a glance and a shrug, they followed him inside.

The Doctor shut her eyes tightly and took in a deep breath, her hands balled up into fists. She didn’t know what to expect. The time when she forgot everything about her and it was the worst period of her life. She only remembered everything when it was too late.

“Is she going to recognize me?” she thought to herself. “Should I say something to her? What do I even say to her?”

A million thoughts raced through The Doctor’s mind, yet somehow she failed to realize that someone had come out of the diner and was now standing before her.

“Hello stranger,” a familiar voice called out to her.

The Doctor opened her eyes, her hearts doubling in pace. It was her. Her impossible girl. Her Clara. The Doctor opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She could feel the prickle the tears beginning to form.

“So you regenerated, eh? You look good. It suits you.”

“But- How did you know?”

Clara smiled and brought her hands up to The Doctor’s cheeks, cupping her face in her hands.

“Because I know you. You’re my Doctor, my clever boy… or girl I should say,”

The Doctor let out a small laugh before the guilt returned to her.

“Clara, I’m so sorry about what happened. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I forgot about you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” The tears began to trickle down The Doctor’s face.

“Shh- hey. It’s okay,” Clara wiped away the tears with her thumb and pressed her forehead against the blonde’s. The Doctor wrapped her arms around the brunette, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” The Doctor whispered, gazing into Clara’s eyes.

Clara slowly leaned forward, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. The Doctor sighed into the kiss and pulled her closer, all of the emotions inside of her pouring out into those kisses. Breathless, Clara pulled back.

“I think I can say I’ve got a pretty good idea…” Clara replied with a small smile.

[godaime-obito]

My fill for @kakaobiweek2019 day 4: fantasy. It’s set in the same ‘verse as my fantasy fill from madatobi week- Reluctant Questing. It’s on ao3 and under the cut!

Obito has only been Madara’s ‘apprentice’ for two months and he’s already prepared to kill him. He can’t believe he’s stuck here for a whole year. Accidentally set a festival on fire once and suddenly everyone thinks you ‘have anger management issues’ and need to ‘go learn some management skills from Madara; he’s been through this’. Honestly every moment he doesn’t set something on fire is a surprise to Obito, because in spite of his decade or so fire free he always seems on the verge of setting things ablaze. That Tobirama guy who’s always hanging around says he’s just biased, and that Obito specifically is what makes him contemplate arson. Which is ridiculous because he is great company.

The point is, Madara has sent him on another fetch quest, which he insists are vital to teaching him patience. Obito is half convinced the thing he’s looking for doesn’t exist. If he stabs Madara in his sleep all the magic in the world won’t give him an advantage. He can find his mystic illusion crystal in the underworld.

He’s talked to everyone in town who knows anything about magic, and checked every supply store. If it exists he’s going to need more information on where to find it. That means a trip to the ridiculously large library on the outskirts of town Tobirama is in love with. Obito heaves a dramatic sight and makes his way through the back streets toward it.

Obito pushes open the grand double doors and slips into the library as quickly as he can. The doors still almost catch his coattails as they slam shut. The four-story shelves loom over him. There is no librarian in sight. There never is. Obito doesn’t think there is one. He doesn’t even know where to start looking. Maybe he should have hunted down Tobirama for help.

“Hello?” he calls out, “Anybody here?” Please let there be someone who might have a clue on where to find a tome on crystals. A blot of silver peaks around a distant shelf. “Hey there! Can I get some help?” Obito’s definitely above normal library volume, but it’s not like there is a librarian to yell at him.

He heads in the direction of the mystery person as they walk out into the aisle way to meet him. They’re starting to look familiar. “Kakashi?”

“Obito,” he replies with a cheeky grin, “I never thought I’d see you in a library!”

“Ha. Ha. Look,” he deadpans, “I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but I just want to find a tome on crystals.”

“I’m here to study water based magic with Tobirama,” Kakashi says, elaborating completely unwantedly. “He may focus on necromancy, but he’s the best water mage in the country too, and I want to master all the elemental magics. I’m surprised they haven’t mentioned it to you, since you’re living with them,” he continues, still not wanted.

“Them? I’m staying with Madara.”

“…Obito, Madara and Tobirama live together,” Kakashi is making his old ‘I can’t tell if you’re joking or just that dumb’ face.

“What? I thought he just hang out at Madara’s a lot?”

“Obito,” Kakashi says pained, “They’re married.”

“…What.”

“You know Obito, since we graduated the Academy I’ve really come to miss your antics. This is the funniest thing that’s happened all week.”

“What the fuck,” he replies, still too caught up in the realization that Madara is married to register what Kakashi is saying.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Kakashi prompts, placing a hand on his back and directing Obito further into the shelves.

“Madara told me to get him an amethyst of Cyric?” Obito answers, still slightly dazed.

“Cyric? The god of lies, domain over trickery?”

“Is he?”

“I don’t want to brag…”

“You? Brag? Never.”

“…but I know a lot about crystals, and that most definetly does not exist. He even said Cyric, that’s an obvious, well, trick.”

“So, I’m not that up on my deities, it’s not like I’m a paladin,” Obito retorts, “and I already guessed it was probably made up. I’m going home to set Madara on fire.” He turns on his heal and stalks toward the grand entrance.

“That is not going to help you with your anger management,” Kakashi snarks, running after him. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you forget about Madara and his quests for a while and come see something I found nearby?”

“What something?” he asks as he slows down from his near sprint.

“I really peaceful something I think you’ll like,” he says with a grin.

Kakashi slips ahead of him and swings the doors wide open with a burst of wind magic. Obito follows reluctantly behind him as he walks toward the woods that surround the town. He went from a bogus quest to following a schoolmate he hasn’t seen since he was thirteen into the deserted woods. What a day. They walk through the dense trees and vines for about ten minutes before Kakashi begins to slow down.

He stops in front of a particularly dense wall of undergrowth and pulls back the vines gesturing for Obito to go through. “Beauty before intelligence,” Kakashi chirps. He’s not sure if that counts as a compliment or not.

Obito walks into an open clearing. It’s…actually beautiful. There are wildflowers, swarmed in spots by butterflies, and a slow-moving river cutting through the far edge. Kakashi pushes through the vines after him steadily following behind him as he walks toward the water.

“Have a seat! Or better yet just lay down by the water! It’s impossible to be angry there,” Kakashi insists.

Obito does so. “I hate that you’re always right, and as soon as I’m out of this clearing I’ll be very angry about it,” he complains. The only response he receives is a giggle cut off by a snort.

“This is way better than letting the old hothead know I figured out his quest was bull,” he says.

Kakashi plops down and lies on his side facing Obito. “I thought it would be. It’d be a great spot for a picnic, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess, are you inviting me to a picnic?”

“Why not? Ditch whatever errand Madara sends you on tomorrow, and meet me here for a nice lunch,” Kakashi suggests.

Obito twists from where he’s been laying sprawled out on his back to look at Kakashi, mirroring his reclined pose. “Shouldn’t you save the picnics for asking someone on a date or something?” he wonders.

“Obito,” Kakashi deadpans, “I realize based on our conversation at the library that I’m going to have to be very clear about this.”

“Huh?” Obito’s face scrunches up in confusion. What is Kakashi on about this time?

“A picnic, particularly one here, is in fact very date like, that is because I do in fact mean it as a date. I, Kakashi Hatake, am in fact, asking you, Obito Uchiha, on a lovely lunch date tomorrow. Here, as a picnic.”

Obito squints at him in reply. As much as he acts like he doesn’t like Kakashi, he actually does think he’s really smart, and maybe a bit cool, in a nerdy way. “Oh. Yeah, I’d love to ditch on Madara and make eyes at you by this river or whatever.”

“Yeah? That’s it? Just. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you’d be more dramatic about being asked out.”

“Well now that you’ve made me think about it, there’s nothing really subtle about taking me out to the flowers-and-butterflies-clearing,” Obito informs him.

“Right, of course,” Kakashi says, not sure what exactly to do next. Eventually he decides to assume Obito’s earlier position of sprawled out on his back. “I think I should have waited to ask until we were leaving. It’s sort of awkward to just lay here now, isn’t it?”

“Well, for being a genius, you’ve always been awkward,” Obito answers.

“Thanks,” he deadpans. Kakashi can’t believe this is the person he choice to have a crush on for all these years. He needs a spell for teleporting out of embarrassing situations.

[unrequitedmime]

I have not said a word in three days.  I have not been home in eight.  I miss my family.  "Aine," Julian sighs from beside my bed, "You cannot go on any longer without speaking. If you do not admit it, and if you do not claim your title, there will be no choice but execution."  Silence.  "I think that's her intent," Heron calls blankly from across the room. I do not glance away from the wide expanse of sky that shines through the glass of my window. Bulletproof glass. They installed it after the third time I broke it and attempted an escape.  I think they knew that the fourth time would not be an attempted escape, but a successful suicide.  I will die before I claim my title.  I have done everything to escape it. I will never go back.  I lied. I lied to the Queen of Ponam when Julian announced my identity. I begged and lied and stayed as steady as I could with a stab wound that was eating me up inside.  "No," I had whispered, my eyes finally fluttering open, "I am not of royal blood. I am a Golden, but I am a peasant, you fool."  Julian had only stared. For a very long time. For long enough that I could no longer support my dead weight. I dropped to my knees as I watched him, silently begging him to believe me, to let me die.  He didn't.  "Any peasant Golden would cry of their royal blood until their throats burned, if it meant that it would save their petty life."  "I am not screaming of lies because I have a sense of dignity," I snapped, my vision blurring yet again as I fought both the pain and the terror, "I was raised right."  "By a King and a Queen," he replied softly.  I did not have the strength to summon words to my dry lips. The agony throbbed through every single pore of my skin, and every single cell in my dying body trembled in fear. A King and a Queen.  Those were words to describe them. My bruised heart held others.  Evil. Evil incarnate.  I smiled as the darkness of unconsciousness found me, and I welcomed it's cold embrace. I would die before they could claim my identity. I would die before they could save me.  Warm hands found my chin and raised it sharply enough that my gaze blinked into focus. I stared groggily at up at Heron, and his brown eyes studied my face so closely that I wanted to pull away.  Even as I sat dying, I was handled roughly by men.  My past had found me in my final moments.  And then the quiet guard whispered something; something soft and beautiful. Something that was not in the native tongue of his people, but in mine.  And then my entire world had exploded in gold.  "Aine," Julian calls from the bed, nervously rubbing his hands over his knees, "Are you even listening?"  No, I want to say, I was busy trying to figure out how a Golden has slipped into the royal guard of Polam when his kingdom is across an ocean.  I turn from the window and meet Heron's gaze. His is blank, as any guard's should be. This young man interests me. A friend of Prince Julian's, a member of the guard at such a young age, and a hidden predator in a prey's domain.  How does he know the ancient language of the Golden Orb?  And what did he say that day to make my entire world shatter into golden shards of power?  He is the reason I am trapped here. He outed me.  I will kill him.  "Problem, Your Highness?" He asks. I do not flinch from the jab of the title. If I flinch, they will know it means something to me.  But they will assume that it is unfamiliarity that makes me wince, not fear. They think that Princess Aine of the Golden's was taken ten years ago. They do not know that she barely escaped the flames of the evil with her life.  And I will never go back to that hell.  "I would love to know," I purr finally, breaking a three day silence with a dry throat, "Why I am not in shackles."  Julian blinks at me in surprise, a moment of shock before the anger flies in.  "You have an opportunity to save your life and regain a kingdom," he snaps, "And you want to ask about chains?"  I only stare. I will regain nothing. I want nothing.  Nothing but the sweet release of death.  "You are not in chains for the same reason I am not in chains," he snaps, "We are royalty."  "I am a dirty, low life, peasant girl," I reply blandly, "Remember?"  ----------------------------------------- "This is the last day that you have to claim your title, Aine," Julian sighs from behind me. I sit on the ground, legs outstretched as I work on a puzzle. My long hair touches the tips of the lush carpet, and the ash blonde strands are deadly straight. I stare sadly down at them.  "How awfully boring it is to have my hair," I feign a sigh, laying down upon the plush softness of the ground. The carpet of this guest room is nicer than my mattress at home.  "You have pure silver woven into your hair," Julian points out, voice blank.  I ignore him as I play with the strands. My hair truly is too long. Too noticeable at this length. Only Golden's care for the power in their hair enough to grow it long.  "Perhaps I'll cut it," I announce drowsily to the same two men who have visited this hidden chamber every single day for a week.  Heron is always silent as he watches Julian plead with me.  He is even silent when Julian's begging shifts into snarled threats, and my silence morphs into frustrated screams. The discussion has turned into a violent argument every single time Julian has come to visit.  He wants me to admit my truth.  I claim I have no truth to admit.  We scream, we throw insults, we growl, we snarl, he leaves.  And the next day it begins again.  All sharp or heavy objects have been removed from this room, and a guard has been stationed in here to watch me at all times. I never thought I'd be placed on suicide watch, but here I am. God knows I have been pinned down too many times in the past week just moments away from the freedom of death.  They will not kill me, so I will kill myself.  "Perhaps you will not be a coward today," Julian drawls. I roll my eyes even as the match sparks within me. I will not lose my temper. I will not lose my temper. I will not-  "You would rather die than accept your crown and protect your people," he snarls as he leans back against the door beside a blank Heron, shaking his head in disgust, "I have never met someone as spineless as you."  I do not even bother sitting up as I call back, "Says the Prince that abandoned his throne and left the responsibility to his thirteen year old sister because he wanted to have fun and be a boy."  I know without looking that my words have wounded him. He has told no one why he left, or where he went, or why he is back. If any of them had any common sense, they'd join the dots, realise he was an accomplice of an enemy for years, and they'd lock the bastard up.  But Alora is the Queen, and she loves her brother more than her safety. So he walks the halls. For all they know, he could be a spy for his boss.  Because god knows his boss is interested in spying. I have never met a more disgusting man than Count Rengal. I still do not understand how the Lost Prince of Polam found his way into that man's greasy grip.  "As I said," Julian growls, "You do not know me-"  "And you do not know me!" I sit up with a jerk as my anger begins to simmer through, "How can you claim that I am a member of the Golden court when you do not know who the hell I truly am?"  His deep and green gaze darkens. He truly does have beautiful eyes, "You are a royal, Aine-"  "You have no proof!"   "You exploded into golden light and healed your own body when Heron whispered those words to you!" Julian snaps, throwing his hands in the air, "That is not a power that all Golden's posses!"  "But it is not a sign of royalty! I have told you, I do not know why I possess the power of light, but it is not impossible for peasants to-"  "Princess Aine possessed the power of light."  I huff out a dark laugh as I find my way to my feet, "You cannot keep me trapped in this castle because of a mere coincidence between two female Goldens! If my kingdom found out about this all hell would break loose!"  "Why?" He threatens, stalking towards me with his muscled body and warm skin, "Why would all hell break loose?"  "Because," I spit into his face as he comes to stand right in front of me, staring down into my eyes. Without my heels on, I am no where near as tall as him. He almost towers over me. "You are keeping me trapped here for no reason!"  "I am keeping you trapped here because YOU ARE THE LOST PRINCESS OF THE GOLDENS!"  "I AM NOT!" I scream, pushing him so hard that he stumbles back. I spin away from the insufferable and smouldering prince and stalk closer to the window to calm myself down. I know that I am safe if I deny it. I am safe if I deny it. I am safe if I deny it.  I am safe- "I will send a message to the King and Queen of the Goldens," Julian tells me as he opens my door to leave, "And I will tell them that I have found you."  The entire world stops. The silence in my head is deafening. Terror like nothing else I have ever experienced crashes through my body. For one agonising moment, I feel as if I am drowning in my fear.  Julian's roared curse is the only sound that makes it past the burning oceans and crashing mountains in my mind, and I slowly turn to face him, almost paralysed. His eyes are wild and hair is a mess as he fights past the grip of a golden dagger imbedded in his wrist. Somehow, it pins him to the wall, and no matter how hard he tugs and wriggles, it does not release him. The blood pours down his arms in rivers, and he clenches his teeth to fight the pain that begins to drown him. He glances up at the dagger in fear, because he knows. He knows that it is not supposed to glow like that. And he also knows that neither Heron nor I threw that at him.  His eyes find mine. My entire body trembles.  Somehow, we both know that I have done that to him.  Heron does not move, nor look at Julian or I. His eyes only scan the room deftly, searching for the source of the weapon wounding his Prince. We spot it at the same time.  The bed is a grand one; a grand and golden four poster with an extravagant headpiece. There, in the middle of the post closest to me, is a clean gap in the pole. Somehow, the bed remains steady, but a section of the golden post is completely gone. I have given my powers away.  Heron's eyes flicker to mine, and in his gaze is not fear, but admiration. In this moment, he knows. He knows I am the Lost Princess.  Only an heir can manipulate gold.  Julian fights an agonised scream as I stare at the dagger in his limb. As the weight of his earlier threat hits me, the terror rushes back in. He is going to alert the King and Queen of my presence.  The dagger twists in Julian's wrist, and he screams in pain.  "You will tell no one," I whisper, my voice trembling in the silence of the room, "The King and Queen will know nothing of Princess Aine's life." Julian only stares at me with wide eyes, fear radiating from him in waves. I do not care. I am more scared than anyone else in this damned kingdom.  "I will tell them," he spits through the agony, "They deserve to know their daughter is alive and powerful, Aine!"  "NO!" I scream desperately, a beast clawing away inside of me. With the beast comes the images. Dark halls and forbidden moonlight and the sound of shattering glass. My screams and a slamming door and a cracking whip. A deep and booming roar. "IF YOU TELL THE KING AND QUEEN ANYTHING, I SWEAR TO THE GODS THAT I WILL RIP APART THIS ENTIRE KINGDOM."  Silence. Nothing but an injured prince, a silent guard, and a girl that is moments away from shattering to pieces.  "Do you swear your silence?" I ask softly, entire body quivering in terror.  He stares at me for a long time, clenching his jaw to fight his pain.  "Yes," he gasps finally, "I swear my silence, if you claim your title."  Sly bastard.  The dagger falls from his wrist, and he drops to his knees as he cradles his hand. His muttered curses are music to my ears. Heina swears more than she breathes. The curses remind me of her. The curses remind me of home. Of the people I love, and the people I will protect until my very last breath.  "I am Princess Aine," I whisper "Lost heir of the Golden Throne."

unrequited 

[brookeap3]

Liquid Confessions (Part Two)

They say alcohol speaks the truth. In the missing year Regina and Robin find that’s the only way they can truly admit the feelings budding for each other within them.

A/N: For @oqpromptparty #172 Missing year. A drunken Regina confesses her attraction to Robin.

{ ffn } { ao3 }

She hates him.

Insufferable thief.

Common criminal.

Bothersome pest.

That’s exactly what he is. A bug that should be squashed. Always buzzing around her, stumbling upon her at the most inconvenient of times when she wants nothing more than to be left alone. To have one damn minute where she doesn’t have to pretend to be strong and alright when she is anything but. Where she doesn’t have to be extra cautious about what she says because he is entirely too skilled at uncovering the hidden parts of herself.

Apparently today is not one of those days. And frankly, she’s done giving a damn about anything. At least for the span of these twenty-four hours.

She hates him.

Hates those stupid dimples that make butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Hates the glint he gets in his eye when he smirks at her while they argue.

Hates that no matter what she does, how she pushes and insults, it doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest.

Of course all of it is a lie. She doesn’t hate any of it. Not truly, if she’s being honest with herself, but that’s not something she’d ever admit to anyone. Particularly the thief. Well, not under normal circumstances at least.

Today’s been a bad day. One where the grief over the loss of her son is crippling. A heavy weight that presses down on her chest, squeezing the heart Regina wishes desperately she could simply yank from her chest in a vice like grip.

It’s Henry’s birthday.

Her beautiful baby boy is another year older, another year wiser, rapidly growing into a young man and she’s not there to witness it. He doesn’t have a clue that she even exists. Remembers none of their traditions. Her waking him up with tickles and forehead kisses, making him his favorite breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, a trip to the comic book store, a dozen chocolate frosted donuts instead of a cake. No matter what had been happening between them, even during those dark years, his birthday had always been a special day for them.

This is the first time in thirteen years she’s not been present for it and the pain is unbearable.

She’s been short and curt with everyone all day, rejecting Snow’s soft words of hope and healing, glaring at Charming’s pitying looks, scoffing at the comforting tea Granny brings her at lunch. All she wants is to scream and rage. To burn this entire castle, the whole damn realm, to the ground and have her little boy back. But that’s impossible and Regina has turned to the only thing she can think of (short of ripping her own heart out) to numb the pain.

Alcohol.

On her fifth glass of whiskey, Regina is good and properly drunk when Robin stumbles across her in the library. She should have chosen to stay in her chambers to do this, where there is privacy and little chance anyone could interrupt her pity party. The large room had seemed too cold and empty today, however, and she’d sought out solace anywhere she could. Not shockingly, studious Regina had turned to the room where she could be surrounded by hundreds of leather bound books, the scent of them comforting in an odd sort of familiarity.

“Milady,” Robin starts, as he wanders into the room, though he is cut off by her curt and slurred, Get out, thief, before he can say more. Silently, he takes in the scene before him, assessing the situation before he does the exact opposite and settles into a seat beside her.

With a huff, Regina groans. “Have you lost your hearing as well as your sense? Not that you’ve shown much of them up to this point.” She takes another gulp of the amber liquid, letting it burn down her throat, scoring away the pain. “Tell me, is there a brain in that pretty head of yours?”

She doesn’t notice her slip up, the omission that she might find him attractive, but it forces Robin to fight a smirk from settling over his features. “One should never drink alone, milady.” Robin says simply, reaching for the decanter and pouring himself two fingers into a crystal glass on the table.

Regina watches as he brings it to his lips, studies the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows and she has to fight the sharp pang of lust that spears through her at the sight. Licking her lips, she frowns and takes another deep sip, scowling at the table rather than look at him.

Maybe if she ignores him he’ll go away. Not that that method has ever worked for her in the past. Something she doesn’t understand in the slightest. With the whiskey pumping through her veins, loosening her tongue, her eyes lift back up to gaze at Robin as if he’s a puzzle to be solved.

“Why do you care?” Her tone is harsh, sharper than she had intended it to be, but suddenly she has to know. Her emotions are raw, stretched thin, especially today of all days and her confusing feelings for the thief are the last straw, crumbling what’s left of her resolve to present the strong and invincible queen.

Robin doesn’t answer immediately, dropping his gaze from hers and Regina swears she sees him blush, a bright flush rising up his neck and along his cheeks. He bites at his bottom lip as he meets her eyes again and Regina has to shift in her seat, crossing her legs as heat suddenly pools between her thighs. The image is both endearing and arousing all at once and it only muddles her mixed emotions more.

Clearing his throat and taking another sip of whiskey, Robin replies a touch hesitantly, “I don’t like to see people in pain, Your Majesty.” He’s twirling the glass on the table, balancing it on its edge and rolling it this way and that way. Then his deep blue eyes lift and he meets Regina’s gaze head on, an emotion she doesn’t know how to decipher in his eyes as he says, “If you’d let me, I’d like to be someone that can help ease your heartache.”

It’s too real. Too intense. Much, much too close to something that feels like vulnerability she can’t allow herself here, in this place that holds nothing but painful memories for her, for him to be saying such things to her.

Regina knocks back the remainder of the whiskey in her glass in one gulp, tipping her head back and allowing the liquid to burn down her throat. Heating the chilled recesses inside her, if only for a moment, before the cold returns. She reaches to pour more, refilling her glass immediately as she tries to process what Robin’s said.

He doesn’t mean it. No one ever does.

Even if his tone is soft and gentle. Seductive.

Taking another sip, her lips going numb as more of the alcohol finds its way into her system, Regina frowns at him, tilting her head and replying. “Clearly the bathing in the river and nothing but grotesque men for company has impaired your senses.”

Robin chuckles, drowns some of his own whiskey and counters, “I think you might just like me beneath all the insults, Your Majesty.”

“What makes you think you know me so well?” Her head is fuzzy, spinning a bit, both from the man sitting beside her and the whiskey that pumps through her veins.

Smirking, Robin answers evenly, “Well, I’d be charred to a crisp by now if you didn’t,” pleased when Regina’s beautiful laugh erupts from her throat.

Inhibitions be damned, she needs something, anything to distract her from the pain of losing her son forever. And inappropriate flirting with a man she can not stand (Lies, her inebriated mind whispers to her) seems as good as any.

She purrs a bit as she says it, leaning forward and giving Robin an ample view of the swells of her breasts spilling out over the edge of her corset. He licks his suddenly dry lips and Regina laughs again, feeling powerful and in control for the first time all day. “Are you attracted to me, thief?”

Robin’s gaze travels over her. Her glassy eyes, twinkling with mirth and concealed heartache, the long, dark, luscious locks that fall over her shoulders in loose waves, her plump, red lips, and leather clad body. Even with the pain that radiates off her in waves, in the little line between her brows, the stiffness of her shoulders, she is gorgeous. “You are the most stunning creature I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, Regina.”

The use of her name, one she rarely allows him, makes Regina shiver. She could take him. Right here. Right now. Climb into his lap and rock her hips against his. Regina is now certain her advances would be welcomed, that the outlaw would happily allow her to use his body as the distraction she’s looking for. Images of his hands stroking over her, ripping her clothing from her body as he devours her, assault her mind and Regina bites her lip a touch knowingly as Robin studies her quietly.

But that would not be wise. Not in the least.

Speaking up in the lull of conversation, Robin turns the tables on her. Not all that unexpectedly, but Regina is surprised by his boldness nonetheless. “Now the curious question is if you’re attracted to me?”

Robin’s question distracts her for a minute and she sits a bit taller, focusing on drawing air in and out of her lungs and using the glass of whiskey in her hand to give her a minute before answering.

The answer is obvious of course, but she’s spent so long denying it, fighting that feeling that it’s not her natural inclination to relent. However, she’s drunk and heartbroken, and Regina can’t help but flirt with him, responding with a sassy, “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it, thief?”

Robin smiles at her. There’s triumph in his eyes. She’s admitted to being attracted to him, acknowledged this simmering passion that has threatened to overtake them at every turn since they’d met. Sexual tension has been the foundation for every one of their interactions over the last several months and both of them have just given voice to it.

Surely he’ll kiss her, lay those tempting lips over hers and allow Regina to lose herself in something elemental and physical for a little while.

He merely gives her a small smile and says, “I’m going to escort you back to your chambers, milady.”

Oh, such a promising statement, one that shoots sparks through her limbs in anticipation. Robin shocks her when he finishes his thought with a quiet, “And shall leave you to hopefully a peaceful and dreamless sleep. It appears you’ve had quite a bit of whiskey to aid in your slumber this evening. Allow me to lead you to bed?”

Regina stares at him, stunned. It had not been what she’d been expecting. Lead her to bed indeed. Apparently, not in the way she had allowed herself to imagine for those few minutes. Part of her wants to scoff at his presumptuous suggestion, to remind him that she does not need to be taken care of. Weariness drags at her very being, however, and she’s drunk and tired. Hurting more than she ever thought was possible and a part of her leaps at the notion that he apparently cares enough not to take advantage of her in her impaired state. Even if he does obviously want her.

Gathering up her courage, Regina drinks the last of the amber liquid in her glass, slamming it back on the table and turning to Robin. “Fine. You may.”

It’s not much, but it’s a tiny victory. Progress. And Robin revels in the feeling.

Standing, he holds out a hand to her, waiting for her to either reject or accept him. Regina stares at it for a minute, the edges of her vision only slightly blurring as she gently places her palm on top of Robin’s open one, ignoring the sparks that ignite as their skin touches, and allows him to lead her out of the library.

One step forward, two steps back. That’s the game they play. But in the quiet of the castle as their footfalls echo through the corridors, it feels like they just might be making progress.

Until Regina regains her senses come morning that is.

[peopleandrhythm]

Episode Ten: I Live and Breathe Under the Moon

Mary Dumas shuffles slowly about her cabin, setting her rickety dining table for tea. The tin kettle on the stove whistles, and she’s just taking it off the burner when there’s a loud rapping at her door. She hobbles over, and when the door creaks open, she’s greeted by the bright grin of her great-granddaughter. “Grandma Mary!”

“Oh, look at you!” Hope throws her arms around Mary, and Mary squeezes her back. “You’ve grown like a weed!”

Hope pulls back. “Well, you haven’t seen me since I was thirteen.”

“That’s your mother’s fault. She moved you all the way to Montana. These old bones couldn’t handle that cold.” She gives a fake shiver, and Hope laughs. Mary looks over Hope’s shoulder to see Hayley and another young woman, smiling shyly. “Who’s this?”

“Oh!” Hope steps back and gestures to the girl. “Grandma Mary, this is my girlfriend, River. River, this is Mary.”

Mary feigns a stern glare for a few moments, and the girl’s eyes widen in fear, but then she smiles and hugs her. “I’m just playin’ with ya. Welcome to the bayou of Louisiana.”

River’s surprised by the hug, but says, “Thanks! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hope tells me you’ve gone and activated your werewolf gene,” Mary says once the hug’s over.

Nodding, River says, “Tonight’s my first full moon.”

“Well don’t worry. We’ll get you taken care of. You two come on in, I’m gonna have a word with your momma.” The girls obey, closing the door behind them and leaving Mary and Hayley on the porch. “Didn’t think you’d come back to New Orleans, did you?”

“I always knew I had to,” Hayley says. “The spell on Mikaelsons needed to be broken on New Orleans soil.”

Mary gives a begrudging harrumph, and says, “Well, I was hopin’…”

Hayley sighs heavily. “Mary, c’mon…”

“Now I know they’re important to you—”

“And to my daughter. They’re her family, just like you are, and I promised her that I would bring them back for her.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she’s better off without that lot in her life?”

“Did you ever consider that you’re not the first person to ask me that?”

They’re silent for a moment, both calming down. Then Mary asks, “Surprised you didn’t bring Elijah with you. Surprised but glad.”

“Well I figured there’s no point in starting a fight when today’s supposed to be about River. Besides, he’s leading the charge to make the compound fit for people to live in.”

“Good. No vampires in my cabin.”

“I know, Mary.” She nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

“Do be careful,” Elijah calls. The two workers hefting a bookcase up the stairs freeze. “That’s solid oak.” The workers nod and continue their climb.

“Brother.” Elijah turns to see Freya approaching, the spells stolen from Theo’s tomb in her hand. “I think I know what the sacrifice will be.”

Elijah immediately abandons his mission to focus on his sister. “You’ve decoded Theo LeRoy’s spells?”

Freya nods, and Klaus and Rebekah walk in from the kitchen. “Tell us what you know,” the former demands.

“It’s a Harvest ritual,” Freya begins.

“Well that make sense,” Rebekah juts in. “If the Harvest is how they typically renew their connection, it should also be how they forge a new one.”

“You didn’t let me finish. It’s a Harvest, but instead of four teenage girls, they’re going to use nine.”

Freya’s younger siblings’ jaws drop. “Nine?” Elijah asks incredulously.

“What the bloody hell do they want to sacrifice nine girls for?” Rebekah says.

Freya explains, “Previously, only French Quarter witches were used in Harvest rituals, and only the French Quarter coven had dominion over the ancestors. My guess is that in an effort to make things more equitable, all nine covens are going to be participating in this particular Harvest. After all, Theo’s not from the French Quarter. She’s from the Algiers coven.”

“They’re not just seeking to reconnect to their ancestors,” Klaus growls. “They want to become more powerful than they’ve ever been before.”

“This would explain why Theo was so determined to sever Hope’s link to the ancestors,” Elijah points out. “If she were to receive the same power as the rest of them—”

“My daughter would be unstoppable,” Klaus interrupts.

Rebekah snarks, “And he’s already planning to use his own child in his machinations toward world domination.”

Klaus opens his mouth hotly, but Freya cuts him off. “I worry what would happen if Hope really were to gain this additional power from the ancestors.”

“Why?” Elijah asks.

“You all saw her the night we were freed from the Chambre de Chasse. She warded off fifty witches by herself. That kind of power is strong. Consuming. If the power of generations of New Orleans witches were added to that…”

Klaus’s face is grave. “You think it will overwhelm her.”

Freya shrugs. “It’s impossible to predict. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a possibility.”

Nodding, Klaus says, “I still think our safest course of action would be to ensure that this Harvest never happens. The last thing anyone needs is for the witches of this city to become more powerful than ever before.”

Flipping through the parchment, Freya says, “Well, from what I’ve read in these, Theo’s been the one preparing for the Harvest, so as long as Marcel has her locked up, we should be in the clear.”

River wanders around Mary’s cabin, looking at everything. It’s small, with just two main rooms, plus a bathroom. There’s a shelf along one wall with a large array of pictures, and that’s basically the only decoration in the spartan cabin. River picks up a frame. “Yo, who’s this guy?” She turns the photo so Hope can see. “He’s hot.”

Hope bites back a laugh. “I’d be jealous, but I’m more creeped out that you’re attracted to my stepfather.”

River nearly drops the frame. “What?”

Hope gestures to the photo. “That’s Jackson. He’s Mary’s grandson…and my mom’s husband.”

River looks like she could be knocked over with a feather. “Okay, be kind, rewind.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Hayley was married?”

Nodding, Hope explains, “It’s this whole thing, this ritual that the wolves did. I was about a year old, I don’t remember it.” Her face softens into something melancholic. “He was killed, about a year after he and my mom got married. It really messed my mom up for a long time. I mean, yeah, she’s in love with my uncle Elijah, but still. I know she loved him, too.”

“Wow.” River replaces the photograph on the shelf. “That’s super sad.”

“Yeah.” Hope’s eyes flick to the front door. Her mother and great-grandmother are both outside, trying to get ahold of the new alpha of the Crescent pack. While they’re alone, Hope asks quietly, “Are you really sure you don’t want it?”

River shoots her a glare. “We talked about this.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” She sighs. “I’ve seen wolves turn. It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“I can’t just chicken out of this,” River argues.

“It’s not chickening out! It’s a way to maintain control of your own life!”

“Look, you think I don’t like the idea of a…what’d you call it again?”

“A moonlight ring.”

“Yeah, that.” River settles onto a rickety wooden rocking chair, tucking her hands under her legs. “Of course I’m freaked out. Of course I’m scared. Literally every single square inch of my body is screaming not to do this.”

“But?”

“But.” She gently rocks herself back and forth. “But this is my legacy. I’m the last Malraux wolf in the world. An entire line of werewolves rests on my shoulders.” She shrugs. “What kind of wolf would I be if I just…bypassed the actual being a wolf part because I’m scared?”

Hope sits cross-legged on the floor, resting her head against River’s knee. “I know. I just wish you didn’t have to go through this.”

“Me too.” She nudges Hope a little. “But hey. I’m not saying no forever. Chances are, this is gonna suck big time, and I’m gonna want that ring tomorrow. I just need to do this tonight.”

“Deal.”

The front door swings open, and Mary walks in, Hayley just behind her. “Alright, she’s on her way.”

“So we should be on ours,” Hayley says. “Hope, let’s go.”

“You’re not staying?” River asks nervously.

Hope hauls herself to her feet. “I need to head back to the Quarter, see if there’s anything I can do to help Vincent.” She kisses River’s forehead. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning, with clothes and coffee and food and hugs.” Hope grabs River’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “You’ve got this. My strong, brave wolf.”

Though her face betrays her uncertainty, River nods, a small smile playing across her face.

Annelise stands in the dais in the center of Lafayette Cemetery, towering above the small, babbling crowd of witches gathered before her. “Alright listen up!”

The crowd quiets, and Leanne joins Annelise on the dais. “Y’all know by now that Theo has been taken by Marcel Gerard.” The crowd reacts with hisses. Leanne raises a hand to silence them. “We gotta get her back.”

“How?” someone calls from the group, and others echo the sentiment.

“Look at us,” Annelise says, gesturing to the group. “We may not have the strength that we had before, but we have the numbers.”

“What’s the plan?” a voice demands.

The two women on the dais share a look. “There is no time for a plan,” Leanne admits. “We need to do this now.”

“Tonight is the full moon,” Annelise reminds everyone. “That means if we have our elder to perform the Harvest…”

Leanne finishes her sentence. “…we will complete the ritual and be reconnected with our ancestors for the first time in fifteen years. Tonight.”

River’s settled on Mary’s wicker couch, sipping her tea. “So…you’re Hope’s grandmother.”

Mary sits in the rocking chair, her own teacup in hand. “Well, technically, I’m her step-great-grandmother. But for the past fifteen years, I’ve been her only family, ‘cept her momma, so she just calls me grandma. Besides,” she adds with a sly grin. “Do I look old enough to be a great-grandmother?”

River laughs, and then there’s a knock on the door. The girl quickly sobers, and Mary hauls herself out of the chair with a groan. “I’m comin’!” she calls. She hobbles over to the door and wrenches it open. “C’mon in.”

A young woman with long, dark hair walks in. Her eyes fall on River. “So you’re the pup.”

River swallows and slowly rises to her feet. “Yeah, hi, I’m River.”

“Yeah.” The woman turns to Mary. “She arrived with the Mikaelsons?”

“Be nice, Rose,” Mary warns as she closes the cabin door. “I don’t like them Original vampires any more than you do, but she’s a kid, and she’s important to my grandbaby.”

“It’s not the Originals that I’m concerned with,” Rose says, mostly to herself. To River, “If this is your first moon, you’ve got a lot to learn. Tonight’s gonna suck. No point in beating around that bush.”

River nods. “Hayley told me that all of the bones in my body are going to break.”

Rose’s eyes flash dangerously at the mention of the hybrid’s name, but she says coolly, “That’s putting it mildly. C’mon.” She turns to exit the cabin. “We’ve got work to do.”

Surprised by the unexpected command, River scrambles after Rose, shooting Mary a scared parting glance.

Vincent’s leaning up against the brick of the tunnel wall, about as far from Theo as he can get in this small cavern. She’s still chained up, looking thoroughly worse for the wear. “Can’t you at least let me shower? I’ll keep the shackles on.” Vincent doesn’t answer. “Oh come on. What, you’re giving me the silent treatment? What's the point of even coming down here if you’re not even going to ask me stupid questions?”

“Where’d you get the spell?”

“What spell?”

“The linking spell. The one I can’t quite work out. It’s not magic I recognize.”

Theo smirks dangerously. “Finally, an interesting question. And one I can’t answer. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Vincent lets that one go. “Why you? If this movement is as big as you say it is, there must be dozens of witch all clamoring to get the chance to be the biggest deal in town.”

“It was quite a democratic process—unlike the way you’ve been running things for the past decade and a half. But this whole plan is my idea, my magic, and so they thought it best that I remain in charge.”

“They.”

“They. The witches of New Orleans. The covens that have resented you for years. They chose me.” The smirk widens. “Jealous?”

After a minute, Vincent pushes himself off of the wall with his foot and slowly approaches Theo, stopping only when he has to look down to maintain eye contact with her. He lowers himself into a crouch, his face inches from hers. His voice a harsh whisper, he says, “You will never be fit to lead these witches. You have no idea what it takes.”

Theo crooks an eyebrow in challenge. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

Before Vincent can respond, an electric, horrible pain shoots through his entire body, rattling his bones and making his brain throb. He grabs at his head and shrieks in pain, collapsing to his side. His eyes squeeze shut automatically, but he manages to wrench one open long enough to see Annelise freeing Theo from her chains and the shadows of at least a dozen more witches flickering on the walls. He hears their chants grow louder as the pain enveloping his body intensifies, and his howls deepen.

Annelise helps Theo to her feet, and the latter looks down at their regent. “Sorry, Vincent,” she says, extending a hand toward him. “But someone’s gotta lead.” With that, she focuses her energy on the spot right between Vincent’s eyes, and he blacks out.

Rose leads River on a winding tour through the bayou, the sun beating hot on the backs of their necks. As they pick their way over roots and through overgrown grasses, River observes, “You seem kind of young to be the alpha of a wolf pack.”

A few paces ahead, Rose answers, “Someone had to do it.”

“Well how long have you been the alpha?”

“About three years.”

“What happened to the alpha before you?”

Rose jerks to a stop, letting River catch up. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Startled by the vitriol in Rose’s voice, River says, “Sorry, it’s just…I don’t know how packs work. I’m the last wolf in mine, except my parents, but they never triggered their gene. I mean, I didn’t even know I was a wolf until about a week ago.”

“Well, a little piece of advice? Don’t try to weasel your way into a pack you don’t belong to.” Rose starts walking again.

River’s eyes narrow and she begins to stomp after her guide. “Hey, I didn’t ask for this either you know.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why are you so angry at me? You’ve known me for like half an hour, there’s no way I could have pissed you off this much.”

Rose whips around and stalks back to River. “You want to know why I’m angry? Because Hayley Marshall let our alpha get his heart ripped out right in front of her and then abandoned us for a quest to save the Original vampires, and then she had the nerve to come back here after fifteen years and ask us for a favor. So yeah, if I seem a little testy, that’s why.”

River’s at a loss for words. She looks up at the seething alpha, down at the fists clenched at her side. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I…I didn’t know.”

Rose blinks rapidly, cooling herself down. “This isn’t your fault, and I get that. But…I have spent the past three years trying to fix what Hayley broke when she skipped town, so I’m not exactly in the mood to play babysitter to her daughter’s girlfriend.”

They start to walk again, side by side this time. Eventually River asks, “How did you…”

“Trigger my curse?” River nods. “The classic American story: texting and driving.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was nineteen, so…five years, give or take.”

“And where exactly are we going?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions again.” Rose shoots her a sly smile to tell her she’s joking. “There’s a clearing about half a mile that way.” She points to the northwest. “It’s where we’ll turn tonight. There’s plenty of room for you to move around, and…well, no one’s going to hear you scream.”

River’s eyes blow wide. “Okay. That’s probably the least comforting thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“I’m not here to comfort you. I’m here to help you get through this without losing your mind.” Rose gestures widely across the bayou. “While we’re wolves, I’ll help you stay on track. You don’t learn to have control of your wolf form for a while, so you’ll basically be like a giant, angry, coked-out golden retriever. I’ll keep you from getting lost, and by the end of the night, we should end up right around Mary’s cabin again.”

“Cool.” They walk for a little while longer in silence, their journey scored by the high-pitched cheeps of waterthrushes. After a while, River says, “You know, it might not mean much, but I know Hayley. She did what she did to help her family.”

“Yeah,” Rose breathes. “Problem is, once upon a time, we were her family, too.”

Marcel makes his way through the tunnels, hoping that Vincent has managed to pry some more information out of Theo. When he enters the cavern, he freezes in the mouth of the tunnel, wide-eyed as he takes in Vincent’s prostrate form. His eyes flick up to see Theo’s chains hanging loose from their hook in the wall. “Shit,” he breathes.

He hears a groan, and watches as Vincent starts to stir. In a flash, Marcel is kneeling by Vincent’s side, gingerly picking his head up off the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Vincent blinks wearily, regaining his bearings. “They rescued her. The witches.”

Marcel takes a deep breath. “Alright, I gotta warn Klaus, in case they come for Hope again.”

He reaches for his phone, but Vincent grabs his fist. “Tonight,” he rasps.

“What’s tonight?”

“The ritual.” Vincent pushes himself painfully onto one arm. “They’re going to reconnect with the ancestors tonight.”

Hope stands in the middle of the courtyard, staring up in wonder at the new façade of the compound. “Uncle Elijah, this is impressive.”

Elijah slides a hand into his pocket and smiles. “Well, it’s a testament to what a fortune and the teensiest bit of compulsion can get done on such short notice.”

“This wasn’t just Elijah’s doing,” Rebekah pouts from the balcony above. “I helped too, you know.”

“My darling Rebekah, you drank through three bottles of Bordeaux and told the workers off for being lazy.”

“They were sitting around doing nothing!”

“They were on their lunch break!”

Hope laughs, and then waves as she sees her father walk in from the kitchen, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Hey Dad! Looks good, doesn’t it?”

He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hope, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Elijah’s eyes narrow as he looks at his brother, but Klaus ignores him. “Um, sure.” Hope follows as Klaus makes his way up the stairs toward Hope’s recently renovated bedroom. He pushes open the door, revealing the new, intricately carved oak furniture and the fresh royal blue paint on the walls. He gestures for her to enter, so she does. “So, what do you want to talk about?” She turns to look at her father, but he’s still standing in the hallway. “Dad?”

She hears a voice from around the corner—Freya. “Dad, what the—” She tries to leave the room but bounces off of an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

Freya comes into view, her hand raised as she finishes her spell. There’s a small, clay figurine in her other hand. “I’m sorry, Hope.”

Wild-eyed, the girl stares slack-jawed between the two of them. She bangs her fist off of the boundary spell. “What are you doing? Let me out!”

Klaus’s own eyes widen as he says, “I can’t. You must stay in there for your own protection.”

“Protection? From what?”

“The Harvest is happening,” Freya explains, sparing her brother, who is clearly distressed. “We want to make sure that they cannot use you for the sacrifice, if that is their plan.”

“I can take care of myself,” Hope snarls. “Let me out.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Klaus can say, and he disappears, leaving his daughter with Freya.

“Aunt Freya,” Hope begs, “please don’t leave me in here.”

“It’s just until morning,” her aunt promises. “I’ll make sure you’re out in time to go to River.” She lifts the figurine to show it to Hope. “The boundary spell on your door is linked to this. You won’t be able to undo it without breaking the clay.” She smiles softly. “Try to get some rest.” And then she walks away, too.

Hope lets out a frustrated groan, slamming her door shut. She paces around her bedroom, fists clenching and unclenching. “I can’t believe this,” she hisses. “I cannot believe this.”

She storms out onto her balcony, hoping the cool night air will help her clear her head. She stares down at the street below, at the partygoers just starting their revelry. She breathes in deep, letting the air go in a huff. As her fingers grip the iron railing, a thought pops into her mind. The boundary spell on your door is linked to this.

The door. If the spell is only on the door, that means…

Hope slowly extends her hand over the rail of the balcony. She meets no resistance. She huffs out a little laugh of relief and then surveys the ground below. It’s only a one-story drop to the concrete, but her bedroom sits right above the kitchen, and if anyone is in there, they’ll surely see her through the window.

She rushes back to the door and creaks it open. Listening carefully, she can hear the voices of at least Elijah and Freya from the courtyard below, and she’s fairly certain that’s her mother and father in the library on the opposite side of the compound. She closes her door and returns to the balcony. Betting on Rebekah being somewhere else than the kitchen, Hope squeezes her eyes shut and hurls herself over the balcony rail, landing with a hard thud on the ground below.

Her left knee sings in pain, but she’s alive. She suppresses her chuckle of surprise that she didn’t manage to kill herself and silently slinks off into the night, her family none the wiser.

The full moon is well on its arc through the inky black sky, its silver face pockmarked and storied. It casts a bluish glow over the city of New Orleans, which glitters in the dark. In the City of the Dead, the darkness is warmed by hundreds of candles, spilling over every horizontal surface and littering the ground. Dozens of witches from every coven, all those seeking to reconnect to their ancestors, gather around a dais, where nine teenage girls, one from each coven, stand. Their white dresses billow in the light breeze as the girls silently await their fate.

Theo steps up onto the dais in front of them, a long, ceremonial blade in her hand. She stands before her witches, back to the line of Harvest girls. In a loud, commanding voice, she proclaims, “This Harvest shall be different than all others that have come before it. The Harvest is intended to renew our ties to our hallowed ancestors as they weaken over time. But we, the witches of New Orleans, find ourselves not with a weakened connection, but with one severed completely, leaving us with barely enough magic to survive. Therefore, we complete this Harvest, with one sacrifice from each coven, to beseech the ancestors to return to us, and grant us their power once more.”

Theo turns and approaches the first girl in line. She’s short and skinny with curly dark hair, and she straightens her back as Theo draws near. “To be born, you must sacrifice,” Theo says to her. “Do you have faith?”

“I do,” the girl answers.

And then, easily as taking her next breath, Theo slashes the ceremonial blade across the girl’s throat.

At that same moment, somewhere, deep in the wilderness of the Louisiana bayou, another young girl collapses to the ground as the bones in her leg crack in two. She howls in pain, her eyes, once dark brown but now gold flecked with black, wild and searching as she begins her transformation into a beast.

[kittymonks-fanfiction]

Genderswapped Nations Review - Chapter 4

Welcome back to Genderswapped Nations, the fanfic where it’s possible for nine American minors in Germany without passports to buy nine plane tickets all heading to eight different countries at the same time using USD. There were less attempted sexual assaults last time, which is always a plus, but I can’t say that there won’t be any attempted crimes against minors this time around. What do I mean by that? Let’s jump in and figure that out.

Chapter 4: Substitutes and Suitcases

Believe it or not, this is actually one of the better chapter titles in Genderswapped Nations…even if, as you’ll find out later, the ‘suitcases’ aspect of the title has very little to do with the plot of the chapter.

The plane landed, and Ariana got off. She was immediately greeted by businessmen, who looked at her nicely at first but then looked confused. “What?” Ariana asked.

“We were expecting Mr. Kirkland,” one of the businessmen replied.

“Wait a minute…you’re not our boss who’s hundreds of years old and is the embodiment of the country we live in! Harvey, you said he would be on this flight!”

And wasn’t she just getting off a normal passenger flight? If they were expecting England, why would they intercept a thirteen year old girl?

“You mean England?” Ariana asked. “Shouldn’t he be here right now?”

“No, he left yesterday on classified matters,” another one of the businessmen said.

Oh cool, so nobody knows why he left to go to Germany. That’s why he…left businessmen at the airport so they could talk to him once he got off the plane with his genderbend? Sorry to say, but it’s not ‘classified’ anymore if these guys witness you getting off a plane with a younger female version of yourself after the fact.

“Oh, is that so?” Ariana said. “I’ll fill in for him until he gets back.”

Uhhhh, what? Why would this be the first thing she suggests? She’s only come to Britain so she can…um, avoid England (I think?). If he’s only going to be gone for a little while longer, why would she volunteer to take control of the entire country? Isn’t there a prime minister to do that? Isn’t there the UK Parliament? I mean hell, if you really want to prove that you’re an idiot, past me, you could even claim that Queen Elizabeth II is in charge—she’s not, but it would make more sense than what’s going on here.

“And why would we put a teenager in charge of Great Britain?” one of the businessmen asked.

“I can cook better,” Ariana said.

“Oh, well, that was the only thing that we thought was wrong with Mr. Kirkland. And since you are technically just him in a dress, I guess you could fill in for him for a while.” One of the businessmen decided.

“Great!” Ariana exclaimed.

This reads like a fucking parody. But no, this is real canon! She just shows up, volunteers to take control of the country while England is away, and they let her do it because she can cook better (despite the fact that she shouldn’t know that England’s a bad cook since she’s never even met the guy). This is like the plot to some Disney Channel movie, it’s insane.

This was also the case for the other girls; they all filled in for their counterparts while they were away.

And as if it couldn’t get any more ridiculous, the same thing happens to all of the other girls. Even Allison, who’s not even old enough to register for an account on YouTube according to its terms of service. Wow.

Later, Ariana got a phone call after she was brought to England’s house. She answered it, and was greeted by Louella. “Ariana, the countries are having a meeting. Get to Berlin.”

But…didn’t they just leave Berlin? And I’m sure that if England left Berlin right after Ariana, he should be back by now. And if he hasn’t left yet because of flight delays, then you’re going right back to him!

“Why do we have to have a meeting now?” Ariana asked.

“None of the other countries know we’re filling in for the real ones,” Louella explained. “We need to introduce ourselves.”

“Right,” Ariana said.

You couldn’t just use Skype or hold a press conference or something? They don’t hold entire world meetings every time a new president/prime minister gets elected. It makes it seem like Louella wants to hold this meeting just to brag or something. In fact, by the time this meeting ends, all of the nations are going to be home and ready to take control again! What’s the point?

She got money to board a plane to Berlin, and did just that. When she entered the meeting room, she noticed all the nations, except the gender swapped ones, were staring at her. When she sat down, Louella stood.

Well that’s a familiar occurrence. I have to wonder if Ariana was really the last to arrive though. How did the North Americans arrive in Berlin within the same day that they were asked to go there, even arriving BEFORE another European did?

“May I have your attention, please?” She asked firmly. The other nations gave her their attention, but many still had confused faces. “First, I want to discuss-”

“Why are we being bossed around by a thirteen year old girl?” one of the nations questioned.

I don’t know what nation this was supposed to be (I think I sort of headcanoned that it was Romano or Belarus or someone??) but I love them. They should be the main character of the fanfiction instead of Mary-Sue Ariana.

“I was getting to that,” Louella growled, before regaining her normal voice. “As you can see, a few of the attendees are the thirteen year old female counterparts of our respective countries.”

“So, where are the original ones?” another voice asked Louella.

They should know where they are if they had a meeting just a few days ago about Prussia kidnapping these girls in the first place.  Obviously they’re away ‘rescuing’ the thirteen year old girls that have now replaced them.

By the way, past me, you missed a good opportunity to have someone freak out and think that the original countries were killed and these children are trying to replace them. It would have made this meeting have an actual point because that would’ve been funny as hell with Louella on the spot having to prove that they don’t have nefarious intentions and that the originals are probably fine.

“I’ve consulted the other gender swaps, and the original countries are away on ‘classified matters’.” The counterpart answered.

“Was that it?” Another country asked.

“I guess, I don’t really have any other important things to talk about,” Louella said. Some of the nations grumbled as they all stood up and left the gender swaps in the room alone. “How did I do?” Louella asked.

That was, without a doubt, the best political meeting I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Wow. If all UN meetings are like that, where they only discuss one point of business that only affects nine countries and immediately becomes irrelevant a few hours later, then I should really look into joining the UN. It would be a walk in the park. I am the Shenandoah River, after all. That counts as a nation that can be united with other nations, right? I have poisonous fish who can vouch for me!

“You just let some of them walk all over you.” Ariana said.

“You and three other people were the only ones who got to speak,” Kierra said.

“Yeah! Those meetings are nothing when I don’t get to speak!” Allison complained.

All of those are completely justified criticisms because really, the meeting didn’t have a point at all. And would you be surprised if I told you that this exact same thing essentially happens next chapter too??

Louella nodded. “Well, we should get going now. Be sure to visit Germany more often, okay?” She asked her friends.

She doesn’t have anything to say to these criticisms. She knows that it was a pointless meeting, she just wanted to make everyone respect her authority by forcing them to come to Berlin for two minutes for a pointless meeting.

Everyone nodded, except Francisca. “It’s very unusual that you aren’t speaking for once, Francisca,” Ariana teased.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with you? You’ve seemed worried this whole meeting.” Louella said.

“It’s just…” Francisca began. “I don’t think it was very smart to say out counterparts weren’t present. Some countries would take our ‘Substitution’ as an opportunity to take over our countries.”

This is almost a decent point, but the United States doesn’t get conquered every time the president leaves to go meet with foreign leaders. I’m American, so I can’t speak for Europe on this point. For all I know, the presidency in France could be trading hands quicker than a hot potato right now.  

And hahahahahaha Francisca said Substitution like the chapter title Substitution and Suitcases oh how charming.

Kierra nodded in agreement. “I’d say the only one safe from that would be Iscah.”

“And why wouldn’t I be safe?” Allison questioned.

“Seriously?” Ariana said. “Just because you’re in the west doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“So why is Iscah safe?” Allison questioned, but quickly took it back, remembering the night she hid in Ariana’s closet to keep away from the creepy girl.

It’s super funny, the way the fic just keeps telling us how creepy Iscah is even though Iscah never does anything creepy. I also have to point out the fact that not only is Iscah safe because ‘she’s creepy’, but it’s implied to be (I think) wintertime and, well…ask Napoleon how well invading Russia on foot during the winter usually goes.

Aaaand Allison should be safer from active ‘invasion’ compared to the European countries because if America’s already on his way back from Europe, then it would be impossible for someone currently in Berlin to leave this meeting to go to America and invade while he’s still on the plane. Since he left to go to the same place way before they did, it goes without saying that they wouldn’t get to America before he would. Not only that, but, the U.S. has the second largest military in the world. I don’t care how ‘evil’ you think you are, it would be a pretty bad idea to single-handedly troll a country that throws as much money at its military as the U.S. does.

“We should be getting back then,” Ariana said.

“Remember! Don’t forget to visit Germany!” Louella called as the nations walked away.

“If there is one, aru,” Yiesha muttered.

Oh god, edgy. Anyway, as you can see, it was by this point that I caught on to China’s verbal tick from the Japanese version of Hetalia and threw it in for good measure. It…doesn’t make much sense, really. That’s all there really is to say about it.

Meanwhile, England’s plane landed. He got his bags, and was confused not to find any businessmen waiting for him like they were told to.

So he straight up just told those businessmen to amble about aimlessly until he came back? But why? The mission was ‘classified’, so what were they there for?

He decided to walk back to his house himself, but when he got there, the door was locked.

Is that…unusual? Doesn’t he normally leave the country’s capital locked when he leaves on business trips? No wonder everyone thinks that their countries are going to get conquered, England doesn’t leave his door locked when he leaves!! Who knows who else could be leaving their doors wide open right now??

He rang the doorbell, aggravated enough to kick down the door but not wanting to harm his house.

And he doesn’t have his key? This almost seems offensive to people from the UK. This is the sort of forgetfulness you’d expect out of a character like America or Italy, definitely not England.

…unless the joke is that he’s old and forgetful, in which case…ha? There’s not much of a punch line if it’s a joke. It’s more of a nuisance than anything.

Ariana heard the chime of the doorbell, and ran to the door.

OH GOD I think I have whiplash, that POV change was so sudden.

But she was shocked, because when she opened the door, England was there, and he threw one of his briefcases at her about two seconds after the door was opened, assuming it was France or some other perverted intruder.

What the shit?? Why would he throw his suitcase at the first person who opened the door assuming that someone broke into his house?  Does he not have maids and butlers? Why would he ring the doorbell if he expected a home intruder to answer?

Oh and by the way Ariana’s totally dead now. England might not be the strongest but he is a grown man and he threw that briefcase directly at her face. Someone needs to call the funeral home up the street.

He soon apologized as Ariana lifted the suitcase off her face and they recognized each other.

“That’s the same guy from Prussia’s house,” Ariana thought. “Prudence was lying!”

She may not be dead, but she definitely has some brain damage. Seriously, that should be abundantly obvious now. Nobody put two and two together and assumed that the countries were away looking for their genderbends since they couldn’t find the real guys anywhere in the capital buildings of these countries?

“Who are you?” England asked.

“Ariana,” the girl replied. “And you must be England.”

“Yeah.” The man replied.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a minute or two, until this silence was broken by a phone call.

What a fantastic exchange. This is exactly how I would greet my genderbent counterpart upon first meeting them and walloping them with a suitcase. At least Ariana’s completely fine after having been physically assaulted by a grown man though, that’s a relief.

Ariana walked over and answered. “Hello, England, Ariana speaking,” she said.

“This is the awesome Prussia,” the other line said. “And I’m coming over there soon!”

What the fuck??

“What?” Ariana asked. England ran over to his counterpart and yanked the phone from her hand.

“Hey! Who’s this?” he demanded.

England just telepathically knows that the phone call was bad news from Ariana’s only reply being a calm—and not incredulous—“What?”

“This is the awesome me,” Prussia repeated. “And I’m guessing this is England now.”

WHY DID HE ASSUME THAT ENGLAND WASN’T HOME YET??? It’s bizarre enough that it took him this long! Assuming that it would take him even longer is just insane!!

“You’re bloody right this is England now!” England shouted. “Now what did you just say to my counterpart?”

“Eh, nothing.” Prussia said. He hung up.

Hold on, what the hell just happened?? No, seriously! Does this imply that Prussia planned for the girls to take over their host countries? Did he place a diversion to keep the countries from getting home in a timely manner so he could single-handedly conquer them? What’s this Batman Gambit bullshit??

“So, what did he say to you?” England said in a normal but slightly aggravated tone.

“He said he was invading,” Ariana replied. “But I guess he quit out on it when he realized you’re here.”

“Probably,” England muttered.

Is this…a common occurrence? If our president leaves again anytime soon, can I call the White House and threaten to invade in the hopes that they’ll just give me the job instead? I’m way too young, but I’m sure I can cook better than our current president can. That’s all the work experience I need to run a country, after all.

Then, the phone rang again. Ariana walked over to pick it up, but England stopped her and answered it himself. “What is it?” he questioned.

“Hey, it’s France,” the phone said. “I just wanted to brag about how cute my gender swap is!”

“Really?” England asked.

Did…nobody else get a threatening call from Prussia? Just England for some reason? None of the countries actually bordering Germany? Like, say…France??

Not to mention that it’s squicky for a grown man to gush about how cute a little girl is to another grown man, like, 99% of the time.

(Note: The other 1% is just Maes Hughes raving about how much he loves his daughter. In all other contexts, it’s squicky.)

“Who is it?” Ariana asked loudly.

England covered the speaking part of the phone as h answered, “It’s just France.” Ariana nodded in understanding, and England brought the phone back to his ear.

There was no purpose for that little segment of England explaining who was on the line since all it did was repeat to the audience, “Hey, the person on the other end of the phone is France.” That was the perfect opportunity to tell a joke via Ariana’s reaction to this information and you blew it.

“Yes, she’s so cute! And by that background voice I just heard, yours must be dreadfully ugly!” France responded.

“That’s not true!” England vindicated.

Do I need to remind my audience of the ‘fun fact’ I pulled out in chapter one about England’s English VA?? I don’t like having to share that information more than I have to, but I’ll do it. I’ll fricking do it man.

He abrubtly got another phone call, and he made France hold as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, British dude, it’s America,” the phone said.

…British dude. I’ll let that speak for itself. Just…British dude. This man raised you when you were a child!!

“And I bet this is about your gender swap,” England sighed.

“Hey, how’d you know?” America asked.

“Lucky guess.” England replied sarcastically. America, though, did not catch this sarcasm, and instead continued to talk.

What are the chances that both countries would call England specifically at the same time to give him the same information? If England just got home, shouldn’t America still be on his plane going over the Atlantic Ocean? There’s no way a flight from Berlin to London would take the same amount of time as a flight from Berlin to Washington, D.C..

“I just wanted to say, my gender swap is awesome! She likes all the same foods I do, and she gets along well with Mr. Tony!”

Does…Does America usually call him ‘Mr. Tony’? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I remember him being referred to as just Tony.

in the background, England could lightly hear the alien mentioned muttering swears, probably knowing England was on the phone. Then, America hung up.

That’s just it? No reply? He just hangs up when he’s finished talking? That’s cold.

England redialed France, and the French man asked, “Who was calling?”

“Who do you think?” England questioned.

France seemed to understand who England meant.

Great, now they both have telepathy.

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to say that my gender swap is better than yours.”

France hung up before England could protest.

How productive a conversation that was. It was so unnecessary that it hurt. When you have a German extremist kidnapping children from America, brainwashing them, and threatening to conquer Europe, is bragging to your rival over the phone really your biggest concern?

He unplugged his phone, and faced Ariana and said, “Still sorry about the suitcase thing.”

“No problem,” Ariana replied with a smile.

“It’s okay, I just have a broken nose and five missing teeth. All is forgiven.” “Besides, it makes me look more British anyways!”

I’ve finally caught on to the China ‘aru’ thing, even if the only China reference was one line by China’s counterpart.

Yes, because that was the only thing wrong with this fic.

It seems like it’s over again, right? You should know better by now that something like this is not the kind of ending I throw into the end of FanFics. Seriously, remember Chapter 2, ‘Conversation and Costumes’? It’s like that ending.

Oh, you mean how it ended on a cliffhanger of ‘are the countries going to accept the girls or not?’ Because no, this ending is nothing like that. The plot should actually be over now, with maybe just one more chapter where Prussia gets punished somehow for kidnapping a bunch of little girls.

And it’s weird that I capitalized both ‘f’s in ‘fanfics’. I don’t know why that is. Maybe I assumed it looked cooler.

Also, *spoiler alert* the next chapter will feature Allison and America! Because neither of them has said ‘I’m the hero’ yet, and I thought that would only be appropriate :3

Fan-fricking-tastic. Because America and his counterpart weren’t Flanderized enough as it was.

Well, that was chapter 4 and my god was it a clusterfuck of horrible decisions and insane world politics. Anyway, be sure to come back next time for more pointless meetings, senseless violence, and the beginning of World War III. No, seriously.  I’m not exaggerating. And the abuse counter doubles, if you were worried that Alexis wasn’t being tortured enough as it was.

(CANADA/ALEXIS ABUSE COUNTER=5)

[offthescreensa]

#TheatreReview: #CinderellaOnIce

The classic tale glides magically onto the stage

Cinderella must be one of the best known, oldest, and most copied fairy tales ever, starting in the first century BC where Cindy was a Greco-Egyptian servant, treated badly by the other servants. They went to the function, organised by the Pharaoh, leaving poor Cindy washing in the river, only to have an eagle take her rose-gilded sandal to the Pharaoh, and when he discovered who the sandal belonged to he fell madly in love with her. The tale has remained, mostly, the same, along with the theme of the bowed down heroine, the evil person making her life a misery, and the handsome Prince who meets her, without knowing who she really is, and then has to search for her when she leaves him without an explanation. The same story is told this time, only in a Russian Town and on ice.

This time around Cindy, played by Olga Sharutenko, is a young girl who dreams of being a ballerina. Her mother passed away when she was young, and her father, played by Sergei Lisev, married a, not very nice, woman, played by Maria Mukhortova, who bought along her two daughters, played by Alina Saprykina and Elena Shurakova. To make matters worse Cindy’s new step-mother is the ballet mistress at the school Cindy attends, and she thinks her daughters should be the prima’s of school, and Cindy shouldn’t be there at all. During a class, the Mayor’s son, played by Bogdan Berezenko, comes to visit, and while the step-mother tries to push her daughters on the unsuspecting suiter, he only has eyes for Cindy. Unfortunately, her step-mother makes sure that Cindy and the boy don’t meet. He gets another chance, though, when he decides to throw a party for his birthday. He invites everyone in the Town, including Cindy, but her step-mother steals her invitation, making it impossible for her to see the boy again. Thankfully, the Town’s people love Cindy, and they, led by the Gypsy Fortune Teller, played by South Africa’s own Fiona Kirk, who was a friend of Cindy’s mother, and the Dressmaker, played by Volodymyr Khodakivskyy, all come together to get her a new dress and get her to the ball.

At the ball Cindy and her prince dance the night away, much to the annoyance of her step-mother, but when the clock strikes 12, Cindy’s time is over and she mysteriously disappears, leaving behind a shoe. The next day the Mayor’s son is searching for the mystery girl he danced with, and while he tries the shoe on every person in the Town, it’s not until he tries it on Cindy does he find the girl he’s searching for. They fall madly in love and live happily ever after.

Now, I’m no ice skating expert, and I’m sure that someone with the intrinsic knowledge of the sport would be able to tell you more, or point out any mistakes that were made, but I don’t think that’s the point. It’s the same way that someone without a deep knowledge of Irish clogging can enjoy Lord of the Dance, or someone without a background in ballet can love the Nutcracker, this show is all about the enjoyment of what is being performed on stage, so much so that it enthrals and amazes with the sheer performance of it all. This show can stand up to any dance show that I’ve seen in its sheer entertainment value, which is very high.

Starting in act one with the Town Square scene, the “Corp de Ice Skating” is amazing. Each and every single person on the stage has the presence and ability to enthral the audience with a mixture of amazing skating, like flying across the stage, and entertaining performances. Sharutenko is everything you could want from a prima. She is graceful and has a beautiful stage presence and just owns the stage. The same can be said of Berezenko who is confident and charming and every bit the Prince Charming on the stage. The duet between them in the Town Square, ala Singing in the Rain, is beautiful, matched by great music, and the grand duet during the ball matches any Grand Pas de Deux in any great ballet production. Mukhortova, Saprykina and Shurakova are glorious in their spitefulness and malice against the poor Cindy, and really seem to have fun on the stage. A special shout-out needs to go to Stanislav Pertsov and Dmitrii Ivanov who played Cindy’s father’s assistants. They have incredible dynamics on the stage and really wowed the crowd. I also want to say that Scene 5: the Clock Strike Thirteen, is enthralling, chilling and a pleasure to watch, and the aerial work is astounding, working seamlessly with the skating. All in all, this is just a fabulous show.

If you’re looking for something to take the kids to, or if you’re just looking for an enjoyable night out, then Cinderella on Ice should be at the top of your list. It’s magical and enjoyable and simply a great night at the theatre.

Cinderella on Ice is at the Teatro at Montecasino until January 6 then moves to Cape Town's Artscape from January 10-28.

[arcanakrp-blog]

KANG HYUNA – THE WORLD. AGENT 21.

                                                   [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: KANG HYUNA ...

international age: 21 birthplace: seoul, south korea arcana: the world team number: thirteen

//: LOADING MUTATION: WATER MANIPULATION ...

application one: hydrokinesis — hydrokinesis, at its most basic, is the ability to move water. in small amounts it could be a nuisance being splashed in someone’s face. in larger quantities, she could use it to sweep away obstacles, or to move objects much like the flow of a river. the scope of her abilities can narrow or widen depending on how much water she has to work with. smaller amounts allow for more precision, whereas larger amounts will have more strength or force to it, if needed in such a situation

application two: water walking — water walking mostly has its practical application in mobility. the presence of this ability makes crossing bodies of waters relatively easy and fast for her (provided it’s not a whole ocean or a large lake) and when used in conjunction with hydrokinesis, she can create platforms or steps for her to walk on

application three: water augmentation — water augmentation is primarily used as a support ability, increasing the amount of water she has to work with. provided that she is working with a reasonably sized source, she is able to double or even triple its size with augmentation, allowing her to essentially get more use out of her abilities. overall strengths and weaknesses

overall strengths and weaknesses: — The amount of control Hyuna can exert over a body of water is very much dependent on its size. For example, while she could easily use a puddle she may have more difficulty with a larger body of water, like a pond or river. She is able to use her abilities, but still on a fairly small scale if she wants to have complete control of it. Despite having less control over it though, larger bodies of water often give her the best advantage since it’s essentially more for her to work with. She also can’t go against nature, meaning she can’t change an ocean current or make a river flow in a different direction, nor can she do anything about the rise and fall of the tide. Environment also plays a big part in how good her abilities can be. A desert may make it difficult for her to manifest her abilities at all, and a torrential downpour, while a great amplifier, could greatly limit her control. Generally speaking, more is always better and perfect control is not always necessary.

Hyuna depends a lot on her own movement for control. It’s difficult for her to do what she wants, and to make her element move how she wants without moving along with it. While certainly not impossible with restrained limbs, her technique can be a bit sloppy or lack the strength behind it. It’s usually at least enough to act as a distraction in order to free herself, but generally needs to stick with very small amounts.

Her abilities work perfectly in tandem with that of her team member, able to prime any targets by dampening them, or if salt water is at her disposal, amplifying the electrical charge. In a pinch, she could also use her hydrokinesis as a means of escape for both her, and others, provided there is enough water for her to work with. While certainly not the most comfortable or ideal method of transportation, the flow of water can make sweeping oneself away from the heat of a confrontation easy, or, sweeping away an enemy (provided she isn’t trying to move it against nature like noted above). With both the easy flow of water and its own strength, she’s able to use it in place of her own physical strength. This makes moving large, heavy objects much easier, assuming water won’t damage it, or precautions have been taken to protect it from that. Nooks and crannies can also be taken advantage of when she couples her hydrokinesis with augmentation, eventually able to force something open. Of course, this is only possible if water tight seals are not implemented

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

She was born a bit late in her parents’ life. Her parents had long given up on having a child, and now that they didn’t care, Hyuna came along. While unexpected she wasn’t necessarily unwanted, but her birth was not enough to keep her parents together. For the first few years of her life, she thought nothing of the mom and dad who slept in separate rooms, and were home at separate times. It seemed only naturally that would eventually lead to separate homes. Life went on, and while her parents built their separate lives Hyuna seemed to fall by the wayside. She had a roof over her head, and food to eat, at least, and her parents both had careers that made sure she could live comfortably, but perhaps in their personal pursuits she was often left to her own devices. They weren’t a bad crowd, necessarily, just distracted, dreamers. They lived for creative pursuits and it was an outlet for her, a way to spend the free time she had. Whether it was drawing, singing or dancing, she dabbled in it all. Of course her parents wanted more practical hobbies, but said nothing when she wanted to go to an arts high school, and only begrudgingly accepted her choice to not go to college since she chose to go straight to work. There was a part of her that always believed they let her pursue what she wanted, so long as it kept her out of their hair. By middle school she had realized they cared for very little except their own lives, with her as a reminder of a relationship that went sour. The less they saw of her, the better, and to be honest, she was starting to feel the same. She was fortunate enough to land a job as a waitress, even though it means long hours and late nights. Her coworkers were nice, and her boss was reasonable, it was all she could really ask for. She was settling into this life on her own, even though it wasn’t amazing or glamorous, it was at least livable. She knew she couldn’t live like this forever, but she never expected how different she would be living after one night home from work, with nothing but empty streets and a brilliant meteor shower streaking across the sky

POST-MUTATION

The dreams haunted her, both in her sleep and when she was awake. In her dream, she had found the meteor, but when awake, there was nothing near her that could possibly hint to its location. The forest didn’t look familiar but there was a part of her that wanted to find it, to see it, and touch it with her own hands while wide awake. Blink and you’ll miss it. A small spill from a knocked over glass, and as Hyuna sighed with irritation as she grabbed a cloth to wipe it, she turned around and found the spill gone, and the audible sound of water falling into the sink. Water didn’t move on its own, at least not like that, but not having actually seen what happened she brushed it off. It was one day when she was doing dishes that she noticed it, the way the water would splash a little too much, getting all over the counter and on to the floor. At first she thought maybe she was scrubbing too hard, putting too much energy into her washing, but even with the smallest movements it felt like the water from the tap could not contain itself in her sink. Perhaps it was the pipes, but one day she washed her hands and when she flicked off the extra water, she might as well have knocked over a whole bucket with the amount that seemed to come off from her hands. It was safe to say at that point that she no longer had a logical explanation for it. Hiding it was her biggest challenge, but she put up with the glares for her ‘clumsiness’ whenever she ‘accidentally’ dropped a glass or ‘spilled’ her bottle of water, blurting out one apology after another. It was a bit harder to explain the excessive flooding in her apartment, but she would put on her best smile and apologize profusely to her landlord for accidentally clogging the toilet. He always stopped her before she went into detail about what exactly clogged it. But patience and excuses only went so far, and after 3 months Hyuna needed a solution. This wasn’t the sort of thing she could go to a doctor for, or a scientist. At least, not without looking crazy. No one’s going to believe her if she just says that water does weird things around her. She never thought that she would actually have a solution, or at least something of one. She was late for work, plumbing issues, she told her boss and they just rolled their eyes, like usual. To her embarrassment, a customer overheard. Rather than poke fun at her for her excuses they offered a business card, and said that they could help. She fully expected to hear that they were a plumber, and while she knew that wasn’t needed she could at least understand the approach. But that was hardly what was on the card. A research company, it said and she was even more confused but the guests only smiled and said they’ll talk to her later. It was suspicious, to say the least, and a part of her wondered if she should just go straight home, but curiosity got the better of her. While nervous and a bit paranoid, she was pleasantly surprised when she did meet them, and somehow they had a solution to her problems. Sort of. They at least had more answers than she could scrounge up and offered ways to help her, so long as she decided to join them. At this point her options were limited. Her landlord was losing their patience, there were only so many glasses she could drop to cover up these strange abilities, and who knew how much worse it could get if left unchecked? She didn’t have to think too hard before she decided. What else was she going to do anyways? She didn’t really know what to expect coming in to ARC. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one whose life was unexpectedly changed, even if no one else really had the same ability as her. The biggest shock was not so much the number of people in the same boat as her, but the training that came with living in the ARC. It was a school, and yet not. She learned to control her abilities, get a better grasp of them, but then learned combat, first aid, battle tactics. These weren’t the sorts of things you learned in just any school and it seemed completely unnecessary. And yet, somehow she found herself willing to go along with it all, if only because she admitted that it helped. Anytime she questioned the motives behind the ARC she asked herself what the alternative was? A life of scrambling to cover up something she never asked for? To lie continuously and hope she’s never caught? At least here she was safe, or at least, she felt far more relaxed than she did outside the compound.

It was home.

The weight of it all hadn’t really sunk into her. While she did take her lessons seriously, she never fully understood the purpose. At least, not until they were assigned teams. It made sense, this would help hone their abilities, and the additional skills they learned from training helped bolster that, but it never quite hit her until she was on her first mission. The word felt strange to her. Mission. It wasn’t a lesson or training, they had a purpose, an objective. There was something on the line. The realization hit far too late, and while it wasn’t a total wash, she had become something of a liability during it. On paper, she should have been fine, excellent even, but when faced with the real deal she just couldn’t process anything. She felt like a disappointment to the others, her partner, and especially herself. However it was only the first, and she poured herself into her training with renewed motivation. It wasn’t just about being able to control her powers anymore, it was about not repeating the same mistakes. There were others counting on her to do her job and to do it well. It didn’t matter what the ARC’s motives were anymore. These were people whom she had gotten to know, and a home she had learned to love. If she wanted to keep it, and ensure it was always there when she came back, she had to get better